Page 21 of For Mercy (Morgan Cross #16)

The pale morning sun cast an accusatory glare over the suburban landscape, as if nature itself was passing judgment on the secrets buried within these cookie-cutter homes.

Morgan squinted against the harsh light, her eyes tracing the outline of Darren Reeves' modest house.

It was unremarkable, save for the invisible weight of grief that seemed to hang over it like a shroud.

She glanced at Derik, noting the tension in his jaw. He'd been quiet on the drive over, and she knew he was still smarting from being shut out of her plans. But this wasn't the time to address that. They had a job to do.

"You ready?" she asked, her voice low.

Derik nodded, his green eyes meeting hers briefly before flicking away. "Let's do this."

The sound of approaching footsteps from within the house pulled her from her thoughts. She straightened, adopting the professional demeanor that had become second nature since her return to the Bureau.

The door swung open, revealing a man who looked like he'd aged a decade in a year. Darren Reeves stood before them, his face a map of sorrow. Dark circles ringed his hollow eyes, and his skin had a sickly pallor that spoke of sleepless nights and relentless grief.

Morgan felt a twinge of empathy, quickly suppressed. She couldn't afford to let emotion cloud her judgment. Not when they were so close to unraveling this case.

"Mr. Reeves?" she said, her tone carefully modulated. "I'm Agent Cross, and this is Agent Greene. We'd like to ask you a few questions about your sister, Sarah."

Darren's eyes widened slightly at the mention of Sarah's name, a flicker of pain crossing his features before he schooled them into a wary mask. "Why?" he asked, his voice rough with disuse. "It's been a year. Why are you here now?"

Morgan hesitated, weighing her words carefully. How much should she reveal? How much did Darren already know? She thought of Sarah's picture, smiling and full of life, contrasted with the broken man before her. The truth, she decided. Or at least, part of it.

"We believe your sister's death may be connected to a current investigation," she said, watching Darren's reaction closely. "We're hoping you might be able to provide some insight."

Darren's gaze darted between Morgan and Derik, his brow furrowing. She could almost see the wheels turning in his mind, weighing the risk of letting them in against the possibility of finally understanding why his sister was gone.

Finally, he stepped back, opening the door wider. "Come in," he said, his voice barely above a whisper. "But I don't know what I can tell you that I haven't already told the police."

As Morgan followed Darren into the house, she caught Derik's eye. There was a silent question there, a plea for inclusion. She gave him a small nod, a promise to fill him in later. For now, they had a grieving brother to interview and a case to crack.

Morgan stepped into the living room, her trained eyes immediately scanning the space.

The house was immaculate, each surface polished to a shine, but there was an underlying emptiness that spoke volumes.

It was as if grief itself had taken up residence, lurking in the corners and casting long shadows across the pristine floors.

Her gaze settled on a shelf by the fireplace, and her breath caught in her throat.

There, nestled among various knick-knacks, was a framed photograph of Sarah Reeves.

The young woman's smile was radiant, her eyes sparkling with a vitality that seemed to leap out of the frame.

Morgan felt a pang in her chest, recognizing the contrast between the vibrant woman in the photo and the tragic end she had met.

"Your sister," Morgan said softly, nodding toward the picture. "She was beautiful."

Darren followed her gaze, his shoulders sagging as if the weight of his loss had suddenly become tangible.

"She was," he replied, his voice thick with emotion.

"That was taken about a year before... before it happened.

She'd just gotten the clerkship with Judge Hawthorne. She was so excited, so full of hope."

Hawthorne. The same judge they'd found murdered in that bizarre mock courtroom. She glanced at Derik, seeing the same realization dawning in his eyes.

"Mr. Reeves," Morgan began, choosing her words carefully, "I know this is difficult, but could you tell us more about Sarah's time working for Judge Hawthorne? Did she ever mention any... unusual occurrences or concerns?"

As Darren sank into an armchair, Morgan perched on the edge of the sofa, leaning forward intently.

"I'm listening," she said gently, her tattooed hands clasped tightly in her lap. "Whatever you can tell us, no matter how small it might seem, could be crucial."

Darren's hands trembled as he rubbed them together, his gaze fixed on the carpet. Morgan watched him intently, noting the way grief seemed to have etched itself into the lines of his face.

"Sarah," he began, his voice barely above a whisper, "she loved that job at first. God, she was so excited." A ghost of a smile flickered across his lips. "She'd always been ambitious, you know? Worked her ass off in law school, determined to make something of herself."

Morgan nodded, encouraging him to continue. She could relate to that drive, that burning desire to prove oneself. It was what had kept her going through the darkest days of her wrongful imprisonment.

Darren's expression darkened. "But over time, something changed. The light in her eyes started to dim. She'd come home later and later, always looking... haunted."

Morgan leaned forward, her heart rate quickening. "What do you think caused that change, Mr. Reeves?"

Darren's jaw clenched. "Hawthorne," he spat the name like it left a bad taste in his mouth. "The man was brilliant, no doubt about that. A legal mind like no other. But he was cold. Ruthless."

Morgan exchanged a glance with Derik, who had been silently observing from his position near the fireplace. She could see the wheels turning in his mind, matching this description to what they knew of the murdered judge.

"How so?" Morgan prompted gently.

Darren's hands balled into fists. "He demanded perfection. Absolute, unwavering perfection. And Sarah... well, she was good. Too good, maybe. Once Hawthorne saw how capable she was, how efficiently she could handle his cases, he zeroed in on her."

Morgan felt a chill run down her spine. She'd seen that type before - the kind of person who recognized talent and exploited it mercilessly. "Did Sarah ever consider quitting?" she asked, already suspecting the answer.

Darren shook his head, a bitter laugh escaping him. "She should have. God, I begged her to. But Sarah... she was stubborn. Determined. She thought if she could just tough it out, prove herself..."

As Darren's voice trailed off, Morgan found herself lost in thought. She couldn't help but draw parallels between Sarah's situation and her own past. The pressure to prove oneself, the relentless pursuit of justice - it was a path that could easily lead to self-destruction if one wasn't careful.

"Mr. Reeves," Morgan said softly, "I know this is difficult, but anything else you can tell us about Judge Hawthorne and his relationship with Sarah could be crucial to our investigation."

Darren's eyes clouded with a mixture of anger and sorrow as he continued, his voice strained. "Sarah... she was drowning. Every night, she'd come home looking like she'd aged ten years. Dark circles under her eyes, hands shaking from too much coffee and not enough sleep."

Morgan leaned forward, her tattooed arms resting on her knees. She could almost see Sarah, a shadow of herself, stumbling through the door night after night.

"I begged her to quit," Darren said, his voice cracking. "Told her it wasn't worth destroying herself over. But she wouldn't listen. Said she had her eye on a promotion, that it was her ticket out."

"And Hawthorne denied it," Morgan finished, her jaw clenching.

Darren nodded, his hands balling into fists.

"Not because she wasn't qualified. Hell, she was probably the most qualified person in that entire courthouse.

No, he denied it because he didn't want to lose his grip on her.

She was his perfect little workhorse, and God forbid she ever escape his control. "

Morgan felt a surge of anger course through her veins. She'd seen this type before - men who used their power to crush those beneath them, to keep them small and controllable.

"Mr. Reeves," she said, her voice low and steady, "can you tell me about the last time you saw your sister? Anything at all might help."

Darren's face contorted, as if physically pained by the memory.

"It was the day before... before she..." He swallowed hard, unable to finish the sentence.

"I stopped by her office to try one last time to convince her to quit.

She was at her desk, writing something. Hawthorne walked by, like he always did, making his rounds. "

Morgan watched as Darren's grief swelled, his voice thickening with emotion. She could picture the scene - Sarah, hunched over her desk, pen in hand, the weight of her despair evident in every line of her body. And Hawthorne, cold and imperious, striding past without a care in the world.

"He saw what she was writing," Darren continued, his voice barely above a whisper. "I don't know what it was, but the look on his face... It was like he knew. He knew something was terribly wrong, and he just... kept walking."

Morgan felt a chill run down her spine. The pieces were starting to fall into place, a picture forming that was as tragic as it was infuriating. She glanced at Derik, seeing her own grim realization mirrored in his eyes.

Darren's voice cracked as he continued, his eyes glistening with unshed tears. "It was a suicide note. A desperate cry for help, right there in front of him. And that bastard just kept walking. Didn't say a word. Didn't ask if she was okay. Didn't stop."

Morgan's heart clenched, the weight of Darren's words settling heavily in her chest. She could picture Sarah, alone and desperate, pouring her pain onto the page while the very man who had pushed her to the brink simply ignored her suffering.

"That night," Darren whispered, his voice barely audible, "she took her own life."

The room fell silent, the gravity of the revelation hanging in the air like a physical presence.

Morgan struggled to maintain her composure, her mind racing with the implications of what she'd just heard.

She glanced at Derik, noting the tightness in his jaw, the way his hands gripped the arms of his chair.

Darren's hands clenched into fists, his knuckles turning white with the force of his grip. His voice trembled with a mixture of grief and rage as he forced out the words. "My sister might still be alive today—if someone had just cared enough to stop."

Morgan felt a surge of empathy for Darren, remembering her own losses, her own battles with those who should have cared but didn't. She leaned forward, her voice gentle but firm.

"Darren, I can't imagine how painful this must be for you.

But your sister's story, what happened to her.

.. it might be the key to solving these murders. "

Darren looked up, confusion mixing with the pain in his eyes. "Murders? What do you mean?"

Morgan hesitated, weighing how much to reveal.

She caught Derik's eye, seeing him give a slight nod of encouragement.

Taking a deep breath, she began to explain, carefully omitting any classified details.

"We believe the person responsible for Judge Hawthorne's death may have been motivated by a desire for justice. .. or revenge."

As she spoke, Morgan couldn't help but wonder: Was this the connection she'd been searching for? A vigilante, punishing those who had the power to help but chose to do nothing? The thought sent a chill down her spine, even as it ignited a spark of hope that they might finally be on the right track.

"Darren," she said, her voice low and intense, "I know this is difficult, but I need to ask you something. Did your sister ever mention anything about Michelle Knox?"

Darren's brow furrowed. "Michelle Knox? I don't think so. Who is she?"

Morgan exchanged a quick glance with Derik before continuing. "She was an investment banker. Recently murdered." She paused, carefully choosing her next words. "Like Judge Hawthorne, she... she had an opportunity to help someone in need. And she chose not to."

Darren's eyes widened, a flicker of understanding crossing his face. "You think... you think there's a connection?"

Morgan nodded slowly, her mind still processing the implications. "It's possible. Both victims had the power to save a life, and both did nothing. They just... kept walking."

As she spoke the words aloud, Morgan felt a chill run down her spine. The parallel was undeniable, and it stirred something deep within her – a memory of her own past, of the injustice she'd faced, of those who had turned a blind eye when she needed help the most.

She thought of Richard Cordell, of the corrupt system that had stolen ten years of her life. Of Thomas, gunned down on that pier. Of her father, forced into hiding. All because people in power had chosen to look away, to keep walking when they should have stopped.

Morgan's jaw clenched, a familiar fire of determination igniting in her chest. This case wasn't just about solving murders anymore. It was about confronting a deeply rooted injustice, one that resonated with her own experiences in ways she was only beginning to understand.

She turned back to Darren, her voice steady despite the tumult of emotions swirling within her. "Thank you for sharing your sister's story with us. It might be more important than you realize."