Page 2 of For Mercy (Morgan Cross #16)

Special Agent Morgan Cross had been certain her father had died while she was in prison, serving a ten-year-long sentence for a crime she never committed.

And yet as she stood in her living room, with her partner Derik Greene at her side and her Pitbull, Skunk, staring up at her with his big brown eyes, there was no mistaking the voice on the other end of the line.

“Dad?" Her voice was barely above a whisper.

The response made her blood run cold. A voice she thought she'd never hear again. A voice that belonged to a ghost.

"Morgan, it's me."

Her knees buckled, and she gripped the back of the couch for support. Beside her, Derik's brow furrowed with concern. At her feet, Skunk's ears perked up, sensing the sudden tension in the air.

"Dad…" The word felt foreign on her tongue, laced with disbelief and a hint of anger. "How... is this really you?"

"Yes, sweetheart. It's me." His voice was gruff, older, but unmistakably his.

Morgan's mind raced, a torrent of emotions threatening to overwhelm her. How could this be possible? She had mourned him, carried the weight of his loss. And now, here he was, speaking to her as if no time had passed at all.

"I don't understand," she managed, her free hand clenching into a fist. "How can you be alive?"

There was a pause on the other end of the line, filled with the weight of unspoken truths. "It's complicated, Morgan. I can't explain everything over the phone. But I need you to trust me."

Trust. The word echoed in her mind, bitter and sharp.

How could she trust a man who had let her believe he was dead?

She'd gotten out of prison barely a year ago and had been living under the impression that her father was dead.

And since then, she'd been through hell.

After getting out of prison, Morgan uncovered a conspiracy within the FBI—a conspiracy that had involved Richard Cordell, a former high-ranking member of the FBI, taking part in framing Morgan.

She'd found out that it had all linked back to her father, who had hidden his own identity as an FBI agent from her.

But her father had been dead. Morgan had been navigating this alone… and yet here was her father.

Derik moved closer, his hand coming to rest on her shoulder. Right—Morgan hadn’t been fully alone. She’d had Derik. She could feel the question in his touch, see the worry etched on his face. But she couldn't bring herself to meet his eyes. Not now, when her world was crumbling around her.

"Why now?" she asked, her voice stronger now, edged with the steel that had kept her going through years in prison and the relentless pursuit of justice afterward. "Why come back after all this time?"

Her father sighed, a sound heavy with regret and something else... fear? "Because you're in danger, Morgan. And I can’t live anymore knowing I haven’t told you the truth.”

The words hung in the air, ominous and foreboding.

Morgan's grip on the phone tightened, her knuckles turning white.

She thought of Richard Cordell, of the corruption that ran deep in the FBI, of Thomas's death. Thomas Grady—the man whom she’d found out may be her half-brother.

Another secret, hidden by her father. How much did her father know?

How long had he been watching from the shadows?

"So tell me now," she pressed, her investigator's instincts kicking in despite the emotional turmoil.

"I can't say more now. It's not safe." There was urgency in his voice now. "Morgan, I know you have questions. I know you're angry. But right now, I need you to listen to me."

She closed her eyes, fighting back the tears that threatened to spill. Skunk whined softly, pressing his head against her leg in a gesture of comfort. She reached down absently to scratch behind his ears, grateful for the familiar touch.

"I'm listening," she said finally, her voice barely audible.

"I'm sorry, Morgan. I should have reached out sooner, but I had my doubts. Now, I need you to come back to the woods—alone. Make sure you're not followed."

She could barely process his words, her mind reeling. The tattoos on her arms seemed to writhe with her inner turmoil. "Dad, I can't just—"

"It's crucial," he cut her off, his voice edged with urgency. "Your safety depends on it."

Morgan's gaze flicked to Derik, his green eyes filled with concern. She couldn't fathom facing this without him. "I'm not going without Derik," she insisted, her voice stronger than she felt.

"No," her father's response was immediate and firm. "It's too dangerous. You must come alone, Morgan. Please."

The desperation in his tone sent a chill down her spine. Derik, reading the conflict on her face, shook his head silently. His jaw was set, worry lines creasing his forehead. Morgan knew he was thinking of the last time they were separated, of the betrayal that had nearly torn them apart.

But this was her father. The man she'd mourned, whose loss had left a void in her life. She had to know the truth.

"Okay," she said finally, her voice barely above a whisper. "I'll come. Tonight."

"Thank you," her father's relief was palpable. "I'll explain everything when you get here. Be careful, Morgan."

As the call ended, Morgan lowered the phone, feeling as if she'd just agreed to step off a cliff. Derik's disapproval radiated from him in waves, but she couldn't meet his eyes. Instead, she knelt down to Skunk, burying her face in his fur, seeking comfort in his unwavering loyalty.

"I have to do this," she murmured, more to herself than to Derik or the dog. The weight of her decision settled on her shoulders.

Morgan stood, her fingers still tangled in Skunk's fur. She finally met Derik's gaze, bracing herself for the inevitable confrontation.

"This is insane, Morgan," Derik burst out, his green eyes flashing with a mixture of concern and frustration. "It could be a trap. Hell, it probably is a trap. You don't know who's really on the other end of that call."

"It was him, Derik," Morgan insisted, her voice low but firm. "I'd know my father's voice anywhere."

Derik ran a hand through his slicked-back hair, mussing it in his agitation. "Even if it is him, why now? It doesn't add up. He already stood you up in the woods when you went after he wrote that letter.”

Morgan's jaw clenched. "That's exactly why I have to go. To get answers."

"At least let me come with you," Derik pleaded, taking a step towards her. "We're partners, remember?"

The word 'partners' hung in the air between them, laden with meaning beyond their professional relationship. Morgan's heart clenched, remembering the betrayal that had once threatened to destroy their bond. But she also remembered the forgiveness, the trust they'd rebuilt.

"I can't," she said softly. "He was clear about that. But I won't be alone." She glanced down at Skunk, who sat alertly at her feet, his muscular body taut with readiness. "Skunk will be with me."

***

The headlights of Morgan's SUV cut through the darkness, illuminating a narrow strip of asphalt that stretched endlessly before her. Her knuckles were white on the steering wheel as she pushed deeper into the countryside, leaving the familiar lights of Dallas far behind.

"What do you think, Skunk?" Morgan asked, glancing at the rearview mirror where her loyal pitbull sat attentively in the backseat. "Are we walking into a trap, or am I about to see a ghost?"

Skunk's ears perked up at the sound of her voice, but he offered no answers. Morgan sighed, her mind racing with possibilities.

As the miles ticked by, the landscape began to change. The open fields gave way to dense forests, the trees looming closer to the road with each passing minute. Shadows deepened, and Morgan felt a familiar tightness in her chest.

"It's like stepping back in time," she murmured, memories flooding her mind unbidden.

She could almost smell the crisp autumn air from her childhood, hear her father's deep laugh as they trudged through these very woods. The weight of her first hunting rifle in her hands, the pride in her father's eyes as she took careful aim.

But then, another memory surfaced – sharp, painful. The crack of a branch, a moment of imbalance, and then searing pain as her ankle twisted beneath her.

"Dammit," Morgan hissed, shaking her head to clear the vivid recollection. She absently rubbed her ankle, the old injury a phantom ache. "What am I doing out here, Skunk?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper. "Chasing ghosts and half-baked theories?"

But deep down, she knew why. The possibility of answers, of finally understanding the web of lies and deceit that had defined the last decade of her life, was too tantalizing to ignore.

As she neared the familiar stretch of forest, Morgan's heart rate quickened. She pulled off the road, gravel crunching beneath the tires as she brought the SUV to a stop.

For a long moment, she sat there, engine idling, staring into the darkness beyond her headlights. Then, with a deep breath, she killed the engine.

The night enveloped Morgan as she stepped out of the car, a cacophony of forest sounds assaulting her senses. Leaves rustled overhead, their whispers carried on a chilly breeze that nipped at her exposed skin. In the distance, an owl's mournful call pierced the air, sending a shiver down her spine.

Skunk's nails clicked against the gravel as he hopped out behind her, his muscular frame a comforting presence at her side. Morgan's hand instinctively found the grip of her holstered gun, its weight both reassuring and ominous.

"Stay close, boy," she murmured, clicking on her flashlight. The beam cut through the darkness, illuminating a narrow path into the woods.

With each step forward, the knot in Morgan's stomach tightened. The forest seemed to close in around her, unchanged yet somehow different. Memories lurked in every shadow, questions hung heavy in the air like mist.