Identity

“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?”