John slammed his fist on the table in the FBI conference room. It was after midnight and they had nothing.
A madman had Rowan somewhere, and John had no idea where to start looking. It was as if they’d disappeared off the face of the earth.
Peter O’Brien sat at a desk, quiet and solemn. John almost forgot he was in the room until he said, “Rowan is strong. She’s not going to give up.”
“He’s been tormenting her. Sending her proof of his crimes. Mementoes,” he said bitterly.
“But she didn’t break.” Peter paused. “Four years ago, when she left the FBI, she thought she was losing her mind like our father and that solitude was the only way to keep her sanity. I tried to explain that she was stronger than she thought, that knowing she needed time away proved she was saner than most people.” He shook his head. “Rowan didn’t understand.”
John caught Peter’s eye. “I think she understands now. But MacIntosh is a violent killer. Smart. Shrewd.” He sank into a chair and leaned forward, helpless. He banged his head against the polished surface of the conference table, trying to figure out where he’d gone wrong.
“I should have brought her with me,” John said. “I should have known she wouldn’t stay put.”
Peter nodded. “Rowan doesn’t like people to fight her battles. But she sure takes them on for others.”
John leaned back in his chair and looked at him. “What did you know back then? Did you know your brother was so twisted?”
Peter frowned and closed his eyes. “Bobby took pleasure in tormenting the women in the house. And me, but mostly the girls. He called our mother a whore. Accused her of sleeping with the neighbors, Dad’s boss, anyone. She would turn away and cry, but never correct him. Never punish him. She probably couldn’t.
“She loved us, but worshipped our father.” Peter paused. “Dad hit her. I didn’t see it happen more than twice, but I saw the aftermath many times. He was always so sorry afterward, and she never said anything about it.
“But once I heard Bobby yell at Dad to stop apologizing. Saying she deserved it. Dad hit him, and Bobby left for days. Though my mother was worried about him, it was like a dark cloud had been lifted from the house. We all breathed a little easier.
“Then he came back. And it got worse.”
Peter opened his eyes and looked at John. “I’ve counseled women in abusive situations. I’ve explained to them that just because their husband is head of the house doesn’t mean he can hurt them. I’ve helped several women leave their husbands and find help. I hate splitting up the family, but I know if they didn’t leave, they could end up just like my mother. Dead. Their innocent children orphans. Or worse. When they leave, they leave for their kids. Not for themselves. Somehow, deep down, they think they deserve the abuse. Or that their husband will change. Or they believe he’s truly sorry.
“In all the years and the families I’ve counseled, dozens of them in abusive situations, only one husband has ever repented and gotten beyond his violence.” Peter sighed, sounding weary. “The statistics aren’t promising.”
“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.”