Page 40 of For Wrath

"Please,Harriet," he whispered into the empty air, fear seizing him like a vice."Please be safe."

But she neveranswered.

CHAPTERTWENTY FIVE

Morgan steppedinto the precinct, the heavy door clicking shut behind her. The familiarcacophony of ringing phones and hushed conversations washed over her, but shebarely registered it – her thoughts were consumed by the unsettlingconversation she'd just had with Mark.

To her surprise,she spotted Derik talking to one of the officers. His eyes flicked up as sheapproached, but he made no move to greet her. Instead, he seemed distant,distracted, and his expression was unreadable. Morgan couldn't help but feel apang of disappointment – after their shared vulnerability the night before, shehad hoped that they might be able to find some sort of common ground.

"Derik,"she said, trying to catch his eye. "We need to talk."

He looked upfinally, his gaze cool and guarded. "Of course. What did you findout?"

Before Morgancould respond, the precinct's doors burst open, revealing a frantic Mark. His facewas pale, his eyes wide and wild. Panic radiated off him in waves as hestumbled towards them, gasping for breath. Behind him, a police officer—theescort Morgan had assigned to him—stumbled in after.

"AgentCross!" he cried, grabbing Morgan's arm. "I need your help. Please,you have to do something!"

"Mark, whathappened?" Morgan asked, her professional demeanor snapping back intoplace as she tried to calm him down.

"John... He calledme," Mark stammered, his voice trembling. "He knew I talked to thepolice. He knows everything!"

"Slowdown," Derik interjected, concern etched on his face despite his earlierdetachment. "What did he say? What did he want?"

"John saidmy wife is next," Mark whispered, tears streaming down his cheeks."He’ll kill her—you need to do something! Harriet isn’t answering mycalls!”

Morgan's heartclenched at the terror in Mark's voice, and she felt her resolve harden.Whatever doubts she might have had about his story, it was clear that JohnPesci – or whoever he really was – posed a very real threat. The fact that Markcame here to the police station showed her that he was willing to risk it allto protect his wife and prove his innocence. And to catch John.

So often, Morganhad to rely on evidence, but this moment felt human. She could see the human inMark, and she believed him.

"Alright,"she said, her voice steady and strong. "We'll help you protect your wife,and we'll do everything we can to bring John down. But we need you to trust us,Mark. We need you to be completely honest with us."

"Ofcourse," Mark choked out, nodding vigorously. "I'll tell you anythingyou need to know. Just... please save my wife."

As Morgan lookedat the terrified man before her, she knew she couldn't afford any moremissteps. Lives were at stake, and time was running out. She glanced over atDerik, his eyes now filled with determination and concern, and felt a flickerof hope.

***

Morgan leanedagainst the cold wall of the precinct briefing room, her eyes fixed on Derik ashe scribbled furiously on a stack of forms, a trembling Mark in front of him.The fluorescent overhead lights cast a harsh glare on the paperwork andreflected off his sweat-slicked forehead. Mark stood beside him, wringing hishands, his pale face a stark contrast to the dark shadows that haunted hiseyes.

“Have you foundmy wife yet?” he asked.

“No,” Morgansaid, “the officer went to the address you gave us, and we haven’t found her.”

“But she might beokay, right?” Mark said. “I mean, she has to be, right?”

“We hope so,” Deriksaid. “Now, give me a detailed description of John Pesci.”

"Sure,"Mark stammered, swallowing hard. "He's about six-foot, dark hair, but...but that could change. He might be wearing wigs or disguises; I don't know.What I do remember is his face... God, his face." He shudderedinvoluntarily.

As Mark recountedthe gruesome details of John's deformed visage, Morgan felt a chill creep downher spine. She had heard this description before, and she couldn't shake thefeeling that something was amiss.

"Wait,"Mark said suddenly as if recalling a crucial detail. "There was one morething... when I saw him earlier today, he had a fresh wound on the side of hisforehead, like someone shot him."

At those words,Morgan's heart leaped in her chest, and she felt the pieces of the puzzle snapinto place. Her blood ran cold with realization as memories from the night atthe old clinic flashed through her mind: the shadowy figure rifling through thesupplies, the gunshot echoing through the dark room, and the fleeting glimpseof their attacker as he slipped away.

"Derik,"Morgan breathed, her voice tight with urgency. "It was John at the clinicthat night – I almost had him, but he got away. That wound... it must be fromwhen I shot at him in the dark."

Derik's eyeswidened, and he looked up from the paperwork, his pen pausing mid-sentence."If that's true," he said slowly, "then we know he's been in thearea recently, and that means we have a lead to follow."

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