Page 13 of For Mercy (Morgan Cross #16)

The glass-and-steel monoliths of downtown cast long shadows across the parking garage as Michelle Knox stepped out of her office building.

The last vestiges of sunlight glinted off skyscraper windows, bathing the city in an orange glow that was rapidly fading to dusk.

Her heels clicked a staccato rhythm on the pavement as she made her way toward her car, the sound echoing in the near-empty garage.

Michelle rolled her neck, trying to ease the tension that had built up over hours hunched over spreadsheets and financial reports.

Numbers still danced behind her eyelids when she blinked—profit margins, quarterly projections, investment portfolios.

She'd been staring at screens for so long, the real world seemed slightly out of focus.

"Another day, another dollar," she muttered to herself, fishing in her purse for her car keys. "Or a few million dollars, in this case."

As an investment analyst for one of the city's top firms, Michelle was used to high-stakes decisions and long hours.

But today had been particularly grueling.

Back-to-back meetings with anxious clients, followed by an emergency strategy session when the market took an unexpected dip.

She'd barely had time to grab a wilted salad from the break room fridge for lunch.

Now, all she wanted was to get home, kick off these pinching heels, and pour herself a generous glass of cabernet. Maybe order some takeout and binge a few episodes of that new crime drama everyone was talking about. Anything to quiet the ceaseless whirring of her mind.

As she approached her sleek black sedan, Michelle's thoughts drifted to the bottle of wine chilling in her fridge. A small indulgence, but one she felt she'd more than earned today.

"You deserve it, Knox," she told herself, allowing a small smile. "Hell, maybe even splurge on the good stuff tonight. Life's too short for cheap wine."

The parking garage was eerily quiet, most of her coworkers having left hours ago.

Michelle's footsteps echoed off the concrete pillars, and she found herself picking up her pace slightly.

She'd never admit to being nervous—she prided herself on her cool head under pressure—but there was something unsettling about being alone in such a vast, empty space as night fell.

She clicked the key fob, and her car's lights flashed in greeting. The familiar sight eased some of the tension in her shoulders. Just a few more steps, and she'd be on her way home.

"Early night tonight," she mused, reaching for the door handle. "Maybe I can actually catch up on some sleep for once. Novel concept."

As she slid into the driver's seat, Michelle let out a long exhale, feeling the day's stress begin to ebb away.

She tossed her purse onto the passenger seat and took a moment to close her eyes, savoring the quiet.

Tomorrow would bring new challenges, new fires to put out.

But for now, she could leave it all behind and focus on unwinding.

"Alright, Knox," she said, starting the engine. "Home, wine, relaxation. In that order."

With a final glance at the darkening sky visible through the garage's concrete levels, Michelle put the car in drive and headed for the exit, leaving the long day—and the looming shadows—behind her.

Michelle's hand froze on the door handle, her breath catching in her throat.

A figure materialized from the shadows, leaning against her sleek black sedan.

Her analytical mind, honed by years of dissecting market trends, instantly cataloged details: male, medium build, dark clothing blending into the twilight gloom of the parking garage.

"Excuse me," she called out, her voice echoing unnaturally in the cavernous space. "That's my car you're leaning on."

The man didn't react. He remained motionless, head tilted downward as if studying the cracked concrete beneath his feet. Michelle's eyes narrowed, her body tensing as she assessed the situation.

*This isn't right,* she thought, her mind racing. *Security should have cleared the garage by now. Why isn't he responding?*

"Sir?" she tried again, taking a cautious step closer. "I need to get to my car. Are you alright?"

Still no response. The unnatural stillness sent a chill down Michelle's spine. She'd dealt with aggressive personalities in boardrooms, navigated high-stakes negotiations, but this... this was different. The man's presence felt deliberate, calculated.

He's waiting for something, she realized, her analytical instincts kicking into overdrive. Or someone.

Michelle's gaze darted around the garage, searching for any sign of security or other late-night workers. The emptiness suddenly felt oppressive.

"Look," she said, injecting steel into her voice, "I don't know what you're doing here, but I'm leaving now. Step away from my car."

The man's head lifted slightly, but in the dim light, Michelle couldn't make out his features. His posture remained slouched, almost unnaturally so. Something about the way he held himself set off alarm bells in her mind.

This isn't some drunk who wandered in, she thought. He's too... controlled. Too deliberate.

Michelle's mind raced through scenarios, weighing options.

Should she turn and run? Try to bluff her way past him?

Call for help? The analytical part of her brain that had served her so well in her career now felt like both a blessing and a curse, presenting her with an overwhelming array of potential outcomes.

Michelle's fingers tightened around the pepper spray in her purse, the cool metal grounding her. Her heart hammered against her ribs, but years of high-pressure meetings had taught her to keep her voice steady.

"Hey!" she called out, infusing her tone with the same authority she used to command boardrooms. "Back off."

The command hung in the air, echoing slightly in the cavernous garage. For a moment, Michelle thought the man hadn't heard her. Then, slowly, almost mechanically, he stirred.

His head lifted, and Michelle's breath caught in her throat. Even in the dim lighting, she could see his eyes – unfocused, glassy, as if looking through her rather than at her. A chill ran down her spine.

The man swayed slightly, barely keeping his balance. His movements were sluggish, almost puppet-like. Michelle's grip on the pepper spray tightened.

"I said back off," she repeated, taking a small step to the side. "I don't want any trouble."

The man's mouth opened, but no words came out. Instead, a low, guttural sound emerged – not quite a groan, not quite speech. Michelle's skin crawled.

"Look," Michelle said, trying to keep her voice calm despite the growing panic in her chest, "I'm going to call security if you don't move away from my car right now."

She reached for her phone with her free hand, never taking her eyes off the swaying figure. The man's head tilted, as if processing her words through a fog. His unfocused gaze drifted past her, towards the garage entrance.

Michelle's instincts screamed at her to run, but she held her ground. *If I turn my back, I'm vulnerable,* she reasoned. *I need to stay in control of this situation.*

"Last chance," she warned, her finger hovering over the emergency call button. "Move, or I'm calling for help."

The man finally seemed to register her words. With agonizing slowness, he shuffled away from her car, his feet dragging as if weighed down by invisible chains. Michelle exhaled, a shaky breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding.

Maybe he really is just drunk , she thought, watching him stumble towards a concrete pillar. God, I'm getting paranoid.

Still, the tension in her chest refused to uncoil completely. Michelle kept her eyes on the retreating figure, unwilling to let her guard down just yet. The pepper spray remained clutched in her sweaty palm, a comforting weight.

"Okay," she muttered to herself, fumbling for her keys. "Let's get out of here."

Her analytical mind, however, wouldn't let go of the encounter so easily. As she turned back to her car, Michelle's thoughts raced. *His movements were too uncoordinated for just alcohol. Could it be some kind of medical condition? Or--*

The sudden pressure against her face cut off all rational thought.

A large hand clamped over her nose and mouth, an iron grip she couldn't shake.

Michelle's world narrowed to the overpowering stench of chemicals flooding her senses – sharp, medicinal, with an underlying sweetness that made her stomach lurch.

Panic exploded through her body. Michelle's free hand clawed at her attacker, but her nails met only the slick surface of what felt like rubber gloves. She tried to scream, but the sound was muffled against the cloth pressed to her face.

No, no, no! Her mind raced, searching for options for an escape. The pepper spray – still in her hand, if she could just aim it behind her--

But her limbs felt increasingly heavy, uncooperative. The garage lights blurred, stretching into strange halos. Michelle's last coherent thought before consciousness began to slip away was a realization that chilled her to her core:

Michelle's body thrashed wildly, every fiber of her being screaming to fight. But the more she struggled, the tighter the cloth pressed against her face, suffocating her. Her lungs burned, desperate for clean air. The world around her began to spin, colors blurring into a nauseating kaleidoscope.

"Stop... fighting," a gruff voice hissed in her ear. "It'll be over soon."

*No!* Michelle's mind rebelled, even as her body began to betray her. Her legs, once so steady in her power walks to meetings, now felt like jelly. She tried to kick backward, to stomp on her attacker's foot, but her movements were uncoordinated, weak.

"Why..." she managed to gasp out, the word muffled against the chemical-soaked cloth. "Who..."

The strength was rapidly draining from her body. Michelle's arms, toned from countless hours at the gym, felt alien to her now – heavy, sluggish, as if they belonged to someone else. She tried to raise them, to claw at her attacker's face, but they barely twitched.

Her knees buckled, no longer able to support her weight. As Michelle felt herself falling, she made one last, desperate attempt to fight. Her fingers, still clutching her car keys, loosened their grip.

The metallic clatter of keys hitting concrete echoed in her fading consciousness. It was such a small sound, yet to Michelle, it felt like the tolling of a bell – marking the moment her world changed forever.

As darkness engulfed her, Michelle's last coherent thought was a mixture of disbelief and anger: How dare they. How dare they think they can take me.

Then, there was nothing but silence and the cold embrace of oblivion.