Page 52

CHAPTER

FIFTY-ONE

PRESENT DAY

Today would be different. Today they’d be ready.

He swung his legs out of bed and moved to the kitchen, mechanically going through the motions of making coffee.

If Logan was right, tonight would be Chena Lake.

The aurora forecast was perfect, and it matched the conditions from one of Morgan’s most popular pieces. The sky had really been putting on a show lately. Oftentimes, it was too cloudy to see the northern lights. But they’d had a streak of clear skies recently.

Logan and his team would get to the area early, set up properly, and cover all the approaches. This time there would be no surprises, no hostages, and no leverage for the killer to exploit.

He poured himself a cup of coffee then checked his watch.

He had time to review the tactical plans once more before meeting the team. Duke had mapped out sight lines, Ranger had identified the best sniper positions, and Andi—despite the ordeal at Borealis Lake—had insisted on coordinating surveillance equipment.

His phone rang.

Logan glanced at the caller ID and felt his stomach tighten. Reeves. At six in the morning.

This couldn’t be good news.

He answered, putting his phone on speaker and leaving it on the counter. “Gibson here.”

“Logan, I need you at Chena Lake.” Reeves’ voice was strained, lacking her usual professional composure. “Now.”

He squinted. “We were planning to head there tonight. The killer’s next target should be?—”

“Logan.” The way she said his name stopped him cold. “There’s been another victim.”

The coffee mug almost slipped from Logan’s hand, but he caught it in time. “What do you mean another victim? We had surveillance on all the potential targets. We were watching?—”

“Just get here.”

“Is it Morgan?” He held his breath as his question hung suspended in the air.

He almost didn’t want to hear the answer.

“No, it’s not Morgan,” Reeves answered. “But come now. Bring your friends if you need to.”

The line went dead.

Logan stared at his phone, his mind racing.

Another victim meant they’d missed something.

Another victim meant the killer had outmaneuvered them again.

But how?

They’d accounted for every possible target, every person who’d shown interest in Morgan.

Had they missed something?

His hands tightened into fists.

Wasting no more time, he grabbed his keys and jacket. He’d call Duke, Andi, and Ranger on the drive.

Whatever had happened at Chena Lake, it had rattled Reeves badly enough to call him at dawn.

That alone told Logan everything he needed to know about how bad this was going to be.

The scene at Chena Lake was controlled chaos at best.

Crime scene tape fluttered in the morning breeze, and Logan counted at least six vehicles in the parking area—three state trooper vehicles, the coroner’s van, plus Duke’s and Ranger’s vehicles. They’d been closer to the location than Logan.

Reeves met him at the tape perimeter, her face pale in the early morning light. Duke, Andi, and Ranger stood nearby, their expressions grim.

“What do we have?” Logan asked, though part of him dreaded the answer.

“Male victim, late fifties. Found this morning by a fisherman.”

Male victim in his fifties? Logan rubbed his neck. What profile did that fit?

Reeves studied Logan’s face. “Logan, it’s . . . it’s Dr. Winters.”

The words hit him like a physical blow. “Winters? He’s not connected to Morgan’s stalkers. He’s her therapist.”

“ Was her therapist,” Reeves corrected quietly. “Come on, you need to see this.”

She led him down the wooden walkway toward the pier that extended into Chena Lake. The morning mist rose from the water’s surface, creating an ethereal backdrop that would have been beautiful under different circumstances.

Logan saw the body before Reeves pointed it out.

Dr. Winters had been positioned on the exact pier Morgan had captured in one of her photographs.

The exact pier they’d planned to catch the killer on tonight.

Only the killer had gotten here first.

Dr. Winters had been tied to a wooden post, positioned to face the rising sun. His body was arranged with the same careful attention to composition that marked all the killer’s work.

Logan approached the body, noting how the morning light streamed across the water, illuminating something horrific instead of beautiful.

His jaw clenched. “Time of death?”

“Coroner estimates between midnight and 2 a.m.,” Reeves told him.

The implication was clear. While they’d been focused on the anonymous tip about the old mine, the killer had been here murdering Dr. Winters and staging this scene.

The whole thing at Chatanika had been a distraction, a way to ensure they were all accounted for while the killer carried out his real plan.

Logan stared at Winters, regret pooling inside him. The killer had murdered Morgan’s therapist—someone she’d trusted, someone who’d known her most intimate thoughts and fears.

But why? What had Winters known that made him a target?

They needed to search Winters’ office. His files. His notes on Morgan.

There was something they were missing.

As the morning sun climbed higher, casting long shadows across the pier, Logan realized they weren’t just hunting a killer anymore.

They were chasing someone who was systematically destroying everyone connected to Morgan piece by piece.

And they were always one step behind.