Allison Brennan - The Prey

“I’m putting out an APB on Robert MacIntosh,” Quinn said. “Good work, Tess. If you ever want a government job, let me know.”

“We need to go,” Rowan said. “I need to see him behind bars. What if he’s not there? What if he escaped?” But that was impossible. Roger would have known. The entire country would have been on the lookout for an escaped convict.

Nothing made sense.

John agreed. “Quinn, how fast can we get out there?”

“First available flight. Get over to Burbank and I’ll bump passengers for us if I have to.”

“Thanks.” He turned to Rowan. “Ready?”

She nodded. Ready or not, she had to confront Bobby.

Rowan didn’t speak during the drive to the airport. John was grateful Peterson had moved heaven and earth to put them on a flight that left in less than an hour and worked security to rush them all through.

Peterson himself sat in the air marshal’s seat near the front since he was a federal officer and there was no air marshal assigned to this flight, while John and Rowan had seats in the back.

John gave Rowan the space she obviously needed. He ached for her. Why had he dragged her down there? He could have handled Adam himself. He’d had some vague idea that going through the reports would trigger some repressed memory, prompting her to remember something.

Then he reminded himself Rowan had wanted to do it. Needed to do it.

He’d never imagined Bobby MacIntosh was alive. But now there was no doubt in his mind that whoever sat in that Texas prison cell under the name “Robert MacIntosh, Junior” was not Rowan’s brother.

He glanced at Rowan. She suspected the same thing.

Almost immediately after they’d boarded, the plane taxied and left. Rowan still hadn’t spoken and John was getting antsy. With a sidelong glance at the businessman who sat on the aisle seat next to him, John leaned toward Rowan and spoke quietly in her ear.

“Are you okay?”

She didn’t respond, just stared out the window.

“Rowan, talk to me.” He didn’t mean to sound so gruff, but dammit, he couldn’t stand the silence or the blank stare in her eyes.

“It’s Bobby. I know it.”

“We’ll know soon enough.”

“Roger lied to me. From the beginning.” Her voice vibrated in anguish. John knew exactly how she felt. Lies, deception, betrayal. He pushed those thoughts aside-this was neither the time nor place. He longed to take her into his arms and hold her, just hold her so she’d know she wasn’t alone. But he was walking on eggshells. After the emotional trauma of reviewing the photos of her family’s murder and discovering the father-figure she trusted had lied to her about something so important, he didn’t know how much more she could take.

“When Roger interviewed me,” she continued, “after they told me Bobby had been caught and was in jail and couldn’t hurt me, he was honest. He told me the case was solid, but I was the only eyewitness. My testimony would ensure Bobby would stay in prison for the rest of his life.”

He took her hand and squeezed. She finally turned from the window and looked down at their clasped hands, but didn’t make any move to break the connection.

John didn’t know why he felt relieved.

“How did you feel about that?” He tried to remember that Rowan had been only ten back then. He’d seen the pictures. What a senseless tragedy! A little girl who’d lost nearly her entire family in one awful night. Was rejected by her aunt and grandparents. He could almost picture the courageous child Rowan had been.

“Angry. Confused. I wanted to hurt him for what he did, but I didn’t understand the process then.” She paused. “Roger was also the one who told me about my father, that he hadn’t spoken a word since the police found him in the kitchen. I insisted on seeing him. So Roger took me to Bellevue. He didn’t want to, but he did.”

She caught his eye. The misery in her face made him want to pull her into his arms and tell her he would protect her.

But she didn’t want his protection. She wanted his understanding.

“Roger was right,” she said, her voice barely audible. “I completely broke down when I saw my father’s hollow eyes. He wasn’t there anymore. He wasn’t possessed by the devil, he didn’t have an evil look in his eye, he didn’t rant and rave. He just wasn’t .” She looked out the window again.

“I suppose that’s why Roger lied to me,” she said. “He didn’t think I’d be able to handle testifying, no matter what I said.”

Rowan would never forget seeing her father that last time. He didn’t look like the strong, sometimes angry, sometimes wonderful man she’d grown to admire and fear.

“Mama, why does Daddy hit you?”

She’d been seven when she’d asked that question. She was rocking Dani to sleep in her mother’s chair in their bedroom, cooing sweet nothings into the baby’s ear.

Her mother dropped her hairbrush on the vanity table. “Why would you ask such a thing?”

“I-I’m sorry.”

She rocked Dani, hoping her mother wasn’t angry with her. She’d never spanked her. Her father had, twice. Once when she broke the crystal cake plate that had been her mama’s favorite. Then last year when she’d run away. She’d moved all her things into the shed.

Because of Bobby. He scared her.

“Honey,” her mother said, coming over to them. She kneeled in front of the chair, stopped the rocking. Forced Lily to look into her mother’s eyes.

Such pretty eyes, Lily thought. Daddy said they were like sisters. She only hoped she grew up as beautiful as her mama.

“Honey, you’re too young to understand. Daddy doesn’t mean to hurt me. And-and it doesn’t really hurt.”

Mama glanced down at Dani and Lily knew, but didn’t understand, why her mama was lying.

“Okay,” she said, her voice small and shaking.

Mama squeezed her hand. “Sometimes I say or do the wrong thing. Daddy gets upset. He works very, very hard, you know. Very hard. Six kids cost a lot of money, you know.” She was speaking fast.

“Okay, Mama.”

“But Daddy loves me. Very, very much. And I love him. And it isn’t all the time, just sometimes. Rarely.”

Mama wasn’t making sense. Then she leaned over and kissed Lily on the head and the world got a little better.

“Rowan?”

John’s voice was soft but urgent.

“Rowan, are you okay?”

“Just thinking.” She took a deep breath. He knew everything already. Only one more secret to share. “My father abused my mother. Hit her. She always justified it. Said it was her fault. When I asked her about it once, she just said she did things wrong. Stood up for him.”

Her knuckles were white from clenching her hands into fists. She consciously worked out the tension in her muscles.

“I didn’t think killing her came out of nowhere,” John said. “You know, it’s a pattern. Abusive relationships often end in death.”

“They’d been married nineteen years. Six kids. And-and she stayed with him the whole time, no matter what he did.” She remembered the flowers he always brought. The kisses he bestowed on her when he came in at night. “It was like Jekyll and Hyde. He hit her. They argued so much. But I couldn’t believe he killed her. Didn’t want to believe. He used to call her his queen.”

She took a deep breath. She didn’t realize she’d been crying until John wiped the tears from her cheeks.

“I loved my father and hated him. He could be so wonderful-playing games, taking us to the park, out for ice cream-but he hit my mother.” Her voice hitched. “I was so confused. Then seeing him so-so-so empty.” She took a deep breath. “That, I didn’t know how to accept. Not then.”