“Thank God you called. I was so worried.”

“I’m sorry I didn’t call you. I-I didn’t think.” I didn’t want you to be in danger.

“Don’t kick yourself. I saw the newspapers and couldn’t reach you. I knew you were okay, but I had to make sure. I needed to hear your voice.”

“I’m okay.”

“You’re crying.”

She sucked in her breath, slowly let it out. “I miss you.”

“I miss you, too. I pray for you every day.”

“You don’t have to do that.”

Silence. “Rowan-”

“All right, I’m sorry.” Rowan felt Peter’s comforting presence even three thousand miles away. They didn’t see each other often. Rowan’s fault, she knew. Peter would have moved anywhere in the country to be near her, but she didn’t want to use him as a crutch. He would fill the role all too happily, but Rowan couldn’t do that to him. Or her. The only time she’d run to him was four years ago-but then it had been either Peter or the loony bin, and she wasn’t ready to give up her sanity for her job. Peter had helped pick up the pieces.

“Are you taking precautions?”

“Yes. The studio hired a bodyguard and the FBI’s involved.” She bit her fingernail, thinking of Michael. As soon as Quinn left, he’d offered her a comforting hand. It was easy to fall into the protective trap, to hold on to someone who offered a potent dose of sanity and strength. But that wasn’t fair to Michael, and it certainly wasn’t what she needed right now.

“Good.” The relief in Peter’s voice was evident.

“I can take care of myself.”

“You think you can.”

“I can. Really. But, to be honest, I’m glad I have help. A partner, if you will. Of course, I wouldn’t tell him that.” What surprised Rowan most of all was that she was glad to have Michael around. He was smart, experienced, and gave her the space she needed. He was comfortable. Like Peter. If only she hadn’t felt him watching her with more than cop’s eyes.

“Independent to the last. God is with you.”

“Don’t preach to me, Peter,” Rowan snapped, instantly regretting it. She didn’t want to hurt him. He was the only person who truly mattered to her now that she didn’t fight for the victims anymore.

“I’m not preaching, I’m only telling the truth.” He paused. “Do you want to come out here for a while?”

“Absolutely not. I won’t put you in jeopardy.” Though there was nothing she wanted more than to see her brother.

“No one knows about me.”

“And I don’t want to change that. I shouldn’t have called you from home. I need to be more careful.”

“Anyway, what would anyone think if you came here? You’ve spent time in Boston before.”

“Even if they didn’t know who you really are, I still worry about my friends. Anyone I know could be a target.”

“You have no friends. You’re a hermit.”

“That’s not true. I have friends.”

“Name one.”

“I can name two. Miranda and Olivia.”

“Your old roommates?” Peter sounded skeptical. “Do you keep in touch?”

“Of course,” she said, feeling a twinge of guilt at the lie. When was the last time she’d spoken to Liv? More than a year ago, though she had sent her an e-card for her birthday just last week, before all this happened. Miranda? She’d had a hard time after being booted from Quantico. An occasional note or postcard in the mail-nothing since Christmas. But Rowan didn’t blame her; Miranda was on a mission, one Rowan understood all too well.

“Rowan?”

“Sorry, woolgathering.”

“You don’t really have anyone to support you right now, do you?”

“I don’t need anyone. Really, Peter. I’m fine.”

“I doubt that.”

“Don’t.” She wiped some tears from her face, took a deep breath, and resolved to stand strong. “I-I love you, Peter.”

“I love you, too. Call me if you need anything. Anything.”

“I will. And Peter-be careful. Just in case.”

She hung up the phone and dialed Roger at his Washington home. She had to make sure her brother was kept safe.

John whistled softly as he and Tess walked up to the Malibu house. “Nice spread.”

“It’s not hers. A friend or something. She has a cabin in Colorado and is just in L.A. because her book’s being made into a movie.”

“You sound jealous,” John teased.

She shrugged and playfully hit him in the arm. “Not really. Maybe a little about the house and everything, but she doesn’t seem to be the happiest woman in the world, regardless of the money her books and movies are bringing in.”

Michael answered the bell, surprise in his eyes as he looked from John to Tess and back at his brother. “I thought you were in South America until the end of the week.”

“Wrapped up early.” He walked in, closed the door, and surveyed the surroundings. “Cush job, Mickey.”

“While you were sunning it up in Bolivia, I got the call.” Michael broke into a wide smile. “Glad you’re back in one piece, Johnny.” He embraced his brother, slapping him on the back in a bear hug.

“Me, too.” John stepped back, squeezed Michael’s shoulders and grinned. “It’s really good to see you.” He dropped his hands and looked around. Cold, sterile, artificial. He certainly wouldn’t want to live in this expensive tribute to minimalism. “Can you use help?”

Michael stood back, hesitating. John understood how hard it was for Michael to ask for his help. Tess, yes. Cops, yes. His older brother, no.

“Sure, always. I left a message for you, actually. Tess didn’t tell me you were coming back early.” Michael narrowed his eyes at Tess, but wrapped an arm around her shoulder and kissed the top of her head.

Their brief reunion was interrupted by a female clearing her throat. John turned his eyes to Rowan Smith for the first time.

He was surprised at his reaction. He wasn’t a first-sight-attraction kind of guy. But the impression he had of Rowan from her book jacket was nothing compared to the woman in person. She still had the rigid, distant look of her profiled picture. Elegant and classy. A blend of the 1930s temptress with the cool estrangement of a twenty-first-century professional. No doubt a beautiful, remarkably striking woman, but there was something more. Her intelligent, stormy blue eyes, watching and curious. John noted how she kept herself detached from them, her body turned at a slight angle, almost as if she were ready to bolt even as she looked him straight in the eye.

Captivating.

He glanced at Michael and saw the familiar look on his brother’s face. He was smitten. Michael glanced at him and frowned, almost imperceptibly. He probably considered John a rival-at least as far as Ms. Rowan Smith was concerned.

They stared at each other briefly, and John tried to judge how hard Michael had fallen. Without a doubt, his brother was in deep, but he seemed to be keeping his emotions in check. If John didn’t know Michael as well as he did, he wouldn’t see the competition in his eyes.

When they were in high school, they’d instituted the “First Sight Rule” to avoid fighting over girls. They were only a year apart and were frequently attracted to the same women. To keep the peace in the family, they had agreed that whoever saw the girl first had first right of refusal.

Not this time.

John dumped the rule then and there. By the look on Michael’s face, he knew it too.

I’ll make it up to him.

Besides, they didn’t have time for fun and games while a killer was on the loose. And protecting his family-and now Rowan Smith-was John’s number-one responsibility.