Allison Brennan - The Prey

Normally she had an ironclad stomach. But these circumstances could hardly be called normal.

When she ran this morning with Michael, she’d missed John’s presence. It wasn’t that Michael wasn’t a good bodyguard. Michael was more than competent, though she was uncomfortable with the amount of time he spent looking at her when he didn’t think she noticed.

John was more like her. When she looked at John, listened to him, she sensed he felt the same about things as she did. Not just justice-Michael had been a cop and acted it. He believed in justice. But John understood what justice really meant , especially to the victims who couldn’t speak for themselves.

Justice didn’t always mean prison.

But it was more than that. John’s worldview was unique and his own. After talking to Roger last night she’d quietly called around and learned more about John Flynn. She wasn’t impressed easily, but she felt a certain pride she didn’t understand knowing that John was one of the good guys, even when some operatives in government didn’t think he wore the proverbial white hat. Justice came first to John. It almost made her feel guilty for quitting the agency. Justice used to be as important to her.

Now survival was all that mattered.

John had been in harrowing situations, including a South American prison, and he’d never broken. He simply changed his boss from the government to himself and went right on fighting for justice. It was damned admirable, and Rowan hated that she hadn’t been able to do that four years ago.

But she had thought she was losing her mind.

She couldn’t help but wonder about John’s past. What did he do in Delta Force? What about after? Roger said he was DEA turned independent consultant-why had he left? To start his business with Michael? Or were there other, deeper, private reasons? Everything she’d learned about John intrigued her. She wanted to know more.

Rarely was her curiosity piqued as it was now. She didn’t focus on other people, because that meant she might start to care. And if she started to care, she might care too much.

She feared she’d already crossed the first threshold with John. She already cared.

When she walked downstairs, John and Michael were standing in the foyer talking to Quinn. All three men in tuxedos, all remarkably handsome.

John caught her eye. Her breath hitched in her chest and for a split second she saw something, sensed something, that went beyond a professional relationship.

He raised his eyebrow. He sensed it too.

Then Michael was at her side and she felt tension between the two brothers.

The last thing she wanted was to cause friction in their family. When John first came back from South America, she’d seen the quiet affection between the brothers. They would be family long after this case was settled, long after she was a dim memory.

“Rowan,” Michael began, his hand on her arm.

Quinn interrupted. “There’s been another victim. Melissa Jane Acker, twenty-four, brunette, picked up by the unknown subject at the Metro station in Falls Church, raped and strangled.”

Rowan had tried to steel herself against the pain, but it hit hard and she almost staggered. “When?” she asked, her voice dull and clipped.

“Last night. When she didn’t come to work this morning, her employer called her apartment, got no answer. Her mother went over to see if she was all right and found her.” Quinn paused, his voice softer. “I’m sorry.”

Rowan closed her eyes. She felt Michael’s hand rub her arm, trying to support her, to share his warmth. He was a comforting presence, and right now she appreciated his coddling. The way John stared at her, he seemed to be accusing her. Or maybe it was her imagination. You can trust me , he’d said when she freaked out over the lilies. But could she?

How could her past have anything to do with what was happening now? Even Roger thought her fear was misplaced. He, more than anyone, should know. He’d been there-he’d fought for justice for Dani and everyone else who died.

But, dammit, that fear bubbled and brewed and threatened to burst through the surface. Just because her fear was misplaced didn’t mean it wasn’t real. How long could she keep it under control?

“You don’t have to go,” Michael said. “No one will blame you.”

Rowan glanced from his concerned eyes to John’s intense glare. They both waited for her answer, but John seemed to be waiting for something more.

“I’m going,” Rowan said. “If he’s watching, he’ll know he got to me if I don’t go. I can’t let him see that I’m-worried.” She’d almost said scared. But she wasn’t going to admit it in front of these three men.

John smiled, almost imperceptibly, but Rowan felt his approval. “The place is covered. Peterson walked me through today and it’s clean.”

“Bomb-sniffing dogs are going through it right now,” Quinn said, “and you’ll go in through the back.”

“The back? If he’s watching, he won’t see me.”

Quinn glanced at Michael, his expression one of concern. “It’s the reporters, Rowan. We didn’t think you’d want to face some of the questions they might have.”

Damn, she didn’t want to, but she wasn’t going to show the killer she was afraid. “I’m not going to slink around like some scared rabbit. I’ll go in through the front.”

“Do you think that’s wise? The reporters won’t be kind.” Michael looked at her with a mixture of worry and something else, something more personal. Rowan quickly looked away. His emotional protection was convenient to avoid John’s intensity, but she didn’t want to mislead Michael into thinking she wanted more than the crutch. It was simply there and she’d been using it. Was she that shallow?

“I’m used to aggressive reporters,” she said, taking a step away from Michael. His hand fell from her back and she could breathe normally. She was making the right choice, she knew. Stand back, don’t use Michael’s offered strength. It wasn’t fair to him. “I want to know about the case. Any evidence? Did he screw up?”

Quinn touched her shoulder. “Olivia is heading up the evidence response team,” he said. “She volunteered.”

Rowan felt awful. She hadn’t called either Olivia or Miranda to tell them what was going on. She’d do it tomorrow. “I didn’t know she was field rated.”

“She’s not a field agent, though she has clearance. Roger okay’d it and I wouldn’t want anyone else processing the evidence. If the killer left anything of himself, Olivia will find it.”

“Who’s Olivia?” John asked.

“We graduated together from the Academy.” Rowan shot a glance at Quinn and he turned away, jaw clenched. Still a touchy point, she thought. “Olivia now heads up the Trace Evidence lab at Quantico.”

“John told us about your friend Adam Williams possibly seeing the suspect,” Quinn said. “He got a description from the proprietor, but it’s rough.”

“I heard.” John had called her after driving Adam back to the studio and told her what he’d learned. Unfortunately, the vague description rang no bells for her. It could have been anyone.

“Was Adam able to work with the sketch artist?” she asked, though she didn’t have much hope.

John shook his head. “He tried. Not enough detail. Maybe if we had a photo of the suspect, but even then I’d question Adam’s memory over time.”

“But, if that was him,” Quinn interjected, “and he was in Washington last night, it means he had to have flown out sometime after one P.M. Wednesday and arrived before five P.M. Thursday, Eastern time. That gives us a narrow window.” He grew excited as he talked. “Colleen’s working the airlines and we’re searching the databases for lone men traveling from Los Angeles or Burbank to Dulles or National. We can then pull all the pictures from the security cams and if we’re lucky and smart, get a clear shot.”