The Prey

Flynn.”

“Hey, long time. What’s up?”

“I need some information.” He told the agent about the case and asked him to look into Rowan’s FBI background, on the Q-T. Though the Feds were already working the investigation, Michael wanted to know everything they did.

Tony whistled softly. “You’re asking me to get involved in the affairs of upper management. I’m just in bank fraud.”

“You’re the only one I know over there. Can’t you see what you can find out?”

Tony paused. “I’ll try, but don’t count on it. Why don’t you ask your brother? He has better connections, and they’re probably in Washington.”

“John’s out of the country.” Besides, Michael didn’t want to bring him in. He’d ask for his brother’s help if he really needed it, but not a minute before. John would take over. Like he always did.

“Hmm. Okay, Mick, I’ll see what I can come up with for ya. But seriously, I doubt I’ll get anything without raising a helluva lot of red flags.”

“Thanks, Tony, I appreciate whatever you can dig up.” He hung up. Tony was right about one thing: John had valuable contacts. It would be prudent to bring him in, but Michael preferred not to ask his brother for help.

Still, after the florist… he should call him, if only for advice. He picked up the phone and dialed John’s home number, knowing he wasn’t there but would check his messages. “John, it’s Michael,” he said into the answering machine. “Call me when you get back to town. I want your opinion on a new case I’m working.”

Well, he should be back in L.A. in a couple of days, Michael thought. He’d talk to him then.

The phone rang as soon as Michael hung up, and he let the answering machine get it. “Rowan, call me.” Pause. Click.

A male voice, concerned.

Michael frowned. Could be harmless, maybe an old college friend or a former colleague from the Bureau. Or not.

Was Rowan keeping something secret? Something that could get her killed?

Michael made another call.

Rowan closed the double doors of the den and breathed deeply. She’d finally convinced Quinn to leave, and she’d then asked Michael for a few minutes alone to unwind.

Seeing Quinn had brought back a flood of memories, both good and bad. They’d become friends while she trained at the FBI Academy in Quantico. For Rowan, friends were rare. She’d never deluded herself-Quinn made a point to befriend both her and Olivia because he was involved with their roommate, Miranda Moore. It wasn’t exactly protocol for a field-rated agent to be romantically attached to a trainee, so making sure she and Olivia liked him enough to keep the secret was a priority.

But Rowan certainly wouldn’t forgive him for taking from Miranda the one thing that mattered most to her: her dreams. After everything Miranda had been through-Rowan shook her head. It wasn’t fair, and it was all Quinn’s fault.

Rowan had been so caught up in her memories she missed the message the first time. She pressed rewind, play.

“Rowan, call me.” Pause. Click.

Peter.

She dialed the number in Boston, her hand shaking so badly she had to hang up and redial. It was after eleven on the East Coast.

On the third ring, a quiet voice answered. “Saint John’s.”

“Father O’Brien, please,” Rowan asked quietly. She glanced at the den door. It was closed.

A minute later, her brother’s familiar voice answered. “This is Father O’Brien. How may I help you?”

Tears she hadn’t realized she’d been holding back flowed freely. “Peter, it’s me.”

“Thank God you called. I was so worried.”

“I’m sorry I didn’t call you. I-I didn’t think.” I didn’t want you to be in danger.

“Don’t kick yourself. I saw the newspapers and couldn’t reach you. I knew you were okay, but I had to make sure. I needed to hear your voice.”

“I’m okay.”

“You’re crying.”

She sucked in her breath, slowly let it out. “I miss you.”

“I miss you, too. I pray for you every day.”

“You don’t have to do that.”

Silence. “Rowan-”

“All right, I’m sorry.” Rowan felt Peter’s comforting presence even three thousand miles away. They didn’t see each other often. Rowan’s fault, she knew. Peter would have moved anywhere in the country to be near her, but she didn’t want to use him as a crutch. He would fill the role all too happily, but Rowan couldn’t do that to him. Or her. The only time she’d run to him was four years ago-but then it had been either Peter or the loony bin, and she wasn’t ready to give up her sanity for her job. Peter had helped pick up the pieces.

“Are you taking precautions?”

“Yes. The studio hired a bodyguard and the FBI’s involved.” She bit her fingernail, thinking of Michael. As soon as Quinn left, he’d offered her a comforting hand. It was easy to fall into the protective trap, to hold on to someone who offered a potent dose of sanity and strength. But that wasn’t fair to Michael, and it certainly wasn’t what she needed right now.

“Good.” The relief in Peter’s voice was evident.

“I can take care of myself.”

“You think you can.”

“I can. Really. But, to be honest, I’m glad I have help. A partner, if you will. Of course, I wouldn’t tell him that.” What surprised Rowan most of all was that she was glad to have Michael around. He was smart, experienced, and gave her the space she needed. He was comfortable. Like Peter. If only she hadn’t felt him watching her with more than cop’s eyes.

“Independent to the last. God is with you.”

“Don’t preach to me, Peter,” Rowan snapped, instantly regretting it. She didn’t want to hurt him. He was the only person who truly mattered to her now that she didn’t fight for the victims anymore.

“I’m not preaching, I’m only telling the truth.” He paused. “Do you want to come out here for a while?”

“Absolutely not. I won’t put you in jeopardy.” Though there was nothing she wanted more than to see her brother.

“No one knows about me.”

“And I don’t want to change that. I shouldn’t have called you from home. I need to be more careful.”

“Anyway, what would anyone think if you came here? You’ve spent time in Boston before.”

“Even if they didn’t know who you really are, I still worry about my friends. Anyone I know could be a target.”

“You have no friends. You’re a hermit.”

“That’s not true. I have friends.”

“Name one.”

“I can name two. Miranda and Olivia.”

“Your old roommates?” Peter sounded skeptical. “Do you keep in touch?”

“Of course,” she said, feeling a twinge of guilt at the lie. When was the last time she’d spoken to Liv? More than a year ago, though she had sent her an e-card for her birthday just last week, before all this happened. Miranda? She’d had a hard time after being booted from Quantico. An occasional note or postcard in the mail- nothing since Christmas. But Rowan didn’t blame her; Miranda was on a mission, one Rowan understood all too well.

“Rowan?”

“Sorry, woolgathering.”

“You don’t really have anyone to support you right now, do you?”