Page 4 of Forbidden

"Mary Price," Thomas stated, his voice cutting through the silence that hung between them. "My mother. The truth about her death is the linchpin. Your father, John Christopher, was responsible, but Cordell never knew who I am or my connection to her. Yet, he knows you're Christopher's daughter, and that makes you a liability in his eyes. That’s my theory, anyway."

Morgan processed this revelation, the cool breeze off the water doing nothing to ease the heat of anger building within her. Every word Thomas spoke tied her tighter to a past she'd never fully grasped, a legacy of blood and secrecy that stained her hands by mere association.

The bitterness of betrayal lingered on Morgan’s tongue as she confronted the magnitude of Thomas’s claims. “But what truth?” she demanded, her voice low and tense. “What is it about my father that he wants to bury so badly?”

Thomas met her gaze, his eyes reflecting both knowledge and the frustration of its limits. “I don’t know yet,” he admitted. “But whatever secret your father took to his grave, Cordell’s desperate to keep it there. I’m certain it involves Cordell too.”

Morgan's mind raced, the pieces of a puzzle scattering before her, elusive and jagged. Her father's hidden past—a past that now threatened to unravel the life she'd fought so hard to rebuild—loomed over her, an enigma wrapped in the shroud of death. Cordell's motives, once mere shadows flickering at the edge of her understanding, now began to form a more sinister shape.

"What matters is that Cordell doesn’t know you and I are working together now," Thomas said, breaking into her reverie. His tone held a sharpness, a cutting edge of urgency. "That’s our advantage, for as long as we can keep it."

She nodded slowly, her gaze fixed on the dark waters below that mirrored the obscurity of their situation. Dependence on Thomas twisted her stomach, but desperation was a powerful force. It drove her to seek alliances where she once found only enmity. Trust was a luxury she couldn't afford, not with stakes like these. Yet, here she stood, needing to mine every ounce of value from this precarious partnership.

"Can you get close to Cordell?" The question slipped from her lips, laced with a blend of hope and doubt. Answers dangled before her like a carrot on a stick—so close, yet just out of reach.

Thomas shook his head, the dim light casting his frustration in stark relief. "Not now. I’m too low in the ranks. The agents under Cordell, they don’t report to me—I report to them. They answer to others. I'm an outsider, Morgan, just like you."

His admission acted as a cold splash of reality. Her fingers tightened around the fabric of her coat, pulling it closer against the wind that sought to penetrate her defenses just as much as Cordell's web of deceit had done to her life. Each revelation brought more questions, each layer peeled back revealing a deeper darkness beneath.

Morgan's eyes narrowed as she processed Thomas's admission. "Then how did they convince you to work with them? Without telling you their real motives?" The question hung between them, punctuated by the soft creaking of the pier beneath their feet.

Thomas's silhouette seemed to harden against the dim light. "It's all about money," he said, his voice carrying the bitter sting of truth. "They pay for loyalty and silence." He paused, his gaze fixed on the dark horizon. "They keep everyone compartmentalized, so no one knows the full picture. It's how they control people—by making sure everyone’s in the dark, just like you."

Morgan stepped back, feeling the distance between them grow. Her mind raced, trying to piece together the fragmented puzzle before her. Thomas had been a part of that system, a cog in the machine that had nearly crushed her. She remembered her own isolation, the years spent clawing her way back from the brink, only to find herself face-to-face with those same shadows once again.

A chill traced Morgan's spine, each revelation unearthing layers of conspiracy that seemed bottomless. Thomas, however, wasn't without hope. "I can get answers, Morgan. But I need time," he implored, his voice threading through the night air with an earnestness she'd seldom heard from him. "I need you to hold out a little longer."

She looked at him, weighing his words against the cold fear that gripped her heart. He was asking her to remain in the line of fire, to trust in his ability to navigate the treacherous currents swirling around Cordell. Every instinct screamed at her to flee, to sever ties and disappear into the anonymity she had once known. Yet deep down, she understood the precarious balance they teetered upon—one misstep could send them both plummeting into the abyss.

"Time isn't something we have in abundance," Morgan stated, her voice steady despite the storm raging within. She couldn't afford to let doubt cloud her judgment, not when every second counted. Thomas was an asset, albeit an unreliable one.

If there was even a sliver of a chance he could unearth something vital, she had to take it. She had to stay the course, play Cordell's twisted game until the moment to strike revealed itself.

"Fine," she said, and the word tasted bitter, heavy with the burden of the choices she had been forced to make. "But this doesn't feel right. Staying in the FBI when someone is gunning for me… it doesn’t feel good." Her hand twitched near her side, where the cold metal of her service weapon lay concealed. It was an anchor, a reminder of her duty and her vulnerability.

Thomas' outline seemed to soften against the darkness, his stance less confrontational, more human. "I know," he replied, and there was something new in his voice—an echo of empathy that hadn't been there before. "But you're not alone in this anymore. We’ll find a way to bring Cordell down. Together."

The promise hung between them, fraught with the complexities of their shared history and the tenuous thread of trust they were weaving. Morgan turned away, her eyes scanning the murky waters below, feeling the push and pull of the tide mirroring the turmoil within her. As she looked back at Thomas one last time, she sought any flicker of deceit, any hint of the man who had once betrayed her. All she found was the opaque mask of determination—a face set toward an uncertain future.

She didn't know if she could trust him completely, but the stakes left no room for doubt or indecision. With a nod, more to herself than to Thomas, she signaled the end of their parley. Each step she took away from the pier was measured, a deliberate march toward a destiny she could neither foresee nor escape. The risk was immense, but so too was the need for justice—for her, for Thomas, for all the silent victims caught in Cordell's web.

Morgan retreated into the night, the pieces of the puzzle swirling like leaves in a tempest. Cordell's motives, her father's legacy, the labyrinthine corridors of power within the FBI—each element was a thread in a tapestry of treachery that she was determined to unravel. She would continue to wear the badge, continue to play the role assigned to her, but now she did so with an ally at her back. Whether he proved to be her salvation or her downfall remained to be seen. For now, Morgan moved forward, each step a defiance of the fear that sought to claim her.

CHAPTER THREE

Morgan's headlights sliced through the predawn darkness as she pulled up to her house. The sight of Derik's sedan, a dark shape against the curb, snagged her attention. Lately, Derik had been carving out more space in her life, his presence in her home growing more constant. His key to her place was a concession she'd made with reluctance, and now, unannounced, it seemed he'd decided to use it. They hadn’t planned on spending the night together, yet here he was.

She killed the engine and the world fell silent, save for the whisper of dry leaves skittering across the driveway. Morgan stepped out, the cool air biting at her skin through her leather jacket. With each step towards the front door, a taut string of unease wound tighter within her. Morgan's mind raced with scenarios; why was Derik here so late? Why didn’t he call her to warn her he’d be coming? Something didn’t feel right.

The door creaked open beneath her steady push, a sound that seemed too loud in the stillness. Shadows pooled in the corners of the living room, but one larger silhouette was unmistakably human. Derik sat on her couch, a dim lamp casting light over his features. Beside him, Skunk, her Pitbull, perked up his ears at Morgan's entrance.

"Hey, boy," Morgan whispered as Skunk bounded over, his tail wagging with the enthusiasm that only a dog's unconditional love could muster. He nuzzled against her hand, seeking affection and offering solace in equal measure.

For a moment, Morgan allowed herself the simple pleasure of scratching behind his ears, grounding herself in the familiar.

"Derik," she said, her voice betraying nothing of the turmoil that his presence stirred within her. "What are you doing here?"

Her eyes swept over him, taking in the details that betrayed his state: the creased lines of his suit, the stubble darkening his jawline, and the tired green eyes that watched her with an intensity she knew all too well. She waited, the silence stretching between them, charged with questions she wasn't sure she wanted answered.

---