Allison Brennan - The Prey

“Roger already called me the other day.”

“The other day?” She frowned.

“Yeah, Wednesday I think.”

Wednesday? But that was before Rowan had talked to him about her new suspicions. Maybe he came up with them himself and hadn’t wanted to worry her. But he didn’t mention that when she’d talked to him earlier.

“What did he want?”

“Exactly what you asked. Memories. And I told him I didn’t have anything. Bobby’s dead, and he’s the only one who I can think of who could kill so mercilessly.”

Heart pounding, John paced Tess’s small apartment like an irate tiger trapped in a cage. His skin burned. Every breath shot hot, piercing pains into his gut.

Michael was dead.

When he told Tess, she became hysterical. Gut-wrenching sobs, agonizing cries. For an hour, she clung to John. She blamed Rowan.

“It’s my fault,” John told her. “I insisted he take time off.” So I could screw Rowan . Black guilt squeezed his heart.

“No, no, it’s her ! Y-y-you s-said she was k-keeping secrets! She killed him. She killed my brother !”

It took John a long time to calm Tess enough to convince her to lie down. She quietly sobbed, and when she stopped John checked on her. Asleep, her splotchy face bore her grief.

His rage, his anger, and his guilt ate at his gut until all he saw was red, his fury consuming every pore. He paced. Back and forth.

I will kill the bastard.

It’s my fault.

Michael would have been at Rowan’s if John hadn’t interfered. If he hadn’t been so damned confident he could get Rowan to talk and that Michael would only have been a hindrance, his brother would be alive today. If they hadn’t fought, Michael wouldn’t have been drinking. He could have fought back if he wasn’t impaired. In the back of his mind he remembered Peterson saying he was shot instantly, by an intruder in his apartment.

No time to react. But Michael was trained. If he hadn’t been mildly intoxicated, he might have had a chance.

Maybe.

An agonized groan escaped John’s throat and he swallowed back stinging tears. There’d be time to grieve later. He had a killer to find.

Calling in a favor, he obtained Roger Collins’s cell phone number and dialed.

“Collins,” the assistant director answered after three rings.

“Mr. Collins, this is John Flynn.”

Long pause. “I heard about your brother. I’m sorry.”

“And I heard about you.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“I know all about Lily MacIntosh and that you were her guardian.”

“Rowan told you?”

“Eventually. I had to drag it out of her, but she told me everything.” John stared out Tess’s apartment window, not focusing on anything but getting information. “You know the details of this case. The bastard knows about Rowan’s past. He knows about her family. He knows her name was Lily!” He didn’t mean to shout, but his nerves were frayed. It won’t help Michael to lose it now .

Calmer, John said, “I know Peter MacIntosh is alive and goes by the name Peter O’Brien. He’s supposed to be a priest in Boston. He would know enough about Rowan’s past.”

“Peter? You’re way off base, Flynn.”

“I don’t think so. Unless you have another idea.”

Another long pause. “I’ve had a team watching Peter since the second murder. He hasn’t left Boston.”

“I think you need to double-check.”

“Don’t tell me how to do my job, Mr. Flynn.”

John ignored the threat in the assistant director’s voice. He couldn’t care less about pissing off high-ranking officials.

“You know this guy is out for Rowan. And he’s going to get her unless you figure out who knows about her past. You appear to be the only one who’s in a position to do anything about it.” He paused. “My brother is lying in a morgue because you and Rowan hid her past. All the resources spent going through her cases wasted time. We should have been going back even further. Full disclosure. Instead, you kept your mouths shut. My brother’s death is on your conscience.”

“Don’t you dare lay this at Rowan’s feet, Flynn. She’s been through hell and back, and-”

“I don’t give a damn.” John squeezed his eyes shut and pinched the bridge of his nose. All he saw was Rowan’s wretched face when she’d told him about her mother’s murder. Shit.

But Michael was dead.

“Why didn’t you dig deeper, Collins? Even if Rowan didn’t know or understand the full implication of what happened to her as a child, you certainly did.”

“I’ve been looking at the old files, interviewing people-”

“Obviously, that wasn’t good enough.”

“I have six agents tracking down the family of the two guards Bobby MacIntosh killed when he attempted to escape.”

“It should have been done at the beginning.” John’s jaw was so tight he could barely speak.

“Flynn, we’re doing everything we can. Can’t you see this is a complex situation?” Roger sounded frustrated, speaking too loudly and too quickly.

Complex? “What are you hiding?” John asked. Something wasn’t quite right.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Roger snapped back. “I’ve been working this 24/7 since Doreen Rodriguez was killed. Don’t think I’ve been slacking off. I care about Rowan more than you can possibly imagine. As if she were my own daughter.”

Daughter. That reminded him about the priest. “I expect that Peter O’Brien will be checked out in full, and that you’ll look into the murder of Rowan’s family a little more closely. Someone who has intimate knowledge of her family killed my brother.

“And,” John continued, his voice low, “he will kill Rowan if we don’t find him.”

“I know.” Collins’s voice shook with anger.

Good, John thought. He needs to be pissed off.

“Flynn, I know this is a difficult time right now, but are you staying on the job? Do I need to replace you?”

John closed his eyes. The revenge he sought felt thick on his tongue, clouded his judgment. Could he do it? Could he protect Rowan?

Or would he, too, end up dead, his reflexes hindered by rage instead of alcohol? But what else could he do? Without being a part of this, he’d be out of the loop. He couldn’t stay on the outside looking in, wondering if Michael’s death would be avenged, or if the bastard would get off with life in prison.

Or if Rowan would end up dead, too.

His emotions were too raw where she was concerned, so he banished her from his thoughts and said to Collins, “Tomorrow I’ll be back. Today I need to take care of my family.”

“I understand.”

“Keep me informed,” John said as he hung up.

He couldn’t think about Rowan. Not now. This was a job, and more than just a job. He’d keep her in the back of his mind, at least for today.

He went to Tess’s room. He’d thought he heard her stirring when he was on the phone and wanted to make sure she was all right. “Tess?” He knocked lightly.

No answer.

He opened the door and stared at the rumpled bed. She wasn’t there. A quick look through the apartment showed that she’d left.

He knew exactly where she’d gone.

Rowan heard the familiar buzz of a Volkswagen in the driveway and suspected Tess was here to say her piece. She closed her eyes and leaned back into her favorite chair, the overstuffed reading chair she’d loved since walking into the sterile beach house with Annette months ago.

She’d planned to be here through July, then go back to her cabin outside of Denver. She missed the only place she’d ever considered home since that fateful night twenty-three years ago.