Chapter Thirty
Morgan opened the door for Jake on a sultry midmorning that begged for storms.
“Come in. Should I make coffee? Are we going to need it?”
He shut the door behind him. “Why don’t we go for something cold. Your ladies around?”
“No, they’re at work.”
Whatever he’d come to tell her, it was bad. She felt the bad crawling under her skin.
“I don’t think the sun tea’s finished yet, but we’ve got Cokes.”
“That’ll be great. Morgan, are you okay hearing about Rozwell from me? You can contact the FBI if you want it straight from the source.”
“I appreciate you taking the time to tell me yourself.” Steady, she thought, look how steady her hands were as she filled glasses with ice. The panic days were over.
“He killed someone else, didn’t he? I can just feel it knotted in my stomach.”
“Yes. Why don’t we sit down here and I’ll tell you everything they gave me. I’ll tell you what happened yesterday in Nevada.”
“Nevada. So they were right about him going south. I like knowing they were right. It’s something.”
As he told her, Morgan sat back, stunned. “I can’t see it, I honestly can’t see him living in some prepper’s cabin in the middle of nowhere. I can see him killing her, and I’m sorry for it, but the rest?”
“You broke him. That’s my take on it. You broke his streak, and that broke him. I’ll give credit to the FBI, and Beck’s solid instincts, but she and her partner would be the first to admit hitting that town the same morning Rozwell came in for supplies was just blind luck.”
“And they think he was there a couple of weeks?”
“Close to three. They’ve tracked his victim to her last trip into town. It’s not unusual for no one to see her for a month, even more. They have her coming in to sell eggs, milk, some leather goods. She bought supplies, gassed up her truck nearly three weeks ago. And they’ve tracked Rozwell back to a motel about thirty miles away, up until the day she went into Two Springs.”
“I see. I see.”
“She was active in online groups—preppers, survivalists, religious fringes. As they see it, he kept that up off and on, but they tell me they can see subtle differences in her posts and responses starting nineteen days ago—the night after she went in for supplies.”
Jake hesitated, then went on. “They’ll do an autopsy of the body, and may be able to determine when she died. Morgan, every person they interviewed that had any contact with him yesterday stated they saw something wrong in him. He either couldn’t hide it, or didn’t bother. She had guns, Morgan. A shotgun, a rifle—they found spent shells scattered around. And she habitually carried a Colt on her hip.”
“A lot of good that did her.”
“The point is, he took them. He left an AR-15, so we can be grateful there, but he has the rest. And he bought ammo for the Colt when he went to town. He’s never used guns before.”
“He’s not the same as he was before.”
“The profilers agree with that. Everything they found at that cabin says he’s lost control.” Because he considered them friends, because she would become a kind of sister to him, Jake reached for her hand.
“Their thinking is he’ll have no choice but to come here.”
“Part of that’s a relief because you’re always waiting to hear the door creak open, to see the monster leap out. It’s always there, Jake, no matter what I do. It’s like some rodent tunneling holes under a garden. It looks settled and pretty, but it’s all just waiting to collapse.”
She looked down at her drink, then up into his eyes. “You’re worried, since he took the guns, he’ll just shoot me. When I’m going out to my car or running errands. He won’t. He can’t. It’s too fast and final.”
“He’s not the same as he was,” Jake repeated.
“No, but you can’t change who you are at the base, in the core. He needs to hurt me, to see me afraid. He has to pay me back for everything that went wrong for him since … since Nina.”
After giving herself a shake, she reached for her drink.
“I can’t believe I only knew him for a couple of weeks, and I see him so clearly. The idea of him living the way you said for weeks … No, he has to pay me back for that. Killing me isn’t enough unless I suffer first.”
“I can agree with you and still worry I’m wrong.”
“He took everything from me, Jake, everything but my life. And look.” She spread her hands. “Not even two years later, I’m okay. More than okay. I have a home, family, a man who loves me. I have a good job, a good life. I have friends. He’s the one who lost. He’s the one who’s running and desperate. Killing me quick won’t make up for that. It’s personal.”
As the doorbell sounded, she automatically pulled out her phone to check. “It’s … flower delivery. It’s…”
She passed the phone to Jake.
His eyes went cool before he rose. “I’ll deal with it.”
It took her a moment to gather herself and follow him. She knew a funeral wreath when she saw one. At the door while Jake questioned the stunned delivery woman, Morgan studied the wreath and its message.
Morgan, always remember.
She would, she thought. She would always remember.
Because he knew changing the plates wouldn’t be enough, Rozwell bought a paint sprayer, some pea-green paint, and on a stretch of desert road, coated the blue of Jane’s truck.
It looked like shit, and he had to spend time wiping paint off the head- and taillights, but his ride no longer matched the description.
He figured it would hold for a while, especially given the yahoo cops in this part of the world.
He couldn’t risk motels, no matter how crap worthy, so drove straight through, into Utah, drove from day into night, fueled by rage and fear, and caffeine and carbs.
Time to reestablish good habits, he decided, so drove to the airport in Salt Lake to take a much-needed nap in long-term parking.
He woke, hot and miserable, before dawn, but decided his luck was back in when he spotted a minivan, complete with a BABY ON BOARD sign, that must’ve parked while he’d taken his siesta.
Easily fifteen years old, he estimated, but whistle clean.
It took him more than a half hour, but he got in, disabled the alarm, got it started—hadn’t lost his touch!—and transferred everything from the truck to the van.
It had two hundred thousand miles on it, but it would do the job, get him into Colorado, a halfway decent motel—not hotels yet, he warned himself.
A hot shower, time to groom, eat, sleep, and map out the best route to Morgan.
With Miles, Morgan closed the bar on Friday night.
“Beck called me a few hours ago.”
He stopped what he was doing. “And you’re just telling me?”
“We were busy; you were busy. And now’s as good as then. A security guard spotted the truck he was driving in long-term parking, Salt Lake City airport. He’d tried spray-painting it, but the blue bled through. It took them some time to identify what he’d taken from there. A red minivan. A Kia, I think she said. He’d covered a lot of distance, but they tracked where he’d stayed at a Days Inn, in Colorado.”
“Why don’t we sit down?”
“No, I’m good. I’m good. He dumped the van in a Walmart parking lot in South Dakota. He carjacked an SUV, at gunpoint, tied the owner—a sixty-year-old woman—with bungee cords, gagged her, shoved her into the van. He knocked her unconscious, gave her a concussion, but he didn’t kill her. That’s something.
“They’re following up what Agent Beck says is a very credible sighting in Minnesota, and she doesn’t think he’ll keep the SUV long, doesn’t believe he’ll risk trying for any of his contacts to trade it. They’ve got the airport in Minneapolis on alert.”
“Is that it?”
“That’s it for now.”
“Morgan.” He took her hand, the one that wore his ring. “This means something.”
“It means everything.”
“And busy doesn’t,” he added. “When they tell you anything about this son of a bitch, I know about it. Not after busy. I know about it. No wait time allowed. Just like you text me every night you’re not with me when you get home. Like that, this isn’t negotiable.”
“You’re right. I’m sorry.”
“I don’t care about sorry.”
“No, you don’t.” Smiling, she laid a hand on his cheek. “But I’m sorry anyway.”
“You could move in with me now.”
“I wouldn’t feel right or easy leaving the ladies alone, not when it really does look like he’s coming.”
“I can move in with you.”
He would, she thought. He’d hate it, but he would.
“The house is as secure as it can get. And tomorrow I’m going to ask Jen to give me some self-defense refreshers. Listen to me, okay? Because I’ve thought a lot about this. Maybe he could have killed me before. I wasn’t prepared—and still, maybe not. He killed Nina, but he took her by surprise, and she was sick, and she was tiny, Miles. But now I am prepared, and he won’t surprise me. And I’m stronger than I was. More? I’m pissed.”
“All of that’s good, Morgan. And still.”
“The police are patrolling the street. I’ve got a deputy following me home from work every night. I expect we’ll have a cop or a fed camped in the living room if he gets as far as the Vermont border.”
“If he gets that far, I’m camped there with them.”
“Deal. And don’t be mad, but I need him to come. I need this over and done. I want to look at wedding dresses and bouquets, decide on what song we want for our first dance, and pick just the right shade of lilac for your morning coat.”
“You’re going to do all of— What? No.”
“I was saving the lilac to throw you off. This seemed like a good time. Now let’s close Rozwell away, and go home.”
“Fine. No lilac.”
“Well, if I go with peonies with lilacs, maybe just a little one for a boutonniere. Then I start thinking about delphinium and sweet peas or tulips and spirea. Don’t get me started.”
“Of things I want to do, getting you started on bouquets comes close to dead last.”
Outside, he took her hand again, and thought he could smell the first real hint of fall in the air. “How about ‘Stand by Me’?”
“You want to watch a movie tonight?”
“Not the movie. The song. First dance. Because I will, and you damn well better do the same.”
Her stress dropped to make way for the gooey she felt inside. “You have been thinking about wedding stuff.”
“The stuff occasionally crosses my mind.”
“I accept your song nomination—it’s a really good one—if you’ll accept the lilac sprig if I go there.”
“Just a sprig?”
She held up her thumb and index finger to indicate small.
“I can sign on to that.”
She turned into him, wrapped around him. “I love you, Miles.”
“Another thing you damn well better.”
Later, while they slept, Rozwell crossed into Wisconsin driving a Dodge pickup he’d bought for cash off a used car lot in St. Paul.
He’d made some plans.
Morgan dealt with the packages that came, the charges to her account, reported them. And kept her own log of them.
As September arrived, she sat down with her ladies.
“I know this worries you, but that’s what he’s trying to do. Worry us, get under my skin. But what all this says to me is he’s desperate.”
“Desperate’s dangerous,” Olivia pointed out.
“Yes, and I won’t be reckless or careless. He’s been driving for days, barely stopping. They know what he’s in now because he bought a pickup for cash in St. Paul. The FBI’s working with the credit card company. I’m not using the card, for anything. And they reported a new charge yesterday.”
“For what?” Audrey demanded. “What now?”
“He must’ve heard about the wedding. He ordered two dozen black roses.”
“With a card? Don’t sugarcoat it, Morgan.”
“I’m not, Gram. I’m not. It just said ‘No Wedding, One Funeral.’ It’s not smart,” she hurried on, because her mother went pale. “Just not smart. All these digs. Every one’s a warning when he should be keeping it quiet.
“There’s more.”
“Let’s have it. All at once,” Olivia told her.
“They’ve got security feed of him on the car ferry crossing to Michigan. He must’ve had the truck professionally painted, changed the tags, but they caught him on it. He’s blond again, no beard. Still carrying the weight.”
“It’s like he’s leaving them a trail again,” Audrey murmured. “Like he did before.”
“It does, and they’re considering that because they’ve tracked him heading south and into Indiana.”
“Why do that?” Now Olivia rose, paced around the kitchen. “Why not cut over to Ohio, skirt the lakes, and keep going toward Vermont?”
“I don’t know, Gram. I talked to Agent Beck for a long time. They have theories. He’s trying to throw them off again. He’s looking for a place where he could hide for a few days, catch up on sleep, wait them out. Wait me out. Clean himself up, because they say he looks rough. What they know is he drove at least two hundred miles out of his way—if he’s coming here. And I know they’re practically on top of him.”
“Not good enough.”
“They agree. I can hear Agent Beck’s frustration. I didn’t want to leave for work without telling you. Right now he’s over a thousand miles away, and possibly taking another time-out. I have to ask you to shift gears because I have to leave for work in a couple minutes. I want to show you the dress I found.”
She pulled up her phone, swiped for the site.
“Oh, Morgan, it’s beautiful! Simple, sleek.”
Morgan felt her muscles relax at her mother’s approval. Audrey knew what worked.
“I wanted simple. Gorgeous but simple.”
“And you found simply gorgeous. I love the lines with just the subtle flair of the skirt. But you’re not buying a wedding dress online.”
“But you said—”
“The style’s very you, and very spring garden wedding, but you’re not going online for your wedding dress. We’ll make an appointment at the bridal shop in Westridge next week. It’s a lovely place. You need to ask Miles’s mother, grandmother, sister—and Jen.”
“Oh, but—”
“A lot of people, a lot of opinions, yes.” Audrey patted her hand. “But it’s an important rite. And you need to touch the dress, try it on, be sure.”
“I can always send it back if—”
“How about this?” When she wanted to steamroll, Audrey mowed them down. “If you can’t find what you love, what you want, what makes you glow, you can order the one online without a peep from me. And I’m buying the dress.”
“Mom.”
“Please let me.” Now her eyes filled. “I want to, so much. I want to give you that.”
“Don’t argue, Morgan. It’s rude to refuse a gift that comes with love. This wedding is our gift, your mother’s and mine. It’s not who’s paying, baby of my baby. It’s about being part of the love. And I expect any argument to come from the groom’s family. And we’ll be prepared to compromise. That’s part of the love.”
“I already started a spreadsheet, and a budget.”
“Of course you did. Oh, she’s so like you, Mom. She sure didn’t get that practical side from me. Now you can toss those out and think of the fun stuff. Your colors, the flowers, the music, the guest list. We’ll try for next Monday for the bridal shop appointment. That way you won’t have to worry about going to work, and we can all have fun.”
“We’ll talk, but now I do have to go to work. I need to tell Miles everything I just told you—before. We made a deal.”
He led them south toward Indianapolis, where he’d rented a garage with a fresh new credit card. He tucked the truck inside, then took an Uber to the airport’s private terminal.
He’d donned a dark wig fashioned into a man bun, had taken time and care with a very trim goatee. He carried his laptop, a carry-on, and had them board his single suitcase. He didn’t worry about his identification passing—he’d taken time and care there as well.
He had a glass of wine on the flight to Middlebury, Vermont, and ate two bags of chips from the complimentary snack basket.
He just couldn’t quit them.
Private meant no security checks of his luggage. The Colt snuggled safe in his suitcase, as did the knife.
By the time they tracked him from Indianapolis—if they ever did—he’d have finished what he started. His luck would come in again.
The next time he flew, he’d fly to some lovely tropical beach with a five-star hotel. And these past horrible months would fade away like a bad dream.
“Something’s off.”
Beck stood in yet another motel room, studying yet another map. “It’s off, Quentin.”
“He’s playing us again.”
“You feel it, too. There’s no other purpose for him coming this far out of his way. He’s steadying up. He’s not steady, but he’s getting there. He’s got a plan now. That’s what I’m feeling.”
“We should head northeast. Leave this area with the agents in charge here, the locals, and take a direct route to Vermont.”
“I’m feeling that. But more.” She turned to him. “Let’s go wheels up and get there. I want to see her, see Morgan. I want to see the setup in the house, the resort again, talk face-to-face with the chief of police. Go over resort security point by point. I’m getting this sick feeling again.”
“We’ll have to clear it.”
“Let’s do that. I want to be there.”
“And we can backtrack from there. I think he ditched the truck, Tee. He bought it, then he ditched it.”
“So do I. Let’s just go there, spend some time assessing. If we’re wrong, we take a hit.”
“We weren’t wrong before.”
Rozwell landed in Middlebury after a smooth flight. The rental car he’d arranged waited. When he slid onto the leather seats of the Mercedes sedan, he felt an almost giddy wave of pleasure.
“I am back!” Giggling, he stroked his fingers over the wheel, grinned at the loaded dash. “Now we’re talking, now we’re talking, now we’re fucking talking!”
He hummed a little tune as he plugged in Morgan’s address on the GPS.
Thirty-two minutes sounded just fine.
When Miles walked into Après, Morgan had a cocktail shaker in each hand as she engaged two women at the bar in conversation. A little showmanship, he thought as she poured the drinks, added a skewer of three fat olives to each.
She had a knack for it. Both women toasted her after their first sip, and she took a bow.
“It’s all in the wrist,” she claimed, then caught sight of Miles.
He walked up to the bar, but spoke to Bailey.
“Last night with us.”
“Yes. I’m going to miss everyone. Morgan helped me land an interview at a club just off campus.”
“Let us know, and if you want work next summer, you’ve got a place here. I need Morgan for a couple minutes. Can you take over?”
“Sure. I had really good training.”
Morgan kept the thoughts bubbling in her head as she walked outside with him.
“I thought you’d left for the day. Is it—”
“Nothing to worry about, and I’m on my way out. The feds are on their way—or will be shortly.”
“Here. Why?”
He steered her toward the paths winding through the gardens.
The nights had cooled, and the first touches of color tinted the hills.
“Apparently, they want to assess your security. Jake—they contacted him, he contacted me—thinks they want to get a gauge on you as much as that.”
“Okay, that’s good. That’s actually good. I’d like to see them in person. I can get my own gauge.”
“Jake wants them to assign an agent to Westridge, and I’ll add my weight to that.”
“Miles, he could decide to come here tomorrow. Or six months from now. How long am I going to be guarded and watched over?”
“As long as it takes. You live your life, Morgan. That’s what you’ve done, what you’re doing, and it doesn’t change. He’s not going to change that. But when and if he comes here, we’re going to have every available resource. And I’m going to talk to your ladies tomorrow.”
“About what?”
“About me staying a couple nights a week. You’re with me three nights, I’m with you two or three nights. It’s a nice balance. We can argue about it later—you’re on the clock—but it’s happening.”
“This is the second time tonight somebody just rolled over me. I don’t like it.”
“Can’t blame you, but it’s still happening. You can see the first hints of color in the trees.” He looked out and away to the rise of hills and peaks. “Time passes, seasons change. What doesn’t change and won’t? You belong to me now.”
“Oh, wait just a—”
“We belong to each other. We’re people who take care of what’s ours, aren’t we?”
“I don’t see that as as smooth a save as you think it is.”
“Maybe not, but … it’s still truth. I have to go feed the dog. You’ll text me when you get home.”
“As soon as I wave goodbye to Deputy Howe and close the front door behind me.”
“Lock it behind you.”
“Yeah, yeah, yeah. The next thing you’ll want a code or some sort of safe word.”
“We’ll talk about where my mind went on ‘safe word,’ but it’s not a bad idea.” Frowning now, he thought it through. “The opposite of a safe word’s not a bad idea.”
“Great. If I’m in a struggle with Rozwell, who’d have managed to get past Deputy Howe, through the alarm system, and into the house, I’ll just say hold on while I text Miles our unsafe word. Pineapple.”
“Pineapple’s stupid.” He gave her an absent kiss on the forehead as he considered it.
“Oh, pineapple’s stupid?”
“In this context. Work Howl into the text.”
“You’re serious?”
“Every available resource. Or I can hang out until closing, take you home myself.”
“Then look under the bed and in all the closets?”
Even as she said it, she understood. He worried. Of course he worried when he wasn’t right there. Couldn’t control the situation.
“We’ll try the other way instead. Go home, sit in your turret, and answer all the texts and emails and whatever else you didn’t manage to get to in a normal workday. And if I text something like ‘Say good night to Howl,’ come running.”
“Count on it.”
In the kitchen, Olivia and Audrey dealt with the last of the dinner dishes and talked about what remained in the top of their minds.
Wedding plans.
“We can look for our dresses at the bridal shop.” Audrey hand-washed the wineglasses they’d used at dinner. “We have to look perfect when we walk Morgan down the aisle. Or whatever’s going to stand for the aisle. I still get teary that she wants us to.”
“No flounces, Audrey. The girl wants simple.”
“Simple—flounce-free—but perfect.”
Olivia picked up a cloth to dry the stemware. “They better pick a solid band because I want to dance my ass off. Who’d have thought, baby, that when she came here last winter, we’d be planning a wedding for next spring?”
“We’ll not only know she’s happy, Mom. We’ll see it. We’ll get to be a part of the life she’s building. I’ll never take that for granted. Never.”
“You’re going to get sloppy and sentimental on me again, which makes me sloppy and sentimental. So I say we knock it off and go watch a movie.”
“I’d like a movie.”
“I’ll make the popcorn.”
“I’ll just take out this trash. And let’s pick something happy,” she added as she tied up the kitchen bag, then pulled out the recycle bin.
She carried both around the side of the house, dropped the tied bag in its can, dumped the trash for recycling in its.
She never heard him, not until his arm wrapped around her throat and the gun pressed against her temple.
“Make a sound, and I’ll shoot you in the head. You must be Mom. Let’s go in the house, Mom.”
“Morgan’s not here. She’s not here.”
“I know that.” Rather than press the trigger, he turned the gun, gave her a good smack with the butt. “You think I’m stupid? Did she tell you I was stupid? Move!”
Her vision blurred—tears, pain, fear—as he dragged her to the kitchen door.
“Got it going,” Olivia said. “Making two bowls since you’re fussy about the salt.” Then she turned, froze.
“And you must be Gram. Down on the floor, Grandma, face-fucking-down, or I blow Mom’s head clean off.”
His sneer widened into a grin. “Hey! Is that popcorn?”