Only the victims were real, the murderer real, the survivors real.
For the first time, she was writing true crime.
A huge weight lifted from her heart.
It was seven when John knocked on Rowan’s door. Quinn Peterson answered immediately, expecting him.
“Collins talk to you?” Peterson asked as he locked the door and reset the alarm, his voice rough from lack of sleep.
“Yep.” John glanced around the room, not realizing he was looking for Rowan until he didn’t see her. “Where’s Rowan?”
Peterson nodded toward the closed den door. “She’s been in there since four this morning.”
John frowned. He didn’t like Rowan’s habit of locking herself in her den. “Have you checked on her?”
The agent nodded as he led John into the kitchen. “I was sleeping on the couch and the sound of the computer woke me. She said she was writing and wanted to go running at six. But when I went in then, she hadn’t moved and told me to give her ten minutes. But then Roger called, and-” he ended with a shrug.
“You told her?”
“Oh, yeah. She’d strangle me if I kept any news from her. I told her everything we know about Bobby and the woman in Dallas.” He handed John a cup of hot, black coffee and refilled his own mug.
“And her reaction?”
“At first angry, then pleased that the woman got away. Almost emboldened. Then she went back to writing.”
“I’m going to talk to her.”
“Did Collins ask you about going to the safe house?”
John nodded. “I agreed.”
“Good.”
“I don’t think Rowan is going to feel the same.”
John walked down the hall and stood outside the den. Faintly, he heard fingers tapping on the keyboard in spurts of speed.
He hadn’t wanted to agree with Roger Collins’s request that he escort Rowan to a safe house while the manhunt for Bobby MacIntosh raged. He wanted-needed-to be there when they caught Bobby. The bastard who’d killed Michael. The bastard who had been tormenting Rowan until she almost broke.
He almost wanted Bobby to break into the house so he had an excuse to kill him.
But he didn’t want to endanger Rowan. Keeping her safe had become more important than anything else. Keeping her alive until Bobby was caught or killed, then keeping her by his side. How, he wasn’t sure. These feelings were new to him, confusing. Disconcerting.
He couldn’t just walk away with a kiss and goodbye.
She had become important to him in a short period of time. If anything happened to her, he’d never forgive himself. He trusted no one else to protect her, no one else to ensure her safety. So he agreed to escort her to the safe house and stay with her until MacIntosh was caught. It was one of the hardest decisions in his life, but he felt it was right. Keep her safe.
After the fiasco in Dallas, MacIntosh would be enraged. More likely to make mistakes. So it was only a matter of time.
The prostitute was under twenty-four-hour protection as well, Collins told John, in case MacIntosh went after her to finish the job. Apparently, she’d taken extensive self-defense training and had been warned by a friend that the man she knew as Rex Barker might be dangerous.
That knowledge probably saved her life.
John stared at the door, dreading talking to Rowan about the safe house, but the clock was ticking. It had to be done. He knocked once on the door and opened it.
Rowan sat at her computer, hands poised above the keyboard as she glanced over her shoulder. She caught his eye, and John saw a side of Rowan he’d never seen. A spark in her eyes, a light in her face-something was different. Maybe it was the slight smile on her lips-was she happy to see him?
He’d missed her. The realization hit him with an almost physical force and he would have taken a step back if he hadn’t stopped himself.
Yesterday, he’d seen her in the back of the church and wanted her at his side. For comfort. Had she been with him, the entire day would have been a little easier. But she’d left at the end of the service, and he had too many obligations to follow her.
It left a hole in his heart. Something he desperately wanted to fix now. Seeing her this morning almost made up for being apart the night before.
She’d said something, but he’d missed it.
“I’m sorry, what?” he asked, feeling like a lovestruck teenager.
“Is the girl okay? Sadie Pierce?” Rowan swiveled the chair to look at him. She wore gray sweats and a faded blue T-shirt, her hair pulled back, and she had on no makeup, but Rowan couldn’t have looked more appealing to him.
What was wrong with him? He didn’t form romantic attachments, especially with women he worked with. Or protected. That wasn’t his M.O., and he didn’t want to start now.
“She’s under protection,” he said. “Spent the night in the hospital and was released, minor injuries. She’s resilient.”
Rowan closed her eyes and smiled. “Good. I can’t tell you how happy I am that she got away.” She paused, looked pointedly at him. “Roger told you about the medical bag. The book. The book Bobby stole from my shelf.”
John nodded. “There’s no word on Bobby.”
“I’d hoped. Roger pulled out all the stops.” Her voice held a tremor.
He shook his head. “The cops are out full-force in Dallas; L.A. transportation hubs are looking for him. It’ll be hard for him to get back here undetected.”
“But not impossible,” she murmured.
“No, not impossible. He’s proven to be pretty smart, so unless he does something stupid, he’ll be here. For you, Rowan. We have to protect you.”
“You are. There are two unmarked sedans on the highway, and Quinn is holed up in my living room. We’re ready for him.”
“We need to do more.”
“What?”
“I spoke with Collins this morning.”
Her body stiffened. She was still raw over Roger lying to her. John didn’t blame her. He’d had a hard time being civil to Collins over the phone.
“And?”
“He wants you in a safe house.”
“No.” She crossed her arms as if her answer were final.
“You don’t have a choice.”
“Like hell I don’t!” She tossed her arms into the air and crossed over to the phone, picking it up and pointing it at him. “I will not run away and cower. Bobby’s going to come for me now. Good. We’re prepared. We’ll catch him, and that will be the end of that.”
She started punching numbers into the handset. John reached over and tried to pull the phone away, but she karate-chopped his arm.
“Dammit, Rowan,” he said, rubbing his wrist. “You know it’s for the best. They’re going to put a lookalike in the house, set a trap.”
“I want to be here. I need to be here!”
“You can’t. You’re too close to this.”
“I’m a trained agent, dammit.” She said into the receiver, “Roger, I’m not going to a safe house.” She listened, her face registering her anger. “You can’t do that!” A moment later, she yelled, “Damn you!” and slammed down
