Page 33

CHAPTER

THIRTY-TWO

PRESENT DAY

“You believe Ashcroft?” Andi asked as they reached Logan’s SUV, the old shack with Knox’s body behind them. “You really think that’s why he was at the lodge that night?”

Logan turned the key in the ignition with more force than necessary, and the engine roared to life. “I’m not sure. I don’t like the guy, and it’s clouding my judgment.”

“He clearly doesn’t like you either,” Duke said.

“That’s no secret,” Logan muttered.

He pulled onto the narrow forestry road, accelerating faster than was wise given the conditions.

Duke and Andi exchanged glances but said nothing as the miles ticked by in tense silence.

Finally, Andi broke the quiet. “Where are you heading?”

“I need to get back to Morgan’s.” Logan’s eyes remained fixed on the road ahead. “I want to lay out her pictures. Maybe there’s a clue there. Do you want me to drop you off at your place first?”

“No.” Duke’s hard tone made it clear he meant the word. “We’re in this with you.”

Logan nodded, not trusting himself to speak. The loyalty of these people—people who owed him nothing, who were risking their own reputations and possibly their safety to help—was a stark contrast to the bureaucratic wall he’d just encountered.

His thoughts continued to race as he drove, scenarios and possibilities spinning through his mind.

The pattern was clear now, but time was running out. Ashcroft would follow protocol, assign troopers, file reports—all while Morgan remained in the hands of a killer who was playing a game only Logan seemed to understand.

“Tell us what you’re thinking.” Andi’s voice broke into his thoughts.

Logan exhaled slowly. “I’m thinking that this guy is targeting people connected in some way to Morgan.

Maybe Knox was the person Morgan felt watching her.

Maybe the killer knew Knox was watching her and felt threatened.

Maybe he thought Knox was watching out of romantic interest when there was really more to it. I’m not sure.”

“You ask me, we need a list of anyone who might make this guy feel threatened because of their interest in Morgan,” Duke said.

Logan nodded grimly. “I’ve already begun a list of guys who asked her out. That’s a good starting point.”

“It’s essentially a potential victim list now.” Duke twisted his head at the macabre statement. “Or maybe a potential suspect list as well.”

“Whoever’s behind this is sick.” A rare edge of anger entered Andi’s normally composed voice.

Logan waited as Andi started to speak again, then hesitated, her voice trailing off.

“What is it?” he prompted, his gaze flicking to the rearview mirror.

“If this guy is targeting people interested in Morgan . . .” Andi began carefully. “Does that mean he might target you also?”

Logan’s mind whirled.

The question had been circling in his mind since he’d discovered the pattern. But hearing the possibility spoken aloud made it suddenly real.

He couldn’t deny Andi’s words.

His close relationship to Morgan could be seen as a threat.

If Duke and Andi had seen their connection, then the killer—who’d been watching Morgan closely enough to recreate her photographs with disturbing precision—probably had also.

That meant the answer was a resounding yes.

“Let him try.” Logan’s words came out like gravel. “If he wants to have a go at me, he’ll have to show himself. That’s exactly what I’m counting on.”

Logan’s hands trembled slightly as he unlocked Morgan’s cabin.

The familiar scent of cedar and lavender washed over him as he stepped inside, followed closely by Duke and Andi. For a moment, it felt as though Morgan might appear from her bedroom, camera in hand, that half-smile playing at her lips.

But the cabin remained silent, preserving the exact state in which he’d found it yesterday.

“You really think this will help us narrow down where this guy might strike next?” Duke shrugged off his heavy coat and draped it over a kitchen chair.

“I do. Two victims, two photos. It’s not a coincidence.” Logan moved to the built-in bookshelf where Morgan kept her portfolios. “He’s using her work as a template. Creating some kind of . . . some kind of sick homage.”

Andi was already clearing space on the living room floor, pushing aside the braided rug to expose the polished wooden planks beneath. “What are we looking for exactly?”

“I’m not sure,” he answered. “I’m just hoping we’ll know when we see it.”

Logan began carefully extracting prints from the portfolio, laying them on the floor in chronological order based on the dates written on the back. Most were exhibition quality, 16x20 or larger, representing Morgan’s major series from the past several years.

Duke whistled softly as the collection grew. “She’s even more prolific than I knew.”

“She sees things others don’t,” Logan murmured, more to himself than to his companions.

Andi knelt beside him, studying the growing array.

Logan filled the floor with more images, each one reflecting beauty within brokenness.

“Here.” He pulled two prints and set them apart from the others. “These are the ones the killer has recreated so far.”

The first showed the solitary birch at Tanana Valley Overlook, its bare branches stark against a twilight sky.

It was one of the first series Morgan had released once she stepped away from photojournalism and into art.

In her photo, a dead branch stretched toward the ground in the same place where Ryan Mercer had been found.

The second captured the burned-out hunting cabin. It was part of the second series she released.

Altogether, Morgan had released six series in this collection.

“Man . . .” Duke muttered. “The killer’s photos are exact down to every detail.”

More nausea roiled inside Logan. “Yes, they are.”

This guy was meticulous. Someone this detailed would be hard to find.

But Logan wasn’t going to give up.

He needed to find a way to get a step ahead of the man.

And the answer was hidden somewhere in these photos.