Allison Brennan - The Prey

Stealthily, John walked up behind him and said, “Don’t move. I have a gun. Who are you? What are you doing here?”

The kid turned abruptly, eyes darting left and right. “I-I-I’m looking f-f-for R-Rowan.” His eyes widened at the sight of John’s gun and he clutched the flowers tighter.

“Who are you?”

“Adam. Adam. Um, Adam Williams. Four-four-five West Toluca Boulevard Unit B.”

John sensed the kid was legit. There was something off about him. But the best of criminals played the game well. He kept his voice stern. “How do you know Rowan?”

“She, uh, she got me my job. I’m her number-one fan. I read all her books. She got me my job. I work for Barry at the studio. Barry is really nice but Barry got mad at me about the joke I played on Marcy, and Rowan got mad too and I said I was sorry but I thought Rowan would like flowers because she’s a girl and my mama said all girls like flowers, stupid.”

John holstered his gun, confident the kid was who he said. “Adam, I’m John Flynn. I’m a friend of Rowan’s, too.”

Adam narrowed his eyes. “How do I know you’re not lying? Rowan said there was a bad man hurting people.” He stepped back.

John put his hands palms up to show he wasn’t an enemy. “We can call her. Do you want to call her?”

Adam nodded vigorously, then stopped and shook his head just as hard. “No, no, it could be a trap. You could be trapping her. No, she should stay away. She has a bodyguard, you know.”

“I know. He’s my brother, Michael. Have you met him?”

Recognition crossed Adam’s face, but he was still wary. “Maybe,” he said like a defiant kid.

John reached into the pocket of his jeans and pulled out his cell phone. “I’m going to call Rowan and she’ll come home and talk to you, okay?” When the kid still looked undecided, John said, “You can talk to her, too. She’ll tell you I’m okay, then we’ll go into the house and wait.”

“Okay,” Adam said in a small voice.

John dialed Michael’s cell, mentally hitting himself that he didn’t have Rowan’s direct line. “Mickey, it’s John. Let me speak to Rowan.”

“Why?”

“Because I have a delicate situation here that I need her help with.”

“Tell me.”

Damn him. He wanted to play tough guy. “Adam Williams stopped by to say hello and he isn’t sure I’m not the bad guy Rowan warned him about. I’d like her to talk to him.”

“Adam? The retarded kid?”

John winced and hoped Adam hadn’t heard that. “Yes, Rowan’s number-one fan.”

“I suspected he was up to something. Keep him there. I’ll call the police and-”

“No, Michael,” John said, harsher than he intended. “Would you just-”

“Listen, John, I’ve been working this case a lot longer than you and-” he stopped, and John could hear Rowan’s voice in the background, but not what she was saying. Muffled, he heard Michael’s voice say, “But you don’t know he’s safe. Why don’t we have the police talk to him?”

“Absolutely not!” Rowan exclaimed loud enough for John to hear. Another mumble, and then Rowan got on the phone.

“John?”

“It’s me.”

“Let me talk to Adam.”

John couldn’t help but smile, but a glance at Adam’s scared face sobered him up. He was strangling the poor lilies in both hands. “Adam, Rowan would like to speak to you.”

Hand shaking, Adam reached for the phone. “H-hello?”

John watched as Adam’s expression turned from scared to worried to calm. Then worried again. “I-I didn’t ask Barry. I-I watched him enough, I thought I could do it. I didn’t hurt his truck, I promise!” It took several minutes, but whatever Rowan was saying seemed to appease Adam. “Can I wait for you?” The answer must have been yes, because Adam smiled broadly and handed the phone back to John. “Rowan wants to talk to you.”

“Rowan?”

“John, we’ll be there in fifteen minutes. I told Adam he could wait for me. I’m going to have to get him back to Burbank. He doesn’t have a driver’s license.”

“I’ll take him.”

She paused. “You’d do that?”

“Why wouldn’t I?”

What did she think he was, an asshole? Obviously, Adam was a bit slow. He also worshipped Rowan. He didn’t mean her any harm, and he probably didn’t get a lot of breaks in the city.

“I-all right. Thank you.”

She hung up, and John stared at the phone for a minute. Rowan Smith was not a trusting soul, which didn’t bug him, except that she didn’t seem to trust him .

Then again, he’d deliberately invaded her space, asking her tough questions-most of which she hadn’t answered yet. And he found her captivating.

What was it about her? Sure, she was good-looking. Her white-blonde hair appeared soft and silky, something he would love to run his fingers through. She smelled fresh and natural. And her eyes-those blue-gray eyes showed him her feelings, so much better than her words and mannerisms.

She was trying so hard to figure out what she’d done to deserve the attention of this maniac. He admired her focus, her determination, her past career. He didn’t understand why she’d quit, but obviously something about the Franklin murders got to her. Burnout? It was unexpected from her personality-at least the strong, independent persona she showed to the world.

But Rowan was closed and private, kept information from him that she might not think was important, but damn well could be. John didn’t like deception, intended or not, and expected everyone he worked with to be on the up-and-up. To trust him. That code of honor was necessary in the jungles of South America, on the streets of Mexico, and in every drug port along the American coastline. If he couldn’t trust her, what did he have?

And if she didn’t trust him, how could he get closer?

He wanted to. He wanted to find out what made her tick. Like her friend Adam. Mentally slow, but Rowan had shown him some attention when it was obvious the kid had received few breaks in his life. Another facet of her complex personality.

“Adam, how about we go into the house?”

“It’s locked.”

“I know, but I have a key to the side door.” John led the way and in just a few minutes had Adam seated at the island bar. The kid was still worrying the poor flowers in his hands. “Why don’t I put those in water?”

“They’re for Rowan.”

“I know. But flowers need water.”

“Oh. Right, they need water.” He looked sheepish, and John felt bad for him. From his comments earlier, his mother hadn’t been any kind of support. Rowan obviously had taken him under her wing and had the patience of a saint. John couldn’t help but admire that in her.

John found a vase on the top shelf of the pantry and filled it with water, then poured in the packet of crystals that came with the lilies for preservation. He arranged the flowers in the vase and shook his head. “I’m not too good at this.”

Adam moved them around a little and they looked surprisingly better. “I broke one,” he said with a frown.

“That’s okay, it’s still standing.” John picked up the vase and carried it into the dining room, centering it on the table. He called through the opening into the kitchen. “Is it okay here?”

Adam looked over the pass-through and smiled. “Yes. That’s pretty.”

John came back into the kitchen. “Do you want some water? A Coke?”

Adam nodded. “Milk. And Rowan said she had chocolate chocolate chip cookies and I could have one.”

John hunted for the cookies and found them in the pantry, a half-eaten bag of gourmet double chocolate chip cookies. Rowan had a sweet tooth, and John couldn’t help but smile. She was real after all, and not just the outer shell of a perfect woman.