The Prey Page 12

  “Rowan?”

  “John, we’ll be there in fifteen minutes. I told Adam he could wait for me. I’m going to have to get him back to Burbank. He doesn’t have a driver’s license.”

  “I’ll take him.”

  She paused. “You’d do that?”

  “Why wouldn’t I?”

  What did she think he was, an asshole? Obviously, Adam was a bit slow. He also worshipped Rowan. He didn’t mean her any harm, and he probably didn’t get a lot of breaks in the city.

  “I—all right. Thank you.”

  She hung up, and John stared at the phone for a minute. Rowan Smith was not a trusting soul, which didn’t bug him, except that she didn’t seem to trust him.

  Then again, he’d deliberately invaded her space, asking her tough questions—most of which she hadn’t answered yet. And he found her captivating.

  What was it about her? Sure, she was good-looking. Her white-blonde hair appeared soft and silky, something he would love to run his fingers through. She smelled fresh and natural. And her eyes—those blue-gray eyes showed him her feelings, so much better than her words and mannerisms.

  She was trying so hard to figure out what she’d done to deserve the attention of this maniac. He admired her focus, her determination, her past career. He didn’t understand why she’d quit, but obviously something about the Franklin murders got to her. Burnout? It was unexpected from her personality—at least the strong, independent persona she showed to the world.

  But Rowan was closed and private, kept information from him that she might not think was important, but damn well could be. John didn’t like deception, intended or not, and expected everyone he worked with to be on the up-and-up. To trust him. That code of honor was necessary in the jungles of South America, on the streets of Mexico, and in every drug port along the American coastline. If he couldn’t trust her, what did he have?

  And if she didn’t trust him, how could he get closer?

  He wanted to. He wanted to find out what made her tick. Like her friend Adam. Mentally slow, but Rowan had shown him some attention when it was obvious the kid had received few breaks in his life. Another facet of her complex personality.

  “Adam, how about we go into the house?”

  “It’s locked.”

  “I know, but I have a key to the side door.” John led the way and in just a few minutes had Adam seated at the island bar. The kid was still worrying the poor flowers in his hands. “Why don’t I put those in water?”

  “They’re for Rowan.”

  “I know. But flowers need water.”

  “Oh. Right, they need water.” He looked sheepish, and John felt bad for him. From his comments earlier, his mother hadn’t been any kind of support. Rowan obviously had taken him under her wing and had the patience of a saint. John couldn’t help but admire that in her.

  John found a vase on the top shelf of the pantry and filled it with water, then poured in the packet of crystals that came with the lilies for preservation. He arranged the flowers in the vase and shook his head. “I’m not too good at this.”

  Adam moved them around a little and they looked surprisingly better. “I broke one,” he said with a frown.

  “That’s okay, it’s still standing.” John picked up the vase and carried it into the dining room, centering it on the table. He called through the opening into the kitchen. “Is it okay here?”

  Adam looked over the pass-through and smiled. “Yes. That’s pretty.”

  John came back into the kitchen. “Do you want some water? A Coke?”

  Adam nodded. “Milk. And Rowan said she had chocolate chocolate chip cookies and I could have one.”

  John hunted for the cookies and found them in the pantry, a half-eaten bag of gourmet double chocolate chip cookies. Rowan had a sweet tooth, and John couldn’t help but smile. She was real after all, and not just the outer shell of a perfect woman.

  Rowan walked into the kitchen, Michael right behind her. John and Adam were eating cookies and drinking milk at the island. John looked up sheepishly, a milk mustache across his top lip. He looked so silly, it made her want to smile. Big tough ex-military guy walking around with milk on his upper lip. Because she found it endearing, she quickly turned to Adam and pushed the image of John from her mind.

  “Adam, why did you drive all the way out here?” she asked.

  Adam glanced up at her, worrying his glass in his hands. He looked both embarrassed and excited.

  “I wanted to tell you I was really, really sorry about Marcy.”

  “You already apologized. I told you I wasn’t mad.”

  Adam frowned and stared into his almost empty glass of milk. “I know,” he mumbled. “But Barry was mad, and he still acts mad sometimes. He says Marcy might try to get me fired.”

  “I won’t let Marcy get you fired. I told you that.”

  “Or Barry?”

  “Or Barry.”

  “Promise?”

  “I’ll do my best.” Rowan put her hand on Adam’s chin, making him look at her. “But what you did today was wrong. I called Barry and told him about the truck. He didn’t even know it was gone. What if he had called the police, thinking it was stolen?”

  “I-I hadn’t thought about that. I wasn’t going to be gone a long time, just to bring you the flowers and go.”

  “I understand, but you don’t have a driver’s license, Adam. You could have hurt someone because you don’t know all the rules of the road. I told you when you want to learn to drive, I’ll teach you and help you get your license. But you can’t do it whenever you want.”

  “I’m sorry. I’m stupid. Are you mad at me?”

  Rowan tried to look stern, but couldn’t pull it off. Not with Adam. She cared about him so much and wanted to strangle his mother for her cruel indifference and verbal abuse. “You’re not stupid, Adam. I don’t want to ever hear you say that again. Understand?”

  “But—”

  “Adam.”

  “Yes, Rowan. You’re not mad?”

  “I’m not mad. Just don’t do it again.”

  He heaved a huge sigh of relief, and Rowan gave him a hug. She glanced at John, who had a thoughtful expression on his face. She quickly turned away. She didn’t want to be drawn to John Flynn. He was dangerous. Dangerous to her.

  John’s cell phone rang and he answered it. Rowan couldn’t hear the conversation, but John’s face turned from contemplative to blank like a switch. It was about her. She wanted to confront him, but she’d do the same thing in his shoes. She didn’t have to like it though.

  “Thanks, Andy,” he said and hung up. He caught her eye, but his expression remained closed.

  He was up to something. What?

  “What was that about?” Michael asked.

  Rowan had almost forgotten Michael was there. He leaned against the doorway, his casual stance belying the tension she saw in his neck and shoulders. At first she’d thought John and Michael were close, but there was a growing unease whenever they were in the same room together.

  “Business,” John said, sliding the cell phone into his jeans pocket. “Adam brought flowers.”

  John had deliberately changed the subject, and Rowan was certain he was checking up on her. The thought angered her, but her impulse to push him was interrupted when Adam started talking, excited.

  “John found a vase, I hope that’s okay, but I didn’t want them to die. I broke one, so you can throw it out, but they’re still pretty.”

  “I’m sure they’re lovely, Adam, but you didn’t need to bring me anything.”

  Adam nodded his head vigorously. “Oh, yes. Barry always gets Sylvie flowers when she gets mad at him. And even though you said you weren’t mad at me about tricking Marcy, I knew you were a little bit mad, and I wanted to tell you I was sorry, but not just say it, you know?”

  Rowan smiled. “I know. That was very thoughtful.” She looked around the kitchen. “Where are they?”

  “John put them in the dining room.” Adam
jumped off the stool and grabbed Rowan’s hand, pulling her into the next room. “I was going to get roses, but the man said the calla lilies were better for friends. We’re friends. Aren’t they pretty?”

  Rowan smiled until she saw the flowers.

  Lilies.

  Her eyesight faded from the periphery, until all she saw were the white lilies. A dead voice, as clear as if her mother were standing right next to her, said, “Aren’t they pretty? Just like you, Lily.”

  Lily looked up at her mother and smiled. “They’re prettier, Mama.”

  Mama laughed and shook her head. “You’ll be such a charmer with the men when you grow up, sweetheart.” She ran her soft, slender fingers through Lily’s hair, and Lily leaned into the caress with a smile. “You know I named you Lily because your daddy gave me lilies on our first date.”

  “I know, Mama.” But she loved the story. She couldn’t picture her father giving her mama flowers. He was so serious all the time. And sometimes he yelled at Mama. She didn’t see him much. She was in bed before he came home from work most nights, and the only time she ever really talked to him was on Sundays. And sharing his attention with her two brothers and two sisters was hard. She preferred to read or play out in the backyard.

  Three sisters, she reminded herself as she looked over at the bassinet. Danielle was beautiful.

  “Why didn’t you name the baby Rose so you can get roses all the time? Roses are prettier than lilies.” Lily wrinkled her nose. She really didn’t like bouquets of flowers all that much. They were nice when they were freshly cut and arranged in a vase, but they died and Mama threw them in the garbage, almost as if she didn’t care. Lily didn’t know why someone would want flowers around the house all the time when they died so fast.

  Outside in the garden, flowers lived forever. They slept in the winter, but they came back every spring. Those flowers Lily liked.

  Mama laughed and kissed Lily’s head. “You are a funny girl.”

  Danielle started squeaking. It wasn’t really a cry, just a little squawk. “I think she’s hungry, Lily. Will you get her for me?”

  “Me?” Lily wanted so much to hold the new baby, but her father told her not to touch, that babies weren’t dolls.

  “Of course you.”

  Lily walked over to the bassinet and looked at her baby sister. She’d loved her the minute Daddy brought Mama and the baby home last week. But knowing that she could hold her, bring her to Mama to be fed, brought that love to a new level. She could help be the mama. She couldn’t feed her because she didn’t have breasts yet, but she could change her diaper and her clothes and bring her to Mama.

  She smiled brightly.

  “Hi, baby,” she said in her best mother voice. “I’m your big sister Lily. We’re going to be best friends.”

  Carefully, tenderly, she picked up the newborn, supporting her head just like Mama had taught her. She walked three steps to the couch.

  Mama put the baby to her breast. She suckled, and Mama got a dreamy expression on her face. “Lily, there is nothing in the world better than feeding your baby. One day, you’ll grow up and be a mama.”

  “I want lots of kids.”

  Mama smiled. “You can have as many as you want. You can do anything with your life, sweetheart. You can be a doctor or a lawyer or a teacher or a mother. All are important.”

  “But mamas are the most important because babies need them,” Lily said, feeling very smart.

  “Yes, babies need their mamas.”

  A loud thump upstairs made Lily jump, and she stepped closer to her mother.

  “Stupid brat! Get out of my way.”

  It was Bobby. He sounded mad. Even madder than Daddy got when Mama didn’t do something right.

  “Honey,” Mama said, worried. “Go take care of Peter. Hurry.”

  Lily ran from the room, her fear for Peter greater than her fear of Bobby. She stopped at the bottom of the stairs and looked up.

  “No!” she screamed.

  Bobby pushed Peter and his little toddler legs buckled. He grabbed at the railing as Bobby stomped down the stairs.

  Lily ran up the stairs, and Bobby laughed at her. “Hope you break your neck, Lily Pad.”

  Lily ignored him and watched as Peter stumbled and fell three stairs, then grabbed a rail. He cried out, but she caught him. “Are you okay, baby?” she asked as she helped Peter back up the stairs. A door slammed. Bobby was gone. She hoped he never came back. He scared her so much.

  She hated him.

  CHAPTER

  11

  Rowan hit the vase with her arm. It flew off the table and onto the floor, water spraying everywhere. The vase cracked and the lilies scattered.

  John frowned, uncertain of what had just happened, and watched Rowan turn to Adam, her eyes wide and terrified. “Who told you? Who told you?”

  “I-I-I-” Adam stammered, tears streaming down his face.

  John reached Rowan before Michael and grabbed her face, forcing her to look at him. “Rowan, stop. Now.”

  She blinked at John, her eyes wide with uncertainty. Then she glanced at Adam’s petrified face.

  “Adam. I’m sorry.” She took a step back, shaking.

  “What was that about?” John asked, his hands dropping to her shoulders. He gave her a light shake, worried. He saw the indecision on her face about whether or not to trust him. “You can trust me,” he whispered.

  Her eyes brimmed with tears as her hand fluttered to her mouth. She dry heaved and fled from the room.

  Damn. So close! He started after her, but Michael put his arm up. “John, give her a minute.”

  “Shit, Michael, there’s something she’s not telling us that’s directly related to what’s going on. We can’t allow her to keep us in the dark.”

  “Playing big bad bully isn’t going to get her to open up,” Michael said, his jaw twitching with anger.

  John ran a hand through his hair. She’d relived some memory when she saw the flowers. She’d stared at them for over a minute before breaking the vase. What about them had set her off?

  John shot a glance at Adam. He’d shrunk down against the wall, silent tears running down his face, arms tight around his legs. Rowan was going to feel awful when she realized what she’d done.

  He squatted in front of him. “Adam?” No response. “Adam, it’s okay.”

  “I’ll call the studio and have someone pick him up,” Michael said.

  “No.” John’s voice was harsher than intended. “I promised Rowan I’d take him home.” He reached out and touched Adam’s arm. “Adam, I need you to do me a favor.”

  Adam sobbed. “Sh-she hates me.”

  “No, Adam, Rowan does not hate you. She cares about you very, very much. She’s sorry about the flowers.”

  “She h-hates the fl-flowers. I shouldn’ta listened to the man.”

  John’s instincts hummed. “The man? What man? The florist?”

  Adam shook his head, still not looking at John. “No, he didn’t speak English too good.”

  “Who? A customer?”

  “I-I think s-so.”

  “Where did you buy the flowers?”

  Adam shrugged, his shoulders heaving with quiet sobs.

  “Adam, this is very important,” John stressed. “I need you to show me where you bought the flowers.”

  “Wh-wh-why? Rowan hates me.”

  “No, Adam, Rowan doesn’t hate you. But if you show me where you bought the flowers, Rowan will be very happy.”

  Adam looked up for the first time and John’s heart twisted when he saw the agony on the young man’s face. His dark hair was plastered to his skull, his too-white skin ghostly in contrast. “Rowan is never happy.”

  The reality of Adam’s simple statement hit John. Rowan was keeping something bottled up inside, and there was no doubt that whatever it was, the murderer knew. He was pulling her strings. Copying her fictional murders, sending her the pigtails, the funeral wreath—

  —convincing Adam to
buy lilies.

  The man was playing with Rowan, forcing her to relive memories John suspected were long buried.

  But nothing stayed buried forever.

  “Adam, please. This is very, very important. I need you to take me to where you bought the flowers.”

  “Okay.” His voice was quiet, like a reprimanded child.

  John helped him up. Adam saw the flowers on the floor and his bottom lip quivered. John steered him out of the room and said to Michael, “I’ll be back shortly. If you learn anything from her, let me know.”

  “Sure.”

  John glanced back at Michael as he left, but his brother had a faraway look on his face. What was up with that? Now was not the time or place to figure out what was going on with Michael, but he suspected it had everything to do with his feelings about Rowan. Michael was no dummy. He knew John was getting involved, too.

  He didn’t want to damage his friendship with his brother over this case. Or this woman. But he feared it might be too late.

  “Rowan? Honey?”

  Michael was knocking on her bedroom door, but she didn’t let him in. Honey. Her stomach churned. She didn’t want to worry about hurting Michael. He was a good man, but he couldn’t understand; he would hug her and pat her on the back like a child and tell her everything was going to be all right.

  Everything was not going to be all right. Someone knew. Someone knew her name was Lily. And if he knew her name was Lily, he knew everything about her.

  Who hated her so much that he wanted her to relive the worst night of her life?

  When she was a senior in high school, she’d read No Exit. Three people trapped in purgatory, reliving their worst nightmare. Over and over and over—that was her life. One big nightmare. She thought it had started when she was ten, but it started so many years before. It started before she was born. It started when her father met her mother and took her on a date and gave her lilies.

  “Rowan?”