Page 12 of For Fear

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Morgan leaned back in the passenger seat, fingers drumming an erratic rhythm against her thigh as she stared at the front of Melanie's house through the gathering dusk. The low hum of their unmarked car's engine filled the silence, punctuated only by the occasional rustle of browning leaves skittering across empty sidewalks. The setting sun painted long shadows across the suburban street, transforming familiar territory into something more sinister.

Her coffee had gone cold hours ago, forgotten in the cup holder between them. The scent of stale cigarette smoke clung to her clothes—a reminder of the three breaks she'd taken today, each one an attempt to clear her head of the images that haunted her: Simon's body, arranged with such precision it made her stomach turn, and those damned calling cards that seemed to mock everything they represented.

"Why was he killed like that?" Morgan muttered, more to herself than to Derik. Her voice carried the weight of too many sleepless nights. "Leaving behind those damn calling cards... It's like a twisted trophy collection." She squinted at the house one last time before turning her attention to her partner. Derik's knuckles had gone white against the steering wheel, his usual easy demeanor replaced by something harder, more brittle.

"Don't know, but it feels personal," Derik replied, his voice steady despite the tension evident in every line of his body. A muscle jumped in his jaw as he shifted in his seat. The leather creaked beneath him, the sound unnaturally loud in theconfined space. His green eyes, usually bright with humor, had taken on a haunted cast that Morgan recognized all too well. "What do you think it means?"

Morgan let out a slow breath, watching it fog the window slightly. "Both Lila and Simon had their demons," she said, the words coming slowly as she pieced together the puzzle that had been consuming her thoughts. "Addictions that consumed them, destroyed everything they'd built." She leaned forward, unconsciously closing the space between them as if sharing a secret. The scent of worn leather mingled with the bitter reminder of her earlier cigarettes. "But the killer? He didn't showcase their struggles; he flaunted their brilliance instead. Their achievements. The medals, the awards, the recognition—all carefully arranged around them like some sick shrine."

Her hand moved unconsciously to the scar on her forearm, a habit she'd developed when deep in thought. "It's as if he wanted to remind them of what they used to be—what they lost. Like he's holding up a mirror to their fall from grace."

"Mockery?" Derik suggested, raising an eyebrow as he turned to face her more fully. The dying sunlight caught the silver threading through his dark hair at the temples. "Or maybe he thinks he's saving them somehow? Preserving them at their peak?"

"Great. A killer with a savior complex. Just what we need," she scoffed, but there was no real heat behind it. Her tablet came to life with a soft chime as she tapped it awake, the blue glow casting harsh shadows across her features. With practiced movements, she pulled up Simon's profile again, though she'd memorized most of it by now. "But look here... both victims were in therapy. That's not just a coincidence anymore."

"Yeah?" Derik's posture changed subtly, some of the tension in his shoulders giving way to curiosity. The shift was slight, butMorgan had known him long enough to read the signs. "What are you thinking?"

"Simon was seeing Dr. Clayton Reid," Morgan said, her voice taking on that sharp edge Derik recognized as her hunting tone. "What if Lila had been a patient of his too? I mean, think about it—both victims struggled with addiction, both were high-achievers who fell from grace, both killed in ways that highlighted their former glory—"

"That's a bold leap, Morgan." Derik's caution was automatic, but she could see the spark of interest in his eyes. "We don't even know if she had any therapy records. Could be reaching."

"Maybe, but it's worth investigating." Morgan's mind raced ahead, piecing together possibilities like a jigsaw puzzle. Her heart quickened with the familiar thrill of a potential breakthrough. "If Reid has been treating both of them, then he might know more than he let on during questioning. Or worse..." Her voice trailed off as an unsettling thought took root.

"More than just a therapist," Derik finished for her, his expression darkening as he followed her train of thought. The engine's idle seemed to grow louder in the lengthening shadows. "You think he could be connected to the murders?"

"Exactly." Morgan shot him a sharp grin that didn't quite reach her eyes. Her resolve hardened like steel beneath the weight of possibility. They had a lead now, however tenuous, and she intended to chase it down until it either broke open or dead-ended. As they pulled away from the curb, the house diminishing in the rearview mirror, the thrill of the hunt surged within her, electric and familiar.

Morgan's fingers moved across the tablet screen with practiced efficiency, the sense of urgency building in her chest as she typed in "Dr. Clayton Reid." The car's engine provided a steady backdrop to her racing thoughts, the air growing thick with anticipation. Her pulse quickened as the search resultspopulated—this could be the thread that unraveled everything. The first link drew her eye immediately, its polished layout and professional graphics practically screaming success and discretion.

"Damn," she muttered, scrolling through page after page of carefully curated content. "This guy's got a whole PR team behind him. Everything's perfect—too perfect."

Derik leaned closer, his shoulder brushing hers as he studied the screen. The faint scent of his aftershave mingled with the lingering coffee and smoke. "Looks like he's catering to the high rollers—celebrities, CEOs, anyone who needs their skeletons kept firmly in the closet. What's his specialty?"

"Addiction therapy, all varieties." Morgan's eyes narrowed as she scanned through testimonials that read more like advertising copy than genuine gratitude. "He's got an office in one of those glass towers downtown. The kind of place where the furniture costs more than our annual salaries combined."

"High price for a therapist," Derik replied, his words carrying a weight of suspicion. "But if you're paying for silence as much as treatment..."

"Exactly." Morgan tapped her chin thoughtfully, her mind already several steps ahead. "If Simon and Lila were both his patients, he'd know everything about them. Their struggles, their secrets, their shame. And if he's involved..." The implications sent a chill down her spine that had nothing to do with the autumn air seeping through the car windows.

"Let's find out if Lila ever went to him," she said decisively, already reaching for the door handle. The surge of determination flowing through her veins was better than any caffeine boost. They couldn't let this lead grow cold.

"Think the office is still open?" Derik asked, checking the dashboard clock that glowed at 6:47 PM.

"Only one way to find out." Morgan pushed the car door open with perhaps more force than necessary, stepping out onto the cracked pavement. The chill October air wrapped around her like a warning, carrying with it the scent of dead leaves and wood smoke. Above them, the sky had deepened to a bruised purple, the first stars beginning to emerge like distant witnesses to whatever truth they might uncover.

As she slammed the door shut, Morgan couldn't shake the feeling that they were finally on the right track—even if that track led somewhere darker than either of them was prepared for. But that was tomorrow's problem. Right now, they had a lead to chase and questions that needed answers, preferably before another body turned up with its own grotesque display of former glory.

CHAPTER SIX

Morgan stepped into Dr. Clayton Reid's office suite, her breath catching slightly at the stark contrast between the gritty world outside and the pristine sanctuary within. Autumn sunlight streamed through floor-to-ceiling windows, fracturing against the polished surfaces and casting long shadows across the lobby's marble floors. The air hung heavy with artificial calm – all soft music and essential oils – a carefully orchestrated atmosphere that made her skin prickle with unease.

She adjusted the worn leather strap of her messenger bag, its familiar weight grounding her. Beside her, Derik's reflection ghosted across the glass walls – his green eyes sharp and focused despite the shadows of exhaustion that had taken up residence beneath them. Three days without a real break, and now two bodies. She could see the toll it was taking on him, though he'd never admit it.

"You good?" she murmured, quiet enough that only he could hear.

Derik's lips quirked in what might have been a smile. "Always am." But his crossed arms and rigid posture told a different story.

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