Page 58

CHAPTER

FIFTY-SEVEN

Logan’s SUV bounced violently over the rough forest service road.

Duke gripped the dashboard as they navigated the winding path toward the GPS coordinates Andi had provided. She sat in the back seat calling out directions. Behind them, two more vehicles carried the rest of the team—Reeves and Ranger in one, and Yazzie in the other.

“There.” Duke pointed through the windshield at a thin column of gray smoke rising above the tree line. “About two miles ahead.”

Logan pressed harder on the accelerator, his stomach knotting with dread. Smoke meant fire.

Fire meant they were too late.

Again.

The radio crackled.

“Logan, I see it too.” Reeves’ voice sounded tight. “We need to call the fire department.”

“Already on it,” Yazzie cut in. “Dispatch is sending a crew, but they’re twenty minutes out.”

Twenty minutes. Logan knew with sickening certainty that whatever they found at that lightning-struck tree, twenty more minutes wouldn’t matter.

The forest service road ended at a small parking area marked by a weathered trail sign. Logan could smell the smoke now—not the clean scent of a campfire, but something acrid and wrong.

They abandoned the vehicles and moved quickly down the hiking trail, following the increasingly thick smoke. Logan’s radio buzzed constantly with updates from dispatch, but he barely heard them.

All his focus was on reaching that tree, hoping against hope that they might still be in time.

The trail curved around a stand of birch trees.

Then he saw it.

The lightning-struck spruce stood exactly as it had in Morgan’s photograph—massive, ancient, its trunk split and scarred by electricity. But now flames licked at its base.

And tied to the charred trunk was a human figure, burned beyond recognition.

Logan approached the scene carefully, his training overriding his horror.

The victim had been secured to the tree with heavy rope, positioned to face outward toward the forest. Even through the flames and smoke, Logan could see the deliberate staging—the precise angle that would match Morgan’s composition.

“Everyone back.” Yazzie approached with a fire extinguisher from one of the emergency kits. “Let’s get this under control before we contaminate the scene.”

Logan watched helplessly as Yazzie fought the flames.

“Tom?” Andi asked quietly, though they all knew the body was too damaged for immediate identification.

“Has to be,” Logan said. “The timeline fits. The blackmail connection.”

As the flames died down, the full horror of the scene became visible.

The killer had used accelerant—probably gasoline—to ensure the fire would take hold quickly. But he’d also been careful to preserve the overall composition.

Logan studied the positioning of the body, the way it had been secured to the tree. Even this brutality served the killer’s artistic vision. “This was always part of the plan. He’s building toward something.”

Reeves moved closer to examine the rope work, circling around the tree to get a better angle. “Look at how precisely the victim was positioned to match Morgan’s photograph. The killer’s attention to detail is?—”

Before she could finish her sentence, the ground gave way beneath her feet, and she disappeared.

Reeves plummeted out of sight.

Her scream was cut short by a sickening thud as she hit the bottom.

“Reeves!” Logan rushed toward the hole, stopping just short when he saw the jagged edges of the opening.

“I’m here.” Her voice came from below, strained but conscious. “My leg . . . I think it’s broken.”

Logan dropped to his knees at the edge of the pit and looked down. The hole was probably eight feet deep.

Reeves lay crumpled at the bottom, which was lined with sharp wooden stakes that had barely missed her. Her right leg was bent at an unnatural angle.

“Don’t move,” Logan called down. “We’ll get you out.”

He looked at the opening above her—perfectly circular, about six feet across, the edges reinforced with wooden planks.

“This thing was professionally built,” Duke said as he crouched beside Logan. “Reinforced walls, camouflaged top. He’s been planning this for a while. He probably dug it last summer before the tundra froze again.”

“Careful,” Logan warned the others. “He may have built more than one. Check the ground before you move anywhere.”

Above him, he heard the team spreading out, testing each step before putting their full weight down. Smart.

The killer had known they’d rush to the scene and had counted on their urgency making them careless. He’d turned the crime scene into a trap, used their own desperation to find victims against them.

How many more surprises had he planned?