Page 81 of If You're Reading This
Andi rolled her eyes.
“Rainey?” He glanced at the nameplate on her desk. “That’s a really beautiful name.”
“Thanks.” The woman beamed at him. “My dad picked it for me. All because I was born on a rainy day.”
“And it matches your eyes with their unique shade of gray.”
Her smile widened. “Most people don’t think gray eyes are that beautiful.”
“They’re wrong.”
She let out a giggle.
“Rainey, it would really mean a lot to us if you could just ask him if he would talk to us,” Logan leaned on the counter toward her. “It’s about Morgan Riley. We believe she’s in danger.”
“Morgan? I know her. She’s nice.” Rainey stared at him a moment.
Andi held her breath as they waited to hear the woman’s response.
Finally, she nodded, her expression softening. “Okay. I guess I can ask. Let me see what I can find out.”
She stood from her desk and walked to the door behind her, then tapped on it gently. At a muffled response from within, she disappeared inside.
When she was gone, Andi turned to Logan. “So much for my theory.”
He shrugged. “I thought it was worth a shot to give it a try myself.”
“I’m glad you did because I wasn’t getting very far.”
The door opened again, and they both snapped their attention toward it.
Rainey paused there. “He has five minutes he can spare.”
Relief swept through Andi. It had worked. They would be able to talk to him.
Now Andi just hoped Dr. Winters had something helpful to add.
CHAPTER
FORTY-FOUR
Dr. George Wintersrose from behind an imposing mahogany desk as Logan and Andi entered his office. His tall frame unfolded with deliberate precision.
In his late fifties, he possessed the kind of distinguished bearing that came from decades of listening to people’s darkest secrets. His silver hair was meticulously styled, and his wire-rimmed glasses caught the light from the floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking downtown Fairbanks. His charcoal wool suit was expensive but understated, the uniform of a man who understood that trust was built on projecting competence without intimidation.
His office reflected a careful balance of professionalism and warmth. Leather-bound psychology texts lined the built-in shelves. There were softer touches also—a small jade plant on the windowsill and a framed landscape photograph that Logan recognized as Morgan’s work. Together, all of it suggested genuine care for his clients’ comfort.
When Dr. Winters extended his hand in greeting, his grip was firm but not aggressive. His pale blue eyes held the steady, evaluative gaze of someone accustomed to reading between the lines of what people said versus what they meant.
Winters laced his fingers together in front of him. “You said Morgan is in trouble?”
“She’s been abducted.” Logan decided to cut to the chase and not mince his words. “People connected to her are being murdered.”
Winter’s face went pale. “I’m sorry to hear that. But I’m not sure how I can help.”
“We’re trying to identify people Morgan may have been close to who could potentially be another victim,” Logan said.
Dr. Winters’ gaze fell on Logan. “She certainly talked a lot about you.”
