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CHAPTER THIRTY
Morgan's heart pounded in her ears like a drumbeat as she sprinted towards the saw, the smell of sweat and sawdust filling her nostrils. Her instincts took over, honing in on the lever that would save Mary. Panic surged through her veins as the blade crept closer to the young woman's trembling hands.
Please, God, let me make it in time,Morgan prayed silently.
With one last burst of speed, she reached the lever and yanked it hard. The grinding noise of the saw came to an abrupt halt as the machine shuddered to a stop. Mary collapsed onto the conveyor belt, her body wracked with sobs. Relief washed over Morgan for just a split second before she registered the sound she had dreaded.
A gunshot echoed through the workshop, reverberating off the walls and freezing Morgan's blood in her veins. She spun around, adrenaline surging anew, and found herself staring down the barrel of a gun held by none other than Joe Dancer.
"Joe," Morgan spat, her voice filled with disgust. "You sick bastard."
"Agent Cross," Joe sneered, his eyes cold and devoid of any empathy. "I knew you'd come running."
Morgan fought to keep her fear from showing. She needed to stall him, give Derik a chance to figure out what was happening. Every second counted. "What do you want, Joe? Why involve Mary in this twisted game of yours?"
"Game?" Joe laughed, a chilling sound that sent shivers down Morgan's spine. "This is no game. This is justice."
"Justice?" Morgan scoffed, anger flaring within her. "You think killing innocent women is justice?"
"Innocent?" Joe's grip tightened on the gun, his knuckles turning white. "They were all liars and manipulators. I merely exposed them for who they truly were."
"By taking their lives?" Morgan countered, her voice trembling with rage. "You're the monster here, Joe. Not them." Inside, she was screaming for Derik to hurry, to come to her aid before it was too late.
"Enough!" Joe snarled, his finger twitching on the trigger. "You have no idea what it's like to be betrayed and used, Agent Cross. To have your life ripped apart by someone you trusted."
Morgan's heart pounded in her chest as she stared down the barrel of Joe's gun, its cold menace mirrored in his icy blue eyes. She could see the sweat glistening on his brow even as he fought to keep his expression emotionless.
"Should have stayed out of it, Morgan," Joe growled, his voice barely above a whisper. "You don't understand what I'm doing."
"Enlighten me, then," Morgan challenged, her voice steady despite her racing pulse. "Tell me why you're doing this."
"Simple," he replied, a twisted grin curling his lips. "I'm ridding the world of fakes."
As Joe spoke, Morgan noticed that he was still wearing the gloves she'd seen him with earlier – the same gloves he'd used to deliver his unique brand of 'justice.' She remembered how he'd mentioned a skin condition and wondered if this was more than just a tool for his killings – whether it was part of his motivation.
"Those gloves," she said, trying to keep her tone conversational. "Is that why you chose them? The skin condition?"
"Does it matter?" Joe spat, his grip on the gun tightening. "The gloves are just a means to an end."
"But they mean something to you," Morgan pressed, searching for any glimpse of humanity left within him. "They represent something deeper."
"Enough!" Joe snarled, his finger twitching dangerously on the trigger. "Your attempts at psychoanalysis won't save you now."
Morgan swallowed hard, knowing she was walking a thin line between life and death. She had to find a way to stall him, to give Derik time to reach them. Every second counted.
"Joe," she said softly, allowing her fear to show for the first time. "Whatever pain you've suffered, whatever darkness you've experienced, this isn't the way to make it right. Killing won't heal your wounds."
"Shut up!" he roared, his eyes wild with rage. "You don't know me! You don't know what I've been through!"
"Maybe not," Morgan conceded, her voice still gentle and empathetic. "But I know that there's a part of you that doesn't want to do this. The part that's crying out for help."
For a moment, she thought she saw a flicker of doubt in his eyes, a brief hesitation as he considered her words. But then his expression hardened once more, and the cold, merciless killer returned.
"Too late for that, Agent Cross," Joe whispered, his finger tightening on the trigger. "Far too late."
As the tension in the dimly lit woodshop thickened, Morgan knew she needed to keep Joe talking, to buy time for Derik to come to her aid. The sound of Mary's whimpering and the rhythmic drip of water from a leaking pipe filled the silence between them. Beads of sweat formed on Morgan's brow as she stared down the barrel of Joe's gun, her heart pounding in her ears.
"Joe," she said, her voice steady despite her fear. "Why do youreallywear the gloves? You're hiding yourself, aren't you?"
