A hot shower, time to groom, eat, sleep, and map out the best route to Morgan.
* * *
With Miles, Morgan closed the bar on Friday night.
“Beck called me a few hours ago.”
He stopped what he was doing. “And you’re just telling me?”
“We were busy; you were busy. And now’s as good as then. A security guard spotted the truck he was driving in long-term parking, Salt Lake City airport. He’d tried spray-painting it, but the blue bled through. It took them some time to identify what he’d taken from there. A red minivan. A Kia, I think she said. He’d covered a lot of distance, but they tracked where he’d stayed at a Days Inn, in Colorado.”
“Why don’t we sit down?”
“No, I’m good. I’m good. He dumped the van in a Walmart parking lot in South Dakota. He carjacked an SUV, at gunpoint, tied the owner—a sixty-year-old woman—with bungee cords, gagged her, shoved her into the van. He knocked her unconscious, gave her a concussion, but he didn’t kill her. That’s something.
“They’re following up what Agent Beck says is a very credible sighting in Minnesota, and she doesn’t think he’ll keep the SUV long, doesn’t believe he’ll risk trying for any of his contacts to trade it. They’ve got the airport in Minneapolis on alert.”
“Is that it?”
“That’s it for now.”
“Morgan.” He took her hand, the one that wore his ring. “This means something.”
“It means everything.”
“And busy doesn’t,” he added. “When they tell you anything about this son of a bitch, I know about it. Not after busy. I know about it. No wait time allowed. Just like you text me every night you’re not with me when you get home. Like that, this isn’t negotiable.”
“You’re right. I’m sorry.”
“I don’t care about sorry.”
“No, you don’t.” Smiling, she laid a hand on his cheek. “But I’m sorry anyway.”
“You could move in with me now.”
“I wouldn’t feel right or easy leaving the ladies alone, not when it really does look like he’s coming.”
“I can move in with you.”
He would, she thought. He’d hate it, but he would.
“The house is as secure as it can get. And tomorrow I’m going to ask Jen to give me some self-defense refreshers. Listen to me, okay? Because I’ve thought a lot about this. Maybe he could have killed me before. I wasn’t prepared—and still, maybe not. He killed Nina, but he took her by surprise, and she was sick, and she was tiny, Miles. But now I am prepared, and he won’t surprise me. And I’m stronger than I was. More? I’m pissed.”
“All of that’s good, Morgan. And still.”
“The police are patrolling the street. I’ve got a deputy following me home from work every night. I expect we’ll have a cop or a fed camped in the living room if he gets as far as the Vermont border.”
“If he gets that far, I’m camped there with them.”
“Deal. And don’t be mad, but I need him to come. I need this over and done. I want to look at wedding dresses and bouquets, decide on what song we want for our first dance, and pick just the right shade of lilac for your morning coat.”
“You’re going to do all of— What? No.”
“I was saving the lilac to throw you off. This seemed like a good time. Now let’s close Rozwell away, and go home.”
“Fine. No lilac.”
“Well, if I go with peonies with lilacs, maybe just a little one for a boutonniere. Then I start thinking about delphinium and sweet peas or tulips and spirea. Don’t get me started.”
“Of things I want to do, getting you started on bouquets comes close to dead last.”
Outside, he took her hand again, and thought he could smell the first real hint of fall in the air. “How about ‘Stand by Me’？”
“You want to watch a movie tonight?”
“Not the movie. The song. First dance. Because I will, and you damn well better do the same.”
Her stress dropped to make way for the gooey she felt inside. “You have been thinking about wedding stuff.”
“The stuff occasionally crosses my mind.”
“I accept your song nomination—it’s a really good one—if you’ll accept the lilac sprig if I go there.”
“Just a sprig?”
She held up her thumb and index finger to indicate small.