The Prey (37 page)

“You’re leaving me here?”

“I’m not risking your life, too! It’s you he wants. You can’t be anywhere near the trap.”

“You’re right about one thing. It’s
me
he wants. He’s not going to be fooled. He wasn’t fooled by the first decoy; what makes you think he’ll be fooled with the second?”

“We don’t know what he thought of the decoy. He could have planned this all along to lure you out into the open. He wants to get to you through me—through my sister. I won’t let him. I can save Tess.”

Even as he said it, ice cold fear ran down his spine. Bobby MacIntosh shot Michael in cold blood and John didn’t doubt for a minute that he’d kill Tess as soon as her usefulness expired.

“Our number-one goal is to rescue Tess.”
If she’s still alive
. John pushed all thought from his mind that she could already be dead. “Orders are to shoot at the first clear shot.”

Rowan shook her head. “I have to be there,” she said firmly.

“Like hell you do!” He crossed to her and grabbed her arms. “I’m not going to lose you too! He’ll kill you as soon as he sees you. Then he’ll take out everyone else. With you gone, Tess is of no use to him. Right now she’s alive because she’s a bargaining chip.”

“Let me trade myself for her,” Rowan said through clenched teeth, determined. “I’m a trained agent. I can protect myself.”

John laughed without humor. “I’m not sacrificing you for Tess. Or Tess for you. I’m going to get my sister out alive, and then I’ll kill the bastard for touching her.”

“He’ll know. Trading me is the only chance that everyone will make it out alive.”

“Everyone except you!”

“I’m prepared—”

“What? You’re prepared to die? Stop it, Rowan! You don’t need to sacrifice yourself for anyone. There’ll be more than a dozen agents—trained as well as or better than you—who will be around to make sure no one gets hurt. Sometimes, you just have to realize there are people as good as you out there who can do the damn job!”

He hadn’t meant to yell at her, but he was so stressed and worried about Tess he couldn’t think straight.

Her eyes narrowed and she pulled away from him. “You’re wrong. About this, you’re wrong.”

“You don’t have a choice.” He worked to control his fear. Scared people made mistakes. He couldn’t afford to make any mistakes. Not when the women he loved were in jeopardy.

Tess. And Rowan.

“Rowan,” he said, his voice softer, “please don’t make me worry about you. I couldn’t bear it if anything happened to you.”

She stared at him for a long minute before saying, “And how do you think I’ll feel if Bobby kills you? Or Tess?”

There was a knock on the door and they both drew their weapons. John glared at her, and she stepped into the kitchen while he returned the knock.

Knock knock. Pause. Knock. Pause. Knock knock knock.

John opened the door. “Flynn?” the large, beefy man asked, his voice deep and low.

“Yes.”

“I’m Reggie Jackman. Collins sent me.”

John opened the door all the way and let Jackman in as he holstered his gun. Jackman was a large, broad man who looked like he could break someone’s neck without much effort. He extended his hand and John shook it.

“Thanks for coming on short notice.”

“No problem.”

John glanced at Rowan. He hated to do this, but it had to be done. “Ms. Smith isn’t too happy about being kept out of the op. I’d keep a close eye on her.”

Rowan’s eyes widened in surprise, then narrowed. John had expected her to be pissed off. He didn’t expect her to look so betrayed.

But what choice did he have? She was safe here in Cambria. She’d be a sitting duck in L.A. He had to rescue his sister, but he couldn’t keep an eye on Rowan at the same time.

Without a word, Rowan left the room, quietly closing the door behind her. It sounded final.

Forgive me, Rowan. It’s for the best.

Reggie nodded. “You can count on me. No one gets the drop on me, Mr. Flynn.”

John packed his weapons and ten minutes later was ready to go. He started for the door, then stopped.

He dropped his bag and strode to Rowan’s room. He didn’t knock, just let himself in. She sat in the lone chair in the corner, her laptop on the nightstand she had pulled over and converted into a makeshift desk. But the screen was blank.

When she looked at him, he saw her struggle to control her emotions. Her eyes brimmed with tears, but none fell.

He pulled her out of the chair and kissed her hard, holding her face in his hands. He didn’t want to let her go, but he had to. He hoped she understood. And would forgive him.

He looked her in the eyes. “I love you, Rowan. I will return. I promise.”

Before she could say anything, he turned and left.

Rowan sank back into the chair, her hand touching her lips. She still felt his kiss and heard his voice.

I love you, Rowan.

She breathed deeply, a hitch in her chest forcing a sob from her lungs.
I love you, too
.

Everyone she loved ended up dead.

She closed her eyes and allowed the tears to fall. Trapped, alone. Stuck in the middle of nowhere with a bodyguard she didn’t know, who didn’t understand her. John off fighting her battles, his sister held hostage by her sick, twisted brother.

She wouldn’t let them die.

It didn’t matter what John thought; during the last few weeks Rowan had learned an awful lot about her brother. And she had her memories. Bobby wouldn’t be fooled by a decoy. He’d want proof. Certainly Quinn and Roger knew that!

They probably thought they could talk him down. Or find a clean shot. And most of the time, either of those scenarios would work. But Bobby had been planning this for years. He’d been in prison. He probably had skills and ideas they couldn’t plan for. Tess was a hostage; he would not give her up.

Roger would understand that. Shoot to kill.

Rowan didn’t feel good about this. Something was wrong. Bobby wouldn’t walk into that situation without complete confidence he’d be able to walk out—with Rowan.

He wouldn’t kill her on sight. No, he wanted to play with her. Torture her. Show her who was boss, who had won, who was going to kill her. Had she been in her house last night, he wouldn’t have kidnapped Tess. He would have tried for
her
. The ordeal would be over right now—or just beginning.

She slammed the laptop closed. Damn, she should have been there!

She didn’t fear him anymore. Not personally. But she feared what he would do when she didn’t show up at the exchange. She wanted no more dead bodies on her conscience.

John had written the directions on a notepad next to the phone. He’d taken only the top sheet. She had one ace up her sleeve, and she was going to use it.
And he told Reggie Jackman to watch me
.

She rose and crossed to her bag. Pulling out her toiletries, she found the bottle of prescription sleeping pills a doctor had given her years ago. She rarely used them, because she feared sleeping too deeply would prevent her from pulling herself from the nightmares that hounded her. But it had become a habit to take them with her, a reminder of her weakness.

Silently, she locked the door. Then, she took out her knife and cut the pills as best she could, pounding them to dust with the dull end.

She didn’t want to hurt poor Reggie Jackman. He was a big guy. Four pills should knock him out.

Roger paced in the Dulles terminal and waited for his flight to be called. His assistant stood several feet away, knowing better than to disturb him when he was in this pensive mood.

Once he landed in Burbank, he’d have six hours to orchestrate the trap. Bobby would be expecting something, so he had to make it
look
like there was nothing to expect. Roger alone would escort the decoy to the meeting place in the middle of a damned field in Ventura. There would be a full SWAT team completely out of sight, arriving on foot in case Bobby was casing the area.

Roger’s gut churned knowing that Bobby had Tess Flynn captive. He had no doubt she was alive at this point, but for how long? And in what condition? He should have killed Bobby MacIntosh when he had the opportunity twenty-three years ago. It would have cost him his job, his career, and his family, but the bastard would be dead and all these people wouldn’t have suffered. His quiet complicity in their deaths would haunt him to his grave. While he’d never lied to his boss or the government, he’d made several missteps over the last few weeks that could still cost him a reprimand or worse.

He should have checked on Bobby after the first murder, but Roger never thought he could orchestrate such an elaborate, undetected escape.

Rowan might never forgive him for his original lie. She might never forgive him for locking her in a safe house and keeping her out of the action. Had he failed her again? Gracie insisted Rowan would understand over time, but Roger didn’t think so. Gracie hadn’t seen Rowan, listened to her, talked to her. She didn’t know Rowan like he did.

He’d been lying to Rowan since he met her, and now they were both paying the price.

The speaker system buzzed, then a generic female voice announced, “Attention passengers. Flight 337 for Dallas, Burbank, now open for boarding.”

“Sir?” His aide, a skinny young guy right out of the academy, approached.

“Five minutes,” he said and pulled out his cell phone.

Roger had an idea. He didn’t know if it would work, but time was running out. He punched in a number from memory.

“Saint John’s, may I help you?”

“I need to talk to Father O’Brien. It’s an emergency.”

Adam woke up in the middle of the night with a memory within reach, but as soon as he saw his digital clock telling him it was 3:35 A.M., he lost it.

But it was important. He knew it was important, something he had to remember.

For Rowan.

He got up and poured himself a glass of milk. The dream was the same. He was at Rowan’s house at sunset watching the pretty colors and listening to the ocean. Something had caught his eye.

Something. But what?

He was determined to remember. He began going over that day in his mind. Over and over, from beginning to end. He’d woken up. Drank milk. Cereal. What kind of cereal? Rice Krispies. He smiled. Snap, crackle, pop!

Don’t get off track. You have to remember, Adam!

Cereal. Then cleaning up his dishes. Rowan told him it was important to clean up after yourself. He had watched part of
Attack of the 50-Foot Woman
on DVD before leaving for the studio. He loved that movie.

He’d gone to work. What had he done? Think. Think. He put together the blood packet for the gunfight. It wasn’t Rowan’s movie, but an action movie, and Barry was letting him help. Barry said he followed directions well.

Then why couldn’t he remember this thing that he knew was important? Think, stupid!

He sat and he thought. And when he got to the end of that day in his mind and it didn’t come to him, he started again.

4:50. And counting.

They grouped at FBI headquarters at three that afternoon. John was beside himself about Tess. Though Collins had spoken to MacIntosh earlier and was able to talk briefly to Tess, Bobby was too volatile, too violent, too unpredictable. He could have shot her as soon as he’d hung up.

But John felt she was still alive. She had to be. It had been his responsibility to protect his sister, and he had failed her.

The ground game was set. The SWAT team had already moved into place. Roger would escort the decoy to the exchange point and Bobby had agreed to bring Tess with him.

John wanted to drive Roger’s car, but Roger tagged Quinn for the assignment, ordering John to stay at the command center they’d set up down the road. If anything went wrong . . . Roger didn’t need to say more.

Get back to Rowan and hide her.

Nothing would go wrong, John told himself. Not with Tess in the middle of a hostage situation. Not with Tess being held by a murderer.

Not with Rowan waiting for him.

Please forgive me for leaving you. It’s for your safety
. He hoped Rowan had accepted it by now. Realized it was for the best.

Even John had his doubts. Were they doing the right thing in keeping Rowan in the safe house? Was she right about the trap? She was safe now, but for how long? If this went bad, who would protect her?

I love you.

He had a lot of reasons to get out of this alive, not the least of which was saving Tess. But also important was to build on this precarious relationship with Rowan. He didn’t want to lose her.

So he sat in the command center a half-mile away with Colleen Thorne, Quinn Peterson’s partner, and waited. Two other agents and a pair of SWAT team members hunkered down over communications equipment, but everything was quiet, tension simmering hot and silent beneath the surface.

The exchange point was in the middle of a fallow field outside of Ventura, accessible from all sides. The soil was dry, hard, and lumpy, the landscape impossible to position support troops in. Bobby had insisted that Collins and Rowan drive to the field from the north and when he saw them, he would drive in for the exchange.

The SWAT and FBI teams had changed into dark fatigues, but they couldn’t get too close—barely close enough to take a clean shot.

So many things could go wrong. John stood rigid at the edge of the makeshift command center, where he could observe and hear what was said. He was used to being responsible—for himself and his small team of loyalists. He hated not being in control.

Nearly six o’clock. Time for action.

“Has the suspect been identified?” Agent Thorne asked the field.

“Negative,” the SWAT commander stated. “Hold on.” He listened to someone talking in his earpiece.

John’s skin tingled. This was it.

“We have a possible approaching from the northwest. Dark green sedan.”

John frowned and glanced at the map. That part of the field was impassable with a car. You’d need a four-wheel drive to get through the rough terrain and irrigation ditches.