Page 11 of If You're Reading This
The Iron Brotherhood had been quiet for years. None of their threats had materialized.
But he’d always known that at any minute this could change.
What if this was that moment?
Logan needed to check on Morgan. Even if it turned out to be nothing, he needed to see with his own eyes that she was okay.
He could deal with the fallout afterward—both personally and professionally. He was supposed to be investigating some car thefts. But his shift ended in twenty minutes anyway.
He forgot about grabbing a bite to eat and rushed back to his SUV. He headed to Morgan’s place so they could talk face-to-face like two adults.
He wasn’t sure if Morgan would welcome seeing him, but he’d go anyway.
It took thirty minutes to get to her remote cabin.
He worried about her living all alone out here. But this was the way she preferred it. The artist in her needed the solitude in order to create.
He pulled to a stop in front of her small, secluded log cabin. Her car wasn’t here, which meant she probably wasn’t home.
Had she taken a last-minute trip to get away from him? She might be mad, but she normally wasn’t petty. Logan felt certain she would have at least texted to let him know she was okay.
He would double-check just to be sure.
He climbed from his SUV and strode toward the door, using the flashlight on his phone to guide him. The Alaskanbackcountry was darker than any place he’d ever experienced before.
Despite the fact he was 99 percent sure Morgan wasn’t here, he knocked.
There was no answer.
He let out another sigh before knocking again. “Morgan, it’s me. I just need to know that you’re okay.”
Still no answer.
He didn’t want to do this, but Morgan had given him a key. He didn’t normally let himself into her place.
But his worry was growing, so today he’d make an exception.
He slid the key into the lock, turned it, and pushed the door open. As he stepped inside he called, “Morgan. It’s me. Logan. I’m coming in.”
Logan paused inside the doorway and flipped on the lights.
The familiar scent of pine and woodsmoke immediately wrapped around him like an old friend. The small structure somehow managed to contain Morgan’s entire world without feeling cramped.
Exposed log walls highlighted the artful clutter that defined her space. Photography equipment was meticulously organized on a narrow table beneath the west window. A wooden cabinet contained files of all her photo negatives.
Then there was Morgan’s prized possession: a worn leather reading chair positioned to catch both the morning light and the warmth from the fireplace.
The open shelving above her compact kitchen area displayed mismatched mugs collected from various travels, while driedwildflowers hung in bundles from the ceiling beams, their faded colors a reminder of warmer seasons past.
What struck Logan most wasn’t the rustic simplicity or even the breathtaking photographs that adorned every available wall space. It was how the tiny cabin somehow captured Morgan’s essence perfectly.
Like her photography, she’d transformed this modest shelter into something extraordinary through her careful attention to detail and eye for finding beauty in unexpected places.
Even now, although absent from the space, her presence filled every corner.
Logan had spent a lot of time here, not just checking on Morgan but hanging out with her. Putting puzzles together, catching up in front of the fire, and having dinner.
The place was rustic but ideal for what Morgan wanted. Plus, this location was perfect because no one could find her here. Or no oneshouldbe able to find her here.
