Page 22

The engine roared as Morgan pushed the accelerator to the floor, her knuckles white on the steering wheel. Dallas streets blurred past, the familiar grid of the city warping into a dizzying maze as her mind raced faster than the car. She was wrong. So goddamn wrong about everything.

And she had thought about it. All the pieces suddenly snapping into place with sickening clarity. Sarah's bitterness, her anger at the system that had failed her friend. The way she'd clung to her story about Keller for two decades, refusing to let it go.

"Shit," Morgan hissed, swerving around a slower car. The precinct loomed ahead, its stolid brick facade offering no comfort. Gregory Phillips was in there. Alone. With a killer.

Her mind flashed to the crime scene photos. Rachel Martinez, splayed out like a broken doll. The man in the park curled into himself as if seeking protection even in death. How long had Sarah been planning this? How long had that rage been festering inside her, twisting her into something monstrous?

Morgan's stomach churned. She'd looked Sarah in the eye, had felt sympathy for her loss. And all along...

The tires screeched as she whipped into the parking lot, the car fishtailing slightly before she brought it under control. She barely remembered to throw it into park before she was out the door, sprinting toward the entrance.

"Agent Cross?" The desk sergeant's confused voice barely registered as Morgan barreled past him.

The station was eerily quiet, most of the officers still out searching for Whitaker. Morgan's footsteps echoed in the empty hallways as she raced toward the holding cells. Her heart pounded in her ears, drowning out everything else until—

A muffled thud. The scrape of something heavy against the floor.

"No," Morgan breathed, picking up speed. "No, no, no."

She skidded around the corner, nearly losing her footing on the polished linoleum. The holding area came into view, and with it, the sounds of a desperate struggle.

Morgan's hand flew to her hip, reaching for her weapon, only to close on empty air. She'd left her gun in the car, too frantic to remember it in her rush.

"Dammit," she snarled, sprinting the last few yards to the cell. She had to stop this. She had to make it right.

Because if Gregory Phillips died, it wouldn't just be Sarah's fault. It would be hers too. She'd brought them here, thinking she was protecting them. Instead, she'd locked an innocent man in a cage with a killer.

Just like she'd been locked away all those years ago.

The irony wasn't lost on her as she reached for the cell door, praying she wasn't too late.

Morgan's eyes widened in horror as she took in the scene before her. Sarah Winters, her face contorted with rage, straddled Gregory Phillips on the cold concrete floor. Her hands were wrapped around his throat, fingers digging into the soft flesh with a savage intensity. Gregory's face had turned an alarming shade of purple, his eyes bulging as he weakly clawed at Sarah's wrists. His legs kicked feebly, but it was clear his strength was fading fast.

"Get off him!" Morgan shouted, her voice raw with panic.

Sarah didn't even flinch, her focus entirely on the man beneath her. Gregory's struggles grew weaker by the second, his eyes starting to roll back in his head.

"Shit," Morgan hissed, fumbling with her key ring. Her hands shook as she tried to find the right key, precious seconds ticking away. "Come on, come on!"

Finally, she jammed the correct key into the lock, twisting it with such force she was afraid it might snap. The second she heard the telltale click, Morgan threw her weight against the door, nearly stumbling as it swung open.

Without hesitation, she lunged at Sarah. Morgan's fingers dug into the woman's shoulders, using every ounce of strength she had to wrench her off of Gregory. The sudden movement caught Sarah off guard, and she toppled backwards with a startled yelp.

"What have you done?" Morgan demanded, her voice barely above a whisper as she stared at Sarah in disbelief.

Sarah's eyes, wild and unfocused, locked onto Morgan's. For a moment, Morgan saw a flicker of the grief-stricken woman she'd interviewed earlier. But it was quickly consumed by something darker, more primal.

"What needed to be done," Sarah snarled, her chest heaving. "What you should have done years ago."

Morgan's jaw clenched, a familiar anger rising in her chest. She knew all too well the corrosive power of injustice, how it could eat away at a person until there was nothing left but rage. But she'd fought against it, clawed her way back from that abyss.

Sarah, it seemed, had embraced it entirely.

Sarah's feral scream pierced the air as she lunged at Morgan, her nails raking across Morgan's forearm. The sudden pain caught Morgan off guard, and she stumbled back, barely maintaining her grip on Sarah's shoulders.

"You don't understand!" Sarah shrieked, twisting violently in Morgan's grasp. "He knew! He knew and he said nothing!"

Morgan gritted her teeth, struggling to keep Sarah contained. The woman's strength was shocking, fueled by a raw, unhinged fury that seemed to have been brewing for years.

"Sarah, stop!" Morgan commanded, but her words fell on deaf ears.

Sarah threw herself forward, her eyes fixed on Gregory's motionless form. Morgan's muscles strained as she grappled with the woman, desperately trying to keep her from reaching her target.

"Derik!" Morgan shouted, her voice strained. She could feel her control slipping. "I need backup!"

As if summoned by her call, Derik burst into the cell. His green eyes widened as he took in the scene, quickly assessing the situation.

"I've got her, check on Phillips!" Morgan managed to get out between labored breaths.

Derik nodded, dropping to his knees beside Gregory. The older man lay slumped on the floor, his skin an alarming mix of blue and angry red. Morgan's heart clenched at the sight, a grim reminder of how close they'd come to losing him.

"Come on, Greg," Derik muttered, pressing two fingers to Gregory's neck. He swore under his breath, then immediately began chest compressions.

As Morgan struggled with Sarah, her mind raced. How had she misread the situation so badly? She'd been so focused on Whitaker, on the ghosts of her own past, that she'd overlooked the danger right in front of her.

"You were supposed to protect us!" Sarah screamed, her voice raw with pain and accusation. "Where were you when we needed you?"

The words hit Morgan like a physical blow. She'd asked herself the same question countless times during her years in prison. Where had justice been when she needed it?

"I'm here now," Morgan said, her voice low and steady. "And this isn't the way, Sarah. This won't bring them back."

Morgan's muscles strained as Sarah thrashed beneath her, every movement a testament to years of pent-up rage and desperation. The woman's screams echoed off the concrete walls, a cacophony of pain and fury that seemed to reverberate through Morgan's very bones.

"Stop fighting," Morgan grunted, using her body weight to pin Sarah to the cold floor. She could feel Sarah's nails digging into her forearms, drawing blood, but she didn't loosen her grip. "It's over, Sarah. It's done."

But Sarah was beyond reason, beyond hearing. Her eyes were wild, unfocused, seeing something—or someone—far beyond the confines of the cell. Morgan recognized that look. She'd seen it in the mirror during her darkest days in prison, when the weight of injustice threatened to crush her.

With a grunt of effort, Morgan managed to wrench one of Sarah's arms behind her back. The cuffs felt impossibly heavy in her hands as she fumbled to secure them.

"Derik?" she called out, her voice tight with exertion. "How's Phillips?"

"Still working on him," Derik replied, his own voice strained. "Just get her restrained."

As the first cuff clicked into place, Sarah let out an animalistic howl. "You don't understand! None of you understand!"

"I understand more than you know," Morgan muttered, finally snapping the second cuff closed. She allowed herself a moment of relief, her chest heaving as she caught her breath.

But Sarah wasn't done. Even restrained, she continued to scream and writhe, her words dissolving into incoherent sobs. Morgan felt a twinge of pity beneath her determination. This woman had been carrying her pain for two decades, letting it fester and grow until it consumed her entirely.

Morgan's heart pounded as she watched Derik work, his hands moving with practiced efficiency over Phillips' still form. The seconds stretched, each one feeling like an eternity. She found herself holding her breath, willing Phillips to respond.

Suddenly, Phillips' body jerked. A ragged gasp tore from his throat, followed by a series of harsh, wracking coughs. Derik quickly tilted Phillips' head back, clearing his airway.

"That's it, breathe," Derik encouraged, his voice rough with relief. "You're okay, Phillips. Just keep breathing."

Morgan felt her muscles unclench, just slightly. The knot in her stomach loosened, but didn't fully dissolve. They'd come so close to losing him. Too close.

A sound behind her made Morgan's skin crawl. Sarah was laughing. It wasn't the laughter of joy or even hysteria. It was hollow, devoid of any real emotion. The sound of something irreparably broken.

"You should have let him die," Sarah spat, her eyes locked on Morgan. "He deserved it. They all deserved it."

Morgan turned, grabbing Sarah's arm. "Let's go," she said firmly, steering the still-laughing woman toward the door.

As they moved, Morgan caught Derik's eye. He gave her a small nod, silently communicating that he had things under control with Phillips. Morgan returned the nod, grateful for their wordless understanding. It was one of the things she valued most about their partnership, both on and off the job.

"Twenty years," Sarah muttered as Morgan led her from the cell. "Twenty years of lies and cover-ups. And for what? To protect a murderer?"

Morgan remained silent, her jaw clenched. Sarah's words hit too close to home, echoing her own thoughts about the corruption that had stolen a decade of her life. But Morgan had chosen a different path. She was seeking justice, not vengeance.

As they walked down the corridor, Sarah's laughter faded into quiet sobs. Morgan felt the weight of the situation pressing down on her. She'd stopped Sarah, saved Phillips, but at what cost? The pain that had driven Sarah to this point was still there, raw and festering.

Morgan thought of her own quest for answers, the letter from her father burning a hole in her pocket. She wondered, not for the first time, how close she was to becoming Sarah—consumed by the need for justice, willing to cross lines she'd once thought uncrossable.

"It's over now," Morgan said softly, more to herself than to Sarah. "It's done."