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Morgan could see the anguish etched deep into every line of Joe's face, but she refused to let her resolve waver. His pain was real and raw, but that didn't excuse the atrocities he'd committed.
"Joe, I understand that you've been through hell," she said gently, trying to connect with the broken man before her. "But inflicting that same pain on others isn't going to make your own suffering any less. It's only going to create a cycle of misery."
"Enough!" Joe roared, his face contorted with fury. "You think you're so much better than everyone else, don't you? But you're just as fake as all the rest!"
The gun in his hand trembled as he swung it towards Morgan, and for the first time since their confrontation began, she felt a flicker of fear. She knew what she had to do – find a way to disarm him, both physically and emotionally.
But maybe, it was already too late. Morgan braced herself.
As the barrel of the gun lined up with her chest, time seemed to slow down. Every second stretched into an eternity, and Morgan's heart pounded in her ears like a war drum. She forced herself to remain outwardly calm, even as her mind screamed at her to act.
"Joe," she whispered, her voice steady despite the adrenaline coursing through her veins. "I'm not your enemy. I want to help you. But you have to trust me."
"Trust you?" Joe's laugh was bitter and hollow. "No one has ever given me a reason to trust them. Why should I start now?"
"Because I'm not just anyone," Morgan replied, her gaze never leaving his. "I'm someone who's been through the darkest depths of despair and come out the other side. I know what it's like to feel utterly alone in the world. And I want to make sure that no one else ever has to experience that pain."
"Too late for that," Joe sneered, his finger tightening on the trigger. "You're just as fake as the rest of them, and you need to be stopped."
"Joe, please—" Morgan began, her voice choked with desperation.
But there was no more time for words. The gun roared, and Morgan braced herself for the impact.
Just as the deafening bang of Joe's gunshot shattered the tense silence, the force of another shot reverberated through the woodshop.
Morgan blinked in surprise, feeling no pain. She glanced down to see Joe crumple to the ground, shock and confusion etched on his face.
Derik stood beside him, his gun smoking, and pointed right at him.
He'd stopped him. Morgan let out a breath of relief.
It was over.
CHAPTER THIRTY ONE
The sterile smell of the hospital filled Morgan's nostrils as she sat in the uncomfortable plastic chair of the waiting room. Her hands were balled into fists, knuckles turning white from the pressure. The fluorescent lights above her flickered ever so slightly, casting eerie shadows on the pale blue walls. Memories of her time in prison surfaced unbidden, and she shuddered, trying to push them away.
"Agent Cross?" a nurse called out softly, approaching her with a sympathetic smile.
Morgan looked up, eyes bloodshot from worry. She nodded, unable to muster a response.
"Mary is stable, and she's going to be okay," the nurse informed her gently. "She's resting now, but you can see her when she wakes up."
"Thank you," Morgan whispered, relief washing over her like a wave. She could feel some of the tension leave her body, but the uncertainty about Joe's condition kept her from completely relaxing.
As she sat there, lost in thought, her mind wandered back to that fateful moment when Derik had pulled the trigger. He hadn't wanted to do it, but he'd had no choice. Joe Dancer was a vicious killer, and he'd been inches away from another murder. It had been a split-second decision, and Morgan couldn't help but wonder if things could have gone differently. But at least Mary was safe. Joe's reign of terror was finally over.
"Derik did what he had to do," she murmured to herself, clenching her fists once more. The guilt gnawed at her insides, threatening to consume her. She wished there had been another way to end Joe's spree, but deep down, she knew that there was no reasoning with a man like him.
"Excuse me, are you Agent Cross?" a shaky voice interrupted her thoughts.
Morgan looked up to see a young woman with tear-streaked cheeks holding a worn teddy bear. She recognized her as Mary's sister and nodded.
"Thank you," the young woman whispered, her voice trembling. "For saving my sister."
Morgan reached out and gave her hand a gentle squeeze. Through her own pain, she knew that this was why she had become an agent in the first place: to protect and save vulnerable people like Mary.
"Your sister is strong," Morgan told her softly. "She's going to be okay."
