Page 3

The gravel crunched under the tires as Morgan pulled the truck into the driveway, the morning sun casting long shadows across the lawn. She cut the engine, her body heavy with exhaustion and disappointment. The events of the night replayed in her mind like a broken record: the letter, the forest, the gnarled root where she'd tripped as a child, the deafening silence where she'd hoped to find answers.

As she reached for the door handle, a familiar bark pierced the air. Skunk, her loyal pitbull, bounded to the front door of the house, tail wagging furiously. His enthusiasm was a stark contrast to the weight in her chest, but Morgan couldn't help the faint smile that tugged at her lips.

"At least someone's happy to see us," she muttered, glancing at Derik.

He nodded, smiling slightly. "He always is."

They climbed out of the truck, their movements slow and deliberate. Morgan's muscles ached from the hours of searching, but it was nothing compared to the ache in her heart. As they approached the house, Skunk's barks grew more insistent, his paws scratching at the door.

"Alright, alright," Morgan said, fumbling with her keys. "We're coming, boy."

The moment the door swung open, Skunk was on them, his stocky body wriggling with excitement. Morgan knelt down, burying her face in his soft fur for a moment, allowing his unconditional love to wash over her.

"I wish it was always this simple," she whispered, more to herself than anyone else.

Inside, Morgan collapsed onto the couch, kicking off her boots with a groan. Her hands found their way to her hair, fingers running through the tangled strands as she tried to make sense of the night's events. The tattoos on her arms seemed to ripple in the dim light, a reminder of the life she'd lived and the battles she'd fought.

Derik disappeared into the kitchen, the sound of cabinet doors opening and closing echoing through the quiet house. Morgan stared at the ceiling, her mind racing. What if her father had been there, just out of sight? What if this was all some elaborate game? The questions swirled in her head, each one more frustrating than the last.

A wet nose pressed against her hand, startling her from her thoughts. Skunk had hopped up beside her, his big brown eyes full of love and curiosity. He rested his head on her lap, and for a moment, the simple comfort of her dog was enough to pull her from the spiral of doubt and frustration. She stroked his head absently, her thoughts miles away.

"You're a good boy, Skunk," she murmured. "You don't care about all this mess, do you? As long as you've got your food and your walks, the world's alright."

Skunk's tail thumped against the couch in response, and Morgan found herself wishing, not for the first time, that she could see the world through his eyes. No complex conspiracies, no buried secrets, no ghosts from the past haunting every step. Just the simple joys of a loyal companion and a loving home.

But even as the thought crossed her mind, she knew she couldn't let it go. The letter, her father's possible survival, the connection to Cordell and the corruption within the FBI – it was all tangled together in a web she couldn't ignore. She had fought too hard, lost too much, to give up now.

"We'll figure it out," she said softly, more to herself than to Skunk. "We have to."

The sound of Derik's footsteps pulled Morgan from her reverie. She looked up as he returned, two bottles of water in hand. Her partner's green eyes were etched with concern, the lines around them more pronounced than usual. He sat beside her, his lean frame sinking into the couch cushions as he offered her one of the bottles.

"Hey," he said softly, touching her arm. His fingers were cool from the water bottle, a stark contrast to the warmth of her skin. "I know it didn't go the way you wanted, but you're not crazy for hoping, Morgan. You had to try."

Morgan nodded, her throat tight. She took the water bottle, the plastic crinkling under her grip. For a moment, she focused on the simple act of twisting off the cap, desperate for something tangible to ground her swirling thoughts.

She took a sip, the cool liquid soothing her parched throat. Leaning her head back against the couch, she closed her eyes, feeling the weight of exhaustion settling over her like a heavy blanket. The disappointment of the fruitless trek through the woods mingled with a deeper, more unsettling emotion she couldn't quite name.

"It's not just the disappointment," she finally said, her voice barely above a whisper. She opened her eyes, staring at the ceiling as if the answers might be written there. "It's the realization that... even if it had been him, what would I have done? What could I have said to the man who let me grieve for him, who let me think he was dead while he was out there, alive and hiding? How do you even begin to face that?"

The questions hung in the air, unanswered. Morgan's mind raced, imagining scenarios where she confronted her father. Would she hug him? Punch him? Demand answers about Cordell, about the corruption that had stolen a decade of her life? The tattoos on her arms seemed to itch, a physical reminder of the time she'd lost, the person she'd become.

She turned to look at Derik, studying his face. He had stood by her through so much, even after his own betrayal. Sometimes she wondered if she deserved his loyalty, his love. "I don't know if I can forgive him," she admitted, the words tasting bitter on her tongue. "But I need answers. I need to know why."

Derik's arm wrapped around Morgan's shoulder, pulling her close. The familiar scent of his cologne mixed with the faint hint of coffee on his breath grounded her, anchoring her to the present. Skunk, sensing the shift in mood, let out a soft whine and nuzzled against her leg, his cold nose pressing into her jeans.

Morgan rested her head on Derik's chest, feeling the steady thump of his heartbeat. For the first time since they'd returned from the woods, she allowed herself to truly breathe, her exhale shaky and uneven.

"We've got something good here," Derik said after a moment, his voice a low rumble in his chest. His fingers traced absent patterns on her arm, skimming over the inked skin. "You, me, Skunk... this life we're building. Whatever answers you didn't get today, we'll find them eventually. But right now, we've got to fight for what we have, you hear me? We've got a lot to fight for, Morgan."

The words settled over her like a warm blanket, comforting yet heavy with responsibility. Morgan closed her eyes, letting the rhythm of Derik's breathing sync with her own. She thought about the life they were carving out together, the small moments of normalcy stolen between cases and the lingering shadows of her past.

"I know," she murmured, her voice muffled against his shirt. "It's just... sometimes it feels like I'm chasing ghosts. My father, Cordell, the truth about what happened... it's all tied together, and I can't seem to untangle it."

Derik's hand moved to her hair, gently stroking the dark strands. "We'll figure it out, Morgan. Together. One thread at a time if we have to."

She nodded, not trusting her voice. The frustration still simmered beneath the surface, but Derik's words had sparked something else – a reminder of why she fought so hard, why she refused to let Cordell and his corruption win.

Morgan sat up slowly, meeting Derik's green eyes. "You're right," she said, determination creeping back into her tone. "Whatever mysteries my father left behind, whatever ghosts are still haunting my past... I can't let them consume me. We've got work to do."

Her gaze drifted to the coffee table, where case files on Cordell were stacked neatly. "Taking down Cordell and exposing everything he stands for – that's still our priority. My father... if he's out there, he'll have to wait. I won't let more lives be ruined while I chase shadows in the woods."

Derik squeezed her hand, a small smile tugging at his lips. "That's my girl," he said softly. "Ready to save the world, one corrupt bastard at a time."

Morgan couldn't help but return the smile, feeling some of the weight lift from her shoulders. She leaned in, pressing a gentle kiss to Derik's lips. "Thank you," she whispered. "For being here, for understanding... for everything."

The piercing buzz of Morgan's phone shattered the moment of calm. Her muscles tensed instinctively, years of training kicking in. She hesitated, eyeing the device warily before reaching for it. The caller ID flashed "Mueller," and a knot formed in her stomach.

"Cross," she answered, her voice clipped and professional.

"Morning," Mueller's gruff tone crackled through the speaker. "I need you and Greene to come into the office. We've got a new case, and it's one you'll want to hear about."

Morgan's eyes locked with Derik's, a silent conversation passing between them. Her mind raced, wondering what could be urgent enough to drag them in after their sleepless night. Was it Cordell? Had there been a break in the case?

"We'll be there," she replied, ending the call abruptly.

As she stood, the exhaustion hit her anew, her limbs heavy with the weight of disappointment and lack of sleep. But beneath it all, a familiar spark ignited. A new case. A fresh lead. It was purpose, something tangible to sink her teeth into.

"What do you think it is?" Derik asked, already shrugging on his jacket.

Morgan shook her head, running a hand through her tangled hair. "No idea. But Mueller sounded... different. Tense."

She moved to grab her keys, her tattoos stark against her pale skin in the morning light. Skunk, sensing the shift in energy, barked excitedly, his tail wagging in a blur.

"Hold down the fort, buddy," Morgan said softly, scratching behind his ears. Her voice caught slightly, a wave of emotion threatening to break through. Skunk's unconditional love was a balm, a reminder of the simple joys she'd rediscovered since leaving prison.

As they headed for the door, Morgan's mind whirled. Whatever this new case was, it couldn't erase the ache of her father's absence, the lingering questions that haunted her. But it was something concrete, a problem she could tackle head-on. And right now, that was exactly what she needed.

***

The tension in Mueller's office hung thick in the air, as palpable as the smell of stale coffee and printer ink. Morgan's eyes immediately darted to the whiteboard, its surface a chaotic web of names, dates, and red string—all centered around Cordell. The failed sting operation stared back at her, a stark reminder of their recent setback.

Mueller sat behind his desk, his face a mask of grim determination. The lines around his eyes seemed deeper than usual, his mustache twitching slightly as he regarded Morgan and Derik.

"I know spirits are low after the Cordell sting," he said, his voice gruff but not unkind. "But we've got work to do."

Morgan felt Derik shift beside her, his presence a steady anchor. She clenched her fists, the ink on her knuckles stretching with the movement. "What's the situation?" she asked, her tone clipped.

Mueller's response was to slide a thick file across the desk. "A new case just came in. It's... complicated."

With a raised eyebrow, Morgan reached for the file. As she flipped it open, her breath caught in her throat. Crime scene photos spilled out, stark and brutal. A middle-aged woman lay sprawled in what looked like a dimly lit parking garage, her body forming a grotesque X. A dark pool of blood spread beneath her, a stark contrast to the gray concrete.

Morgan's mind raced, cataloging details even as her stomach churned. The positioning seemed deliberate, almost ritualistic. She glanced at Derik, noting the tightness around his eyes. He'd seen it too.

"Who is she?" Morgan asked, her voice low. She couldn't shake the feeling that this case was going to be more than just another homicide. Mueller's tension, the deliberate staging of the body—it all pointed to something bigger.

As Mueller began to explain, Morgan found herself torn between two conflicting emotions. Part of her was eager for the distraction, grateful for a concrete problem to solve after the frustration of the woods and her father's absence. But another part of her couldn't help but wonder if this new case was somehow connected to the web of corruption she'd been fighting against.

She leaned forward, prepared to absorb every detail Mueller could provide. Whatever this case was, whatever it meant, she was ready to dive in headfirst. It was better than dwelling on unanswered questions and the ache of disappointment that still lingered from the morning's fruitless search.

Mueller's voice cut through Morgan's thoughts, his tone clipped and professional. "Rachel Martinez," he began, sliding another photo across the desk. "Forty-eight years old, a nurse at Dallas General. Found dead in the parking garage outside the hospital late last night."

Morgan's eyes narrowed as she studied the image. The woman's face was pale, frozen in an expression of shock. Her dark hair splayed out on the concrete, forming a halo around her head.

"Single stab wound to the side of the neck," Mueller continued. "Severed vital arteries. Killed almost instantly."

Morgan's fingers traced the edge of the photo, her mind already piecing together the scene. The precision of the wound suggested someone who knew exactly what they were doing. Not a crime of passion, but something cold, calculated.

She looked up at Mueller, her brow furrowed. "Okay, but why is this coming to us? This looks like a local homicide." The question hung in the air, heavy with unspoken implications. After everything with Cordell, after the disappointment of the morning, she couldn't shake the feeling that there was more to this case than met the eye.

Mueller's jaw tightened, the muscles working beneath his salt-and-pepper stubble. "Ordinarily, you'd be right. But here's the twist: Rachel Martinez was a key witness in a cold case from 20 years ago. A murder."

At that, both Morgan and Derik's heads snapped up. Morgan felt a familiar surge of adrenaline, her exhaustion momentarily forgotten. Her mind raced, connecting dots that weren't quite there yet. A cold case. A key witness. And now, a murder that mirrored one from two decades ago.

"What aren't you telling us, Mueller?" Morgan pressed, leaning forward. She could feel Derik's presence beside her, solid and reassuring, but her focus was entirely on their superior. "This isn't just about solving Martinez's murder, is it?"

Mueller's jaw clenched as he pulled another folder from the stack on his desk. The cardboard was worn, its edges frayed with age. He laid it open, revealing a set of photos that made Morgan's breath catch in her throat.

"Maria Santos," Mueller began, his voice heavy. "A young nurse at Dallas General. Found murdered in the same parking garage, almost 20 years to the day."

Morgan leaned in, her eyes scanning the grainy, faded images. Despite their age, the similarity to the recent crime scene photos was undeniable. The body positioned in an X, the single stab wound to the neck, even the eerie emptiness of the garage around the victim. It was like looking at a ghostly echo of Rachel Martinez's murder.

"Jesus," Morgan muttered, her fingers tracing the edge of a photo. "It's identical."

She could feel her pulse quickening, that familiar surge of adrenaline coursing through her veins. This wasn't just another case. This was something else entirely.

Morgan's mind raced, piecing together the implications. "Maria Santos's case was never solved, was it?"

Mueller shook his head. "Rachel Martinez claimed to have seen someone suspicious that night, but her testimony wasn't enough to make a case. Now, 20 years later, she ends up dead, in the same place, in the same position."

The weight of it all settled on Morgan's shoulders. She'd been so caught up in her own past, chasing shadows in the woods, that she'd almost forgotten there were other mysteries out there. Other victims who needed justice.

"Coincidence?" she asked, already knowing the answer.

"I don't think so," Mueller confirmed, his expression grim.

Derik leaned forward, his green eyes intense with focus. "What do we know about Santos's murder? Any suspects at the time?"

Mueller's mustache twitched as he shook his head. "A few, but nothing stuck. It's a messy case, and you're going to need to dig into it if we want to figure out why Rachel Martinez was killed."

Morgan nodded, her mind already shifting into investigative mode. The exhaustion from her fruitless trek into the woods earlier that morning seemed to melt away, replaced by a familiar determination. This was what she was good at, what she'd been trained for. Solving puzzles, catching killers.

"We should head to the crime scene," she said, glancing at Derik. "Get a closer look for ourselves."

As they stood to leave, Mueller's voice stopped them. "Cross, Greene." His tone was softer than usual, almost paternal. "Be careful out there. This case... it's got a bad feeling to it."

Morgan met his gaze, recognizing the concern behind his gruff exterior. For a moment, she was reminded of her own father, of the letter that had led her on a wild goose chase just hours ago. She pushed the thought away. "We’re always careful, sir."

The drive to the parking garage was tense, filled with a heavy silence. Morgan stared out the window, her mind racing. Why now? Why after 20 years? The questions swirled in her head, mixing with her own unresolved mysteries.

"You okay?" Derik's voice cut through her thoughts.

She turned to him, seeing the worry etched on his face. "Yeah," she lied, then sighed. "No. I don't know. This case, on top of everything else..."

Derik reached over, squeezing her hand. "We'll figure it out. All of it. Together."

Morgan squeezed back, grateful for his presence. As they pulled up to the hospital, she steeled herself for what lay ahead.

The parking garage loomed before them, a concrete monolith cast in shadow. Yellow police tape cordoned off the area, and forensic techs lingered nearby, their faces grim. As Morgan and Derik stepped out of the car, the smell hit them – a nauseating mix of concrete, gasoline, and the faint metallic tang of blood.

Morgan took a deep breath, pushing down the memories of other crime scenes, other bodies. This was different. This was now. And somewhere in this dim structure were answers – to Rachel Martinez's death, to Maria Santos's long-cold case, and maybe, just maybe, to the web of corruption that had ensnared Morgan's own life.

She glanced at Derik, seeing her own determination mirrored in his eyes. "Ready?" she asked.

He nodded, and together they ducked under the police tape, stepping into the shadows of the garage. The case awaited, and with it, the chance to bring a killer to justice – no matter how long they'd been hiding in the dark.

***

Rachel Martinez's body lay near the center of the garage, a stark figure against the dull concrete. The overhead fluorescents cast a harsh, unforgiving light, illuminating every detail of the grim scene. Morgan's eyes were immediately drawn to the victim's posture - arms and legs splayed outward, forming a macabre 'X'. Dark, viscous blood pooled beneath her, its jagged edges a stark contrast to the precise positioning of the body.

Morgan crouched beside the corpse, the familiar snap of latex gloves echoing in the cavernous space. She leaned in, her trained gaze zeroing in on the fatal wound.

"Single stab to the side of the neck," she murmured, her voice low but carrying in the eerie quiet. "Not a throat slit. The angle suggests the killer was facing her."

As she examined the wound more closely, a chill ran down her spine. The precision was unsettling. "It's controlled, Derik. Whoever did this knew exactly where to stab to imitate the first crime perfectly."

Derik moved closer, his presence a comforting warmth at her back. "You think it's the same killer? After all these years?"

Morgan sat back on her heels, her mind racing. The similarities were too striking to ignore, but something nagged at her. "I don't know," she admitted. "It could be a copycat with access to the old case files. But this level of precision... it speaks to firsthand knowledge."

She stood, her eyes never leaving the victim's face. Rachel Martinez's eyes were open, a look of surprise forever etched on her features. Morgan couldn't help but wonder what the nurse had seen in her final moments. Had she recognized her killer? Had she known why she was about to die?

Morgan's gaze swept across the cavernous parking garage, her eyes narrowing as they adjusted to the dim, flickering light. The vast emptiness of the space felt suffocating, as if the concrete walls were slowly closing in around her. Shadows danced at the edges of her vision, cast by the intermittent flashing of the fluorescent bulbs overhead.

She took a deep breath, inhaling the acrid mix of motor oil and death. "Something's off here, Derik," she murmured, her voice barely audible over the low hum of the garage's ventilation system.

Derik stepped closer, his presence a mixture of comfort and unease. "What do you mean?"

Morgan's eyes darted from one corner of the garage to another, her instincts on high alert. "It's too clean," she said, gesturing to the scene around them. "A crime this brutal, this personal – there should be more evidence of a struggle, signs of the killer's presence."

She crouched down again, her tattooed fingers hovering just above the pool of blood surrounding Rachel Martinez's body. The dark liquid reflected the flickering lights above, creating an unsettling, almost hypnotic effect.

"It's like they knew exactly what they were doing," Morgan continued, her voice tinged with a mix of admiration and disgust. "In and out, quick and efficient. This wasn't just about killing Rachel Martinez. It was about sending a message."

As she spoke, memories of her own past flooded her mind – the frame-up, the trial, the years stolen from her in prison. She pushed the thoughts away, forcing herself to focus on the present.

Standing abruptly, Morgan turned to face Derik. "We need to get the forensics team in here now," she said, her voice taking on a commanding tone. "Every inch of this place needs to be combed over. If there's even a speck of evidence connecting this to the Santos case, we need to find it."

Derik nodded, already reaching for his phone. As he dialed, Morgan's gaze returned to Rachel Martinez's body, a grim determination settling over her features.

"We're looking at someone who's been carrying this weight for two decades,” morgan said. “Someone patient enough to wait twenty years to tie up loose ends.” She paused, her eyes narrowing as a thought struck her. "And we need to find out why now. What changed? What made him want to come back after all this time? Why wait twenty years to kill again? And why Rachel Martinez specifically?"

"Maybe she remembered something," Derik suggested. "Something that made her dangerous to the killer."

Morgan nodded, her mind flashing back to her own past, to the years stolen from her by false accusations and prison walls. "Or maybe the killer thought they were safe, that they'd gotten away with it. And then something changed."

She stopped pacing, her gaze fixed on the body of Rachel Martinez. "We need to dig deep into both victims' lives. Find every connection, every similarity, no matter how small. If this is the same killer, there has to be a link we're missing."

As the forensics team began to file into the garage, Morgan felt a familiar fire igniting within her.

"We need more information," she said firmly, turning to Derik. "Let's start with the hospital staff. Someone must have seen Martinez leave last night. And we need to track down anyone who was around for the Santos case twenty years ago. If this is the same killer, they've been living with this secret for a long time. Secrets like that... they leave marks."