Chapter Twelve
The Jamesons gathered around a table in the small meeting room. Miles ordered sandwiches and side salads from room service, since scheduling conflicts meant they couldn’t meet until nearly seven. In this case, since he’d taken the wheel, he sat at the head of the table.
“I can update the texts I sent out now that I’ve talked to the agents in charge. There’s little to add to what we knew before we hired Morgan, and what she told Grand this afternoon. They have evidence holding Gavin Rozwell responsible for the murders of ten women, including the victim in Tennessee a few days ago.”
“Ten,” Mike murmured. “Good God.”
“Over a period of thirteen years. Their profile tags him as a psychopath, a malignant narcissist, a sociopath incapable of feeling guilt or remorse. Jake adds sadistic and greedy to that, and he’s not wrong.”
“He ruins them financially.” Nell studied the photo of Rozwell that Miles had passed out. “Then murders them. No, I’d say Jake’s not wrong.”
“The women he targets,” Miles continued, “or has specifically targeted over the last four years—slender builds, blondes, single, androgenous first names, who own a home, a car or truck—represent his mother, according to their profile. His mother was the first of his ten victims.”
“He killed his mom?” Caught between shock and disgust, Liam tossed his sandwich back on his plate. “Jesus.”
“His father abused her, habitually, then took off—after taking out a loan on their home, clearing out the bank account, taking her car,” Nell said. “Jake gave me some information. Basically, he’s playing his father, using these women to punish his mother again and again.”
“He’s smart, and a very skilled hacker,” Miles added. “Comes off charming, and takes on different looks and personas to appeal to the target of the moment. They believe he does extensive research on the women before he selects one, but generally only spends two to four weeks inserting himself into their lives before he assumes their identity to clean them out, and kills them.”
“So ruining them financially isn’t enough.” Rory, still in a suit for a court case, considered the report. “He ruins them first, benefitting financially—that supports his lifestyle. He betrays their trust, and that isn’t enough. He strangles them—very personal—using his hands.”
“But he didn’t get his hands on Morgan,” Drea concluded.
“He killed her friend,” Liam pointed out.
“But not Morgan, and she’s the one he spent his time and effort on.”
“Exactly.” Miles nodded at his mother. “As far as the investigators know, she’s the only one who survived.”
“And a narcissist doesn’t fail.” Nell poked at her salad. “Can’t admit failure, anyway. So the locket. Leaving that’s toying with her, making sure she knows he intends to succeed. On his own schedule.”
“The FBI agrees with you, and so does Jake. And I agree with them,” Miles added, “on our part. Security has his photo and all salient information, as do all department managers. I’ve added guest services, doormen, valets, and the butler staff to that. One of the Security team will walk Morgan to her car after closing. She’ll park in the guest lot, in front.”
“Better,” Mick agreed. “We have security lights in the staff lot, but the guest lot’s in view of the front entrance.”
“We’ll put a single number, direct to Security, on her phone.”
“She often closes Après alone,” Nell considered. “I think she should have someone with her.”
“Good point.” Drea continued to make notes on her tablet. “This maniac is less likely to try to hurt her when someone’s nearby. With everything else he is, he’s also a coward.”
“I could shift her to days. It’s a waste of her skills, but we could move her.”
“She’ll balk.” Miles shook his head at his sister. “I thought about it, but in addition to her pushing back here, people tend to be more careful at night. She isn’t careless, so I don’t see her taking risks.”
“She’s a sensible young woman.” Lydia spoke for the first time. “We already have policies and protocol in place to ensure the safety of our guests and our staff. We add these layers to it for these circumstances. Are we all agreed on that?”
“Of course we are.” Mick patted his wife’s hand. “She’s part of the resort family, and we look after family. I’m going to add I like her style behind the bar. Got a smooth way. I may not understand how anyone mixes lavender with tequila, but she’s got a smooth way.”
“The lavender margarita. I could use one right about now.”
“How about I buy you a drink, babe, when the meeting adjourns?”
Drea smiled at her husband. “You’ve got a deal.”
“That’s all I have at the moment. I’m going to keep in contact with the agents in charge, with Jake, and we can adjust what we’re doing, depending. Nell, will you text Morgan about her parking arrangements?”
“Can do. I’m going to ask her to come in thirty minutes early tomorrow so we can go over all of this. I’d also like to know why she went to Grand instead of me.”
“She thought we’d let her go.”
Liam goggled at his grandmother. “Get out. She ought to know better.”
“Now she does,” Miles said.
“Still. Anyway, I’ll talk to the Adventure managers in the morning, cover that end. If we’re done, I’m going to take off. I’ve got a date.”
“Liam Jameson has a date.” Now his sister feigned shock. “Alert the media!”
“You’re just jealous.”
“A little bit.”
He poked her as he rose. “You’d have a date, too, if you weren’t so picky.”
“You’d have fewer dates if you were more selective.”
“Maybe, but then I’d be heading to the movies alone. Night, all.”
“Ah, to be twenty-five.” Mick sighed.
“At twenty-five, you were engaged to me.”
He grabbed Lydia’s hand, kissed it. “Exactly. Why don’t I buy you a drink, my own darling?”
“Why don’t you?”
“Miles, Nell, want to join the previous generations in some libation?”
“I would, but I’ve got some work to catch up on.” As he spoke, Miles gathered papers.
“I’ll get in on it,” Nell said. “Join you in a few minutes.”
When they were alone, Miles looked at his sister. “What?”
“Do you think he’ll come here?”
“I think it’s a lot less likely he tries for her here than at her home, or on the road between there and here.”
“That’s what I think, and there’s nothing we can do about that. Still, we take the precautions here.” Nell rose, hooked the strap of her briefcase on her shoulder. “I like her.”
“She’s likable enough.” He wrapped the sandwich he hadn’t touched in a napkin.
“Bring that napkin back.”
“Right. I’m going to finish up this work at home.”
“I’ll call room service, have them clear.”
“Are you taking the other half of yours?”
“No, I’m going to hit Pop up for some bar food.”
He grabbed another napkin, wrapped the second half of her sandwich. “I’ll bring both back. Nell, walk out with the family when they leave, would you?”
“I’m not his type.” She gave her own brown hair a tug.
“Just don’t walk to your car alone. Indulge me.”
“Consider yourself indulged.”
Satisfied, he walked out with her, then peeled off to go home.
On her first drive to work in her new car, Morgan felt the first tiny sparks of joy. It ran so smooth, so quiet, it smelled so good. She loved the screen, and promised herself she’d program home and work and the shop into the GPS first chance.
For fun.
She didn’t love the order to use guest parking, but she’d obey without argument. The Jamesons offered their full support, and they didn’t have to. The least she could do was follow orders without complaint.
She caught the look in the doorman’s eye as she waved on her way in. Word had spread. She wouldn’t complain about that either, and she’d work on not feeling so odd and exposed.
More looks here and there as she made her way to the offices, and she told herself it was only natural. People were concerned or curious, or both.
Nell’s door stood open. Inside she paced, energy vibrating, as she talked on a headset. She’d scooped her hair up today, and wore brown pants, a V-necked, sleeveless shirt. A cream-colored leather jacket hung over the back of her desk chair.
“Absolutely and completely ready with every detail in place. Yes, Hospitality will deliver everything requested to the bride’s room at two, and make the delivery to the groom’s room at two-thirty.”
She shot Morgan a look, rolled her eyes, pointed to a chair. “I spoke with my mother just this morning. She has everything for the table settings. Yes, the favors, too. No need to confirm that with her. It’s going to be a beautiful wedding, Mrs. Fisk. We have everything under control. Yes, we’re looking forward to it, too. See you Saturday.”
Nell disconnected, then dropped into a chair. “The mother of the bride.”
“I had a feeling.”
“I bet you a million dollars she calls either me or my mother back, or both of us, before the end of the business day.”
“Even if I had a million dollars, I wouldn’t take that bet. Or your job.”
“Good, because I actually like my job. There may be something deeply wrong with me, but I like it. So, I wanted to tell you we have everything in place with security.”
“I appreciate it, very much. I know it adds time and trouble.”
“Very little of either. We have good security. Now we have awareness of a situation. I want to ask you, Morgan, why you didn’t come to me with that situation. If you thought I’d be less sympathetic and supportive than my grandmother.”
“No. Oh, God, no. You were in a meeting, the Saturday wedding.”
“Oh Jesus, Mrs. Fisk again.” She pushed a hand through her hair. “I didn’t realize you’d come in during that time slot. Would you have come to me otherwise?”
“Yes.”
The lack of hesitation had Nell nodding. “Okay then. I wanted to make sure you knew you could come to me. Because you can,” she added. “Even if it’s just to unload. I honestly don’t know what I’d do in your place. I don’t know how I’d handle it.”
“You probably wouldn’t break down in tears in front of your bosses.”
“Plural?”
“Miles walked in right after the dam broke.”
Nell’s lips curved as she stretched out her legs. “I’m not smiling at you, but at his reaction, the one that just played in my head. It goes something like: ‘Oh shit.’”
“Something like that. You could say I unloaded. I’m okay now.”
“Are you?”
“What else am I going to do? I have to live, I have to work. We’re using the alarm system at home. I’m supposed to check the gas gauge, the tire pressure before I drive anywhere. Lock the car, and still check the back seat. I ordered panic buttons, as advised. And I’m going to look into a self-defense course.”
“On the last, look no further.”
“What, you?”
“No, but … Don’t I look like I can handle myself?” Nell curled up her right arm, flexed.
“I’d have said yes before. Now, I say: wow.”
“Built by Jen. Personal trainer, and fitness center manager. Part of your benefits is use of the fitness center. You get personal training at a discount, and Jen teaches a self-defense course every quarter at Westridge High School gym. You just missed the spring class, but you should go see her at the fitness center.”
Nell checked her watch. “You’ve still got nearly twenty-five minutes. Go see her now.”
“Now?”
“Why wait? I’ll text her, let her know you’re coming.”
Don’t argue with the boss, Morgan reminded herself, and trotted her way down to the fitness center.
Inside fifteen minutes, she had her first session booked for the following day.
She had yoga pants. She didn’t really do yoga, but she had the pants. She had a sports bra even though she didn’t do sports. That seemed adequate, since she calculated she could fit a training session into her schedule once a week until she gained some skill with self-defense.
With the discount, the cost was doable even on her strict budget. Added to it, she learned that Jen—who looked terrifyingly fit—was Nick’s sister. Morgan figured that gave them a bond that would translate into easy training.
As instructed, she arrived fifteen minutes early to warm up on her choice of treadmill, elliptical, or incline bike.
She liked to bike, but the incline looked weird, and the elliptical too complicated. Walking seemed the safest choice.
A few people scattered around using the scary-looking equipment, lifting weights, doing what looked like painful stretches on mats.
She stepped onto a treadmill, and after a brief study, programmed it for the allotted fifteen minutes at a moderate incline and speed. With the music from her phone singing through her earbuds, she felt righteous.
The rise and fall of the terrain outside the windows gave her a view of a few shrubs thinking about waking up for spring, and some brave daffodils and tulips in tight buds.
Pleasant, she decided. She could do this, even enjoy this. After all, now that she’d established a routine, she missed her weekday biking. Not the same, of course, as she just took this brisk kind of walk and stayed in one place. Maybe by summer, she’d hunt up a good secondhand bike, try out the hilly roads. She could even bike into town now and again.
She had more time now than she’d had before she’d moved. The idea she’d toyed with of getting a second part-time day job just didn’t work. With that she couldn’t cover any day shifts at Après if necessary, or help out at the café if her ladies needed her.
Still, even with the car payments, her budget worked and allowed her to start slowly building her savings again.
Six months, she decided. She’d take six months, then let herself start planning some long-term goals again.
It surprised her how quickly and easily the fifteen minutes passed. She gave herself a mental I-worked-out pat on the back and stepped off.
She spotted Jen, fit and fabulous in a red workout tank and tights with red and black swirls, which made Morgan immediately feel unfit and non-fabulous in her old black yoga pants.
She stood talking to a man in the weight section while he did curls. It took her a minute to work her way up long, strong legs in black gym shorts, a sleeveless gray shirt already showing a line of sweat, and the ripple of muscles to focus on his face.
Her initial wonder as to why sweat looked so damn sexy on some people turned to a jolt.
Who knew Miles was built like that?
And why, dear God, why did he have to sweat in the gym when she wore old yoga pants, a stretched-out sports bra, and an ancient T-shirt?
Obviously, she couldn’t go over there, so she looked around for something to do that would look like she knew what to do.
She’d decided most of the machines looked like torture devices, when Jen hailed her.
“Morgan!” Jen lifted a hand, curled fingers in a come-ahead.
Oh well, Morgan thought as she started over. Miles shifted the weight to his other hand, kept curling.
“Sorry, I had a question for Miles.”
“That’s okay. No problem.”
“You did your fifteen?”
“Yes.”
“How far did you get?”
“Far? Oh, almost a mile, I guess.”
“We’ll bump that up next time. Let’s get started. Thanks, Miles.”
He said, “Uh-huh,” and kept curling.
“I use this room for PT when the gym’s crowded,” she began. “Or for one-on-one yoga sessions.”
Small, it had one wall of mirrors, shelves holding stability balls, medicine balls, bands, mats. A rack of free weights tucked into a corner.
“So, what do you do if you’re attacked?”
“Punch him in the face?”
“Throat’s better.”
“Really?”
“But. Some hulking asshole comes after you, what’s your real first instinct?”
Morgan hiked up her shoulders. “Scream and run.”
“Exactly. If you can scream and run, you scream and run. If you can’t, you hide. Either of those can come first, depending on the situation. If neither’s an option, fight.”
Morgan balled her fist. “Punch him in the throat.”
Jen pivoted, grabbed Morgan from behind. “How? You don’t have room to use your fist.”
“Back to screaming?”
“Make all the noise you can, but defend yourself. We’ll start with a basic: SING.”
“I’ve heard of that.”
“Solar plexus.” Jen poked Morgan in hers. “Instep,” she continued, demonstrating. “Nose. Gonads—or groin in polite company. Come up on me from behind, grab me, and watch it the mirror. I won’t hurt you.”
When Morgan wrapped her arms around Jen, Jen tipped her own weight forward. “You lean your weight forward to give yourself more room. Then?” She felt the light tap of Jen’s elbow, solar plexus.
“The elbow’s your strongest weapon. Stronger than your fist—use it and mean it. The idea is not only to hurt your attacker, but to loosen his grip so you have more room. His instep is a weak spot, hit it.” Jen brought the heel of her foot down, gently, on Morgan’s. “Most likely, his grip will loosen enough with those two blows for you to turn. This.”
She held up her hand, heel out, tapped the heel with the other. “Strong, stiff, fast upward blow on the nose from the nostrils up, then recoil. Then knee, hard, sharp, straight into those gonads. These? Elbow, heel of the foot, heel of the hand, knee. They’re strong and hard. They’ll do damage.”
“So I can run and scream.”
“Damn right if it’s an option. Let’s just start with these four steps.”
It felt good, almost like a dance. It felt like action.
“Good, that’s the way. You don’t have to think about it, you just SING. Next week I’ll have a volunteer in here wearing a padded suit. You can really let it rip.”
“I’d like that. Who knew I’d like the idea of hitting somebody?”
“But let’s say he’s got your back to the wall.” After nudging Morgan to the wall, Jen pressed close. “And he’s got his hands around your neck.”
Jen lifted hers, then dropped them again, stepped back. “God, I’m sorry. I wasn’t thinking.”
“It’s all right. I know you’ve been alerted. This is why I’m here. Show me.”
“He’s got you against the wall, you can’t get your knee up or get an angle with your elbow. Most people’s instinct is to claw at the hands cutting off their air. Don’t bother. What’s his weak spot in this situation? His eyes. Go for the eyes. Fingers are good, thumbs are best. Push your thumbs into his eyeballs like you’re going to shove them right through the back of his head.”
“Can I say ew?”
“After you’re clear. Thumbs, and his grip’s going to loosen because it’s going to burn like the fire of a thousand suns. If you’re upright like this, bust his balls, bring that knee up hard, elbow the gut. If you can get in a punch?”
She took Morgan’s hand, balled it, brought it to her own throat. “Aim there, or here.” Then shifted it to her nose. “Fist or heel of your hand, fast, recoil. Let’s try that.”
They practiced half a dozen times.
“Good, really good.” Jen gave her a light, friendly punch in the shoulder. “You catch on fast.”
“I still have to think about it and, well, I know you’re not going to hurt me, so there’s no panic.”
“It’ll get to be instinct, then instinct will cut through the panic. Trust me. I’ve been there.”
“Oh, sorry.”
“Maybe we’ll exchange war stories someday over one of those lavender margaritas. But now, you’ve got twenty minutes left. We’re going to shift focus. When I asked about your fitness regimen, you admitted you don’t have one. You did use to bike in good weather about ten miles a day. That’s why you’ve got strong legs.”
“I sold it when I moved, but I’m thinking about getting one toward the summer.”
“Good. You like biking so you’ll do it. Meanwhile.” Smiling, she gave Morgan’s biceps a squeeze. “We’re going to work on upper body strength and tone.”
Defensively, Morgan crossed her arms as Jen walked to the free-weight rack. “Are we really?”
“Most men who attack women see the woman as weak, as a victim. We’ve gone over some of the actions and defenses you can take against an attacker, one who’s likely stronger than you, bigger than you. That doesn’t mean you can’t get strong, and when you’re strong, those actions and defenses are more effective.”
When she carried over two weights, handed them to Morgan, Jen smiled again. “Let’s get you strong.”
For the next twenty minutes, she didn’t just learn how to curl, extend, press, but how to breathe and stand—two things she’d assumed she knew how to do already—how to stretch the muscles she’d worked until they’d burned.
“Good, very good. You broke a sweat.”
“I’ll say.”
“Same time next week. Meanwhile, I want you in three times a week to start.”
Rubbing arms that made their objection known, Morgan fought not to just deflate. “In here?”
“Out there the other two days. Fifteen minutes cardio—and bump that up so you hit a mile or over. Fifteen upper body, fifteen lower, five—to start—on core, and a ten-minute stretch. If I’m not around to show you the lower body and core work, Ken or Addy will be.”
“I don’t always have an hour to—”
“Three hours a week—for now. Get motivated, make time. Rest days in between.” She handed Morgan a bottle of water. “Hydrate. See you day after tomorrow.”
“Thanks. Sort of.”
Laughing, Jen went out.
After guzzling water, Morgan faced the mirror, flexed. Said, “Ow,” and rubbed her biceps. “Three times a week? Three times a week so I’m not weak.”
Okay, she thought, okay, she’d try it. For a month. Just one month.
She started out, then stopped, faced the mirror again.
“I can’t wear this three times a week for a month. I’ll look like an idiot.”
Outfitters, she decided. With her discount, how much could it sting? It would sting, she thought, but walked out to where people lifted, sweated, ran—by choice.
One month, she promised herself, and she’d consider the gear she had to buy not to look like an idiot an investment in her own strength, fitness, and self-esteem.
It stung, even with the discount, more than she’d expected.
When she reported to work that evening, she reported with sore arms, a sore ass—damn squat lifts—and leg muscles that reminded her she hadn’t fast-walked a mile in a very long time.
Nick beamed at her. “Jen said you did great.”
“Your sister is a monster.”
“Yeah, that’s what they all say. Little sore?”
“What do you think?” After a quick scan of tables and booths, she breezed into the back of the house, did her check there.
“You’ll get used to it,” he said when she came back out.
“I don’t think so.”
“So … we had a crowd for happy hour. Our signatures are moving.”
“Good to know. Catch that guy at the end of the bar, then you can clock out. I’ll get this order.”
“You got it. My mom’s watching the baby, and we’re going to the movies. I love that girl to pieces, but it’ll sure be nice to go out with my sweetheart.”
He drew a draft for the guest at the bar. Set a glass of white wine beside it. “Expecting his wife, running a tab, room 305. I’m out.”
“Have a good time.”
She poured and drew, mopped and served, and almost forgot about the nagging soreness.
Almost.
Near midnight, Miles took a stool.
She set a glass of Cab in front of him. “Not your usual night,” she commented.
“I have a usual?”
“Friday night.”
He shrugged. “I’ve got some work. Haven’t seen you in the gym before,” he said before she could move away and leave him to it.
“My first time. In that gym or any.”
Amber eyes studied her face as if she were a puzzle to solve. “You’ve seriously never gone to the gym? Ever?”
“I had other priorities besides a gym membership.”
“So you streamed workouts at home?”
“No.” Why did that make her feel embarrassed? “Not everybody … some of us … I biked. I biked to my day job most days.”
“Okay.” But he picked up his wine instead of his phone. “And?”
“I biked,” she repeated. “About ten miles round-trip. And things.”
“What things?”
“Like … normal things.”
A smile came into his eyes. She hadn’t seen that happen before. Into irritation snuck a wish she could keep it there.
“Jen work you out?”
“It was supposed to be a self-defense class, and it started that way. Then it’s ‘Take these weights. Give me five more reps.’”
“Feeling it?”
“God, yes. Now she says I have to go into that torture chamber three times a week, and I’m afraid if I don’t, she’ll hunt me down and make me pay.”
“You’ll go in, but not for fear of Jen.”
“Why else?”
“You’re not a quitter.”
Not sure what to make of that, she moved down the bar to fill a table order. When she glanced back, his thumbs were busy texting, so she left him alone.
At last call, she set a glass of still water on the bar. “Are you in here to keep an eye on me?”
“I had work, wanted a glass of Cab.”
“Lou from Security came in at closing last night, hung around until I was finished. Is that what you’re doing?”
“I’m about to finish this glass of wine and this work. But since I’m here, I’ll walk you out to your car when you close.”
“I’m wondering when your family may decide I’m more trouble than I’m worth.”
Now he set his phone down. “First, that’s not how we work. And if you think you’re not worth some trouble, you should work on your self-esteem.”
“I thought that’s what I was doing today in the gym. It hurts a little.”
“You’ll get over it. Last table’s leaving.”
“Yes, I saw.”
When he walked her out, he circled her car. “Big improvement.”
“I know. I’m supposed to check the back seat before I get in, then check the gas gauge, the tire pressure. This car lets you know if your tires are low. I don’t know how it knows, but it does.”
“Good precautions.”
“Do you take them?”
“No.”
That made her sigh as she checked the back seat. “I’m going into that damn gym not because I’m afraid of Jen—though I’m a little afraid of her—and not because I’m not a quitter. I’m going because I won’t be weak.”
“That’s basically the same thing.”
“Maybe. Thanks.” She pressed the fob to unlock the door. “Good night.”
She checked the gauges before driving away. There he stood again, she thought, watching her go.
She was getting used to it.