Page 3 of Forsaken

"Or maybe he's confident enough to show his hand because he knows we can't touch him." Derik's voice carried the weight of experience, of too many cases where justice had slipped through their fingers. "Men like that, with that kind of power—they don't make mistakes, Morgan. They make examples."

Morgan slammed her palm against the counter, making the files jump. Skunk was on his feet now, moving to her side, pressing his solid weight against her leg. The pit bull's presence was grounding, a reminder to keep her anger in check. His tailwas low but not tucked, ready to respond to whatever came next. "So what's your solution? Take his offer? Run away and let him win? Spend the rest of our lives looking over our shoulders?"

"If it keeps you alive? Yes." Derik's voice cracked on the last word. He crossed the room to her, close enough that she could smell his aftershave, see the shadows under his eyes. His hand reached for her arm but stopped short. "We could go anywhere. Start over. Build something new, something that isn't soaked in blood and revenge."

"Like my father did?" The bitterness in her laugh surprised even her. "Look how well that worked out for him. Changed his name, moved to the middle of nowhere, raised me on lies—and Cordell still found him. No, Derik. I didn't survive ten years in prison just to spend the rest of my life running."

She pulled a photograph from one of the files—the crime scene photo of Thomas on the pier, blood mixing with rainwater. His face was turned away from the camera, but she could still see the surprise frozen in his features, the words he'd never finished saying. "We have evidence. Thomas's murder, the cover-up of Mary Price's death, the timeline of events leading to my frame-up. We just need to connect the dots."

"Evidence isn't worth much if we're dead before we can use it." Derik's hand finally made contact, fingers wrapping gently around her wrist. "I've already lost you once, Morgan. I can't—" He broke off, swallowing hard. "I won't survive losing you again."

Morgan turned to face him fully, studying the man who'd stood by her through everything—even after his own betrayal, even after she'd shut him out of parts of her investigation. The strain was showing in the new lines around his eyes, in the way his shoulders curved inward as if bearing an invisible weight. She knew he still attended AA meetings three times a week, fighting his own demons while helping her chase hers.

"What if Mary's death wasn't an accident?" The theory had been forming since her conversation with Cordell, pieces clicking into place like tumblers in a lock. "What if my father didn't kill her? What if Cordell did, and the cover-up was to protect him, not my father?"

Derik's expression shifted from worry to consideration. It was the look he got when working a case, when emotion gave way to analysis. "That would explain why your father ran, changed his name. If he discovered the truth—"

"Cordell would have had to silence him." Morgan nodded, energy coursing through her despite her exhaustion. "And when I joined the FBI, got assigned to the BAU like my father had been..."

"You became a loose end he had to tie up." Derik ran a hand down his face. "Jesus, Morgan. The frame-up, the evidence against you—it wasn't just about punishment. It was about containment."

Thunder rolled outside, and Skunk pressed closer to Morgan's leg, his muscled body trembling slightly. She reached down to scratch behind his ears, feeling the raised scar tissue there—a souvenir from his time as Thomas's hostage. The pit bull leaned into her touch, solid and real and present in a way that anchored her to the moment.

"It's been a long day," she said finally, the adrenaline of revelation fading into bone-deep weariness. Her clothes were still damp from the cemetery, and the chill had settled into her bones. "We should sleep on it. Look at everything fresh in the morning."

Derik studied her face for a long moment, then nodded. "Okay. But Morgan?" He reached for her hand, his fingers intertwining with hers. The warmth of his skin against hers was a reminder of everything she had to lose—and everything shehad to fight for. "Promise me you won't do anything reckless. Not without me, at least."

She managed a tired smile, squeezing his hand. "No promises."

“Come on, Morgan. I’m serious.”

She sighed. “Okay. I won’t do anything without letting you in.”

He smiled slightly, then pressed a kiss to her cheek. Morgan felt her heart warm. She had to admit, it had been nice to have Derik as more than her partner.

They made their way to bed, but sleep felt like a distant possibility. Morgan lay awake, listening to Derik's breathing even out beside her, while Skunk kept watch from his bed near the door. The pit bull's silhouette was alert despite the late hour, as if he sensed the tension lingering in the room. Outside, the rain continued its steady rhythm against the windows, a constant reminder of the cemetery, of Cordell's umbrella, of Thomas's blood mixing with water on the pier.

In the darkness, Morgan touched the tattoo on her forearm—her first, gotten six months into her sentence. A phoenix rising from ashes, each line etched with pain and purpose. She hadn't come this far to run away now. Cordell might have destroyed her life once, but she'd rebuilt herself, forged something stronger from the ruins.

Tomorrow, they would start gathering evidence. Tomorrow, they would begin dismantling Cordell's empire. But tonight, in the rain-soaked darkness of Dallas, Morgan Cross lay awake and planned her revenge, while beside her, the man she loved dreamed uneasy dreams of loss and redemption.

CHAPTER THREE

Morgan ran through the darkness, her boots pounding against weathered planks that stretched endlessly before her. The pier seemed to elongate with each step, expanding into infinite blackness while choppy waters churned below. Her lungs burned with effort, but she couldn't stop—not with Thomas's silhouette visible just ahead, his form backlit by a moon she couldn't quite see.

"Thomas!" Her voice came out strangled, barely carrying over the water's roar. "Wait!"

He turned, but remained just out of reach. Blood bloomed across his chest like a dark flower, exactly as it had that night on the real pier. His lips moved, trying to tell her something, but no sound emerged. The same words he'd died trying to say, forever lost to the night air.

The pier boards creaked beneath her feet, the sound morphing into something like laughter—dark and knowing. She was getting closer to Thomas now, close enough to see his features clearly in the strange half-light.

But as she reached for him, his face began to change. The sharp angles of youth softened, lines deepening around eyes that were suddenly so familiar they made her chest ache.

Her father stared back at her, wearing the same flannel shirt he'd had on the last time she'd seen him.

"Dad?" The word caught in her throat. "You're—"

"Gone," he finished for her, his voice carrying the weight of secrets she was only beginning to understand. "Just like Thomas. Just like Mary. All because of—"

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