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At the bottom of the folder was a handwritten note, never sent.

Dear Morgan, I know our professional relationship prevents me from expressing how I feel, but I believe we have a connection that goes beyond therapy. You deserve someone who appreciates your artistic vision, who understands your need for independence. Perhaps when you’re ready, we could explore what might be possible between us.

His stomach clenched. Dr. Winters hadn’t been Morgan’s protector—he’d been another predator, using his position of trust to feed his obsession.

The doctor had a pattern of inappropriate behavior that would have cost him his license and possibly landed him in jail.

In the meantime, the killer had been watching Morgan for weeks, maybe months. And Dr. Winters had been stalking her too, documenting his attraction and taking unauthorized photographs.

Which made him either a rival who needed to be eliminated, or simply another man who’d objectified Morgan, in the killer’s twisted worldview.

Logan gathered the files and headed back to Rainey’s desk.

She looked up hopefully as he approached. “Did you find anything that might help?”

“We’re following several leads.” Logan didn’t want to give her false hope or reveal the disturbing truth about her late employer.“Thank you for your cooperation. If you think of anything else, anything at all, please call me.”

As Logan left the building, his phone buzzed with a text from Yazzie.

Nothing obvious at Winters’ house. Heading back to headquarters.

Logan climbed into his truck, Morgan’s file on the seat beside him.

The man had been hiding his own inappropriate interest in Morgan, probably terrified that his obsession would be discovered.

The killer had eliminated another man who saw Morgan as an object rather than a person. In his twisted logic, he was probably cleaning house before claiming her for himself.

The thought made Logan sick to his stomach.

CHAPTER

FIFTY-FIVE

Logan pulledinto the parking lot of Northland Pharmacy, his mind still processing what he’d found in Dr. Winters’ files.

Right now, he needed to follow up with Tom Zimmerman about the sedatives and see if he’d had any additional contact with the blackmailer. Maybe Zimmerman had noticed something, some detail that could help identify their suspect.

The pharmacy’s neon “OPEN” sign was bright, and customers moved in and out of the building. Logan pushed through the front door. But instead of seeing Tom behind the prescription counter, he found a middle-aged woman with graying hair frantically working at the computer.

“Excuse me.” Logan approached the counter, showing his badge. “I’m looking for Tom Zimmerman.”

The woman looked up, stress evident in her eyes. “Are you family? We’ve been trying to reach him all day.”

“I’m Trooper Logan Gibson. What do you mean you’ve been trying to reach him?”

“Tom didn’t show up for work this morning. He was scheduled to open at eight, but when I got here at nine, the pharmacy was still locked up.” She gestured helplessly at theprescription queue. “I’m the assistant pharmacist, Sandra. I’ve been covering, but we’re swamped.”

Logan felt his stomach tighten. “Have you spoken to him at all today?”

“That’s just it—he’s not answering his phone. Cell or home. And that’s not like Tom. He’s incredibly reliable and never misses work without calling.” Sandra lowered her voice. “He’s been under a lot of stress lately and seems really anxious about something. He wouldn’t talk about it.”

Logan knew exactly what that stress was about. “When did you last see him?”

“Yesterday evening when he closed up. He seemed . . . I don’t know, jumpy? Like he was expecting bad news. Asked me twice if I was sure I’d locked the back door before I left.”

“Did he mention any plans for last night? Anyone he was meeting?”

“No, nothing. He just said to be careful walking to my car.” Sandra’s worry deepened. “Officer, do you think something’s happened to him?”