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The silence hungheavy around them—a stark contrast to the chaos that had consumed the last fewhours at headquarters. Every unsolved case left a mark on Morgan, but this onegnawed at her insides with particular ferocity. Rachel King's life teetered on theedge, and every second they spent wading through the gloom was a second shemight not have.
Morgan's tattoositched against the fabric of her shirt, each one a scar from her past—a pastshe'd been dragged through hell to leave behind. Her footsteps echoed off thestone, rhythmic and determined. They reminded her of her time in prison—the waysounds can become your only companions in solitary darkness.
Her heartthrummed against her ribcage, each beat a reminder of the race against time.Derik moved beside her, the light bobbing as he scanned the shadows. She couldsee the fatigue etched in the lines of his face, the weight of too manysleepless nights and battles with his own demons. But there was also resolve,and Morgan felt a thread of forgiveness pull tighter. Their shared history wascomplicated, marred by betrayal, but here, in this moment, they were united bya single purpose.
"Keep youreyes peeled," Morgan whispered, her voice barely carrying over thestillness. "He's here... I can feel it."
Derik noddedsilently, his gaze never leaving the dark expanse ahead. They pressed on,deeper into the tunnel's belly, the outside world a distant memory now.
A sound—a cough,muffled and desperate—pierced the silence. It was subtle, yet in the tomb-likeconfines of the tunnel, it rang out like a clarion call. Morgan's head snappedin the direction of the noise, her senses honing in. Adrenaline surged through herveins, propelling her forward.
"Didyou—" Derik began, but Morgan was already sprinting toward the sound, herboots splashing through shallow puddles that reflected their frantic lights.
"Rachel!"she called out, her voice echoing off the tunnel walls, her throat tight withurgency.
As they rounded abend, the scene that unfolded before them slashed through the darkness withvisceral clarity. Simon Cartwright stood with his back to them, his handsclasped around Rachel King's throat, pinning her against the cold stone wall.Rachel's feet dangled above the ground, her struggles weakening as life wasbeing squeezed out of her.
"Federalagents! Drop her, now!" Morgan barked, her service weapon drawn in onefluid motion.
The man turnedhis head slightly, acknowledging their presence with a chilling calmness thatdidn't match the violence of his actions. His grip didn't falter, his fingerspressing cruelly into Rachel's flesh.
"SimonCartwright, release her or we will open fire," Derik warned, his own gunaimed and steady despite the tremor Morgan knew was shaking him inside.
Cartwright's eyeslocked onto Morgan's, a silent battle waged in that unflinching gaze. She couldsee the madness there, the fervent belief in whatever twisted ideology had ledhim to take these women's lives. Morgan's finger tensed on the trigger, her resolvesteeling.
"No moreinnocent lives," she hissed, her voice echoing ominously in the tunnel."It ends here, Cartwright."
Morgan recognizedthat look on Rachel's face. It was fear, yes, but more than that – it was theunderstanding of one's mortality when faced with an inevitable end. Through herown time in prison and within the bowels of this very darkness, she'd seen thatlook many times before, etched into the faces of women who had nothing left tolose but their lives.
"Lastchance," she warned, keeping her weapon trained steadily on Simon as sheslowly approached him. Her instinct was screaming at her to take the shot rightthere and then, but something held her
back. It was theimage of Rachel, her eyes wide and pleading, that stilled her hand; theconsequence of misfiring was too real, too fatal.
“Morgan,” Derikcalled out in a low voice, his concern simmering just beneath his professionaldetachment.
She didn’t reply,her entire focus on Simon Cartwright. As she moved closer, the hum of ancientenergies beneath the earth seemed to resonate louder in her ears—the presenceof ley lines serving as a grim reminder of the academic turned murderer she wasdealing with.
“Let her go,Cartwright," Morgan spoke again, her voice steady—deadly. "You don'thave to do this."
A wild laughechoed through the tunnel, bouncing off the walls and sending a shiver down herspine. "Do you think I'm afraid?" Simon's voice was chilling, a coldwhisper that defied his manic laughter. "I'm not afraid of death. Are you?"
The wordsresonated deeply within Morgan. Death had been a close companion in herlife—her father's untimely passing, the murder case that landed her inprison—it all coalesced into a bitter memory.
She tightened hergrip on her gun, aiming at Cartwright’s center mass. Her breath hitched as sheprepared herself for what was about to happen.
Simon's wiryframe trembled with fury as he released Rachel, his plan foiled. The ragecontorted his angular features, the shadows casting monstrous versions of himalong the tunnel walls. "You don't understand," he hissed, the wordsslithering out like venom. "They have to be cleansed!"
"Yourcleansing ends now," Morgan spat back, every muscle in her lean bodytensed for action. She thought of the women who had been lost, their voicessilenced because they dared speak against the darkness. And she wouldn't letRachel be the next.
But just asMorgan was about to rush in—Simon darted in the opposite direction,disappearing into the darkness behind.
CHAPTER TWENTY THREE
Morgan's instinctscreamed, urging her forward as the killer vanished into the dark tunnel.
If he got away,this would be for nothing. He’d hurt more people.
Morgan couldn’tlet that happen.
