“Don’t you dare lay this at Rowan’s feet, Flynn. She’s been through hell and back, and-”
“I don’t give a damn.” John squeezed his eyes shut and pinched the bridge of his nose. All he saw was Rowan’s wretched face when she’d told him about her mother’s murder. Shit.
But Michael was dead.
“Why didn’t you dig deeper, Collins? Even if Rowan didn’t know or understand the full implication of what happened to her as a child, you certainly did.”
“I’ve been looking at the old files, interviewing people-”
“Obviously, that wasn’t good enough.”
“I have six agents tracking down the family of the two guards Bobby MacIntosh killed when he attempted to escape.”
“It should have been done at the beginning.” John’s jaw was so tight he could barely speak.
“Flynn, we’re doing everything we can. Can’t you see this is a complex situation?” Roger sounded frustrated, speaking too loudly and too quickly.
Complex? “What are you hiding?” John asked. Something wasn’t quite right.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Roger snapped back. “I’ve been working this 24/7 since Doreen Rodriguez was killed. Don’t think I’ve been slacking off. I care about Rowan more than you can possibly imagine. As if she were my own daughter.”
Daughter. That reminded him about the priest. “I expect that Peter O’Brien will be checked out in full, and that you’ll look into the murder of Rowan’s family a little more closely. Someone who has intimate knowledge of her family killed my brother.
“And,” John continued, his voice low, “he will kill Rowan if we don’t find him.”
“I know.” Collins’s voice shook with anger.
Good, John thought. He needs to be pissed off.
“Flynn, I know this is a difficult time right now, but are you staying on the job? Do I need to replace you?”
John closed his eyes. The revenge he sought felt thick on his tongue, clouded his judgment. Could he do it? Could he protect Rowan?
Or would he, too, end up dead, his reflexes hindered by rage instead of alcohol? But what else could he do? Without being a part of this, he’d be out of the loop. He couldn’t stay on the outside looking in, wondering if Michael’s death would be avenged, or if the bastard would get off with life in prison.
Or if Rowan would end up dead, too.
His emotions were too raw where she was concerned, so he banished her from his thoughts and said to Collins, “Tomorrow I’ll be back. Today I need to take care of my family.”
“I understand.”
“Keep me informed,” John said as he hung up.
He couldn’t think about Rowan. Not now. This was a job, and more than just a job. He’d keep her in the back of his mind, at least for today.
He went to Tess’s room. He’d thought he heard her stirring when he was on the phone and wanted to make sure she was all right. “Tess?” He knocked lightly.
No answer.
He opened the door and stared at the rumpled bed. She wasn’t there. A quick look through the apartment showed that she’d left.
He knew exactly where she’d gone.
Rowan heard the familiar buzz of a Volkswagen in the driveway and suspected Tess was here to say her piece. She closed her eyes and leaned back into her favorite chair, the overstuffed reading chair she’d loved since walking into the sterile beach house with Annette months ago.
She’d planned to be here through July, then go back to her cabin outside of Denver. She missed the only place she’d ever considered home since that fateful night twenty-three years ago.
But would Rowan be able to leave in two months? Would this killer be caught? Or would she be his next victim? Would she be the last?
It might be worth sacrificing her life if she were the last. If she could take him out at the same time.
The thought actually soothed her. Revenge, justice, peace. After Michael’s murder, nothing short of death would give her peace. Though she hadn’t pulled the trigger, how could she live knowing she was responsible for his death? Michael’s murder sat raw in her soul, a wound she doubted would ever heal. Michael had joined Dani. And Rachel and Mel and her mother.
While she’d been content in John’s arms, Michael had been gunned down.
She didn’t know if she even could face John again. The pain and agony he must be experiencing-the grief on his face. She knew exactly how he felt. Her stomach churned painfully.
The den door swung open so hard the knob hit the wall and dented the paneling. Tess stomped in, her face wet with tears but set with determination. Pain. Hatred. Her short dark hair was a mess, her clothing wrinkled.
Quinn was behind her looking concerned, but Rowan gave him minimal attention. She focused on Michael’s sister.
“It’s all your fault!” Tess screamed.
“I’m sorry,” Rowan said. “Believe me, I am sorry.” She stood, turned to face Tess, ready to take any punishment.
“You lied! You kept secrets and Michael is dead. John told me everything. I-I-I’ll never forgive you. I hope he gets you. I hope you both burn in hell!”
What could Rowan say? She hoped he came for her, too. Then she would have a chance to stop him. And if she died in the process, what loss to the world would that be?
“I know,” she said simply.
“Tess, you don’t mean that,” Quinn said, putting his hands on her shoulders. She shrugged him off and stepped forward.
“Yes. I. Do.”
Rowan hadn’t noticed before, but Tess had the same green eyes as her brothers, only lighter. They all looked alike. Tess. Michael. John. She couldn’t think about John or what they’d done last night. What a foolish, selfish mistake! A mistake that cost Michael his life. Michael should have been here, safe.
But if John had gone home, would the bastard have gone after him?
Michael wouldn’t have been preoccupied, angry at his brother for forcing him to take a break. Angry at John because of her.
The realization hit her and she stumbled backward. Michael had known, at least sensed, the tension and attraction between her and John. He was jealous. He’d fought with his brother because of her, not just because John insisted he take time off.
It was her fault.
She tilted her chin up and nodded at Tess. “I don’t blame you, Tess. Michael was a great guy, and I’m-”
“Don’t!” she screamed and approached Rowan, hands bunched at her side. “Don’t talk about him! He was my brother! You bitch!” She started pounding Rowan with her fists and Rowan let her. She was numb, dead inside. Did she have any grief left to give? The pain from the punches couldn’t compare to the agony of death, the added nightmares, the guilt seizing her soul with its piercing grip.
“Tess, please.” Quinn rushed over and tried to gently pry her off.
The front door slammed, and Quinn pulled his gun and ran from the room. A moment later, John burst in, Quinn behind him.
“Tess!” John grabbed her and spun her around. Tears streamed down her face and she pounded her brother in the chest. He took hold of her wrists and gently wrestled her under control. “Tess, honey. Stop. Please, sweetheart, stop.” His voice was calm, soothing, very much in control.
Tess’s bottom lip quivered; tears streamed down her face. She collapsed into his arms, sobbing.
John caught Rowan’s gaze before he led Tess from the room. The mixture of pain and rage she saw in his hard, chiseled expression stabbed her heart.
Quinn crossed to her, put an arm around her shoulders, and eased her into the reading chair.
“Rowan, it’s not your fault.” He rubbed her back and brushed a loose strand of hair away from her face. “Don’t blame yourself.”