Page 45 of For Silence

Derik scribbled notes before glancing up. "His work—has it ever gotten personal for him?"

"Journalism is always personal if you're doing it right," Henry replied, then paused, considering his words. "But Gavin keeps a tight lid on whatever brews underneath. He's focused, maybe even more now than ever."

"More now than ever?" Derik echoed, catching the implicit meaning.

"His drive," Henry explained. "It's like he's channeling everything into his work."

Morgan leaned against the cold, metal table, her gaze fixed on Henry Caldwell. "Gavin," she began, her voice level despite the gravity of her question. "Did he have any children? Or did he ever lose someone close to him?"

Henry's eyes flickered with hesitation, and for a moment, a heavy silence filled the sterile interrogation room. Then he nodded slowly, the faintest hint of sorrow creasing his brow. "Yes, actually," he answered. "He had a little brother. After Gavin's parents died in an accident, he fought tooth and nail to be the boy's guardian."

"Let me guess," Morgan interjected, her suspicion sharpening. "The system didn't see it his way?"

"Right." Henry's voice was tinged with bitterness. "They placed his brother in foster care instead. Tragic, really."

"Tragic how?" Derik prompted, leaning forward.

"His brother... he didn't make it. Died in the foster home, an accident on the playground or something like that," Henry confided, a pained look crossing his features.

Morgan felt a shock ripple through her. She straightened up, her tattoos stretching with the movement. "Are you sure about this?"

"Absolutely." Henry's certainty was palpable. "It only happened a few weeks ago. But Gavin—he seemed to cope surprisingly well. Threw himself into his work more than ever."

"More than ever," Morgan echoed quietly, a chill settling over her. She exchanged a glance with Derik, reading the same disquiet reflected in his eyes. The pieces were beginning to coalesce into a grim picture—one where loss and grief could morph into something much darker.

Morgan's mind whirred as she paced the sterile corridor outside the interrogation room, her footsteps echoing with a rhythm that matched the racing of her heart. No, Gavin wasn't coping—he was plotting. Each piece of evidence, every whisper of grief transformed in her head into a map of his descent. She could see him sitting alone, surrounded by the ghosts of his loss, his anger at the justice system boiling over into a silent scream for retribution.

"Derik," Morgan said, turning on her heel to face her partner, who had been trailing her with his own thoughts churning. "The teddy bear remnants at each scene—it's not just a twisted signature. It's symbolic. A lost child, a broken family... it's all personal for Gavin."

"Jesus, you think he's been planning this since his brother died?" Derik's eyes widened as the horror of the possibility settled between them.

"Think about it," Morgan pressed on, her tattoos almost coming alive with the intensity of her conviction. "A justice system that took everything from him, piece by piece. For Gavin, those victims represented the very institution that failed him. He's been punishing them, one by one."

"Damn," Derik muttered, running a hand through his hair. "But why Lara Quentin?"

"Because they were friends. She told him about the incident with John.”

"She became a target," Derik finished, his voice grim.

"Exactly." Morgan's gaze sharpened, and she pushed off the wall with newfound determination. "But he didn't finish the job. Lara survived. That means he'll try again—or worse, he'll move on to the next name on his list."

"Then let’s go,” Derik concurred, already moving towards the exit.

"Right behind you," Morgan confirmed, her dark clothing a shadow as she followed swiftly. The weight of urgency bore down on her shoulders like a physical force, propelling her forward.

They burst through the doors of the FBI headquarters, the cool night air doing nothing to temper the heat of the chase that burned within them. They had to find Gavin Merritt before the darkness in him claimed another life—before the justice he sought twisted into further injustice.

"Let's end this," Morgan vowed, her voice a low promise to the night, to the victims, and to a little boy whose death had set this tragic chain in motion. They stepped into the car, tires screeching as they peeled away from the curb, racing against the clock and a killer's rage.

CHAPTER TWENTY THREE

Morgan's knuckles were white as she gripped the steering wheel, each turn towards Gavin Merritt's house winding the tension tighter in her chest. The night was a blanket thrown over the world, smothering every hope of light. She could feel Derik's eyes on her, his presence a steady counterbalance to the storm brewing in her mind.

"Plan's simple," Morgan began, breaking the silence with her sharp, no-nonsense tone. "Get in, get answers, get out. We aim for peaceful, but stay ready for anything else."

"Peaceful," Derik echoed, his voice laced with skepticism. "With Gavin? The guy who thinks he's the avenging angel for his dead brother?"

"Hope is not a plan, but it's a start," Morgan shot back, her gaze never leaving the dark road ahead.

---