Allison Brennan - The Prey

Yeah, he had a thing for her. But unlike Michael, he knew the difference between lust and love. He didn’t believe in love at first sight or fate or any of that nonsense. He was practical, and could separate business and pleasure.

The job came first.

As he rinsed the beach run from his body, he planned exactly how he was going to get Rowan to open up. He had a feeling once she started talking, she’d have a lot to say.

The black-and-white crime scene photos were no less graphic for their lack of color.

She stared at the picture of Karl Franklin, gun near his hand, the dark stain spread on the light carpet under his head. Half a head. The other half had been blown onto the wall when he’d shot himself.

She’d read the reports from the Franklin murders and had been surprised to learn the case wasn’t closed. There wasn’t enough substantial evidence that Karl Franklin indeed killed his family, then shot himself. While it was clear that Franklin committed suicide, there were some discrepancies in the physical evidence that showed he might have died before the other victims-and that their deaths had all been quick.

She hadn’t known. She hadn’t cared enough to even check.

No, that wasn’t true. She cared too much. That’s why she’d almost had a breakdown and ran away. She’d been too weak.

Technically, the case was ruled a probable murder-suicide but wasn’t closed. After four years, it was cold. Very cold.

Unless Karl Franklin hadn’t killed his family. If someone had gotten away with murder. The file was surprisingly light. No known suspects other than Franklin. They’d interviewed neighbors and relatives and the only surviving immediate family member; Karl’s son from a previous marriage was in college and had a solid alibi.

Because the timeline was so close, and establishing exact time of death difficult under the best of circumstances, the probable murder-suicide had put the case on the back burner.

Rowan slapped the file down on the conference table and the contents skidded across the smooth surface. Quinn stared at her, shaking his head as he straightened the stack. Tess frowned from her spot in the corner at her laptop, and Michael-ever diligent-stood at the door, arms crossed, watching her.

She didn’t care. They didn’t understand. Had her running away caused a murderer to go free? Was Karl Franklin innocent of the crime everyone thought him guilty of?

And if he was innocent, was the guilty party after her for some unknown reason?

“I was so positive something was here,” she said, her voice cracking. She glanced down at the file Quinn was putting back together and saw another photo. One she had avoided. As if penance for her weakness, the picture rested on top of the stack.

“Stop.” She grabbed Quinn’s wrist until he pulled back.

“What?” he asked. She ignored him. Hands shaking, she reached for the image that had haunted her for four years.

And longer.

Rebecca Sue Franklin. She should have been asleep, dreaming of the tea party she’d had with her stuffed animals and dolls earlier that day. Instead, she lay under her white comforter, the dark stain a stark reminder that she was dead. Shot in her sleep. A trail of dark blood streamed from her open mouth, frozen in time.

Her dark pigtails, disheveled from sleep, contrasted with the starched white pillowcase. The dozens of stuffed animals and dolls and toys that stood sentry around her stared with blank, black eyes. Voiceless witnesses.

Rowan didn’t notice the tears running down her face until one hit the photograph. It startled her, forcing her back to the present.

“Nothing. Nothing conclusive,” she said, stuffing Rebecca Sue Franklin back into the folder and closing her eyes. “I think Roger should give priority to reviewing this case. I don’t know why, but there’s something familiar here. How else could the killer know about the pigtails? Why send them to me? I never wrote that.”

“Coincidence,” Quinn said as he picked up the file.

“Bullshit, and you know it. There are no coincidences.”

“We could be chasing our tails, Rowan! Running after a cold case on a hunch-it’s a waste of resources.”

“Do you have anything better?” She was shouting, but didn’t care. “Anything at all? Because none of my other cases gave us even a thread-this is the only anomaly.”

“We’re still running through your other cases, testimonies, everything. It takes time.”

“I know it does, but this case is different. It was my last. Dani-” she caught herself. “Rebecca Sue and her pigtails. What was sent to me. There has to be a connection.”

“Danny?” Quinn asked, a quizzical look on his face.

Rowan waved it away as a slip of the tongue, but didn’t miss Michael’s eyebrow arch up. She’d almost forgotten he was in the room.

“Don’t you see?” she continued. “There’s something here. I want a copy of this file. I want to read it again.”

“I can’t-” Quinn said, then stopped and rubbed his hands over his face. “All right. Take it.”

“Thank you.”

Quinn sighed. “We need to talk about protective custody.”

She shook her head before he’d even completed his sentence. “I’m in this for the long haul.”

“You’re no longer an agent. Don’t play the tough-cop routine with me. I can take you into protective custody like this-” he snapped his fingers “-if you so much as look at me wrong. And don’t think I won’t. Roger has given me the authority.”

The audacity of him! She felt her temper reach the boiling point. “Never.”

“It’s for your own safety, Rowan.”

“I’m not hiding. I’m not running.” Not again.

Michael intervened and stepped forward, putting a hand on her shoulder and giving her a slight squeeze. “We’ve all been under stress this morning. It’s already after noon. Why don’t I take Rowan out for a bite to eat? We’re done here, anyway.”

“Can I stay?” Tess sat at a desk in the corner of the FBI field office conference room that had been converted into a headquarters for information about the Copycat Killer. She was typing away at the computer-doing what, Rowan had no idea. Michael had mentioned earlier that she’d been tagged as a civilian consultant by the FBI because of her computer expertise, after passing a security check. It wasn’t uncommon.

“Sure,” Quinn told Tess. “I have some work to do. I’ll call in some sandwiches.”

“I need to get out of here.” Rowan pushed back her chair and stood. She picked up the file and hugged it to her chest. Tonight. Tonight she’d look at it again and talk to Roger.

She shot a glance at Quinn and walked out. She’d had enough of him today. He just didn’t get it. Just like he never understood how he had betrayed Miranda. For all his brains and all his good looks, Quinn Peterson could be clueless at times.

Protective custody? Never.

Michael followed. She’d expected nothing less. Damn, but she wanted privacy. The ten minutes she’d had alone in the shower this morning was simply not enough time to think. And now with the picture of Rebecca Sue Franklin etched in her brain, she didn’t want to eat, let alone have a conversation.

She pulled a Motrin out of the pocket of her jeans and dry-swallowed it.

Michael grabbed her wrist. “What’s that?”

“What’s what?” She jerked her arm away from him.

“That pill. It’s the third time this morning that you’ve taken one. What are you doing?” He put both hands on her shoulders, his lips a tight line.

Rowan glanced around the office to see if anyone had heard Michael’s accusation. If they had, they were wise enough to ignore the scene.