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He wasn’t certain he had heard correctly.

“I mean, you sound official. But Logan Gibson is a name I’ve heard enough times that I haven’t forgotten it. I’m pretty sure she thinks you walk on water. Find her.”

Logan squeezed the phone harder. “Believe me, I’m doing everything within my power to do so.”

He ended the call and lowered the phone in his hand.

That was when he heard it.

A rattle outside his window.

His muscles stiffened as he grabbed his gun.

Was someone outside his house? What if the killer had come here to taunt him even more?

Drawing in a deep breath, he took his first step toward the door.

If this guy was here, Logan wasn’t going to let him walk away.

CHAPTER

TWENTY-FIVE

Gripping his gun,Logan threw the door open and stepped into the frigid night air, his breath immediately forming white clouds in the sub-zero temperature.

He pivoted left then right, his trained eyes sweeping the shadows that pooled beneath the sparse streetlights. The neighborhood lay silent around him—porch lights glowing like distant beacons, driveways empty, windows dark. Most of his neighbors were already asleep, their houses buttoned up tight against the April cold snap.

He saw no one.

But he hadn’t imagined things. The sound had been distinct—a metallic scraping, like someone dragging something heavy across concrete. Or maybe the deliberate crunch of footsteps on the remnants of snow that still clung to the shadowed areas of his yard.

Darkness stared back at him from every direction. He didn’t live as remotely as Morgan did, but his property sat on a full acre with dense stands of black spruce flanking both sides. The trees created perfect corridors of shadow, natural highways for someone who wanted to approach unseen and disappear just as quickly.

Had someone run for cover toward those very trees?

Logan stepped farther from his front door, the wooden deck creaking under his weight. He narrowed his eyes, trying to penetrate the gloom between the tree trunks. The moon was new tonight, offering no assistance, and the nearest streetlight was two houses down—far enough that its glow barely reached the edge of his driveway.

But it was too dark to see anything clearly. Shapes that might have been a person could just as easily be low-hanging branches or the bulk of his neighbor’s woodpile. His ears strained for any sound—another footstep, the rustle of disturbed brush, even the whisper of fabric against bark.

Nothing.

Still, he couldn’t give up. Not when every instinct screamed that someone had been watching his house. He had to keep searching—especially if it meant finding answers. Or at least confirmation that the killer was escalating his game, moving from psychological warfare to direct intimidation.

Logan moved carefully down the front steps, his service weapon held low but ready. The cold bit through his T-shirt, raising goosebumps along his arms, but he ignored the discomfort. If someone was out there, they’d made the mistake of getting too close. This was Logan’s territory now, and he knew every shadow, every potential hiding spot.

He made it halfway across his front yard when his phone buzzed against his hip—a text message that lit up the screen like a beacon in the darkness. The sudden glow destroyed what little night vision he’d developed, leaving him temporarily blind and exposed.

When he glanced down at the message, ice formed in his veins.

Nice house, Logan. She’s running out of time while you play games in your yard.

By the time he looked up from the phone, ears straining once more for any sound of movement, the night had reclaimed its silence. Whoever had been watching was gone—vanished as completely as if they’d never been there at all.

But the message on his phone proved otherwise. The killer wasn’t just close.

He was toying with Logan, one move ahead in a game where Morgan’s life hung in the balance.

Logan glanced around one more time.