Page 19 of For Vengeance

Morgan nodded, turning her attention back to the scene. The precision of the execution, the careful positioning of the body and confession—all hallmarks of their methodical killer who left nothing to chance, who planned each murder with meticulous attention to detail. Not crimes of passion or opportunity, but calculated acts of what the killer perceived as justice.

She moved closer to examine the confession without touching it, reading Murray's increasingly desperate handwriting as he documented his history of thefts. The final line caught her attention: "I'm sorry, Sophia. I should have been better."

"Who's Sophia?" she asked.

Derik consulted his notes again. "Daughter, age seven. Lives with Murray's sister while he 'got his life together.' According to his sister's initial statement, he'd promised this would be his last job, that he was saving for them to move to Austin."

Morgan felt a familiar twist in her gut—not sympathy for Murray, whose choices had led him to this garage and his death, but for the child who would grow up knowing her father had died a criminal's death. Another collateral victim of their unsub's brand of justice.

The lead crime scene technician approached, clipboard in hand. "Agent Cross? We've recovered the bullet from the headrest. Nine millimeter, same as the previous scenes. No casings found, which suggests a revolver or that the killer collected his brass."

"Consistent with our profile," Morgan acknowledged. "Professional, methodical, leaving nothing that could identify him." She gestured toward the body. "Time of death?"

"ME's preliminary estimate puts it between 1 and 2 AM. Rigor is just starting to set in." The technician made another note on his clipboard. "We'll know more once we get him back to the lab."

Morgan nodded, turning to scan the garage once more. Dawn was breaking outside, pale light filtering through the small window, illuminating dust motes that danced in the air disturbed by the investigators' movements. The new day was arriving, bringing with it the stark reality of another victim and the certainty that their vigilante was escalating, becoming more confident with each successful execution.

"He's not going to stop," she said quietly to Derik as they stepped outside, the early morning air cool against her face. "Three victims in two weeks, each one perfectly executed. He's found his mission."

Derik studied her face, concern evident in his green eyes. "You okay?" he asked, pitching his voice low enough that only she could hear. "You seem more shaken by this one."

Morgan hesitated, unwilling to admit how deeply the nightmare had affected her, how seeing these forced confessions resonated with her own experiences of coercion and injustice. "Just tired," she said finally. "And aware that we're racing against the clock—both with this case and with Cordell's ultimatum."

Four days left before Cordell's deadline expired. Four days to find a way to protect her father, Derik, herself. And now, a race to stop a vigilante killer before he claimed a fourth victim. Time was their enemy on all fronts.

"Let's get back to headquarters," she said, squaring her shoulders against the weight of those parallel pressures. "We need to break down what this new kill tells us about our unsub's evolving behavior."

As they walked back to their vehicles, Morgan cast one final glance toward the garage where James Murray's life had ended. Three victims, three confessions. How many more would there be before they caught this killer? And how could she focus on hunting him when Cordell's clock continued to tick relentlessly in the background of everything?

One case at a time, one day at a time. It was how she'd survived prison. It would have to be enough now, too.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

Morgan stood before the evidence board in the briefing room, studying the photographs, timelines, and maps that chronicled three lives ended by the same hand. The morning sun streamed through the windows, unusually bright for a November day in Dallas, casting hard-edged shadows across the assembled evidence of their vigilante's work.

The coffee that had sustained her through the pre-dawn hours at the crime scene had worn off, leaving behind a hollow, jittery feeling that sleep deprivation only amplified. She'd grabbed another cup from the break room, but it sat cooling on the desk behind her, forgotten as she lost herself in the connections between their victims.

Derik worked at a nearby computer, methodically compiling data from all three crime scenes, cross-referencing details that might reveal patterns they had missed. The familiar sound of his typing provided a steady backdrop to Morgan's thoughts, grounding in its predictability.

"Three victims, three different criminal profiles," she said, thinking aloud as she traced a finger along the map where they'd marked each murder location. "Rodriguez, the drug dealer. Rivera, the sex offender. Murray, the car thief. Different crimes, different victims, different—"

She stopped suddenly, a realization forming as she studied the geographic distribution of the crimes. "No, wait. There is a pattern here."

Derik looked up from his computer, immediately attentive to the shift in her voice. "What do you see?"

Morgan grabbed a red marker and circled an area on the map. "Rodriguez and Rivera were both killed in their homes in Santiago Heights. Murray lived across town, but he was killed while attempting a crime in the Oak Cliff area, just south of Santiago Heights." Her marker traced connections between the three locations, forming a rough triangle. "All three crimes connect to the same general area of Dallas."

Derik rose from his desk, moving to stand beside her at the map. "You think our unsub lives in Santiago Heights?"

"It fits," Morgan said, the theory crystallizing as she spoke. "He's killing to 'clean up' what he sees as his territory. Rodriguez sold drugs there, Rivera preyed on women there, and Murray was stealing from there." She circled a central zone where the killer likely resided. "Someone with deep ties to the neighborhood, who knows its criminals intimately and considers it his responsibility to eliminate threats to its safety."

"A self-appointed protector," Derik suggested, studying the area she'd highlighted. "That would explain the methodical nature of the killings—this isn't random violence, it's a mission. He's 'protecting' his community from those he sees as predators."

Morgan nodded, feeling the familiar satisfaction of pieces falling into place. "It also explains how he knows so much about his victims' activities. He lives there, observes there. He's probably a longtime resident, someone who's watched the neighborhood change over the years, someone invested in its safety—or at least, his perception of safety."

She stepped back from the board, visualizing their unsub patrolling the streets of Santiago Heights, identifying targets, conducting surveillance, building his list of those who had "escaped justice." The image was disturbing in its clarity, a man whose moral certainty had twisted into something lethal.

"This isn't just about criminal records," she continued, the profile developing as she spoke. "That's too impersonal. This is someone who's witnessed the impact of these crimes firsthand. Maybe he's been victimized himself, or someone close to him has. The drug dealer, the sex offender, the thief—they might represent specific threats he's personally encountered."

---