Page 63 of If You're Reading This

Altogether, Morgan had released six series in this collection.

“Man . . .” Duke muttered. “The killer’s photos are exact down to every detail.”

More nausea roiled inside Logan. “Yes, they are.”

This guy was meticulous. Someone this detailed would be hard to find.

But Logan wasn’t going to give up.

He needed to find a way to get a step ahead of the man.

And the answer was hidden somewhere in these photos.

CHAPTER

THIRTY-THREE

Logan,Duke, and Andi all stepped back to stare at the photos.

Logan had spent countless evenings listening to Morgan explain compositional techniques, watching her hands gesture animatedly as she described finding balance in asymmetry.

He loved listening to her talk about photography. He’d done so for hours.

Now that knowledge felt like a weight in his stomach.

As they worked, Logan found himself drawn back to one particular photograph—one of Morgan’s newer works.

It showed her cabin from the outside, shot during blue hour when the light was fading but not yet gone. A single lamp glowed in the window, throwing the silhouette of a person against the glass. The composition emphasized the smallness of human presence against the looming darkness of the Alaskan wilderness.

Logan picked up the print. Studied it.

Then cold realization washed over him.

“Andi, Duke.” His voice sounded hoarse. “Look at this.”

They glanced up, their eyes widening as they took in the photograph.

“That’s Morgan’s cabin,” Andi murmured. “This picture was taken from outside.”

Logan lowered his voice. “The perspective is wrong. This isn’t a self-portrait with a timer.”

Andi narrowed her eyes as she studied the photo. “What are you saying?”

“I’m saying someone else took this photo.”

Duke moved to look over his shoulder.

Logan flipped the print over. “It’s not her work. Morgan’s other photographs have her signature and date on the back. This one is blank. It’s his. This guy took this photo and then planted it in Morgan’s portfolio.”

The implication settled over the room like a physical presence.

The killer hadn’t just been watching Morgan or studying her work.

He’d been close enough to access her home, to handle her personal belongings, and to insert his own creation among her art.

The more Logan learned, the more he realized just how twisted this man was.

Now he had Morgan in his grip, at his mercy.