“Why do you think your father broke?”

“I just don’t know. It’s why I studied criminal psychology in college. It’s why I joined the FBI. For answers. And I found answers. But not about my daddy. Just the standard: Abusive spouses often kill or are killed.”

John pulled her to him. He couldn’t stand to hear the self-torture in her voice. Evil knew no bounds. Rich or poor, male or female, old or young. He didn’t know what made Robert MacIntosh kill his wife, but it had broken him forever. Twenty-three years without speaking, without even acknowledging the presence of another human being.

But Bobby MacIntosh was another story. If he was right and Rowan’s brother was the cause of the three-week, premeditated, expertly plotted killing spree, then his evil heart was more twisted, and far saner, than his father’s.

Roger Collins paced the waiting room of Beaumont, the maximum-security prison where Bobby MacIntosh had been incarcerated for the past year. The warden was transferring him into a private conference room, but Roger waited for Rowan.

He wanted to strangle John Flynn, but at the same time feared his theory was right. That Bobby MacIntosh was not in Beaumont, but instead was free and terrorizing Rowan.

Good intentions aside, he’d made a big mistake. A mistake that cost seven people their lives. And maybe more.

Bobby MacIntosh at eighteen-hardly a man-was more dangerous than most hardened criminals with decades of assaults under their belts. No remorse, and he certainly took a special glee in his killing night.

“Well, well, well, if it isn’t Special Agent Roger Collins,” Bobby MacIntosh had said twenty-three years ago when Roger interviewed him in a Boston jail cell.

Roger stood outside the cell and stared at the kid who’d killed three of his sisters.

“Lily is going to testify against you,” he’d told Bobby, wanting to see him squirm. “She’s alive and well and wants to send you to the electric chair.”

Bobby’s eyes narrowed as he glared at Roger.

“Massachusetts doesn’t have a death penalty. It’s unconstitutional,” he mocked.

“Too bad. I would have happily flipped the switch. Lily would have, too. You tried to break her, but she’s strong. Stronger than you think. Stronger than you’ve ever given her credit for. When she gets on the stand, not one juror is going to vote to acquit. You are going to spend the rest of your life in prison.”

He’d approached the bars, stood inches from them. He’d never felt such loathing toward a suspect in his life. After listening to Lily’s story, Roger hated this kid.

“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.