Allison Brennan - The Prey

The pillow was stained dark red. Dried blood. But this woman had been awake when she died. She’d known her fate, her eyes reflecting her fear. Even as Rowan turned away, she knew who the woman was. She and John had seen her picture in the news while at the safe house in Cambria. She’d been driving from the hospital after visiting her first-born granddaughter somewhere in Arizona when she disappeared. Rowan hadn’t thought anything of it at the time, but like any good FBI agent, she made a mental note of her photograph.

Arizona, on the way from Texas to California.

She screamed.

On the other side of the door, Bobby laughed.

Adam dreamed.

He was driving Barry’s truck. He stopped at the flower stand and the man with money was there. But he saw him now like the picture. The picture John had shown him. Blond hair, blue eyes. But they weren’t nice eyes. They were cold. Blue and cold.

“She likes lilies.”

Adam shook his head. “No. No, she hates lilies. She broke the vase last time.”

“Trust me.”

“No, I want to buy roses. White roses.”

And he did. But when he turned into Rowan’s driveway, he wasn’t driving Barry’s truck and he didn’t have white roses.

He was in Rowan’s car and he had lilies. He hid them behind his back so she couldn’t see them.

“I can’t believe you’ve never seen the sunset over the ocean,” Rowan told him as she unlocked her door. Adam followed her to the deck, and at first he was a little scared. The ocean looked awfully big. He couldn’t swim.

“Do you want some cookies?”

He nodded and smiled, and Rowan went back inside.

He stared at the ocean, scared and in awe at the same time. He had never seen anything like it before. He’d seen it in the movies, of course, but nothing like this. He stood on the edge of the world, and that felt powerful.

Something burned his eyes, like a reflection. He turned in the direction it came from. The house next to Rowan’s. He looked up at the second-floor windows, and the drapes fluttered.

He saw him. The money man.

Rowan cowered in the corner for several minutes before gathering her courage. The shock of seeing the dead grandmother had worn off and the viciousness of Bobby’s crimes hit her.

Someone had to fight for the victims.

How many innocent people had Bobby killed, all because he wanted to torment her? All because she was the one who got away?

“I will kill you, Bobby MacIntosh,” she said out loud to no one, except the dead.

She searched for anything that could be used as a weapon. Anything. But there was nothing. Bobby had stripped the room. There wasn’t even bathroom cleaner remaining in the cabinets, a razor blade stuck between drawers, or a wire coat hanger hanging in the closet. There was nothing.

She would have to rely on her own strength and training. She positioned herself inside the door and listened. Waited.

John slammed his fist on the table in the FBI conference room. It was after midnight and they had nothing.

A madman had Rowan somewhere, and John had no idea where to start looking. It was as if they’d disappeared off the face of the earth.

Peter O’Brien sat at a desk, quiet and solemn. John almost forgot he was in the room until he said, “Rowan is strong. She’s not going to give up.”

“He’s been tormenting her. Sending her proof of his crimes. Mementoes,” he said bitterly.

“But she didn’t break.” Peter paused. “Four years ago, when she left the FBI, she thought she was losing her mind like our father and that solitude was the only way to keep her sanity. I tried to explain that she was stronger than she thought, that knowing she needed time away proved she was saner than most people.” He shook his head. “Rowan didn’t understand.”

John caught Peter’s eye. “I think she understands now. But MacIntosh is a violent killer. Smart. Shrewd.” He sank into a chair and leaned forward, helpless. He banged his head against the polished surface of the conference table, trying to figure out where he’d gone wrong.

“I should have brought her with me,” John said. “I should have known she wouldn’t stay put.”

Peter nodded. “Rowan doesn’t like people to fight her battles. But she sure takes them on for others.”

John leaned back in his chair and looked at him. “What did you know back then? Did you know your brother was so twisted?”

Peter frowned and closed his eyes. “Bobby took pleasure in tormenting the women in the house. And me, but mostly the girls. He called our mother a whore. Accused her of sleeping with the neighbors, Dad’s boss, anyone. She would turn away and cry, but never correct him. Never punish him. She probably couldn’t.

“She loved us, but worshipped our father.” Peter paused. “Dad hit her. I didn’t see it happen more than twice, but I saw the aftermath many times. He was always so sorry afterward, and she never said anything about it.

“But once I heard Bobby yell at Dad to stop apologizing. Saying she deserved it. Dad hit him, and Bobby left for days. Though my mother was worried about him, it was like a dark cloud had been lifted from the house. We all breathed a little easier.

“Then he came back. And it got worse.”

Peter opened his eyes and looked at John. “I’ve counseled women in abusive situations. I’ve explained to them that just because their husband is head of the house doesn’t mean he can hurt them. I’ve helped several women leave their husbands and find help. I hate splitting up the family, but I know if they didn’t leave, they could end up just like my mother. Dead. Their innocent children orphans. Or worse. When they leave, they leave for their kids. Not for themselves. Somehow, deep down, they think they deserve the abuse. Or that their husband will change. Or they believe he’s truly sorry.

“In all the years and the families I’ve counseled, dozens of them in abusive situations, only one husband has ever repented and gotten beyond his violence.” Peter sighed, sounding weary. “The statistics aren’t promising.”

“How do you do it? How do you face those women and not relive what happened to your family?”

“Remembering what happened to my family propels me forward. It’s what drives Rowan, though she buries her feelings. I’m hurt and angry, but I can help other families escape the violence. Rowan’s hurt and angry, so decided to fight for families who never escaped. The victims. The difference is she never understood why she did what she did. When she saw the family in Tennessee, the hard reality of her life overwhelmed her and she quit. To survive.”

John mulled over everything Peter had said. He had an uncanny way of pegging things just right. He understood Rowan, her motivation and her conflicts. Yet Rowan admittedly kept her brother at arm’s length. Why? Because Peter reminded her of the past? Or because he knew her so well?

He was about to ask how often they spoke when his phone rang. He grabbed it immediately. “Flynn.”

Silence on the other end.

“Rowan?” he asked, jumping out of his chair, hopeful.

“N-no,” a small voice said. “It-it’s Adam.”

“Adam?” John sank into his chair, his brow furrowed. “What’s wrong?”

“You gave me your number. Is-is it okay to call?”

“Of course. Of course you can call me anytime. Are you okay? Did something happen?”

“I remembered something.”

John stiffened, fully alert. “What? What did you remember?”

“I told you the man at the flowers looked familiar, right?”

“Yes.”

“I’ve been having this dream. Over and over. But I didn’t know why. Until tonight. See, I thought all day about the first time Rowan took me to her house. We watched the sunset together. I’d never seen one before, and she-”