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"Got you!" she snarled, using all her strength to try and pull him out of the car. "You're not going anywhere, Steinberg."
"Let me go!" he cried, struggling against her grip. "You don't understand! It's not what it looks like!"
"Then tell me what it is!" Morgan demanded, her voice rough with anger and exhaustion.
Despite her vice-like grip on Alan's arm, he managed to slip into the driver's seat of his car. Morgan cursed under her breath, refusing to let him escape. She lunged forward and, with a burst of adrenaline, leaped onto the hood of the car, her hands slamming against the windshield.
"Stop!" she yelled, staring directly into Alan's wide, fearful eyes. Desperation fueled her actions as much as determination; this man might be the key to solving the case that had haunted her for weeks.
Panicked, Alan slammed on the gas pedal, causing Morgan to slide across the hood. The car swerved wildly before crashing into a nearby tree with a sickening crunch. Glass from the shattered windshield rained down around her, and pain shot through Morgan's body from the impact. But she clung to consciousness, knowing that she couldn't afford to lose control now.
Derik appeared at her side, his expression a mix of concern and determination. "Morgan, are you okay?" he asked, helping her off the hood of the car.
"Never mind me," she grunted in response, wincing as she put weight on her bruised limbs. "Help me get him out of the car."
Together, they wrestled with the crumpled door, finally managing to wrench it open. Alan was dazed, blood trickling down his face from a cut on his forehead. As they hauled him out of the wreckage, Morgan couldn't help but wonder if this man – who seemed so pathetic in this moment – could really be the killer they were hunting.
"Alan Steinberg," she said coldly, leveling her gaze at him. "You're under arrest."
"Wait, you don't understand!" Alan shouted, struggling against the handcuffs. "I haven't done anything wrong!"
"Tell it to the judge," Morgan snapped, her eyes darting around the area, searching for any sign of danger or an accomplice.
"Agent Cross, wait!" a panicked voice cried out. Morgan's head whipped around to see the half-naked woman they had found inside the house racing toward them, her gloves flapping wildly as she ran. "It's not what you think!"
Morgan tensed, her hand instinctively moving toward her gun. Derik stepped protectively in front of her, his own weapon drawn and aimed at the approaching woman.
"Stop right there!" he ordered, his voice firm but controlled.
"Please, listen to me!" the woman begged, skidding to a halt, her eyes wide with terror. "This is all just a big misunderstanding! I'm his girlfriend – we were working on a new piece together."
"Is that true?" Morgan asked Alan, her gaze never leaving the woman.
"Y-yes," he stammered, his face flushed with embarrassment. "I'm an artist – I use live models for my sculptures. She was posing for me when you barged in."
Morgan exchanged a glance with Derik, trying to gauge his thoughts on the matter. Could it really be that simple? Or was this just another twisted game being played by the killer?
"Please," the woman implored, her eyes wide with sincerity. "We're not doing anything wrong. I'm his girlfriend, and I was just modeling for him. We're working on a new piece."
Morgan's grip on her gun loosened slightly, but she remained apprehensive. She couldn't afford any mistakes, not after everything they'd been through. "Prove it," she demanded, her voice firm but cautious.
"Of course," Alan said, clearly relieved to have a chance to explain himself. He led them towards the garage, the woman close behind. Morgan took note of the way she clung to Alan's arm, as if seeking comfort in his presence. Maybe there was some truth to their story after all.
The garage door creaked open, revealing a dimly lit space filled with various sculptures and tools. A single lightbulb swung gently overhead, casting eerie shadows across the rough concrete floor. Alan gestured towards a work-in-progress sculpture situated at the center of the room. It depicted the woman's hands, bound in the same manner as they had been when Morgan first spotted her.
"See?" Alan said, his voice shaky but earnest. "It's just art. We weren't doing anything illegal or dangerous."
Morgan eyed the sculpture, her mind racing with conflicting thoughts. On one hand, the artwork seemed to corroborate their claims of innocence. But on the other hand, she couldn't shake the nagging feeling that something was still amiss.
Morgan gritted her teeth, clenching her fists tightly at her sides as she stared at the myriad of hand sculptures in Alan's studio. The wasted time gnawed at her insides, a relentless reminder that the real killer was still out there. She let out a frustrated sigh, forcing herself to release the tension in her hands.
"Dammit," she muttered under her breath.All this time spent chasing shadows, and for what? A goddamn artist with a twisted sense of beauty.
Derik placed a hand on her shoulder, offering a sympathetic smile. "Hey, we couldn't have known. And at least now we can rule him out and move on to the next lead."
"Right," Morgan agreed, though her voice was tinged with bitterness. "But we're running out of time. Who knows what the killer could be doing right now?"
"Alan," she began, turning back to face the sculptor who had been watching them warily. "Since you're not our guy, I wonder if you'd mind taking a look at something for me?"
