Free Raw Edges by C. J. Lyons

closest to the wall with the map. Since she still wore her pink wool coat and other young professional accouterments, Morgan decided to stick with that persona. Seemingly helpful while actually on a reconnaissance mission. By the time she left, she’d know exactly where not to waste her time searching for Clint as well as what leads the task force was following.
    “Call me Liz,” Harding said absently, her focus on a sheaf of papers, folders, and maps strewn across a cubicle desk. Morgan took the seat beside her.
    Even better than her coup with the landline would be a chance to clone Harding’s cell phone, but that would take longer and physical access to the cell, and she didn’t see someone as guarded as Harding leaving her phone unattended. Morgan slid her own phone into her hand concealed within her coat pocket as she considered her options. Maybe she could do something with the laptop? A RAT attack? The remote access Trojan horse would allow her to gain control of the microphone so she could listen in, plant a keystroke logger, and access admin privileged info. She had the software, but she needed the opportunity to use it without interruption.
    She forced herself to remain patient and instead focused on the map taped to the wall behind Harding. The cops were building a geographic profile of each of the escapees, but it was obvious they had much more data for Clint than any of the others. Made sense since Western Pennsylvania had been his stalking ground for almost two decades. In fact, a geographic profile was how Lucy had discovered him originally.
    Morgan made note of the areas they’d already searched and cleared as well as the presumptive sightings. Not all of the sightings would be true ones, but since she knew Clint and his habits intimately, she could eliminate potential false leads far more easily than the cops could.
    As she stared at the map, she was both frustrated and relieved. Frustrated because there was no discernable pattern—and there should have been. Clint was a creature of habit. Relieved because if the cops weren’t close to finding him, she still had a chance to get to him first. Clint behind bars was almost as dangerous as Clint on the loose, so the best solution for everyone, especially Morgan, was Clint dead and buried.
    “Can I see some ID?” Harding asked, interrupting Morgan’s fantasies of exactly how she’d end Clint. Her favorite would be to use her well-honed CQC knife. Ironic, since it had been Clint who taught her how to wield a blade with surgical precision.
    “Sorry, didn’t know I’d need any.” Morgan kept her voice relaxed.
    Harding’s glance was sharp-edged. “I have conflicting reports on your age, Ms. Ames. Do we need to notify a parent or guardian? There’s nothing in the database to verify your identity. ”
    Something Morgan prided herself on, but it obviously made the state trooper uncomfortable. Then Harding flipped open one of the manila files. To a blurred shot of Morgan leaving the scene of Deputy Bob’s murder.
    The cubicle suddenly felt small and intimate, almost as intimate as killing Bob had been. Morgan felt distanced from the person she’d been back then. It didn’t feel like her, not at all. The girl who’d killed the deputy had been totally in Clint’s thrall, unable to think or act for herself. If she hadn’t killed Bob, Clint would have killed her. Simple self-defense. Only the law would never see it that way.
    Nor would they understand what it truly was: survival of the fittest. Bob had been fooled by Morgan’s youthful appearance, thought she was a lost little girl who needed his help. Morgan glanced from the photo to Harding and saw that the state trooper would not be similarly taken in.
    “Is this you?” Harding asked, tapping the photo of the pony-tailed little girl dressed in a bulky snow coat and puffy hat. The girl could have been half Morgan’s age, and other than the same dark hair and eyes, there was little resemblance to