“How do you do it? How do you face those women and not relive what happened to your family?”
“Remembering what happened to my family propels me forward. It’s what drives Rowan, though she buries her feelings. I’m hurt and angry, but I can help other families escape the violence. Rowan’s hurt and angry, so decided to fight for families who never escaped. The victims. The difference is she never understood why she did what she did. When she saw the family in Tennessee, the hard reality of her life overwhelmed her and she quit. To survive.”
John mulled over everything Peter had said. He had an uncanny way of pegging things just right. He understood Rowan, her motivation and her conflicts. Yet Rowan admittedly kept her brother at arm’s length. Why? Because Peter reminded her of the past? Or because he knew her so well?
He was about to ask how often they spoke when his phone rang. He grabbed it immediately. “Flynn.”
Silence on the other end.
“Rowan?” he asked, jumping out of his chair, hopeful.
“N-no,” a small voice said. “It-it’s Adam.”
“Adam?” John sank into his chair, his brow furrowed. “What’s wrong?”
“You gave me your number. Is-is it okay to call?”
“Of course. Of course you can call me anytime. Are you okay? Did something happen?”
“I remembered something.”
John stiffened, fully alert. “What? What did you remember?”
“I told you the man at the flowers looked familiar, right?”
“Yes.”
“I’ve been having this dream. Over and over. But I didn’t know why. Until tonight. See, I thought all day about the first time Rowan took me to her house. We watched the sunset together. I’d never seen one before, and she-”
“Adam,” John interrupted, trying to keep the frustration from his voice, “where did you see the man?”
Adam paused, and John feared he’d scared him.
“Please, Adam,” he said, forcing himself to remain calm. “This is very important. Where did you see the man?”
“The window. In the window of the house next to Rowan’s.”
CHAPTER 28
“Haven’t you ever wanted to kill someone? Just for the sheer pleasure of it?”
Bobby stared at Rowan with a sparkle in his cold blue eyes.
She was tied to a chair in the dining room and Bobby sat at the head of the table, drinking Scotch and holding a gun on her.
She’d lost the battle.
He’d anticipated that she would attack him and was prepared. She couldn’t even land a single blow. He’d come in low and spun around, grabbing her.
She’d been too emotional, too unfocused.
She wouldn’t make the same mistake next time. If there was a next time.
“Well?” he prodded, swirling his Scotch, the ice rattling around in the glass, much in the same manner as it had in their father’s years ago.
“I saw him,” she said.
“Who?”
“Daddy.”
Bobby scowled, his face full of contempt. “Weak fool! He couldn’t stomach that the bitch was finally dead. He was pussy-whipped. Nothing like the man I thought he was.”
Rowan worked to control her expression. She could not allow Bobby to bait her if she hoped to defeat him.
Sitting here in the formal dining room, at a highly polished and rarely used table, with her lunatic brother felt surreal. She reminded herself Bobby wasn’t a lunatic. He was a coldblooded killer who’d planned vicious, brutal crimes and followed through with precision.
And he was her brother. They’d been born to the same parents, had been raised in the same house. They’d both witnessed their father’s abuse of their mother, but Bobby enjoyed it. Relished it. She abhorred it.
Had Bobby been born evil? Or had he watched their father’s extreme mood swings and been affected? Did he have a twisted gene that turned evil when he witnessed it? Or did the circumstances of their upbringing turn him into a killer and her into a cop?
She reminded herself that she wasn’t a cop anymore. And if she had any control over it, Bobby’s killing spree would end here, tonight.
“Daddy spoke to me,” Rowan said.
“Dad? Bullshit.” Bobby laughed, shaking his head.
“He called me Beth.”
“He’s lost his fucking mind. I saw him, too. Stupid fuck. His mind’s gone, he lost it twenty-three years ago. He could have pled temporary insanity. Bet some bleeding-heart jury would have bought it. But he’s fucking insane.”
“You’re not,” Rowan said.
“Damn straight I’m not.” He slammed his glass down on the table. “I think you’re playing me. The fucker didn’t say a word.”
Rowan would never forget what her father had said when he thought she was her mother. Bobby saw you with him again. I told you to stay away from him, but you didn’t.
“You told him that you saw Mom with another man. Not for the first time.”
His brows furrowed and he looked pissed. “I don’t know how you know that, but it didn’t come from him. He was as crazy as a loon when I saw him.”
“When you saw him, you told him I was as good as dead.”
“And you will be soon.” Now Bobby looked more than a little pissed off. His blue eyes took on a violent darkness. Rowan wondered if he’d tried to bait their father into talking and failed. The fact that their father spoke to her must irritate him.
“Yes,” she said a moment later.
Bobby narrowed his eyes. “Yes? What the fuck does that mean?”
“You asked if I ever wanted to kill someone for the sheer pleasure of it. Yes.” Rowan glared at him, trying to keep her emotions under control. She wanted to scream and rage and tear at these binds, but knew that was what he wanted.
“I would get intense pleasure killing you, you bastard.”
He reached over and slapped her, knocking her over. She struggled, tied to the chair. The coppery flavor of her own blood poured into her mouth and she swallowed, gagging.
Bobby laughed. “Such spunk. You were always a brat. But you were scared of me. I knew it. You’re scared of me now. I see it. And you will die.” He stood and stared down at her, his cold blue eyes vindictive. “But you will beg for mercy before I’m done.” He kicked her and walked away.
She closed her eyes and took deep breaths. It hurt, but there was no real damage. She needed to loosen the ropes, break free when he least expected it. But she had no intention of escaping.
Not until she killed him.
She wished she knew his plan. She thought he’d just use her as a punching bag. Literally beat her to death. She wouldn’t break. She’d been trained to withstand torture. To retreat into her mind, force herself to think of something other than the situation.
But Bobby wanted to break her. He’d started by sending her the funeral wreath, the hair, the lilies. He fully intended to kill her, but first he wanted her fear. Her tears. She mentally prepared herself for the worst.
She had no idea.
He came back, untied her from the chair, hoisted her up, and half-carried, half-dragged her to the living room. He tossed her onto the couch and righted her so she sat up as straight as possible. She felt the ropes on her wrists loosen. Just enough to give her hope that she could manipulate the binds and free herself.
“This is your life, Lily bitch.” He sat down in a recliner and turned the television on with the remote control.
It was one of those large-screen televisions, fifty or so inches across. When the screen lit, Rowan was staring at a wedding picture.
Her parents.
“Robert MacIntosh married Elizabeth Pierson on June first,” Bobby said, his voice singsong, mocking. “Typical spring wedding for a boring couple. He had a future, could have gone places and done things with his life, but the bitch kept him tied to home with a bunch of brats.”