Page 37 of For Blood

Standing over… someone else.

Morgan's eyes strained in the darkness, her heart pounding as she leaned forward in her seat.The silhouette by the church steps began to take shape, resolving into a tall, broad-shouldered figure looming over something on the ground.No, not something—someone.

"Derik," she whispered, her voice tight with urgency."Look."

He followed her gaze, his sharp intake of breath confirming what she saw.Without a word, they both reached for their weapons, the familiar weight of the gun a cold comfort in Morgan's hand.

She eased the car door open, wincing at the soft creak that seemed to echo in the still night air.The figure by the church didn't move, didn't even seem to breathe.Morgan's tattooed fingers tightened on her gun as she stepped out, every sense on high alert.

The gravel crunched under her feet as she moved forward, Derik a reassuring presence at her back.The smell of damp earth and decaying leaves filled her nostrils, mingling with something else—something metallic and sickeningly familiar.

Blood.

As they drew closer, details emerged from the shadows.The man—

The church's shadow loomed over the parking lot, its spire a dark finger pointing accusingly at the sky.Morgan's eyes locked onto the figure standing over the woman’s body, and her breath caught in her throat.James Whitaker's face was half-obscured by shadow, but there was no mistaking him.

For a heartbeat, time seemed to freeze.The world narrowed to this moment, this impossible scene.Morgan's mind raced, struggling to reconcile the respected detective she'd met earlier with the man now standing over a fresh corpse.

Shock jolted through her system, igniting a cocktail of confusion and anger.Whitaker.The retired detective who'd worked this case twenty years ago.The man who'd handed them his files, who'd seemed so haunted by his failure to catch the killer.What the hell was he doing here?

Before Morgan could voice the questions burning on her tongue, Derik sprung into action beside her.His movement snapped her back to reality.

"Step back!Hands where I can see them!"Derik's voice rang out, sharp and authoritative.His gun was already drawn, aimed steadily at Whitaker's chest.

Morgan's hand instinctively went to her own weapon, but she hesitated.Her fingers brushed against the cool metal, a reminder of all the times she'd been on the wrong end of an accusation.She knew too well how quickly situations like this could spiral out of control.

"Whitaker," she called out, her voice rough with tension."What's going on here?"

She took a cautious step forward, positioning herself slightly to Derik's left.Her eyes darted between Whitaker and the woman’s prone form, searching for any sign of life, any clue to unravel this twisted scenario.

Whitaker slowly lifted his hands, his expression unreadable in the dim light of the church parking lot."I know what this looks like," he said evenly, his voice betraying no hint of fear or guilt.

Morgan barely heard him.Her focus had shifted entirely to the woman’s motionless form.Who was she?Sarah Winters?No, Sarah had brown hair, but this was a redhead.Morgan carefully dropped to her knees beside the body, her heart pounding as she pressed two fingers to the woman’s neck.No pulse.The skin was still warm beneath her touch, but there was no mistaking the stillness of death.

Too late,Morgan thought bitterly.We were too damn late.

And the red hair…

She swallowed hard, fighting back the wave of anger and frustration that threatened to overwhelm her.This was supposed to be their breakthrough, their chance to get ahead of the killer.Instead, they'd walked right into another crime scene.

"What are you doing here?"Morgan demanded, her voice sharp as she looked up at Whitaker.The retired detective kept his hands raised, but he didn't flinch under her piercing gaze.

"Same as you," Whitaker replied, his tone maddeningly calm."I had a feeling.That the killer would come back to the crime scene.I came here to check."He nodded towards the body, a flicker of what might have been regret crossing his face."When I got here...she was already dead.Agents, this is Vanessa Shaw."

Morgan's mind raced, analyzing Whitaker's words against the evidence before her.It made a twisted kind of sense – she and Derik had come to the same conclusion about the killer's pattern.But the timing...it was too convenient.Too perfect.

"You expect us to believe that?"Morgan challenged, her voice low and dangerous."A former detective just happens to be at a murder scene, alone, right after the victim dies?Vanessa Shaw lived out of town, how could she—”

She stood slowly, her eyes never leaving Whitaker's face.She was searching for any tell, any sign that might reveal the truth behind his story.But his expression remained frustratingly neutral, giving nothing away.

Morgan watched as Whitaker's jaw tightened, a flicker of frustration crossing his weathered features."I didn't kill her," he insisted, his voice strained but steady.

The weight of the situation pressed down on Morgan, her mind a whirlwind of suspicion and analysis.She'd been burned before, trusting the wrong people, and the scars from that betrayal still ran deep.But there was something in Whitaker's eyes – a desperate sincerity that gave her pause.

Derik, ever her steadfast partner, stepped forward.His green eyes were hard, his posture tense as he kept his gun trained on Whitaker."Turn around," he commanded."Hands behind your head."

Morgan watched the internal struggle play out on Whitaker's face.For a moment, she saw a flicker of the seasoned detective he once was, weighing options, calculating risks.His eyes darted between her and Derik, and she could almost hear the gears turning in his mind.

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