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"Anyway," Derik sighed, sensing the tension in the room, "If you need me, just give me a shout. I'll be around." He hesitated for a moment, his gaze lingering on Morgan before he turned towards the door.
"Thanks, Derik," Morgan replied quietly, without looking up. She heard the door click shut behind him and let out a small breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding. She knew Derik was trying to be supportive, but she couldn't shake the feeling that she needed to keep her distance.
As she stared down at Amber's lifeless face, Morgan's determination strengthened. Like Amber, Morgan had lost her family – her mother passing many years ago, and her father's recent death still weighing on her heart. She had pushed people away during her time in prison, and now, there was no one she could truly call a friend.
The realization struck her with an icy wave of loneliness. If she were to die tomorrow, who would be left to mourn her passing? Who would care enough to notify anyone or see that her life mattered? The only person she could think of was Derik, but he was quickly becoming a source of distrust and uncertainty.
"Damn it," she muttered under her breath, gripping the edge of her desk until her knuckles turned white. Her anger wasn't directed at Derik, but at the situation she found herself in. She needed to solve this case, to bring justice to Amber and the other victims, but at what cost?
Frustration gnawed at her insides like a trapped animal, desperate to escape. She couldn't stay cooped up in her office any longer. Morgan grabbed her coat and paperwork, deciding to finish her reports somewhere else – somewhere she could clear her head and find some semblance of peace. The diner, she thought, remembering the familiar comfort of its worn leather booths and the smell of strong black coffee.
As she strode through the dimly-lit hallway, her footsteps echoing in the emptiness, Morgan felt the weight of her solitude pressing down on her shoulders. She was determined to put an end to these senseless deaths, even if it meant facing her own demons in the process. But as her hand closed around the door handle, she couldn't shake the nagging voice in the back of her head, whispering that she'd never truly be free from the shadows of her past.
"Let them try," she whispered fiercely to herself, stepping out into the storm. "I won't let them win." And with that, Morgan walked away from her office and towards the diner, hoping to find some solace – however fleeting – within its walls.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
The diner's neon sign cast a warm glow over the sidewalk, beckoning Morgan inside like an old friend. She stepped into the refuge of the familiar establishment, where the scent of frying bacon and percolating coffee enveloped her like a comforting embrace. Finding a booth near the back, she shrugged off her coat and slid onto the worn leather seat, its faint creak a testament to countless conversations held within these walls.
"Long day, huh?" The waitress asked, setting down a steaming mug of black coffee in front of Morgan. Her voice was tinged with sympathy, the lines on her face evidence of the long hours she spent serving others.
"Seems like every day is a long one lately," Morgan replied, forcing a ghost of a smile as she cradled the mug, letting the warmth seep into her chilled fingers.
"Can I get you anything else?"
"BLT please, the usual."
"Coming right up." The waitress nodded before disappearing behind the counter.
Morgan sighed and opened the file folder she had brought with her, spreading the paperwork across the table. As she filled out the reports, her mind wandered to Amber Jade. What would her life have been if not for the senseless violence that had snuffed it out? Would she have found happiness or succumbed to the grief that threatened to swallow her whole?
"Here you go, hun," the waitress said, placing the BLT sandwich on the table. "Enjoy."
"Thank you," Morgan murmured, her attention fixed on the case documents scattered around her.
Her appetite waned, but she forced herself to take a bite of the sandwich, savoring the salty crunch of the bacon even as her thoughts churned. How could she uncover the truth behind Amber's death when so much of her own life remained shrouded in mystery?
"Excuse me, Morgan?" The waitress's voice cut through her reverie. "There's a call for you. Do you want to take it?"
"Sure," she replied, curiosity piqued. Who could be calling her here?
As she walked towards the phone, her fingers brushed against the cold metal of her FBI badge tucked securely in her coat pocket. It was a constant reminder of the path she had chosen and the sacrifices she had made to pursue justice. Whoever was on the other end of that line, she would face them head-on – just as she had faced every challenge that life had thrown her way.
Morgan approached the phone mounted on the diner wall, her hand hesitating for a moment before she picked up the receiver. The hum of conversation in the background faded as her focus narrowed to the voice on the other end of the line.
"Hello?" she asked, trying to sound casual despite the uneasy feeling that settled in her gut.
"Special Agent Morgan Cross," came a muffled response, barely audible over the crackling static. "Your father served in the FBI, but it ended badly for him and he had to get out. He made too many enemies, and you paid the price, getting locked up for ten years. It's time you faced the truth."
Her grip tightened on the receiver, knuckles whitening. She leaned closer, straining to pick up any nuances in the distorted voice that could offer a clue. The words echoed in her head, stirring up memories she had buried deep within herself. She had known her father to be a simple project manager for the city—a man who oversaw the construction of various buildings. It was a low-key job, and he kept his head down. Morgan had no memory of him ever having any problems with anyone, at work or otherwise.
"Who is this?" Morgan demanded, her voice tense and sharp as a razor's edge. "Tell me who you are right now."
There was a pause on the other end of the line, then the call disconnected abruptly, leaving her standing in the diner with nothing but the low hum of static to keep her company.
"Damn it," she hissed under her breath, slamming the receiver back onto the wall-mounted phone. Her heart raced, adrenaline coursing through her veins like fire.
"Everything alright?" asked the waitress, eyeing Morgan with concern.
