Page 3 of Forbidden

Derik's stomach churned. This was the man who had once been Morgan's nemesis, the architect of her nightmares. Thomas Grady, the cyber security agent who’d briefly worked with them, only to betray Morgan by kidnapping her dog and making her life hell.

Yet here she was, walking towards him instead of fleeing.

Derik's fingers tightened on the wheel until his knuckles turned white. Why would Morgan agree to meet with Thomas? Images of their shared past, laced with betrayal and hurt, flashed through his mind. Hadn't she suffered enough at this man's hands? What game was she playing now, engaging with someone who embodied her darkest days?

He could only watch, powerless, as the two converged upon each other like opposing forces drawn by a twisted fate. Derik's jaw clenched. He knew Morgan's capacity for holding her ground, for facing down her demons, but Thomas Grady was no ordinary demon. He was a ghost from her past that refused to be exorcised.

The pier seemed to stretch out interminably into the darkness, a narrow path that led to an uncertain confrontation. Derik's mind raced with possibilities, each more unsettling than the last. Was this meeting a trap? A reckoning? Or was it part of Morgan's relentless quest to expose the corruption that had ensnared her life?

As they came face-to-face, Derik felt a sense of dread wash over him. The game she was playing was dangerous, the stakes impossibly high. And as much as he longed to rush to her side, to protect her from whatever lay ahead, he understood the necessity of her solitary approach. This was her fight, her chance to unravel the web of deceit that Richard Cordell had woven around her. But it was a fight that could easily spiral out of control, dragging both her and Derik into an abyss from which there was no return.

With every fiber of his being, Derik wanted to call out to her, to warn her of the myriad ways this could go wrong. Yet he remained silent, a sentinel in the darkness, watching as Morgan faced down the specter of her past, alone.

CHAPTER TWO

Morgan's boots thudded against the rough planks of the Dallas pier. It was past 1 AM, and the world seemed to hold its breath. The only sound was the distant lapping of waves against wooden posts, a rhythmic whisper in the night. A lone streetlamp fought against the engulfing darkness, casting a weak glow that barely reached her feet. This place was like a scene from an old photograph—still, silent, and tinged with secrets.

She walked deliberately, her gaze sweeping the darkness for any hint of motion. The atmosphere was teeming with a sense of anticipation, suggestive of hidden matters and unspoken dialogues. The success of this operation depended on the encounter with the man lurking at the pier's edge, concealed by the night.

Thomas Grady's figure cut into the night sky as she approached. Tall, broad-shouldered, his presence was undeniable—even as a silhouette. Her heart ticked up a notch, betraying her otherwise cool exterior. Morgan knew that Thomas, despite their shared history, was not wholly trustworthy. Yet here she was, drawn by the need to know more, to unravel the tangled web that had ensnared her life.

She closed the distance between them, each step measured, her senses on high alert. The man who once held her fate in his hands now stood before her as an ally—albeit a shaky one. There was no love lost between them, but necessity made for strange bedfellows. She needed answers, and Thomas was the key to unlocking them. His knowledge about Cordell, the man behind her wrongful imprisonment, could tip the scales in her favor.

As she neared, the faint light revealed more of Thomas's features—the set jaw, the eyes that always seemed to calculate. Morgan stopped, maintaining a buffer zone of safety. Trust had to be earned, and Thomas was still miles away from gaining hers. But tonight, they were two players on the same side, whether they liked it or not.

She kept her eyes locked on Thomas, the man who'd once used his expertise to corner her, now standing as her best chance at truth. The dim light did little to soften the hard lines of his face, a face she had learned to read for survival. He was still an enigma, dangerous and unpredictable, yet essential in her quest for answers.

"Thomas," she said, voice tight, stopping with strategic space between them. Her stance was guarded, a living barrier to the trust that had long been shattered.

"Morgan," he responded, and there it was—the slight shift in his tone. It wasn't the cold, detached voice of their past encounters. This had something else woven through it, a thread of something like humanity. Was it regret? Or perhaps resolve? Morgan couldn't be sure, and that uncertainty was a razor's edge against her instincts.

She watched him closely, searching for any sign of deceit. His hands were visible and relaxed, but she knew too well the speed at which he could turn lethal. They were two predators circling a fragile alliance, each aware of the other's capabilities.

Morgan felt the weight of the gun concealed beneath her jacket, a cold comfort against the fear that even now buzzed quietly in her veins. She reminded herself why she was here, why she had agreed to this precarious meeting. Answers—that's what she needed, and Thomas Grady was the reluctant gatekeeper to those truths.

She took a breath, letting the sea air fill her lungs, steadying her resolve. This was not a time for emotions; this was a game of strategy. Morgan Cross didn't get to where she was by yielding to feelings, and she wouldn't start now. It was clear from Thomas's careful posture, the way his eyes never strayed too far from her own, that he was just as wary of her as she was of him.

Morgan's hand hovered near the butt of her gun, a habit born from years of caution. The night was silent except for the occasional call of a distant bird and the subtle creaking of the pier underfoot. She had no time for pleasantries; the threat to her life was too pressing, too real.

"Three nights ago, I got a call," she began, her voice low but fierce, cutting through the calm of the night. "An anonymous tipster, cold as the grave, telling me to walk away from the Bureau or else." Her eyes fixed on Thomas, searching for any flicker of recognition. "It's Cordell. He wants me out. And I need to know why."

The darkness seemed to lean in closer as she spoke. A chill born from more than just the sea air wrapped itself around her. The threat loomed over her like a specter, one that had haunted her ever since her wrongful conviction.

Thomas exhaled slowly, a deliberate release of breath that hinted at inner turmoil. His gaze lingered on Morgan, measuring, assessing.

"Why does Cordell want me gone so badly?" she demanded, unable to mask the frustration tinging her words. She was done with being the prey in an endless hunt, tired of the shadows that moved just beyond her sight.

"Like I told you before, Morgan," Thomas said, his sigh carrying a weight of resignation, "it all ties back to your father." He paused, perhaps contemplating the gravity of what he shared. "Cordell’s obsession with you isn’t just about you—it’s about him. John Christopher. Whatever it is that your father did, it’s made you a target."

Morgan's fists clenched involuntarily, her nails digging into her palms. John Christopher—a name that was both foreign and intimately familiar. Her father, the man who raised her, taught her how to fight, how to survive, and yet whose past remained shrouded in mystery. Hearing his name in connection with Cordell twisted something deep inside her.

"John Christopher," she echoed, the name tasting like bile. She could feel the puzzle pieces moving in the dark, but the picture was still incomplete.

If her father had set this in motion, then understanding his actions was key to unraveling the web that now ensnared her. But the path to those answers was obscured, tangled in layers of lies and deception.

"Whatever he did," she pressed, "it died with him. And I'm left cleaning up his mess."

Her voice was steady, but the anger simmering beneath was palpable. She was a pawn in a game that began long before her time, and every move she made seemed only to draw her deeper into its clutches.

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