Page 37

CHAPTER

THIRTY-SIX

The hike to Borealis Lake took longer than anticipated. The spring thaw had created treacherously muddy conditions along the normally passable trail.

By the time Logan, Duke, Andi, and Ranger reached the overlook point that matched Morgan’s photograph, dusk had deepened into genuine darkness, the stars emerging like pinpricks in the black canvas overhead.

They all split up, having decided in advance who would cover what area.

“No sign of Walsh,” Duke said in the comm system they’d set up before coming. “No sign of anyone.”

Logan adjusted his position behind the rocky outcropping that provided both cover and a clear view of the small peninsula jutting into the lake—the exact spot where Morgan had set up her tripod the day of her shoot. The crack in the ice remained visible, a darker line bisecting the frozen surface.

Now came the hardest part.

They waited, careful to remain quiet and out of sight. Even nature seemed silent around them.

No wind. No animals.

Nothing.

Finally, three hours after they arrived, a buzz sounded overhead.

“The aurora’s starting.” Andi’s voice came through Logan’s earpiece.

He glanced up toward the northern sky where green tendrils had begun to unfurl, their ghostly light casting an otherworldly glow across the landscape.

Through his binoculars, Logan studied the peninsula.

If the killer followed his established pattern, he’d recreate Morgan’s composition precisely. That meant positioning his victim at the same angle, with the same framing, the same relationship between figure and landscape.

“I see movement.” Ranger said from his position on the southeastern corner of the lake. “Single figure approaching on foot.”

Logan redirected his binoculars, catching the distinctive flash of a headlamp approximately half a mile from their position.

The figure moved with purpose, following the lake’s edge with the confidence of someone who knew exactly where they were going.

“That’s our guy,” Duke whispered. “It has to be.”

Logan bristled as he prepared himself to act.

Logan signaled for everyone to maintain positions. They needed to see if Morgan or another victim was with him before making their move.

“Ranger, do you have a visual on anyone else?” Logan asked into his mic. “Any sign of Morgan or another potential victim?”

“Negative. Just the one figure so far.”

The minutes stretched by as they tracked the figure’s progress around the lake. The aurora intensified overhead, ribbons of green and violet dancing across the stars. Their reflection shimmered across the ice just as Morgan had captured in her photograph.

“He’s stopping.” Andi kept her binoculars trained on the distant figure. “Right at the peninsula.”

Logan’s heart rate quickened as he watched the figure begin to set up a camera.

“No sign of a victim,” Duke reported.

The figure worked methodically in the ghostly light of the aurora, setting up what appeared to be a tripod and camera.

“Still no sign of a second person.” Duke voiced the concern growing in each of their minds.

“Something’s wrong,” Logan muttered. “This doesn’t fit the pattern.”

As if in confirmation of his unease, the figure suddenly looked up from his camera. He stared directly at their hidden position on the ridge.

Even at this distance, the deliberate nature of the movement was unmistakable.

Cold certainty settled in Logan’s gut.

“He knows we’re here,” he murmured.

Then the figure raised something to his mouth—a radio or phone.

Logan’s blood turned to ice as he heard Duke’s confused voice crackle through their comm system.

“Logan? I’m getting some kind of interference.”

But through the static, another voice cut through—calm, educated, unmistakably the killer. “Good evening, Trooper Logan. I hope you’re enjoying the aurora. It really is spectacular tonight.”

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Ranger whispered. “He’s hacked our frequency.”

The voice continued with chilling composure: “I’m disappointed you brought so many friends. I was hoping for a more intimate encounter. But no matter—I’ve prepared for various scenarios.”

Logan grabbed his radio. “Who are you? Where’s Morgan?”

“Morgan is safe. For now. But I’m afraid your presence here has complicated things. You see, while you’ve all been watching me, I’ve been watching someone else.”

Through his binoculars, Logan saw the figure point toward the tree line behind their position.

“Andi,” the voice said, and Logan’s heart stopped. “Such a dedicated partner. Always willing to take point, to scout ahead. I do admire that quality.”

Logan spun around, frantically scanning the darkness behind them. “Andi, report your position!”

Silence.

“Andi!” Duke shouted into his radio.

“She’s fine,” the voice assured them. “Simply unconscious. A small dart, very humane. But she’ll remain that way only as long as you follow my instructions precisely.”

Logan’s hands shook as he raised his binoculars, trying to locate Andi in the darkness.

“Here’s what’s going to happen,” the killer continued.

“You’re going to let me walk away. You’re not going to follow me, call for backup, or attempt any heroics.

In exactly one hour, you’ll receive a text message with Andi’s location.

She’ll be unharmed—I have no interest in lawyers. They don’t fit my artistic vision.”

“You son of a?—”

“But,” the voice cut Logan off, “if I see any movement from your positions in the next thirty minutes, if I detect any attempt to track me, Andi will die.”

The figure by the lake calmly finished packing his equipment.

“Oh, and Logan? I’ve left you a small gift on the peninsula. Consider it a preview of coming attractions. You might want to retrieve it before the wind carries it into the lake.”

The radio went dead.

Logan watched helplessly as the figure shouldered his pack and began walking calmly toward the tree line. Every instinct screamed at him to pursue, but the thought of Andi—unconscious somewhere in the wilderness—paralyzed him.

“We can’t let him go,” Duke said, his voice tight with rage.

“We don’t have a choice,” Logan replied, the words like poison in his mouth. “He has Andi.”