Page 14 of For Mercy (Morgan Cross #16)

Morgan leaned back in her chair, her eyes burning from hours of staring at case files. The briefing room felt like a tomb, silent except for the low hum of computer monitors.

She rubbed her temples, willing away the headache that threatened to consume her. The wall of evidence before her was a twisted tapestry of death and deceit. Somewhere in this web of information was the key to unlocking the truth behind Judge Hawthorne's murder.

Morgan's gaze fell to the file open on the desk before her. Sarah Reeves. Former law clerk to the murdered judge. Sarah had died by suicide a year ago, according to the file, which didn’t seem relevant, at first glance, but then again, Morgan didn’t have much else to go off. She found herself curious to know more.

"What's your story, Sarah?" Morgan murmured, her fingers tracing the edge of the file. "What secrets did you take to the grave?"

She flipped through the pages, searching for anything that might connect Reeves to Hawthorne's murder. But the more she read, the more questions arose. Reeves had been found in her bathtub, wrists slit, a half-empty bottle of pills on the counter. A note, tearstained and crumpled, lay nearby.

"I can't go on like this," Morgan read aloud, her voice barely above a whisper. "The pain is too much. I'm sorry."

Something nagged at her. A gut feeling she couldn't shake.

"Why now?" she asked the empty room. "Why, after all this time, am I looking at your case, Sarah?"

Morgan's gaze drifted to Judge Hawthorne's photo. His stern face stared back at her, offering no answers. Maybe it was just a coincidence that a year before his own brutal murder, his law clerk died by suicide, someone very close to him. But something about it nagged at her.

The door creaked open behind her, and Morgan spun around, instinctively reaching for her weapon. She relaxed when she saw Derik's familiar face, his green eyes tired but alert as he balanced two steaming cups of coffee.

"Thought you could use a pick-me-up," he said, setting one of the cups in front of her.

Morgan nodded gratefully, wrapping her hands around the warm mug. "Thanks, Derik. I was just thinking—"

"That there's more to this case than meets the eye?" Derik finished, a wry smile playing on his lips. "I could hear the gears turning from down the hall."

She took a sip of coffee, savoring the bitter taste. "I can't shake the feeling that we're missing something crucial. I was just looking into this—Sarah Reeves, Hawthorne’s law clerk, died by suicide about a year ago.”

Derik leaned against the desk, his brow furrowed. "You think there's a connection between the two deaths?"

"I think it's worth exploring," Morgan replied, her voice firm. "We need to dig deeper into Hawthorne's rulings, see if there's any case that stands out. Someone who might have had a grudge against both Hawthorne and Reeves. I don’t know, maybe Reeves’s death wasn’t a suicide at all.”

She turned back to the board, her eyes scanning the information for the hundredth time. The weight of the case pressed down on her, mingling with the ever-present tension of her own unresolved past.

"Whoever did this," Morgan said softly, "they went to a lot of trouble to make a point. The question is, what were they trying to say? And to whom?"

Derik's eyes softened as he watched Morgan, her intense focus etched into every line of her face. He placed a gentle hand on her shoulder.

"Morgan, you need to take a break," he said, his voice laced with concern. "Step away for a few hours, maybe get some sleep. You've been at this forever.”

Morgan scoffed, but didn't shrug off his hand. "I'm fine, Derik. We're close to something, I can feel it."

"You always say that," he replied, a hint of exasperation creeping into his tone. "But you're not a machine. You need rest to function properly."

She turned to face him, her dark eyes burning with a mix of determination and something deeper, more vulnerable. "I can't stop now. Not when we're this close."

Derik sighed, recognizing the stubbornness in her stance. "It's not just about Hawthorne's murder, is it?" he asked softly.

Morgan's jaw clenched, her fingers tightening around the coffee mug. She wanted to deny it, to focus solely on the case at hand, but Derik knew her too well.

"No," she admitted, her voice barely above a whisper. "It's about Cordell."

The name hung in the air between them, heavy with unspoken implications. Morgan's mind raced with images of the man who had orchestrated her downfall, who had stolen a decade of her life.

"He's still out there," she continued, her voice gaining strength. "Watching, waiting. Even as I try to focus on the case, I know he’s biding his time, waiting to take me—us—down.”

Derik nodded, understanding dawning in his eyes. "And your father?"

Morgan's breath caught in her throat. John Christopher. The man she had mourned, only to discover he was alive. The revelation had shaken her to her core, reopening old wounds and creating new ones.

"He's safe, I think," she said, the words tasting bitter on her tongue. "Alive, but might as well be a ghost. Until we deal with Cordell, I can't... I can't even think about what comes next with him."

She turned back to the evidence board, her eyes tracing the web of connections they'd mapped out. "So I keep working. Keep focusing on the case. Because as long as I'm chasing this killer, I don't have to face the one who's been haunting me for years."

Derik's hand squeezed her shoulder gently, a silent gesture of support and understanding. Morgan leaned into his touch, allowing herself a moment of vulnerability in the dim glow of the briefing room.

Morgan's fingers traced the edge of Sarah Reeves' file, her mind churning with possibilities. The weight of her father's absence pressed heavily on her chest, but she pushed it aside, focusing on the task at hand.

"What if we're looking at this all wrong?" she mused, half to herself and half to Derik. "What if Reeves' death wasn't a suicide at all?"

Derik leaned in, his brow furrowed. "You think it's connected to Hawthorne's murder?"

Morgan nodded, her eyes never leaving the crime scene photos. "It's too neat. Too convenient. A law clerk with supposed mental health issues takes her own life, and then a year later, the judge she worked for ends up dead in an elaborate death trap?"

She stood, pacing the length of the evidence board. Her ankle, still healing from her encounter in the woods, twinged with each step, a constant reminder of the secrets lurking just beneath the surface of her life.

"We need to dig deeper into Reeves' background," Morgan said, her voice tight with determination. "Family, friends, coworkers. Someone must have noticed something off about her behavior leading up to her death."

Derik watched her, concern etched on his face. "Morgan, are you sure this isn't about-"

"It's about finding the truth," she cut him off, perhaps too sharply. She took a breath, steadying herself. "I know what you're thinking, but this isn't about Cordell. This is about justice for Hawthorne and potentially for Reeves too."

But even as the words left her mouth, Morgan couldn't shake the feeling that everything - every case, every victim - was somehow connected to the shadowy figure of Richard Cordell. His presence loomed over her life like a storm cloud, dark and threatening.

She turned back to Derik, her eyes blazing with a mix of determination and barely concealed fear. "We follow this lead. We find out what really happened. And maybe, just maybe, it'll lead us one step closer to understanding what happened to Hawthorne."