Page 41 of For Fear

Derik pulled over, the car idling quietly as Morgan unbuckled her seatbelt. She paused for a moment, her hand on the door, looking back at him. So much passed between them in that glance, a thousand words they didn't have time to say. Years of partnership, trust, and something deeper neither of them had ever dared to name.

"I'll see you on the other side," she said finally, a ghost of a smile on her lips. It was their old ritual, words they'd exchanged countless times before dangerous situations.

Derik returned the smile, his eyes soft with an emotion that made her heart ache. "Count on it."

With that, Morgan slipped out of the car, the cool night air hitting her face like a wake-up call. She stood for a moment, watching as Derik sped off into the night, his taillights disappearing around a corner. She took a deep breath, squaring her shoulders, and turned towards Tara's house. The street was quiet, too quiet, and somewhere in the distance, a siren wailed.

The hunt was on.

CHAPTER TWENTY ONE

The cool night air brushed against Morgan’s face as she exited her car, sending a shiver down her spine that had nothing to do with the temperature. Tara's house loomed before her, a mid-range, modest place that hinted at a life once more affluent, now scaled back.

Morgan's eyes immediately found Tara's car, parked in its usual spot. She was home, then. Or at least, she should be. But the house was dark, no lights visible through the windows, no sign of movement inside.

A knot of unease tightened in Morgan's gut as she approached the door. She knocked once, twice, the sound echoing in the stillness of the night. No answer.

She tried again, harder this time, the urgency rising in her veins. Still nothing. No footsteps from within, no rustle of movement. Just a heavy, oppressive silence that seemed to press in on her from all sides.

Morgan's hand moved to her gun, an instinctive gesture born from years of training. Something was wrong. She could feel it in her bones, a sixth sense honed from a decade in the field.

Her eyes scanned the exterior of the house, looking for any sign of forced entry, any hint of what might have happened here. But everything looked normal, undisturbed. As if Tara had simply vanished into thin air.

Morgan's mind raced with the possibilities, each more grim than the last. Had the killer already been here? Was she too late? The thought sent a chill through her, a cold dread that settled in the pit of her stomach.

She had to get inside. Had to know for sure. Every second counted now, every heartbeat a precious commodity that Tara might not have.

With a deep breath, Morgan reached for the door handle, steeling herself for what she might find on the other side. The metal was cool beneath her fingers, the door solid and unyielding.

She twisted the handle. Locked. Of course it was. But that wasn't going to stop her. Not now. Not when Tara's life could be on the line.

Morgan stepped back, her eyes fixed on the door, her mind already planning her next move. One way or another, she was going to get inside that house.

Morgan's heart thundered in her chest as she reached into her jacket pocket, fingers closing around the cold metal of her lock pick set. She'd learned a thing or two during her time in prison, skills that had served her well in the years since. Picking a lock was as easy as breathing now, a reflex born of necessity and honed by practice.

She slipped the picks into the lock, her hands steady despite the adrenaline coursing through her veins. The tumblers clicked and shifted, each one a small victory in the battle against time. Morgan worked quickly, efficiently, her focus laser-sharp as she navigated the intricate mechanism.

With a final twist, the lock gave way, the door swinging open on silent hinges. Morgan drew her gun, the weight of it familiar and reassuring in her hand. She stepped inside, every sense on high alert, every nerve humming with anticipation.

The hallway stretched out before her, dimly lit by the faint glow of a lamp somewhere in the depths of the house. The air was still, heavy with a silence that felt almost oppressive. Morgan moved forward cautiously, her footsteps muffled by the thick carpet.

She cleared the living room first, her eyes sweeping over the furniture, the bookshelves, the framed photographs on the walls.Everything looked normal, untouched. As if Tara had simply stepped out for a moment, ready to return at any second.

But Morgan knew better. She could feel it in her gut, that instinctive sense that something was wrong. The hairs on the back of her neck stood on end, a primal warning that danger lurked nearby.

She pressed on, moving deeper into the house, her gun held at the ready. The kitchen was next, the counters clean and uncluttered, the refrigerator humming quietly in the corner. No signs of a struggle, no indication that anything was amiss.

But as Morgan turned the corner, she froze, her breath catching in her throat. There, on the floor, was a shattered glass, the shards glinting in the dim light. And beside it, a chessboard, the pieces scattered across the hardwood like fallen soldiers on a battlefield.

Morgan's heart sank, a cold dread settling in the pit of her stomach. She knew what this meant, knew the implications of the scene before her. Tara had been here, had been taken by force. And now, she was gone, vanished into the night like a ghost.

Morgan swallowed hard, her grip tightening on her gun. She had to find her, had to bring her back before it was too late. The clock was ticking, each second a precious commodity that Tara might not have.

She reached for her phone, ready to call for backup, ready to mobilize every resource at her disposal. But as she dialed the number, a floorboard creaked behind her, a sound that sent a chill down her spine.

Morgan spun around, her gun raised, her finger on the trigger. And there, standing in the doorway, was a figure she had never seen before. A man, tall and lean, with eyes that glinted with a malevolent light.

Morgan's heart raced, her muscles tensing as she stared down the barrel of her gun at the intruder. The man's face was shrouded in shadow, but his eyes gleamed with a cold, calculating intelligence that sent a shiver down her spine.

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