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“Dr. Richardson, I think. But when I mentioned it to Dr. Winters later, he said he didn’t know any Dr. Richardson.”

Logan felt his pulse quicken. The killer had called to confirm Winters’ schedule.

He’d planned the timing precisely.

The man was dangerous and smart . . . and that was a deadly combination.

Logan’s thoughts continued to race. “What did Dr. Winters say when you told him about the call?”

“He seemed puzzled, maybe a little concerned. Said he’d be extra careful walking to his car.” Rainey’s voice broke slightly. “I should have insisted he call security, or offered to walk with him, or . . .”

“Is there anything else? Any other unusual calls or visitors in the past few days?”

“Not that I can think of. Dr. Winters was very routine-oriented. Same patients and same schedule, week after week.”

Logan glanced at the door behind Rainey. “I need to search Dr. Winters’ office. The warrant covers his files, computer, and anything that might be relevant to the case.”

Rainey nodded and reached for her keys. “I’ll unlock it for you. Detective Yazzie is already at his house, right? He called about searching there too.”

“That’s right. We’re being thorough.”

She unlocked the door behind her and stepped aside.

“I’ll be at my desk if you need anything.” Rainey’s voice was still shaky as she gave him a nod.

Logan began his search systematically. The desk drawers revealed the usual office supplies, appointment books, and a few personal items—reading glasses, antacids, a coffee mug with a faded university logo. Nothing that jumped out as significant.

The filing cabinets were locked, but Logan had come prepared.

Inside, he found patient files organized alphabetically. He pulled Morgan’s file immediately, noting it was significantly thicker than most of the others.

As he flipped through Morgan’s session notes, Logan tried to keep his emotions in check. Winters had documented her struggles with anxiety, her need for solitude, her grief.

Reading the clinical observations of her private struggles felt like a violation. But Logan pushed through, looking for anything that might explain why Winters had become a target.

One note stopped him in his tracks.

Patient mentioned someone her brother used to mention, a man who went by the name of Wolf. He was part of the Iron Brotherhood. Her brother really looked up to him, she wonders if Wolf was there when her brother died. She talks about finding him. I told her that was a bad idea. I hope she listens to me.

She’d wanted to find him? Logan wasn’t sure how he felt about that.

As he read deeper into the file, Logan noticed that Winters’ notes became increasingly personal and less clinical. Comments about Morgan’s appearance, her mannerisms, the way she dressed.

One entry from last month made Logan’s stomach turn.

Patient wore a blue sweater today that brought out her eyes. She has an unconscious habit of tucking her hair behind her ear when discussing emotional topics. There’s something almost angelic about her when she’s lost in thought. Her artistic sensitivity makes her incredibly appealing.

Logan flipped to another page, finding more inappropriate observations.

Morgan’s vulnerability is captivating. She trusts me with her deepest fears and insecurities. I find myself looking forward to our sessions more than I should. She mentioned feeling disconnected from Gibson lately—perhaps she needs someone who truly understands her artistic nature.

Logan fisted his hands.

This wasn’t therapy documentation. This was the journal of a man becoming obsessed with his patient.

Logan found a separate folder tucked behind Morgan’s official file. Inside were printed photographs of Morgan. Some from her gallery exhibitions. But others that appeared to be taken without her knowledge.

Morgan walking to her car after a session. Morgan at a coffee shop. Morgan at the grocery store.