Page 18

The precinct buzzed with a frenetic energy that set Morgan's teeth on edge. Fluorescent lights cast a harsh glow over the bullpen, illuminating the tense faces of officers as they moved with purposeful strides. The incessant chatter of radios and ringing phones created a cacophony that grated on her nerves.

Morgan stood rigid near the front desk, her arms crossed tightly over her chest. The weight of her gun at her hip was a cold comfort. Her dark eyes scanned the room, taking in every detail, searching for any hint of a threat.

"Where are you, you bastard?" she muttered under her breath, her mind racing through possibilities. The image of Whitaker standing over Vanessa's body flashed unbidden in her mind, and she clenched her jaw.

Officer Ramirez approached, his brow furrowed. "Agent Cross, we've got units canvassing a five-mile radius. Nothing yet."

Morgan nodded curtly. "Keep me posted. He can't have gotten far."

As Ramirez walked away, Morgan's thoughts drifted to the letter from her father. Was he really alive? And if so, why reach out now, after all these years? She shook her head, forcing herself to focus on the present threat.

"Come on, Whitaker," she whispered. "Make a move."

As if in answer to her challenge, the radio on the nearby desk crackled to life. The dispatcher's voice cut through the din, an undercurrent of urgency in her tone.

"All units, be advised. We have a confirmed sighting of James Whitaker. Suspect spotted three blocks east of the precinct, heading north on foot."

Morgan's body tensed, adrenaline surging through her veins. She locked eyes with Derik across the room, a silent communication passing between them.

"Shit," she hissed, her mind already formulating a plan. "He's coming here."

Officer Chen approached, his face grim. "Agent Cross, what are your orders?"

Morgan's gaze hardened, her voice steady as she issued commands. "Lock down the building. No one in or out without my express authorization. I want a team ready to move in five."

As Chen hurried to comply, Morgan turned to Derik, who had made his way to her side.

Morgan's stomach plummeted as the realization hit her like a freight train. The pieces clicked into place with terrifying clarity. "Shit," she muttered, her eyes widening. "He's coming back to finish the job."

Her mind raced, the tattoos on her arms seeming to writhe with her growing tension. Sarah Winters and Gregory Phillips flashed in her thoughts, their faces etched with fear and uncertainty. They were here, in this very building, vulnerable despite the illusion of safety.

Without a moment's hesitation, Morgan spun on her heel, her voice cutting through the chaos of the precinct. "Derik!" she called out, her partner's head snapping up at her tone. "With me. Now."

As Derik fell into step beside her, Morgan's long strides ate up the distance to the secured room. Her heart pounded in her ears, each beat a reminder of the stakes. Whitaker had already silenced one witness. There was no doubt in her mind he'd do it again.

"What's the play?" Derik asked, matching her pace.

Morgan's jaw clenched. "We move them. Whitaker's already proven he can get to people under protection. We can't take any chances."

They rounded a corner, the secured room now in sight. Morgan's hand instinctively went to her weapon, the cold metal a comforting presence against her palm.

"You think he'd really try to hit them here?" Derik's voice was low, tinged with disbelief.

Morgan's dark eyes flashed with a mixture of determination and barely contained rage. "After what I've seen? After what I've been through? I wouldn't put anything past these bastards." The bitterness in her voice was palpable, a reminder of the ten years stolen from her.

As they approached the door, Morgan paused her hand on the handle. She turned to Derik, her expression softening for just a moment. "We protect them, no matter what. I won't let anyone else become a victim because of this twisted game."

Derik nodded, understanding the weight behind her words. With a deep breath, Morgan pushed open the door, ready to face whatever waited on the other side. The hunt for Whitaker had just become a race against time, and she was determined to win. For the victims, for justice, and for her own peace of mind.

The door swung open with a soft click, revealing a scene of restless tension. Sarah Winters paced the length of the room, her arms crossed tightly over her chest, each step radiating frustration. In stark contrast, Gregory Phillips sat motionless in the corner, his vacant stare fixed on a point only he could see.

Morgan's entrance drew their attention immediately. She could feel their eyes on her, searching her face for any sign of news or hope. The tightness in her jaw and the rigid set of her shoulders told them all they needed to know before she even spoke.

"We need to move. Now." Morgan's voice was clipped, brooking no argument. She scanned the room, assessing potential threats out of habit. "Whitaker's been spotted nearby."

Sarah's pacing halted abruptly. "What? He's here?" Her voice wavered between disbelief and fear.

Morgan nodded grimly. "Too close for comfort. And you two are the only ones left who can tie him to what happened in the past." She locked eyes with each of them in turn, driving home the gravity of the situation. "If he gets into this building, he's coming for you."

Phillips finally stirred, his face pale. "But... but we're safe here, aren't we? This is a police station, for God's sake."

"Nowhere is completely safe," Morgan countered, her mind racing through contingencies. She thought of Thomas, gunned down right in front of her. Of herself, framed and imprisoned for a decade. The memory fueled her resolve. "We're not taking any chances. Not with your lives."

Sarah's eyes narrowed. "So what's the plan? Where are you taking us?"

Morgan hesitated for a split second. She knew what she had to do, but she also knew it wouldn't be an easy sell. "There's a place in the building where Whitaker won't be able to reach you. It's secure, it's monitored, and it's our best option right now."

She could see the questions forming on their lips, the objections ready to spill out. But there wasn't time. Every second they delayed was a second Whitaker could be getting closer.

"I know you have questions," Morgan cut them off before they could start. "I know this isn't ideal. But right now, staying alive is what matters. Everything else can wait."

The urgency in her voice seemed to finally penetrate their shock. Phillips nodded slowly, while Sarah's fists clenched at her sides. Morgan could see the internal struggle playing out on her face.

"Sarah," Morgan said, her tone softening slightly. "I know you're frustrated. I know you want answers. But I can't get those answers if you're dead. Please, trust me on this."

Sarah's hands balled into fists, her knuckles turning white with the intensity of her grip. Morgan watched as a kaleidoscope of emotions flickered across the woman's face—anger, disbelief, and finally, a flicker of doubt. It was that last emotion that caught Morgan's attention, a hairline crack in Sarah's previously unshakeable conviction.

"This is insane," Sarah spat, her voice trembling slightly. "Whitaker can't be—he was a detective, for God's sake!"

Morgan's jaw tightened. She understood Sarah's reluctance to accept the truth; she'd been there herself, unable to believe that her own colleagues could betray her. But they didn't have time for denial.

"Sometimes the people we trust the most are the ones who hurt us the worst," Morgan said, her voice low and tinged with the bitterness of experience. "I know it's hard to accept, but right now, we need to focus on keeping you safe."

She turned to Phillips, expecting to see his usual stoic demeanor. Instead, she was met with a man who looked utterly shaken. His face had gone pale, and his eyes darted nervously around the room as if expecting Whitaker to materialize at any moment.

"He's really coming for us, isn't he?" Phillips whispered, his voice barely audible.

Morgan nodded grimly. "Yes, and that's why we need to move. Now."

She took a deep breath, steeling herself for what she knew would be an unpopular decision. "Listen carefully. The safest place for you right now is a holding cell."

"What?" Sarah exclaimed, her eyes widening in disbelief.

Morgan held up a hand, cutting off any further protests. "I know how it sounds, but hear me out. Those cells are designed to keep people in, but right now, they'll work just as well keeping someone out. No one gets in, no one gets out without my say-so."

She watched as the realization sank in for both of them. Phillips seemed to deflate, resignation settling over him like a heavy blanket. Sarah, on the other hand, looked ready to argue, her body tense and coiled like a spring.

Morgan's mind raced, weighing the risks. Every second they delayed was a second Whitaker could be getting closer. She couldn't let her promise to protect them be broken by their own stubbornness.

"I'm not asking," Morgan said, her voice firm but not unkind. "This isn't about your comfort or your pride. It's about survival. Whitaker has already killed one witness. I won't let him get to you two as well."

She met their gazes, one after the other, willing them to understand the gravity of the situation. "You're the only ones left who can tie him to the past. If he gets into this building, you'll be his first target. I can't protect you if you're out in the open."

The silence that followed was heavy, charged with unspoken fears and reluctant acceptance. Morgan could almost see the gears turning in their heads, weighing their options—which, in reality, were non-existent.

Finally, Phillips spoke, his voice barely above a whisper. "Okay. If you think it's best."

Sarah's jaw clenched, but after a moment, she gave a sharp nod. "Fine. But this doesn't mean I believe Whitaker is guilty."

Morgan felt a wave of relief wash over her, quickly replaced by renewed determination. "Understood. Now, let's move. Quickly and quietly. Stay close."

Sarah's eyes narrowed, her pride visibly wrestling with the reality of their situation. Morgan could practically see the internal struggle playing out across her face. The woman's fingers twitched at her sides, as if itching to refuse, to fight back against the idea of being locked away.

But then Phillips gave a slow, resigned nod, and Sarah's resolve wavered.

Morgan seized the moment, her voice low and urgent. "Listen, I have the only key. This isn't about locking you up like criminals. It's about keeping you safe." She leaned in, her dark eyes intense. "Just until we catch Whitaker. That's all I'm asking."

The tattoos on Morgan's arms seemed to ripple as she gestured, a physical reminder of the years she'd spent wrongfully imprisoned. She knew better than anyone the weight of being locked up, but she also understood the necessity of survival at all costs.

"And what if you don't catch him?" Sarah challenged, her voice barely above a whisper.

Morgan's jaw tightened. "We will. But right now, I need you both out of harm's way so I can focus on bringing him in."

Phillips cleared his throat. "She's right, Sarah. We'd just be liabilities out there."

Sarah's shoulders slumped, the fight draining out of her. She exhaled sharply, the sound cutting through the tense silence. "Fine. Let's get this over with."

Relief flooded through Morgan, quickly replaced by a renewed sense of urgency. "This way," she instructed, leading them towards the back of the station.

As they walked, Morgan's mind raced. The weight of responsibility pressed down on her, threatening to suffocate. She'd been framed once before and spent a decade behind bars for a crime she didn't commit. Now, she was willingly putting two innocent people in cells. The irony wasn't lost on her, but she pushed the thought aside. This was different. This was necessary.

They reached the holding area, the reinforced metal doors looming before them. Morgan's fingers brushed against the mechanical lock, a small comfort in its simplicity. No fancy electronics here, nothing that could be hacked or overridden. Just cold, reliable steel.

"In you go," she said, her voice softer than she intended.

Phillips stepped inside first, his movements slow and deliberate. Sarah hesitated at the threshold, muttering something under her breath that sounded suspiciously like a curse. Finally, she entered, sinking onto the bench with a resigned sigh.

Morgan watched them, her heart heavy. "I'll be back as soon as I can," she promised, her hand resting on the door. "Try to get some rest if you can."

As she prepared to close the door, a sudden, chilling thought struck her. What if Whitaker had already infiltrated the station? What if, in her attempt to protect Sarah and Phillips, she was actually trapping them?

Morgan shook her head, forcing the paranoia away. No, this was the right call. It had to be. Because if it wasn't, she'd never forgive herself.

The heavy door swung shut with a resounding clang, the sound echoing through the narrow corridor. Morgan's fingers trembled slightly as she turned the key in the lock, the mechanism sliding into place with a final, decisive click. She stepped back, her hand lingering on the cool metal for a moment before she pressed the key deep into her pocket.

"It's done," she murmured, more to herself than anyone else. Her gaze swept over the locked door one last time, a mixture of relief and unease churning in her gut.

As she turned, her eyes met Derik's. He stood by the exit, his lean frame taut with tension, green eyes sharp and alert. The sight of him steadied her, as it always did.

"You ready?" he asked, his voice low and urgent.

Morgan nodded, squaring her shoulders. "Let's end this."

They moved swiftly through the precinct, the air thick with anticipation. Officers bustled around them, their faces grim and determined. Morgan could feel the weight of their expectations pressing down on her.

"Whitaker's out there," she said as they reached the main doors. "And he's not going to wait for us to find him."

Derik's hand brushed against hers, a fleeting touch of reassurance. "We've got this, Morgan. We'll bring him in."

She met his gaze, seeing the unwavering support there. It both comforted and unsettled her. How many times had she shut him out of her plans, her vendetta against those who framed her? And yet, here he was, steady as ever.

"I know," she replied, her voice softer than she intended. "I just... I can't shake this feeling that we're missing something."

As they stepped out into the morning light, the city sprawled before them, oblivious to the danger in its midst. People hurried along the sidewalks, clutching coffee cups and briefcases, their faces set in the usual morning scowls.

"They have no idea," Morgan muttered, her eyes scanning the crowd. "No idea that a killer is walking among them."

A team of local officers fell in behind them, their radios crackling with updates. Morgan's mind raced, possibilities and scenarios flashing through her thoughts. Where would Whitaker go? What was his endgame?

As they climbed into their vehicle, Derik's hand on the wheel, Morgan felt a surge of determination. "This ends today," she said, her voice hard with resolve. "One way or another, we're bringing Whitaker in."

The engine roared to life, and they pulled away from the curb, merging into the flow of traffic. Morgan's eyes never stopped moving, searching every face, every shadow. Somewhere out there, Whitaker was waiting. And she'd be damned if she let him slip away again.