Page 33 of For Rage

Asha gave her a curious look but nodded. "I'll email you his information right away. And if you need anything else, don't hesitate to contact me."

"Thank you, Professor," Morgan said with a grateful smile as she made her way out of the lab. She felt a glimmer of hope that maybe she was getting closer to finding the killer.

***

Professor Asha had given Morgan Professor Johnson's contact information, but Morgan didn't contact him herself. Instead, she looked into his schedule, only to see that he happened to have a lecture that morning.

Now, Morgan stood at the back of the lecture hall, watching as he talked at the front of the room, his students watching intently. If he truly did know of an antidote, it could be hugely helpful for them, especially for if—when—the Maze Killer struck again. So far, he hadn't shown up, and the police and FBI were watching other mazes across the city too. But they couldn't watch them forever. He would strike again, and they needed to be ready.

Morgan listened as Professor Johnson spoke, his voice smooth and confident as he explained the properties of various plants and how they could be used to make antidotes for poisons. Finally, the lecture ended, and students began to gather their things and leave the lecture hall.

Morgan quickly made her way down to the front of the room, not wanting to lose sight of Professor Johnson. As he finished packing up his things, Morgan approached him, her FBI badge displayed prominently on her jacket.

"Excuse me, Professor Johnson?" she said, her voice firm and professional.

The professor looked up at her, his dark eyes taking in her badge. "Yes, how can I help you?"

"I wanted to talk to you about a paper you published regarding the Bleeding Woodbine and a potential fast-acting antidote."

Professor Johnson's face reddened, and he turned away. "I'm sorry, but if you actually read the paper, you'd know the research is very speculative and in its early stages. Very inconclusive. I'm afraid I can't help you."

"Please," Morgan said. "There has to be something you can do."

"I'm sorry, but I don't know what you want from me," he said, gathering up his books. "I'm very busy today. If you'd like, we can meet later, but I have to rush to my next lecture."

Morgan felt a twinge of frustration at his reluctance to help, but she knew better than to push too hard. Instead, she handed him her card.

"Please, if you think of anything or have any information, don't hesitate to contact me," Morgan said, her tone gentle. "It could be important to an ongoing investigation."

Professor Johnson hesitated before nodding and taking the card. "I'll keep that in mind," he said.

Morgan watched as he hurried out of the lecture hall, her mind already racing with possibilities. Maybe he was just busy, but something about his behavior made her suspicious. She knew that if she wanted answers, she would have to dig deeper.

"Excuse me?" a soft voice suddenly said, and Morgan turned to see a young woman, holding a binder to her chest, blonde hair falling over her shoulders. She had still been in the room, apparently, and she approached from the top row of chairs.

"Yes?" Morgan said.

She bit her lip as she came up to Morgan, glancing around. The room was empty now.

"Is everything okay?" Morgan asked, concerned. This girl seemed nervous about something.

"I heard you talking to the professor," she peeped. "I saw you were FBI ..."

Morgan squared her shoulders, fully attentive now. "Yes, that's right. I'm looking into the case of the Maze Killer. I'm sure you've heard of it."

"I have," the girl said. "And I wanted to talk to you about the professor."

"Why?" Morgan said, her heart pounding.

The girl bit her lip, then said, "Because he's not who he says he is."

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

The girl—Tiffany, she'd called herself—sat across from Morgan in a café off campus. It was the only place Morgan could convince her to go to talk more in-depth about whatever it was she had to say about Professor George Johnson. The aroma of freshly ground coffee beans filled the air, along with the sweet scent of pastries and hot chocolate. It reminded Morgan of a hipster hangout, the type of café she'd never have been caught dead in when she was in the FBI academy. The café was filled with people wearing vintage clothes, thrifted shirts, and dark jeans. It had a rustic aesthetic, with an old school record player playing classic rock music in the corner. At the counter, baristas were busy making intricate coffee drinks with almond milk and honey. The walls were adorned with vintage posters and prints of local artwork. But if this was where Tiffany felt comfortable, then Morgan could deal with it.

"So," Morgan said, "you mentioned the professor isn't who he says he is. Can you elaborate on that please?"

Tiffany trembled, biting her lip as she looked around. Her blue eyes caught the light that poured in through the windows. "Y-yes. It's just—I knew one of the girls who died."

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