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"Really, Thomas? Now?" she snapped, her tone laced with frustration. But beneath it all, there was an undercurrent of reluctant amusement.
"Hey, can't blame a guy for trying," he replied, his grin never faltering. "But in all seriousness, I'll do my best. There has to be something we can do.""
Morgan sighed, rubbing her temples as she struggled to maintain her focus. This case was quickly spiraling out of control, and the stakes were higher than ever. She needed answers, and she needed them now.
"Look, Thomas," she said, her voice softening. "I know you're just trying to lighten the mood, but we're running out of time. If there's even a chance that this camera can give us something, anything, to work with, we have to try. People are dying."
Thomas's expression sobered, and he nodded solemnly. "I understand. I'll give it everything I've got. But I hope you'll think about my offer."
"Fix the camera," she said finally, her voice steady despite the rapid pounding of her heart. "And I'll do you one better – I won't write you up for insubordination."
"Deal," Thomas replied with a smirk, clearly unfazed by Morgan's attempt to regain control of the situation. He turned his attention back to the damaged camera, carefully prying open the casing with a set of delicate tools.
Morgan watched him work, her thoughts a whirlwind of conflicting emotions. She had spent years building up walls around herself, both in prison and after her release. Admittedly, it felt nice to be noticed, to be seen as something other than a hardened FBI agent. But she couldn't afford distractions, not now when lives were on the line and time was running out.
Morgan left the room, feeling both relieved and slightly unsettled by the brief exchange with Thomas. She needed everyone to be at their absolute best if they were going to catch the person responsible for these murders, and distractions like that could be costly.
Back in the living room, the grim sight of the victim's body greeted her once more. The woman's hands were still tightly encased in the oven mitts, glued together by some unknown substance. As she examined the gloves again, searching for any clue that might lead them closer to the killer, Derik approached her.
"Hey, Morgan," he said softly, his eyes filled with determination. "I think I might have an idea about these gloves. Follow me."
Morgan hesitated for a moment, her trust in Derik still shaken after everything they'd been through. She eyed Derik warily, the lines around her eyes deepening as she tried to gauge his sincerity. She could see a flicker of hurt flash across his face before he masked it with determination. It pained her not to trust him fully, but what other choice did she have?
"Alright," she finally said, trying to keep her voice steady. "Show me what you've got."
Derik led her through the house, his steps measured and focused. Morgan followed closely behind, her mind racing with possibilities. What had he discovered about the gloves? Could it be the breakthrough they desperately needed?
As they navigated the narrow hallway, framed family photos seemed to watch them pass – happier times now marred by tragedy. Morgan couldn't help but feel a pang of sympathy for the victim's husband and children; their lives forever changed by the actions of a heartless killer.
"Here," Derik said, turning into a small, cluttered office, where he had his laptop open. "I found an online forum for glove enthusiasts. Some of them are experts in identifying specific materials and techniques used in making gloves."
Morgan raised an eyebrow, surprised but intrigued. "And you think they could tell us something about our killer?"
"Maybe," Derik replied, a determined glint in his eye. "It's worth a shot, right?"
She nodded, unable to deny the possibility. If there was even a slim chance that this lead could bring them closer to catching the murderer, they had to explore it. "Alright, let's do it."
"Great," Derik said, opening up the forum on the laptop. "I already signed up for an account. We can post pictures of the gloves and see if anyone recognizes the material or has any other insights."
Morgan watched as Derik uploaded the images, his fingers typing with practiced ease. She couldn't help but admire his resourcefulness and determination to solve the case, even if their working relationship had been strained lately.
"Okay, it's up," Derik announced, hitting the 'post' button. "Now we wait for responses."
Morgan glanced at the screen, her heart pounding in anticipation. Would this be the breakthrough they needed? As the minutes ticked by, she found herself silently praying that one of these glove enthusiasts would recognize something important.
And maybe, just maybe, once this case was behind her, she could find a way to rebuild the trust between her and Derik – one small step at a time.
Suddenly, the sound of a notification beeped from Derik's laptop. Morgan leaned closer, her eyes scanning the reply. It was from a user named GloveExpert69, and her heart raced as Derik read the message aloud.
"This reminds me of a Steinberg piece," he said. "Steinberg?" Derik said, confused.
Morgan took out her phone and looked up 'Steinberg' online, relating it to Dallas. Her screen flooded with results, none of them concrete.
Then she typed 'Steinberg' and 'gloves.'
That brought up a more clear picture.
Photos of sculptures flooded her screen.
