Page 18 of For Wrath

"Dammit,"Morgan muttered under her breath, clenching her fists. A decade ago, she couldhave been one of those people boarding a plane to escape the life that had beenstolen from her. But instead, she'd spent ten years biding her time, hardenedby the cold walls of prison. It was a fate she wouldn't wish upon anyone.

"Listen up!"Morgan barked, locking eyes with her police team. Their faces were etched withdetermination, a reflection of her own fierce resolve. "I want every inchof this place searched for Lance Friedman. If he so much as sneezes, I want toknow about it."

"Understood,Agent Cross," replied one of the officers, his voice steady despite theurgency of the situation. He signaled to the rest of the officers, whoimmediately dispersed, eager to leave no stone unturned.

As her teamfanned out across the airport, Morgan's mind raced with possibilities. What ifLance had already boarded? What if he slipped away right under their noses? Sheshook her head, refusing to entertain such thoughts. They had come too far tolet him escape now.

Morgan's gazedarted between the countless faces milling about in the bustling terminal, herheart pounding in her chest. She scanned the crowd with laser-like focus, searchingfor any sign of Lance Friedman's distinctive blond hair. The flight to Mexicohad begun boarding, and the cacophony of voices, announcements, and footstepsonly heightened the tension gnawing at her.

"Where areyou, you bastard?" she muttered under her breath, frustration simmering asshe pushed past a group of tourists snapping photos, their laughter grating onher nerves.

"Excuseme," she said, approaching an older man wearing a fedora pulled low overhis face. "Have you seen anyone matching this description?"

The man shook hishead, his eyes obscured by the brim of his hat. Morgan thanked him and movedon, the sinking feeling in her gut growing heavier with each passing moment.

A thought struckher like a bolt of lightning. What if he was wearing a disguise? Her mind racedthrough the possibilities - wigs, glasses, hats - anything to mask hisappearance. With renewed determination, she began examining the people aroundher more closely, scrutinizing each one for any telltale signs that they mightbe Lance in hiding.

"Hey, youthere!" she called out to a tall man with dark sunglasses and a hoodiepulled up over his head. "Can I have a word?"

"Sure,ma'am," the man replied, his voice thick with a Southern drawl. "Whatcan I do for you?"

"Sorry,wrong person," Morgan said, unable to shake the feeling that time wasrunning out. She surveyed the sea of faces once more, her pulse quickening.

Morgan's eyesdarted from one face to another, her frustration mounting as she tried toremain alert, focused on finding any trace of Lance Friedman. The murmur of thecrowd and the drone-like announcements over the PA system threatened to drownout her own thoughts, a cacophony of sounds that did little to quell theanxiety clawing at her chest.

It was then thatshe saw him – or rather, someone who seemed oddly out of place in the bustlingairport. A man wearing a beige trench coat and dark sunglasses, his headlowered as he attempted to blend with the sea of travelers around him. Butthere was something about his posture, the way he moved with furtive glancesaround him, that sent Morgan's intuition into overdrive.

"Hey!"Morgan shouted, instinctively pushing her way through the crowd, her strideslengthening as she closed the distance between them. "Stop! FBI!"

The man glancedback, his eyes widening in surprise as he realized he'd been spotted. In hishaste to escape, his hat fell off, revealing his blond hair.

Lance Friedman.

"Freeze!"Morgan yelled. She pulled her badge out for everyone to see, trying to make itclear she wasn't messing around. "Lance Friedman, you're underarrest!"

But Lance had nointention of going down without a fight. He began pushing people out of hisway, knocking over suitcases, and causing general chaos in an effort to evadecapture. His movements were frantic, desperate, clearly displaying the panicthat had taken hold of him.

"Stop! FBI!"she screamed again, her voice carrying across the crowded terminal.

Morgan's legspumped furiously as she pursued Lance through the bustling airport terminal.Her breath came in short, ragged gasps, yet she refused to let up. The sea ofpeople parted before her like a river splitting around a boulder, theirexpressions a mix of confusion and fear at the sight of a desperate chaseunfolding before them.

"Out of myway!" Morgan barked, her eyes locked on the back of Lance's head as hedisappeared into the throngs. She could feel her heart pounding in her chest,adrenaline coursing through her veins with each determined step.

"Getback!" a voice shouted, catching her attention. A security officer hadjoined the pursuit, his uniform crisp and authoritative. Others soon followed suit,forming a veritable army of enforcers dedicated to apprehending the fleeingfugitive.

"Cornerhim!" Morgan commanded, her voice hoarse from exertion. She could senseLance growing more desperate by the second, weaving erratically through thecrowd as his options dwindled.

"Gotcha!"one of the security officers exclaimed triumphantly, lunging forward to tackleLance around the waist. His momentum sent them both crashing to the ground,causing a nearby luggage cart to topple over in a cacophony of clatteringsuitcases.

"Staydown!" the officer ordered, his knee digging into Lance's back as hestruggled to catch his breath. "You're under arrest!"

"Finally,"Morgan panted, her hands resting on her knees as she caught her breath. Hergaze bore into the prone figure of Lance Friedman, the man who had eluded herfor so long.

A flurry ofthoughts raced through her mind – the years of injustice, the prison cell thathad once been her home – and she knew that this was her moment of retribution.

"Goodjob," she told the security officer, her tone firm but appreciative."Now, let's get him out of here before he causes any more trouble."As they dragged Lance to his feet, Morgan couldn't help but feel a sense ofsatisfaction, knowing that she was one step closer to redemption.

CHAPTERTEN

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