The Prey by Allison Brennan

Everything’s all mixed up. I don’t know what I was dreaming about.”
    Dammit, John knew she was lying. She’d had a nightmare about Danny, whoever he was.
    He sensed she wouldn’t go into any more details now. Maybe it
was
all mixed up in her mind. But there was something there, something he needed to pull out. Maybe something her conscious mind didn’t even realize was important.
    “I’m going to call Roger,” Rowan said, and she left the room without a backward glance.
    Michael strode over to his brother and poked him in the chest. “What the hell were you doing? Interrogating her? Couldn’t you see she’d just had a nightmare?”
    John’s jaw dropped. “Don’t you think you’re overreacting, Mickey? There’s something trapped in that pretty little head of Ms. Smith’s, and it’s about time someone started asking the tough questions. Hell, I don’t think she even knows what it is. But we need to push, we need to get to the bottom of this. The FBI is on top of it because she’s one of theirs, but they aren’t here in this room, are they?”
    “You’re doing it again,” Michael said.
    John blinked. “What?”
    “Taking over my case.”
    John threw his hands up in the air, a rare outward sign of frustration, and stalked over to the dark windows that reflected Michael’s angry expression and Tess’s watchful eyes. This wasn’t a new argument.
    “I’m not taking over your case, Mickey,” John said, though he itched to do just that. Michael had reasonable plans, but in John’s mind they sounded like they would take too damned long to implement. Maybe Michael was trying to coddle Rowan into opening up, but John was more of a straight shooter. He expected everyone else to shoot straight as well.
    “Could have fooled me,” Michael said under his breath.
    “There’s more going on here than we know. Dammit, she knows something that could get us all killed. It’s probably some damn FBI security issue, but screw it if I’m going to let you or Tess get hurt because the frickin’ FBI won’t share information!” John turned back to face his brother. “And if she doesn’t consciously know it, it’s locked in her mind and your sweet-as-pie commiserating isn’t going to draw the truth out of her.”
    “I was a cop for fifteen years, in case you’ve forgotten,” Michael said, taking a step toward John. “I may not have been a big, bad Delta commando, but I sure as hell know how to protect myself
and
my charge.”
    “Not if you can’t see past her pretty face!”
    Michael clenched his fists, vibrating with anger. “You just can’t let me forget about fucking up with Jessica.”
    John mentally hit himself. He didn’t want to hurt his brother. “I’m sorry, Mickey. I didn’t mean to compare the two situations. But geez, can’t you see there’s something else here? I’m not going to let you put your life on the line for a woman—for
anyone
—who isn’t forthcoming. Obviously these Franklin murders are important if she’s having nightmares about them. I just think we need to find out more about Rowan Smith. She holds the key.”
    Finally, Michael looked at him. “You’re right, John. Tomorrow morning, when we’ve all had some time to think about this, we’ll sit down with Rowan and pick her brain.”
    “Good plan,” John said as he approached his brother. He reached out and squeezed Michael’s shoulder. “We’re a team on this, Mickey. Like always.”
    “Are we?”
    John almost didn’t hear Michael, though they stood only two feet apart.
    He said equally as softly, “Yeah, Mickey, we are.”
    But he didn’t think his brother listened.
    With a sigh, John whipped out his cell phone and dialed a Washington contact. “It’s Flynn. I need some information.”
     
     
    They looked so sweet sitting on the sofa together eating popcorn and watching some stupid-ass love story on television. The popcorn came from an old-fashioned popper, not the new microwave bags that were