“Maybe,” Adam whispered.
Rowan pulled out her cell phone and dialed Roger’s direct line.
“Collins.”
“Why didn’t you tell me Bobby was alive?” Her voice was cold, detached, as if someone else was using her mouth.
He said nothing for a long, long time. “Rowan, he threatened you. I sat across from that devil’s spawn and listened to him tell me how he was going to kill you. When he escaped, he killed two guards. We tried him on those deaths so you didn’t have to testify. Plenty of witnesses, and with two peace officers killed, he easily got life without parole. He wasn’t getting out, Ro. And you were having such awful nightmares, Gracie and I were worried. If you thought he was dead, what was the harm? I didn’t think-”
“He’s been in prison all this time and I didn’t know? How dare you! How dare you keep something so important from me. I’m not some weak-kneed child anymore. I could have handled it.”
“But-”
“Where is he? Right now, where is he?”
“Texas.”
“I want to see him.”
“I spoke with the warden after the first murder and-”
“You suspected him?” Her world spun around her. She felt John’s hands on her arms, grounding her, easing her into a chair. But she didn’t see anything; rage the color of dried blood blinded her. She pictured Roger, the man she had often wished were her real father, sitting at his desk, telling her he’d lied to her for twenty-three years.
“No, no, not really. I was just checking. Making sure there wasn’t a mistake. He’s in maximum security, no escapes.”
“I want to see him. Now.”
“Rowan-”
“With or without you.” She couldn’t talk to Roger. She thrust her phone in John’s direction and dropped it. He grabbed it.
“Collins?” he said into the receiver. “What prison?” He paused. “We’re leaving on the next available flight.” He hung up. “Rowan, if-”
“John.” Tess interrupted. “Look.”
Both John and Rowan turned to the computer screen. Tess had brought up Bobby’s mug shot. “This was taken five years ago.”
Bobby had aged remarkably well in prison, Rowan thought. His blond hair had grown darker and was cut military style. His face was hard, his eyes cold, his skin pale. But, really, he looked like anyone. An average person. Normal.
“I wanna go home,” Adam wailed from his desk.
John turned to him and helped him up. “One more picture, Adam. One more.”
“Promise?” he said, sulking.
“I promise.”
Adam allowed himself to be led to Tess’s computer. He stared at the screen. “Adam, is this the man you saw at the flower stand?”
Adam nodded, tears filling his eyes. “Can I go home now?”
Quinn motioned for Colleen, who’d been quietly standing in the corner since bringing John and Adam up earlier. “Adam, Colleen will take you home.”
Rowan stared at the picture on the screen. Was he responsible for all this? How? If he was rotting in a prison cell, how could Adam have seen him in Malibu?
“Thank you, Adam,” she said, trying to convey her appreciation. Adam left without looking at her.
“I’m putting out an APB on Robert MacIntosh,” Quinn said. “Good work, Tess. If you ever want a government job, let me know.”
“We need to go,” Rowan said. “I need to see him behind bars. What if he’s not there? What if he escaped?” But that was impossible. Roger would have known. The entire country would have been on the lookout for an escaped convict.
Nothing made sense.
John agreed. “Quinn, how fast can we get out there?”
“First available flight. Get over to Burbank and I’ll bump passengers for us if I have to.”
“Thanks.” He turned to Rowan. “Ready?”
She nodded. Ready or not, she had to confront Bobby.
CHAPTER 17
Rowan didn’t speak during the drive to the airport. John was grateful Peterson had moved heaven and earth to put them on a flight that left in less than an hour and worked security to rush them all through.
Peterson himself sat in the air marshal’s seat near the front since he was a federal officer and there was no air marshal assigned to this flight, while John and Rowan had seats in the back.
John gave Rowan the space she obviously needed. He ached for her. Why had he dragged her down there? He could have handled Adam himself. He’d had some vague idea that going through the reports would trigger some repressed memory, prompting her to remember something.
Then he reminded himself Rowan had wanted to do it. Needed to do it.
He’d never imagined Bobby MacIntosh was alive. But now there was no doubt in his mind that whoever sat in that Texas prison cell under the name “Robert MacIntosh, Junior” was not Rowan’s brother.
He glanced at Rowan. She suspected the same thing.
Almost immediately after they’d boarded, the plane taxied and left. Rowan still hadn’t spoken and John was getting antsy. With a sidelong glance at the businessman who sat on the aisle seat next to him, John leaned toward Rowan and spoke quietly in her ear.
“Are you okay?”
She didn’t respond, just stared out the window.
“Rowan, talk to me.” He didn’t mean to sound so gruff, but dammit, he couldn’t stand the silence or the blank stare in her eyes.
“It’s Bobby. I know it.”
“We’ll know soon enough.”
“Roger lied to me. From the beginning.” Her voice vibrated in anguish. John knew exactly how she felt. Lies, deception, betrayal. He pushed those thoughts aside-this was neither the time nor place. He longed to take her into his arms and hold her, just hold her so she’d know she wasn’t alone. But he was walking on eggshells. After the emotional trauma of reviewing the photos of her family’s murder and discovering the father-figure she trusted had lied to her about something so important, he didn’t know how much more she could take.
“When Roger interviewed me,” she continued, “after they told me Bobby had been caught and was in jail and couldn’t hurt me, he was honest. He told me the case was solid, but I was the only eyewitness. My testimony would ensure Bobby would stay in prison for the rest of his life.”
He took her hand and squeezed. She finally turned from the window and looked down at their clasped hands, but didn’t make any move to break the connection.
John didn’t know why he felt relieved.
“How did you feel about that?” He tried to remember that Rowan had been only ten back then. He’d seen the pictures. What a senseless tragedy! A little girl who’d lost nearly her entire family in one awful night. Was rejected by her aunt and grandparents. He could almost picture the courageous child Rowan had been.
“Angry. Confused. I wanted to hurt him for what he did, but I didn’t understand the process then.” She paused. “Roger was also the one who told me about my father, that he hadn’t spoken a word since the police found him in the kitchen. I insisted on seeing him. So Roger took me to Bellevue. He didn’t want to, but he did.”
She caught his eye. The misery in her face made him want to pull her into his arms and tell her he would protect her.
But she didn’t want his protection. She wanted his understanding.
“Roger was right,” she said, her voice barely audible. “I completely broke down when I saw my father’s hollow eyes. He wasn’t there anymore. He wasn’t possessed by the devil, he didn’t have an evil look in his eye, he didn’t rant and rave. He just wasn’t.” She looked out the window again.
“I suppose that’s why Roger lied to me,” she said. “He didn’t think I’d be able to handle testifying, no matter what I said.”
Rowan would never forget seeing her father that last time. He didn’t look like the strong, sometimes angry, sometimes wonderful man she’d grown to admire and fear.