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"Jesus," Derik breathed, taking in the scene with a mixture of horror and fascination. "This is where he made the poison."
"Exactly," Morgan confirmed, her eyes locked on the gloves. Each one was a deadly instrument, capable of inflicting unimaginable pain and suffering. And they had Joe's fingerprints all over them. "We've got him now."
"Or he's got us right where he wants us," Derik countered, his voice tight with apprehension. He knew, as well as she did, that this was far from over.
"Either way," Morgan said, her gaze never leaving the gloves, "we're not giving up until we find him. No more mistakes. No more victims."
"Agreed," Derik replied, his resolve matching hers. "We'll bring him to justice, Morgan. I promise you that."
As they stood there amidst the darkness and decay, united by a common goal, Morgan allowed herself a small, bitter smile. They were closer than ever to ending Joe's reign of terror, but she knew the hardest part was yet to come. The final battle still loomed before them, and she could only hope they'd be ready when it arrived.
Morgan's heart thundered in her chest as she sprinted up the basement stairs, each step echoing her mounting urgency. She burst into the living room where Derik and the rest of the team were still searching for any trace of Joe. "I found his lab," she blurted out between breaths, her voice raw with determination. "He's our killer, no doubt about it."
"Where is he now?" Derik asked, his eyes narrowing in concern.
"God knows, but we need to find him. Fast." Morgan scanned the faces of the agents surrounding her, their expressions a mix of fear, anger, and resolve. "We've got the evidence we need. Now let's finish this."
As the team dispersed, their movements swift and efficient, Morgan couldn't shake the growing sense of dread that gnawed at her insides. If they didn't find Joe soon, another innocent life would be lost. And the weight of that failure would fall squarely on her shoulders.
CHAPTER TWENTY EIGHT
Morgan's heart pounded in her chest as she pushed open the heavy doors of the dimly-lit bar. The familiar scent of stale beer and worn leather filled her nostrils, but she had no time for nostalgia. Davis, the bartender, was wiping down the counter with a damp cloth, his brow furrowed in concentration.
"Back already?" He looked up, surprise flickering across his features as he took in Morgan's tense expression. "What can I do for you, Agent Cross?"
"Think, Davis," Morgan said, her voice urgent as she leaned against the bar, her knuckles turning white from the force of her grip. "Were there any women who spilled some big secret here at the bar? Ones I didn't show you earlier?"
Davis chewed on the inside of his cheek, his eyes darting around the room as if the answer might be scrawled on the walls in invisible ink. "I, uh...I'm not sure, Agent Cross. There were a lot of people who talked to Joe. A lot of secrets."
"Please, Davis," Morgan implored, her eyes locked onto his with a fierce intensity that made him shift uncomfortably. "It's crucial we find out if there are any other potential targets. You have to remember something, anything that could help us."
"Okay, okay," Davis stammered, his hands nervously twisting the edge of the damp cloth. "I'm trying to think. Just give me a second." He closed his eyes, his brow furrowing in concentration, and Morgan could practically see the gears turning in his head, sifting through countless memories of late nights and hushed conversations.
"Take your time," Morgan whispered, her fingers tapping an impatient rhythm against the polished wood of the bar. But inside, her thoughts screamed for answers, for the key that would unlock Joe Dancer's twisted game.
Davis's eyes snapped open, and he looked at Morgan with a sudden clarity. "Wait, there was one girl. It was just before Joe quit. She was young, maybe college-aged, and she told me she was dating her teacher. She said they were planning to elope, even though he had a family and kids."
Morgan leaned in closer, her heart pounding in her chest. "Tell me everything you remember about her. We need to find her."
"Okay, okay," Davis said, his voice cracking slightly under the pressure. He rubbed his temples, trying to summon the memory. "When she came in, she was pretty upset. Kept going on about how much she loved this guy, but felt guilty because of his wife and children. I remember checking her ID when she ordered a drink – her name started with an 'M,' like Mary or Marie or something."
"Did she say anything else about her relationship with her teacher?" Morgan asked, her mind racing as she tried to piece together the puzzle.
"Uh, not much," Davis replied, racking his brain for any details that might be helpful. "She mentioned that her teacher was helping her learn something out of the ordinary for someone her age, but I don't remember what it was exactly."
"Anything, Davis. Even the smallest detail could be important." Morgan's fingers drummed anxiously on the bar, her eyes never leaving his face.
"Let me think..." Davis closed his eyes again, taking a deep breath. After a few moments, his eyes opened and met Morgan's gaze. "Woodworking! That's what it was. He was teaching her woodworking, like building furniture and stuff. I remember thinking it was an odd hobby for a pretty young girl."
"Woodworking," Morgan repeated, the word settling heavily in her mind.
Morgan's eyes narrowed, her mind racing as she processed the new information. Woodworking was an unusual hobby for a young woman, especially one who had caught the eye of a man like Joe Dancer. She could sense that this detail would be crucial in finding their next potential victim.
"Thank you, Davis," Morgan said sincerely, her voice firm with determination. "You've given me something valuable to work with."
"Of course, Agent Cross. I hope it helps," Davis replied, a mixture of fear and hope evident in his expression.
As Morgan strode out of the bar, the afternoon sun casting long shadows across the sidewalk, she felt the weight of responsibility settle onto her shoulders. The woodworking detail gnawed at her thoughts, the pieces of the puzzle slowly starting to form a clearer picture. If she could just connect the dots, she might be able to save this girl before it was too late.
