Chapter 27
Are you picking Tristan up from school today? The text from Ronni arrived out of the blue while Morgan was straightening up Locke Pointe’s office, getting ready for her return.
Morgan: Yes.
Ronni: What time?
Ronni: As luck would have it. We’ll have wheels up as soon as the storm blows through. It looks like a doozy.
A bolt of lightning flashed, startling Morgan. It’s storming here too. I’m at Locke Pointe and will be waiting for you. Be careful.
Ronni: Will do. See you soon.
Another bolt of lightning flashed, this one even closer. Morgan pulled up the local forecast and clicked on the radar. An angry red blob covered a wide swath of Lake Huron, from Mackinac Island all the way across the “Michigan Mitten” to Easton Island.
Buzz. A loud buzzing sound, similar to a plane’s engine, echoed.
Morgan ran to the window, watching in disbelief as a seaplane buzzed low overhead. “I hope they land safely. There’s no way I would want to be flying in this storm.” She got back to work, and it didn’t take long for her to finish her tasks—reservations confirmed, emailed questions answered.
After finishing, she inspected the grand suite, double-checking to make sure Austin and Tiff had not tried sneaking into the attic again, relieved to find the door locked and her “restricted area” sign still in place.
Near noon, she grabbed a quick bite to eat, which is when the texts between Elizabeth and Brett began flying back and forth. He promised he would be home near dinnertime and agreed to meet his sister and grandmother to go over the real estate investment group’s offer.
One o’clock rolled around, and Morgan sent another text to Ronni, asking if they were on the way but didn’t receive a reply.
“Ronni again?” Tina watched Morgan tap her cell phone screen.
“I sent a text to find out if they’d left. She’s not answering.” Morgan caught the echo of voices—Denver Coate’s deep baritone followed by Wyatt’s equally deep voice.
“That sounds like Wyatt and Denver.” She hopped off the barstool and hurried to the front of the house.
The men stood in the doorway, their clothes soaking wet.
“What happened to you?” Morgan reached behind the desk, grabbed a set of bath towels, and handed each of them one.
“We responded to an emergency call. A seaplane went down.”
Her hand flew to her lips. “I noticed a plane flying low overhead a while ago. When I looked out the window, I realized it was a seaplane. How awful. Is everyone okay?”
Wyatt dried his hair and set the towel on the counter. “I think you should sit down.”
She nervously gazed from one to the other. “Why?”
“Wyatt is right,” Denver said. “It would probably be best if you hear the news while sitting.”
Morgan held her breath as her boyfriend led her into the living room. He guided her to the sofa and sat next to her while Denver took the wingback chair across from them. “The pilot and passenger didn’t survive.”
“Who was it?” she whispered in a voice barely above a whisper. “Please tell me it wasn’t Brett.” A horrifying thought crossed her mind. Morgan could feel bile rise in her throat. “Dear God. Please…it wasn’t Ronni or Jax.” She closed her eyes, and the room started to spin.
“It wasn’t Ronni or Jax.” Wyatt tightened his grip on her hand. “It was Jason and the plane’s pilot.”
Morgan’s eyes flew open. “Jason?”
“Their seaplane went down in the storm,” Denver said. “We can confirm neither survived.”
“The debris field…” Wyatt’s voice trailed off, noticing the color drain from Morgan’s already pale face. “Jason and his pilot got caught in the storm. As best as we can piece together, their seaplane’s engine cut off, and they fell nose first into Lake Huron.”
Shock. Horror. Disbelief. A jumble of emotions filled Morgan. “I’m almost positive they buzzed over Locke Pointe, right outside my window.”
“It appears the pilot was attempting an emergency landing near Stormbreaker Bay. He reported they’d lost power right before they plummeted into the lake. By the time rescuers entered the water and reached the cabin, it was too late.” Denver paused. “They never stood a chance.”
“Where are they…where are they taking them?”
“To the hospital’s morgue. Next of kin will be notified and the process for returning them to Florida will be initiated. There is something you should know.” Denver cleared his throat. “I’ll let Wyatt tell you.”
“Jason’s belongings, his backpack and duffel bag, were also recovered. He wasn’t coming to Easton Island to make amends.”
“What was in the bags?” Morgan asked the question, although in her heart she already knew the answer.
“A handgun, a hunting knife, rope, duct tape.”
“Useful items if your plan is to torture and kill your ex-wife.” Morgan’s mind reeled. So close. Jason had almost succeeded in reaching her.
All this time, living in fear that at any moment he would track her down, kidnap her, torture her, and finally kill her.
Somewhere along the way—many years ago—Jason had changed and become a person she no longer recognized. A cheat, a criminal, a drug dealer.
“He almost succeeded,” she finally said.
“It’s over,” Wyatt said. “No more looking over your shoulder, wondering if Jason is lurking nearby, ready to pounce.”
Morgan closed her eyes. A tear leaked out of the corner and trailed down her cheek. Not a tear of sadness, but of relief. She was free…finally free.
She felt warm, loving arms wrapped around her, holding her close. It was all it took for the floodgates to open and tears to flow unchecked. “God had other plans.”
Denver handed her a tissue. She loudly blew her nose and laughed at the concerned look on her friend’s face. “I’m sorry you have to witness my meltdown.”
“Don’t be sorry. I’m glad for your sake that it’s finally over. Sadly, an innocent life was lost along with Jason’s. He must have paid the pilot a lot of money to fly into the storm.”
“And they both lost their lives because of it,” Wyatt said.
Morgan slowly stood, a feeling of overwhelming relief sweeping over her. “I feel guilty for being relieved, and in a weird way, even a smidgen responsible for his death.”
“Don’t you dare,” Wyatt said. “Jason brought this on himself. He willingly chose his path of self-destruction. Never ever blame yourself for his actions.”
Denver’s radio blared. “I need to get back to the crash site. The NTSB—National Transportation Safety Board—is already en route.”
“I’m on duty and will also need to file a report about the crash.” Wyatt reluctantly released his grip on her hand. “Will you be okay?”
“Yes.” Morgan sucked in a shaky breath. “Once the shock wears off and the realization that Jason can no longer torment me, I’ll be more than okay.”