Page 23 of For Us

"Get it together, Cross," she muttered under her breath, chiding herself for letting paranoia get the best of her. She was just exhausted, that was all.

Shaking her head, Morgan climbed into her car and started the engine. As she pulled away from the curb, she cast one last glance at the trees, but saw nothing out of the ordinary. With a sigh, she refocused her attention on the road ahead, determined to catch the monster responsible for these heinous crimes. For now, she needed to get back to the precinct and figure out their next move.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

Morgan's fingers drummed impatiently on the edge of the table in the briefing room, the staccato rhythm echoing through the nearly empty precinct. It was getting later in the day, but the fluorescent lights overhead cast a harsh glare on the stacks of case files scattered in front of her. She fixated on the photos of the victims, all young women with dark secrets they thought they had successfully buried. Morgan narrowed her eyes and muttered to herself, "He always picks them for their secrets, doesn't he?"

"Seems that way," Derik replied, slipping into the chair across from her. He looked tired, his normally sharp green eyes dulled by exhaustion. "It's like he wants control over them, even after they're dead."

"Control," Morgan repeated, tasting the word in her mouth as if it were a key to a hidden lock. She scrutinized the evidence, searching for any pattern that could reveal the killer's true motive. "Each victim had something to hide, something that made them vulnerable. That's what he preys on – vulnerability."

"Exactly." Derik leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table. "But how does he find out about their secrets? And why go through all this trouble to kill them?"

"Maybe it's not just about killing them," Morgan mused, her voice low. "Maybe he wants to prove that he's smarter, more powerful than everyone else. That he can uncover anyone's secrets and use them against them."

"Sounds like one hell of an ego," Derik said, his lips curling into a grim smile.

"Or one hell of a psychopath," Morgan countered. She sighed, rubbing her temples as if to chase away the throbbing ache behind her eyes. "Either way, we need to figure out how he's choosing his targets and stop him before he claims another life."

"Agreed. So, what's the plan?"

Morgan leaned back in her chair, her gaze drifting to the evidence board on the far wall. Among the many disturbing items collected from the crime scenes, one piece of evidence stood out to her – the gloves. Each victim had been found wearing them. Different styles, but all with that poisonous glue.

"Those damn gloves," she muttered, rising from her seat. "There has to be something about them we're missing. Some clue that'll lead us straight to him."

"Could be," Derik agreed, following her lead as they made their way through the maze of desks and filing cabinets. "But what makes you think there's more to find?"

"Call it intuition," Morgan said, her voice quiet but resolute. "We've been overlooking something, I just know it. And if we can figure out what it is, maybe we can finally put an end to this nightmare."

As they walked toward the evidence room, Morgan couldn’t help but let her thoughts drift. She knew that the key to solving the case lay within those gloves, but how? The victims’ secrets held the power the killer sought, but the gloves... they were his signature, his twisted calling card. What other purpose could they serve?

***

The door to the evidence room creaked open, revealing rows of shelves packed with boxes and bags meticulously labeled and catalogued. The room was dimly lit, casting shadows on the walls. Morgan and Derik stepped inside, greeted by a young employee who nodded in recognition.

"Agent Cross, Agent Greene," the employee said, his voice slightly trembling. "What can I help you find?"

"We need to see the gloves from the recent homicide cases," Morgan replied, her voice steady but firm.

"Of course," the man responded, leading them deeper into the room. He stopped before a large metal cabinet and fumbled with the key for a moment before swinging the doors open. "Here they are," he said, gesturing toward a row of sealed plastic bags, each containing a single glove.

"Thanks," Morgan said, dismissing him with a curt nod. The employee left, and Morgan and Derik were alone with the chilling evidence.

"Hand me the tongs, will you?" she asked, slipping on a pair of latex gloves. Derik handed her the requested tool, and she carefully picked up the first bag, studying its contents.

"White glove from Lizzie Meadows, the pageant queen," Morgan read aloud, her brow furrowing as she examined the delicate lace fabric. "Such a stark contrast to the brutality of her death."

"Maybe that's the point," Derik suggested, watching her closely. "These gloves don't belong in a crime scene. They're out of place, just like the secrets these women kept."

Morgan's eyes narrowed as she considered his words, turning the bag over in her hand. "You might be onto something. But we still need to find the connection between the gloves and the killer."

"Right," Derik agreed, his gaze never leaving Morgan's face. "Let's keep looking."

As Morgan continued to examine the glove, her mind raced with possibilities. The killer had chosen these gloves for a reason, but what was it? What message was he trying to send? And most importantly, how could she use this information to track him down and put an end to his reign of terror?

"Hey, Morgan," Derik said, breaking her thoughts. "I know you're onto something here, but remember, we're a team. We'll figure this out together."

"Thanks, Derik," Morgan replied softly, grateful for his support but still uneasy about the secrets that lay between them. For now, though, they had a case to solve—and a killer to catch.

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