Allison Brennan - The Prey

His intestines crawled up her legs and she screamed and screamed and screamed.

He was staring out the living room window thinking about Michael when he heard her scream. It wasn’t just any scream: It was full of stark terror and pain. He drew his gun and took the stairs three at a time, throwing his weight against her locked door.

She was thrashing on the bed, sobbing. He quickly determined no one else was in the room. When he reached her side, he slapped her to shock her out of her nightmare. But when her eyes opened, he saw she was still wrapped in whatever terror she’d imagined. She stared at him, eyes wide, her entire body trembling so violently her teeth rattled.

“You’re dead! You’re dead!” She pounded her fists against his chest, and he held her close as she broke down.

Her anguished sobs broke his heart. He’d never heard so much agony in a voice. But she didn’t allow him to hold her for long. She pulled herself together quicker than he thought she should have and pushed him away. “I need a shower.”

“What happened?”

“Nightmare.” Sliding out of his arms, she disappeared in the bathroom. He heard the lock click into place.

Fifteen minutes later, she came downstairs-freshly showered but still pale and exhausted.

“You need to eat.” He maneuvered her into the kitchen, where he managed to get her to eat half a sandwich and a glass of milk.

They’d just sat down with a fresh cup of coffee when Peterson called to tell John the files were ready for Rowan. John was having second thoughts about this idea. He feared Rowan was on the edge and this might push her over.

But he had to find his brother’s killer.

When there was a battle, justice had to prevail. Any way he could get it.

“You don’t have to do this,” he told her thirty minutes later as they sat in the almost empty underground parking garage of the FBI’s field office in Los Angeles. Sundays weren’t big overtime days.

She stared at her hands, clasped tightly in her lap. “Yes, I do. You know it, and I know it.” Her voice was quiet but firm. She looked at him, her eyes blank. “Don’t worry about me.”

A knife twisted in his heart. Don’t worry about me . She said it as if she suspected he wasn’t worried. And the irony was, when he set this up, he hadn’t been. He hadn’t cared what it would do to her.

Now he did.

He reached out and took her hand. “Rowan, you’re going to be okay. Say the word and I’ll take you home.”

“I have to look. If only I’d figured it out earlier. But I never-never-thought it had to do with my past. My cases, the Franklin murder, a deranged fan-but n-n-not my family.” She took a deep breath and swallowed a sob. “If I had, maybe we could have stopped him before-”

She looked down at their hands but didn’t finish her sentence.

He took his free hand and pushed her chin up, forcing her to look at him. “It’s not your fault. You approached this logically, methodically.” Leaning forward, he gently touched his lips to hers. “You’re not in this alone.”

When he pulled back, he saw her eyes register surprise; then she brought the shield back up, calm coldness radiating from her tight, lanky body. She slowly extracted her hand from his. “Let’s get this over with.” She opened her door.

When they arrived in the conference room, John was surprised to see Tess sitting at the desk in the corner, her fingers flying over the keyboard. Her short hair was limp but clean, her face devoid of makeup and set in determination.

Tess looked up, met his eyes, and gave him a weak smile. Then she saw Rowan and quickly turned back to her work.

She needed time. But time didn’t heal all wounds. He hoped Tess wasn’t one of the unlucky ones.

Quinn Peterson sat at the large table, looking through a thick file folder. He stood when John closed the door. “Roger faxed everything we couldn’t download from the archives,” he said. “I sent my partner to pick Mr. Williams up.”

Rowan stiffened. “Adam?” She looked from Quinn to John, unconcealed anger on her face. “You’re dragging Adam down here?”

“He might be our only hope of identifying this guy before it’s too late,” John said quietly.

She squeezed her eyes shut. “He’s never going to recover.” She released a long breath. “But you’re right,” she said, her anger either dissipated or buried; John didn’t know which. “John, could I ask a favor?”

“Anything.”

“Would you go down and meet Agent Thorne and Adam when they get here and explain what’s going to happen? He’s going to be freaked out, being picked up at home and brought here.” She glanced at Peterson. “I wish you’d have told me; I would have talked to him.”

“I don’t think he would have talked to you,” John said, and her attention snapped back to him. Her eyes widened, not in anger but surprise and something more. Disappointment? Hurt? “After the incident with the lilies, I think Adam is a little intimidated.”

Hurt. Definitely hurt in her stormy eyes. She nodded and turned away, but not before he saw the glistening of tears.

“I’ll talk to him,” John assured her and left the room.

Rowan stared at the thick file folder, her heart pounding so loudly she thought for sure Quinn and Tess would be able to hear it. She was so scared, but she wouldn’t admit it. Not now.

“I never knew,” Quinn said, resting a hand on her shoulder. She shrugged, worried if she spoke her voice would quiver. “Miranda knew, didn’t she?”

Rowan nodded and let out a long breath. “Most of it. The first week we were at the academy, Miranda, Olivia, and I talked about why we wanted to become agents. We were drinking margaritas. I rarely drink.” She almost smiled, remembering how good it felt to find two women who understood her. “I’d never talked about it before, not even to Roger. Roger didn’t want to talk about it, I don’t think. It was over and I needed to move on. I-well, I had some issues back then.”

“That’s not surprising.”

She waved off his comment and sat down at the table, not looking at the file across from her. She’d have to go through it, but needed a minute. She glanced at Tess, who still appeared to be working on something, but Rowan sensed she had an ear cocked toward their conversation. What did it matter? The truth was going to come out anyway. It was just as well. It wasn’t like Tess could hate her any more than she already did.

“Miranda had been upfront with us from day one. That’s one of the things I love about her.”

Rowan looked up at Quinn who stood with crossed arms and a tight jaw, his dark eyes unreadable. Did he feel guilt or anger over what happened with Miranda at Quantico? Rowan wished she could ask, but Quinn would accuse her of evading.

“Anyway,” she continued, “we were drinking and Miranda asked us why we were there. It just came out.” Rowan paused. Even after telling John everything, it was still hard to talk about what happened that night.

“Why did you want to be an agent? Because of Roger?”

“Partly. He saved my life. Not physically, but psychologically. He gave me focus. He cares so much about justice.”

“So do you.”

“Yes, I care. But he wants to punish criminals. I want to avenge the victims.” She paused. The difference was so subtle, she didn’t know how to explain it.

“I never understood how my father could kill my mother,” she said. “Even with the repeated physical abuse, I never thought-I mean, I really thought he loved her in his own warped way. But I was a kid, I didn’t know any better. I know now after years of psychology and criminology classes that domestic violence isn’t love. But I had to try to find out why my father lost his mind. How Bobby could be so cruel. If I knew why, I could be a better agent. I could better fight for the victims if I understood their attackers.”