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CHAPTER

FORTY-NINE

Logan’s house felt smaller when he returned, the walls seeming to press in on him as he moved through the familiar space. He’d traded out his personal vehicle for his police SUV.

It felt good to officially be on the job again.

Right now, he needed to call his friends and give them an update.

He decided to dial Duke. He and Duke were the closest since they’d both been law enforcement.

Duke answered on the first ring. “I’ve got Andi and Ranger here with me. You mind if they listen?”

“No, that’s perfect.” He gave them an update on everything that had transpired.

“I’m glad you’re back on the case,” Andi said. “Rightfully so.”

“Even better, Ashcroft said I could loop all of you in on everything that’s going on. I plan on utilizing you all if you’re up for it.”

“Of course,” Duke said. “Whatever you need.”

Logan had allowed himself to become isolated, he realized. It had been a long time since he’d let anyone feel close to him.

First, he’d let Morgan in.

He hadn’t even meant to let the members of the Arctic Circle Murder Club begin to feel like family. It had happened naturally. It had happened gradually.

Their support this week had meant the world to him.

He choked up thinking about it.

“I just want to tell you all thank you.” His voice cracked. “I can’t express how much I appreciate your help. You’ve made me feel like I’m one of you.”

“You are one of us. You may not be on the podcast with us, but you’re like family. You’re pretty much stuck with us at this point.” Andi’s voice lilted teasingly.

A grin curled his lips. “Thanks. And I’ll be in touch. Let me know if you hear anything.”

“Will do,” Duke said. “We’ll talk later.”

After Logan ended the call, he twisted open a bottle of water but barely touched it, instead finding himself standing at his kitchen window staring out at the darkness.

Six days. Morgan had been gone for six days, and they were no closer to finding her than when she’d first disappeared.

He thought about the crime scene photos, the killer’s obsession with re-creating Morgan’s work with such precision.

There was something almost reverent about it, as if the killer saw himself as honoring her art rather than destroying lives. But there was also something deeply personal in the way he’d targeted people connected to Morgan.

Logan moved to his coffee table where Morgan’s journal still lay open.

Reading it was always hard. It always made him miss Morgan even more.

But now, with the case stalled and his mind spinning in circles, he needed something—anything—that might give him insight into who was doing this and why.

He settled onto the couch and picked up the journal, finding his place among the careful handwriting that was so distinctly Morgan’s.

Maybe he would see something now he hadn’t seen before.