Page 25 of For Mercy

Morgan's jaw clenched, her fingers tightening around the coffee mug.She wanted to deny it, to focus solely on the case at hand, but Derik knew her too well.

"No," she admitted, her voice barely above a whisper."It's about Cordell."

The name hung in the air between them, heavy with unspoken implications.Morgan's mind raced with images of the man who had orchestrated her downfall, who had stolen a decade of her life.

"He's still out there," she continued, her voice gaining strength."Watching, waiting.Even as I try to focus on the case, I know he’s biding his time, waiting to take me—us—down.”

Derik nodded, understanding dawning in his eyes."And your father?"

Morgan's breath caught in her throat.John Christopher.The man she had mourned, only to discover he was alive.The revelation had shaken her to her core, reopening old wounds and creating new ones.

"He's safe, I think," she said, the words tasting bitter on her tongue."Alive, but might as well be a ghost.Until we deal with Cordell, I can't...I can't even think about what comes next with him."

She turned back to the evidence board, her eyes tracing the web of connections they'd mapped out."So I keep working.Keep focusing on the case.Because as long as I'm chasing this killer, I don't have to face the one who's been haunting me for years."

Derik's hand squeezed her shoulder gently, a silent gesture of support and understanding.Morgan leaned into his touch, allowing herself a moment of vulnerability in the dim glow of the briefing room.

Morgan's fingers traced the edge of Sarah Reeves' file, her mind churning with possibilities.The weight of her father's absence pressed heavily on her chest, but she pushed it aside, focusing on the task at hand.

"What if we're looking at this all wrong?"she mused, half to herself and half to Derik."What if Reeves' death wasn't a suicide at all?"

Derik leaned in, his brow furrowed."You think it's connected to Hawthorne's murder?"

Morgan nodded, her eyes never leaving the crime scene photos."It's too neat.Too convenient.A law clerk with supposed mental health issues takes her own life, and then a year later, the judge she worked for ends up dead in an elaborate death trap?"

She stood, pacing the length of the evidence board.Her ankle, still healing from her encounter in the woods, twinged with each step, a constant reminder of the secrets lurking just beneath the surface of her life.

"We need to dig deeper into Reeves' background," Morgan said, her voice tight with determination."Family, friends, coworkers.Someone must have noticed something off about her behavior leading up to her death."

Derik watched her, concern etched on his face."Morgan, are you sure this isn't about-"

"It's about finding the truth," she cut him off, perhaps too sharply.She took a breath, steadying herself."I know what you're thinking, but this isn't about Cordell.This is about justice for Hawthorne and potentially for Reeves too."

But even as the words left her mouth, Morgan couldn't shake the feeling that everything - every case, every victim - was somehow connected to the shadowy figure of Richard Cordell.His presence loomed over her life like a storm cloud, dark and threatening.

She turned back to Derik, her eyes blazing with a mix of determination and barely concealed fear."We follow this lead.We find out what really happened.And maybe, just maybe, it'll lead us one step closer to understanding what happened to Hawthorne."

CHAPTER TEN

Michelle's eyelids fluttered open, her vision blurry and unfocused.For a brief, blissful moment, she thought she was in a hospital.The familiar antiseptic scent tickled her nostrils, mingling with the crisp aroma of freshly laundered linens.Cool sheets pressed against her skin, a stark contrast to the feverish heat radiating from her body.The dull beep of machines filled the air, a rhythmic pulse that should have been comforting but instead sent an inexplicable chill down her spine.

A dim, sterile light glowed from overhead, casting long shadows across the room.Michelle blinked rapidly, trying to bring her surroundings into focus.The ceiling tiles above her swam in and out of view, their stark whiteness almost painful to her sensitive eyes.

"Hello?"she called out, her voice hoarse and unfamiliar to her own ears."Is anyone there?"

Silence answered her, broken only by the steady beep-beep-beep of the monitors.Michelle's heart rate quickened, each beat echoing the machine's relentless rhythm.Something was wrong.Very wrong.

She tried to sit up, but her body felt leaden, unresponsive.Panic bubbled up in her chest, threatening to overwhelm her.This wasn't right.Where was the nurse?The doctor?Anyone?

"Help," she croaked, her throat dry and raw."I need help!"

Still no response.Michelle's mind raced, desperately trying to piece together how she'd ended up here.The last thing she remembered was leaving the office late, her briefcase heavy with reports for tomorrow's big presentation.Had there been an accident?A sudden illness?

She forced herself to take a deep breath, drawing on the calm rationality that had served her so well in the cutthroat world of investment banking."Think, Michelle," she muttered to herself."Assess the situation.Find a solution."

But as she lay there, trying to make sense of her surroundings, a creeping sense of dread settled over her.The room was too quiet, too still.Even in the middle of the night, a real hospital would have some signs of life - distant footsteps, murmured conversations, the squeak of a cart being wheeled down a hallway.

This place was like a tomb.

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