The Prey Read Online Free PDF

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    It didn’t hurt that a high-profile case could really help his business take off, either.
    “I was a cop for nearly fifteen years and have been in private security for two. I’m more than capable of watching your back,” he told her. It was quite a nice back to watch, he thought. The whole package was attractive.
    “You didn’t answer my question,” Rowan said, her posture rigid. “What can you do for me that I can’t do for myself?”
    Was she being deliberately obtuse? She had to know what a bodyguard was for. “You’ve worked for the FBI. You know damn well what I’d be doing. Answering your door. Escorting you when you leave the house. Locking down at night and if the guy shows, getting you to a safe place. What more do you want to know?”
    Rowan arched an eyebrow and seemed about to say something when the doorbell rang. She stood, and Michael glared at her.
    “I would imagine answering the door falls under my job description,” he said.
    She nodded, taking the Glock out of the shoulder holster she wore over her white T-shirt.
    Annette looked almost excited, and Tess took out her own little snub-nosed .38.
    Rowan couldn’t help but smile at Tess Flynn’s firearm. “Cute gun,” she said before she could stop herself from being bitchy.
    Michael disappeared down the hall to the foyer. He’d been a cop for fifteen years, probably joined the academy right out of high school. He had that beat-cop bravado, a slight arrogant swagger, the rigid stance. His body crackled with suppressed energy, but he had laugh lines around his green eyes and his hair was too long to be a regulation cut. He almost had a rebel appearance. She couldn’t help but wonder why he’d left the force so young. He wouldn’t get full retirement benefits, something very important to most people in law enforcement.
    That was something she intended to look into.
    But he seemed to know what he was doing regarding personal security. It was either him or Roger would send out a pair of agents. Rowan didn’t feel comfortable taking so many resources away from the Bureau. Not before they had any solid information about the killer.
    She just didn’t like being under someone else’s thumb. The whole idea of a bodyguard irritated her. She was perfectly capable of taking care of herself, as she had told both Roger and this new guy, Michael Flynn.
    She sighed, rubbed her eyes under the small glasses, resigned to the fact that it was either Michael or a former colleague. She didn’t need the lenses for seeing, but she found wearing them was a good way to observe people.
    A few moments later, Michael came back into the dining room carrying a huge white and green funeral wreath.
    The blood drained from her face. She’d seen the wreath before. In her mind.
    The sweet, cloying smell of flowers reminded Rowan of every funeral she’d ever been to. There were too many, but she remembered each and every one of them. Who thought that the overabundance of beauty somehow made violent death more palatable? Death, premature death, could never be glossed over.
    “There’s a card,” Michael said, reaching for it.
    “Don’t touch it!” Rowan rushed to his side.
    Michael stopped, hand in midair. “I checked out the package before I let the driver go. It’s clean.” He looked annoyed, his lips drawn into a tight line as if irritated that she had the audacity to challenge his ability.
    “No, it’s not that. I recognize it.”
    “The flowers?”
    She nodded. “They’re exactly as I envisioned in one of my books.” Her voice sounded unsteady, just like she felt. This certainly wasn’t a good sign, and any hope there had been a mistake in delivery quickly dissipated when she carefully pulled the card out by the corner with her fingernails.
    The pre-printed message at top—IN MEMORIAM—was followed by one written sentence:
Please accept my heartfelt condolences on the death of your brainchild, Doreen
. It was signed,
A Fan
.
    Rowan dropped the