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“Just shut up.” Nell moved in to hug him. “First, she won’t. Next, what are we going to do, fire her? She’s not only the best bar manager we’ve had, but she’s a friend of mine now.”
Then his father wrapped around both of them, murmured in his ear, “Don’t get down on one knee. Not her style.”
“I wasn’t planning on it. Listen, I mean it. Everyone back up. I have to ask her, and until I do, nobody says anything.”
The ring of the doorbell saved him. “I’ll get it.”
He should’ve waited, he decided. Asked her first, then asked for the ring. Now he had his entire family champing at the bit.
Then he opened the door to Jake and everything else took a back seat.
“Sorry, I’m interrupting. Rang the bell because I know it’s family meeting day.”
“We’re done.” He knew. Of course he knew. “Rozwell. Somebody else is dead.”
“Not that we know of. But I’m on my way to update Morgan—I asked the feds to let me do it. I wanted to give you a heads-up first.”
“Might as well give it to everybody. Want a beer?”
“I’m going to consider myself on duty.”
The buzz of conversation died away when Jake walked in with Miles.
“You have news,” Nell said quickly.
“More of an update. I stopped by on my way to Morgan’s.”
“Let’s all go sit down.” Rory gestured to the dining room.
When they had, Jake set his hands on the table. “They’ve been following Rozwell’s trail north, well into Washington State. It looked like he might plan to try to get into Canada. The thought process was he’d try going east once he’d gotten over the border, then cross south again, into Vermont.”
“‘Was,’ you said?”
“Yes, Pop.” Jake turned to Mick. “Beck and Morrison, the leads on the FBI’s task force, the ones who I have to figure know him best, suspect he’s been baiting them. Leaving a fairly easy trail so he can double back, head south. I’ve got to say, they convinced me.
“They’ve gone south. The rest of the task force is in the field, the local authorities are still looking north, and they’re keeping a close eye on border crossings.”
“Why south?” Miles demanded. “Sum it up.”
“He’s out of his element, using off-brand motels, shit-can vehicles, and he hasn’t had a kill since South Carolina. I’m sorry,” he said immediately. “That sounds callous.”
“It sounds realistic,” Lydia disagreed. “Morgan’s part of the resort family. And more,” she added with a glance toward Miles. “Mick and I have done some reading on him, and on his type. He needs the rush of the kill. He rarely, if ever, rapes. The kill is his release and his power.”
“That’s it, Grand, exactly. They figure he knows they’re close, too close for him to risk that kill. Too close for him to risk what he really wants.”
“Morgan,” Drea murmured.
“Morgan. But if he can throw them off—and that’s part of the rush for him, too—he can regroup. And south, the exact opposite, is how they see it. He likes the sun, and they’ve had a hell of a lot of rain along this trail. So they’re going to look in Nevada, Arizona, California. They calculate he’ll get cocky if he thinks he’s put one over on them. More important to those of us sitting here, they don’t believe he’s headed this way. Yet.”
“We’ll put resort Security on alert.”
“Yeah. And trust me, Miles, Westridge police already are.”
“It’s a lot of area to cover,” Liam pointed out. “Nevada, Arizona, California. You could add New Mexico, Utah.”
“It is, and I wish I could tell you something more definite. But if they’re right, or even if they’re wrong and he’s trying for Canada, he’s not here.”
“He’ll change his look again,” Nell said.
