Page 6 of For Vengeance

Morgan felt the exhaustion suddenly, a bone-deep weariness that threatened to pull her under. She leaned against the counter, letting it support her weight for a moment.

"There's something else bothering you," Derik observed, his voice soft in the darkness. "Something about what Cordell said."

She hesitated, then nodded slowly. "He talked about Mary Price. The woman my father supposedly killed forty years ago." Morgan pushed a hand through her short brown hair, the strands falling immediately back into their disheveled state. "The way he spoke about her... it wasn't just about revenge or justice. It was..."

"Personal," Derik finished for her. "Like he loved her."

"Exactly." Morgan moved to retrieve her weapon from the counter, needing its familiar weight in her hands. "My father told me Cordell was obsessed with Mary, but hearing it from Cordell himself..." She shook her head. "There was real pain there, Derik. Real grief. After forty years, it still eats at him."

"Which makes him more dangerous," Derik pointed out. "Men driven by that kind of obsession don't stop. They don't compromise. They don't see reason."

"I know." Morgan checked the gun's chamber by habit, then set it down again. "But it also means there might be gaps in the story my father told me. Things he left out. Things that could help us understand what we're really up against."

Derik moved closer, finally breaching the invisible barrier she'd erected around herself. His hand came to rest on her shoulder, warm and steady. "Then we find those gaps. We keep digging. But right now, we need to focus on protecting you, your father, and everyone else Cordell might target."

Morgan nodded, allowing herself to lean slightly into his touch. In the years they'd been partners, then friends, and now something more complicated that neither of them had fully defined, Derik had become her anchor. The one person who understood her completely, who'd seen the worst of her and stayed anyway.

"We should get some sleep," Derik suggested, his hand sliding down her arm to gently take her hand. "Talk to Mueller in the morning. See if we can set up another sting operation for Cordell."

"Right," Morgan agreed, though she knew sleep would be elusive at best. Every time she closed her eyes, she saw Cordell sitting in her living room, that snake-like smile on his face, threatening everything she loved. She'd lie awake until dawn, planning, strategizing, searching for the one blind spot in Cordell's vision, the one move he wouldn't anticipate.

"I'll stay," Derik said, reading her thoughts. His fingers tightened around hers. "If that's okay."

The offer hung between them, layered with meanings beyond just security. They'd been gravitating toward each other for months, the professional boundaries that had once kept them apart dissolving in the face of shared danger, shared purpose. They'd been careful, tentative, both of them carrying too many scars to rush into anything. But tonight, with Cordell's threat hanging over them, caution seemed pointless.

"It's okay," Morgan said finally, her voice softer than usual.

Derik nodded, understanding everything she wasn't saying. That she didn't want to be alone tonight. That she needed his presence to keep the darker thoughts at bay. That some part of her feared Cordell would return, and at least together they stood a chance.

Skunk padded over to them, sensing the shift in mood. The pitbull pressed against Morgan's leg, a solid, warm presence anchoring her to the moment.

"Come on," Derik said, still holding her hand. "Let's try to get some rest."

They moved through the darkened house toward her bedroom, checking locks and shadows from habit. Morgan knew neither of them would actually sleep—they'd take turns pretending to, for the other's benefit. It was a familiar dance by now, this shared insomnia, this hypervigilance that never quite faded.

The bedroom was sparse, functional, revealing little about its occupant. Morgan had never been one for personal touches, even before prison. Ten years behind bars had only reinforced her minimalist tendencies. A bed, a dresser, a small nightstand with a lamp and a dog-eared paperback. No photos, no mementos. Nothing that could be used against her.

Morgan set her weapon on the nightstand within easy reach, while Derik did the same on the opposite side. They moved around each other with the comfortable familiarity of people who had worked side by side for years, anticipating each other's movements, respecting each other's space.

Skunk jumped onto the foot of the bed, circling twice before settling down with a contented sigh. The pitbull's presence was comforting, a reminder that some loyalties were simple, uncomplicated by the past.

Morgan sat on the edge of the bed, suddenly uncertain. Being with Derik like this—vulnerable, unguarded—still felt new, despite the months they'd been circling each other. Prison had taught her to keep her walls up, to never show weakness. Old habits died hard.

Derik seemed to understand. He sat beside her, not touching, just present. "You don't have to pretend with me," he said quietly. "I know what Cordell being here did to you. I know what it means."

Morgan closed her eyes briefly, the weight of Cordell's ultimatum settling over her again. One week. Seven days to find a way to outmaneuver a man who'd spent decades weaving a web of power and influence, a man whose reach extended into the highest levels of the institutions she'd once believed in.

Seven days to protect her father, Derik, herself.

Seven days until Cordell made good on his promise to destroy what little remained of her world.

"We'll figure something out," she said, as much to herself as to Derik. "We have to."

Derik's hand found hers again, his fingers intertwining with hers. "We will," he promised. "Together."

The simple word—together—eased something tight in Morgan's chest. After years of fighting alone, of trusting no one, of carrying the weight of injustice and betrayal by herself, she wasn't alone anymore. Whatever came next, whatever Cordell had planned, she wouldn't face it in isolation.

They lay down without bothering to change clothes, both too wired, too alert to perform even that small ritual of normalcy. Derik pulled her against him, her back to his chest, his arm draped protectively over her waist. Morgan could feel his heartbeat, steady and strong, a counterpoint to her own racing pulse.

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