“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?”
She stood inside the door, put her hand up, and touched the wood. “Michael, please go away.”
“You need to talk about whatever is bothering you.”
“Not now.”
He paused, but she didn’t hear him walk away. A moment later, he said, “Rowan, please tell me the truth. Are these murders connected to whatever’s been bothering you?”
Bothering her. As if the murderer were an annoying mosquito, her past that of a simple dysfunctional family. Her mere existence bothered her. Her life was wrapped in pain and hatred and loss that she had to keep boxed deep in her heart in order to function. But the lid had been ripped off. Her heart bled; painful memories invaded her soul. There was no fixing the box, no putting the lid back on. The secrets were tumbling out, bleeding her dry. She was going to have to face the truth. She didn’t have a choice.
But she didn’t know if she could move on.
“How’s Adam?”
“He’ll be okay,” Michael said, but Rowan knew that wasn’t true. She didn’t know how to fix the damage, and she wouldn’t forgive herself for hurting him. “John’s taking him back to the studio.”
Rowan suspected he would research the flowers. She’d seen how John interacted with Adam while they ate cookies and milk in the kitchen. If anyone could extract information from Adam, it would be John.
“Michael, go away,” she said, wincing at her harsh tone. “Please,” she added, softer.
A long pause. “I’ll be downstairs.”
When she was certain he’d gone, she crossed the room and picked up her cell phone. If John was in the house, she had no doubt he would listen in on any of her conversations. Michael probably wouldn’t. Still, she couldn’t take that chance.
“Collins.”
“Roger, it’s Rowan.”
“What’s wrong?” His voice was clipped, worried.
“Somebody knows. Somebody knows my name.”
A long pause. “I don’t understand.”
“Yes you do. Remember I told you about my young friend Adam? Someone told him to buy me lilies.”
“Can he make an ID? Get him in front of a sketch artist; I’ll call around and find a good one. And don’t forget-”
“Roger,” Rowan interrupted, “Adam is going to take time. He’s easily led, and no sketch we get will be reliable. John’s going to see what he can find out.”
“John?”
“John Flynn. He’s my bodyguard’s brother and partner. They run the security company. He’s former Delta Force.”
“I know him.”
Roger’s tone prompted Rowan to sit straighter. “Oh?”
“By reputation, not personally. Remember that drug shipment that came in through Baton Rouge six, seven years ago?”
“There were thousands of drug shipments during my years in the FBI. I didn’t work them.”
“No, but you’d remember this one. Billy Grayson was killed and George Petri lost his eye and leg.”
Rowan remembered now. The FBI had been called to back up the sting operation, but it turned into a huge and bloody battle. Four FBI agents killed, three others permanently injured. Billy had been in her class at the academy. The DEA lost even more of their own.
“How does John Flynn fit into it? It was a royal screw-up.”
“It could have been a lot worse. Flynn was undercover with Pomera’s operation-he’s a major player originally from Bolivia, but hell if anyone knows where he operates now. They knew about the sting and planned on taking out all the agents assigned to the case. They set up explosives in the warehouse and along the docks. Flynn almost blew his cover defusing the bombs. When they didn’t go off, Pomera’s men panicked and shot up the place. We got six of them. A shot set off a lump of C-4 under the dock and that’s where most of our people lost their lives. Without Flynn, we’d have lost dozens more.”
Roger paused, cleared his throat. “I learned more about him after that. Doesn’t always play by the rules. He was in a South American jail for six months a few years back, and threatened by the CIA with jail time because he screwed with one of their operations. I don’t know the details, but rumor has it that one of the CIA goons down there went bad and Flynn caught wind of it. They turned on him, left him in prison and pulled the traitor out.”
Rowan could easily picture Flynn playing secret agent in the Southern Hemisphere. But prison-she couldn’t imagine him locked in a cage. Too much energy, in his mind and body. She sensed that he’d rather die than be imprisoned.
“Did the CIA get him out?”
“No. He escaped. Since then, he does very little work for the government. Can’t say I blame him.”
Neither can I.
“Rowan, the lilies could have been a coincidence.”
She closed her eyes. “No, Roger, they weren’t a coincidence. Adam said something about a man recommending them. It’s him.”
“Who?”
“The murderer. I know it.”
“I’ll get Peterson on it right away.”
“Okay,” she said. “But tell him he can’t press Adam. Adam is smart, but not in traditional ways. He’s a little slow.” She paused and rubbed her eyes.