For Once, page 7
"Hey!" he called out, waving his hand in the air as he approached the broken-down vehicle. "Need some help?"
As Steven jogged over to the man, beads of sweat rolled down his temples and mixed with the dust on his face. He could feel the heat radiating off the blacktop road beneath him. Waving, Steven called out again, "Hey, do you need any help?" he repeated.
The man turned around, revealing a deep scar stretching from his brow to his cheekbone, with an empty right eye socket nestled beneath the damaged tissue. Despite his eerie appearance, the young man's smile was warm and genuine. "Yeah, I'd appreciate it," he said, his voice weary but grateful.
"Sure thing," Steven replied, wiping his palms on his jeans before leaning under the hood. The sunlight glinted off the metal components as he inspected the engine, searching for any obvious issues. The air smelled of hot oil and burnt rubber, making him slightly dizzy.
"Your eyes are really unique," the man commented, peering at Steven's face while he worked. "One green, one brown. Never seen anything quite like that before."
Steven glanced up briefly, meeting the man's single green eye. "Yeah, I was born with heterochromia," he explained, forcing a small smile. It wasn't the first time someone had remarked on his unusual eyes, but the comment still caught him off guard.
"Interesting," the man mused, taking a step back and folding his arms across his chest. "I guess we've both got something that sets us apart, huh?"
"Seems so," Steven agreed, turning his attention back to the car. With a sigh, Steven straightened up, shaking his head. "I can't see any obvious issues," he admitted, frustration creeping into his voice. "Maybe it's something deeper in the engine."
"Thanks for trying, anyhow," the young man replied, clapping Steven on the shoulder. His touch was surprisingly gentle, given his rough appearance.
"Sorry I couldn't be more help," Steven said sincerely, hoping to reassure the stranger despite his own misgivings. There was a momentary flash of vulnerability in the man's remaining eye, and then it was gone, replaced by that same friendly smile.
"Hey, I really appreciate you giving it a shot," the man said, adjusting his stance as he leaned against the car. The sun cast a shadow over his face, emphasizing the deep scar above his right eye.
Steven wiped the sweat from his brow, feeling the heat of the day building up around him.
"Well, maybe--" Steven started, but his voice was cut off abruptly as something crashed into the back of his head, bludgeoning him with a force that sent him reeling. Pain exploded through his skull, and his vision blurred, as if the world was slipping away from him like sand through his fingers.
"Wha-what?" he managed to stammer, trying to make sense of the situation. His legs gave way beneath him, and he collapsed onto the dusty ground. The last thing he heard before everything went black was the young man's soft chuckle floating on the hot summer air.
"Interesting indeed," the man murmured, his voice fading away with Steven's consciousness.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Morgan's fingers itched to find answers as she stood in the dimly lit evidence room, the red feather from the crime scene glowing eerily under the UV light. The tip from Horace had intrigued her; if there were hidden colors in the feather, it could lead to a significant breakthrough. Yet, as she scrutinized every inch of it with furrowed brows, nothing new met her gaze.
"Damn it," she muttered under her breath, frustration bubbling inside her. With a sigh, she switched off the UV light and carefully placed the feather back into its evidence bag. She still believed that the choice of the feather was intentional due to its perfect match with Melissa's hair color, but the question of why gnawed at her mind.
"Find anything?" Derik's voice echoed through the room, causing Morgan to jump slightly. She hadn't heard him enter. She turned to see her partner leaning against the doorway, his green eyes observing her with curiosity.
"Nothing," she said, shaking her head. "Horace's tip didn't pan out. The feather's just...red."
Derik nodded, his expression solemn. "I finished talking to Sam about the feather and the bird species. He couldn't provide any insight either."
"Of course not," Morgan muttered, more to herself than to Derik. She crossed her arms, her dark tattoos peeking out from under her sleeves as she contemplated the situation. "The feather comes from a bird that represents the afterlife in an ancient Brazilian tribe's culture," she told him. "But I'm not sure how that ties into the murder. It could be some kind of message from the killer, but it doesn't help us figure out who they are."
Derik rubbed his chin thoughtfully, his tired eyes reflecting the weight of their unsolved case. "You're right. We need something more concrete to go on. We can't just rely on obscure cultural references."
Morgan couldn't help but agree, even as her gut told her that the key to solving this case lay hidden within this feather's origins. But for now, they had reached a dead end. As she glanced back at the evidence bag, she silently vowed to uncover the truth, no matter how many feathers it took. The victims deserved nothing less.
"Maybe we should consult a historian or an expert on Brazilian tribal culture," Derik suggested, his eyes lighting up with renewed hope. "Someone who can provide more insight into the feather's significance."
Morgan nodded, her determination to solve this case keeping her focused. "It's a good lead. I'll look into it." She stepped forward, intending to leave the evidence room and start her search for such an expert immediately. But as she moved to walk past Derik, he shifted his stance, blocking her path.
Suddenly, Morgan found herself mere inches from him, so close she could feel the warmth radiating from his body. A flush crept up her neck, her heart pounding in her chest. They hadn't been this close in a long time, and for good reason. The memories of their past relationship were both painful and bittersweet. She couldn't help but feel vulnerable in his presence.
"Derik, what are you doing?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper, betraying her unease.
"Look, Morgan..." Derik began, his voice filled with a mixture of regret and longing. "I want to make things right between us. I know I messed up, and I'm willing to do anything to earn your trust back. I just...I need you to give me a chance."
Morgan was left speechless, her mind racing with conflicting emotions. Part of her still felt a connection to Derik, but his lies had been too much to bear in the past, leaving her wary and afraid to trust again. As she stared into his sincere eyes, she struggled to find the words that would adequately convey the turmoil inside her.
"Derik, I..."
"Come on, Morgan," Derik urged gently, his concern evident in his eyes. "You've been quiet lately, like something's bothering you. You can tell me what's wrong; we're partners."
Morgan bit her lip, fighting the urge to spill her secret. She couldn't risk Thomas finding out she'd told anyone about Skunk, especially not Derik. The threat of losing her beloved Pitbull was a constant weight on her mind, and it took everything she had to keep the worry from showing.
"Derik, I..." she started but was cut off by the shrill ring of her phone. Relief washed over her as she fumbled in her pocket to retrieve the device, grateful for the interruption. Her heart dropped, however, when she saw Assistant Director Mueller's name flash across the screen.
"Cross," she answered, her voice steady despite the knot forming in her stomach.
"Agent Cross, we have another murder. I need you and Agent Greene to drop everything and head to the scene immediately," Mueller's voice was curt and authoritative, leaving no room for questions.
"Understood, sir. We're on our way," Morgan replied, her steely resolve clicking into place. As she hung up the call, she met Derik's questioning gaze.
"Another murder," she informed him, all traces of vulnerability vanishing behind the mask she wore as an agent. "Mueller wants us there right away."
"Let's go," Derik nodded, his own expression hardening. They exchanged one last look before both agents walked out of the evidence room, leaving the unresolved tension between them hanging in the air.
***
Morgan's car tore down the dirt road, a cloud of dust billowing in its wake. The sun was beginning to set, casting long shadows across the rough terrain and bathing the farm outside of town in a warm orange glow. Derik gripped the door handle, bracing himself as they skidded to a halt next to the police barricade. Without a word, they both leaped from the vehicle and hurried toward the commotion.
"Hey, Morgan," an officer called out as they approached. "Body's just over here."
"Thanks, Jim," she said, her eyes scanning the scene for any immediate clues. The tension in the air weighed heavily on her chest, but she pushed it aside.
As they neared the body, Morgan's breath caught in her throat. A man lay sprawled on the ground, his lifeless eyes staring blankly at the sky above. Blood pooled around the back of his head, seeping into the parched earth below. It was clear he'd been murdered on the spot, a stark contrast to Melissa's staged crime scene.
"Jesus," Derik muttered under his breath. "What's with the feathers?"
Morgan crouched down, taking in the two objects clutched tightly in the victim's hands—one brown and one green feather. She furrowed her brow, piecing together what this might mean. It wasn't the specific feather that was the MO, but feathers in general. Her mind raced with questions: Was there a connection between the victims? What did the colors of the feathers signify?
"Hey," Morgan called over to a uniformed officer, "do you have an ID on the victim?"
The officer nodded and consulted his notepad. "Yeah, his name is Steven Kirk. He works here on the farm."
"Right next to his workplace?" Derik said, incredulous. "This killer has some nerve."
"Another shift in MO," Morgan added, her voice low as she observed the crime scene. The daylight murder was a far cry from Melissa's body found hidden in a back alley.
Slipping on a pair of latex gloves, Morgan approached the body cautiously, her eyes locked on the feathers clutched in each of Steven's hands. One brown, one green. What could it mean?
As Morgan leaned in, she noticed that Steven's eyes were slightly open, staring blankly into the sky. She felt a shiver run down her spine but forced herself to focus. There had to be something here, something that would help them understand why this man had been targeted.
"Derik, look at his eyes," Morgan said quietly, motioning for him to come closer.
Derik stepped up beside her, following her gaze. "They're open... Wait, are they different colors?"
"Seems like it," Morgan confirmed, tilting her head for a better angle. She couldn't shake the feeling that the answer to the connection between the victims lay in their extraordinary features. But what did it all mean? And more importantly, who was behind these gruesome murders?
Morgan flicked on her flashlight, illuminating Steven's lifeless eyes. The heterochromia was unmistakable—one eye a deep, rich brown and the other a vivid green. She glanced over at Derik, who stood beside her with furrowed brows.
"His eyes are definitely different colors," she said, trying to make sense of it all. "Heterochromia."
Derik studied the body for a moment before asking, "What do you think it means?"
Morgan hesitated, her mind racing. "I think the killer is targeting people with extraordinary features, then leaving feathers to match their palettes." She looked back at the brown and green feathers clutched in Steven's hands, then at his mismatched eyes. "But I have no idea why he's doing this or what it means."
As the agents continued to examine the scene, Morgan couldn't help but feel a sense of dread creeping up on her. The killer's MO was becoming clearer, but the motive was still a mystery. Why leave feathers and target people with unique features? Was it some sort of twisted game, or was there a deeper meaning behind it all? Morgan wasn't sure, but she needed to talk to the owner of this farm, the man who employed Steven, and see what he had to say about all of this. A murder in broad daylight, right next to the farm, was a bold move by the killer.
CHAPTER TWELVE
After gaining everything she could from the crime scene, Morgan made her way toward the nearby farmhouse to speak with the owner who had employed Steven, with Derik close behind. His name was Robert Tuck, apparently, and this farm had been in his family a long time, according to the intel she'd gotten from the cops. The property was unkempt, tools scattered haphazardly across the yard, and the house itself appeared neglected.
Morgan knocked on the door, waiting for a response. When none came, she knocked again, harder this time. Finally, she heard shuffling from inside the house, and a gruff voice called out, "Who is it?"
"Agent Cross, FBI. I'd like to speak with you for a moment, sir," Morgan replied, her tone professional.
The door creaked open, revealing a tall, weathered man with deep lines etched into his face. He looked the agents up and down before grunting and stepping aside to let them enter.
"What do you want?" he asked, his voice gruff.
"Are you the owner of this farm?" Morgan inquired, her tone professional but firm. "We're here to talk about Steven Kirk."
The man's gaze flickered between them, as if weighing his options. "I already talked to the cops. I got nothing else to say."
"Mr. Tuck, my name is Morgan Cross, FBI, and this is my partner, Derik Greene."
"Like I told the cops," Robert grumbled, leaning against the door frame with a scowl etched onto his face, "I don't know what happened to Steven. He worked here, that's all. Now leave me alone."
"Your cooperation would be greatly appreciated, Mr. Tuck," Morgan insisted calmly, noting the tense line of Derik's jaw as he observed their interaction. "We're just trying to find out who killed your employee."
"Employee?" Robert spat out the word like a curse. "I didn't even want him working here in the first place!"
"Can you tell us more about that?" Morgan asked, her curiosity piqued.
Robert's eyes narrowed, and he attempted to slam the door shut. But Morgan was quick, her hand shooting out to prevent it from closing. She could feel the tension building between them, but she couldn't back down now. They were getting closer to the truth, and she needed answers.
"Leave me alone!" Robert roared, reappearing in the doorway with a shotgun cradled in his arms. Derik instantly drew his gun, aiming it at the farmer. The air crackled with tension, each second stretched taut like a wire about to snap.
"Robert, listen to me," Morgan said firmly, raising her hands in a placating gesture. "You don't want to do this. We're federal agents, and threatening us can land you in serious trouble."
"Damn right, I have the right to defend myself! This is my property!" Robert snarled, his grip tightening on the shotgun. "Now get off my land!"
Morgan's thoughts raced, trying to find a way to defuse the situation without further escalating it. She could feel Derik's unwavering gaze on her, silently urging her to make the right move.
"Mr. Tuck," she said in a steady voice, "we have no intention of causing you any trouble. We just want to understand why Steven was killed. If you have nothing to hide, then there should be no problem."
Her words seemed to reach Robert, who hesitated for a moment, allowing Morgan to briefly exhale in relief. But the standoff continued, and she knew that one wrong move could send everything spiraling out of control.
"Derik, lower your gun," Morgan urged, her tone steady and calm. Her eyes never left Robert's face as she tried to maintain a connection with him, hoping to talk him down from the brink.
Derik hesitated, reluctance clear on his strained features, but he complied, slowly lowering his weapon. The air between them still hummed with tension, but Morgan felt it was a step in the right direction.
"Robert," she said, keeping her voice low and soothing, "we just want to find out who killed Steven. If you have nothing to hide, then there shouldn't be a problem."
As the words settled, Robert's gaze wavered, flicking between Morgan and Derik. She could see the uncertainty building behind his eyes, a glimmer of doubt creeping in. It was the opening she needed.
Seizing the opportunity, Morgan lunged forward with startling speed. In one fluid motion, she swiped the shotgun from Robert's grasp, twisting it away from him and using her other hand to push him off balance. He stumbled back, surprise etched on his face as he realized he'd been disarmed.
"Put your hands behind your back," Morgan commanded, her voice firm but not unkind. As she clamped the cuffs around his wrists, she couldn't help but feel a spark of satisfaction at having defused the situation without any harm done.
"Whatever you're hiding, Mr. Tuck," she said, looking him straight in the eye, "we're going to find out."
Robert swallowed hard, his bravado crumbling under the weight of Morgan's unwavering determination. And although she knew the road ahead was far from clear, she was confident that they had taken a crucial step towards unraveling the mystery surrounding Steven's murder.
***
The fluorescent lights of the precinct flickered overhead as Morgan hunched over the computer, scanning through Robert Tuck's files in the FBI database. The sterile buzz of the bulbs mixed with the faint hum of the air conditioning system, creating an unsettling atmosphere that did little to calm her racing thoughts. Derik stood nearby, his arms crossed and a furrow etched into his brow as he watched her work.
"Check this out," Morgan said, her voice low but urgent. "Robert has a record of domestic violence and abuse. His wife left him years ago, and he's been running the farm alone ever since."
"Jesus," Derik muttered, shaking his head. "No wonder the place looked like it was falling apart."
Morgan nodded, her dark eyes never leaving the screen. "It's a lot of work for one man," she mused, her fingers dancing across the keyboard as she pulled up Steven's file. "So why did he hire Steven?"
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