Chapter 31 The Trap

Chapter 31 The Trap
Morgana POV

The federal building's conference room felt smaller than it had during testimony prep, like the walls had moved inward while I wasn't looking. Detective Bruno stood at the head of the table with people I didn't know—FBI agents in dark suits, a woman with sharp eyes who introduced herself as Special Agent Hayes, a man named Torres who studied me like I was a case file he was trying to decode.
Marcus sat beside me, close enough that our shoulders touched. His presence was the only thing keeping me anchored.
"Thank you for coming, Ms. Gaius." Captain Rodriguez's voice was formal, careful. "What we're about to discuss is voluntary. You can say no at any point, and we'll continue with standard protective protocols."
Standard protective protocols. Like the safe house David had found. Like the DA's office Richard had infiltrated. Like every supposedly secure location that had been compromised within hours.
"Just tell me what you're proposing," I said.
Bruno pulled up a map on the screen. Connecticut. Rural property. Red markers indicating tactical positions. "We believe David is at his family's estate in Connecticut, preparing for his final attempt to reach you. He views you as unfinished business. Research he needs to complete."
The clinical language made my skin crawl. Research. Like I was a lab specimen, not a person.
"Our behavioral analyst believes David won't leave New York without making one more attempt." Bruno gestured to Torres, who nodded confirmation. "His psychological profile indicates he can't accept failure, especially with someone he's invested six months of planning into. He will try to take you. The question is whether we control the circumstances or he does."
Marcus's hand found mine under the table. His grip was tight, almost painful.
"You want to use her as bait." His voice was flat, angry. "That's what this is."
"We want to give Ms. Gaius the option to participate in a controlled operation designed to bring David into custody on our terms instead of his." Hayes spoke calmly, like she was proposing a routine procedure instead of asking me to walk into a trap. "But Marcus is right. It would require you to present yourself as accessible target while we position tactical resources nearby."
"How nearby?" I asked.
"Within immediate response range. Seconds, not minutes." Hayes pulled up tactical diagrams. "The operation would be extensively planned and rehearsed. You would never be more than fifty feet from armed federal agents. But there would be a window—brief, controlled, but real—where you would be exposed to David."
I stared at the diagrams. Little icons representing people with guns, helicopter positions, entry points. A red X marking my apartment building.
"My apartment," I said. "You want me to go back to my apartment."
"It's the location David knows. The place he's already established surveillance on. If we spread word through monitored channels that you've returned home, that protective custody has ended, he'll make his move." Bruno's eyes met mine. "But only if you're willing. This only works if you volunteer, Morgana. No pressure, no coercion."
Marcus stood abruptly. "This is insane. You're asking her to gamble her life on a psychological profile that might be wrong. What if David doesn't follow the pattern? What if he's already gone? What if he—"
"What if I spend the rest of my life hiding?" My voice came out stronger than I expected. "Moving between safe houses that aren't safe. Looking over my shoulder. Waiting for the moment David decides to finish what he started."
"That's better than being dead."
"Is it?" I looked at him, this man who'd tried to warn me about David, who'd investigated when no one else would, who'd risked his career and possibly his life to protect me. "Marcus, I've been running for four days. And in those four days, David sent me an email showing he knows where I am. Richard walked into the DA's office wearing a maintenance uniform. They breached every protection the police could provide. How long before they succeed?"
Marcus sat down heavily. "We keep trying. We find a better location. We—"
"We're out of better locations." Bruno's voice was quiet. "Richard has contacts throughout the department. David has resources we're still discovering. And every hour we wait gives them more time to plan. Morgana's right. Running isn't sustainable."
Rodriguez leaned forward. "Ms. Gaius, I need you to understand what you'd be volunteering for. Yes, we'd have tactical support. Yes, we'd rehearse every detail. But the fundamental risk remains—you would be making yourself accessible to someone who has killed at least seven women and who views you as his most important target. The danger is real."
Seven women. Not three. The number hit me like cold water. Seven women who'd trusted David. Seven families destroyed. Seven lives ended because no one stopped him.
"How does it work?" I asked. "The operation. Walk me through it."
Hayes pulled up a timeline. "We spread information through monitored channels that you've been cleared to return home. Low-key, believable. You resume normal routines—going to work, picking up mail, living your life. We position tactical teams in adjacent apartments, surveillance in nearby buildings, rapid response ready to deploy. When David makes his approach, we take him."
"You're assuming he'll approach directly. What if he doesn't?" Marcus's voice was tight. "What if he sets a fire, or uses a bomb, or—"
"Then tactical moves in immediately," Bruno said. "But David's methodology doesn't include those tactics. He's a hands-on killer. He needs physical proximity, psychological control. Bombs and fires don't give him the research completion he's obsessed with."
Torres spoke up, his voice clinical. "Based on eighteen years of documented behavior, David Kellerman requires intimate access to his victims. He needs to orchestrate the encounter, control the environment, document the experience. Remote killing wouldn't satisfy his psychological needs. He will attempt to take you alive, Ms. Gaius. Which gives us our window."
Alive. The word should have been comforting. Instead, it just reminded me of what happened after David took his victims alive.
"How long?" I asked. "How long would I need to be exposed before you move in?"
"Minutes," Hayes said. "Maybe less. The moment David reveals himself or attempts to make contact, tactical deploys. But there would be a brief period where you'd be alone with him before we could reach you. That's the risk we can't eliminate."
I thought about the three months I'd spent with David. The coffee machine meeting that hadn't been chance. The romantic dinners that had been surveillance opportunities. The career advancement he'd orchestrated to isolate me. Every moment carefully planned, every interaction designed to position me exactly where he wanted me.
"He thinks he understands me," I said quietly. "He documented my routines, my psychology, my reactions. He thinks he knows how I'll behave."
Bruno nodded. "That's his weakness. He believes his research is comprehensive. He doesn't expect you to deviate from his predictions."
"Because all his previous victims followed the patterns he expected. They trusted him, let him control the situation, cooperated until it was too late." I looked at the tactical diagrams again. "But I already broke his pattern. I recognized the danger, confronted him, contacted police. He's working from incomplete data."
Torres was leaning forward, interested. "Exactly. David's confidence comes from his methodology always working before. You surviving represents a failure he's desperate to correct. That desperation creates vulnerability."
Marcus grabbed my hand again. "Morgana, you don't have to prove anything. You already survived. You already fought back. You don't owe anyone this."
"I'm not doing it for anyone else." I turned to face him. "I'm doing it because seven women are dead and I'm not. Because David's still out there teaching other predators his techniques. Because if I don't help stop him now, there will be eight, nine, ten more victims."
"Or you'll be victim number eight." His voice broke. "And I'll have let you walk into it because I was too much of a coward to physically stop you."
"You can't stop me, Marcus. That's not how this works." I squeezed his hand. "I'm not asking for permission. I'm asking for support."
He closed his eyes. When he opened them, they were wet. "This is the worst idea I've ever heard."
"Probably."
"You could die."
"I could die hiding too. At least this way, I'm fighting back."
Rodriguez cleared his throat. "Ms. Gaius, I need a verbal confirmation. Are you volunteering to participate in this operation with full knowledge of the risks involved?"
I looked around the table. Bruno, watching me with professional assessment. Hayes, ready to coordinate tactical resources. Torres, analyzing my psychological state. Rodriguez, waiting for my decision. Marcus, terrified but present.
And somewhere in Connecticut, David Kellerman was planning my murder with the same clinical precision he brought to everything.
"I volunteer." My voice was steady. "Tell me what I need to do."
The room shifted into motion. Hayes pulled up operational timelines. Torres began outlining behavioral protocols. Rodriguez authorized federal resources.
Bruno approached me as the planning intensified. "You're sure about this?"
"No. But I'm sure about the alternative being worse."
He nodded slowly. "We'll rehearse everything. You'll know every tactical position, every contingency plan, every abort signal. And Morgana? The moment you want out, you say the word. Operation ends, we go back to protective custody. No judgment."
"How long do I have before we start?"
"Forty-eight hours. We need time to position resources, spread the cover story, make sure David takes the bait." He lowered his voice. "Use that time to prepare mentally. What we're asking you to do—it's going to require you to face the man who tried to kill you. To pretend normalcy while knowing he's watching. To trust that we'll reach you in time."
"I've been pretending normalcy for three months while David watched me. At least this time, I know I'm being watched."
Bruno almost smiled. "That's the right attitude."
Marcus appeared at my elbow as Bruno returned to the tactical planning. "I'm going with you. When you go back to your apartment, I'm staying in one of the tactical positions nearby."
"Marcus—"
"Not negotiable. You want to be a hunter instead of prey? Fine. But you're not doing it alone." His jaw was set, determined. "I've already talked to Bruno. He's clearing me for the operation. I'll be in the apartment across the hall with one of the FBI teams."
I wanted to argue. Wanted to tell him to stay safe, stay away, not risk himself for me. But the relief of knowing he'd be close was overwhelming.
"Thank you," I whispered.
"Don't thank me yet. I might physically drag you out if this goes wrong."
"I'm counting on it."
Hayes called the room to attention. "Timeline is set. We spread the cover story tomorrow afternoon through monitored NYPD channels. Ms. Gaius returns home tomorrow night. Tactical positions established by midnight. We go operational at 0600 Sunday morning."
Thirty-six hours. Less than two days to prepare for the most dangerous thing I'd ever done.
Rodriguez stood. "Everyone clear on objectives? Primary goal is David Kellerman's capture, alive if possible. Secondary goal is Ms. Gaius's safety. Those priorities do not conflict—we protect the witness while securing the suspect. Questions?"
No one spoke.
"Then we're committed. Bruno, coordinate with tactical. Hayes, establish communication protocols. Torres, continue building the behavioral profile—I want to know every possible reaction David might have." Rodriguez looked at me. "Ms. Gaius, you're dismissed. Get some rest. Starting tomorrow, you'll need to be sharp."
The meeting broke up. Agents moved to their assignments, already coordinating logistics. I stood slowly, my legs unsteady.
Marcus stayed close as we left the conference room. In the hallway, away from the federal agents and tactical planning, the reality hit me.
In thirty-six hours, I would walk back into my apartment. I would resume my life as if protective custody had ended, as if the danger had passed, as if David Kellerman wasn't watching and planning and preparing to kill me.
And I would wait for him to make his move.
"You can still change your mind," Marcus said quietly. "Right up until the moment you walk through that door. No one would blame you."
"I'd blame me." I leaned against the wall, suddenly exhausted. "Seven women, Marcus. Seven that we know about. How many more if we don't stop him?"
"That's not your responsibility."
"Maybe not. But it's my choice. And I'm choosing to fight."
He pulled me into a hug, careful and tight. "Then I'm fighting with you."
We stood there for a long moment, the hallway empty around us, the weight of what was coming settling over both of us.
My phone buzzed. Text from Bruno: Rehearsal starts tomorrow at 0800. Your apartment building, empty unit. We'll walk through every scenario until you can execute it in your sleep.
I showed Marcus the message.
"Every scenario," he said. "Including the ones where David gets past tactical and reaches you first."
"Especially those."
Another text appeared. This one from an unknown number: Interesting choice, Morgana. I was wondering when you'd stop running. I'm looking forward to our conversation. We have so much unfinished business.
My hands went cold. I showed Marcus.
He grabbed my phone, his face draining of color. "He's monitoring Bruno's communications. He knows about the operation."
"No." I took the phone back, read the message again. "He's guessing. Trying to make us think he knows more than he does. It's the same psychological game he's been playing all along."
But my voice shook. Because part of me wondered if David really was always one step ahead. If walking back into my apartment was exactly what he wanted me to do.
If I was the hunter, or just better-informed prey.
Marcus was already calling Bruno, reporting the message. I watched him pace, watched the federal agents mobilize, watched the operation adjust to account for possible compromise.
And I thought about David, somewhere in Connecticut, reading my choice to fight back and smiling.
Because maybe he'd been counting on exactly this.
Maybe I'd already walked into his trap, and the only question was whether Bruno's tactical teams could pull me out before it closed.