Page 50 of For Rage

Sarah could feel herself fading. The last thing she saw was the gardener's calm, smiling face before she faded into the black.

CHAPTER TWENTY THREE

Morgan held her gun up toward the door of the house, ready to shoot if she had to. Randall could be behind that door, ready to jump at her, but she wouldn't let that happen.

He was the killer. She was sure of it.

The door creaked open more. Morgan bit her lip, eyeing down her sights.

Then the door fully opened.

But it wasn't Randall on the other side. A short, old woman with a gray perm and a floral dress stood on the other side, holding up a dish full of food. The woman's eyes widened at what she saw, and the casserole dish fell to the floor, exploding into a gooey mess.

"O-oh my!"

Morgan lowered her gun immediately and held up her hands to show the woman she meant no harm. "Ma'am, I'm so sorry," Morgan said, quickly flashing her FBI badge. The old woman scowled at her, clearly still recovering from the shock.

"Who are you?" she croaked out. "What are you doing in Randy's house?"

Morgan put her gun back in its holster, her heart calming. It was just his neighbor, delivering him some food, it seemed. "You know the man who lives here?" Morgan asked.

"Of course, I was just coming by to drop off his dinner, the poor thing," she said. "I'm his neighbor, Joan. You're with the FBI?"

"I am," Morgan said. "I'm sorry I scared you."

Joan looked down at her dish and sighed. "These things happen, I suppose ... where is Randy?"

"I'm looking for him," Morgan said. "He's wanted in connection to an important case."

"Is he in trouble?"

Morgan swallowed. This old lady seemed nice, innocent, like she had no idea Randall was almost certainly the Maze Killer.

"I just need to find him," Morgan said.

"He lost his aunt, the poor boy," she said, looking around the room. "He's a lovely young man, helps me with my garden free of charge. He's not in trouble with the police, is he?"

Morgan didn't have time for this. She ushered the woman out of the house, leaving the mess of food on the floor. They went outside, and Morgan shut the door behind her.

"Please, go back to your house, ma'am," Morgan said. "I'll take it from here."

Joan looked at her with a sad expression. "I hope Randy is okay. He's been through so much already."

Morgan couldn't help but feel a twinge of guilt. This old woman had no idea what her neighbor was capable of. She couldn't let her guard down around anyone, not even a sweet, old lady like Joan.

"I'll make sure he's okay," Morgan said, trying to sound reassuring. "Thank you for your help."

Joan nodded and shuffled away, leaving Morgan alone on the sidewalk. She looked up and down the street, trying to decide where to go next. She knew she had to find Randall, but where could he be? And where was Derik?

Morgan took out her phone and quickly called Mueller—he was likely still at HQ, and he could give her an update on what was going on with all the mazes in the city. The police and FBI were watching all of them, but maybe there was one they missed. Mueller picked up within a few rings.

"Cross, what's going on?"

"Mueller, I need your help," Morgan said. "What's going on with the mazes? Has anyone seen anything?"

"No, but we've got Johnson making up that antidote," he said. "It might not work, but it's the best thing we've got."

"Good, but we need to know where he's going to strike next. Is it possible we missed any locations in the city?" Morgan pulled up a map on her phone, keeping Mueller on speaker, and her GPS zeroed in on her current location.

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