She looked up, realizing there was a long split in the hedge, facing a narrow pathway.

  And there, up ahead, was a man.

  A tall, skinny man looked back at them in shock, giving them no time to even process it. Before Morgan could react, he dashed away.

  She ran after him.

  "Cross, hold up!" Derik shouted, but Morgan sprinted ahead, leaving the rest of the team behind. During her time in prison, she'd mastered her speed, having spent afternoons outside in the field, doing laps the entire time, at every chance she got. It was the only saving grace in prison; the fact that she could still work on her body and make herself stronger and faster than she ever was before.

  Morgan chased the suspect through the maze, jumping over low walls and ducking under high branches. The man was fast, but Morgan was faster. She could see him up ahead, his long strides covering the distance between them in a second.

  Just as Morgan was about to catch up with him, he stopped abruptly, pointing his gun straight at her. His eyes were wide and wild, and his finger flexed around the trigger. Fear flooded through Morgan's veins as she stared down the barrel of the gun.

  It was a sobering moment—a reminder that anything could go wrong and end her life at any time, especially in this line of work.

  But the man didn't shoot, not yet, giving Morgan a chance to compose herself. She'd been here before. She could handle it.

  "Drop the weapon," she said, pointing her own gun back at him.

  "I-I didn't do anything!" he shouted. "I was just—I was just following instructions!"

  "What instructions?" Morgan said, her voice hard.

  "I-I don't know," the man said.

  "Who sent you?" Morgan said.

  "I was just given instructions to go in the maze and wait for instructions," the man said, sweat trickling down his face.

  Morgan frowned. "Who gave you these instructions?"

  "I don't know!" the man wailed. "This isn't my fault, you can't—you can’t do this! Please, just let me go.”

  Morgan stared at him, her jaw clenched. She knew that if she let him go, he’d just be back out there doing the same thing, or worse. No, she couldn't let that happen.

  "Drop your weapon," Morgan said, her voice cold and unwavering. "Now."

  He didn't; he just kept holding it up.

  "Drop it," she commanded again, her voice low but forceful. "Or I'll shoot."

  "It's not fair," he stammered. "It's not—"

  "Cross!" Derik's voice sounded from behind.

  Before Morgan could react, the suspect fired his gun right at her.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  White-hot pain seared through Morgan's thigh. Disoriented, she tried to find her bearings through the new pain and the sound of the gunshot that still resonated through her head. The sun blinded her, and the pain was so intense it nearly made her pass out.

  But only for a moment.

  Morgan looked down to see her pants ripped open. The bullet had only grazed her thigh, and she looked up to see the suspect trembling, his gun still on her.

  "I'll shoot again!" he warned.

  Anger fired through her. That son of a bitch had shot her. She glared at him, then dove right after him. Clearly, he was a bad shot, but he didn't try to shoot her again—this time, he dropped the gun and ran off. Morgan hobbled after, but the pain in her leg slowed her down. The adrenaline pushed her forward.

  "Cross, hold up!" It was Derik. Morgan ignored him and chased after the suspect. This time, it was anger that pushed her forward.

  She was sick of men like him thinking they could get away with anything, thinking they could hurt anyone without consequences. She wasn't going to let him go.

  The suspect was quick, but Morgan's anger and determination made her faster. She chased him through the maze, feeling the pain in her thigh with every step. But she refused to let it slow her down. He was slower now, too, and he kept looking back in fear as Morgan charged him.

  She was going to catch this son of a bitch and make him pay for what he had done to her. She pushed herself to run faster, even as the pain in her thigh intensified. She could hear the suspect's frantic footsteps as he ran ahead, but she was getting closer.

  And then she finally caught up to him. Morgan hurled herself forward, taking his weight down with her.

  They tumbled to the ground, rolling over and over until she was on top of him. His face was twisted in fear and pain, and Morgan could see the fear in his eyes as he struggled to break free. But she held him down, pinning him to the ground with all her strength.

  "You shouldn't have shot me," Morgan growled, her voice low and dangerous.

  "I'm sorry," the man whimpered. "Please, let me go!"

  Morgan shook her head. "It's too late for that."

  She reached for her handcuffs and quickly cuffed the man's hands behind his back. She stood up, looking down at him with cold eyes.

  "You're under arrest," she said, her voice firm.

  The man stared up at her, fear in his eyes. "What are you going to do to me?"

  Morgan didn't answer, just turned back as she heard the footsteps of her team quickly arriving. They were all out of breath, Derik included. He scowled at the scene as he took it in.

  "Go on," Morgan said to the officers behind him, "he's already finished."

  The officers took the suspect and carried him away, navigating toward the exit of the maze. Now that the adrenaline had worn off, the pain shot up Morgan's leg again. She looked down to see blood pooling through her dark pants, creating a giant splotch.

  "Jesus, Cross," Derik said, stepping up to her.

  "I'm fine."

  But her head was getting woozy. She tried to ignore it, to look strong. But Derik clearly didn't buy it, because he came over and forced her to use him as a crutch. Morgan's face burned at the feeling of his body pressing against hers, both familiar and unfamiliar.

  "I can walk myself," Morgan uttered, trying to push Derik away, but he wouldn't let her go. The truth was that she didn't mind the extra weight taken off as they hobbled away, but it felt awkward taking Derik's help after everything that had happened.

  "What the hell is wrong with you, Cross?" Derik said.

  Morgan shot him a look. "What? I caught him."

  "And you got shot," Derik said. "We're supposed to be working as a team, remember? Here you are, running off alone again."

  She bit her tongue. What was she supposed to say? She was determined to catch this guy, and after ten years alone in a cell, surrounded only by other inmates, maybe she had lost a lot of her team spirit. It didn’t feel as natural to work alongside Derik now, not like it had before.

  Derik sighed, clearly still frustrated with her. "You should have waited for backup. You could have been killed."

  Morgan turned away. "But I wasn't."

  "That's not the point," Derik argued. "You can't just go charging in without thinking about the consequences."

  Morgan gritted her teeth. She didn't want to argue with him, not now, even though it pissed her off that he kept lecturing her, as if she were a rookie and not a seasoned, forty-year-old agent. Still, her leg was throbbing, and she just wanted to get this guy dealt with.

  “All right,” she said, “I’m sorry.”

  “It’s okay,” he said, “just—let me help you, Morgan.”

  Morgan nodded, biting her lip. She didn't like feeling weak in front of Derik, or anyone for that matter. But she couldn't deny that the pain was becoming unbearable. It was a relief when they finally made it to the ambulance waiting for them outside the maze. At the same time, she knew what this meant: she'd have to go get checked out instead of interrogating that bastard, and the thought made her skin crawl.

  "C’mon,” Derik said, “you're getting in the ambulance, Cross. I can't have my partner injured."

  Morgan gritted her teeth. It wasn’t about rejecting help now but saving time. She wanted to say no, but how could she when that pool of blood on her leg was only getting bigger? She probably needed stitches.

  “I need to talk to him with you,” she said. “I can deal with the wound later.”

  "I can interrogate him myself," Derik said. "I'm sure they can get you patched up within an hour, then we can be back in the field."

  She sighed, hating the fact that he was right. Morgan had always been stubborn, but she felt it now, more than ever.

  Still, she had to recognize when she was down for the count.

  Morgan just nodded, not trusting herself to speak.

  Derik helped her into the ambulance, and Morgan was glad to see that the paramedics didn't need to be told what to do. One of them began cutting off Morgan's pant leg.

  "It's okay," the other one said, "you're a tough lady. We'll get this patched up."

  "Thanks," Morgan mumbled. Despite the pain in her thigh, she felt a strong sense of relief.

  Now, it would be Derik interrogating the suspect, and her leg would get a chance to heal.

  Morgan closed her eyes, but her mind raced. She couldn't shake the feeling that she was missing something. Something important.

  She had caught the suspect. That was the main thing. She didn't need to get any more than that, right? It was all she needed to be able to go head-to-head with the FBI. She didn't need that training to become the best. She was enough on her own.

  No, she wasn't.

  The truth was that Morgan missed the feeling of being a part of a team. She missed the feeling of trust and friendship, the feeling of having people she could rely on no matter what. She used to be more in line, more likely to trust and rely on others, but all of that had changed now. She'd thought she trusted Derik, but maybe some part of her did feel like she couldn't rely on him, that she was better off doing things on her own.

  For now, she was stuck, forced to trust him. She just hoped he'd get the right information out of the suspect. He'd said something about being "given orders."

  Given orders by who?

  ***

  Derik faced off against the suspect in the interrogation room back at HQ. The man trembled, shaking like a leaf, his eyes looking everywhere but at Derik.

  It turned out that his name is Steven Jolie, and he seemed like an innocuous person on paper. No criminal record, no history of severe trauma or mental health. By all accounts, he seemed like a normal person, so why did he break into the maze, and why was it worth shooting a federal agent over?

  Part of him wished Morgan were here to talk this guy into speaking, but at the same time, Derik needed a break from her. Morgan was being headstrong and reckless on this case. And when she'd kissed him, he wasn't sure how to feel about it. His body had reacted at first, and he'd kissed her back, but this was Morgan Cross they were talking about. He felt like she was maybe using him, as he'd never noticed her attracted to him when they were partners ten years ago. Maybe she was just drunk and looking for someone, and Derik filled that void.

  He shook his mind away from it, focusing on the case.

  "Come on, Steven," he said, "I need you to talk, man. I'm sure your life's worth more than whatever this is."

  "I told you," Steven stammered, "I just followed instructions. That's all."

  "Instructions from who?" Derik said, not buying this at all. Steven was all shaky and paranoid, maybe even on drugs.

  "It ... it was a man," he said. "I didn't know him, I swear. But he threatened me. He said I had to wait in the maze, and that you'd come for me. He said I had to shoot and run."

  Derik leaned back in his chair. This was all sounding ridiculous.

  "A man, huh?" Derik said skeptically. "Can you describe him?"

  "He was tall, had a beard, and wore a black hoodie," Steven said, still shaking.

  Derik wrote down the description, but he doubted it would lead anywhere. It was too vague.

  "And what did this man look like? Did he show you anything that could identify him? A tattoo? Something more specific?" Derik asked.

  Steven shook his head. "No, he was just ... there. And then he was gone. It was dark. I couldn't really see him all that well."

  Derik sighed, feeling like he was hitting a dead end. This man Steven spoke of probably didn't even exist. The way Steven had described the man, it sounded too generic, too much like a made-up story. But why would he do that? What did he have to gain?

  "Look, Steven," Derik said, "you're already under arrest for shooting a federal agent. This is the end of the road for you, so let's just talk candidly, okay?"

  Steven blinked, still shaking. His face had gotten paler since they brought him in, backdropped by the lights in the interrogation room. "I-I swear. I don't know anything. Please." He shuddered. "Oh, man, I don't feel so good."

  And then, without warning, Steven suddenly collapsed to the floor. He lay there, twitching and convulsing as Derik ran to his side in alarm. His skin was cold and clammy to the touch, and Derik could feel a fever radiating from him. Panic flooded Derik's chest.

  "Help!" he shouted, and two guards ran into the room. Everything sped by Derik in slow-motion. The guards called in emergency paramedics. Soon, the room buzzed with activity as paramedics worked hurriedly to revive him while Derik looked on helplessly. Everything felt like a blur as he watched them perform CPR, desperately trying to get Steven's heart beating again.

  But it was no use.

  Steven Jolie was dead.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  "What do you mean he's dead?" Morgan asked, storming through headquarters after Derik. Her leg throbbed from the stitches she'd just been given, but they'd patched her up good and sent her on her way. Or, she forced her way out, more like. As soon as the last stich was on, Morgan had gone on her way, buying a new pair of pants from the hospital gift shop on the way out. The denim fabric of the jeans, probably made for someone twenty years younger than her, irritated her wound, but she didn't care.

  She couldn't believe what she was hearing.

  Derik had a perturbed look on his face as he looked back at her and said, "He's dead, Morgan. What else do you want me to say?"

  She stopped in the hallway, hands on her hips. Derik breathed out through his nose as he faced her.

  "I leave for an hour, and a suspect dies in custody," Morgan said. "How did this happen?"

  "We don't know." Derik turned into the briefing room, and Morgan followed after, letting the door close behind her. "We're waiting on toxicology and an autopsy. Maybe he had a heart attack."

  Morgan bit her lip, thinking. Or maybe it was something else. They were dealing with poison in this case, after all.

  "Did he say anything?" Morgan asked. "Do you think he was the Maze Killer?"

  "I don't know," Derik said. "He said that he met with a man who coerced him into meeting us in the maze and shooting. It sounds like we were his targets." Derik's eyes flashed to Morgan. "Maybe you were his target."

  She balked at that. "Me?"

  Derik nodded, taking a seat on the other side of the briefing room. "This guy could have been after you," he said. "The guy who Steven allegedly met with."

  "Do we know if that guy is even real?" Morgan asked.

  "No. But he described him as 'tall and with a beard.' That's all I could get out of him."

  Morgan leaned back on the table, taking the weight off her sore leg. This was a mess. But she doubted that this Steven guy was the real Maze Killer.

  "Maybe his story is true," Morgan said. "Maybe someone really did threaten him."

  "Even still, we have no way of knowing who that person could be."

  Morgan sighed, running a hand through her hair. "We need to find out who this mystery man is. There has to be some lead."

  Derik nodded. "I agree. But for now, we need to find out what the hell killed Steven."

  "If it was the same poison that killed the others, then ..."

  "Then we'll know it really was the Maze Killer who met with Steven and threatened him."

  "Right."

  The room fell into silence. A few moments later, the two were interrupted when Forbes, one of the lab techs, walked in. Morgan thought he looked more nervous than usual, his face pale and eyes wide.

  "What's going on?" Morgan asked.

  "Well, it's just ... it's just ..." Forbes trailed off, unable to finish his sentence.

  "Spit it out, Forbes," Derik said.

  "We found traces of the Bleeding Woodbine in Steven's blood," he uttered. "He was murdered."

  Morgan's stomach fell to the floor. Their worst fear had been realized. It wasn't Steven, and it wasn't Jim Alba either.

  The Maze Killer was very much still alive, active, and out there.

  Morgan's head spun. "Thanks, Forbes. You can go."

  The tech disappeared, leaving Morgan and Derik in a tense silence. Morgan's mind raced. This was a complete change in MO. The Maze Killer had killed women before and left them in the mazes. He had never killed a man, nor had he done so like this, sending him out and ordering him to shoot whoever he came in contact with. The killer was getting bold, careless even, but Morgan still had no clue who this guy was or what he wanted. This recent development complicated things even more.

  She knew that they had to get a grip on this situation fast. The Maze Killer was still out there, and he was getting more dangerous every day. The team had to be careful if they wanted to catch him. She didn't want to end up like Steven Jolie, or any of the other women that the Maze Killer had killed.

  "We need to find out who this guy is and fast," Morgan said, breaking the silence. "He's getting more reckless, and we don't know what his next move will be."

  Derik nodded, deep in thought. "It's like he's taunting us, daring us to catch him."

  Morgan sighed. "Well, he won't be taunting us for long." She looked at Derik. "We need to step up our game, Derik. We need to catch him before he kills again."

  Derik frowned. "But how? We don't even know who we're looking for."

  He had a point. Morgan was at a loss.

  "I'll talk to the techs and see if they can trace the source of the Bleeding Woodbine," Derik said. "In the meantime, you should rest your leg. You're in no condition to be running around after a killer."

 

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