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As she weavedthrough traffic, Morgan's mind raced with possible scenarios of what she mightfind at the gym. Would Trevor be there, flexing his muscles and reveling in hisnewfound wealth? Or would he be cowering in a corner, fearful that someonemight uncover his secrets?
She took a deepbreath to steady her nerves. She couldn't let her anger cloud her judgment orcompromise the investigation. This needed to be done by the book – no room forerror.
***
The Texas sunbeat down mercilessly on Morgan as she stood outside Trevor's gym, a sleek,glass-fronted building in the heart of downtown Dallas. This place must havecost a pretty penny to build, and Morgan could easily see Trevor takingadvantage of an older, wealthy woman like Sheryl just to achieve his dreams.
The sound ofclanging weights and grunts of exertion filtered through the door as a muscularman in a tight tank top walked out, and for a moment, she hesitated. Morgan hadspent a lot of time in the gym in prison, but it was a lot differentenvironment than this. It was hardened and cold, but this aspect of gym lifeseemed to prioritize vanity and shallow pursuits. But now was not the time forjudgment. She reminded herself that somewhere inside that gym was a man whomight hold the key to solving this grisly murder.
Taking a deepbreath, Morgan pushed open the door and stepped into the air-conditioned oasis.Immediately, she was struck by the energy of the place – men and women huffedand puffed on treadmills, their faces contorted with effort, while othersgrimaced through repetitions of bicep curls and squats. The smell of sweat hungheavy in the air, a testament to the hard work being done. But it was socolorful and bright, whereas the gym Morgan had used in prison had been darkand cold.
Morgan scannedthe room, her eyes flicking from face to face in search of Trevor Swanson. Asshe moved further into the gym, she couldn't help but notice how out of placeshe felt in her tailored suit and polished heels, surrounded by people clad intight leggings and muscle-hugging shirts.
"Can I helpyou?" A tall, muscular man approached her, his brow furrowed in concern ashe took in her attire. He had the air of authority, and Morgan guessed he wasan employee.
"Actually,yes," Morgan replied, flashing her FBI badge. "I'm looking for TrevorSwanson."
"Uh,sure," the man said, clearly surprised but recovering quickly. "He'sover there, talking to a client." He pointed towards a corner of the gymwhere a lean man in his early thirties stood, animatedly explaining somethingto a woman in workout gear.
"Thankyou," she said, nodding at the man before making her way over to Trevor.
As Morganapproached, she took in the details of the man who Amelia believed killed hermother. He was attractive, with short-cropped dark hair and an easy smile thatseemed to charm his client. She watched as he gestured enthusiastically, hishands flying through the air to emphasize whatever point he was trying to make.Could this charismatic man really be responsible for Sheryl's brutal murder?Morgan could see it. The vanity she’d seen on his social media translated directlyto real life.
"Excuseme," Morgan interrupted, her voice steely and professional. "TrevorSwanson?"
The man turned toface her, his eyes wide with surprise. "Yes, that's me," he repliedcautiously. "Can I help you?"
Morgan's gutclenched, and her resolve hardened. This was the man Amelia believed had killedher mother, and now it was time to find out if she was right.
"SpecialAgent Morgan Cross," she replied curtly, flashing her FBI badge. "Ineed to talk to you about Sheryl Stewart."
"Sheryl, who?"Trevor feigned ignorance, attempting to appear nonchalant as he stepped awayfrom his client. "Uh, hold on a minute, Jenny, I just have to grabsomething from the back."
His client,Jenny, blinked cluelessly as Trevor took off. Morgan lifted a brow. Was thisguy stupid?
He then made abeeline for a door labeled "Staff Only" at the back of the gym.
Morgan wasn'tfooled for a second. She quickened her pace, easily keeping up with him as heducked into the back room.
"Hold on,Trevor," Morgan said.
"Look, Idon't know any Sheryl Stewart," Trevor insisted, looking increasinglynervous as he backed further into the brightly lit room. Morgan was losingpatience fast.
"Wrong dayto test me," Morgan growled, advancing towards him. Her jaw tensed as shefought the urge to grab him by the collar and shake the truth out of him."You were married to Sheryl Stewart. You remember now?"
He hesitated fora brief moment before shaking his head, trying to maintain his act of denial."Never heard of her."
Morgan's inner ragesimmered, threatening to boil over. Amelia's tear-streaked face flashed in hermind's eye, spurring her on. How dare he continue to lie?
"Yourex-wife, Trevor," she spat, her voice barely restrained. "The one whoended up mutilated and dead on her living room couch."
Trevor's facepaled, but he still wouldn't admit it. Morgan could see the wheels turning inhis head as he searched for an escape route. She had him cornered now, bothphysically and mentally. And she wasn't about to let him slip away.
"W-what doyou mean, dead?" Trevor asked.
Just as Morganwas about to lose her patience entirely, a young woman with a lithe figure anddark curls entered the room. Trevor's eyes darted towards her, relief floodinghis features for a moment. "Natalia," he said urgently, trying toregain control of the situation. "This is a private conversation. You needto leave."
"Who isshe?" Natalia demanded, eyeing Morgan suspiciously.
