Identity

“She’s got a little life in her yet, but yeah, you can feel her starting to bow out. It’ll be my first autumn in Vermont.”

“I didn’t realize that.”

“Army, school. So Christmas, some summer visits. I’m looking forward to it.” And to all the autumns that came after. “Ready?”

“Yeah. Until winter break.”

They walked out together. Morgan saw Deputy Howe leaning on his patrol car, talking with one of the night security team.

Routine now, she thought. Cops and guards, all routine.

Bailey turned, wrapped her in a hug. “Please stay safe.”

“That’s the plan. And you kick grad school’s butt.”

“Also the plan.”

She walked to her car. “Jerry, Deputy.”

“Night, Morgan. You drive safe now.”

“Hard to do otherwise with a cop in my rearview.”

As she drove, she let the work portion of the day slide away, let herself think about the next. Some laundry, a hair appointment where she intended to show the stylist the type of dress she had in mind so they could strategize wedding hair.

Nell had recommended a photographer—one her ladies agreed on as well. She needed to set up an appointment. She knew a lot of couples did engagement photos, but she didn’t think she and Miles were that couple.

And she had the selfies from the hike.

The little spikes of annoyance she’d felt for him earlier had smoothed right over. He worried, she reminded herself, because he loved her. If she accepted love—and boy, did she—then she accepted what came with it.

Maybe she thought the unsafe word silly, but it could be something they’d laugh about years from now. While Rozwell sat in a maximum security prison.

He waited up for her texts. He didn’t say so, but he must, as he answered them within seconds. Just: Get some sleep. Or: Talk tomorrow. Never just: Good night.

But he waited every night they weren’t together until he knew she’d gotten home safe. She should be grateful.

“I am grateful.”

She pulled into her driveway, locked her car. Deputy Howe idled the patrol car at the foot of the drive while she walked to the door. When she unlocked it, opened it, she turned, waved. Shut the door behind her, reset the alarm.

She started to walk straight to the stairs and up, but a sound from the living room had her glancing over.

And everything inside her turned to ice.

She saw the bruises on her mother’s face, on her grandmother’s, the fear and grief in their eyes.

Laughing like a lunatic, Rozwell jumped up from his hiding place behind the sofa. “Surprise!” he shouted, waving a gun in one hand, a knife in the other. “Go ahead and scream, go on and make a move, and I slit their throats, shoot you, and I’m gone before you hit the floor.”

Whatever it took, whatever it cost, he wouldn’t hurt her ladies.

“I’m not going to scream, Gavin. What’s the point in that? And you won’t shoot me. It’s not your style. It’s lazy.” She looked into his eyes. If she looked into her mother’s, she’d fall apart. “You’re not lazy, and you haven’t come all this way to shoot me and be done with it.”

“You think you’re so smart.”

“Smart enough, but you’re the smart one. You know there’s nothing I can do when you have my family. As long as they’re alive, there’s nothing I can do.”

Alive, keep them alive. It was all she had.

“That’s right, you bitch. You can’t do anything. I’m in charge. I’m always in charge. Hey, did you like the flowers?”

“No.”

He’d gone back to the blond hair, but it no longer shone, and the cut was uneven, choppy. She could see he’d put on makeup, and where he’d rubbed at it, the redness—too much desert sun—came through. He no longer looked fit and stylish, but doughy and rumpled.

He had an ugly scar on his arm, puckered and puffy.

She tried to remember everything Jen had taught her. She couldn’t run. No one would hear her scream. She couldn’t hide.

She promised herself she’d fight if she got the chance.

He’d played her once, she thought. She’d play him now.

“You wanted to scare me. You did. You want to scare me now. You are. I can’t be worth the risk you’re taking, Gavin. I’m nobody.”

“You ruined my life.”

“I didn’t—”

She broke off when the phone in her pocket signaled a text. And the gun he held pointed—rock steady now—at her face.

Slowly, she lifted her hands. “It’s my phone. In my pocket. I won’t touch it.”

“Who the hell’s calling you? It’s two in the morning.”

“It’s a text—that’s a text. It’s nothing. I won’t touch it.”

He took one step back, jammed the gun under her mother’s chin. “Who’d text you at two in the morning? Fuck with me, I blow her head off.”

“All right. Please. It’s my fiancé. I text him when I get home, to let him know I’m home. Don’t hurt her, Gavin. I’m telling you, if I don’t text back I’m okay, he’ll call the cops. You don’t want that. I’ll show you. Let me show you.”

“Bring me the fucking phone.”

“I’m reaching for it. I’m going to give it to you.”

But his hands held the gun, the knife. She counted on it, so held out the screen so he could read the text from Miles.

Where the hell are you?

“Asshole. Answer. Stand right here where I can see what you say. Fuck around and find out, Morgan.”

“I won’t. She’s my mother. I won’t.”

“Yeah? I killed my mother. Fuck around and you kill yours.

sorry. She kept the screen angled so he could see. closing took a little longer but im home now say good night to howl and get some sleep love you.

“Who the fuck is Howl?”

“It’s his dog.” Letting tears swirl, Morgan blurted it out when he jerked her mother’s head back. “It’s just his dog. It’s just something we say. He’d wonder if I didn’t. Please. I did what you told me to do.”

The phone signaled again. Praying, her hand shaking now, Morgan held the screen for Rozwell to read.

I’ll do that. Good night.

He heard me, she thought. He heard me.

“Drop the phone.”

When she did, he stomped on it.

“Now unless you want my finger to twitch, step back.”



* * *



Miles was out of his house and in his car within thirty seconds.



* * *



As Morgan sent the text, Beck and Morrison got off the plane in Middlebury.

The head of the ground crew greeted them. “FBI. Coming in late.”

“Weather in Indianapolis, delayed takeoff.”

“Yeah, we got word on that. They sent a car for you.” He gestured, then handed them the key fob. “We’ll get your bags loaded in for you.”

“The resort’s what, twenty, twenty-five minutes out, right?” Morrison asked.

“This time of night, twenty’ll do it. Funny thing. You’re the second private to come in from Indianapolis tonight. First one got out before the weather.”

“Wait.” Beck gripped his arm. “You had another private out of Indianapolis? How many passengers?”

“Just the one. Some dude. Rich dude. Had a Mercedes C-Class rental waiting. Hey! Your bags!” he shouted as they raced for the car.

“Call Chief Dooley.” Beck jumped behind the wheel.

“I’m on it.”



* * *



As he sped through town, Miles called Jake.