The Prey

by Allison Brennan

  One of the guards left the room and the imposter became visibly agitated. Certainly he had heard of more than one criminal who’d been caught because of DNA. DNA was king at enough trials to make any prisoner wary.

  “I, uh—” he began, then stopped.

  “Tell me where Bobby MacIntosh is,” Roger said.

  “I don’t know,” the prisoner whispered. His eyes darted from Rowan to Roger to the warden. “I think I need a lawyer.”

  Roger slammed his fist on the table. “No!”

  Warden Cullen frowned at him. Rowan leaned forward. “Sir,” she asked, “what is your name?”

  “Lloyd,” he answered, his shackles rustling.

  “Lloyd, my name is Rowan Smith.”

  He shrugged. “I know.”

  “I’m the reason Bobby wanted out of prison, right?” she prodded.

  Lloyd hesitated, then nodded.

  Her head spun. It was Bobby. All along it was him, and he wanted to destroy her. Take from her what he hadn’t twenty-three years ago.

  She kept her voice firm and modulated. “Bobby told you about me.”

  He hesitated. “I really think I need—”

  Warden Cullen interrupted. “Look, Lloyd, I’ll tell you what. Anything you tell us here won’t be used against you, okay? Just answer their questions.”

  Lloyd didn’t look convinced. “He’ll kill me if I talk.”

  Rowan stared at him. “I’ll kill you if you don’t.”

  “Ms. Smith—” Warden Cullen warned.

  The guard returned with two pieces of official-looking paper. He handed them to the warden, who read them and nodded. Lloyd paled, his pasty complexion becoming even whiter.

  Cullen spoke. “This proves you’re not Robert MacIntosh. Do you want to cooperate or be charged with accessory to murder?”

  “Murder? But she’s not dead!”

  “Bobby started with others,” Rowan said. “He plans to end with me. But I have no intention of letting him kill me.” She kept her face rigid, her eyes shielded. She knew she looked fearsome; it was an expression the press had loved to comment on when she’d been with the Bureau. It also worked well on criminals.

  She couldn’t afford to break down now. Not when they were so close.

  Lloyd swallowed, glanced at the warden, then back at her. Rowan didn’t move a muscle, but her heart beat so loudly in her ears she thought for sure everyone could hear. She couldn’t blow this. Wouldn’t blow it.

  “I want in writing that I’m not gonna be charged for any of this.” He leaned back in his chair and closed his mouth.

  Roger looked at the warden, who sighed and pulled out a legal pad. He hand-wrote a promise on two sheets of paper, signed both, and handed the pen to Lloyd. Lloyd signed them awkwardly with his hands bound and the warden took them. Rowan glanced down. He’d signed them “Robert MacIntosh.”

  They weren’t legitimate without his legal name, but no one said anything. Stupid idiot, Rowan thought. No wonder Bobby had so easily manipulated him.

  “I met Bobby in the joint in Louisiana. Right when he came in. Young punk kid. We hit it off right away. We looked kinda alike. He told me about you,” he said with a nod toward Rowan. “He hates you.”

  “The feeling is mutual,” Rowan said through clenched teeth, her mouth dry. She refused to let this guy get to her.

  “Well, I got out after ten. He told me to find you. Sure, why not? I had nothing better to do. But you were fuckin’ hard to find. Then Bobby turned me on to Roger Collins here and told me you might’ve changed your name. But he had your social, and that’s what led me to your college transcripts.” He smiled, obviously pleased with himself.

  “Well, I sorta followed you. Not all the time, didn’t have to. I knew your name, could check up on you from time to time. Kept Bobby informed.”

  “You. Stalked. Me.” It was all she could do not to reach over and squeeze the bastard’s neck.

  “Hell no, I didn’t care about you. And it wasn’t like I was always around. I had to keep a low profile, ya know. Work, pay taxes. I landed back in the can on some stupid trumped-up charge, in upstate New York. Was in there for nearly two years. Time off for good behavior.” He chuckled. “Realized something important, though.”

  “What?” Roger asked, impatient.

  He shrugged and gave a half-smile. “I really like being in the can. Don’t have to work if I don’t wanna. Three squares. Place to live, live for free. I never killed no one, so don’t have death row over my head. I mean, freedom is overrated. I tried to explain it all to Bobby, but he don’t listen.

  “I lost track of you for a time and Bobby was antsy; when he heard you were some hotshot writer making big bucks, he sorta flipped. He came up with this all, but it took time. Two years to plan it and have it all come together.”

  “How did you trade places?” Roger asked.

  “That was easier than I thought. I didn’t think Bobby’d be able to pull it off, but he was so sure it’d work and I thought, what the fuck? If I was caught, I’d get what I wanted, another stint in the joint. If it worked, I’d get to come here to Beaumont. Nice place. Helluva lot better than Louisiana.”

  “How?” Roger repeated, his anger evident.

  “Bobby staged an accident, gang fight I think. He was taken to the hospital, all cut up. There was a guard outside his room, but not inside. We switched places. I just dressed up like a fuckin’ janitor and walked right in. ’Course Bobby had to cut me and I didn’t like that too much, but it worked and I came here and he walked outta the hospital. It was damn perfect.”

  “What about your fingerprints?” Warden Cullen asked.

  “Before Bobby left Louisiana, he hacked into the computer system and swapped our IDs. You know, fingerprints and whatnot. It’s all there, in the computer. And Bobby is really smart. He played the inside good. Got access to the library and offices. He had some guy in the pen for computer fraud help him.”

  “Who?” the warden asked.

  Lloyd shrugged. “Didn’t ask.”

  Rowan couldn’t believe what Lloyd was telling them. Bobby had been walking free for fourteen months. He’d probably kept a low profile for a while to make sure the prison system hadn’t caught on, and when he didn’t see anything in the news, he started following her. Read her books. Planned how to torment her. How to kill her characters and make her suffer.

  “You bastard.” She spread her hands on the table in front of her, her knuckles white.

  “Hey! I didn’t kill anybody. I don’t kill people. I’m a thief.” He said it with pride, and Rowan just shook her head and pressed her fingers to the bridge of her nose. Bobby was alive. He was walking the streets and killing people.

  “Do you know where MacIntosh is now?” Roger asked, his voice low.

  Lloyd shrugged. “He didn’t keep in touch, if you know what I mean. Why would he? He had what he wanted, I had what I wanted.”

  “Take him back to his cell,” Warden Cullen said with obvious disgust.

  The guards hoisted Lloyd up and walked him out. Over his shoulder, he glanced at Rowan. “Bobby told me you were a weak bitch. I dunno. I think he underestimated you.” He paused. “But I know you shouldn’t underestimate Bobby.”

  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.

  John Flynn was more elusive. But he’d be going to a funeral soon, right? Hmm. That might interfere with his current plans. He’d have to rush. And hurrying caused mistakes. He couldn’t afford a mistake, not now when he was so close to getting exactly what he wanted.

  Retribution.

  Besides, killing Flynn in front of Lily had its advantages. It would force her into compliance if she got it in her head to fight him. Not that she’d win, of course. No matter how well trained she’d been in the fucking FBI, he’d been trained in prison. He’d win, hands down.

  But first things first.

  He hadn’t found Lily’s book in the new-release section. Frowning, he searched the store, his frustration growing.

  “May I help you find something?” The clerk was young, blonde, and petite.

  “Where’s Crime of Jeopardy?”

  “Pardon me?”

  He let out his breath. Stupid bitc
h. “The book. Rowan Smith. It was supposed to be released today.”

  “Uh, I’ll ask my manager. I haven’t seen it.” She scurried off.

  Couldn’t deviate from the plan. The bodyguard was special, to show Lily how close he was, that he could get to anyone. But now he had to play by the book.

  He chuckled at his pun. As soon as his sister was taken care of, he’d be free. What a heady thought! Everyone in his stupid family would be dead where they belonged and he could finally start living without their mightier-than-thou faces haunting him in his dreams.

  He could hardly wait to watch Lily Pad die. The last of the line. And because he’d been so successful, he might just take care of dear old Dad as well.

  But where’s the fun in killing someone who doesn’t know who the fuck you are?

  It had been mind-blowing to him that his father was a catatonic zombie sitting in the loony bin. When he’d first seen him from the back—sitting in an outdoor chair watching the garden—he’d thought, what a scam. His dad had beat the system and just had to pretend he was a basketcase. He’d planned on helping him escape.

  Then he saw his eyes. His father wasn’t even there in that skinny body.

  His father had always been weak. It figured he couldn’t handle payback. Still, Bobby had hoped that they would work together, that he could share with his father how incredible it felt to take Lily’s mind and bend it. To take her characters and make them real. To see her suffer.

  They’d worked together before, hadn’t they? His father had started it, and Bobby had finished it.

  But his father would never have finished it, Bobby realized, a hot pit of anger rising to his throat. His father was a fool. Always apologizing. Always getting down on his knees and asking forgiveness.

  Fucking asshole.

  When he was fourteen, Bobby remembered seeing his father do just that—get on his knees in front of his mother. They’d been in the backyard and the bitch did something stupid. Forgot something. His father belted her across the face good; blood trickled out the side of her mouth.

  Her look of fear made Bobby’s heart race. To have that much power, to be looked at with such intense fear, must be awesome. He longed for the day his mother would cower at his feet and realize who really ran the house.