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CHAPTER ONE
Morgan walked slowly down the prison corridor, relishing thesound of the tin cups slamming against the cell bars. It rose in a cacophony,prisoners all around her cheering and whooping, clearly wishing that they couldbe the ones to be let free on this day.
Morgan tried hard not to think of the last ten years asshe went. She forced herself not to look back, whatever she did, as if lookingback might change the warden’s mind.
Of course, she knew this was silly. Finally, she had beenvindicated, proven not guilty. The entire world knew now that she had neverdone it, that her career as an FBI agent with the Behavioral Analysis Unit hadbeen stolen from her, that ten precious years of her life had been essentiallyerased.
She did wonder, though, what had taken so long. She knewthere were a few people at the bureau who had consistently worked towardproving her innocence. She still wasn’t one hundred percent certain what hadbeen the smoking gun—something to do with mishandled files and speculation ofconspiracy. She could get to all of that later, though.
For right now, she had a life to get back on track.
She walked, and walked, and wondered: what now? Images ofthe last ten hard years in prison flashed through her mind.
The memories were painful, but Morgan couldn’t help butfeel grateful for the people who had stood by her through it all. She thoughtof her father, there every week, no matter what. She fought back a tear as shethought of his death, the one person she had been looking forward to seeingmost, robbed from her two years before her release.
Her old partner from the BAU had come by every now andthen, too. More than she’d expected, to be honest. He’d been one of the drivingforces behind making sure she didn’t stay in prison for the entirety of hertwenty-five-year sentence. But despite all of that, she knew she’d missed somuch—that a huge portion of her life had been taken from her.
The thoughts of her years in prison gave way to a feelingof anger. She had been robbed of the best years of her life, and she had ascore to settle. She couldn’t wait to get out of those doors and start a newlife. She had a list of people she needed to see, people who had put her there,people who had lied to the jury and to the judge.
Morgan’s heart was pounding with a new sense of purpose.She walked faster, eager to get out and start her quest for revenge. She had aplan, a plan to make them pay. She had learned a lot in prison, and she knew howto use the things she’d learned. She’d gathered a whole new skillset and abetter understanding of how criminals operated and thought. If she could fallback into her old job (if they’d have her) she thought it would go a very longway to help further develop her approach.
The cheers of the prisoners faded in the distance as sheapproached the end of the corridor. She could see the light shining through thedoor, and she knew that her new life was waiting for her on the other side. Shetook a deep breath, opened the door, and stepped outside.
The Texas sun was shining bright, and the smell offreedom was in the air. She could not hear the traffic and thriving heartbeatof the Dallas–Fort Worth area from where she stood just outside of the prison,but she knew it was there. She’d always felt it, a shadow against the prison, areminder of her former life.
Morgan closed her eyes and took a deep breath. She feltalive again, and she knew that she had a purpose. She turned around and lookedback at the prison. She would never forget those years, but they were now apart of her past. As she’d prepared for her release, she didn’t think thismoment would impact her so much, but she suddenly found herself on the verge oftears.
A bus pulled up unceremoniously, a prisoner transport,and stopped in front of her, its brakes squealing.
It would take her home, she knew. Well, it was really herfather’s home, but during the wretched process of dealing with his death, she hadbeen informed that he had left her his house and all of the money in hischecking and savings accounts. It almost seemed fitting that the only thingleft of her prior existence was the house she’d grown up in.
It was her only place left in the world.
And going back there was the one thing she dreaded themost.
***
Morgan stood before her old house, a simple ranch on ageneric suburban street, and stared. It was smaller than she remembered,darker, less well-kept. She could see the layers of dirt on the peeling paint,the knee-high weeds covering the lawn. The neighbors must have hated that, shemused. The property taxes were overdue, she knew, and she’d need to sort thatout as soon as possible.
Morgan knew she should feel a sense of comfort seeing thehouse, but she did not. It brought back memories of her old life, snatched awayfrom her. The life she should have had.
She slowly approached the door. She reached under theflowerpot and took out the key from the place she knew her dad would have leftit.
She smiled. Still there. Rusted. But there.
She took a deep breath and opened the door.
She braced herself and went inside.
The smell hit her first, a musty odor that seemed to emanatefrom every surface. The house was dimly lit, the curtains drawn, and Morgan hadto squint to see in the shadows. There was a layer of dust on everything, andcobwebs hung from the ceiling. The furniture was old and worn, and she couldsee where mice had chewed through the corners of the sofa. It had only beenabandoned for two years—since her father had passed away—but it looked as if ithad been neglected for much longer.
Maybe for as long as my prison sentence,she thought.
She hated that she’d still been in prison when her fatherhad died. She’d been allowed to view the funeral from a distance but that wasall. And even then, she’d felt guilty even though she hadn’t killed anyone…eventhough she was completely innocent. She’d felt guilty for not being there withher father in his final days. She hated that his final breath on this Earth wasspent knowing that his daughter was in prison.
He’d never believed she’d done it, of course. He’d firmlyknown that she’d been framed—very likely by the same man she’d been chasingdown at the time of her arrest. He’d attested to this in his visits andletters.
She had to shake the thought of him away as she walked throughthe house. It was going to feel far too much like being haunted if she allowedthe memory of him to follow her inside.
