Page 5 of For Vengeance

Morgan rubbed her eyes, the lack of sleep making them burn. "The system registered nothing. No forced entry. No motion detection. It's like he walked through walls."

"Or he has someone inside the security company." Derik took a sip from his own coffee mug, grimacing at the cold liquid. "Wouldn't be the first corporation he's infiltrated."

The thought had already occurred to Morgan. Cordell's reach extended further than anyone could imagine. How many people in how many places answered to him? How many careers, how many lives did he control? The vastness of his influence made her feel like she was drowning.

Skunk padded into the kitchen, nails clicking against the tile floor. The pitbull pushed his head against Morgan's knee, seeking reassurance. She scratched behind his ears absently, wondering what Cordell had done to make her normally suspicious dog accept him so readily.

"You really think he's got a sniper watching my place?" Derik asked, keeping his voice casual, as if inquiring about the weather. But Morgan knew him well enough to detect the undercurrent of tension.

"You didn't see the feed," Morgan replied. "That red dot on your back was real. Cordell doesn't bluff."

Derik straightened his shoulders, projecting confidence she knew he didn't entirely feel. "I'm not afraid of him."

"You should be." Morgan's voice was flat. "We both should be." She paused, the memory of Thomas Grady's final moments flashing unbidden through her mind—the pier, the sudden crack of the shot, the life draining from his eyes as she knelt beside him, helpless to stop it. "Remember what happened to Thomas."

A muscle in Derik's jaw tightened. "That was different. Thomas was out in the open on that pier, exposed."

"The pier wasn't exactly open," Morgan countered. "And we both know what happened. Thomas was meeting me to share information on Cordell, and a sniper took him out right in front of me." She shook her head. "Cordell doesn't leave loose ends."

She rose from her chair, unable to sit still any longer. The adrenaline from Cordell's visit still coursed through her veins, making her restless, hyperaware of every sound, every shadow. Morgan moved to the window, carefully staying to the side as she peered through a small gap in the blinds. The street outside was quiet, empty. But that meant nothing. Cordell's people could be anywhere—in parked cars, neighboring houses, rooftops with sight lines to her windows.

"We should move your father," Derik suggested, his voice breaking the silence that had settled between them. "If Cordell knows about the cabin—"

"My father changes locations every three days," Morgan interrupted, still scanning the darkness outside. "Been doing it for forty years. It's why Cordell hasn't found him yet." She let the blinds fall back into place and turned to face Derik. "But that's not going to work forever. Not now that Cordell's making his move."

The reality of their situation pressed down on her like a physical weight. Cordell had always been ten steps ahead, chess pieces positioned precisely where he wanted them, waiting for the perfect moment to strike. Now he'd finally shown his face, made his demand explicit. Your father for your life. For Derik's life.

"My father already offered to surrender himself," Morgan said, the words like ash in her mouth. "He said it was the only way to end this."

Derik's head snapped up. "You didn't tell me that."

"Because I shut him down immediately." Morgan's hands curled into fists at her sides. "I'm not losing him again, Derik. I spent my whole life thinking he was dead. Now that I know he's alive, I can't just... hand him over to Cordell."

She didn't add what they both knew—that surrendering her father wouldn't be a solution. Cordell would take John Christopher, extract whatever vengeance he'd been planning for forty years, and then come after Morgan anyway. Men like Cordell didn't make deals they intended to keep.

Derik pushed his chair back and crossed the kitchen to where she stood. His footsteps were nearly silent on the tile, a habit from years of tactical training. He stopped just short of touching her, understanding her need for space when she felt cornered.

"We need to get ahead of him for once," he said, his voice low and intense. "We've been building the case against him, piece by piece. Mueller believes us. We have allies now—not many, but enough. If we can just—"

"Get proof that ties him directly to Thomas's murder," Morgan finished. "Or to Mary Price's death forty years ago. Or to framing me." She laughed, a hollow sound devoid of humor. "We've been trying for months."

"And we're getting closer," Derik insisted. "Every day, we chip away at his network, identify his people. We're building something solid."

Morgan wanted to believe him. Needed to believe him. But Cordell's visit had shaken her more than she cared to admit. The man had waltzed into her home, past every security measure, and threatened everything she cared about. And there hadn't been a damn thing she could do about it.

Her hand drifted unconsciously to her hip, where her service weapon normally rested in its holster. She'd set it on the counter when they began searching the house, but the instinct to keep it close was overwhelming now. The weight of the Glock had become an extension of herself, a constant reminder of the dangers that surrounded her. The memory of holding Thomas as he bled out on that pier, unable to stop the sniper's bullet that had torn through him, flashed vividly in her mind. She couldn't let that happen to Derik or anyone else she cared about. These dangers had followed her out of prison, back into the world, into her home.

"If I tell my father about tonight," she said quietly, "he'll surrender himself before Cordell can get to me. He'd sacrifice himself in a heartbeat."

The truth of those words ached inside her. John Christopher—gruff, distant, complicated—had abandoned his identity, his career, everything he knew, to protect her as a child. He'd raised her alone in that cabin in the woods, teaching her to hunt, to survive, to trust no one. She'd resented those lessons once. Now she understood them.

"Your father is a survivor," Derik said, his voice gentle but firm. "Just like you. He wouldn't want you making that kind of decision based on fear."

Morgan met his gaze. In the dim light of the kitchen, Derik's green eyes seemed darker, more serious than usual. The lines around them had deepened over the past months as he'd thrown himself into her fight against Cordell, risking his career, his life, everything. For her.

"I'm not afraid for myself," she replied, the words coming out more sharply than she'd intended. "I'm afraid for him. For you. For Mueller and his family. Cordell has made it clear he'll burn everything I care about to the ground to get what he wants."

"Then we don't let him," Derik said simply, as if it were that easy. As if they weren't up against a man who'd spent decades building a network of power and influence that reached into every corner of their lives.

---