Page 26

CHAPTER

TWENTY-FIVE

Gripping his gun, Logan threw the door open and stepped into the frigid night air, his breath immediately forming white clouds in the sub-zero temperature.

He pivoted left then right, his trained eyes sweeping the shadows that pooled beneath the sparse streetlights.

The neighborhood lay silent around him—porch lights glowing like distant beacons, driveways empty, windows dark.

Most of his neighbors were already asleep, their houses buttoned up tight against the April cold snap.

He saw no one.

But he hadn’t imagined things. The sound had been distinct—a metallic scraping, like someone dragging something heavy across concrete. Or maybe the deliberate crunch of footsteps on the remnants of snow that still clung to the shadowed areas of his yard.

Darkness stared back at him from every direction.

He didn’t live as remotely as Morgan did, but his property sat on a full acre with dense stands of black spruce flanking both sides.

The trees created perfect corridors of shadow, natural highways for someone who wanted to approach unseen and disappear just as quickly.

Had someone run for cover toward those very trees?

Logan stepped farther from his front door, the wooden deck creaking under his weight.

He narrowed his eyes, trying to penetrate the gloom between the tree trunks.

The moon was new tonight, offering no assistance, and the nearest streetlight was two houses down—far enough that its glow barely reached the edge of his driveway.

But it was too dark to see anything clearly. Shapes that might have been a person could just as easily be low-hanging branches or the bulk of his neighbor’s woodpile. His ears strained for any sound—another footstep, the rustle of disturbed brush, even the whisper of fabric against bark.

Nothing.

Still, he couldn’t give up. Not when every instinct screamed that someone had been watching his house. He had to keep searching—especially if it meant finding answers. Or at least confirmation that the killer was escalating his game, moving from psychological warfare to direct intimidation.

Logan moved carefully down the front steps, his service weapon held low but ready.

The cold bit through his T-shirt, raising goosebumps along his arms, but he ignored the discomfort.

If someone was out there, they’d made the mistake of getting too close.

This was Logan’s territory now, and he knew every shadow, every potential hiding spot.

He made it halfway across his front yard when his phone buzzed against his hip—a text message that lit up the screen like a beacon in the darkness. The sudden glow destroyed what little night vision he’d developed, leaving him temporarily blind and exposed.

When he glanced down at the message, ice formed in his veins.

Nice house, Logan. She’s running out of time while you play games in your yard.

By the time he looked up from the phone, ears straining once more for any sound of movement, the night had reclaimed its silence. Whoever had been watching was gone—vanished as completely as if they’d never been there at all.

But the message on his phone proved otherwise. The killer wasn’t just close.

He was toying with Logan, one move ahead in a game where Morgan’s life hung in the balance.

Logan glanced around one more time.

But whoever had been out here, was gone.

Maybe he hadn’t meant to make a sound.

Maybe this guy had just wanted to watch.

Maybe watching brought him some kind of pleasure.

The thought twisted Logan’s stomach.

With one more scan of his yard, he returned to his house.

He went inside and checked the locks on all the doors and windows.

He wasn’t sure what this guy would do next. What lengths he would go to in order to send his message.

But Logan couldn’t take any chances.

He went into his kitchen and grabbed some pain reliever from the cabinet. He needed to get rid of his headache.

Then he grabbed his computer and checked for that message from Geoffrey.

He’d sent it.

Logan quickly opened it and scanned the list of names.

None of them were familiar.

So if that was Knox, he’d used an alias. Logan shouldn’t be surprised. But he needed to talk to someone who’d been on that crew. Maybe they’d seen something.

He’d start tomorrow morning.

For now, he grabbed Morgan’s journal from his bag, sat on the couch, and began reading again. He wanted to review her entries, see if he’d missed anything the first time.

Maybe one of these guys who’d been talking to her was mentioned in her journal. Maybe this would help him get closer to some answers.

Or maybe that was just wishful thinking.

He still wasn’t sure.