Page 52 of For Rage

Derik's heart sank. Morgan had gone off to find Randall alone, without waiting for backup. She was putting herself in danger, and in Derik's gut, he knew he had to find her before it was too late. He thanked the old woman and took off running toward his car, his mind racing with different scenarios of what could have happened to Morgan.

The first thing he did was call Mueller, who picked up within a few rings. "Greene—"

"Where's Cross?" Derik cut in.

"She went to some corn maze on the northern outskirts," Mueller said. "We're sending backup."

"She's not answering her phone. I'm close by now."

"Then you'd better get there, Greene, before Cross gets herself hurt. The team is on their way."

Derik hung up. He couldn't bear the thought of Morgan getting herself killed over something so reckless. As he drove toward the outskirts of town, he tried calling Morgan again. Still no answer.As Derik sped down the road toward the corn maze, his mind was racing. He couldn't shake the feeling that something was wrong. Morgan was a skilled FBI agent, but she had a tendency to be reckless, especially when it came to catching a criminal. He wasn't sure why he was suddenly so worried about her, but it caused him to press harder on the gas, hurling himself forward on the long backroad.

Just then, a deer jumped out of the darkness in front of Derik's car. He swerved to dodge it, but it was too late. His car slid off the road. He was hurling uncontrollably toward a pole, so he had to swerve.

He heard a loud thump. Derik suddenly realized he wasn't in control anymore. Everything around him was a blur. He felt himself spinning, trying to break away from a force that was much greater than himself. His car had been hit by a truck going the opposite direction, and he could feel his car flipping through the air, spinning out of control before finally slamming down hard on its side on the road. The last thing Derik saw were two bright headlights coming straight for him as he lost consciousness ...

CHAPTER TWENTY FOUR

Tall stalks of corn surrounded Morgan on all sides.

The sun had set, leaving a darkness in the sky that chilled her to the bone as she hurried through the corn maze, aimless, yet focused. If the Maze Killer was here—if he had another victim—then she would find him. Despite the discomfort and pain from her leg wound, Morgan kept running. Her limp was pronounced, and her stride had become uneven as she forced her body forward, determined to find the killer and any potential victims. She gritted her teeth against the pain, feeling a sharp jolt in her leg with each step she took.

The light of the full moon illuminated the tall stalks of dried corn, creating shadows that danced in and out of the maze as Morgan rushed through.

As she turned a corner, Morgan heard a muffled sound. She paused, listening intently. It was coming from up ahead. She made her way through the stalks, remaining as quiet as possible. The sound grew louder as she neared, and she could make out a voice—a man's voice—speaking in hushed tones.

Morgan raised her gun, inching forward slowly. She could hear the sound of a man talking, and she knew she was getting closer.

"My precious flower," the man's voice said. "It will all be over soon."

Morgan went to dash forward, but pain shot up her leg from the wound, causing her to buckle. It seemed a stitch had ripped out, probably from all the running and stress she'd put on her body. The man's voice went quiet, and Morgan stopped breathing so she could hear every sound around her.

But there were no sounds.

Only the rustling of corn stalks in the breeze.

Still, she knew what she'd done. She'd alerted him.

He knew she was here.

Morgan stood on shaky legs, still holding her gun, determined to see this through. Even if it killed her. What else did she have to live for?

She had been in prison for years, and even after her release, she couldn't leave the past behind. This case had become everything to her, and she wouldn't rest until she had caught the Maze Killer. She knew she was risking her life, but she had nothing else to lose.

As she moved forward, she saw a figure up ahead between the stalks. She aimed her gun, ready to shoot. Until she got closer and caught a glimmer of red hair in the moonlight.

It was a victim. A woman, half-buried in the dirt, adorned with flowers. Morgan didn't think—she just ran forward, tucking her gun away as she landed on her knees, ignoring the pain. The woman was unconscious, but Morgan stuck her fingers to her throat. She had warmth. A pulse.

Life.

It wasn't too late.

The hope flooded Morgan enough to drown her. She reached for her phone in her pocket when, suddenly, a sharp pain jabbed through her arm.

Morgan looked beside her in horror to see a man, wearing overalls, holding up a needle with a wicked smile. She went for her gun, but he dashed through the maze before she could even react.

She couldn't think about the pain in her arm, about the strangely warm feeling that now seeped into her veins. The poison she knew she'd just been injected with.

---