AllFreeNovel
Share Us
"Can youburn these onto a disc for me?" Morgan asked without taking her eyes offthe man in the footage. "Every instance, every angle."
"Rightaway," the owner assured her.
Morgan watched asthe man in the video traced routes on maps with an intensity that bordered onobsession. She didn't know what story lay hidden within those ink lines andaged paper, but she knew it was dark, and it was deadly. With the disc in hand,Morgan gave a nod of thanks and turned to leave. She felt the weight of urgencysettle on her shoulders. This stranger held the answers, and she would uncoverthem, piece by painstaking piece.
Back outside, thechill in the air seemed to creep under her skin. The skies were gray,unyielding, much like the walls of the prison cell she once occupied—aninnocent woman condemned. But she was out now, and justice was her craft.Morgan slid into the driver's seat of her car, the security footage beside her.It was time to go back to HQ and dive into the rabbit hole this case hadbecome. Whoever this man was, she would find him, and she would do so with thesame unwavering resolve that had cleared her name years ago.
"Let's seewho you are," she whispered to the empty car, her dark hair falling like ashadow across her face.
CHAPTER NINE
Morgan stoodrigidly before the flickering screen in the dim confines of the FBIheadquarters, her dark eyes scanning the grainy images with an intensity thatbelied her years of experience. The footage sputtered in monochrome burstsacross the monitor, revealing the interior of the café where Jennifer Clarkehad served her last cup of coffee. Derik Greene was beside her, his lean frameslightly bent towards the screen as if willing it to divulge its secrets.
"Here,"Morgan said sharply, tapping a tattooed finger against the glass as the figureof a man came into view. The man was seated alone at a table by the window, thenatural light casting a halo around his hunched silhouette. On the tabletop laya sprawl of maps, their creased lines and contours visible even through thestatic of the video feed.
"Watch hishands," she instructed, squinting to make out the details as the man’sfingers traced routes and landmarks with a furtive urgency. The waitresses hadbeen right; there was something unnervingly meticulous about the way heexamined the maps, his gaze darting up occasionally, as though he expectedsomeone—or something—to catch him in the act.
Derik leanedcloser, the reflection of the screen ghosting across his green eyes. "He'snot just looking," he murmured. "He's memorizing."
"Orplanning," Morgan added quietly.
They watched theman rise from his seat, his movements swift and deliberate, pausing only tofold a single map with precision and slip it inside his jacket. Throughout thesequence, not once did he engage with anyone else—no casual chit-chat with thestaff, no friendly nods to fellow patrons. He was an island unto himself,surrounded by a sea of oblivious coffee drinkers.
"Did he seemoff to any of the staff?" Derik asked, raking a hand through his slickblack hair—a nervous habit from his days of battling addiction.
"Like a sorethumb," Morgan replied, recalling the interviews they had conductedearlier. "Kept to himself, always ordered the same drink, never left atip." Her lips twisted in distaste. "And according to one waitress,he had a thing for staring too long."
"Maybe he'sjust an oddball with a passion for geography," Derik suggestedhalf-heartedly, but Morgan shook her head.
"Oddballsdon't end up on our radar unless they've got something to hide," shecountered, her voice laced with the cynicism that had become her second skinsince her unjust incarceration. She knew too well the cost of overlookeddetails—the kind that could mean the difference between life and death.
"Let's goover it again," she decided, reaching for the mouse to rewind the footage.As the images rolled back, Derik glanced at her, silently acknowledging thedetermination etched in her features.
"Whateveryou're looking for, Morgan," he said, "we'll find it."
She gave him acurt nod, pushing aside memories of his past betrayal, focusing instead on thetask at hand. With each replay, Morgan's mind whirred, piecing together theenigmatic puzzle of the map-obsessed man, hoping against hope that this leadwouldn't crumble to dust like so many before it.
Morgan's handhovered over the keyboard, her gaze locked on the grainy image of the man withthe maps. The footage played on a loop, his movements a silent dance ofsuspicion that only served to heighten the tension coiling in her gut. With adecisive click, she paused the video on a clear shot of his face – an enigmawrapped in ordinary features, yet screaming for identification.
"Get Tech onthis," she instructed, her voice steely as she minimized the window andopened up their internal communications system. "Run it through facialrecognition."
"Already onit," Derik replied, noticing the slight tremor of urgency in Morgan'sactions. He knew that beneath the inked surface of her skin and the hard linesof her jaw lay a relentless drive for justice, fueled by her own brushes withwrongful accusations.
She typed aconcise message to the tech team, attaching the still of the man's face. Herrequest was simple: identify the man in the frame; give a name to their ghost.Morgan's eyes darted back to the paused footage, studying the contours of hisface as if willing him to betray his secrets.
"Let's hopehe's in the system," Derik murmured, crossing his arms, a silent sentinelat her side.
"Mostare," Morgan replied without looking away from the screen. "Even ifit's just a driver's license or a passport photo. Everyone leaves a digitalfootprint."
Minutes stretchedtaut between them, filled only by the hum of computers and the distant murmurof activity elsewhere in the bureau. Then, a ping sounded from Morgan'sterminal, cutting through the wait like a knife. She clicked on the incomingemail, and the face of Marcus Avery filled the screen, alongside a briefdossier.
"MarcusAvery, cartographer," she read aloud, eyebrows knitting together as shescanned the information provided. "Works here in the city."
"Cartography,maps... it fits," Derik observed, leaning closer to get a better look.
"Tooneatly," Morgan countered, wary of convenient coincidences. Her mindraced, already cataloging and cross-referencing this new piece of the puzzlewith the locations where they had found the victims. A cartographer would havean intimate knowledge of the city's layout, including its most isolated spots.
"Where doeshe work?" Derik asked, peering at the screen.
