Allison Brennan - The Prey

“Honey,” Mama said, worried. “Go take care of Peter. Hurry.”

Lily ran from the room, her fear for Peter greater than her fear of Bobby. She stopped at the bottom of the stairs and looked up.

“No!” she screamed.

Bobby pushed Peter and his little toddler legs buckled. He grabbed at the railing as Bobby stomped down the stairs.

Lily ran up the stairs, and Bobby laughed at her. “Hope you break your neck, Lily Pad.”

Lily ignored him and watched as Peter stumbled and fell three stairs, then grabbed a rail. He cried out, but she caught him. “Are you okay, baby?” she asked as she helped Peter back up the stairs. A door slammed. Bobby was gone. She hoped he never came back. He scared her so much.

She hated him.

Rowan hit the vase with her arm. It flew off the table and onto the floor, water spraying everywhere. The vase cracked and the lilies scattered.

John frowned, uncertain of what had just happened, and watched Rowan turn to Adam, her eyes wide and terrified. “Who told you? Who told you ?”

“I-I-I-” Adam stammered, tears streaming down his face.

John reached Rowan before Michael and grabbed her face, forcing her to look at him. “Rowan, stop. Now.”

She blinked at John, her eyes wide with uncertainty. Then she glanced at Adam’s petrified face.

“Adam. I’m sorry.” She took a step back, shaking.

“What was that about?” John asked, his hands dropping to her shoulders. He gave her a light shake, worried. He saw the indecision on her face about whether or not to trust him. “You can trust me,” he whispered.

Her eyes brimmed with tears as her hand fluttered to her mouth. She dry heaved and fled from the room.

Damn. So close! He started after her, but Michael put his arm up. “John, give her a minute.”

“Shit, Michael, there’s something she’s not telling us that’s directly related to what’s going on. We can’t allow her to keep us in the dark.”

“Playing big bad bully isn’t going to get her to open up,” Michael said, his jaw twitching with anger.

John ran a hand through his hair. She’d relived some memory when she saw the flowers. She’d stared at them for over a minute before breaking the vase. What about them had set her off?

John shot a glance at Adam. He’d shrunk down against the wall, silent tears running down his face, arms tight around his legs. Rowan was going to feel awful when she realized what she’d done.

He squatted in front of him. “Adam?” No response. “Adam, it’s okay.”

“I’ll call the studio and have someone pick him up,” Michael said.

“No.” John’s voice was harsher than intended. “I promised Rowan I’d take him home.” He reached out and touched Adam’s arm. “Adam, I need you to do me a favor.”

Adam sobbed. “Sh-she hates me.”

“No, Adam, Rowan does not hate you. She cares about you very, very much. She’s sorry about the flowers.”

“She h-hates the fl-flowers. I shouldn’ta listened to the man.”

John’s instincts hummed. “The man? What man? The florist?”

Adam shook his head, still not looking at John. “No, he didn’t speak English too good.”

“Who? A customer?”

“I-I think s-so.”

“Where did you buy the flowers?”

Adam shrugged, his shoulders heaving with quiet sobs.

“Adam, this is very important,” John stressed. “I need you to show me where you bought the flowers.”

“Wh-wh-why? Rowan hates me.”

“No, Adam, Rowan doesn’t hate you. But if you show me where you bought the flowers, Rowan will be very happy.”

Adam looked up for the first time and John’s heart twisted when he saw the agony on the young man’s face. His dark hair was plastered to his skull, his too-white skin ghostly in contrast. “Rowan is never happy.”

The reality of Adam’s simple statement hit John. Rowan was keeping something bottled up inside, and there was no doubt that whatever it was, the murderer knew. He was pulling her strings. Copying her fictional murders, sending her the pigtails, the funeral wreath-

– convincing Adam to buy lilies.

The man was playing with Rowan, forcing her to relive memories John suspected were long buried.

But nothing stayed buried forever.

“Adam, please. This is very, very important. I need you to take me to where you bought the flowers.”

“Okay.” His voice was quiet, like a reprimanded child.

John helped him up. Adam saw the flowers on the floor and his bottom lip quivered. John steered him out of the room and said to Michael, “I’ll be back shortly. If you learn anything from her, let me know.”

“Sure.”

John glanced back at Michael as he left, but his brother had a faraway look on his face. What was up with that? Now was not the time or place to figure out what was going on with Michael, but he suspected it had everything to do with his feelings about Rowan. Michael was no dummy. He knew John was getting involved, too.

He didn’t want to damage his friendship with his brother over this case. Or this woman. But he feared it might be too late.

“Rowan? Honey?”

Michael was knocking on her bedroom door, but she didn’t let him in. Honey . Her stomach churned. She didn’t want to worry about hurting Michael. He was a good man, but he couldn’t understand; he would hug her and pat her on the back like a child and tell her everything was going to be all right.

Everything was not going to be all right. Someone knew. Someone knew her name was Lily. And if he knew her name was Lily, he knew everything about her.

Who hated her so much that he wanted her to relive the worst night of her life?

When she was a senior in high school, she’d read No Exit . Three people trapped in purgatory, reliving their worst nightmare. Over and over and over-that was her life. One big nightmare. She thought it had started when she was ten, but it started so many years before. It started before she was born. It started when her father met her mother and took her on a date and gave her lilies.

“Rowan?”

She stood inside the door, put her hand up, and touched the wood. “Michael, please go away.”

“You need to talk about whatever is bothering you.”

“Not now.”

He paused, but she didn’t hear him walk away. A moment later, he said, “Rowan, please tell me the truth. Are these murders connected to whatever’s been bothering you?”

Bothering her. As if the murderer were an annoying mosquito, her past that of a simple dysfunctional family. Her mere existence bothered her. Her life was wrapped in pain and hatred and loss that she had to keep boxed deep in her heart in order to function. But the lid had been ripped off. Her heart bled; painful memories invaded her soul. There was no fixing the box, no putting the lid back on. The secrets were tumbling out, bleeding her dry. She was going to have to face the truth. She didn’t have a choice.

But she didn’t know if she could move on.

“How’s Adam?”

“He’ll be okay,” Michael said, but Rowan knew that wasn’t true. She didn’t know how to fix the damage, and she wouldn’t forgive herself for hurting him. “John’s taking him back to the studio.”

Rowan suspected he would research the flowers. She’d seen how John interacted with Adam while they ate cookies and milk in the kitchen. If anyone could extract information from Adam, it would be John.

“Michael, go away,” she said, wincing at her harsh tone. “Please,” she added, softer.

A long pause. “I’ll be downstairs.”

When she was certain he’d gone, she crossed the room and picked up her cell phone. If John was in the house, she had no doubt he would listen in on any of her conversations. Michael probably wouldn’t. Still, she couldn’t take that chance.