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Morgan offeredhim a curt nod in return, then turned to leave the room. Her boots echoed downthe empty hallway that led to the exit. She could feel Derik's gaze on her backuntil the door swung shut behind her, cutting off any residual connectionbetween them. It wasn’t that she was still angry at Derik—she wasn’t. She hadaccepted what had happened and was ready to move on, but there were still somany parts of herself that were guarded. Morgan knew that. And she knew,someday, she would have to start letting people in again… but for now, all shewanted was her dog.
Outside, thetwilight air was beginning to chill as Morgan headed for her unmarked sedan.The dimly lit streets were deserted save for the occasional passing car. Therewas a somber quality to the city that evening, an uncanny calm that hung heavylike a premonition. Or perhaps it was just the weight of their unsolved casecasting long shadows.
Behind the wheel,Morgan rested her forehead against the cool steering wheel momentarily, closingher eyes against a wave of exhaustion. She needed sleep - real sleep, not justthe fitful nights since Skunk's disappearance and Thomas' betrayal.
With a deepinhale, she started the engine and pulled onto the street, directing herselftoward home. Morgan allowed herself the smallest of sighs. Home. To Skunk. Thatwas enough for now.
Tomorrow, thehunt would begin anew.
CHAPTER TEN
Nicole Lee'sbreath misted in the night air as she stepped over the threshold of thedeserted war memorial park. The solemnity of the hour seemed to drape over themonuments and tanks like a respectful shroud, the moon casting long shadowsthat danced with Nicole's every movement. She adjusted her phone, ensuring thecamera was recording before launching into her well-rehearsed monologue.
"Here weare," she began, her voice a hushed whisper that carried the reverence shefelt for the site. "The heart of Dallas's history, not in the bustle ofdowntown or the echoes of Dealey Plaza, but in this quiet, sacred space whereremembrance and honor stand still in time."
Nicole movedslowly among the memorabilia, her phone's light sweeping across plaques thatspoke of valor and sacrifice. This place, rich with the stories of those whohad fought and fallen, was the perfect subject for her latest online historyfeature. Her audience loved when she peeled back the layers of the city's past,revealing the bones and sinew of bygone eras.
"Each ofthese artifacts," she continued, panning the camera to catch the glint ofmetal from an old artillery piece, "tells a story larger than life itself.From World War I to the conflicts of the modern era, this park serves as avessel for memory, a reminder that freedom is never free."
As Nicole wovethrough the maze of wartime relics, her hand would occasionally graze the coldsteel, feeling the etchings and scars left by history’s relentless march. Theweight of countless stories seemed to press upon her, urging her to delvedeeper, to share more passionately.
"Imagine thehands that once manned these machines," she mused, her words paintingpictures in the night. "Young men, far from home, holding onto these steelbeasts as if they were lifelines. Their legacy is what surrounds us, and it'sour duty to remember, to continue telling their tales."
Nicole'sdedication to her craft was evident in the meticulous attention she paid toeach detail, every word uttered a testament to her drive to educate and engageothers with the forgotten chapters of their shared heritage. The park, with itssilent cannons and dormant tanks, became a theater where the drama of historyplayed out under her direction, her phone the lens through which past andpresent converged.
"Let's moveon to the Korean War section," she said, signaling a transition as shemade her way toward another cluster of exhibits. The soft crunch of gravelunderfoot accompanied her steady narration, the only other sound the distanthum of the city that never truly slept, oblivious to the poignant explorationunfolding within its midst.
Her voice, agentle timbre against the backdrop of the silent memorials, faltered as sheregistered the anomaly in her peripheral vision. A figure, almost part of theshadows cast by the hulking shapes of military tanks, stood motionless at theedge of her phone’s light reach. She hadn't noticed him before, and the suddenawareness that she was not alone sent a pulse of alarm through her.
"Who'sthere?" Nicole asked, trying to keep the tremble from her voice, her eyesstraining to discern any details that could tell her more about the unexpectedvisitor. Her hand gripped the phone tighter, its camera lens now an unwittingeye into uncertainty.
The man remainedsilent, a specter within the memorial's moonlit tableau. With an abrupt intakeof breath, Nicole turned on her heel. The park, once a tranquil stage for herhistorical narrative, had transformed into an arena of potential peril.
Her footstepsquickened, crunching urgently over the path, her heart drumming a franticrhythm in her chest. She dared a glance back, only to find that the shadow wasmobile, following with an unsettling stealth. Nicole's scholarly pursuits hadnever prepared her for this; the chase was alien, terrifyingly real against theechoes of past conflicts enshrined around her.
"Stay awayfrom me!" she shouted, but her plea seemed to dissolve into the night air,unheard by anyone who could help. Nicole's strides became desperate, herbreaths coming in sharp gasps as she tried to outrun the encroaching darknessthat pursued her.
But time, muchlike in the battles commemorated by the very ground beneath her fleeing feet,was a relentless adversary. Before she could even scream, a force collided withher from behind. Nicole's phone flew from her grasp as she was brought down,the cold earth of the memorial park meeting her with unforgiving solidity. Herthoughts careened, a chaotic mix of fear and disbelief. This couldn't behappening—not here, not in the sanctity of remembrance where she had come topay homage to history.
The man's weightpressed against her, and Nicole fought wildly, every instinct urging her toescape, to break free from the grip of the living nightmare that had ensnaredher amongst the silent witnesses of wars long past.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Morgan sat alonein the dimly lit room, a heavy glass filled with amber liquid cradled in herhand. The scotch was smooth, its warmth spreading through her like a fleetingpromise of comfort. Skunk, her loyal Pitbull, lay at her feet, his presence asilent anchor in the chaos that had become her life. Spread out before her onthe coffee table were case files, crime scene photos, and maps, each one apiece of a puzzle she was struggling to solve.
With methodicalprecision, Morgan traced her finger over the locations marked on the map,connecting dots that stubbornly refused to reveal their pattern. Three women,three historical sites – there had to be a link beyond their antiquity. Herdark hair fell in a curtain around her face as she leaned forward, tattoosshifting across her taut skin. A decade behind bars had hardened her; it showedin the steel in her eyes and the way her jaw set determinedly.
But even a womanas resilient as Morgan Cross had her moments of doubt. She glanced at the phonelying beside her, its screen dark and unyielding. Thomas Grady's number wasetched into her mind, his face a contradiction of allure and deceit. Aftereverything he'd done – the kidnapping of Skunk, the double-crosses – trust wasa luxury she couldn't afford. Yet, against her better judgment, she believedhis story. There was something in the way he'd spoken, a vulnerability thatrang true despite the lies that laced his history with her.
The phoneremained silent, a testament to the uncertainty of their newfound alliance. Howcould they work together when every instinct warned her to keep him at arm'slength? The scotch burned down her throat as she took another sip, letting theheat chase away the cold knot of betrayal lodged deep within her chest. Thomashad wanted to date her once, had tried to charm her with his good looks andcybersecurity expertise. But now, caught in this web of murder and deception,romance was a ghost of a thought, laughable in its improbability.
Morgan's gazeshifted back to the files, but her concentration wavered. The possibility of acall from Thomas buzzed in the back of her mind, an annoying insect shecouldn't swat away. She needed to focus, to find the thread that would unravelthe killer's motives, yet part of her yearned for the clarity that might comefrom his voice. Would he offer insight, or simply more riddles wrapped inhandsome apologies?
She tapped herfingers against the glass, considering her next move. It was a dance ofintellect and instinct, and Thomas Grady was both partner and opponent. Morganknew the game was dangerous, but she also knew she wasn't one to back down froma challenge, especially not with lives hanging in the balance. As Skunk stirredat her feet, she reached down to brush her hand over his broad head, takingsolace in his unwavering loyalty. Whatever the next step was, she would face itwith the same resolve that had carried her through prison walls and into theheart of darkness.
Morgan let thefile in her hand drop to the table, the clatter of paper against wood slicingthrough the silence. She’d been circling this drain for hours now, and thewhirlpool was all historical landmarks and dead ends. Her mind couldn't helpbut wander to a more personal history, one that had resurfaced with the forceof a long-buried landmine. Her father's guilt, a shadow that had been cast overtheir family for years, now took on a new form – one that tied her fate toThomas’s in the most tragic of ways.
She closed hereyes, inhaling sharply as she recalled the night Thomas revealed the truth; hismother's death was an accident, one caused by her father during a covertoperation gone awry. The pain in Thomas’s voice had been undeniable, the sorrowin his eyes irrefutable. It had humanized him, even as Morgan grappled with thebetrayal that laced every interaction they'd ever shared. Understanding theorigin of his brokenness did little to soften the edge of her anger, though.His actions, manipulative and cruel, were his own, regardless of the demons hewrestled with.
