Page 48 of For Blood

"You ran," she reminded him, her voice hard."Innocent men don't run."

Whitaker's eyes met hers, unflinching."They do when they know they won't be believed.When they know the system is stacked against them."He paused, his next words hitting too close to home."You, of all people, should understand that, Agent Cross."

Morgan's jaw clenched, her tattoos suddenly feeling like brands on her skin.She fought to keep her voice steady."So why come back now?Why not stay gone?"

"Because more people will die if I don't stop it," Whitaker replied, his voice barely above a whisper."And I can't do it alone.I need your help."

Morgan studied him carefully, her instincts warring with her training.Everything she knew told her this man was guilty, that she should cuff him and drag him out to the waiting officers.But something in his eyes, in the steadiness of his gaze, made her hesitate.

"You're asking me to believe you're innocent," she said slowly, "when all the evidence points to your guilt.You realize how that sounds, right?"

Whitaker nodded, a sad smile tugging at the corner of his mouth."I do.But I also know that you, more than anyone, understand what it's like to be on the wrong side of a rush to judgment.To have the truth buried under a mountain of convenient lies."

The words hit Morgan like a physical blow, memories of her own wrongful conviction flooding back.She took a deep breath, pushing them aside."Start talking," she said, her voice low and intense."You've got two minutes to convince me before I call in the cavalry.Make them count."

Whitaker's eyes locked onto Morgan's, his gaze unwavering."Andrew Keller," he said, his voice calm but laced with a cold certainty that sent a chill down Morgan's spine."I've always suspected he was the real killer.I still do.Sarah Winters was right."

The words hung in the air, heavy and suffocating.Morgan felt her breath catch in her throat, her mind reeling as the implications crashed over her like a tidal wave.

"Sarah Winters," she breathed, her voice barely audible over the hum of the convenience store's fluorescent lights.The woman's face flashed in her mind—tear-stained, desperate, pleading.Her insistence that Keller had killed her sister.The raw certainty in her voice that Morgan had dismissed as grief-fueled delusion.

Morgan's hand unconsciously moved to her holster, her fingers tracing the cool metal as her thoughts raced."But Keller's dead," she said, more to herself than to Whitaker."Car accident, years ago."

Whitaker nodded slowly."That's what they want us to believe.But think about it, Agent Cross.How convenient is it that the man Sarah accused just happened to die before he could ever be properly investigated?"

A sick feeling crawled up Morgan's spine, settling in the pit of her stomach.What if she had been wrong?What if they had all been wrong?The weight of potential innocents lost, lives destroyed, pressed down on her shoulders like a physical force.

"You're saying Keller faked his death?"Morgan asked, her mind already racing ahead, connecting dots she'd previously overlooked.

"I'm saying it's a possibility we can't ignore," Whitaker replied."One that fits the evidence far better than pinning this on me."

Morgan's jaw clenched, her tattoos seeming to writhe on her skin as tension coiled through her body.She thought of her own wrongful conviction, the years stolen from her, the scars—both visible and invisible—that she still carried.Had she just perpetuated that same injustice?

"If you're right," she said slowly, her voice low and intense, "then we've got a killer who's had years to perfect his craft.Who's been operating under our noses this whole time."

Whitaker nodded grimly."And who now feels comfortable enough to start killing again.We need to stop him, Agent Cross.Before more innocent people die."

Morgan's hand moved from her holster to her radio, her finger hovering over the call button.Outside, she could hear the faint murmur of the waiting officers, the world holding its breath.She looked back at Whitaker, seeing not a cornered criminal, but a man haunted by the same demons that had pursued her for a decade.

"Okay," she said finally, her decision made."You've got my attention.Now tell me everything you know, and don't leave out a single detail.We've got a lot of ground to make up."

Morgan's eyes narrowed as she studied Whitaker's face, searching for any hint of deception.But all she saw was exhaustion and a deep-seated pain that mirrored her own.The convenience store's fluorescent lights cast harsh shadows across his features, emphasizing the dark circles under his eyes and the lines etched into his forehead.

"You're not running," she said, her voice barely above a whisper."You're not fighting."

Whitaker shook his head slowly."No, I'm not.I'm tired of running, Agent Cross.Tired of carrying this weight."

Morgan's hand tightened on her weapon, but she didn't draw it.Her mind raced, replaying every moment of the investigation, every assumption she'd made.The pieces were shifting, forming a new picture that made her stomach churn.

"Tell me why," she demanded, her voice steady despite the turmoil inside."Why come back now?Why risk everything?"

Whitaker's eyes met hers, unflinching."Because I couldn't live with myself if another person died because of my silence.Because sometimes, Agent Cross, the only way to make things right is to face the truth head-on."

Morgan felt a chill run down her spine.She thought of her own past, of the years stolen from her by a flawed system and rushed judgments.Had she just become a part of that same machine?

"If what you're saying is true," she said, her voice low and intense, "then we've made a catastrophic mistake.And the real killer is still out there."

Whitaker nodded grimly.

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