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Just then, a cacophony of sound filled the air—choppers sweeping low overhead, their searchlights slicing through the darkness. Morgan felt a brief surge of hope. They were closing in on him; she could feel it. But where?
As Morgan ventured further, the quaint lakeside houses gave way to vast expanses of open land. She found herself on the outskirts of the community, surrounded by nothing but rolling fields and the distant glimmer of the lake.
A crackling static noise broke through the tense silence, and Morgan's radio sprang to life. "Agent Cross, do you copy? We have a potential sighting of the van near the north side of the lake. Proceed with caution."
"Copy that," Morgan replied, her heart racing. This was it—the moment she'd been waiting for. With renewed determination, she floored the accelerator, her car speeding toward the lake and the showdown that awaited.
Morgan's eyes darted back and forth, scanning the landscape for any sign of the van. Sweat trickled down her forehead, the result of both nerves and the oppressive heat. The sun was setting, casting long shadows across the fields and painting the sky in hues of orange and pink. Time was running out.
"Come on, come on," she muttered under her breath, her voice taut with frustration.
And then she saw it—a flash of white through the trees, a glint of metal reflecting the dying rays of sunlight. The van.
Finally.She breathed, relief flooding her veins as she steered the car to the side of the road.
Adrenaline pumped through her body as she leaped from the driver's seat and sprinted toward the van. Her heart hammered against her ribs, each beat echoing her desperate need to find Sarah alive.
"Please be okay," she whispered as she reached the van, her hand trembling as she yanked open the door. "Damn it!" Morgan hissed, her hopes dashed in an instant. The van was empty, devoid of any trace of either kidnapper or victim. Greg had already taken Sarah somewhere else.
Think, Morgan, think,she urged herself, her mind racing as she scanned the area. There had to be a clue here—something that would lead her to Sarah.
"Agent Cross, what's your status?" The voice crackled through her radio, jolting her back to reality.
"Found the van," she replied, struggling to keep the bitterness from her voice. "It's empty. He's moved her."
"Understood," the voice replied, somber and grim. "We'll send backup to your location. Keep searching."
"Copy that," Morgan said before clipping the radio back onto her belt.
Where are you, Greg?she thought, her gaze sweeping over the desolate landscape.And where the hell have you taken Sarah?
She paced around the van, her eyes raking over the ground for any clue that might help her find them. "Time to get creative."
As the last remnants of sunlight faded from the sky, Morgan Cross knew that the clock was ticking louder than ever. And she wouldn't rest until she'd found Sarah Johnston and brought Greg Folger to justice.
Panic gripped Morgan's chest like a vice as she sprinted toward the lake, her breath coming in ragged gasps. She could hear her heartbeat pounding in her ears, drowning out the distant hum of the choppers overhead. The waning light cast eerie shadows through the trees, making it difficult to see anything clearly.
As she burst through a final clump of trees, the scene that greeted her was both breathtaking and terrifying. A rocky crag loomed above the lake, far higher than she'd anticipated. Jagged rocks jutted out from its unforgiving surface, and below, the dark waters churned ominously.
"Sarah!" Morgan called out, her voice barely audible over the roar of the wind. "Can you hear me?"
But there was no response. Only the howl of the wind and the foreboding echo of the lake answered her desperate plea.
She knew Greg was unstable, unpredictable, but there had to be a reason he'd chosen this spot for his twisted game.
"Agent Cross, any sign of them?" a voice crackled through her radio, snapping her back to reality.
"Negative," Morgan replied, her eyes scanning the crag for any hint of movement. "I'm at the lake now. It's...he's taken her up there, on the cliff. I just know it."
"Alright, be careful," he warned. "We've got your back, but remember, he's dangerous."
"I know," Morgan said, her knuckles white around the radio. "But I can't just stand here and wait. I have to try."
With that, she began her treacherous ascent up the rocky crag, every step a calculated risk as she searched for any signs of Greg and Sarah. Her heart pounded in her chest, fear and adrenaline fueling her determination.
And then she heard it – a scream, shrill and terrified, slicing through the chilling wind. It spurred Morgan into action, her muscles screaming in protest as she pushed herself up the last few feet to the edge of the cliff.
As she crested the ridge, her eyes locked onto the horrifying scene before her. There, at the edge of the precipice, stood Greg Folger. He was holding Sarah by her wrists, her body dangerously close to the edge of the cliff. The wind whistled through the air, whipping Sarah's hair around her face, her wide eyes filled with terror.
