Page 64

CHAPTER

SIXTY-THREE

The silence after the killer’s twisted laughter stretched through the air, which already felt heavy with unspoken fears.

Logan stared at Morgan in the dim basement light, still processing her declaration of love and wondering if those might be the last words they’d ever share.

“Logan.” Morgan’s soft voice broke the silence. “What you told me about Bobby . . . I need you to know something too.”

Logan looked at her, seeing the weight of something in her expression.

“I forgive you,” she continued. “I don’t blame you at all for what happened. If anything, I blame myself.”

“Morgan, you had nothing to do with?—”

“I’m the one who called the DEA.” Her words came out in a rush. “About the Iron Brotherhood. I thought if I could get them to shut down the gang that Bobby would come to his senses and get his act straight.”

The air left Logan’s lungs. “ You called in the tip?”

“I only wanted to help.” Tears ran down her cheeks. “If I hadn’t made that call, Bobby would still be alive, and you wouldn’t have had to carry this guilt for five years.”

“Morgan, no.” Logan strained against his restraints, wishing he could reach out to her. “You did the right thing. A lot of bad people are behind bars now.”

“But it cost Bobby his life.” The tears came harder. “It was my fault.”

Logan shook his head. “The blame is mine, not yours. I’m the one who got too close, who let emotions compromise the operation. You reporting drug activity isn’t what killed Bobby—my failure as an undercover officer did.”

“Don’t you see the irony?” Morgan’s voice was stronger now, more insistent. “We’ve both been carrying guilt for Bobby’s death. But the real person responsible is Viper.”

Logan stared at her, seeing the conviction in her eyes. For five years, he’d tortured himself with what-ifs and self-recrimination.

But Morgan was right. They’d both been trying to do the right thing in a bad situation that was out of their control.

“It feels like it’s too late for so many things,” Morgan whispered.

The weight of their situation pressed down on Logan—tied up in a killer’s basement, hours away from becoming the final victim in a twisted art project. Above them, they could again hear the methodical sounds of preparation, each footstep marking time they didn’t have.

But Logan forced himself to push past the despair. He’d survived eight months undercover with a dangerous biker gang. He’d been in life-threatening situations before and found a way out.

He wasn’t going to give up now, not when Morgan had told him she loved him. Not when he’d finally said it back.

“It’s not too late.” A knot lodged in Logan’s throat. “There has to be a way out of this.”

Morgan looked at him with a mixture of hope and skepticism. “How? We’re both restrained, he has weapons, and no one knows where we are.”

Logan tested his zip ties again, feeling for any weakness. “The team will figure it out. Andi’s smart, Duke’s thorough, and they know I wouldn’t just disappear without a fight. They’ll find us.”

“What if they don’t find us in time?”

“Then we make our own opportunity.” Logan’s voice carried the determination of someone who’d faced death before and refused to accept it.

“He needs me alive for the final photograph, remember? That moment of realization, of fear. Which means he has to untie me at some point, has to move me to the location.”

“Logan—”

“I’m not dying in this basement, Morgan. And neither are you.” He met her eyes with absolute conviction. “We’re getting out of here, and we’re going to have that life we talked about. All of it.”

Above them, the footsteps stopped.

A door creaked open, and they heard the killer’s voice calling down to them.

“Time to begin the final preparations,” he said, his tone carrying the satisfaction of an artist about to unveil his masterpiece. “The aurora will be perfect tonight.”

Logan looked at Morgan one last time before the killer descended the stairs. Whatever happened next, at least she knew he loved her. At least they’d found their way back to each other, even if it was in the darkest moment of their lives.

He wasn’t giving up. Not now. Not ever.

Andi couldn’t get the bottle of medicine out of her mind.

Could this be the clue they were looking for?

The prescription had been for valproic acid. He’d also had anti-depressants and an antipsychotic.

Even stranger?

Dr. Winters had prescribed them.

Yazzie’s phone rang. He answered, said a few things, then turned back to them.

“That was the crime lab,” he explained. “The medical examiner was looking at the burned body from the lightning tree.”

“What did they find?” Andi asked, though she was already dreading the answer.

“It’s not Zimmerman.”

Duke looked up sharply from where he’d been examining the forced lock. “What do you mean it’s not Zimmerman?”

“The ME can’t get DNA results for days, but there were some personal effects that survived the fire.

A watch, a wallet partially protected by the victim’s clothing.

The ID belongs to someone named Marcus Webb—a drifter with a record of petty theft.

Similar height and build to Zimmerman, but definitely not him. ”

Andi’s blood went cold. “So Zimmerman’s still alive?”

“Maybe. Or maybe the killer needed a body for his composition and grabbed the most convenient victim he could find.” Yazzie paused.

“But Andi, there’s something else. We have units stationed at three of the most likely locations for the final photograph—anywhere with aurora visibility and the right terrain match. Full surveillance, snipers, the works.”

“That’s good,” Duke said.

But Andi was already shaking her head.

“No, it’s not.” Her mind worked furiously. “Don’t you see? It’s too easy. The killer has been ten steps ahead of us this entire time. He wouldn’t just walk into a trap he could predict.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, I think we’re looking in the wrong direction. The final photograph isn’t going to be at any of the locations we’re watching,” Andi said with growing certainty. “He’s planned something completely different. Somewhere private, somewhere he can control every variable.”

“Where?”

“I . . . I don’t know. That’s what we need to figure out.”