Identity

“Then Miles came in while I’m on my jag. He said I was stupid.”

Busy slathering butter on slices of sourdough, Audrey paused, and her eyes fired. “For crying?”

“No, no, for thinking they were going to let me go. And I felt stupid, and relieved, and they were so kind. Matter-of-fact kind, so I felt even more stupid and relieved.”

She dropped her hands. “He actually said they needed to lend me a car because I was driving a crap pile.”

“Well, the crap pile part was true.” Generously, Audrey layered sharp cheddar on bread. “No offense to Nina or her family.”

“Nina knew it was a crap pile. I told them Gram decreed I get a new car, today, and Mrs. Jameson told Miles to walk me to my car, and he’s telling me to fix my face because I look like hell. And I did, I really did after that crying spree. Then he’s all ‘Don’t pay sticker price.’”

“There’s a man for you.” Olivia set the tea in front of Morgan. “Just assuming a woman doesn’t have the brains to make a good deal.”

“I more think it was because I looked like hell, and I’ve had this fog over my brain since I opened the door and found the FBI. Pretty sure it showed.”

Tired, so tired, she knuckled her eyes. “I half expected him to tell me he’d go with me and make the deal so I didn’t screw it up. Instead he said taking responsibility for something that’s your fault means you’re not an asshole, but taking it for something that’s not makes you stupid. Or something like that.”

“Did you screw it up?” Olivia asked while the sandwich sizzled in the skillet.

“I don’t think so.”

“Are you to blame for what this monster did?”

“No.”

“Don’t add the but. The answer’s no.”

Too tired to argue, Morgan nodded. “I have all the paperwork on the car, the total after the trade-in.”

“We’ll deal with all that tomorrow.” Olivia ladled soup in a bowl while Audrey flipped the sandwich in the skillet. “We’ll figure out the payment schedule, and you can make the first one on the fifteenth of May. Then the fifteenth of the month thereafter.”

“Okay. It has a lot of safety features.”

“And it’s cute.” Audrey set the sandwich, cut on the diagonal, by the bowl of soup, added a cloth napkin.

“It is cute. I know I’ll love it when this fog lifts.” She spooned up some soup, felt it slide, warm and soothing, through her battered system. “Oh, this is so good.” Sighing out, she took a bite of grilled cheese. “It’s so good.”

When Audrey stroked her hair, Morgan turned her face into her mother’s shoulder.

“It’s all right, baby.” She met her mother’s eyes over her daughter’s head. “It’s going to be all right.”





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.”