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A tremor ranthrough Morgan as the name registered, a spectral finger tracing the spine ofher memory. Mary Price. The recollection came unbidden, sharp and unwelcome –the report she had seen, detailing the collateral damage of a mission goneawry.
A faceless nameamong many, a statistic, but one she now understood to be irrevocably human.
"MaryPrice," Morgan repeated softly, a mantra to summon the details from therecesses where they'd been stored. She remembered the photographs, the starkblack and white images capturing a moment frozen in time; a woman's bodysplayed on the pavement, eyes wide open, staring into nothingness. She had seenit all in the files... her father's files.
Mary Price wasthe woman her father had killed.
She had beenThomas's mother.
She saw him now,Thomas Grady, not just as the sinister agent whose advances she had rebuffed orthe cyber security expert with an agenda shrouded in duplicity. He was a son, aman shaped by personal loss at the hands of an institution she had once servedwithout question. There was no mistaking the raw edge in his voice, the way hisusually poised demeanor fractured as he spoke of his mother.
"Caught inthe crossfire," she stated more than asked, the words bitter as they lefther lips. The warehouse seemed colder suddenly, the shadows deeper. Morgan'sgrip on Skunk tightened, a silent promise that she would shield him from anysimilar fate. Her mind raced, pieces of a puzzle clattering into place, forminga picture that she wasn't sure she wanted to see.
Morgan watchedThomas carefully, gauging the sincerity that seemed to radiate from him inwaves. Was this vulnerability real, or another layer of the elaborate game heplayed? In a life built on deciphering truths from lies, Morgan felt adisconcerting sense of uncertainty. Trust was a currency she could ill afford,yet here she was, considering an investment.
"Mary Pricewas your mother?" Morgan's voice was a hoarse whisper, disbelief warringwith the dawning realization. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry, Thomas. But whyme? I didn't even know for sure if my father was involved with the FBI untilthose files you left." Her eyes searched his face, seeking answers in hisfamiliar yet now enigmatic features.
The tattoos onher arms seemed to pulse with her quickened heartbeat, each one a reminder ofthe life she'd been forced to lead after the frame-up—a visual diary of painand resilience. She had fought tooth and nail to survive, to clear her name,all the while ignorant of her own father's role in the very institution thathad betrayed her.
Thomas's gazelocked onto hers, unflinching. "I never meant for this to become personaltorture, Morgan," he said, his tone laced with an undercurrent ofsomething she couldn't quite place—regret, perhaps, or a plea forunderstanding.
"Did youframe me for murder then? Is this your revenge?" There was an edge ofdesperation in Morgan's question, a need to understand the twisted path thathad led them here.
"No,"Thomas replied firmly, and there was a clarity in his eyes that gave weight tohis words. "I didn't frame you, Morgan. But I know who did. I've beenworking against them from the inside." He paused, a muscle twitching inhis jaw. "But it all ties back to your father."
Morgan felt asthough she were standing on shifting ground, the world tilting on its axis. Herfather's hidden past was a shadow that had loomed over her without herknowledge, influencing events, manipulating her life from beyond the grave.
"Tell mehow," she demanded, her voice steady despite the turmoil that raged withinher. "How does my father fit into all of this?"
Thomas hesitated,his eyes darting away before meeting hers once more. "It's complicated,and dangerous. And I can't give you all the answers—not yet. But trust me whenI say that I'm on your side in this. Your father... he was part of somethingmuch bigger than either of us realized."
A silence hungbetween them, heavy with the weight of unsaid words and secrets yet to beuncovered. Morgan knelt down, wrapping her arms around Skunk, the solid warmthof her dog grounding her. She was free from the confines of prison, yet thechains of her past continued to hold her. Trust was a risk; it always had been.But as she looked up at Thomas, her resolve hardened. She would get to thebottom of this, no matter where the truth led her.
Morganstraightened, the weight of Skunk's body against her leg a stark reminder ofwhat was at stake. She locked eyes with Thomas, the dim light from the brokenwarehouse windows casting shadows that danced across his face. "How doesmy father fit into this twisted game you're playing, Grady?" The edge inher voice could cut steel, but her hands betrayed a slight tremor as theybrushed over Skunk's coarse fur.
Thomas shifted onhis feet, the air around him charged with a tension that seemed to make thevery dust particles suspend in time. "It's not just a game," hemuttered under his breath. "Your father, he... Look, there are things atplay here that require careful steps. I can't lay all my cards out yet—notuntil I'm certain where your loyalties lie. I've been testing you, Cross. Thiswhole time. I need you to trust me."
"Trust,"Morgan scoffed, her laugh devoid of any real amusement. "After everything,you have the gall to question my loyalties? You kidnapped my dog, Grady. You'vebeen pulling strings since day one and now you want trust?" Her words hungbetween them like a challenge, a gauntlet thrown down in the dirt-strewn floorof the warehouse.
"Exactly,"he said quietly, almost too quiet for her to hear. "Because if thosestrings get pulled the wrong way, we're both dead. Your father was—"
"Involved, Iget it," Morgan cut him off, rising to her feet, her body coiled tightwith restrained energy. "But if you want this truce, you better startproving I can trust you."
Their gazesclashed, two soldiers on opposite sides of a war neither fully understood. Timestretched, the silence punctuated only by Skunk's occasional whine, as if eventhe pitbull sensed the gravity of the moment.
"Iknow," Thomas said. "And I'll prove to you that we're on the sameside. Until then, just promise you'll stand by and wait for myinstructions."
Morgan scoffedyet again. Frankly, Thomas Grady would never have her trust, but he was theclosest thing she had to a lead. "Stop messing with my life then,Grady," she shot back. "Stop messing with me, stop coming around myhouse, and stay the hell away from my dog. Only contact me when you're going tobe serious. If you can do that, then maybe I'll start to take youseriously."
Thomas was quietfor a moment, but nodded. "You've proven yourself to me, Morgan. I knowyou're serious, and I know you'll do anything to find the truth. I will, too. Iwant to know why my mother was there that day... trust me when I say we are onthe same side."
Morgan turnedaway. As the cool night air washed over her, Morgan took a deep breath,steeling herself against the turmoil that churned inside her chest. Everyinstinct screamed that Thomas was a snake waiting to strike, yet she knew theirfates were intertwined, wrapped up in the legacy left by a father she barelyremembered. She walked away, her steps echoing in the empty streets, her mind awhirlwind of doubt and determination.
Behind her, inthe shadows of the abandoned warehouse, Thomas watched her go, the complexityof emotions etched across his handsome features mirroring her own internalconflict. Neither could escape the past that connected them, nor the uncertainpath that lay ahead. As Morgan disappeared into the darkness, the tenuous bondthey had formed held—for now—leaving a trail of unanswered questions and thebitter taste of an uneasy truce.
CHAPTER TWO
The mild nightair brushed against Morgan's face as she held Skunk’s leash tightly in herhand, approaching her house. The rhythmic clicking of his claws on the pavementwas a reassuring sound that she had not realized how much she missed until now.The familiar weight of her front door gave way under her push, and as theycrossed the threshold, a wave of relief washed over her. She closed the doorfirmly behind her, leaning back against it for a moment, allowing herself tofeel the safety of her own home.
