CHAPTER TWENTY

Morgan hunched over the conference table, her dark hair falling like a curtain around her face as she squinted at the stack of papers before her. The harsh fluorescent lights of the FBI conference room cast deep shadows under her eyes, making the exhaustion etched on her features even more pronounced. Names and addresses blurred together, each one representing another potential victim, another life hanging in the balance. Beside her, Derik rubbed his temples, the perpetual crease between his brows deepening with each passing minute, his tie loosened and sleeve cuffs rolled up after hours of work.

"This list is a goddamn nightmare," Morgan muttered, pushing back from the table with a frustrated sigh that seemed to come from her very bones. The metal chair legs scraped against the linoleum floor, the sound harsh in the pre-dawn quiet. Her gaze flicked to the clock on the wall – 2:37 AM. The red digits seemed to mock her, a reminder of another sleepless night spent chasing shadows. They'd been at this for hours, combing through the names Dahlia Maddox had reluctantly handed over, each one a story of promise turned to ash.

The coffee in her cup had long since gone cold, leaving behind a bitter residue that matched her mood. Former prodigies, she thought, scanning another page. Once destined for greatness, now scattered to the wind like leaves in a storm. The metaphor felt appropriate – these people had been swept away by forces beyond their control, their brilliant futures dimmed by circumstance, addiction, or simple cruel fate.

Derik grunted in agreement, his green eyes bloodshot from lack of sleep. He ran a hand through his disheveled sandy hair, leaving it standing up in awkward spikes. "Half these addresses are probably outdated. And the ones that aren't..." He trailed off, shaking his head as he reached for his own coffee cup, grimacing at the cold liquid inside. "Addicts, burnouts, psych cases. It's like a who's who of wasted potential."

The words hit Morgan like a physical blow. She knew all too well what it was like to have your life derailed, to watch your future crumble before your eyes. Ten years in prison had a way of stripping away any illusions of fairness or justice in the world. She could still remember the cold bite of handcuffs, the hollow sound of the cell door closing, the way her colleagues – people she'd trusted, people she'd called friends – had turned their backs on her. But this was different. These were innocent people, targeted for their failings, punished for not living up to some twisted ideal of success.

She pushed to her feet, unable to contain her restless energy any longer. The conference room felt too small suddenly, the walls pressing in as she paced the length of the room like a caged animal. Her boots clicked against the floor in a sharp rhythm that matched her racing thoughts as she tried to piece together the killer's motives. The parchment notes left at each crime scene, the carefully crafted references to each victim's former talents – it was like some sick game, a twisted celebration of their fall from grace.

"We need to narrow it down," she said, turning back to Derik with sudden intensity. Her dark eyes burned with determination as she pressed her palms flat against the table, leaning forward. "Focus on the ones who fit the profile. The addicts, the ones with mental health issues. Anyone who's fallen off the radar completely. There has to be a pattern we're missing."

Derik nodded, already reaching for a stack of files with renewed purpose. His movements were precise despite his exhaustion, years of FBI training evident in his methodical approach. "I'll start cross-referencing, see if any of them have ties to the previous victims. Maybe there's a connection we overlooked."

Morgan watched him work for a moment, a flicker of guilt twisting in her gut like a knife. The fluorescent lights caught the silver at his temples – when had that appeared? She knew she'd been shutting him out lately, keeping him at arm's length as she pursued her own agenda against Cordell and the corrupt agents who'd framed her. But now, with lives on the line, she couldn't afford to let her personal vendetta cloud her judgment. They needed to be a team again, like they'd been before everything went to hell.

She moved back to the table, sinking into a chair beside him. The familiar scent of his aftershave mixed with coffee brought back memories of countless late nights working cases together, back when trust came easily and the world seemed simpler. "I'm sorry," she said quietly, her voice rough with exhaustion and emotion she usually kept buried. "For pushing you away. I know you're just trying to help."

Derik glanced up at her, surprise flickering in his eyes. A decade of partnership had taught him how rare these moments of vulnerability were from Morgan. "It's okay," he said softly, his pen stilling on the page. "I get it. This case, everything that's happened...it's a lot to handle. Even for you."

Morgan swallowed hard, fighting back the sudden sting of tears. She wasn't used to this, to letting her guard down, to letting someone see past the tough exterior she'd built up like armor. But with Derik, it felt safe. It felt right. He'd been there through everything – her conviction, her release, her fight to clear her name. He'd never stopped believing in her, even when she'd given him every reason to walk away.

She reached out, covering his hand with her own, feeling the warmth of his skin against her palm. "We'll get through this," she said, her voice fierce with determination. "We'll find this bastard before he hurts anyone else. I promise you that."

Derik squeezed her hand, a small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth, the familiar gesture speaking volumes about their shared history. "Damn straight we will."

Morgan's fingers flew across the keypad of her phone, her sharp voice cutting through the quiet hum of the office as she coordinated with local police to conduct welfare checks on the former prodigies. Each call felt like another grain of sand slipping through an hourglass, time running out for potential victims they hadn't even identified yet. Her brow furrowed as she listened to the responses, a mix of relief and growing unease churning in her gut.

"Yes, thank you, Officer. Please keep me updated on the status of the others." She ended the call, her lips pressed into a tight line, the weight of responsibility settling heavy on her shoulders.

Derik glanced up from his own phone, his green eyes shadowed with concern. The lines around his mouth deepened as he read her expression. "Any luck?"

"Some of them are accounted for," Morgan replied, her fingers drumming restlessly on the table, a nervous habit she'd picked up in prison. "Confused as hell about why the FBI is suddenly interested in their safety, but they're alive." Each confirmation of life felt like a small victory, but the silence from others echoed ominously in her mind.

"And the others?"

Morgan shook her head, a cold knot of dread twisting in her stomach. "Radio silence. Police are en route to check on them now." The words tasted bitter in her mouth, like the dregs of the cold coffee she'd been drinking all night.

Her gaze drifted back to the list of names, one in particular seeming to leap out at her: Tara Lin. The young woman had once been a rising star in the chess world, her brilliance unmatched. Morgan had read her file three times, each detail burning itself into her memory – national champion at twelve, grandmaster at fifteen, then the slow spiral into addiction, the missed tournaments, the pawned trophies. But addiction and personal demons had dragged her down, snuffing out that bright potential like a candle in a storm.

Morgan had been tracking Tara from the start of the investigation, a nagging instinct telling her that the former chess champion could be the killer's next target. With a growing sense of urgency, she dialed Tara's number, her foot tapping impatiently as it rang once, twice, three times. Each unanswered ring sent her heart rate climbing higher.

No answer.

She tried again, her heart beginning to pound as the call went straight to voicemail. Tara's cheerful greeting felt like a mockery now, echoing in her ear as she quickly checked the woman's records. Her car was still parked at her last known address, just a short drive from the office. The simplicity of that fact felt ominous, like the calm before a storm.

"She's not answering," Morgan said, the words clipped and tense as she turned to Derik. Her hand unconsciously moved to the gun at her hip, seeking reassurance in its solid presence. "Something's wrong. I can feel it."

Derik's brow furrowed, his own unease mirroring her own as he pushed back from the table. "You think he's got her?"

"I don't know, but we can't take that chance." Morgan was already on her feet, shrugging into her leather jacket with practiced efficiency. "Her place is just across town. We need to go. Now."

Derik nodded, grabbing his own coat as he fell into step beside her. They moved swiftly through the empty halls of the FBI headquarters, their footsteps echoing in the pre-dawn silence. The urgency of the situation crackled in the air between them like static electricity before a lightning strike.

As they climbed into the car, Morgan's mind raced with the possibilities of what they might find at Tara's house. Years of experience had taught her to prepare for the worst while hoping for the best, but something about this case felt different. Personal. She tried to push down the rising tide of dread, focusing instead on the action ahead.

She glanced over at Derik as he started the engine, his jaw tight with tension. The dashboard lights cast shadows across his face, highlighting the worry lines that hadn't been there when they'd first become partners. Despite everything that had happened between them, all the pain and betrayal, she knew he had her back. He always did.

Together, they sped off into the night, the city blurring past them as they raced against the clock to reach Tara before it was too late. Morgan's hand tightened on the grip of her gun, a silent prayer running through her mind. The streetlights cast intermittent shadows through the car windows, like a strobe light marking the passage of time they couldn't afford to waste.

Hold on, Tara. We're coming.

Just as they were about to turn onto the main road, Derik's phone buzzed, the sound sharp and startling in the tense silence of the car. He glanced at the screen, his eyes widening. "It's a tip," he said, his voice tense with suppressed excitement. "From one of our contacts. They think they might have a lead on the killer."

Morgan's heart skipped a beat, her pulse thundering in her ears. A lead. After all this time, all the dead ends and false starts, they finally had something concrete. But her thoughts immediately turned to Tara, the image of the former chess prodigy's face haunting her mind. They couldn't abandon her, not when she could be in imminent danger.

Derik seemed to read her thoughts the way he always could. "What do we do?" he asked, his eyes flicking between the road and Morgan. The question hung heavy in the air between them. "We can't ignore this, but Tara..."

Morgan chewed her lip, her mind racing through scenarios and possibilities. Every instinct told her to go to Tara to make sure she was safe. But if this lead was real, if it could take them to the killer... The weight of the decision pressed down on her like a physical force.

"We split up," she said finally, the words feeling like lead on her tongue. It went against everything they'd been taught about partner safety, but they were running out of options. "You follow the lead. I'll go check on Tara."

Derik looked like he wanted to argue, the muscle in his jaw twitching as he fought back words of protest. But he knew as well as she did that they didn't have a choice. Time was slipping away with every second. "Okay," he said, his voice rough with concern. "But be careful, Morgan. If he's there..."

She nodded, not trusting herself to speak. They both knew the risks. But this was their job. This was what they did. The unspoken fear of losing each other hung in the air between them, heavy with memories of close calls and sacrifices made in the line of duty.

Derik pulled over, the car idling quietly as Morgan unbuckled her seatbelt. She paused for a moment, her hand on the door, looking back at him. So much passed between them in that glance, a thousand words they didn't have time to say. Years of partnership, trust, and something deeper neither of them had ever dared to name.

"I'll see you on the other side," she said finally, a ghost of a smile on her lips. It was their old ritual, words they'd exchanged countless times before dangerous situations.

Derik returned the smile, his eyes soft with an emotion that made her heart ache. "Count on it."

With that, Morgan slipped out of the car, the cool night air hitting her face like a wake-up call. She stood for a moment, watching as Derik sped off into the night, his taillights disappearing around a corner. She took a deep breath, squaring her shoulders, and turned towards Tara's house. The street was quiet, too quiet, and somewhere in the distance, a siren wailed.

The hunt was on.