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“Tom, I need you to describe this person,” Logan said. “Everything you can remember.”

“I’ve never seen his face clearly. We always met in the alley at nighttime. He wore a baseball cap pulled low and sunglasses. Medium height, I think. Not particularly memorable, which was probably the point.” Zimmerman was talking faster now, the words tumbling out. “But his voice . . . it was educated. Calm. Like he was discussing the weather instead of—instead of . . .”

Logan fisted and unfisted his hands at his sides.

“Did he ever mention Morgan specifically?” Andi asked.

“No, never by name. But once he said something about ‘artistic inspiration’ and needing the right tools for his work. I thought he was just some junkie with delusions, but now . . .” Zimmerman’s hands now shook openly.

“Tom, listen to me carefully,” Logan said. “This person is extremely dangerous. If he contacts you again, call me immediately. Don’t give him anything else, no matter what he threatens.”

“But if I don’t, he’ll ruin me?—”

“If you do, you could be an accessory to murder,” Logan said bluntly. “We’ll work with you, help you figure out how to handle the blackmail situation. But right now the priority is stopping him from hurting anyone else.”

Zimmerman nodded frantically. “What should I do if he comes back?”

“Stall him. Tell him you’re out of stock, that you need more time. Then call me.” Logan handed him a business card. “And Tom? Don’t go anywhere alone for the next few days. This guy isn’t the type to leave loose ends.”

As they left the pharmacy, Logan’s mind raced.

They finally had confirmation that someone was acquiring sedatives—the same drugs that would explain how the killer was controlling his victims. But they were still no closer to identifying him.

“You think Zimmerman’s telling the truth?” Andi asked as they got back in the car.

“Yeah, I do. He’s too scared to lie effectively.” Logan started the engine, his jaw tight with frustration. “But this sicko is careful. No clear description, no real contact information. He’s been planning this for months.”

CHAPTER

FORTY-SIX

FAIRBANKS, FIVE YEARS AGO

Logan toldhimself he wouldn’t go to Morgan’s after the funeral and burial.

Instead, he drove back to Fairbanks and checked into the airport hotel. He even showered and changed for his flight.

But as the departure time approached, Logan found himself in a rental car headed west instead of toward the gate.

Morgan’s cabin was modest, but it looked cozy. It sat in the middle of nowhere. Smoke curled from the chimney, and warm light spilled from the windows onto the new snow. Eight vehicles were parked up and down the lane leading to her place.

Logan sat in the idling car, questioning his judgment for the hundredth time that day.

He was still sitting there when a tap on the window startled him. Morgan stood beside the car.

Logan rolled down the window, his face heating despite the cold air rushing in.

“You planning to sit out here all night?” she asked, her breath visible in the darkness.

“I was just?—”

“Overthinking it,” she finished with a raised eyebrow.

The casual accuracy of her assessment startled him. He killed the engine and got out of the car, the cold immediately seeping through his inadequate jacket.

“Come on.” Morgan turned toward the path to the cabin. “Before you freeze to death.”

Inside, the cabin was warm and surprisingly spacious. The main room centered around a stone fireplace, the walls adorned with framed photographs—all landscapes, Logan noted, with not a single human subject among them.