The Prey Page 21

  She rapidly flipped through the photos. She couldn’t look. This was what she was here to do, but she couldn’t do it. Quinn took them from the stack and placed them face down, away from her. She wiped her face, surprised to feel damp cheeks.

  Focus on the reports. Pretend she hadn’t been there. This was simply another investigation, the family strangers.

  She didn’t know if she could finish, but she had to.

  She picked the pictures up again and took a deep breath.

  She noticed the room had become silent. Quinn watched her closely. Tess had stopped working and was staring at her, a frown on her round face. Damn. If the answers were here, in this damned file, she had to find them.

  Quinn’s cell phone rang and he answered. “Peterson. . . . All right, thanks for the heads up.” He slammed the phone shut.

  “What’s wrong?” Rowan asked, fearing the worst. Not another dead body.

  “Colleen has Adam in the garage with John. They’ll be up in a few minutes.”

  She nodded and turned back to the files. The words were a blur. Was she losing it? No. Tears. She absently rubbed her eyes and took a deep breath.

  She had to focus, read the reports like the agent she was trained to be. Look for clues. Like this crowd shot. She looked at each face closely. Were any familiar? Had she known these people as a child? Were they somehow in her life now?

  She had to pretend this wasn’t her family slaughtered so mercilessly. Pretend they were strangers.

  Right. Strangers who haunted her in her sleep.

  She looked up and noticed Tess was still watching her, an odd expression on her face. The door opened and Tess turned back to her computer. John led Adam into the room, a hand on his shoulder. The kid looked terrified and glanced at John for reassurance. When Adam’s eyes rested on Rowan, he visibly recoiled, drawing closer to John. Rowan felt small and miserable. She’d hurt someone she cared about and didn’t know how to fix it. Or if it could be fixed.

  John murmured something in his ear and Adam marginally relaxed, but he avoided looking at Rowan. John sat him down at another desk facing the wall.

  “The pictures?” he asked Quinn.

  Rowan sighed in relief as Quinn picked up the folder in front of her and handed it to John.

  He opened it, glanced through it, and pulled out the crowd shots.

  “Adam, remember what I told you,” John said, leaning over the desk and looking the scared kid in the eye. “I’ll be right here. All I want is for you to look at these pictures and tell me if you’ve seen any of these people before. Remember, they might not look exactly the same, but older.”

  “Yes, John,” Adam said, his voice quivering.

  Rowan tried to focus on her task and tore her eyes away from John and Adam.

  Her heart felt heavy in her chest. John looked at the pictures with Adam, glanced at her. Was that pity she saw in his eyes? His jaw clenched, and she saw his pulse throbbing in his neck.

  No, not pity. Rage. It wasn’t directed at her, but it made her uncomfortable. She didn’t want anyone, particularly John, fighting her ghosts. But dammit, if she couldn’t get herself under control she’d be no good in battling her demons, the real demon killer and those in her nightmares.

  She focused again on the file.

  The room was silent for a long ten minutes. Adam was the first to speak, his head hung low. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry. He’s not here. I swear, John, he’s not here. I would remember. I would, I would!” His voice rose in frustration.

  John rested his hand on Adam’s shoulder. “It’s okay, Adam.” He glanced at Quinn. “Peterson, did you get that photo I asked about?”

  “O’Brien? Yeah.” He reached across Rowan and handed John a thin folder.

  Rowan’s head shot up and her eyes narrowed. “I told you Peter had nothing to do with this!”

  “Collins cleared him, but I’m just double-checking.”

  She turned her back to him, squeezed her eyes with her fingers until they hurt.

  Peter had nothing to do with any of this. But if she didn’t know him as well as she did, wouldn’t she, too, think he was the logical suspect? “You’re right, John,” she whispered, her admission shredding her heart. Peter, please forgive me. “We have to rule him out.”

  John took the folder to Adam and said, “Adam, do you recognize this man?”

  He showed Adam a photo. Rowan couldn’t resist standing and looking at the picture herself.

  Peter looked nothing like her, except maybe for the eyes. Peter had dark hair like Dani. The picture showed him out of his clerical collar, in a button-down shirt. Where had Quinn gotten it? It appeared recent.

  She missed him. Seeing his photo reminded her that she’d intentionally separated her brother from her life. He had the Church, his adoptive family, his own life. She was a reminder of the past for him just as much as he was for her. But she still loved him.

  “Adam?” John prompted.

  Adam shook his head. “I’m sorry. I’m really, really, really sorry. That’s not him.”

  Rowan relaxed. She knew it wasn’t Peter, but couldn’t help being relieved at Adam’s affirmation.

  “What if he had sandy hair?” John asked. “Like he colored it. Remember, you saw him wearing sunglasses.”

  Adam still shook his head. “It’s not him, I know. The man I saw at the flowers had a crooked nose.”

  John glanced up at Quinn. “A crooked nose? Like maybe it had been broken? Like Agent Peterson here?”

  Adam turned to inspect Quinn. He cocked his head to the side, seeming to see something no one else in the room did. Rowan tensed.

  “Yeah, like his nose,” he said, almost in awe that he had recognized something. “It wasn’t straight like this,” he gestured to the picture. “And the man I saw had a pointier chin.”

  “I’m proud of you, Adam. You remembered a lot.”

  “But I didn’t see him.” He pointed to the picture of Peter.

  “That’s okay. What else about this picture and the man you saw is different?”

  Adam frowned as if not understanding. “I dunno.”

  Damn, they’d come so far. If they had a picture of the suspect, Rowan didn’t doubt Adam would recognize him.

  “John?” Tess said excitedly. “John, Quinn, I think I found something.”

  The men rushed to her desk. “What?” John asked.

  “I did the search on Robert MacIntosh in the medical database Quinn gave me access to. Look.”

  They were silent. “Holy shit,” John said. “Rowan, come here.” It was a command, and Rowan obeyed. But her feet felt heavy, her whole body sluggish.

  She peered over Tess’s shoulder at the screen. At first she didn’t see what John saw. Each line appeared to be a medical entry on Robert William MacIntosh. Her father. Each procedure was carried out in Boston at the Bellevue facility. Except one for surgery two weeks after the murders. Multiple gunshot wounds. Release date was four weeks later, federal custody.

  “My father wasn’t shot.”

  “But your brother—also named Robert MacIntosh—was when he tried to escape.”

  She shook her head. “Bobby was killed trying to escape.”

  “Not according to these records.”

  Rowan started shaking uncontrollably. Bobby couldn’t be alive. He couldn’t be. How? Where had he been all this time? Wouldn’t Roger have told her? Had he been lying to her all these years?

  John reached for her, but she pulled away.

  Roger had to have known. All along, he had to have known that Bobby was alive. And if Bobby was alive, he was perfectly capable of killing all those people. Doreen Rodriguez. The little Harper girl with the pigtails.

  Michael.

  She grabbed the stack of photos from the table and flipped through them, discarding most, not caring when they drifted to the floor.

  Bobby.

  She took the one clear photo of Bobby from the stack. He was handcuffed and held by one cop while another open
ed the rear door of a black-and-white. Bobby had blood on his clothes, Mel and Rachel’s blood. No one could stab another human being and walk away unsoiled.

  He had blond hair, a couple of shades darker than hers. His eyes stared at her. Cocky. Unremorseful.

  She swallowed bile at the thought he was still alive. It just couldn’t be. That meant Roger had been lying to her since he met her.

  She slapped the picture in front of Adam. “Is this the man you saw?” She couldn’t keep the fear and anger out of her voice.

  “Rowan.” John was at her side, his hand on her arm. She tried to brush him off, but he squeezed her wrist. “We need a recent photo. It’s been twenty-three years.”

  Twenty-three years. Yes, Bobby would have changed, she thought. What did he look like now? Had she seen him and not known? Not known that her evil brother was alive and walking the streets?

  Adam was mumbling something and she turned to him. “Adam, I’m sorry. I-I, just, oh hell,” she concluded lamely.

  “Maybe,” Adam whispered.

  Rowan pulled out her cell phone and dialed Roger’s direct line.

  “Collins.”

  “Why didn’t you tell me Bobby was alive?” Her voice was cold, detached, as if someone else was using her mouth.

  He said nothing for a long, long time. “Rowan, he threatened you. I sat across from that devil’s spawn and listened to him tell me how he was going to kill you. When he escaped, he killed two guards. We tried him on those deaths so you didn’t have to testify. Plenty of witnesses, and with two peace officers killed, he easily got life without parole. He wasn’t getting out, Ro. And you were having such awful nightmares, Gracie and I were worried. If you thought he was dead, what was the harm? I didn’t think—”

  “He’s been in prison all this time and I didn’t know? How dare you! How dare you keep something so important from me. I’m not some weak-kneed child anymore. I could have handled it.”

  “But—”

  “Where is he? Right now, where is he?”

  “Texas.”

  “I want to see him.”

  “I spoke with the warden after the first murder and—”

  “You suspected him?” Her world spun around her. She felt John’s hands on her arms, grounding her, easing her into a chair. But she didn’t see anything; rage the color of dried blood blinded her. She pictured Roger, the man she had often wished were her real father, sitting at his desk, telling her he’d lied to her for twenty-three years.

  “No, no, not really. I was just checking. Making sure there wasn’t a mistake. He’s in maximum security, no escapes.”

  “I want to see him. Now.”

  “Rowan—”

  “With or without you.” She couldn’t talk to Roger. She thrust her phone in John’s direction and dropped it. He grabbed it.

  “Collins?” he said into the receiver. “What prison?” He paused. “We’re leaving on the next available flight.” He hung up. “Rowan, if—”

  “John.” Tess interrupted. “Look.”

  Both John and Rowan turned to the computer screen. Tess had brought up Bobby’s mug shot. “This was taken five years ago.”

  Bobby had aged remarkably well in prison, Rowan thought. His blond hair had grown darker and was cut military style. His face was hard, his eyes cold, his skin pale. But, really, he looked like anyone. An average person. Normal.

  “I wanna go home,” Adam wailed from his desk.

  John turned to him and helped him up. “One more picture, Adam. One more.”

  “Promise?” he said, sulking.

  “I promise.”

  Adam allowed himself to be led to Tess’s computer. He stared at the screen. “Adam, is this the man you saw at the flower stand?”

  Adam nodded, tears filling his eyes. “Can I go home now?”

  Quinn motioned for Colleen, who’d been quietly standing in the corner since bringing John and Adam up earlier. “Adam, Colleen will take you home.”

  Rowan stared at the picture on the screen. Was he responsible for all this? How? If he was rotting in a prison cell, how could Adam have seen him in Malibu?

  “Thank you, Adam,” she said, trying to convey her appreciation. Adam left without looking at her.

  “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.

  CHAPTER

  17

  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.