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Still, when she looked at his face, she couldn’t help but feel a tug of familiarity. His sharp green eyes, his black hair slicked back the way it usually was, but messier than he used to hold it. The stress was evident on his face, but still, he was as handsome as he always had been. Morgan slapped herself for even thinking about it.
She had to remind herself of who he was now… the same guy who desperately stopped her car on the highway not long ago to stop her from driving into a trap, a trap he’d set. He got points for stopping it, of course, but Morgan wasn’t about to open back up.
Instead, she kept things casual so she could focus on her job:
"It is what it is, Greene," she replied, her voice tight with frustration. "What do we have?"
"Car crash," he said, gesturing towards the mangled vehicle wrapped around a pole. "But the victim… well, you should see for yourself."
Morgan steeled herself and peered through the shattered window. A woman, no older than thirty-five, sat slumped in the driver's seat. Her eyes were glassy and unseeing, her mouth twisted in a final expression of terror. But it was her hands that caught Morgan's attention – gloved and glued to the steering wheel, just like the others.
"Jesus," she breathed, feeling a wave of nausea rise in her throat. This was the fourth victim in as many weeks, and the pattern was unmistakable. "It's definitely him, isn't it?"
"Seems likely," agreed Derik, his brow furrowed in concern. "We won't know for sure until forensics has had a proper look, but I'd bet my badge on it."
"Dammit." Morgan clenched her fists, her nails biting into her palms. The killer was escalating, growing bolder with each attack. How many more lives would be lost before they could stop him?
"Hey," Derik said gently, touching her arm. "We're going to catch this guy, Morgan. I promise."
"Are we?" she asked, her voice thick with doubt. "Because it feels like we're always one step behind."
"Maybe," he admitted. "But we've got a good team working on this. And we've got you – the best damn agent I know."
"Flattery won't solve this case, Derik." Despite herself, she felt a small smile tug at the corner of her lips. It was nice to know he believed in her, even if she didn't always believe in herself.
"Maybe not," he conceded, returning her smile. "But it might just help keep us going until we do."
Morgan took a deep breath, forcing herself to focus on the task at hand. "Alright," she said, determination settling over her like armor. "We have an ID yet?"
"Clarissa Watkins," Derik said, breaking the silence as he read from a small notebook. "Thirty-two years old. This is her car."
Morgan glanced at him, taking in the grim expression on his face. "What happened to her?"
"According to the coroner's preliminary report, she was dead before the impact with the pole." Derik closed the notebook and pocketed it. "Looks like our killer struck again."
Morgan felt a chill run down her spine. She eyed the gloves on Clarissa's hands, the way they seemed unnaturally fused to the steering wheel. "Make sure forensics tests those gloves," she instructed Derik. "If this is the work of the same killer, then the poison in the gloves is what did her in, just like the others."
"Right away." Derik nodded, motioning for a nearby officer to alert the forensics team.
Morgan studied the scene in front of her, looking for any sign that could lead them closer to the person responsible for these heinous acts. Her mind raced as she tried to piece together the victim's final moments.
Morgan took a step back, feeling woozy. The hangover from the night before was still wreaking havoc on her system. She blinked against the intrusive sunlight filtering through the trees, and that's when she saw him.
Down the street from where Clarissa Watkins' car was parked, there was a bar with chipped paint and a neon sign flickering in the morning light. Standing outside the entrance, barely visible against the shadows cast by the old brick building, was a man. He appeared to be watching the crime scene from afar, his features too indistinct to make out any details. But something about his form was familiar.
"Derik," she called quietly, her gaze locked on the distant figure. "Do you see that guy down by the bar?"
Derik squinted in the direction she indicated. "Yeah, I see him. Why?"
"I can't shake this feeling..." Morgan trailed off, her mind racing. This wasn't the first time she'd felt like someone was watching her at a crime scene. It was as if they were always one step ahead, lurking in the shadows just beyond her grasp.
"Feeling?" Derik prompted, his eyes narrowing in concern.
"Like we're being watched," she admitted, the words tasting bitter on her tongue. "Every crime scene we've been at, I can't help but feel like there's someone observing us."
"Could be a coincidence," Derik offered. "You know how things are, people always want to get a look at a crime scene."
But when Morgan looked back, the man was gone. Maybe he went inside the bar, or maybe he just disappeared.
