MO GRÁ | Derek Morgan

chapter sixteen

Hotch strode into the bullpen, announcing that Prentiss and Morgan were on their way back to Quantico with information. As anticipation hung in the air, Reid darted off for additional photos of the mansion, leaving me momentarily alone. "Alright, team, let's gather around," Hotch's voice cut through the noise, commanding immediate attention. I looked up from my desk just as Emily and Morgan walked briskly back toward the group.

"Here's what we know."

Hotch stood at the front of the room, his expression grave as he prepared to present the evidence they'd gathered on Killian. There was a flicker of concern in his eyes—a mirror of what I felt inside. I drew a steadying breath as he turned on the screen.

Images began to flicker into view, one after another, showing Killian at various locations.

"Killian Malrino," Hotch began. "Five years ago, he was involved in a series of violent incidents in Ireland. Then he vanished. Now, he seems to have resurfaced—leaving a trail of bodies in his wake."

"Spencer, can you give us some background on him?" Hotch prompted, turning toward Reid, who was already flipping through his notes.

"Killian was orphaned at a young age," Reid began, his voice balancing sympathy and clinical detachment. "He grew up in a series of foster homes, often bouncing from one to another. It doesn't appear he formed any lasting attachments, which likely contributed to his emotional detachment and violent tendencies. His childhood was marked by instability and trauma."

A pang of sadness washed over me at Spencer's words. I couldn't help but feel a flicker of empathy. I had seen the boy beneath the monster—the brief glimpses of vulnerability he tried so desperately to hide.

"As an adult, he became involved in various criminal activities," Reid continued, clicking through more images. "He worked with a criminal network in Ireland, specializing in extortion and organized crime. His targets were usually people who'd wronged him—or those he deemed unworthy."

The screen shifted to show Killian with a group of men, their faces shrouded in shadow. My stomach twisted as I recognized one of them. Hotch spoke again, "We're seeing a pattern in the recent murders. Each victim had a connection to Killian—through work, personal ties, or both. It looks like he's targeting people from his past, possibly seeking revenge for old grievances."

My mind raced, Killian had always been vengeful. The thought of him hunting people I once knew filled me with a sick dread. I glanced around the bullpen, watching the team's focus on the unfolding images.

As the presentation continued, my thoughts began to spiral. "Leah, hey—are you okay?" Emily's voice cut through the haze, pulling me back. I quickly masked my unease with a smile.

"Yeah, just... processing everything," I replied, though my words felt hollow. Emily gave a nod of quiet support and returned her attention to Hotch, who was now discussing next steps.

My gaze drifted back to the screen, where the photos of Killian sat. Hotch outlined their plan, reach out to victims' families, try to track Killian's movements, gather intel.

But deep down, something clawed at me—what if it wasn't enough? What if we were already too late?

The meeting wrapped up, and one by one the team filed out of the bullpen. But I remained seated, eyes locked on Killian's face frozen on the screen. I thought about the lives he had shattered, the destruction in his wake, and the fear he planted in every soul he touched.

Yet still, a part of me longed for something—answers, closure... maybe both.

"Leah?" Spencer's voice broke through, soft and concerned. I turned to find him lingering by her desk, his eyes searching my face. "Are you sure you're alright? You seemed... distant."

"I'm fine, Spencer. Just a lot on my mind," I replied, offering a tight smile I hoped would pass. But his perceptive gaze told her me, he wasn't convinced.

"You know you can talk to us, right? If anything is affecting you..." He trailed off, leaving the offer open.

I nodded. The rest of the night blurred as I dove into my tasks, chasing every scrap of information I could find. But there was nothing. No leads. No sightings. No hope.

As I left the BAU that night, anxiety weighed on me like a second skin. My mind spun with the earlier phone call, the meeting, the face on the screen. I bumped into Derek on my way out. He caught me instinctively as I turned.

"Derek, hey."

"Hey, Leah." His eyes narrowed slightly, studying her. "What's going on with you today?"

"It's just... one of those cases," she mumbled. He sighed softly, knowing she wasn't telling the whole truth, but choosing not to press.

"Can't really shake it."

"Just checking on you." He gave a small, reassuring smile, and I couldn't help but return it.

"I know, and I appreciate it."

"I'm worried about you, Lisa," he said gently, placing his hands onto my shoulders, his gaze searching mine. I nodded, struggling to keep the tears at bay.

"I'm okay. Seriously." I held his gaze for a moment, then stepped into a hug, wrapping my arms around him. He embraced tightly in return.

"I hope so," he whispered into my hair as I pulled away. "I am," I said again, more softly this time. He finally nodded.

"Need a ride home?" he asked.

I shook her head. "It's okay. I have to do something."

He took a breath, clearly wanting to say more, but turned back toward the office. I walked toward the glass door, then paused, turning around.

"Derek," she called.

He turned.

"Thank you."

He gave a respectful nod before heading toward the elevator.