Page 13 of For Mercy

Morgan shook her head, forcing herself back to the present."Focus, Cross," she chided herself."This isn't about you.This is about Hawthorne."

But even as she said it, she couldn't shake the nagging feeling that there was more to this case than met the eye.Was it possible that Cordell was involved?The thought made her blood run cold.

She picked up another photo, this one showing the saw that had impaled Hawthorne.The weapon was crude but effective, designed for maximum pain and suffering.Morgan's stomach turned as she imagined Hawthorne's final moments, desperately trying to escape the trap set for him.

"What did you do, Judge?"she whispered to the photo."Who did you piss off so badly that they'd go to these lengths?"

Morgan's eyes narrowed as she stared at the crime scene photo, her tattooed fingers tracing the outline of the exit door.Something about it didn't sit right with her.She leaned back in her chair, the metal creaking under her weight, and closed her eyes, trying to visualize the scene.

"Why give him an out?"she muttered to herself, her voice barely above a whisper."It doesn't make sense."

She stood abruptly, pacing the length of the briefing room.Her dark brown hair, pulled back in a tight ponytail, swung with each step.

If I wanted revenge,Morgan thought, her mind racing,I wouldn't give my target a chance to escape.Unless...

She paused, her gaze fixed on the far wall but seeing something beyond it."Unless the escape was part of the game."

Morgan returned to the table, rifling through the reports until she found what she was looking for—the coroner's preliminary findings.She scanned the document, her breath catching as she reached a particular detail.

The cruelty of such a scenario wasn't lost on Morgan.She knew all too well the pain of having hope dangled in front of you, only to have it ripped away.Her own experiences in prison, the years of fighting to clear her name, came flooding back.

Morgan's frown deepened as she stared at the crime scene photos spread across the table.Her fingers traced the outline of Judge Hawthorne's body, mere inches from the exit.The frustration gnawed at her.

"What am I not seeing?"she muttered, her dark eyes scanning the images for the hundredth time.The mock courtroom, the elaborate traps, the carefully orchestrated death—it all spoke of meticulous planning.But that door...that unlocked, unguarded door.It was a discordant note in an otherwise perfectly composed symphony of vengeance.The puzzle pieces were there, but they refused to fit together.Morgan could feel the answer hovering just out of reach, taunting her.

Her concentration was abruptly shattered as the door swung open.Derik strode in, his green eyes bright with a mix of excitement and fatigue.Morgan's heart did a small flip at the sight of him, a reaction she was still getting used to.

"Morgan," he said, slightly out of breath."We've got something."

She straightened, immediately alert."What is it?"

"The landlord of the basement property," Derik explained, coming to stand beside her."He's agreed to meet with us."

***

The sedan's tires crunched over gravel as Morgan guided it down the neglected street.Overgrown trees flanked the road, their branches reaching out like gnarled fingers.Houses, once proud, now sagged under the weight of time and neglect.Morgan's eyes darted from one dilapidated structure to the next, her jaw tightening.

They pulled up to a house that seemed to embody decay.Its paint, once white, had chipped away to reveal weathered wood beneath.The porch sagged precariously, and an ancient pickup truck rusted in the driveway, nature slowly reclaiming it.

"This is it," Derik said, checking the address on his phone.

Morgan killed the engine, her eyes fixed on the house."Let's hope this guy can give us something useful."

As they approached the front door, Morgan's instincts prickled.Something about this place felt off, like walking into a trap.She'd learned to trust that feeling during her time in prison.

Before they could knock, the door creaked open.A man in his sixties appeared, his face a roadmap of hard years.His eyes, sharp and wary, scanned them both.

"You the feds?"he asked, his voice gravelly.

Morgan nodded, reaching for her badge."Agent Cross, FBI.This is Agent Greene.We're here about—"

"I know why you're here," the man cut her off."Name's Greg.Guess you better come in."

As Greg turned to lead them inside, Morgan exchanged a glance with Derik.His slight nod told her he'd picked up on the same unease she felt.

"After you," Morgan said to Derik, allowing him to enter first.It was an old habit from prison—never turn your back on an unknown.

As they crossed the threshold, Morgan couldn't shake the feeling that they were walking into something bigger than a simple landlord interview.The pieces of the puzzle were there, just out of reach.And as she followed Greg into the cluttered living room, she couldn't help but wonder if this lead would bring them closer to the truth—or lead them down another dead end in the twisted game they found themselves in.

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