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"Cross,"she said tersely, her voice betraying none of the weariness that gnawed at herbones.
"AgentCross, we've got something," Mueller's voice came through, measured andgrave. "A possible witness has come forward—claims they saw something thatmight be related to your case."
The news hitMorgan like a shot of caffeine, a jolt to her system that pushed back the fogof fatigue. A witness could be the break they desperately needed, a fresh trailto follow. The tattoos on her arms seemed to prickle with anticipation as shepressed the phone closer, her instincts honed from years of navigating thetreacherous waters of crime and punishment coming alive.
"Where?"she asked, her brain already shifting gears, plotting out their next move.
"Localdiner, close to where Nicole Lee was found. The witness is waiting; says it'surgent." Mueller's voice held an edge of impatience, as if he too felt theweight of time pressing down on them.
"Understood.We're on our way." Morgan ended the call and looked up to meet Derik'squestioning gaze. His professional attire did nothing to hide the shadows ofsleeplessness under his eyes, but the news had sparked a familiar fire withinhim.
"Newlead," she said, her own voice laced with a determination that bordered onferocious. "Witness at a diner near the last crime scene."
"Let's gothen," Derik replied, pushing open the door to the bookstore, the bellchiming softly behind them—a sound strangely out of place in the somber taskthat lay ahead.
They stepped outinto the waning light, the world around them seemingly oblivious to thedarkness that lurked beneath its surface. Morgan knew all too well how fragilethat veneer of normalcy was, how quickly it could shatter and plunge one intochaos. But for now, there was hope—a chance to snatch life from the jaws ofdeath. And as long as that chance existed, Morgan would not rest.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Morgan surveyedthe sterile briefing room as she and Derik stepped inside, the air humming withthe chill of conditioned silence. The weight of her past lingered like a shadowacross the tattoos etched into her skin, invisible beneath her blouse but palpablein the way she carried herself – with an edge hardened by years behind bars fora crime she didn't commit.
Across the room,a woman sat alone, dwarfed by the expanse of the long conference table. Herhands were folded neatly in her lap, her posture speaking volumes of restraintand nervousness. As Morgan and Derik approached, the woman stood up abruptly,almost knocking her chair backward in her haste.
"AgentCross, Agent Greene," she greeted them, her voice barely above a whisper."I'm Jessica Edwards."
Morgan extendedher hand first, noting the tremble in Jessica's as they shook. Derik followedsuit, his green eyes meeting Jessica's with a mix of professional scrutiny andthe fatigue that comes from too many sleepless nights wrestling personaldemons. Jessica seemed to shrink back slightly, intimidated perhaps by Derik'sheight and slick black hair that gave him an air of someone not easily ruffled.
"Please,have a seat," Morgan said, gesturing towards the chairs. She took the oneopposite Jessica, while Derik chose the seat adjacent to Morgan, allowing bothagents to face their new informant.
"Jessica,"Morgan began, her voice steady and commanding attention, "tell us what yousaw."
The woman tuckeda stray lock of hair behind her ear, her gaze flitting between the two agentsbefore settling on the tabletop. "I... I'm a hobbyist stargazer," shestarted, her fingers tracing the wood grain as if drawing strength from its solidity."I was out for my usual night walk. It helps me clear my head." Shepaused, swallowing hard as if the memory lodged in her throat. "Thatnight, I saw something... strange."
Morgan leanedforward slightly, her intuition on high alert. This was it; this could be thebreak they had been hoping for, something to connect the dots between thevictims found in places steeped in history and controversy.
"Goon," Morgan urged gently, understanding the importance of patience whencoaxing details from a shaken witness. Jessica's eyes lifted, meeting Morgan'swith a flicker of resolve.
"It wasn'twhat I expected to see, not at all. It was a person, but they were doingsomething odd, out of place for that time of night..." Her words trailedoff, her own fear reflected in the depths of her wide eyes.
"Jessica,"Morgan pressed, her own experience with fear lending her voice a soft butinsistent quality. "Whatever you saw, it's crucial that you tell useverything. We need to find Rachel King before it's too late."
Jessica nodded,seeming to draw courage from Morgan's resolve. "I understand. I'll tellyou everything I remember." She took a deep breath, ready to dive into therecollection that had brought her to the heart of FBI headquarters, to the verytable where strategies were forged and fates decided.
Morgan eyed thewoman across the table, her instincts sharp as she prepared to dissect everyword. "Tell me more about the man you saw," she coaxed, her voicesteady.
Jessica's handstwisted in her lap, betraying the anxiety she fought to keep at bay. "Iwas walking by the war memorial park," she began, voice hesitant butgaining strength. "It was really late, and I just wanted to clear my head,look at the stars a bit."
"Goon," Morgan encouraged.
"I heard...chanting, I think." Jessica's eyes darted around the room, as if theshadows might harbor the very memory. "And then I saw him near the placewhere they found Nicole Lee."
Morgan's breathstilled. The war memorial park was a crime scene now, one that harbored thedarkest of secrets. "What was he doing?"
"Performingsome sort of ritual," Jessica answered, a shiver passing through her."He had candles, and there were symbols drawn on the ground. It was likesomething out of a horror movie."
"Did you seehis face?" Morgan probed, leaning forward.
"Y-yes, sortof. He was facing away from me, but then he turned slightly, and the moonlighthit him just right. That's when I hid behind a tree. I was terrified he mightsee me."
