Page 44 of Forever

"Positive," the man replied. "I remember because it was such an odd request. I don't get many folks asking for a saw logo and that slogan."

Morgan took a deep breath, steadying herself. "Can you forward me the customer's information? It's crucial that we find him as soon as possible."

"Uh, I don't know..." The man hesitated, his voice wavering with uncertainty. "It's not really company policy to give out customer details like that."

"Listen." Morgan leaned against the desk, her knuckles turning white as she clutched the phone. "I understand your concerns, but I'm an FBI agent, and I'm fairly certain a woman's life is on the line here. I can come down with a warrant if necessary, but time is of the essence, and I would really appreciate your cooperation."

The silence on the other end of the line was deafening. Morgan held her breath, waiting for the man to respond. She could practically hear the gears turning in his head as he weighed his options.

"Alright," he finally relented, his voice heavy with resignation. "I'll send over what I have. But please, make sure this doesn't come back to bite me or my business."

"Thank you," Morgan said sincerely, relief washing over her. "You're doing the right thing."

Morgan's heart pounded in her chest, her fingers hovering over the keyboard as she waited for the man on the other end of the line to make good on his word. She glanced up at the clock on the wall, each tick echoing like a gunshot in her ears. Time was slipping away, and with it, the chances of finding Sarah alive.

"Alright," the man sighed, his voice thick with reluctance. "His name is Greg Folger, and he paid with this credit card number." He rattled off the digits, and Morgan typed them into her computer, her fingers moving with lightning speed.

"Thank you," she said, her voice strained but sincere. "You may have just saved a life."

"Hope so," he murmured before hanging up.

As soon as the line went dead, Morgan pulled up the FBI database, her fingers flying across the keys as she searched for any information on Greg Folger. Breathing hitched in her throat, she scanned the screen, her eyes widening as she found him—a man with a criminal record, his mugshot displaying a gaunt, handsome face framed by dark hair. This was him; he matched the description.

"Got you," she whispered under her breath, her determination steeling her resolve. She leaned back in her chair, taking a moment to study the man staring back at her from the screen. If this Greg Folger was indeed their kidnapper, he had made a mistake—a crucial one that now put him within Morgan's reach.

A chill ran down Morgan's spine as she skimmed Greg's file in the database. The words seemed to leap off the screen, taunting her with their twisted revelations. She couldn't shake the image of young Greg, his head held under the water by the very person who was supposed to protect him. The horror he must have felt then, she thought, might be a mirror image of what Sarah was experiencing now.

"Damn," she whispered to herself, feeling the urgency knot tighter in her chest. She couldn't afford to waste any more time. Snapping the laptop shut, she grabbed the printed mugshot and hurried back to the interrogation room. Her heart hammered in her ears, drowning out the buzz of activity around her as agents and officers scrambled to follow leads and coordinate efforts to find Greg Folger.

Bursting into the room, she found Jessica still huddled in the corner, clutching her blanket like a lifeline. Her wide, fearful eyes fixed on Morgan, searching for some glimmer of hope.

"Jessica, I need you to look at this," Morgan said, holding up the picture of Greg. Her voice was low but firm, the tone of someone used to getting answers. "Is this the man who took you and Sarah?"

Jessica hesitated for a moment before reaching out with trembling fingers to take the photo. She stared at it, her breath hitching as her eyes filled with tears.

"Yes," she choked out, her voice barely audible. "That's him."

"Thank you, Jessica," Morgan replied, trying to keep her own emotions in check. She forced herself to stay focused on the task at hand. "I promise you, we're going to find Sarah and bring that bastard to justice."

As she turned to leave the room, Morgan couldn't help but feel the weight of responsibility pressing down on her. The lives of two innocent women rested in her hands, and every second that ticked by brought Sarah closer to a fate she couldn't bear to imagine. She knew the stakes, and she knew the odds were against her, but failure wasn't an option.

Now that they had his identity, they could get the plate and put out a proper APB.

CHAPTER TWENTY EIGHT

The golden light of the setting sun glinted off Morgan's windshield, momentarily blinding her. She squinted against the glare, gripping the steering wheel tighter until her knuckles turned white. Her foot pressed down hard on the accelerator, sending the car hurtling down the highway at a dangerous speed.

"Come on, come on," she muttered to herself, her eyes darting back and forth between the road and the rearview mirror, searching for any sign of the van. "Where are you?"

As the miles flew by, panic began to set in. Had they lost him? Was Sarah still alive? She couldn't bear the thought of losing another innocent person to this monster—not after everything she'd been through herself.

In moments like these, memories of her time in prison would surface—memories of dark, cramped cells and the sickening smell of fear that clung to the air. It was those experiences that had made her who she was today: a fiercely determined woman who refused to let the darkness win.

As Morgan pulled into the rural lakeside community, the sun dipped below the horizon, casting long shadows across the narrow streets. Her hands were clammy on the wheel as she scanned the area for Greg's van. The quietness of the place was eerie, as if every resident had locked themselves away to escape the terror lurking outside.

"Come on, come on," she muttered under her breath, squinting through the fading light. She could feel the pressure mounting; every second that passed could mean life or death for Sarah.

"Where the hell is he?"

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