Allison Brennan - The Prey

Rowan’s heart leapt to her throat. This might be it. He might have made a mistake. Would she recognize him? Would he be someone she knew? Someone she should have suspected, a relative, a fan? A friend? She shivered. She had few friends; that betrayal would hurt.

Not a friend. Wouldn’t she be able to see it in his eyes?

“You might want to broaden it to San Diego, Orange County, and Ontario,” she said. “He’s smart. He isn’t going to do what we expect. And check return flights. Not necessarily the same airport, but he’ll be around tonight. Just to watch. See if he’s gotten to me. I feel it.”

Damn, she was beautiful.

John’s loins stirred as soon as he saw her walk down the stairs in the simple black sheath that hugged her lean, athletic body. Her long, straight blonde hair hung like liquid silk down her back, and the single strand of pearls caressed her bare neck like a lover’s hand. He wondered if her skin was as soft as it looked, if her icy, hard exterior would melt when the right man touched her in just the right place.

He wanted her.

But she was a liar.

Not a liar in the traditional sense, but she was hiding something and that disturbed him down to his core. He’d seen it many, many times in his business. Deception not only by criminals like Pomera, but by his own government. Whether in the pursuit of crime or the pursuit of justice, secrets killed.

Yet he still wanted her. And he sensed she wanted him as well.

John glanced at his brother and saw Michael staring at him. He knew. He knew, and John wasn’t about to tell Michael he’d keep his hands off. He didn’t think he could live up to the promise, and he didn’t lie to family. He felt like a damned hypocrite and that rubbed him wrong. Hadn’t he just told Michael not to get too close?

Rowan had stopped leaning on Michael, John noted with interest. He wondered why. If she didn’t hide behind Michael’s calm understanding, John knew he could make her confess whatever secret she held locked in that beautiful head of hers. Whether or not it was relevant to the case, he needed to know.

Rowan brushed past him on her way to the kitchen. He turned to follow, but Michael crossed in front of him. Just then his cell phone rang.

He excused himself and went into Rowan’s den for privacy when he saw it was a restricted Washington-area number. “John Flynn.”

“It’s Andy.”

John straightened and crossed over to the blinds to look out onto the driveway at nothing in particular. “You have something?”

“You owe me big time.”

“You know I’m good for it.”

Andy snorted. “I could get fired. This goes up to Roger Collins.”

“Shit. Bad?”

“Don’t know. Just the facts. He and his wife Grace were the legal guardians of Rowan since she was ten.” John’s entire body tensed as Andy continued. “It was buried deep, but I found it on her name change papers. Her name was changed when she was ten.”

“Ten years old?” John repeated.

“She was born Lily Elizabeth MacIntosh.”

“Her parents?”

“You asked me to run similar crimes to the Franklin murders? Well, at first I came up with the standard murder-suicides.” He paused. “You really owe me, Flynn.”

“Go on,” John said, teeth clenched. His head started pounding, as if sensing what Andy had discovered.

“Well, all Rowan Smith’s juvenile records are sealed, but I found that name change, and then started searching MacIntosh. On a hunch.”

“And?”

“Nearly twenty-five years ago Robert MacIntosh killed his wife. Two minor children were taken into protective custody. Their names were expunged, but guess who the FBI assigned to the case.”

John’s stomach sank. “Roger Collins.”

“Bingo.”

MacIntosh. It couldn’t be a coincidence. Roger Collins took ten-year-old Lily MacIntosh into his home, became her guardian. Why? Witness protection program? Didn’t she have other family?

What about the other surviving sibling-male or female?

“Did the father kill himself?”

“He’s in a mental institution in Massachusetts.”

“Are you sure?”

“Shit, John, I couldn’t exactly call them and ask. Collins has markers all over these files. If I didn’t trip something already it’d be a damn miracle.”

John was going to have to push Rowan. Tonight. He had no other options. “Thanks, Andy. I really appreciate it.”

“If I get fired, I’m coming to you for a job.”

“You’ll have one.” John hung up and pondered the incredible information Andy had dumped in his lap. He always trusted his gut. And his gut told him Rowan’s past was crucial to this case.

Lily. She’d freaked out when she’d seen the lilies, and if Adam did in fact speak to the murderer, the killer knew about Rowan’s past and was using it to torment her. The surviving sibling? A brother? A brother who was possibly as dangerous as his father?

John couldn’t help but wonder if the dark pigtails were connected. Or the nightmare she’d had about Danny. Her boyfriend? Husband? Son? Brother ?

Tonight, she was going to tell him. John didn’t doubt he could get her to talk as long as Michael wasn’t around to hover over her like a mother hen. If Rowan didn’t tell him everything, and soon, the bastard would go after her.

The thought made him ill.

Hours after Rowan’s movie premiere, Michael stepped into a North Hollywood dive spoiling for a fight.

He sauntered over to a stool near the end of the bar and nodded to the bartender. “Scotch, double. And a draft.”

He was off duty, after all, put on leave by his traitorous brother. John had told Quinn Peterson, the arrogant prick, that he hadn’t had time off in a week, and Peterson agreed. Dismissed him.

Leaving John alone with Rowan.

He downed half his Scotch and let the heat of the alcohol warm the icy pit in his stomach. He scowled at some hooker making eyes at him from the other end of the bar and turned away from her.

John had had the audacity to throw Jessica in his face yet again. John didn’t know what had really happened between Michael and Jessica. If he had, he’d know it had been even worse than he thought.

Jessica was a beauty. Long, dark hair and big chocolate-brown eyes. She was being stalked by her ex-boyfriend. Michael had been assigned the call.

She’d been so grateful for his help, truly feared for her life, so Michael gave her his cell phone number and told her to call him anytime. She did, and he found himself going over to her house virtually every night.

They ended up in bed and Michael fell in love. She needed him, relied on him, and he relished being able to protect her.

But she hadn’t been honest with him. He told himself it was because she was scared, but deep down Michael knew she’d used him. He believed she loved him in her own way, but she needed him for more than protection against a stalker. Her stalker was not her ex-boyfriend, but her husband, a low-level crime boss.

She’d ended up telling Michael that returning to her husband was the only way she could stay alive. Michael tried to convince her to run away with him, that he could protect her, that they could start over in another state, with new identities, anything. To do anything but go back to her husband.

Yet she went. Two years later, her body was found floating in a drainage ditch in the San Gabriel Mountains.

Michael tossed back his Scotch to drown the memories.

Rowan was nothing like Jessica. Yes, she needed him, and he would be there for her. But the feelings he had for Rowan went so much deeper.

John just wouldn’t listen. He’d pulled Michael aside after the premiere when Rowan was talking to the producer Annette. Told Michael he looked tired and should take the night off. Michael tried to explain that he needed to be there to protect Rowan, and John threw Jessica in his face. It wasn’t the same situation, but John didn’t understand.