Page 55

CHAPTER

FIFTY-FOUR

Logan pushed through the glass doors of the medical complex, warrant folded in his jacket pocket. The familiar institutional smell hit him—disinfectant mixed with coffee and the faint scent of anxiety that seemed to permeate all medical facilities.

The receptionist looked up as he approached. Her pale gray eyes were rimmed with red, and her makeup—perfect just yesterday—was now smudged.

Rainey had clearly been crying.

“Trooper Gibson.” Her voice sounded just above a whisper. “I can’t believe he’s gone.”

Logan pulled out the warrant and set it on her desk. “I’m sorry for your loss, Rainey. I know this is difficult. But I need to ask you some questions about Dr. Winters.”

She nodded, dabbing at her eyes with a tissue. “Anything that might help catch whoever did this.”

“What time did Dr. Winters leave the office yesterday?”

Rainey consulted her computer screen, though Logan suspected she already knew the answer. “His last appointment ended at six-thirty. Mrs. Patterson, his Thursday regular. Dr. Winters usually stayed another hour or so to finish notes, so he probably left around seven-thirty.”

“Did he mention any plans for the evening? Did he say he was meeting anyone?”

“No, nothing like that.” Rainey shook her head. “Dr. Winters mostly kept to himself. He wasn’t married and didn’t talk much about his personal life. He always remained very professional.”

Logan made a note. “Was there anything unusual about yesterday? Any unexpected calls, visitors, changes to his routine?”

Rainey was quiet a moment, thinking. “Other than you and your friend coming by? There was one thing. Around five o’clock, maybe a little after, someone called asking about his schedule. He wanted to know when Dr. Winters’ last appointment ended.”

Logan’s attention sharpened. “Did you recognize the voice?”

“No, it was a man, but I’d never heard him before. He said he was a colleague and that he needed to discuss a patient consultation.” She twisted the tissue in her hands. “I told him Dr. Winters would be free after six-thirty. I hope I didn’t . . . I mean, you don’t think . . .”

Logan lowered his voice as he tried to reassure her. “You couldn’t have known. Did he give a name?”

“Dr. Richardson, I think. But when I mentioned it to Dr. Winters later, he said he didn’t know any Dr. Richardson.”

Logan felt his pulse quicken. The killer had called to confirm Winters’ schedule.

He’d planned the timing precisely.

The man was dangerous and smart . . . and that was a deadly combination.

Logan’s thoughts continued to race. “What did Dr. Winters say when you told him about the call?”

“He seemed puzzled, maybe a little concerned. Said he’d be extra careful walking to his car.” Rainey’s voice broke slightly. “I should have insisted he call security, or offered to walk with him, or . . .”

“Is there anything else? Any other unusual calls or visitors in the past few days?”

“Not that I can think of. Dr. Winters was very routine-oriented. Same patients and same schedule, week after week.”

Logan glanced at the door behind Rainey. “I need to search Dr. Winters’ office. The warrant covers his files, computer, and anything that might be relevant to the case.”

Rainey nodded and reached for her keys. “I’ll unlock it for you. Detective Yazzie is already at his house, right? He called about searching there too.”

“That’s right. We’re being thorough.”

She unlocked the door behind her and stepped aside.

“I’ll be at my desk if you need anything.” Rainey’s voice was still shaky as she gave him a nod.

Logan began his search systematically. The desk drawers revealed the usual office supplies, appointment books, and a few personal items—reading glasses, antacids, a coffee mug with a faded university logo. Nothing that jumped out as significant.

The filing cabinets were locked, but Logan had come prepared.

Inside, he found patient files organized alphabetically. He pulled Morgan’s file immediately, noting it was significantly thicker than most of the others.

As he flipped through Morgan’s session notes, Logan tried to keep his emotions in check. Winters had documented her struggles with anxiety, her need for solitude, her grief.

Reading the clinical observations of her private struggles felt like a violation. But Logan pushed through, looking for anything that might explain why Winters had become a target.

One note stopped him in his tracks.

Patient mentioned someone her brother used to mention, a man who went by the name of Wolf.

He was part of the Iron Brotherhood. Her brother really looked up to him, she wonders if Wolf was there when her brother died.

She talks about finding him. I told her that was a bad idea. I hope she listens to me.

She’d wanted to find him? Logan wasn’t sure how he felt about that.

As he read deeper into the file, Logan noticed that Winters’ notes became increasingly personal and less clinical. Comments about Morgan’s appearance, her mannerisms, the way she dressed.

One entry from last month made Logan’s stomach turn.

Patient wore a blue sweater today that brought out her eyes. She has an unconscious habit of tucking her hair behind her ear when discussing emotional topics. There’s something almost angelic about her when she’s lost in thought. Her artistic sensitivity makes her incredibly appealing.

Logan flipped to another page, finding more inappropriate observations.

Morgan’s vulnerability is captivating. She trusts me with her deepest fears and insecurities. I find myself looking forward to our sessions more than I should. She mentioned feeling disconnected from Gibson lately—perhaps she needs someone who truly understands her artistic nature.

Logan fisted his hands.

This wasn’t therapy documentation. This was the journal of a man becoming obsessed with his patient.

Logan found a separate folder tucked behind Morgan’s official file. Inside were printed photographs of Morgan. Some from her gallery exhibitions. But others that appeared to be taken without her knowledge.

Morgan walking to her car after a session. Morgan at a coffee shop. Morgan at the grocery store.

At the bottom of the folder was a handwritten note, never sent.

Dear Morgan, I know our professional relationship prevents me from expressing how I feel, but I believe we have a connection that goes beyond therapy.

You deserve someone who appreciates your artistic vision, who understands your need for independence.

Perhaps when you’re ready, we could explore what might be possible between us.

His stomach clenched. Dr. Winters hadn’t been Morgan’s protector—he’d been another predator, using his position of trust to feed his obsession.

The doctor had a pattern of inappropriate behavior that would have cost him his license and possibly landed him in jail.

In the meantime, the killer had been watching Morgan for weeks, maybe months. And Dr. Winters had been stalking her too, documenting his attraction and taking unauthorized photographs.

Which made him either a rival who needed to be eliminated, or simply another man who’d objectified Morgan, in the killer’s twisted worldview.

Logan gathered the files and headed back to Rainey’s desk.

She looked up hopefully as he approached. “Did you find anything that might help?”

“We’re following several leads.” Logan didn’t want to give her false hope or reveal the disturbing truth about her late employer. “Thank you for your cooperation. If you think of anything else, anything at all, please call me.”

As Logan left the building, his phone buzzed with a text from Yazzie.

Nothing obvious at Winters’ house. Heading back to headquarters.

Logan climbed into his truck, Morgan’s file on the seat beside him.

The man had been hiding his own inappropriate interest in Morgan, probably terrified that his obsession would be discovered.

The killer had eliminated another man who saw Morgan as an object rather than a person. In his twisted logic, he was probably cleaning house before claiming her for himself.

The thought made Logan sick to his stomach.