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"Skunk, stay here," she instructed, her voice low and steady as she rose from her seat. The Pitbull lifted his head, his dark eyes following her movements with concern.
She moved quickly through the cabin, pulling the curtains closed with a swiftness born of years spent looking over her shoulder. As each window was covered, a small part of her mind protested that she was being paranoid, that there was no one out there. But another, more primal instinct urged her to take precautions, to remain vigilant against the darkness that seemed to press in from all sides. And the truth was, she felt better with all the curtains closed.
Morgan sank back into the worn cushions of the couch, her fingers absently tracing the edge of the glass tumbler in her hand. The amber liquid inside sloshed gently as she stared into the dancing flames of the fireplace, their warmth casting flickering shadows across the dimly lit room.
As she tried to focus, thoughts of her partner, Derik Greene, snuck back into her mind. It was Derik who had betrayed her trust, working with the people who had possibly framed Morgan, attempting to trick her and get rid of her a second time. But Morgan knew now that they had something on Derik--his son, who even Morgan hadn't known about. She understood Derik's plight, and in the end, he had risked everything to inform Morgan that she had been walking into a trap.
It only confused her more. Morgan still didn't trust Derik. He still hadn't informed her who these men could be, but it was entirely possible that he truly didn't know. Derik was a pawn to them too...
"Damn you, Derik," she murmured, allowing herself a moment to think about her partner. Betrayal was an all-too-familiar companion in her life, but somehow, Derik's had stung more than most. She'd trusted him – perhaps even cared for him – and he'd lied to her. She swished the scotch around her glass before taking another slow sip. Her thoughts drifted back over the past year, remembering the countless cases they'd solved together, the late nights spent poring over files and evidence in search of justice for the victims. He'd become more than just a partner; he'd been her friend. And now... what? Could she ever trust him again?
"Skunk, what do you think?" she asked softly, glancing down at the Pitbull, who lay curled up beside her. His dark eyes met hers, offering nothing but loyalty and understanding. "Can I really trust him after everything?"
The dog let out a low whine, his gaze never leaving hers.
Morgan sighed, shaking her head. "You're right," she agreed, trying to ignore the raw ache in her chest. "I can't afford to be foolish."
She took another drink, the burn of the scotch chasing away some of the cold that seeped into her bones. For a moment, she allowed herself to imagine what it would be like to let someone in again, to open herself up to the possibility of trust. But the memories of betrayal, of prison bars and shattered dreams, were too strong. She couldn't risk it.
"Never again," she whispered, her voice barely audible above the crackling fire. She drained the last of the scotch from her glass, her eyelids growing heavy as the warmth of the alcohol spread through her body. Sleep slowly overtook her, pulling her down into its dark embrace as she lay there on the couch, the ghost of Derik's betrayal still haunting her thoughts.
Skunk shifted closer to her side, his warm body a solid presence against the chill of the night air. Together, they slipped into a restless slumber, the shadows in the cabin offering no comfort or solace to either of them.
CHAPTER TWO
The next day, the aroma of sizzling onions and garlic filled the cabin's modest kitchen as Morgan busied herself with chopping tomatoes and bell peppers for her spaghetti dinner. While she was no culinary expert, she found a certain solace in the rhythmic act of cooking, the way it demanded just enough focus to keep her thoughts from straying too far into the darkness that always seemed to linger at the edges of her mind. She'd slept poorly last night, but that was nothing new, and had spent the entire day chopping wood and going through her father's belongings. So far, she'd found nothing of importance, only memories.
Skunk lay on the floor nearby, his eyes tracking her every movement with an eager intensity that suggested he was hoping for a dropped morsel or two. She smiled down at him, grateful for the simple, uncomplicated love he offered.
"Maybe I ought to teach you how to cook," she joked, tossing him a scrap of chicken that he caught mid-air. "Then I could put my feet up and relax for a change."
Just as she was reaching for the salt, her phone rang, its shrill tone jarring against the peaceful atmosphere she'd been trying to cultivate. Frowning, she wiped her hands on a dish towel and checked the screen.
"Deputy Director Irvin?" she muttered, puzzled by the unexpected call. It had been ages since she'd last spoken to him. Hesitantly, she swiped to answer. "Sir?"
"Agent Cross," Irvin's voice was warm and fatherly, like she remembered it. It had been a while since they'd spoke. Irvin was the one who'd made Morgan an agent again after her time in prison. "It's good to hear your voice," he said. "I've heard about the solid work you've been doing recently. You're making us proud."
"Thank you, sir," she replied, taken aback by the praise. "But if you don't mind me asking, why are you calling? I'm on vacation."
"Ah, yes. Your well-deserved time off." He chuckled softly, and Morgan couldn't help but feel a prickle of unease. "I apologize for disturbing you, but there's a matter I'd like to discuss."
Morgan's grip on the phone tightened, her knuckles turning white. She glanced at Skunk, who seemed to have caught on to her tension and was now watching her with concern. "What kind of matter, sir?"
"Something I believe you'll want to hear about," he said cryptically.
Morgan's heart raced as she anticipated Irvin's response, the tension in her shoulders making it difficult to maintain a casual stance. Skunk whined softly, pawing at her leg as if trying to offer comfort. She scratched his head absentmindedly, her focus on the phone call.
"Agent Cross," Irvin began, his voice grave. "I know you're on vacation, but I'm afraid we could use your help. Mueller is temporarily off, and I've taken over in Dallas. Something's come up that requires your attention."
The words hung heavy in the air, and Morgan felt her stomach tighten. Surely, they would have waited until she returned from vacation if it wasn't something important. She gritted her teeth, frustration bubbling beneath the surface.
"Sir, with all due respect, I earned this time off. Can't someone else handle it?" Her voice was firm but respectful – she didn't want to appear ungrateful for the break, but she couldn't help feeling cheated out of her hard-earned rest.
Irvin sighed on the other end of the line, the sound filling Morgan's ear like a gust of wind. "I understand your concerns, Cross, but our resources are stretched thin, and your expertise is needed. I wouldn't ask this of you if it wasn't absolutely necessary."
Morgan closed her eyes, her jaw clenched as she fought the urge to argue further. She knew that people depended on her, both within the FBI and those affected by the cases she worked on. Her sense of duty warred with her need for respite, an internal battle raging within her.
"Fine," she finally conceded, exhaling sharply. "What's going on?"
