Page 22 of For Mercy (Morgan Cross #16)

Morgan's skull pounded. She blinked hard, fighting against the heaviness of her eyelids as she leaned over the scattered files on the briefing room table. The coffee in her mug had long since gone cold, a testament to how long she and Derik had been at this.

"We're missing something," Morgan muttered, more to herself than to Derik. Her fingers traced the edge of a photo, Linda Worth's grief-stricken face staring back at her.

Derik's chair creaked as he shifted. "Maybe we should take a break, get some fresh air."

Morgan shook her head, wincing at the movement. "No time. Two people are dead, Derik. We can't afford breaks."

She could feel his concerned gaze on her, knew he was cataloging the dark circles under her eyes, the slight tremor in her hands. But she couldn't let herself rest, not when the killer could be planning their next move.

"Morgan," Derik's voice was gentle. "You're no good to anyone if you run yourself into the ground."

She finally looked up, meeting his green eyes. The worry there made her chest ache. "I know," she admitted softly. "But every time I close my eyes, I see their faces. Hawthorne. Knox. I can't shake the feeling that we're already too late for the next victim."

Derik reached across the table, his fingers brushing hers. "We'll find them. We always do."

Morgan allowed herself a moment to draw strength from his touch before pulling away. She stood, stretching muscles stiff from hours of inactivity, and moved to the board where the Worths' photos were pinned.

"What do you make of them?" she asked, studying Carl Worth's face. There was something in his eyes, a hint of barely contained rage that made her skin prickle.

Derik joined her at the board. "Grieving family, failed lawsuit. It's a common enough story."

"But not a quiet one," Morgan mused, tapping her finger against Carl's photo. "The way they went after Knox... it was personal."

"You think they might be involved?"

Morgan shrugged, frustration bubbling up. "I don't know. But right now, they're our best lead."

She turned back to the table, rifling through the files until she found what she was looking for. "Here," she said, holding up a document. "The transcript from the lawsuit dismissal. The language Carl Worth used... it was volatile."

Derik took the paper, his brow furrowing as he read. "Sounds like he had a hard time accepting the judge's decision."

"Wouldn't you?" Morgan asked, her voice low. "If someone walked past your dying brother and faced no consequences?"

The question hung in the air between them, heavy with unspoken weight. Morgan knew Derik was thinking of his own estranged son, of the bridges burned by his past mistakes.

Morgan's eyes narrowed as she studied the transcript, her mind replaying the courtroom scene. The words seemed to leap off the page, Carl Worth's rage palpable even through the cold, clinical text.

"Linda filed the lawsuit," Morgan murmured, her voice rough with fatigue, "but Carl... he was the one who couldn't contain himself."

Derik leaned in, his shoulder brushing against hers. The familiar warmth of his presence steadied her, even as exhaustion threatened to drag her under. "What exactly did he say?"

Morgan's finger traced the line on the page. "When the case was dismissed, he shouted at Michelle Knox. His exact words were: 'You'll still pay for what you did.'"

She looked up, meeting Derik's concerned gaze. The weight of those words hung between them, heavy with implication.

"A threat," Morgan said, her voice barely above a whisper.

Derik nodded, his green eyes darkening. "Or a promise."

They exchanged a look, years of partnership allowing them to communicate without words. Morgan felt a surge of adrenaline cut through her exhaustion, her mind snapping into focus.

"We need to talk to Carl Worth," she said, already pushing herself to her feet. "Now."

Derik didn't argue, grabbing his jacket from the back of his chair. "I'll drive. You look like you're about to collapse."

Morgan wanted to protest, but the room swam slightly as she stood. She gritted her teeth, forcing herself to stay upright. "I'm fine."

"Sure you are," Derik muttered, but his hand was gentle on her elbow as he steadied her.

As they moved towards the door, Morgan's mind raced. Could Carl Worth be their killer? The timing fit, the motive was there, but something niggled at the back of her mind. It felt too... neat. Too obvious.

"What are you thinking?" Derik asked as they stepped into the elevator.

Morgan leaned against the wall, closing her eyes briefly. "I'm thinking we're missing something. Carl's outburst... it's the kind of lead that looks good on paper, but..."

"But your gut's telling you otherwise," Derik finished for her.

She nodded, opening her eyes to find him watching her intently. "Yeah. But right now, it's all we've got. And if I'm wrong..."

"If you're wrong, we might prevent another murder," Derik said firmly. "We have to check it out."

The elevator doors opened, and they stepped out into the parking garage.

As they walked to Derik's car, Morgan felt the weight of her exhaustion, the pressure of the case, and the ever-present shadow of her own past pressing down on her.

But beneath it all, there was a spark of determination.

They would find this killer, no matter what it took.

***

Morgan's eyes swept over the modest single-story house before her, taking in every detail.

The neatly trimmed lawn, its blades of grass standing at perfect attention, seemed to mock the chaos of her own life.

The freshly painted porch gleamed in the afternoon sun, its pristine white conflicting with the darkness of the case that had brought them here.

As she and Derik approached the front door, Morgan noticed the curtains in the front window stirring gently in the breeze. It was all so... normal. So innocuous. The kind of place you'd expect to find a friendly neighbor, not a potential murderer.

"Doesn't exactly scream 'psychopath's lair,' does it?" she murmured to Derik.

He shook his head, his expression grim. "They never do."

Morgan raised her hand to knock, but hesitated for a moment. "What if we're wrong about this, Derik? What if we're chasing the wrong lead while the real killer is out there planning their next move?"

Derik's hand squeezed her shoulder briefly. "We follow every lead, Morgan. That's the job."

She nodded, steeling herself, and rapped sharply on the door. For a long moment, there was silence. Then, the sound of footsteps approaching.

The door swung open, and Morgan found herself face to face with Carl Worth.

Her breath caught in her throat. The man before her looked nothing like the enraged figure she'd seen in the courtroom photos.

This Carl Worth seemed... diminished. Older than his years, his face lined with a grief that had settled into something quiet but permanent.

"Can I help you?" he asked, his voice rough with disuse.

Morgan cleared her throat. "Mr. Worth? I'm Agent Cross, and this is Agent Greene. We're with the FBI. We'd like to ask you a few questions if that's alright."

Carl's eyes flickered between them, a shadow of something—pain? fear?—passing over his features. For a moment, Morgan thought he might refuse them entry. But then his shoulders sagged, and he stepped back, gesturing them inside.

As they followed him into a living room that smelled faintly of lemon furniture polish and old books, Morgan couldn't shake the feeling that they were missing something crucial.

The pieces of the puzzle were there, she was sure of it.

But how they fit together... that was still frustratingly out of reach.

Carl Worth's eyes darkened as he caught sight of their badges, his jaw clenching visibly. Morgan tensed, ready for hostility, but as she explained their presence, something in Carl's expression shifted. The anger drained away, replaced by a weariness that seemed bone-deep.

"Michelle Knox," he murmured, sinking into an armchair. "I heard about what happened to her on the news. Terrible business."

Morgan studied him, her instincts on high alert. "Mr. Worth, we understand you had a... history with Ms. Knox. We need to ask you about your whereabouts during the time of her murder."

Carl didn't flinch. He met her gaze steadily, his voice calm as he replied, "I was at my sister-in-law's house. Linda's. We were going through some of my brother's old things. She can confirm it."

As Carl continued to answer their questions without hesitation, providing a solid alibi for both murders, Morgan felt a growing sense of unease. This wasn't the reaction she'd expected. Where was the bitterness, the lingering resentment?

"Mr. Worth," she probed, leaning forward slightly, "can you tell us about your brother? About what happened with Ms. Knox?"

Something flickered in Carl's eyes—not anger, but a deep, abiding sorrow. "My brother was a good man," he said softly. "What happened to him... it was senseless. Cruel. For a long time, I couldn't understand how someone could just walk by, ignore a person in need like that."

Morgan's pulse quickened. This was it—the moment of revelation she'd been waiting for. But Carl's next words caught her off guard.

"But blaming her... it didn't bring him back. It didn't change anything. I had to learn to let go of that anger, or it would have consumed me."

As Carl spoke about his brother, his voice steady and filled with a quiet acceptance, Morgan felt her certainty crumble. This wasn't the vengeful relative she'd expected to find. This was a man who had faced his grief and come out the other side.

She glanced at Derik, seeing her own surprise mirrored in his eyes. They'd been so sure, but now... Now, they were back at square one, with a killer still on the loose and no leads to follow.

Carl's gaze drifted to a framed photo on the mantle—a smiling man who bore a striking resemblance to him. His brother. He turned back to Morgan and Derik, his eyes glistening with unshed tears.

"I went to therapy," he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. "It took time, but I learned to accept that my brother's death wasn't Michelle Knox's fault. She made a terrible choice that day, but she didn't cause his heart attack."

Morgan leaned forward, her tattooed arms resting on her knees. She studied Carl's face, searching for any hint of deception. But all she saw was a man who had walked through fire and come out transformed.

"Mr. Worth," she said, her voice gentler than before, "can you tell us more about how you came to terms with what happened?"

Carl nodded slowly. "It wasn't easy. There were days I wanted to scream, to lash out at the world. But my therapist helped me see that holding onto that anger was only hurting me."

He paused, taking a deep breath before continuing. "I hated her for a long time. But I let it go. What would revenge even do for me?"

His words hung in the air, heavy with the weight of hard-won wisdom. Morgan felt a twinge in her chest, an echo of her own struggle with the desire for vengeance against those who had framed her.

She watched Carl closely, her trained eyes picking up every micro-expression, every subtle shift in his body language. But there was no trace of the man who had once raged in a courtroom. This Carl Worth had made peace with his loss.

"It sounds like you've come a long way," Morgan said, her voice carrying a hint of admiration.

Carl nodded, a sad smile touching his lips. "I have. It's not always easy, but I've learned to live with my loss. My brother wouldn't have wanted me to waste my life on bitterness and revenge."

***

The car's engine hummed softly as Morgan leaned her head against the cool glass of the passenger window.

The world outside blurred into a hazy smear of colors, mirroring the fog that seemed to have settled over her mind.

Two days without sleep was taking its toll, and Morgan could feel exhaustion pulling at her like quicksand.

"You okay?" Derik's voice cut through the silence, concern etched in his tone.

Morgan turned to look at him, her eyes heavy. "Just tired. Nothing a gallon of coffee won't fix."

Derik frowned. "Maybe you should catch some sleep when we get back to the office. I can handle the paperwork."

"No," Morgan shook her head, wincing at the dull ache the movement caused. "We can't afford to waste time. This killer-"

Her words trailed off as something tugged at the edges of her consciousness. A stray thought, elusive as smoke, danced just out of reach. Morgan closed her eyes, trying to grasp it.

"Morgan?" Derik's voice sounded distant.

The pieces began to fall into place, slowly at first, then with increasing speed. Carl Worth, his anger tempered by time and therapy. The raw grief in his eyes, softened but still present. The way he spoke about letting go, about the futility of revenge.

Morgan's eyes snapped open, adrenaline surging through her veins, pushing back the fog of exhaustion.

"Oh God," she breathed, her heart racing. "I might know who it is."