Page 19 of For Wrath

Morgan eyed Lanceas he sat across from her in the cramped airport security room. Morgan leanedagainst the cold metal table that separated them, her eyes never leaving his.The air was thick with tension, each breath punctuated by the distant hum ofairplanes taking off.

"Alright,Lance," she began, crossing her arms over her chest. "Why were yourunning?"

"Running?"he scoffed, feigning innocence. "I was just going on a trip toMexico." His voice trembled slightly, betraying his attempt atnonchalance.

Morgan studiedhim for a moment, trying to find a crack in his facade. She thought about thepain he had caused, the lives he had destroyed, and felt her resolve harden.She wouldn't let him slip away again.

"Cut thecrap," she snapped, slamming her hands on the table. "You think I'mstupid? You don't book a one-way ticket to Mexico in the middle of aninvestigation unless you're trying to escape. So why don't you save us bothsome time and tell me the truth?"

Lance's Adam'sapple bobbed as he swallowed hard, beads of sweat forming on his forehead. Hehesitated for a moment before shaking his head, his voice barely a whisper."I didn't do it, I swear."

"Didn't dowhat?" Morgan pressed, narrowing her eyes. "Kill Bethany Good?"

"Look, Iknow how this looks, but I didn't kill anyone!" Lance exclaimed, desperationseeping into his voice. "Please, you have to believe me!"

"Your wordisn't good enough," she said coldly, her gaze unwavering. "Why wereyou trying to flee the country, Lance?”

"AgentCross, please," Lance pleaded, his eyes welling up with tears. "Idon't know who did it, but it wasn't me. I was just… I was scared, you know? Ididn't want to spend the rest of my life behind bars for something I didn't do.You have to understand…"

Morgan let out afrustrated sigh, struggling to maintain her composure. She needed to remainobjective to pursue the truth no matter where it led – that was her duty as anFBI agent. But for now, all she could think about was the injustice she hadsuffered at the hands of men like Lance Friedman and the countless others whoselives had been irrevocably changed by their actions.

"Understand?"she whispered, her voice trembling with rage. "You want me to understand?I spent ten years rotting in a cell for a crime I didn't commit. So don't youdare talk to me about understanding? You were trying to run. If you were trulyinnocent, then you'd stay and fight, like I did."

Lance fellsilent, his gaze shifting downward, unable to meet Morgan's stare. She had beenright: Lance had believed he could escape from his crime, that it would be easyto run and avoid the consequences.

“You don’tunderstand,” Lance said. “I didn’t kill anyone. I would never… that’s not whatthis is about.”

Just as Morganwas about to respond, a knock at the door interrupted her. She looked up,momentarily jarred from her intense focus on Lance. The door opened slightly,and a police officer poked his head into the room.

"AgentCross," the officer said urgently, "I need to speak with you. Rightnow."

"All right,"she replied tersely, casting one last suspicious glance at Lance beforestepping out of the room and closing the door behind her.

Morgan met withthe officer in the hallway. Her heart pounded in anticipation; had they foundnew evidence that could seal Lance's guilt? Or was this another dead end?

"What isit?" Morgan asked, trying to maintain her composure.

"Ma'am,we've just confirmed something with airport security that you need tohear," the officer began, his face etched with concern. "LanceFriedman couldn't have killed Bethany Good or Sheryl Stewart."

"Excuseme?" Morgan snapped, feeling her blood pressure rise. "What are youtalking about?"

"Airportsecurity provided us with flight records," the officer explained."Friedman was on a flight back to America from Mexico yesterday. It'simpossible for him to have been around to kill them."

Morgan's mindraced, trying to piece together this new information. If Lance truly wasn'tresponsible for the murders, then who was? And how could she have been sowrong? She took a deep breath, forcing herself to swallow the bitter taste offrustration and disappointment.

“You’re sureabout this?” she asked.

“I have all therecords for your viewing,” he said.

Morgan grits herteeth. "Have them transferred into the database," she said, but shealready knew what was happening: she'd hit another dead-end. She was wastingmore time.

Fuming, Morganclenched her fists at her sides. "Deal with Lance," she barked at theofficer, her voice edged with anger. "I've wasted enough time onhim."

"Understood,Agent Cross," the officer said, nodding.

Morgan stormedaway from the interrogation room, her eyes scanning the bustling airport aroundher. The cacophony of noise – the endless chatter of passengers, the announcementsover the PA system – only served to fuel her frustration. She needed to clearher head, to figure out her next move.

As she made herway through the throngs of travelers, Morgan couldn't shake the feeling ofbeing back at square one. She had been so sure that Lance was the key tosolving the case – but now, with that lead slipping through her fingers likesand, she felt directionless and lost.

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