Allison Brennan - The Prey

Warden Cullen allowed them to use his office while he went to another room to talk to his people about the situation.

Roger reinforced the APB Quinn Peterson had put out earlier, sent a team over to watch his house and protect Gracie, and when he didn’t have any more calls to make, sat down and finally looked at Rowan.

“I’m sorry, Rowan.”

“You bastard. I trusted you.”

He closed his eyes. When he opened them, Rowan was surprised to see tears. He swallowed. “I only wanted to protect you. Rowan, you’re the daughter I never had. But damn, I was an awful father. I was never there for you. I pushed you to go into the FBI, pushed you into the business, and tried to push you into staying. I thought-hell, I don’t know what I thought. Retribution, justice, what did I know?”

Rowan was surprised when the hot sting of tears crept into the back of her eyes. She wanted to hate Roger for keeping something so important from her, for lying to her, but she couldn’t hate him.

She was sorely, irrevocably disappointed in him. The system had known Bobby was alive, and Roger should have come clean when this entire charade started to unfold.

They might have learned the truth sooner. And saved someone’s life. Like Michael’s.

“Roger, you were the father I needed. I never believed you’d lie to me. That you’d keep something so important a secret. And what about the people who died because you remained silent? What about Michael?”

“Believe me when I tell you I checked and double-checked Bobby’s status. I had no reason to believe he wasn’t in prison.”

“But when all the leads dried up? When the tiny hope that someone related to the Franklin murders was involved didn’t pan out? What about then?”

She swiped at her face, impatiently slapping the tears aside. A quick glance at Quinn and John standing to the side reminded her she wasn’t alone with Roger. They’d been so quiet, she’d forgotten they were in the room.

“I don’t know,” Roger said quietly. “I don’t know that we could have stopped what happened.”

“You’re right. We don’t know. We don’t know because we never had the chance to try.” She stared at him and saw a man she no longer recognized. He looked like Roger Collins-dark, graying hair, clear blue eyes, hint of wrinkles edging his eyes and mouth. But he wasn’t the Roger she spent half her childhood with. The man who taught her truth and justice were worth fighting for. The man who stood before her was a liar, and his betrayal stung.

“Peter.” Her eyes widened as she realized that if Bobby knew about her, he had to know about Peter. “Peter-he’s going after him!”

Roger shook his head. “No. He thinks Peter is dead.”

She looked at him quizzically. “Why?”

“He believes Peter was killed that night, that you were the only survivor. He alluded to that when I interrogated him, and I never corrected his assumption.”

“Certainly he went through the newspaper archives and found out it wasn’t true!”

“Peter was listed in critical condition, and there was never any press account of his death or survival.”

“Critical?” Rowan remembered that Peter had been so emotionally distraught he’d been sedated after the murders, but he hadn’t been physically injured.

She took a deep breath. “We need to check on this jerk’s story, try to retrace Bobby’s steps for the past fourteen months.” She slammed her fist on the desk as she sunk into a chair. “Bobby has been free for fourteen months and no one fucking knew!”

John put his hand on her shoulder as her breath came in rasps. Amazingly, she felt better. His calm presence throughout the plane ride, the interrogation, and now-it was just what she needed. She glanced up at him and he gave her a nod.

“There’s something else I need to tell you,” Roger said as he sat in the warden’s chair.

She turned to him, bracing herself for the worst, but was surprised when Roger said, “I think Bobby visited your father twice last year.”

Her eyes widened. “And no one noticed?”

“He used a false name and identification. Bob Smith. I tried to get the tapes, but protocol is that they overwrite them every three months. They are digitally preserved in an out-of-state archive and are being sent to me. I should have something tonight or tomorrow.”

“We don’t need the tapes. It was Bobby.”

“I agree, but we may get a recent photograph.”

Rowan took a deep breath. “I want to go to Boston.”

John spoke for the first time. “That’s not a good idea.”

She turned to look at him. His jaw was set, his mouth a thin, angry line. Angry? Maybe worried. It didn’t matter. She had to do it. “I need to see my father. Maybe he has an idea what Bobby’s plans are. That sounds like something Bobby would do. Brag.” She paused. “He thought our father was weak. Bobby’d want to rub his nose in the fact that he’s stronger. That he killed without breaking and enjoyed it. That he planned on killing the rest of us.”

“I want you in a safe house tomorrow,” Roger said. “We’ll have dozens of agents all over the country hunting for MacIntosh. But he’s coming for you. I need you out of harm’s way.”

“No,” Rowan said. “I’m going to Boston. I’m going to see my father, then I’m going to call Peter and tell him the truth. I have to. I can’t let him believe the lie anymore. And even though Bobby doesn’t know about him, he knows enough about me that he might be able to track him down. Peter needs to be on alert.”

“I can’t change your mind,” said Roger. It was a statement.

She shook her head. “Tomorrow morning I’m flying to Boston. With or without you.”

John leaned over and whispered in her ear. “You’re not going anyplace without me, Rowan. You still need a bodyguard.”

She turned and searched his eyes. He’d been quiet all day. He blamed her for Michael’s death, and he blamed himself. She’d seen that for herself yesterday. But now? He grieved; he wanted revenge. But he’d also sent out this invisible protective shell to surround her. She felt stronger in his presence, like she could get through this. Alive and well.

“Thank you,” she mouthed, then turned back to Roger. “Six A.M. Lobby. And don’t let Dr. Christopher tell him I’m coming. The element of surprise might work in this case.”

Monday morning, Bobby MacIntosh went to a major bookstore in Dallas for a copy of Crime of Jeopardy .

Not that he needed it. But he wanted another copy. To follow the pattern, leave it with the victim. Though he was confident Rowan, no matter how stupid she was, had figured it out by now.

Rowan . Where had she come up with a stupid name like that? Probably thought she’d fool him. That he’d never find her if she changed her name. He smiled. You can run but you can’t hide, Lily .

The end was near. One more book, one more murder. He’d already picked the perfect victim, arranged the perfect crime, and was almost giddy with anticipation. This was it. One more victim and then he could confront his sister.

He couldn’t have been happier if he’d been able to choose all the variables. Of course, Doreen Rodriguez had taken the most effort and planning. But that murder had to be perfect to show Lily he was smarter than she was.

By now the bitch must be terrified. She’d hired a bodyguard, but he’d taken care of him. Weak. Worthless.

So smart. He’d learned the little pixie who’d been hanging around was the bodyguard’s sister. He’d followed her around a bit. She’d be easy to get to. If he needed her.

Security. What a joke! Security was nothing for a genius.

He’d debated taking out the other guy. John Flynn . While he’d been waiting for the idiot bodyguard to come back from the bar he’d done a little search of his own, learned a little about the brother. Just in from South America. Bobby wondered why.