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Morgan hesitated, pride warring with the aching pain in her head. Finally, she nodded, knowing that she needed to take care of herself if she wanted to see this case through to the end. "Fine. But call me the second you find anything."
"Deal," Derik agreed. "Take care of yourself, Morgan. We'll catch him."
As she walked away, Morgan's thoughts swirled around the victims, the embalmed birds, and the looming threat of Adam Sallow. She knew they were closer than ever to catching the killer, but her own vulnerability nagged at her. Now wasn't the time for weakness, but she would be useless if she didn't take a breather now. Putting her pride aside, Morgan headed home.
CHAPTER TWENTY
Evening had settled, casting a dim glow through the curtains of Morgan's living room. The throbbing in her head made it difficult to focus, but she was determined to learn more about Adam Sallow. She sat on her couch with a glass of water, squinting at her laptop screen as she scrolled through his file.
"Adam Sallow," Morgan muttered under her breath. "Age thirty-one." The ID photo displayed a young man with a distinct scar across his face and a missing eye, making him easily recognizable. His mother lived in Dallas, while Adam himself remained unemployed after a series of odd jobs at gas stations and the bird sanctuary. With his father's house fully paid off, he lived there rent and mortgage-free.
"Quite the character," she said, rubbing her temples. Her phone lay beside her, silent and devoid of any updates. She clenched her teeth, itching to get back out there and hunt down Adam herself. However, her raging headache held her back.
Maybe a drink will help, she thought, pushing herself up from the couch and heading to her alcohol cabinet. A glass of scotch might take the edge off and numb the pain just enough for her to concentrate. She poured a generous amount and took a burning sip. The warmth bloomed in her chest, providing some small comfort.
As she sat back on the couch, her heart ached with an unfamiliar loneliness. Skunk wasn't here to greet her or curl up beside her. She'd grown so used to his presence that the emptiness of her home weighed heavily on her.
"Damn it," she whispered, taking another sip of her scotch. The silence of her phone continued to gnaw at her, serving as a constant reminder of the unfinished business lurking in the shadows. She couldn't afford to just sit here, not when a killer was still on the loose.
She clenched her fists, feeling the familiar fire of determination rise in her chest. The pain in her head would have to wait; she had a job to do, and nothing was going to stand in her way.
Morgan glanced at her phone again, the screen still devoid of any updates. Her headache intensified, but she couldn't just sit around doing nothing. She hesitated for a moment before dialing Thomas' number.
"Come on, pick up," she muttered under her breath as the phone rang. Each unanswered ring heightened her anxiety, and she clenched her free hand into a tight fist. Finally, his voicemail greeted her, and she hung up without leaving a message. "Damn it, Thomas. Where are you when I need you?" Morgan whispered, feeling the room spin around her. The nausea hit her suddenly, making her stomach churn. She brought a hand to her forehead, the drowsiness creeping in like a heavy fog.
As her eyelids grew heavier, she heard a loud crash from the front door. Adrenaline surged through her in an instant, momentarily banishing the weariness.
Footsteps pounded against her hardwood floor, and she forced herself to stand, swaying unsteadily. Two shadowy figures burst into her living room, their fists flying as they grappled with each other. Morgan squinted, trying to discern who they were, but her vision was too blurred.
"Who...?" she managed to choke out, her voice barely above a whisper. She tried to move closer, but her legs gave out beneath her. Crumpling to the floor, she fought desperately to maintain consciousness, her heart hammering in her chest.
Stay awake, Morgan. You have to stay awake, she urged herself, but her body refused to obey. As the sounds of the violent struggle echoed around her, darkness swallowed her vision, and she finally succumbed, slipping into unconsciousness.
CHAPTER TWENTY ONE
The clinking of glasses and the murmur of conversation filled the dimly lit bar in downtown Dallas as Alexandra wiped sweat from her brow. It had been a long night, and the constant rush of customers kept her on her feet. She glanced at the clock, relieved to see that she'd be off soon. The prospect of an early night brought a small smile to her tired face. If only bartending didn't pay so well... she needed the money, but she despised the job.
"Hey, can I get a beer?" a man asked, approaching the counter. Alexandra nodded and grabbed a cold bottle from the fridge, expertly popping the cap off as she slid it towards him. As she did so, she could feel his eyes studying her. The weight of his gaze made her skin crawl, but she kept her expression neutral, bracing herself for what was sure to follow.
"Your skin is quite unique," the man remarked, leaning in slightly. "Were you born like that or did something happen?"
Doing her best not to let her irritation show, Alexandra replied matter-of-factly, "I was born this way. It's a condition that causes the pigment in my skin to be patchy. So, I have some dark spots and some very pale spots."
"Wow, that's... exotic," he said, a smirk playing on his lips.
"Your beer is six dollars," Alexandra responded curtly, refusing to entertain his intrusive curiosity any further. Internally disgusted, she couldn't help but wish for her shift to end even sooner.
As she accepted his payment and handed him his change, she silently counted down the minutes until she could escape the suffocating atmosphere of the bar and retreat to the sanctuary of her home. Away from prying eyes and unwanted attention, she could finally relax and leave behind the exhausting task of serving strangers who felt entitled to comment on her appearance.
With a sigh of relief, Alexandra noticed the man had left a generous tip on the counter. Her annoyance with him subsided slightly, as she realized that every little bit helped in her quest to save up enough money to finally move out and live without a roommate. She pocketed the tip, feeling a small but significant victory in an otherwise exhausting night.
"Hey, Alexandra!" called her boss from across the bar, "You're off in five minutes. Start wrapping things up."
"Thanks," she replied, grateful for the reminder. Counting down the minutes, she began to tidy the counter and gather her belongings, eager to escape the relentless hum of conversation and clinking glasses.
As the clock ticked down, another man approached the bar. At first, he seemed like any other patron, but as he turned his head to reveal his right side, Alexandra caught sight of a distinct scar running down his face. His eye socket appeared sunken, as if something was missing beneath. Despite her own unique appearance, this man's features took her aback, and she couldn't help but stare for a moment before regaining her composure.
"Can I get you anything?" she asked, trying to sound casual despite her curiosity.
