17

They finally tracked down Booth 56. Erica Standall stood behind a neat little setup of linen-draped tables and velvet-lined trays of earrings and rings. She looked impossibly calm, far too put-together for someone whose old classmate had just been murdered.

Karadec led the questioning while Morgan watched her like a hawk, the tension from earlier still simmering quietly beneath her unreadable face.

Erica's answers were smooth. Too smooth.

She claimed she hadn't spoken to Nadine in years. Said she left the reunion early. Claimed she didn't even see Nadine that night. That she was home by midnight, alone, and had nothing to do with anything.

No stammering. No tears. No hesitation.

By the time they wrapped up, Karadec wore a pinched look, rubbing the back of his neck as they made their way back through the thinning crowd toward their car.

"That was... clean," he finally said, unlocking the vehicle.

"Too clean," Morgan muttered.

Karadec looked at her, skeptical. "You think she's lying?"

"I know she's lying."

He gave her a sidelong glance as they both got in. "Morgan..."

"She had an answer for everything. No pauses, no confusion, nothing. That's not normal."

"Or," Karadec said, starting the engine, "she's just telling the truth."

Morgan turned to him, brow raised. "You don't think that was rehearsed?"

"I think we're running out of time. The physical evidence points to Isla. The motive fits. She was found at the scene."

"That's exactly what someone wants us to think," Morgan snapped. "Erica's lying. She and Nadine had a public feud, she still had every reason to hate her, and her alibi is flimsy at best. What if she had help? Someone at the reunion? Someone to cover for her, mess with the timeline?"

Karadec let out a breath through his nose. "You're reaching."

"I'm investigating."

They sat in silence for a few seconds. Karadec didn't argue further. He just sighed.

"You're not backing down from this, are you?"

"Nope."

He shook his head, a faint smile tugging at the corner of his mouth despite himself. "Then I guess I'm not either."

—

Back at the bullpen, the tension ratcheted up.

Oz leaned back in his chair, arms behind his head. "We've got motive, opportunity, and evidence against Isla. I don't know what else we need."

Daphne chimed in, scrolling through her computer. "All the timelines check out. Erica's story fits with other reunion guests' accounts. No one saw her near Nadine."

Soto crossed her arms, pacing in front of the case board. "Unless someone's got a miracle in their back pocket, this case is closed."

Morgan stood at the head of the room, arms folded tight. "She didn't do it."

Everyone looked at her.

Soto raised an eyebrow. "Morgan—"

"Isla didn't do it. It's a setup. Erica's involved. And I think someone helped her. Someone who was at the reunion that night."

Oz rolled his eyes. "We don't have any proof."

"Not yet," Morgan said. "But I will."

Karadec sat quietly at the edge of the group. His jaw twitched once. Then he spoke:

"I think we should give Morgan more time."

Soto's eyes flicked to him. "Seriously?"

Karadec didn't look away. His jaw clenched for a second, and he leaned forward just slightly, elbows on his knees, hands folded loosely as if grounding himself.

"She's been right before," he said, more firmly now. "If she's got a lead, we should follow it. We shouldn't close the door on other possibilities."

There was a pause. Everyone looked at him. Even Morgan.

But Karadec didn't flinch.

Because the truth was... he had always been on her side. Even when logic told him otherwise. Even when his own instincts whispered that what they already had. The confessions, the prints, the motive, was all enough. That maybe the simplest explanation was the right one.

But that was never enough for her.

And for reasons he couldn't quite articulate, it had stopped being enough for him too.

Time and time again, she trusted her gut and came out right, sometimes barely, sometimes spectacularly. And somehow, somehow, he always ended up being the one standing next to her, even when it took every fiber of his rational, rule-abiding self to do so.

He couldn't ignore her. Couldn't make her feel like she was standing alone, even when everyone else doubted. 

That's why, when it came down to it, Karadec always took the risk.

Because one thing he knew, one thing that never failed him—was that Morgan Gillory is almost always right. Ninety-nine percent of the time. And betting against her wasn't just foolish. It was wrong.

Selena leaned in on a desk behind her. "You two better be right. If we waste another day on a dead end, this department's going to get chewed out hard."

Morgan nodded, jaw set. "Then I better not waste it."

When everyone had cleared out, Morgan and Karadec stayed. The bullpen was eerily quiet, lit only by the harsh white desk lamps and the hum of Karadec's pen scratching notes beside her.

Morgan stared at the reunion footage on loop, pausing it again and again at the exact moment Erica claimed she left.

"Got you," she muttered.

"What?" Karadec asked, leaning over.

"She said she left at midnight. But look, this shot is from 12:42 AM." She zoomed in. "That's Erica. Near the back hallway. The one that leads to the restroom where Nadine was found."

Karadec squinted. "That's not enough."

Morgan flipped through guest interviews. "No one remembered seeing Erica after midnight... except one guy. Chris Hamilton. He said he walked her out to her car at one in the morning."

"Which means she lied."

"Exactly."

Morgan's hands flew across the keyboard. She pulled up the call logs from Erica's phone—recently subpoenaed. 

One number popped up multiple times that night: Amanda Reese, another reunion attendee. Amanda claimed she left before ten, but her phone pinged near the venue until two in the morning.

"She stayed," Karadec murmured, realization dawning. "Erica's accomplice."

Morgan smirked. "Called it."

They quickly connected the dots. Amanda had been Erica's roommate in college. She'd gone bankrupt last year, and Erica had recently come into money from her jewelry line.

A motive, a friendship, a cover-up.

Amanda had helped Erica move Nadine's body after she'd stabbed her in a drunken rage over an old betrayal. They had scrubbed the scene, planted Isla's fingerprints, and dumped Nadine's body in the bathroom before fleeing.

By dawn, Morgan and Karadec had the timeline reconstructed, the digital evidence downloaded, and both Erica and Amanda in custody.

Isla Mendez, after two days in a holding cell, was released by noon.

—

Later that day, in the bullpen, Lieutenant Soto clapped Morgan on the back softly.

"Hell of a job, Morgan."

Oz raised a toast with his coffee. "You were right. Again."

Daphne grinned. "That was impressive."

Morgan offered a tired smile, eyes ringed with dark circles but glowing with the quiet high of victory. "I told you Isla was innocent."

Soto nodded, genuinely impressed. "You keep following that gut of yours. It's done more than most people's logic ever will."

Karadec walked up beside her as the others dispersed, arms crossed but a fond look in his eyes.

"You know," he said quietly, "you make it really hard to argue with you."

"Because I'm always right?" she teased, voice hoarse from lack of sleep.

"Because you don't back down," he replied, more serious. "You fight for the people who don't stand a chance otherwise. Even when everyone else doubts you."

She looked at him, something unspoken hanging between them.

"I'm glad you stuck with me," she said.

"I always will," he said, like it was the simplest truth in the world. "That's what partners do, right?"

A soft silence passed between them before Morgan nudged him with her elbow.

"You still owe me a churro," she said, feigning a pout. "You know... for the psychological damage of accidentally straddling my coworker in public."

Karadec arched a brow, amused. "Psychological damage? You practically settled in."

Morgan gasped, laughing. "Excuse me?! You were the one who went statue mode. I thought you'd stopped breathing."

"I did," he muttered under his breath.

She didn't catch it. Thankfully.

"Anyway," she said, tossing her bag on her shoulder. "I demand sugary compensation. It's in the detective handbook."

He smiled, unable to help it. "Fine. One churro. But no more falling on me. My heart can't take another hit."

She grinned, eyes sparkling. "No promises."

They both laughed, and for a second, the case, the exhaustion, the tension, everything, got lifted.

And for once, Morgan let herself enjoy it. Just a little.