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This brief intersection of their lives was ending, as it must.

As Logan drove back toward Fairbanks, he renewed his promise to Bobby.

He would watch over Morgan Riley from a distance. He’d make sure she was safe, that she had what she needed. He owed Bobby that much.

What he hadn’t anticipated, as he picked up the phone later that day to inquire about the Alaska State Trooper position, was how much he would come to need that connection himself—how the promise to protect Bobby’s sister would become the center of his new life.

Or how impossible it would be to keep his distance from the one person he had no right to get close to.

CHAPTER

SIXTY-ONE

PRESENT DAY

Logan woketo the sound of his own heartbeat thundering in his ears.

His head felt like someone had split it with an axe, and his mouth tasted like cotton and copper. He tried to move and realized his hands were zip-tied behind his back, secured to a metal chair.

The room was dimly lit by a single overhead bulb, casting harsh shadows on concrete walls that had been painted black.

“Logan?”

He turned toward the voice, and his heart stopped.

Morgan sat in another chair about ten feet away, her dark hair hanging in tangled waves around her face. She seemed thinner than before, gaunt.

But she was alive!

“Morgan.” Her name came out as a croak. “Are you hurt?”

“I’m okay,” she said, though her voice sounded weak. “Scared, but okay. He’s been . . . he doesn’t hurt me. Says I’m too important to damage.”

Logan tested his restraints—industrial-strength zip ties that cut into his wrists when he pulled against them. “How long have I been here?”

“About an hour. It’s almost dawn.” Morgan’s eyes searched his face. “Logan, I’m so sorry. This is all my fault.”

“Don’t say that.” His words slurred slightly as the effects of the sedative held on. “None of this is your fault.”

“But it is.” Tears began sliding down her cheeks. “He’s been watching me for months, studying my work, my life. Everything he’s done has been because of me.”

Logan leaned forward as much as his restraints allowed. “Morgan, listen to me. You are not responsible for what this maniac has done. You didn’t ask for this.”

“He knows everything about us,” she whispered. “Our relationship, our fights, our private moments. He’s been in my house, read my journal, knows things I never told anyone.”

A chill ran down Logan’s spine. “What kind of things?”

“He knows about Bobby. About every picture I’ve taken. It’s . . . strange. Unnerving.”

Logan looked around the basement, taking in the setup—the photographs, the chemicals, the careful staging area against one wall. “Where are we?”

“I don’t know exactly. Somewhere outside of town.” Morgan’s voice grew stronger, more focused. “Logan, he’s planning something for tonight. The final photograph. He’s been talking about it constantly.”

Logan met her eyes. “You mean the picture you took of my silhouette?”

“That’s the one. He’s obsessed with authenticity. Says the only way to complete the series is to recreate that exact moment, with you in the exact same position.” Morgan’s voice dropped to a whisper. “Logan, he’s going to kill you.”

His throat tightened.