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"Of course, Agent Cross," Fred replied, giving her a solemn nod.
Morgan turned away from him and walked back towards Derik, who had been observing their conversation from a distance. As she approached, she could see the shared determination in his eyes—a reflection of her own resolve.
"Let's get back to HQ," Morgan told him, her voice firm yet tinged with urgency. "We need to hash out everything we've learned so far and figure out our next steps."
Derik nodded in agreement, his eyes narrowing slightly as he processed the weight of the situation. "You're right. We can't afford to waste any more time."
As they made their way back to their vehicle, Morgan's mind raced with questions and possible connections between the victims. She knew that the answer lay somewhere within the details, and she was determined to uncover it—no matter how long it took or how many sleepless nights it demanded.
***
The fluorescent lights flickered above Morgan's head as she sat in her cluttered office at FBI headquarters, the silence and stillness of the late hour pressing down on her. Scattered across her desk were case files, autopsy reports, and photographs—each one a haunting reminder of the lives that had been snuffed out far too soon.
Morgan took a deep breath and opened the latest file on her desk, immersing herself in the details of Amber Jade's life. As she read, she discovered that Amber had lived with her parents until their recent deaths—her mother succumbing to stomach cancer and, just weeks later, her father suffering a fatal heart attack.
"Broken heart, huh?" Morgan muttered under her breath, her own chest tightening at the thought. She knew all too well the pain of losing loved ones, the overwhelming grief that could consume a person whole. It was a pain she had carried with her since her release from prison, a constant reminder of the life that had been stolen from her.
As she continued reading, Morgan noted that Amber appeared to have no other family, no friends or acquaintances listed as emergency contacts. The realization left Morgan with an aching sadness, a hollow emptiness that echoed through her heart.
"Who do I even inform of her death?" she whispered, her voice barely audible in the empty office. The words hung heavy in the air, a stark reminder of the loneliness that seemed to envelop Amber's life—and, if she were honest with herself, her own as well.
Morgan sighed, rubbing her temples as she forced herself to focus on the task at hand. There had to be something more to this case, some connection between Amber and the other victims that would lead them to the killer. And she wouldn't rest until she found it.
But despite her determination, Morgan couldn't shake the feeling that she was being watched, that someone—perhaps the killer themselves—was observing her every move. She shivered at the thought, her instincts screaming at her to stay alert and trust no one.
There had to be something to connect these victims—something she’d missed.
She was going to find it.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Morgan leaned back in her chair, the soft hum of the fluorescent lights overhead providing a steady soundtrack to her thoughts. Her gaze wandered from Amber's file to the evidence board on the wall—photographs of Stacy Cox and Martha McTavish stared back at her, their eyes hauntingly empty.
Stacy, Martha, and now Amber,Morgan thought, her brow furrowing as she tried to make sense of the pattern. Each woman had been struggling with her own demons: Stacy with alcoholism, Martha with drug addiction, and Amber with grief. Was this what the killer was after? Women in vulnerable states, grappling with trauma?
She pursed her lips, a small knot forming in the pit of her stomach. If that were true, then the killer wasn't just vicious; they were also ruthlessly calculating, preying on those who were already suffering.
Morgan's eyes flicked over the case files spread across her desk, the dim lamplight casting long shadows on the walls. She rubbed her temples, feeling the exhaustion seep into her bones. The room felt smaller, more suffocating than usual.
"Hey," Derik's voice broke through her thoughts as he leaned against the doorway, holding out a bag of food. "I grabbed some burgers. You want one?"
Morgan hesitated for a moment, her stomach growling in protest, but her distrust of Derik won out. "No thanks, I was planning on stopping somewhere on my way home later." Her voice sounded distant even to herself, cold and detached.
"Alright," Derik said, not pushing the issue. He set the bag down on a nearby chair before crossing his arms. "So, have you read all of Amber's files?"
Morgan nodded, her gaze returning to the papers in front of her. She pictured Amber's lifeless body by the lake, the haunting image burned into her brain. "Yes, it's a sad case. She lost both her parents recently, and she didn't have any other family. It seems like grief was consuming her."
Derik frowned, concern etching lines into his forehead. "This killer has a knack for picking vulnerable women, doesn't he?"
"Whoever it is, they're preying on these women's pain, and that just makes this whole situation even more twisted."
"Agreed," Derik murmured, his gaze meeting hers for a brief moment before he looked away. "It's heartbreaking, isn't it?" Derik agreed, the somber tone in his voice matching Morgan's. "Heartbreaking, really. Amber and her parents all gone within such a short period of time." He shook his head, looking down at the floor as he processed the information.
Morgan glanced up at Derik, noting the genuine sadness in his eyes. It was moments like these that reminded her they were both human, both affected by the darkness that surrounded them daily. When she didn't respond, Derik continued.
"Can't help but wonder how the killer managed to get to her," he said, running a hand through his hair, ruffling the dark strands. "I mean, she must have been grieving, vulnerable... What kind of monster targets someone like that?"
"Someone sick and twisted," Morgan muttered, her jaw clenched tight as her mind raced with possibilities. She looked away from Derik, focusing on the photographs of Amber sprawled out on her desk. The young woman's eyes seemed to stare back at her, pleading for justice.
