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"Understood."Morgan ended the call, her gaze still locked on the web of colorful linescrisscrossing the map. With a heavy heart, she turned to Chad, who watched herwith a mix of hope and despair. "Chad, I have to step out," she saidgently, the words feeling inadequate. "I'm sorry."
He nodded, thegrief etched into his features deepening. "I understand. Do what you haveto do."
Without anotherword, Morgan turned on her heel and strode out of the apartment.
"Derik,what's going on?" she asked once she was in the hallway.
Seconds later,Derik's voice came through, pensive. "Morgan, there's... there's beenanother victim."
Morgan's heartnearly stopped. As she descended the staircase, her mind raced with the scantdetails Derik had given her. Another body found, another life extinguished, andagain, left behind like some grotesque landmark.
"Send me thedetails," she said. "I'm on my way."
As she steppedoutside, the city loomed around her, its skyline a jagged silhouette againstthe twilight sky. The streets were alive with the hum of traffic and the murmurof pedestrian chatter, yet none of it reached Morgan. Her world narrowed to themission at hand: find the killer, prevent another death.
She climbed intoher unmarked car, the leather of the driver's seat cool against her skin. Theengine roared to life under her command, and she threw the vehicle into gear.As she sped away from Chad's building, the last threads of sunlight gave way tothe creeping shadows of evening.
Morgan's darkhair whipped around her face as she rolled down the window, letting the coolnight air cleanse her thoughts. She glanced at her phone, noting the addressDerik had sent. It was etched into her memory now, a destination that promisedmore horror, more questions.
She gripped thesteering wheel tighter. With every mile that brought her closer to the crimescene, Morgan’s determination grew, a steely edge that had been forged in thefires of her own tribulations. She was ready to face whatever awaited her,ready to stare down the darkness and pull another victim from its grasp.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Morgan steppedover the boundary of police tape, her boots crunching on the gravel pathleading to the historical fountain. The 1800s structure stood as a silentwitness, its intricate stonework marred by the horror it now framed. DerikGreene waited for her, his figure a stark contrast against the flashing lightsof the crime scene units. He held out an ID, encased in a clear evidence bag.
"JenniferClarke," he said, his voice barely carrying over the murmur of activity."Twenty-five, waitress at a local café."
Morgan took thebag from him, studying the photo—Jennifer's smile was bright, full of untappedpotential. A pang of something akin to sorrow tightened in Morgan’s chest, butshe pushed it aside. Feelings were luxuries she couldn't afford, not if shewanted to keep her edge.
"Her shiftended in the afternoon. She was walking home." Derik's gaze followed atrail that led away from the fountain, toward the dimly lit streets beyond thepark.
"Except thisisn't her usual route," Morgan observed, her eyes narrowing as she scannedthe surroundings—the fountain wasn't just decoration; it was a marker, adeliberate choice. "It's too far out of the way."
"Exactly,"Derik replied, with a nod. There was a tiredness in his green eyes that wentdeeper than the sleepless nights the case had brought them. Morgan knew all toowell the personal demons that gnawed at him, the shared history they had complicatedby betrayal and fragile forgiveness.
"Let's goover the scene again," she suggested. They moved in tandem, Morgan's mindworking through the details, piecing together the grim puzzle.
The body had beenpositioned carefully, almost reverently, by the fountain. Jennifer's hands werefolded across her chest, her hair fanned out around her head like a dark halo.Morgan crouched beside her, noting the lack of drag marks or disturbances in thesoft earth that would suggest Jennifer had been killed there.
"Someonewanted her found here," Derik murmured, echoing Morgan's thoughts."But why? What's the significance?"
"Let's findout where she really died," Morgan decided, standing up. Her tattoos, amap of her own past, shifted with the movement—a visible reminder of the yearsspent behind bars for a crime she didn't commit. Those years had honed herinstincts, made her relentless. She wouldn't rest until she understood thekiller's motives, until she uncovered the truth hidden beneath the surface ofthese carefully staged tableaus.
"Forensicswill comb the area, but I agree, this feels staged," Derik said. Heglanced back at the fountain, its water still flowing despite the tragedy itoversaw. "We need to figure out what ties this location to theothers."
The air was mildand carried the faint sound of the city beyond the park. Morgan tuckedJennifer's ID into her jacket pocket—a talisman against forgetting—and turnedaway from the fountain. The killer had left them a message in this old stoneand water, and Morgan intended to decipher it.
***
On her tablet,Morgan pulled up Emily Harris’s case file. The soft glow of the display didlittle to warm the clinical feel of their makeshift command center atheadquarters, a stark room with only the essentials – a couple of desks, somechairs, and the perpetual scent of antiseptic hanging in the air.
"EmilyHarris," Morgan murmured to herself, her gaze narrowing as she siftedthrough the digital pages. "Twenty-eight, found in the park..." Shestopped, her eyes catching on a statement buried in the interview section. Aconversation with Emily's brother revealed a sinister detail: Emily had beenadvised to jog that particular route by an anonymous tipster.
"Advised?"Morgan thought aloud, the word tasting bitter. Her past, a shadow that followedher every move, was a testament to how easily people could be manipulated. Howeasily someone could guide another into danger's path while remaining unseen.
"Derik,"she called without looking up, knowing he would be close. He always was,dependable despite his own shadows. "Emily was told to run where she died.Someone wanted her there."
"Directedlike a pawn on a chessboard," Derik replied, leaning over her shoulder toglance at the tablet. His presence was a silent pillar of support. "So, wehave a statue, a factory, and now this fountain. All historical. Alldeliberate."
