Page 13 of For Rage

"Cross, what's going on?" AD Mueller asked. "I've been up to my eyeballs in paperwork, but—"

"Sir, I need a team," Morgan said, phone pressed to her ear. She jogged after Derik through the parking lot, and they took refuge in the car, Derik behind the wheel. Morgan buckled up her seatbelt. "I'm gonna send you an address, okay?" Morgan said. "I need a team there now."

"Care to explain what this is about?" Mueller asked.

Morgan shared a look with Derik, who wore the same serious expression Morgan was sure she wore too. They didn't have time to waste. Jim Alba just might be the killer they were looking for, and they had to search his house.

"An eyewitness has placed Mia at Grace's house before they were both killed," Morgan explained. "It's credible, Mueller. The babysitter saw Mia at Grace's house, and we have strong reason to believe Jim Alba was physically abusive toward Grace. We need a team and a warrant by the time we get back to his house—should be ten minutes."

AD Mueller was quiet on the other end of the line, and Morgan held her breath as Derik kept driving. She was going in there, team or no team, but they needed that warrant.

After a moment, Mueller said, "You sound confident about this, Cross. I'm willing to take your word, and I can get that warrant expedited, hopefully within ten."

Morgan sighed in relief. "Thank you, sir. We'll be there soon."

She hung up and turned to Derik. "We need to hurry."

Derik nodded and pressed down hard on the gas pedal, the car speeding through the streets. Morgan's heart was racing in her chest. They were so close to finding out the truth. But at the same time, she felt a sense of dread. What if Jim had already fled? What if he had already gotten rid of any evidence? They'd tipped him off, she realized, by going in there without enough to bring him in.

But they could still catch him. Lisa's statement alone would be enough, and Morgan was sure whatever they found in the house would back it up even more.

As they drove, she thought about Jim and Grace Alba—a perfect couple on the outside, with something darker lying within. In all of this, she knew that their daughter, Milly, was a victim too; not only had she lost her mother, but there was a good chance she could lose her father too. Morgan felt for the little girl. It reminded her that once, long ago, before Morgan went to prison, she'd wanted a life of her own like theirs, without the darkness. A husband. A child. A home with a white picket fence.

That ship had sailed for her. She was forty, bitter, and had missed out on ten years of her life, and for what? A bad call gone wrong.

She glanced at Derik as he drove. She'd barely gotten the chance to get to know him again, as a person, after she got out. He’d told her he’d divorced, but she didn’t know the details; if he ever dated again, if he had kids, if he even wanted them. A lot could happen in ten years, and a lot could change in a person’s life.

Morgan realized that she didn't want to know.

Thinking about anything other than the case at hand was a distraction she couldn't afford. It was better not to get too close to anyone. Relationships only led to pain and heartbreak, as evidenced by Grace Alba's tragic end. Better to focus on the case and justice, she thought. That was what mattered now.

CHAPTER SIX

The car screeched to a halt in front of Jim Alba's house, and Morgan and Derik were out of the car in a flash, running toward the front door. FBI cars were already surrounding the house as well. Morgan banged hard on the door, her heart pounding in her chest. The rest of the team assembled behind them, and Morgan was grateful to know everything had worked out. Mueller had gotten the warrant, and now, it wasn't just her and Derik facing off against this guy. He had the full force of the FBI on him.

He wouldn't get away with what he'd done.

When there was no answer, she turned to Derik, who nodded in agreement. They kicked the door down and rushed in, guns drawn.

The house was eerily quiet. Morgan looked around for any sign of Jim but found nothing. What little warmth had existed in this house during their earlier visit was gone.

"He might still be here," Morgan said to the team behind her. "Let's search the house and find him."

The team split up, each taking a different room to search. Morgan and Derik began with the living room, searching for any clues as to where Jim might have gone. But the room was empty, save for a few pieces of furniture and family photos. Morgan's eyes lingered on a photo of Jim and Grace, both smiling at the camera with their arms around each other. It was impossible to tell from the photo that anything was wrong between them.

But Morgan knew better now. The evidence against Jim was mounting, and she was sure they would find something incriminating in this house.

"Let's check the kitchen," Derik said, gesturing toward the doorway.

They moved through the house, checking every room and closet, but there was no sign of Jim. Morgan's frustration grew with each empty room. Where was he?

As they reached the kitchen, Morgan's senses sharpened. Morgan's gaze darted around the kitchen, taking in every detail. Her eyes focused on the counters, the cupboards, and the floor, searching for any signs of disturbance or clues that might tell her where Jim had gone. She was alert and ready for anything, her body tensed, ready to respond at a moment's notice. Morgan noticed the faint glimmer of the metal countertops and the intricate patterns of tiles on the floor. She heard the subtle creaking of the floorboards and smelled a faint, musky scent in the air. Her vision sharpened; her focus narrowed in on every detail as she mentally prepared herself for whatever was ahead.

On the kitchen tables, there were several ads for contractors and gardeners. Morgan looked out back, noting that the garden was well-kept, even though it seemed neither Grace nor Jim had a history of being interested in the hobby, according to their files and financial records.

Then she saw it: the basement door was ajar. She nodded at Derik, and he nodded back.

They descended the stairs cautiously, guns still drawn. The basement was dimly lit, with a musty smell that made Morgan's nose wrinkle in disgust. The concrete walls were lined with shelves, filled with tools and various knick-knacks. Morgan's eyes roamed the room, looking for any signs of Jim.

---