The Prey (28 page)

“And if you think you’ll be living for long behind bars,” he said, his voice low and even, “think again.”

Bobby just stared at him, his eyes mocking, casually reclining on the cot. “You don’t know me,” Bobby said, shaking his head. “I’m a survivor. And if
you
think I’m spending the rest of my life behind bars, you’re the one who’s deranged.”

Bobby sat up, put his hands on his knees, and narrowed his eyes. The hard anger in his face made Roger involuntarily swallow. This was the man Lily feared, the brother she had lived with for ten years, who killed without remorse. He did it for sheer pleasure.

“I will kill Lily. Not now, not tomorrow. Someday. I’ll take her scrawny neck and break it in two.”

“Don’t count on it,” Roger had said through clenched teeth. He turned and stormed out of the jail. But he heard Bobby MacIntosh’s final words.

“Don’t underestimate me, asshole.”

The next day he took Lily to see her father. And the strong little girl completely fell apart and needed to be sedated. It was only then that he feared she wouldn’t be able to take the stand, that testifying might permanently harm her. And after everything she’d gone through, he didn’t want her to face even more.

Bobby attempted to escape on the way to a preliminary hearing. He’d shot and killed two guards and had been gunned down. While he was in surgery, Roger prayed to a God he barely believed in that He would send Bobby to hell, where he belonged.

But the young killer lived.

Fortunately, the circumstances were different this time. Bobby had killed two cops. Roger convinced the D.A. that Lily wasn’t strong enough to withstand a trial. They tried MacIntosh for the murders of the cops instead of the murders of his family. Life in prison, no possibility of parole.

Damn Massachusetts; he should have gotten the death penalty.

Roger went to Lily and told her Bobby had been killed trying to escape.

Thinking back, it had been a good plan. MacIntosh was in prison, Lily spared the agony of the trial and the fear that her brother was alive and would hurt her. She grew up believing he was dead and couldn’t harm her. And she’d grown up lovely. Beautiful, smart, devoted. He’d pushed her into the FBI because she had the empathy and brains to make an outstanding agent.

It was only when she resigned after the Franklin homicides that Roger wondered if he hadn’t made mistakes with Rowan. Like bringing her into protective custody without telling her, under the guise of guardianship. Encouraging her to limit contact with Peter. Convincing her to change her name.

Everything he’d done, Roger had done because he loved her. Rowan was the child, the daughter, he and Gracie could never have. When her grandparents called him and said they didn’t know how to handle her and Peter, that the children had night terrors and the psychiatrist wanted to try drug therapy, Roger made a decision. He contacted a cop who’d told him he and his wife would adopt both Lily and Peter.

But after a trial period, they wanted only Peter.

Rowan didn’t make it easy on anyone back then. Who could blame her? She was torturing herself that Dani had died. That she couldn’t save her family.

So Roger took Rowan in. And had lied to her ever since.

A guard opened the door of the waiting room and escorted Rowan, Quinn Peterson, and a dark-haired man he presumed was John Flynn into the room.

One look at Rowan and Roger no longer wondered if he’d made a mistake. He knew it.

Still embarrassed about her emotional breakdown on the plane, Rowan vowed to keep herself under control. John had been surprisingly understanding, considering that her brother might have killed his brother. John listened, asked simple questions, and didn’t tell her everything was going to be okay.

Nothing was ever going to be “okay.”

She stared at Roger and frowned. “You lied to me.”

Roger nodded. “I thought it was for the best. I’m sorry. I was wrong.”

What an understatement! She shook her head, unable to trust herself to speak. If she said anything to Roger, it would be replete with cursing and venom. He’d lied to her forever, didn’t trust her with the truth. Probably thought she’d end up in a loony bin like her father. Maybe she would have. Maybe she still would.

But his betrayal would stay with her until she died. She didn’t know if she’d ever be able to forgive him.

She turned from Roger and ended up staring into John’s deep green eyes. He squeezed her arm and she leaned into him just enough to show him she appreciated his support. For the first time in this long, long day, Rowan felt she might survive.

The warden came into the room, a surprisingly small, balding man who walked tall and wore a nervous smile. “Assistant Director Collins, I’m Warden James Cullen. The prisoner is ready for your visit.”

He glanced at Rowan and John. “Ms. Smith, correct?”

She nodded. “This is my partner, John Flynn.” Partner? It just slipped out. She’d meant to say bodyguard. She wasn’t even a damned agent anymore. She didn’t
have
a partner.

No one said anything, but she felt a subtle shift in John’s stance. She didn’t look at him, but wondered what he was thinking.

Rowan followed the warden out, John right behind her in his subtle protective mode. Roger and Quinn trailed them. They traveled down a long, wide corridor, making several turns, and the warden typed security commands at three separate gates. They were accompanied by two armed guards.

The clear window looking into the brightly lit interrogation room showed a forty-something man shackled at his wrists and ankles. He had short-cropped sandy blond hair, a pointed chin, and blue eyes. He was average height and build, with the sunken look of defeat seen in many lifers.

He looked like Bobby MacIntosh. At first glance, Rowan was certain it
was
her brother in chains behind the table.

But it wasn’t.

Roger spoke, his trembling voice deep and filled with anger. And fear.

“That’s not MacIntosh.”

“Uh, sir, we double-checked his records and it
is
him,” Warden Cullen said with a stiff nod, running his hand over his smooth skull. “He’s been here for fourteen months. Our new security protocols have us take a DNA sample on arrival. When you called three weeks ago, we took another DNA sample. It’s definitely Robert MacIntosh.”

“He must have made the switch during transport,” Roger said, almost to himself.

“Excuse me?” John said.

Warden Cullen explained. “Security is very tight. For the past two years, new prisoners must provide their DNA for the file. In addition to a recent photograph and fingerprints, of course. In the past, fingerprints and identifying marks were the main distinguishing characteristics.

“Everything is in the computer,” he continued, confidence growing. “So when we received Robert MacIntosh into the facility fourteen months ago, we compared his photograph, distinguishing marks, and fingerprints with the computer records. Perfect match.”

“What about his DNA?” Roger asked.

The warden frowned. “We took his DNA sample upon admittance.”

“So you had nothing to compare it with.”

“DNA sampling is expensive, Director Collins. New prisoners are done routinely. MacIntosh has been in the system for over twenty years. Existing prisoners are added as funds become available.

“MacIntosh had been in Louisiana since his conviction until fourteen months ago, when he was transported here. They didn’t have a DNA sample on record,” the warden explained.

“I didn’t know he’d been transferred until three weeks ago,” Roger said, not looking Rowan in the eye. He stared instead at the imposter.

“Transferred,” John repeated, failing to contain his frustration.

Roger nodded, looked sheepish. “I had a copy of the file sent to me. He’d been beaten by a prison gang, and it wasn’t the first time. Louisiana has been having some problems, and MacIntosh’s attorney petitioned for a transfer. It was granted. I was supposed to be notified, but I wasn’t.”

“There was no reason to believe he’s anyone other than Robert MacIntosh, Junior,” the warden said, his voice tight with indignation. “All the files matched.”

“Computer records,” John mumbled, running a hand through his short hair. “They could have been switched.”

“I beg your pardon, Mr. Flynn,” the warden said, “but computer security is tight. This is a federal penitentiary. We protect ourselves against hackers.”

“No system is secure,” John said, jaw clenched.

Rowan nodded to the man on the other side of the window. The man posing as her brother. “He knows the answer.”

Two minutes later, Rowan sat across from the man who’d passed as Bobby for fourteen months. John stood against the wall next to one of the two guards, Roger sat to Rowan’s right, and Warden Cullen stood nervously at her left.

“Who are you?” Rowan asked.

“Bobby MacIntosh, but ya know that,” the imposter said, staring at her and trying to look fearsome, but failing.

Rowan shook her head. “No, you’re not Bobby. Bobby is my brother. I know him. You are not Bobby.”

“Hey, babe, I’ve changed.”

“Tell me how you made the switch,” Roger said.

“I don’t know what you’re talkin’ about.” He shuffled his feet, the chains clinking together, echoing in the silence of the sparsely furnished room.

Rowan glared at him. This man had helped her brother commit murder. “Did you plan it with him? Accomplice to murder. Hmmm. Texas has the death penalty, doesn’t it, Warden?”

“Well, uh, yes we do.”

“I don’t suppose an accomplice is eligible,” Rowan said, her voice flat and hard.

“Well, there are extenuating circumstances where an accomplice may be eligible,” the warden said.

Rowan controlled her reaction. It was bullshit, but the imposter wouldn’t know that. Play up whatever angle they had. Besides, everyone knew Texas had one of the strongest death penalty laws in the country.

The imposter fidgeted, crossed his arms over his chest. “I don’t know what you’re talkin’ about.”

“Well, let me spell it out. We have your DNA. My DNA is on file with the FBI. Assistant Director Collins,” she motioned toward Roger, “already called for my profile to be faxed here. If you really are my brother, the DNA profiles will prove that.” She glanced at Warden Cullen, who quickly picked up the thread.

“Guard, please call up to my office and see if the fax has arrived from Washington.”

One of the guards left the room and the imposter became visibly agitated. Certainly he had heard of more than one criminal who’d been caught because of DNA. DNA was king at enough trials to make any prisoner wary.

“I, uh—” he began, then stopped.

“Tell me where Bobby MacIntosh is,” Roger said.

“I don’t know,” the prisoner whispered. His eyes darted from Rowan to Roger to the warden. “I think I need a lawyer.”

Roger slammed his fist on the table. “No!”

Warden Cullen frowned at him. Rowan leaned forward. “Sir,” she asked, “what is your name?”

“Lloyd,” he answered, his shackles rustling.

“Lloyd, my name is Rowan Smith.”

He shrugged. “I know.”

“I’m the reason Bobby wanted out of prison, right?” she prodded.

Lloyd hesitated, then nodded.

Her head spun. It
was
Bobby. All along it was him, and he wanted to destroy her. Take from her what he hadn’t twenty-three years ago.

She kept her voice firm and modulated. “Bobby told you about me.”

He hesitated. “I really think I need—”

Warden Cullen interrupted. “Look, Lloyd, I’ll tell you what. Anything you tell us here won’t be used against you, okay? Just answer their questions.”

Lloyd didn’t look convinced. “He’ll kill me if I talk.”

Rowan stared at him. “I’ll kill you if you don’t.”

“Ms. Smith—” Warden Cullen warned.

The guard returned with two pieces of official-looking paper. He handed them to the warden, who read them and nodded. Lloyd paled, his pasty complexion becoming even whiter.

Cullen spoke. “This proves you’re not Robert MacIntosh. Do you want to cooperate or be charged with accessory to murder?”

“Murder? But she’s not dead!”

“Bobby started with others,” Rowan said. “He plans to end with me. But I have no intention of letting him kill me.” She kept her face rigid, her eyes shielded. She knew she looked fearsome; it was an expression the press had loved to comment on when she’d been with the Bureau. It also worked well on criminals.

She couldn’t afford to break down now. Not when they were so close.

Lloyd swallowed, glanced at the warden, then back at her. Rowan didn’t move a muscle, but her heart beat so loudly in her ears she thought for sure everyone could hear. She couldn’t blow this. Wouldn’t blow it.

“I want in writing that I’m not gonna be charged for any of this.” He leaned back in his chair and closed his mouth.

Roger looked at the warden, who sighed and pulled out a legal pad. He hand-wrote a promise on two sheets of paper, signed both, and handed the pen to Lloyd. Lloyd signed them awkwardly with his hands bound and the warden took them. Rowan glanced down. He’d signed them “Robert MacIntosh.”

They weren’t legitimate without his legal name, but no one said anything. Stupid idiot, Rowan thought. No wonder Bobby had so easily manipulated him.

“I met Bobby in the joint in Louisiana. Right when he came in. Young punk kid. We hit it off right away. We looked kinda alike. He told me about you,” he said with a nod toward Rowan. “He hates you.”

“The feeling is mutual,” Rowan said through clenched teeth, her mouth dry. She refused to let this guy get to her.

“Well, I got out after ten. He told me to find you. Sure, why not? I had nothing better to do. But you were fuckin’ hard to find. Then Bobby turned me on to Roger Collins here and told me you might’ve changed your name. But he had your social, and that’s what led me to your college transcripts.” He smiled, obviously pleased with himself.

“Well, I sorta followed you. Not all the time, didn’t have to. I knew your name, could check up on you from time to time. Kept Bobby informed.”