The Prey Read online

  Michael fully intended to live up to his responsibilities as a bodyguard, and while he owed John an apology for some of the things he’d said, his brother had to understand that this was still his case and he wasn’t going to be pushed aside again, no matter what John thought. Then they could arm wrestle, best two out of three, and the loser could buy the winner a six-pack.

  Michael smiled. He could never stay mad at John for long.

  Rowan had gone up to her room to change as soon as they’d arrived back at the beach house. John took the opportunity to secure the perimeter, get out of the monkey suit, and slip into jeans and a black T-shirt.

  And stew over his fight with Michael.

  It had been a low blow to pull Peterson into the mix, John admitted to himself, but Michael needed a night off. He was losing his objectivity. But when John told him as much, Michael looked ready to deck him.

  John regretted his end of the conversation. He hadn’t wanted to fight with his brother; he hadn’t wanted to remind him about Jessica—again. He simply needed time alone with Rowan to get her to talk, knowing she wouldn’t say word one about her past with Michael hovering over her.

  John had to find out the truth about Lily MacIntosh and her father. How it fit in with this lunatic running around, he didn’t know. But somehow, it was connected. It was the only thing that made sense.

  He hoped Michael would forgive him. He was sure he would once he saw through the haze of his anger. They’d had worse arguments in the past, but when push came to shove, they stood by each other.

  When Rowan hadn’t come down thirty minutes later, John went up to her room and knocked on the door. “Rowan, we need to talk.”

  “I’m tired. Good night.”

  “You’re not getting off the hook that easy. Open this door or I’ll break it down.”

  “You wouldn’t dare.”

  “Watch me. Lily.” His heart raced. It was a gamble, but he needed to get her to open up to him. To trust him enough to tell him everything.

  He didn’t say anything and neither did Rowan. Several minutes later, he heard the bolt slide open. He braced himself as she opened the door.

  Hatred was etched on her face, her jaw clenched, her neck throbbing, her hands in tight fists by her side. But her eyes—they weren’t filled with hate. They showed only one emotion: pain.

  “Rowan—” he began. Then she came at him with her fists, hitting his chest over and over.

  “Who told you? Who told you? You bastard! How dare you invade my privacy! How dare you!” She ended in a sob and he grabbed her wrists and ushered her into the bedroom.

  “Tell me everything.”

  “What, you don’t know?” she said bitterly. “You obviously found out my name is Lily.” She pulled away from him, her hair whipping his face as she turned abruptly and crossed the room to stare out the window. It was dark outside, pitch black. He saw her reflection in the glass, the agony of her defeated expression, and his heart skipped a beat.

  He hated doing this to her, but it was the only option.

  “Yes,” he said quietly. “Your name was Lily Elizabeth MacIntosh and Roger Collins became your guardian when you were ten. You were born in Boston and your father is still there.” He saw her eyes grow wide in the reflection. “And I know where he is.”

  She turned and faced him, her chin up. “But you don’t know why?”

  He gave an almost imperceptible nod. “I want you to tell me.”

  “Why? You know everything. How long did it take you to dig up those files? Four, five days? Nice job.” Her voice cracked at the end.

  “I’m afraid you don’t have another day, Rowan,” he said, his volume increasing. “I think he’s coming after you, and I can’t protect you if I don’t know who I’m fighting against. I think you know. I think you know exactly who’s murdering these women.”

  Her mouth dropped open. “If I knew, I’d tell you. I have no fucking idea who’s doing this!” She closed her eyes and John watched as she gathered her strength. He wanted to go to her side, console her, coddle her.

  But she’d clam up. This was the only way.

  “Convince me.” He sat on the edge of the bed and crossed his arms over his chest.

  Rowan opened her eyes and stared at him. She hated John Flynn. All her fears, all the pain she’d buried for so long, filled her heart. She was at the breaking point. Was this what it felt like to lose your sanity? As if a million pounds of pressure pushed at you from within, threatening to explode?

  Her chin quivered, and she tightened it, turning to face the window again. Everything had come down to this. No matter what Roger said, how much he’d reassured her over the last week that these murders had nothing to do with her past, she couldn’t shake the feeling that someone knew about Dani. Who? She had no idea. Why? Why would he go after her now? After all this time? Who had she hurt so much that he wanted to destroy her?

  Was Roger too close to the situation to see it clearly? She had relied on his wisdom and his strength for so long, she didn’t question his judgment. He’d been more a father to her than her own, more a mentor than any of her many partners. She loved and trusted him. But what if he’d missed something? Something important?

  She glanced over her shoulder at John. He knew about her father, but his dark green eyes weren’t full of pity or disdain. They were curious, inquisitive, probing.

  And understanding.

  Maybe, just maybe, an impartial third party could make heads or tails of this mess.

  Her voice sounded surprisingly low and calm. “I changed my name. I didn’t want the name my father gave me. I didn’t want his name.” She saw John’s reflection in the glass, unable to escape his watchful gaze. But somehow it was soothing, and she gathered the last of her strength to share her story, her past that had been buried for twenty-three years.

  “I was ten years old,” she began, her voice sounding unlike her, distant, flat, odd. “It was late, after eleven o’clock. I heard Johnny Carson in my parents’ bedroom. Something woke me.”

  She leapt from her bed, heart pounding. What was that? What was that noise?

  There. Again. A cry of pain.

  She rushed to the toddler bed in the corner, searched for Dani amongst all the stuffed animals. There she was, between Winnie-the-Pooh and her huge giraffe.

  “I started downstairs and I heard my father say, ‘I can’t trust you! I can’t trust you!’ My mother screamed.”

  “I can’t trust you!”

  “Robert, no! Please! The children—“

  And she screamed, but it was cut short. The sound of silence was even worse. Then grunts and an inhuman scream coming from her father. Banging, a shout, a door slamming.

  “Beth! Beth! Dear God, Beth!”

  “I didn’t want to follow the voices, but I couldn’t help myself. They were in the kitchen.”

  The white walls were red, drips running down the smooth painted surface. An arc of blood stained Mama’s blue checked curtains, the new ones she’d just made last month.

  “My father didn’t see me. He was holding a knife and it was red with blood. He was drenched, and for a minute I thought he’d been hurt.

  “Then I saw Mama.”

  An arm draped across her face, her pink nightie stained red. It was wet and blood oozed out of her body. One blue eye stared at her. The other was missing. Her mama wasn’t there. Mama was dead.

  “I screamed, but Daddy didn’t hear me. He dropped the knife and gathered Mama up in his arms and rocked her like a baby. But—I sensed he wasn’t there. It was like he was already gone; his eyes were vacant, hollow.

  “Then he came in.”

  “Who?” John asked, but his voice sounded so far away.

  “Bobby. My brother. He was eighteen, the oldest.”

  Bobby stood in the door, an odd expression on his face. He was almost smiling. He looked at her and narrowed his eyes. “You. You’ve always been a fucking pain in my ass. It’s your turn.”

  “Bobb
y picked up the knife my father dropped. He told me to run.”

  “Run, little bitch. I’ll get you. After I take care of everyone else. One by one they’ll die and then I’ll come for you.”

  “I ran.” Her voice cracked and she swallowed. She vividly remembered the terror in her chest.

  Get out! Get out! She started for the front door.

  “I couldn’t leave the house. Not without Dani and Peter. How could I leave them to die? I ran past the front door just as I heard the lock turning. Melanie and Rachel had been out at a movie and they were coming home. I screamed at them to run, but I don’t think any sound came out.”

  Call the police! Please! Go away! Had she spoken? She didn’t know, but the door opened and Bobby stood there, on the other side of the door, and she did scream then.

  “Lily?” Rachel said, then her eyes widened as she saw Bobby come at her with the knife. She had no time to scream, but Mel did.

  “He stabbed Rachel and Mel in the foyer. Over and over and I watched. It was like I couldn’t move. Then he looked up the stairs at me.”

  “Exciting, little Lily Pad, isn’t it?” Bobby was breathing hard, covered in blood, and he plunged the knife again into Rachel’s body and left it there. He crossed over to the hall closet and she knew he was getting Daddy’s gun. Lily turned and ran down the hall.

  “He had a gun. Peter had come out of his room and was standing in the hall, shaking. I grabbed him and went into my room to get Dani. I was crying, I couldn’t stop, and we all went to Mama’s room.”

  She locked the door but feared Bobby could get in. “Lily, what’s happening?” Peter asked, his voice quivering.

  “Get in the closet!” she told him. “Take Dani.”

  Dani was crying and Peter held her close.

  “I picked up the phone and dialed 911. I waited and waited and someone finally picked up. But I heard Bobby coming down the hall. He was laughing, but it wasn’t a laugh.”

  “Nine-one-one, what is your emergency?”

  “M-m-my mama’s dead. Dad-daddy. B-Bobby has a gun.” She couldn’t help stuttering, and hated herself for it.

  “Stay on the line. Are you in danger?”

  “Yes!”

  A gunshot rang out, down the hall, followed by more of Bobby’s laughter. She screamed and dropped the phone.

  “I went into the closet with Peter and Dani and tried to keep them quiet, but I was crying and I just knew the police weren’t going to get to us in time. We prayed together, Peter and I, and held Dani between us.”

  More gunshots, and the bedroom door burst open. “I know you’re in here, Lily bitch. You think you’re so smart. I see how you look at me. Well, I’m going to have the last laugh.” The gun went off again and again and again . . .

  Rowan turned and faced John, tears streaming down her face. She impatiently wiped at them with the back of her hand. “I heard the sirens and the shooting stopped. I didn’t know where Bobby went, but Roger told me later he jumped out one of the bedroom windows to escape. They caught him at the end of the street and arrested him. Daddy—they arrested Daddy, but he was already gone. In his mind, he was dead.”

  She closed her eyes, saw Dani in her mind. Her beautiful, sweet little baby sister. “I didn’t know Dani was dead until the paramedics came in and pulled her from my arms. A bullet had hit her and she’d died instantly. I thought the warm liquid I felt was our tears. It was her blood. All over me.”

  She hadn’t heard John get up, but suddenly he pulled her into his arms and stroked her hair. She sank into him, gripping his back, feeding off his strength.

  Then her feet left the ground and he carried her to the oversized chair in the corner, nestling her into his lap. She leaned against him, her head on his shoulder, and felt herself marginally relax.

  “What happened to Peter?” John asked quietly.

  “He was adopted by a wonderful family in Boston. He’s a priest now. We keep in touch, but no one knows about him. No one knows he’s my brother.”

  “You didn’t have any other family? Anyone to take you in?”

  The rejection was still raw, she realized as she told him, her voice detached. “My mother had a sister. Aunt Karen. She—she came out to see Peter and me. She wouldn’t take us. She—we were his children, after all. And he’d killed our mother. Her sister. She couldn’t forgive us.”

  “You were children!”

  “And then our grandparents, my father’s parents. They were older, in their late sixties or so; they’re dead now. They tried, but they couldn’t take care of us.” She took a deep breath. “I had nightmares. Peter wouldn’t, couldn’t talk. They didn’t know how to help us.”

  “And Roger Collins stepped in?”

  She took a deep breath, slowly let it out. “I met Roger when I agreed to testify against my brother Bobby. It wasn’t an FBI case, but Roger was a crime scene investigator and had experience working with survivors. He debriefed me.” Debriefed. How clinical, she thought. “He took pity on me and asked if I wanted to live with him and his wife. I agreed. But I wouldn’t let them adopt me.”

  “Why?”

  She shrugged. “I couldn’t. I didn’t want to love them. Everyone I love dies.”

  “Where’s Bobby now?” John’s voice was a low growl, his anger simmering beneath the surface, but Rowan felt it in his tense muscles.

  “Dead.” She paused, then let out a jerky breath, a sob breaking at the end. “He escaped on his way to the courthouse. Killed two guards in the process. He was shot on sight a few miles away when he tried to carjack someone. Good riddance.”

  “You wanted to testify,” John said as he stroked her hair.

  “Yes, dammit! I wanted everyone in the world to hear what he did. He got off too easy. I wanted him to suffer.” Her hands fisted in his T-shirt and a low, guttural sob escaped her chest.

  She stayed like that for a long time, until she could control her breathing, until the tremors in her body subsided. The hard strength of John’s body beneath hers, his muscular arms holding her tight, keeping her close, gave her a peace she’d never felt before. Even if only for this moment, she truly felt safe.

  She felt lighter, as if sharing her burden with John had cleansed her soul. She allowed his comfort, allowed him to share her pain. She felt almost free, and it was a heady experience.

  John rocked her for quite some time, mulling over everything she’d told him. He’d suspected she’d gone through something traumatic as a child, and when he learned her father had killed her mother he couldn’t imagine anything worse.

  Yet it was much, much worse. It sickened him. He wanted to twist the bastard’s neck himself. Both her father and her dead brother.

  All that death, all that misery, heaped on a ten-year-old. It was amazing she hadn’t broken down before.

  “Is that why you quit the force? The Franklin murders hit too close to home?”

  She stiffened in his arms, and he inwardly swore. It wasn’t fair, but he had to know everything. Somehow, her past and what was happening now were connected. Maybe the Franklin murders fit in somehow.

  “I almost lost my mind when I saw little Rebecca Sue Franklin dead, because she looked just like Dani. Satisfied?” She tried to sound tough and embittered, but failed. She sounded defeated.

  “I’m not trying to hurt you, Rowan. But you have to face the truth. Something in your past is connected to these murders. Someone knows what happened to you. You can’t tell me, after receiving the hair and the lilies, that you don’t believe it.”

  She said nothing for a long time, and John wondered if she was going to speak at all. “I—I really thought after the hair that it was all connected to the Franklin murders. That case was why I quit the force. It was the impetus to get me to focus on writing books, because I couldn’t do the job anymore. I thought for sure . . .” Her voice trailed off.

  “And?”

  “Roger interviewed Franklin’s brother, the one who’d never believed Karl Franklin killed his fa
mily and himself. He reviewed the case files; I looked at them for the first time. He has a dozen agents going through not only that case, but all my cases. And nothing. Nothing.”

  She paused a long time, and John didn’t interrupt her contemplation. A few moments later she said, “I asked Roger if there was someone else who knew about me, someone from the past. A relative I didn’t know about, a cop who wasn’t right in the head, anyone. He promised he’d look into it, but so far—” she shrugged. “They’re all dead, John! Gone.”

  “What about your brother?”

  “I told you, he’s dead.”

  “Your other brother. Peter.”

  She jumped up, staggered backward. Her entire body trembled. “Peter? Are you serious? How dare you!”

  “I’m trying to figure this out,” he said, standing slowly, palms up. He hoped she understood he didn’t mean to hurt her. She continued to back away from him.

  “That is the most ridiculous thing I have ever heard! He’s a priest, dammit! He’s the kindest, gentlest man I know. He would never, never take anyone’s life. He would never hurt me.”

  John spoke slowly and steadily, wanting Rowan to carefully consider all the possibilities but not sure she was ready to. “Rowan, listen to me. Someone knows about your past, intimate details about your family and your sister Dani. Hell, it took me nearly a week to get what I got and it barely scratched the surface. Someone knows what hurts you. Your brother Peter is a possibility.”

  She shook her head. “No. No! You don’t know him.” She put her hands to her face and violently sobbed.

  John went to her. She tried to push him off, but she stumbled in her anguish and he gathered her up. “I’m sorry, Rowan. I’m sorry.” He kissed her forehead as he forced her to sit with him on the edge of the bed.

  “It’s not Peter,” she mumbled after several minutes, finally relaxing into his chest, her body still shaking. “Roger put an FBI team on him after the second murder. As protection. If he was traveling all over killing people, they’d have known.”