“Do you think that’s wise? The reporters won’t be kind.” Michael looked at her with a mixture of worry and something else, something more personal. Rowan quickly looked away. His emotional protection was convenient to avoid John’s intensity, but she didn’t want to mislead Michael into thinking she wanted more than the crutch. It was simply there and she’d been using it. Was she that shallow?
“I’m used to aggressive reporters,” she said, taking a step away from Michael. His hand fell from her back and she could breathe normally. She was making the right choice, she knew. Stand back, don’t use Michael’s offered strength. It wasn’t fair to him. “I want to know about the case. Any evidence? Did he screw up?”
Quinn touched her shoulder. “Olivia is heading up the evidence response team,” he said. “She volunteered.”
Rowan felt awful. She hadn’t called either Olivia or Miranda to tell them what was going on. She’d do it tomorrow. “I didn’t know she was field rated.”
“She’s not a field agent, though she has clearance. Roger okay’d it and I wouldn’t want anyone else processing the evidence. If the killer left anything of himself, Olivia will find it.”
“Who’s Olivia?” John asked.
“We graduated together from the Academy.” Rowan shot a glance at Quinn and he turned away, jaw clenched. Still a touchy point, she thought. “Olivia now heads up the Trace Evidence lab at Quantico.”
“John told us about your friend Adam Williams possibly seeing the suspect,” Quinn said. “He got a description from the proprietor, but it’s rough.”
“I heard.” John had called her after driving Adam back to the studio and told her what he’d learned. Unfortunately, the vague description rang no bells for her. It could have been anyone.
“Was Adam able to work with the sketch artist?” she asked, though she didn’t have much hope.
John shook his head. “He tried. Not enough detail. Maybe if we had a photo of the suspect, but even then I’d question Adam’s memory over time.”
“But, if that was him,” Quinn interjected, “and he was in Washington last night, it means he had to have flown out sometime after one P.M. Wednesday and arrived before five P.M. Thursday, Eastern time. That gives us a narrow window.” He grew excited as he talked. “Colleen’s working the airlines and we’re searching the databases for lone men traveling from Los Angeles or Burbank to Dulles or National. We can then pull all the pictures from the security cams and if we’re lucky and smart, get a clear shot.”
Rowan’s heart leapt to her throat. This might be it. He might have made a mistake. Would she recognize him? Would he be someone she knew? Someone she should have suspected, a relative, a fan? A friend? She shivered. She had few friends; that betrayal would hurt.
Not a friend. Wouldn’t she be able to see it in his eyes?
“You might want to broaden it to San Diego, Orange County, and Ontario,” she said. “He’s smart. He isn’t going to do what we expect. And check return flights. Not necessarily the same airport, but he’ll be around tonight. Just to watch. See if he’s gotten to me. I feel it.”
Damn, she was beautiful.
John’s loins stirred as soon as he saw her walk down the stairs in the simple black sheath that hugged her lean, athletic body. Her long, straight blonde hair hung like liquid silk down her back, and the single strand of pearls caressed her bare neck like a lover’s hand. He wondered if her skin was as soft as it looked, if her icy, hard exterior would melt when the right man touched her in just the right place.
He wanted her.
But she was a liar.
Not a liar in the traditional sense, but she was hiding something and that disturbed him down to his core. He’d seen it many, many times in his business. Deception not only by criminals like Pomera, but by his own government. Whether in the pursuit of crime or the pursuit of justice, secrets killed.
Yet he still wanted her. And he sensed she wanted him as well.
John glanced at his brother and saw Michael staring at him. He knew. He knew, and John wasn’t about to tell Michael he’d keep his hands off. He didn’t think he could live up to the promise, and he didn’t lie to family. He felt like a damned hypocrite and that rubbed him wrong. Hadn’t he just told Michael not to get too close?
Rowan had stopped leaning on Michael, John noted with interest. He wondered why. If she didn’t hide behind Michael’s calm understanding, John knew he could make her confess whatever secret she held locked in that beautiful head of hers. Whether or not it was relevant to the case, he needed to know.
Rowan brushed past him on her way to the kitchen. He turned to follow, but Michael crossed in front of him. Just then his cell phone rang.
He excused himself and went into Rowan’s den for privacy when he saw it was a restricted Washington-area number. “John Flynn.”
“It’s Andy.”
John straightened and crossed over to the blinds to look out onto the driveway at nothing in particular. “You have something?”
“You owe me big time.”
“You know I’m good for it.”
Andy snorted. “I could get fired. This goes up to Roger Collins.”
“Shit. Bad?”
“Don’t know. Just the facts. He and his wife Grace were the legal guardians of Rowan since she was ten.” John’s entire body tensed as Andy continued. “It was buried deep, but I found it on her name change papers. Her name was changed when she was ten.”
“Ten years old?” John repeated.
“She was born Lily Elizabeth MacIntosh.”
“Her parents?”
“You asked me to run similar crimes to the Franklin murders? Well, at first I came up with the standard murder-suicides.” He paused. “You really owe me, Flynn.”
“Go on,” John said, teeth clenched. His head started pounding, as if sensing what Andy had discovered.
“Well, all Rowan Smith’s juvenile records are sealed, but I found that name change, and then started searching MacIntosh. On a hunch.”
“And?”
“Nearly twenty-five years ago Robert MacIntosh killed his wife. Two minor children were taken into protective custody. Their names were expunged, but guess who the FBI assigned to the case.”
John’s stomach sank. “Roger Collins.”
“Bingo.”
MacIntosh. It couldn’t be a coincidence. Roger Collins took ten-year-old Lily MacIntosh into his home, became her guardian. Why? Witness protection program? Didn’t she have other family?
What about the other surviving sibling-male or female?
“Did the father kill himself?”
“He’s in a mental institution in Massachusetts.”
“Are you sure?”
“Shit, John, I couldn’t exactly call them and ask. Collins has markers all over these files. If I didn’t trip something already it’d be a damn miracle.”
John was going to have to push Rowan. Tonight. He had no other options. “Thanks, Andy. I really appreciate it.”
“If I get fired, I’m coming to you for a job.”
“You’ll have one.” John hung up and pondered the incredible information Andy had dumped in his lap. He always trusted his gut. And his gut told him Rowan’s past was crucial to this case.
Lily. She’d freaked out when she’d seen the lilies, and if Adam did in fact speak to the murderer, the killer knew about Rowan’s past and was using it to torment her. The surviving sibling? A brother? A brother who was possibly as dangerous as his father?
John couldn’t help but wonder if the dark pigtails were connected. Or the nightmare she’d had about Danny. Her boyfriend? Husband? Son? Brother?
Tonight, she was going to tell him. John didn’t doubt he could get her to talk as long as Michael wasn’t around to hover over her like a mother hen. If Rowan didn’t tell him everything, and soon, the bastard would go after her.
The thought made him ill.
CHAPTER 13
Hours after Rowan’s movie premiere, Michael stepped into a North Hollywood dive spoiling for a fight.