Page 18

CHAPTER

SEVENTEEN

Logan continued to process everything he was learning.

Apparently, there was more because Reeves continued, talking fast and with her hands—as always.

“Kalluk thought the whole thing was strange. He said Ryan was a decent guy but way out of Morgan’s league.

But Mercer had been trying to get her attention for months with no success.

Then suddenly she texted him after hours about a private meeting. ”

“Did Kalluk try to talk him out of it?” Logan crossed his arms, tension spreading through his muscles.

“He did, actually,” Reeves said. “He suggested it might be someone playing a prank. But Mercer was adamant the text was legitimate. He said the message mentioned specific details about a conversation he and Morgan had at her last exhibition, something about the chemical properties of old photographic development processes.”

“Information someone could have overheard if they were watching them,” Logan added.

“That’s not all.” Yazzie slid a final photograph across the desk.

It showed Mercer’s phone screen, recovered from his car. The last message, time-stamped 7:14 p.m. on the night of his death, read:

Perfect. I can see you through my lens. Stay exactly where you are.

“He thought Morgan was photographing him.” Logan’s voice dropped lower. As he stared at the evidence before him, the shape of something terrible formed in his mind. “The killer used Mercer’s infatuation with Morgan to lure him there. He spoofed her number and made it personal.”

“And this guy knew enough about both of them to make the bait convincing.” Yazzie crossed his arms and frowned.

Logan turned away, staring out the window at the vast Alaskan landscape. He suddenly felt its emptiness like a physical weight.

Out there, someone was watching. Planning. Using Morgan’s art as a template for murder.

“Logan?” Reeves’ voice broke through his thoughts. “There’s something else you should know.”

“There’s more?” He swallowed hard. “Go ahead.”

“We found a sedative in Mercer’s blood. He was given something to knock him out. Then the killer killed him via hanging.”

He shook his head, hating the images forming in his mind.

Reeves placed a hand on Logan’s shoulder. “We’ll find her.”

“Time is running out.” He headed toward the door.

“What are you going to do?” Yazzie asked.

“I’m going to find her. I can’t just stand here any longer.”

“Gibson . . .” Reeves called.

He paused and glanced back at her. “Be careful. This guy is . . . he’s sick. I’ve seen a lot of things, but this takes it to the next level.”

He nodded. “I will be.”

But that fact made his search even more urgent.

This sicko had Morgan. Logan couldn’t let her be the next victim.