Identity

“He’s got her.”

“What? Nathan reported in. He watched her go in the house just minutes ago.”

“He’s got her. He’s inside. Get there.”

“Wait for me.”

“No.”

“Goddamn it.” Jake dragged on clothes. And so did Nell.

“I’m going with you.”

“No, you’re not.”

“I have my own car, so I ride with you or alone. But I’m going. This is family.”



* * *



Morgan did step back, and kept her hands up in a gesture of submission. “I know you’ve been through a lot this last year. Year and a half.”

“You don’t know anything.”

“I know you didn’t want Nina. You wanted me.”

“That’s her name! Jesus, it was driving me crazy.”

“I broke your streak, and you haven’t been able to live your life the way you want to since.”

“The way I deserve.”

“Yes, there’s that. And I’ve been living mine. It’s really not fair. Sure, I lost my house, my savings, all of that, but here I am.”

She spread her arms, stepped back again. Bring him to you, she thought. Away from them.

“Living that life in this beautiful house. I bought a new car. But you know that. You know everything about me. You know I’ve got a hot fiancé. A rich one.”

“Diddling the boss, Morgan.” His lip curled. “It’s so tired.”

“Not when it works.” She lifted her shoulders, let them fall. “And he has this amazing house. I’ve got a thing for houses—you know that. And look at this.”

She held up a hand, wiggled her fingers so the diamond glinted. “Honestly, Gavin, when it comes down to it, I owe you for all of it. There I was, slaving away at two jobs, pinching every penny, living in that little box. Then you came along.”

She moved back another step.

“Then I broke your streak. Sent your luck right down the toilet. Had the feds sniffing at your heels. You left me messages with the locket, with the bracelet. Message received.”

“They should’ve been you.”

“But they weren’t. You used your hands on them because that’s what you need. Not a gun, not a knife. It doesn’t work for you unless you use your hands. It has to be personal, especially with me. It has to be intimate. That gun’s beneath you, and it won’t give you what you need. We both know it.”

“I don’t need a fucking gun.” He set it on the mantel behind him. “I don’t need a fucking knife.” And stuck it in the sheath on his belt.

“I know, Gavin. I’ve dreamed of your hands around my throat. I’ve dreamed of begging you to let me live this life I’ve started, one you gave me. But you never do.”

Now he smiled, stepped slowly toward her.

“Beg me now. I want to hear you beg.”

“Please don’t hurt me. Take whatever you want, but please don’t hurt me.”

“I’m going to take what I want. Finally.”

She sucked in air as if to scream when his hands closed around her throat.

Then she did exactly as she’d been taught.

She brought her knee up hard as she dug her thumbs into his eyes.

And he’s the one who screamed.

When his grip loosened, just a little, she drove the heel of her hand to his nose, watched the blood spurt, felt it on her face.

Then she drew back with all she had, rammed her fist into his throat.

When he went down, she ran for the gun, but he grabbed her foot, sent her sprawling. Instinct as much as those lessons had her kicking back. They screamed together when her foot connected with his broken nose.

When the door crashed open, she thought it was him and scrambled up, grabbed the gun.

She’d never held one, never expected to, but whirled with it. Only to see Miles standing over Rozwell, fists clenched and ready.

“Miles. Miles, please take this. Please.”

“Point it down, Morgan. You’re okay. It’s okay now.”

The minute he had the gun, she dropped down to pull the tape off her mother’s mouth. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry. It’ll hurt.”

She pulled it off, did the same with her grandmother’s.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry. I’m sorry.”

“Stop that,” Olivia ordered.

“You saved us. Baby, my baby. You saved us.”

Seconds later, Jake came in, weapon drawn, then lowered it when he surveyed the scene. “Well, Christ on a crutch. Nell, call for an ambulance.”

“He can wait,” she said as she walked in behind Jake.

“Nell, for God’s sake.”

“Shut up, Miles. I’ll get something to cut them loose. I’ll find something.”

“First drawer next to the kitchen door,” Olivia said steadily, though her eyes filled with tears. “And we could use some water. Please.”

“I’ll get that. He’s got a knife on his belt, Jake.”

“Yeah, I see it. I’ll get it. Feds are coming,” he said as Miles handed the gun he held to Jake and went for the water. “They contacted me right after Miles did. Morgan, did you do all this?”

She looked down at Rozwell and nodded.

“Good job. Are you hurt?”

“No.”

“Ladies, are you hurt?”

“He slapped us around some. He hurt Audrey more than me.”

“Their wrists and ankles are raw, Jake.” With the clippers, Nell crouched down to snip the ties.

“First aid kit.” Closing her eyes in relief, Audrey wrapped her aching arms around her mother and her daughter. “Mudroom cabinet, over the dryer. We’re okay. We’re all okay.”

Rozwell groaned when Jake cuffed him.

“He’s not.” Olivia’s hand shook a little as she took the glass of water Miles offered. “He came up against a Nash woman. You had his number, Morgan. She had his number. Got him to put the gun down, the knife down. Smart, and brave, and strong,” she managed, and finally began to weep.

Morgan looked up at Miles. “You heard me.”

“I heard you.”

“I heard you back. I knew you’d come.” She pushed up to stand, swayed a little. “My legs are going.”

“I’ve got you.” He pulled her to him, held, pressed his face to her hair. “I’ve got you.”

Beck and Morrison arrived before the ambulance, walked through the broken door.

Rozwell lay curled on the floor, eyes going black, nose swollen, blood dripping. Audrey and Olivia sat hip-to-hip on the sofa while Nell tended their wrists.

“Miles, we could use an ice bag or two.”

“I’ll get them. I know where they are.”

When he heard her voice, Rozwell tried to focus on her. “I’ll kill you.”

“No.” Miles moved into his sight line. “You won’t. She beat you. You get to live with that. Morgan Nash beat you.”

“Are you hurt?” Beck asked her.

“No. I’m all right,” Morgan insisted. “We’re all right,” she told the agents. “I need to get the ice.”

“So we see,” Morrison said. “Good work, Chief.”

“Not me. Morgan. She’s got some blood on her, and it’s all his. We’ve got an ambulance coming—and here it comes,” he added as he heard the siren. “He needs medical attention. Busted nose for sure, his throat’s bruised up, and his eyes bled some. Jaw might be busted.”

“I’ll go with him.” Morrison nodded at Beck. “You got the scene?”