CHAPTER ONE

The world around Morgan slowed to a crawl, each heartbeat echoing in her ears as she watched Thomas’s body disappear beneath the murky surface of the water. Time felt elastic, stretching out the moment into an unbearable eternity. Her breath hitched, lodged somewhere in her throat like a lump of lead. The sharp crack of the gunshot still reverberated in her mind, a cruel reminder of what had just happened—what she had just witnessed.

"Thomas!" The word slipped from her lips, raw and desperate, but it felt hollow in the void left behind. She blinked hard, willing the scene before her to come into focus, to rearrange itself into something more bearable. A bad dream, maybe. Just a nightmare she could shake off when morning came. But no matter how many times she rubbed her eyes or shook her head, the truth remained stubbornly real: Thomas was shot, and now he was sinking into the depths.

She felt frozen, anchored by disbelief and the icy air that stung her face. It was supposed to be a simple meeting, a chance to finally confront the man who’d once betrayed her and now shared her vendetta against Richard Cordell. They were supposed to be allies, united against a common enemy. But now? Now he was gone.

The pier creaked ominously beneath her feet as if sensing her turmoil. She couldn't stand here like some unmoored statue, waiting for someone to tell her what to do next.

Morgan barely registered Derik’s voice, a distant echo in the chaos of her thoughts. Everything felt surreal—like she was trapped in some twisted dream where the rules of reality had been discarded. Her body remained frozen, heart pounding like a drumline in her chest, as the world around her contorted into a blur of shadows and sounds. The water rippled darkly beneath the pier, swallowing Thomas whole, and with him, all the fragile trust she had begun to build.

"Get down!" Derik's shout cut through her haze, sharp and urgent. She didn’t have time to process before he tackled her to the ground, slamming her against the slick wood planks.

The jolt snapped her back to the present, shoving aside the fog of disbelief. She tasted salt on her lips—a mix of adrenaline and the remnants of tears she hadn’t shed yet.

"Move!" he growled, and they scrambled up together, the cold bite of the autumn air stinging her skin as she pushed off the ground. Every instinct screamed at her to run, but the reality of their situation settled in like a lead weight. Someone was shooting at them. The realization sent a shiver down her spine that had nothing to do with the temperature.

"Did you see where it came from?" she shouted, scanning the area, her breath hitching in her throat. The pier stretched out ahead, dark and deserted, an open target. The gunshot had echoed across the water, leaving only the rustle of the wind in its wake. She couldn’t afford to think about Thomas right now. He was gone—she had to put that aside.

"Not sure," Derik replied, his voice steady despite the panic radiating from them. "But we don’t have time to stick around!"

Another crack shattered the night, a bullet whizzing past them with a sickening whistle. Morgan flinched, instinctively ducking lower. “Shit!” she spat, adrenaline igniting her senses. They were still standing there like idiots, waiting for the next round to find its mark.

"Run!" Derik yelled, and they took off, feet pounding against the wooden boards, slipping slightly as they raced toward safety. Morgan felt the cold sting of the air rushing past her, a reminder that she was alive, that she needed to keep moving. The memories of prison and betrayal faded momentarily; survival was the only thing that mattered now.

"Where the hell is this guy?" Morgan gritted her teeth, glancing over her shoulder, half-expecting to see the sniper perched somewhere, grinning like the devil himself. But the shadows offered no answers, only uncertainty. Each step felt like a countdown; she could almost hear the rifle reloading behind them, the metallic click echoing in her mind.

"Focus!" Derik urged, his green eyes alight with determination. “We need cover!”

"Yeah, no shit!" Morgan shot back, her pulse thrumming in her ears. They reached the end of the pier, and her instincts kicked in. Without thinking, she barreled toward a row of nearby crates stacked haphazardly, their rough edges jutting out like jagged teeth. It wasn’tperfect, but it would have to do. "Over here!" she yelled, diving behind the crates just as another shot rang out, splintering wood inches from where she’d just stood. The impact sent splinters flying, a reminder of how close death hovered. “Goddamn it, we can’t just sit here!”

"Maybe not," Derik panted beside her, “but we need a plan.” His eyes darted to the narrow space between the crates, assessing their options. He looked ready to bolt again, but she could see the gears turning—he was calculating risk versus reward, and she knew he wouldn’t abandon her.

"Then let's get back to the car and make it quick." Morgan clenched her fists, feeling the heat of anger rise within her. Whoever was out there was going to pay. She wouldn't let them take anyone else from her. Not again.

"On three," Derik said, steeling himself beside her. The determination etched into his face reminded her why they were in this together. “One… two…”

"Three!" Morgan shouted, springing up and sprinting out from behind the crates, adrenaline coursing through her veins. They needed to get out of the open, away from the pier. The night sky loomed above, dark and unforgiving, but she refused to let fear dictate her next move.

"Keep low!" Derik called out as they ran, the sound of their footsteps drowned out by the crashing waves behind them. Morgan could practically feel the sniper’s gaze upon them, dissecting their every move, but she pushed the thought aside. There would be time for fear later. Right now, there was only the rush of survival, and a burning desire to uncover the truth about who tried to kill them, and why.

They rushed toward the parking lot, where Derik had parked his car behind a shipping container. Morgan’s muscles burned as they reached the car and jumped inside—Derik behind the wheel, Morgan in the passenger seat.

The engine roared to life, and Morgan barely had time to buckle her seatbelt before Derik slammed the gas pedal down. The car shot forward, tires screeching against the asphalt as they tore away from the pier. Her heart thundered in her chest, matching the pounding of the engine. She glanced out the window, half-expecting a figure to emerge from the shadows, gun raised. But the streets remained vacant, the night air thick with tension and unanswered questions.

The bitterness tasted acrid on her tongue, but it was better than the nausea twisting in her stomach. Hell, she was starting to believe Thomas might actually help her take down Cordell. And now—now he was gone.

"We need to go back," she said, the words spilling out before she could think them through. Every fiber of her being screamed for revenge, to confront whoever had done this. “The shooter must still be there. We can catch him.”

"Are you insane?" Derik shot back, glancing at her with wide eyes. "You want to stroll back into sniper territory? You think that’s a good idea?"

"Better than sitting here like ducks waiting for a second round," she retorted, her voice rising. “We have to find the shooter! We can’t let them get away.”

"Do you hear yourself? You're talking about going back to a fucking war zone! And for what? To play hero?” He gripped the wheel tighter, knuckles pale against the leather. “We’re outgunned, Morgan. Outmatched. We need to regroup, call it in, get some backup.”

"Call the FBI?" She scoffed, disbelief flooding her veins. "You think they’ll help us? They'll probably throw us back in cuffs for stirring the pot. We’re already knee-deep in shit, Derik. They don’t care about us; they care about keeping their secrets safe."

"Then what do you suggest we do? Just run around like idiots pretending we know what we're up against?" His frustration was palpable, echoing off the car's interior. Morgan could see the glimmer of fear in his green eyes, the kind that made her heart ache. They’d both been through hell, but this was different. This was personal.

"Yeah, maybe we do." Morgan turned to meet his gaze, her own determination igniting. “We go back, find that shooter, figure out who he’s working for. It’s the only way to get answers about Thomas…and Cordell. We can’t let this slide.”

"Answers? Or revenge?" Derik countered, his voice low, almost a growl. "There's a difference, Morgan. One gets you killed; the other might just save your life."

"Revenge is a bonus." Morgan smirked, an edge of defiance rising within her. "But whatever it is, I’m not backing down. Not now. Not ever."

"You're stubborn." Derik sighed, shaking his head, but she could see the spark of understanding in his eyes. He knew her well enough by now; once she set her mind to something, there was no turning back. "Look," he said, pulling onto a quiet road lined with darkened storefronts. "I get it. I do. We can’t trust the FBI. You know that better than anyone." He paused, shooting her a meaningful look. "But we can’t handle this alone, either."

"Who says we need them?" Morgan countered, her voice steady despite the adrenaline coursing through her veins. "We’ve survived worse. Do you really think they’ll have our backs? They’re in on this!"

"They already know we were there! Whoever shot at us wouldn’t hesitate to come after us again. If we don’t get the authorities involved, we’re dead. And then what? No one knows what happened to us. Cordell will win, Morgan. Is that what you want? At the very least, we should talk to Mueller.”

Morgan's heart pounded in her chest as the night air enveloped her, cold and sharp. The pier loomed behind her, a treacherous stretch of wood now tainted with blood—Thomas’s blood. She could still hear the gunshot echoing in her ears, a haunting reminder of how quickly everything had spiraled into chaos. They were supposed to be gathering intel, not dodging bullets.

"Derik," she snapped, "we can’t call Mueller. He could be in on this too! You know how deep this goes."

"Yeah? And you think we’re going to figure it out by ourselves?" Derik shot back, his green eyes intense in the dim light of the car. "We’re playing with fire here, Morgan. We need someone who knows the game."

"Mueller is part of the game!" she spat, crossing her arms over her leather jacket. It felt like armor; it was all that stood between her and the raw vulnerability gnawing at her gut. "He has every reason to want me gone. What if he tips off Cordell?"

"If Mueller wanted you dead, why hasn’t he done it yet?"

"Maybe he’s just playing the long game." Morgan’s mind raced, conjuring up images of the FBI’s web of lies. All those years locked away, only to find that the very agency she had trusted had been her enemy. "What if he’s just waiting for the perfect moment to strike?"

"Or…" Derik paused, his voice steadying. "He could actually be on our side. Think about it, Morgan. If he really is corrupt, don’t you think he would’ve made his move when you were first out of prison? You can’t deny that he’s kept you alive so far. He’s kept you on, kept you working.”

"That doesn’t mean I trust him." Her voice came out sharper than intended, but the anger bubbling inside was righteous. She had spent ten years fighting against betrayal, and now, standing on the precipice of another one, she wasn’t keen on jumping in blind.

"Neither do I," Derik admitted, stepping closer, lowering his voice. "But we’re running out of options—fast. We just watched a man get shot, and you think keeping this under wraps is the answer? We need protection, and the only way to get it is by involving someone who has the resources to help us. More eyes on the situation means more chances to stay alive."

She hesitated. The thought of Thomas drifting, lifeless beneath the surface, twisted something inside her. “Fine,” she relented, though every fiber of her being protested. “But if this goes south, we bail. No second chances. We need to anonymously report the gunshot at the pier to the police now, so they can go find Thomas and gather evidence before someone tries to wipe it away.

"Agreed." Derik pulled out his phone, the glow illuminating his face, revealing the determination etched there. Morgan’s stomach knotted; she hated this feeling of helplessness, this reliance on someone else's judgment.

But Derik was right. Whoever had shot Thomas was clearly willing to go even further to silence him—and Morgan too. And now, that person had seen Derik was involved.

Maybe Mueller was the only one they could trust. Or maybe going to him would be the final nail in their coffin.