Free The Prey by Allison Brennan Page B

from her. Blood soaked her white down comforter. Dear God, how could so much blood come from such a tiny person!
    Pigtails.
    Dani.
    She screamed.
     
     
    While drinking coffee in the dining room, John listened as Michael filled him in on the police investigation and the FBI’s role. Rowan had fallen asleep on the couch in the adjoining living room less than half an hour before. She’d looked exhausted when John first saw her, and he didn’t doubt that recent nights had been interrupted by the pressure the killer placed on her.
    A moan escaped Rowan, and both he and Michael jumped up. They stared at each other for a moment, then John sighed and sat back down. “Your case,” he said, though he wasn’t sure he was making the right decision. Michael had been handling the security measures like the pro John knew he was, but whenever he looked at Rowan, a softness came over his face. A familiar expression, John thought, most recently seen when Michael was involved with that liar Jessica Weston.
    Michael approached the couch cautiously as Rowan thrashed in her sleep. “Rowan,” he said softly.
    Suddenly, she screamed and bolted upright, her face a mask of terror as she teetered between sleep and wakefulness.
    “Rowan! Rowan! Wake up!” Michael sat behind her and pulled her nearly into his lap, grabbing her waving arms. Even across the room John saw how tense Rowan was, her arms locked and quivering, almost in an empty hug.
    “Dani, Dani!” she cried in the midst of her nightmare.
    “What’s wrong with her?” Tess asked, concerned, as she rose from the workstation she’d created in the adjoining alcove.
    “Nightmare,” Michael said grimly.
    Who’s
Danny
? John thought, frowning, his arms crossed over his chest as he rose from his seat.
    Rowan quieted as Michael whispered nonsense in her ear and pulled her closer to him, patting her hair and smoothing it down her back. She shook from violent sobs, but no sound escaped.
    “Rowan—”
    “I’m sorry. I’m sorry.” She turned into Michael’s chest and her stifled sob tore at John’s heart.
    But John had to get to the bottom of this. “Who’s Danny?” he asked, his voice harsher than intended.
    Her head jerked up and she glared at him, her eyes red with unshed tears.
    John ignored the signals Michael sent him to shut up. Something about this was important.
    Rowan pushed herself away from Michael, reached to the small of her back, and removed her Glock from its holster. She checked the ammunition, put the gun back, and stood in the middle of the living room. John watched her control the terror of the nightmare, focusing instead on her obvious anger toward him. Why? He had only asked an obvious question. One Michael should have been asking instead of consoling her.
    In the back of his heart, John wanted to wrap his arms around Rowan as well. But unlike his brother, he put sentiment on the back burner when lives were at stake.
    “I need to call my boss. Ex-boss,” she corrected. “I—I had a memory of a case I worked on. My last case. I’m wondering if there’s some connection.” She shook her head and closed her eyes. “I don’t see how,” she said, almost to herself, “but why else would I dream of the Franklin murders now?”
    “Franklin murders?” John repeated.
    She opened her eyes and looked at him. “Brutal murder-suicide. Or so we suspected at the time. There were some doubts, but I wasn’t involved in the investigation. I need to see the file, though, and it’s not in the box of cases Quinn brought over.”
    John nodded. He noted she grew composed as she became proactive. So different from the pain-filled woman who’d woken from a violent nightmare only moments ago.
    “Who’s Danny?” John asked again. “One of the victims?”
    She looked at Michael, not John, her eyes once again shielding pain he’d seen only a moment before. She shrugged. “Another case. I’ve spent most of the day reviewing crime scene photos and notes.