Page 116 of If You're Reading This
“Twenty minutes,” Ranger said. “Maybe fifteen if we push it.”
Andi looked at the photograph again.
Somewhere out there, in that same ice cave, Logan was about to become the trash in Zimmerman’s twisted recreation.
“We’ve got to move.” Andi headed toward the door. “And pray we’re not too late.”
As they rushed from Morgan’s house, Andi couldn’t shake the feeling that they were walking into the killer’s final trap.
He’d anticipated their every move so far. What made her think this time would be different?
But looking at that photograph, she knew they had to try. Logan’s life—and Morgan’s—depended on them reaching that ice cave before Zimmerman could complete his masterpiece.
They had minutes, not hours, to stop this killer.
CHAPTER
SIXTY-FIVE
Logan’s consciousnessswam back slowly, like surfacing from deep water.
His head pounded, and his mouth felt filled with cotton. But he was upright, tied to something solid—and frigid—behind him.
As his vision cleared, he realized there was a small lantern lighting the area.
He was bound to an . . . an icicle?
All around him he saw more ice, formed in a cavernous fashion. Where was he?
He tried to move, but a heavy rope secured him from chest to ankles.
The night air was crisp and clear. But it was what lay directly in front of him that made his blood run cold.
Morgan was tied to another ice column about twenty feet away, positioned to face him.
“You’re awake.” Morgan’s relief was evident in her voice despite their circumstances. “I was starting to worry the sedative was too strong.”
Logan tested his bonds—professionally tied, no give whatsoever. “Are you hurt?”
“I’m okay. Logan, this photograph—the one he’s recreating—I took it last month but never published it. It was too . . .” She paused, searching for words. “Too personal.”
“What do you mean?”
“This ice cave. It represents beauty and decay. It represents life, Logan. Relationships.” Morgan’s voice was barely above a whisper. “It’s a reminder that beautiful things can be destroyed if not taken care of.”
Logan stared at her, understanding flooding through him. “You were documenting our struggle. That’s why you never published them.”
“I was trying to capture hope. The idea that even when something seems dead, there can still be life nearby. That death and rebirth can exist side by side.” Morgan’s eyes filled with tears. “I never showed it to anyone because it felt like exposing something sacred between us.”
The sound of footsteps crunching through the ice interrupted their conversation. Zimmerman emerged into the cave, carrying his camera with the satisfied expression of an artist about to create his masterpiece.
“The night is quite clear, isn’t it? I was hoping for something more dramatic, but the stars will be nice. I just have to adjust my aperture.” He set up his tripod with practiced efficiency. “I think I’ll do these photos in black and white.”
How did he plan on killing them? Logan wondered. By letting them freeze to death?
Then he glanced up and saw the small, sharp icicles hanging there. Icicles that would make a perfect knife.
Logan watched Zimmerman finish setting up his tripod, noting the man’s complete calm.
