CHAPTER TWENTY EIGHT
The acrid stench of decay and rain-soaked concrete assaulted Morgan's senses as she cut the engine, plunging the crumbling parking lot into silence. Her eyes darted to the rearview mirror, scanning for any signs of movement in the shadows cast by the flickering streetlight. Nothing. Just the ghostly silhouette of the abandoned apartment building looming behind her, a decaying monument to a night that had changed everything.
Morgan's fingers tightened on the steering wheel, her knuckles white. "This is where it happened," she whispered, her voice barely audible over the pounding of her heart. "Where Mary died. Where my father..."
She couldn't finish the thought. The truth was a jagged shard lodged in her chest, cutting deeper with each breath. The official reports, the lies she'd been fed for years – they all crumbled in the face of the photos she'd uncovered. Her father and Mary Price, smiling, connected. Not strangers caught in a random act of violence, but something more.
What were you hiding, Dad? Morgan thought, her eyes narrowing as she stared at the building. And what did Cordell have to do with it?
Taking a steadying breath, Morgan reached for her holster, double-checking that her weapon was secure. The weight of it against her hip was comforting, a stark contrast to the vulnerability she'd felt in prison. Never again would she be caught unprepared.
She pushed open the car door, the creak of metal impossibly loud in the stillness. Her boots crunched on loose gravel as she stepped out, every muscle coiled tight. The faint glow of the streetlight barely penetrated the gloom, casting long, twisted shadows that seemed to reach for her.
Morgan's hand hovered near her weapon as she scanned the area, her prison-honed instincts screaming danger. "Focus," she whispered to herself, forcing her breathing to steady. "You're not in there anymore. You're in control."
But even as she said the words, the memory of Thomas on the pier flashed through her mind. The crack of the gunshot, the shock on his face as he fell. How quickly it had all happened.
Dammit, Thomas, Morgan thought, blinking away the sudden sting in her eyes. Why did you have to get involved? Why couldn't you just stay away?
She took a cautious step forward, every sense on high alert. The distant hum of the city felt like a taunt, a reminder of the normal world that existed beyond this pocket of darkness and secrets.
I'm going to figure this out, Morgan promised the night, her voice low and fierce. For you, Thomas. For Mary. For all of us who've been caught in Cordell's web. Whatever the truth is, I'm going to drag it into the light.
With that vow echoing in her mind, Morgan moved deeper into the shadows, ready to confront whatever ghosts – or very real threats – awaited her in the ruins of her past.
Suddenly, Assistant Director Mueller's voice crackled through her earpiece, steady but urgent.
"Cross, we've secured the perimeter and most of the building, but the sweep isn't complete. Stay alert."
Morgan's hand tightened on her weapon. "Understood. Any sign of Cordell?"
"Negative."
"Copy that," Morgan replied, her voice low and tense. She moved forward, each step calculated and silent.
The building loomed before her, a hulking shadow against the night sky. Broken windows gaped like toothless mouths, and graffiti sprawled across crumbling brick walls. Morgan's eyes darted from corner to corner, searching for any sign of movement.
A sudden gust of wind sent a discarded newspaper tumbling across the parking lot. Morgan's muscles tensed, her weapon half-drawn before her mind registered the harmless source of movement. The autumn chill seemed to seep through her leather jacket, raising goosebumps along her arms where her tattoos marked the years stolen from her.
Minutes crawled by with excruciating slowness. Each shadow held potential threats, each unexpected sound sent adrenaline coursing through her veins. The weight of the bulletproof vest beneath her jacket pressed against her ribs with every breath, a constant reminder of the danger she'd willingly walked into.
A distant siren wailed, the sound distorted by the city's maze of buildings. Morgan thought of Cordell in his expensive office, probably watching the news coverage of her press conference. Had he seen through her challenge? Recognized the trap beneath her bold declaration?
"Movement on the east side," Derik's voice whispered through her earpiece. Morgan's heart rate spiked, her body automatically shifting into a better defensive position. But after a tense moment, he added, "False alarm. Just a stray cat."
Morgan forced herself to breathe slowly, fighting against the growing suspicion that was taking root in her gut. Everything felt wrong. The silence was too complete, the darkness too still.
"Mueller," she said softly, knowing the mic would pick up her words. "Any activity on the thermal scans?"
"Negative," came the response, tinged with the same frustration she felt building in her chest. "Building's completely cold."
A rat skittered through a pile of debris nearby, its claws scratching against concrete. The sound echoed in the empty space, emphasizing the absence of the confrontation they'd expected. Morgan's jaw clenched as understanding settled over her like frost.
He wasn't coming.
The realization sat heavy in her stomach, bitter as prison coffee. Cordell had outplayed them again, somehow knowing their carefully laid trap was waiting. Someone had warned him – someone with access to their operation, someone inside the Bureau itself.
The game board had shifted before they'd even made their first move.
"Cross," Mueller's voice came through again, heavy with resignation. "I don't think—"
"I know," Morgan cut him off, not wanting to hear the words that would make it real. Her free hand found the phoenix tattoo on her forearm, tracing its outline through her jacket sleeve. "He's not coming. He never was."
The distant sound of traffic continued its endless rhythm, indifferent to their failed operation. Morgan stared up at the building's dark windows, each one a blank eye staring back at her. Somewhere in this city, Cordell was probably watching, waiting, planning his next move. But it wouldn't be here. Not tonight.
"Fall back," Mueller ordered, though his tone made it more suggestion than command. "We'll reassess in the morning."
Morgan stayed motionless for a moment longer, letting the night air fill her lungs. The same autumn wind that had carried dead leaves across her father's grave now whispered through empty corridors above, as if the building itself was mocking their efforts.
She had been so certain. So sure that her challenge would draw him out, force him to face her directly. Instead, she stood alone in a decaying parking lot, while somewhere in Dallas, Richard Cordell remained safely hidden in whatever web of power and influence he'd spent decades spinning.
Morgan's jaw clenched as she turned away from the abandoned building, frustration and anger simmering beneath her skin. She stalked back to her car, each step echoing her determination. This setback wouldn't stop her. It couldn't.
Cordell hadn't come because he couldn't afford to be caught. Which meant he was vulnerable – more vulnerable than she'd realized. He had power, influence, a network of corrupt agents at his disposal. But he wasn't invincible.
And now she knew for certain that someone inside the Bureau was feeding him information. Someone had warned him about their trap. That someone had just become her new target.
The game wasn't over. The rules had just changed.