Black at Heart

Chapter 5

The next morning, shortly before dawn, Lily left the house and made her way down to the beach. She'd taken care to creep past Wyatt's bedroom door, not wanting to awaken him, as shed obviously done during the night. She had put the man out enough to last her lifetime.

By asking him to let her help in the investigation, she had done so again. He had already gone so far out on a limb for her, he was on the verge of falling into a very deep pit of trouble. Yet he had agreed, knowing, as Lily did, that with so few people aware of the truth, she could be a genuine asset.

Just as the need to do the job-to keep other families from being hurt-had been enough to help her survive what had happened to her family, now, needing to know who had done this to her gave Lily the same motivation. She'd been recovering for months. Rebuilding her strength. Preparing. Now she needed to act.

The sun was just on the verge of rising when her feet finally hit the sand at the end of her long descent. By all rights, she should have slept much later herself. She and Wyatt had remained outside on the patio talking until at least two a.m., and though she had fallen into bed shortly thereafter, sleep had been a long time coming.

At least her dreams had not been dark ones.

"No, they were almost worse," she muttered, shaking her head at her own foolishness. Because instead of dreaming about the terrifying night Wyatt had saved her, she had instead been troubled by intense, surprising visions of some other nights she had spent with him. Other moments, when she had been less vulnerable and he less noble. When he'd let down his guard and looked at her with eyes that weren't pitying and protective, but instead piercing, hot, and perhaps even interested.

You're imagining things.

He was as interested in her as any good person would be in a wounded animal. That was all. Dreams inspired by solitude and a long drought of physical intimacy didn't mean a damn thing other than that she needed to be extra vigilant to keep her feelings hidden.

Not romantic feelings, she had to believe that. She felt only friendship and genuine appreciation for Wyatt.

But she couldn't deny that when she let herself really think about the idea of him desiring her, something deep inside the untouched, cold part of herself flashed with unexpected warmth.

"Forget it," she reminded herself. "It's never going to happen." She had never been the kind of person who could separate sex from emotion, so the idea of just taking a bit of physical relief from the most attractive man she'd ever known was out of the question.

At least, Lily had never been that kind of person. The Lily she'd once been.

"You're not that Lily anymore."

Maybe the woman she was now could take what she needed, get it out of her system. Maybe that woman even had the nerve to try to take it from Wyatt Blackstone.

It bore consideration. But not now, not while he was here, filling the house with his magnetic presence. She'd think about it long and hard after Wyatt left and she was again alone, lost in her own thoughts and free from any outside distractions.

Remaining at the base of the steps, she sat down on the weathered wooden plank, cut into the side of the rocky hill, and rested her forearms loosely on her knees. The bottom cuff of her sweats pulled up a little, enough to reveal the ankle holster and small-caliber handgun she carried at all times. Self-conscious, though she was entirely alone, she pulled the fabric down. Wyatt knew she had weapons- he just didn't need to know she carried them every time she set foot outside the perimeter of the house.

Streams of orange and pink had begun to appear far away where the black ocean met the dark blue sky. As always, Lily held her breath, waiting for it, enjoying this one moment of the day more than any other.

She was soon rewarded, paid off for her patience. Between one blink of the eye and the next, the golden globe of the sun popped up to send streams of light racing across the water. Within seconds, day had broken, bathing the beach, and her face, with the very first hints of warmth that cut through the morning chill.

"Okay, another day," she told herself. "Make something of it."

Though she seldom ventured far from the house, she did enjoy her occasional workout on the beach. The stretch of shoreline, called Dead Man's Beach by the locals, probably because of some ancient shipping tragedies off the rocky coast, was far from any of the crowded tourist areas. Not private and exclusive to Wyatt's house, it was still far enough from civilization to discourage visitors. A lighthouse, long abandoned, remained perched on a jutting bit of land a half mile to the north, but almost no one ever came by to explore it.

Today was no exception. No human was visible, as far as her eye could see. So she took full advantage, first with a quick jog along the shoreline, up to the lighthouse, then back, followed by stretches and position practice for this afternoon's lesson with the sarge.

Something else Wyatt seemed to disapprove of, though he had never said a word. He had been all for her taking a few martial arts lessons after she'd gotten through physical therapy to strengthen her badly damaged leg. He had. however, somehow sensed that she was no longer doing it just as a way to get back into shape, or even entirely for her own peace of mind.

They had not discussed it, but he was no fool. He knew what demons drove her, knew she felt with an undeniable certainty that the man who'd kidnapped her would come after her if he ever found out she was still alive.

And she was getting ready. Not just to defend herself But perhaps to avenge herself.

"The way you balance, no one would ever guess how badly damaged that leg was," a voice said.

She didn't turn around. She'd been aware of Wyatt's approach down the steps for a minute or two. She just hadn't allowed herself to think about it, not wanting the old self-consciousness to interfere with her workout. Especially because she knew if she glanced at him, she'd end up staring.

Wyatt almost always wore suits. Expensive, well-tailored suits. But he did, on occasion, dress down, which was almost worse for her peace of mind. His faded, worn jeans hugged his strong legs, and the casual polo shirt, with the collar turned up, highlighted the broad shoulders and thick arms. He looked a little less the boss she'd known and a little more the sexy man she'd had wicked dreams about.

"Just don't look too closely at the scars," she replied, smoothly moving from Intermediate to Position Four.

"Something else for the plastic surgeon to take care of."

Another soundless turn. "Maybe I'll go down to Williamsburg to see one."

He crossed his arms, his strong jaw jutting out. "Don't even think about it."

She'd gotten the reaction she expected. "You said yourself that hearing the voices of some of the doctors from that symposium might be of use."

"I meant recordings of their voices," he insisted, "which I'll have from Brandon sometime this morning. You are absolutely not going to stroll into the offices of the doctor whose car was stolen and try to listen for the voice of the monster who attacked you."

Position Five. Breathe deeply. Slow and steady.

"Maybe he'd see me and drop over dead from a heart attack, sure he was seeing a ghost," she said, not really serious. She wasn't crazy, and she certainly wouldn't waltz into a place that could put her face-to-face with someone who wanted to kill her.

Well, at least not until she'd tried it Wyatt's way, listening to the recordings or searching for any other audible resources she could find.

If all else failed, however? Well, she didn't think any- one else she had worked with on a daily basis would immediately recognize her now. So while she wouldn't necessarily make an appointment and walk right into the lion's den, perhaps there was another way. Shadowing a group going to lunch and sitting nearby? Delivering a package, or flowers? Something that would get her close-but not too close.

"Stop thinking about it," he ordered.

She paused to stare at him. "You can't control what goes on in my head."

"No, but I can control whether I leave the keys to my Jeep here or not. And if I get the idea you're thinking of making any long-distance trips, I guarantee you I'll be taking them with me."

A humorless laugh escaped her lips. "Gee, thanks for the reminder that I'm completely at your mercy."

He thrust out a frustrated breath and stalked closer. "Damn it, Lily, you're not a charity case. I don't begrudge you anything. I just don't want you to get hurt again."

"You're being kind. You have to admit, I am a charity case." The reality of that rankled. Lily had never relied on anyone, not since her parents had died and she and her sister had played a game of here-we-go-round-the-foster-care-system. She didn't like being completely supported by anyone. "I'll probably never be able to repay you for all my medical expenses, even if I can get back my unclaimed financial accounts."

He waved a hand, as if money meant absolutely nothing. Though she didn't know a lot about Wyatt's background, other than the fact that his family owned this house-and that he never used it, for some deep, dark reason that the locals hinted at but she had never pried into-she had no doubt the man had money. So much money, he hadn't batted an eye when paying her bills, whisking her up here, renovating the house, buying the Jeep.

That didn't mean she wasn't going to try to pay him back, somehow, someway. Sometime. Even if it took the rest of her life.

"I don't care about the money. I only care about your need to do something leading you into a dark, dangerous situation."

Hearing the genuine intensity, she had to try to mollify him. "Look, you and I both know I'm a hermit and the chances of me going more than ten miles from here are very slim, meaning a trip to Virginia is almost inconceivable."

"You really have no desire to leave? Haven't had any impulse to just go?"

Though his expression remained neutral, he seemed very interested in hearing her answer. She couldn't help wondering why he seemed so concerned. "What is it you're really trying to get at?"

He shook his head slowly. "Just curious."

Yeah, right. The man never asked idle questions; he was also after something. Now he seemed to be asking if she had the nerve to leave here, or if she just intended to give up and hide from the world forever.

Well, haven't you considered it?

She ignored the inner voice. "What is it you're accusing me of, Wyatt?"

He countered with a question. "Should I be accusing you of something?"

"Don't pull that interrogator garbage on me, okay? If you have something to say, just say it, would you?"

"Will you do the same?"

She managed to smother a groan that he'd done it again, and think about what he'd asked. Would she do the same? Be honest and open? About most things, probably. About the case, her physical well-being, the house, what was going on in the outside world. Yes. Absolutely.

But what went on in her head? What she was really thinking, feeling?

Not bloody likely.

"Forget I asked," she snapped.

Deliberately turning away, she tried to get back into her exercise, closing her eyes and breathing deeply. She heard the sarge's voice in her head as she moved, remembering how hard such simple movements had been a few months ago, when her muscles had only recently healed after the slash job the bullet and her attacker's instruments had done on them. After a few moments, she found her center, rediscovered her calm, and was able to focus.

"So," she asked, ready to resume their conversation, "Brandon agreed that my voice idea was solid?"

Wyatt backed off, too, as if knowing she had already put their harsh words out of her head. "He did. The owner of the car, Dr. Kean, was interviewed on tape, along with her sister-in-law, who provided an alibi and backed up her claim that she knew nothing of the stolen vehicle until the morning after your attack. Brandon is sending me a snippet of that interview."

"Anyone else from the convention?"

"All of the workshops were recorded, the audio copies offered for sale online. We're gathering every one of them. We'll have a lot of material for you to listen to." He glanced at his watch. "Probably starting by this afternoon."

Position Eight. Flow. Calm.

"Brandon must have gotten an early start."

Wyatt leaned against the handrail at the base of the stairs, his feet crossed at the ankles, arms at the chest. "He responded to my e-mail at six forty-five this morning and said he'd work on this from home so there'd be no delay due to his commute to the office."

"He's a good kid."

He laughed softly.

"What?"

"That kid is only a couple of years your junior."

Maybe in physical years. Not in experience. Not in the journey of the soul.

"He's also in love with you."

She closed her eyes briefly, then opened them to glare at him. "Damn it, Wyatt, I'd just gotten my calm back."

He shrugged, unrepentant. "You need to deal with it."

"I did deal with it," she snapped. "Why do you think I asked him to stop coming up?"

Despite asking him to stop coming to visit her, as he'd done every single week last spring, she did miss him. Brandon was the closest thing to a brother she'd ever had. Putting a stop to his visits had been for his sake, more than hers.

Lily wasn't blind. She had known before she was kidnapped that Brandon was a flirt and a player, and that he liked trying out his cocky charm on her. But after he'd been part of the rescue, he'd turned into a hovering, cautious caretaker who treated her as if she needed to be wrapped in cotton. And he wanted to be the one wrapping that cotton around her and carrying her in his pocket.

Nothing brought the protective romantic gene out in a man like thinking he had a fragile, wounded woman to take care of. With Brandon, it had gone a step further. It hadn't escaped her notice that he had feelings for her. That-the thought of him wasting his time and emotion on her when she would never return it-had been the primary reason she'd asked him not to come back.

"Well, now that we've gone to a subject you really want to avoid, shall we go back to the previous one?”

She gritted her teeth.

"Tell me something.

Despite the mental warnings to remain focused and steady, she couldn't help stiffening. There were any number of questions Wyatt could be about to ask her. Many of which she didn't want to answer. Starting with what she was thinking, and ending with what she intended to do tomorrow. Next week. Next month. "What?"

"Would you really go down to Williamsburg? Leave here?"

Lily stopped the workout. "Why wouldn't I?"

"You haven't left in months." His stare intent, he prodded, "Have you?"

"I'm not a surf fisherman-I've had to eat," she said, finally giving up altogether on her workout. She couldn't concentrate with anyone watching, much less when Wyatt's unfiltered, undiluted attention was zoned in squarely on her. She shook her arms out and walked across the sand, toward the stairs. "I go to the market."

"Maine," he insisted. "You haven't left Maine?"

"Why do you ask?"

He shrugged. "I'm just wondering how you're doing. If you're starting to think beyond this place. Going back to your real life."

"What's there to go back to?" she asked. "I have no family. My apartment's gone. I won't get my job back once the bureau finds out I've been hiding all this time."

He stepped in front of her, blocking her access to the steps. "So are you saying you haven't left, and don't intend to?"

Lily didn't want to answer any questions, especially right now. Wyatt was too big, too close, too intent. Too damned curious.

"I can leave anytime," she insisted. "Maybe even later today, after we listen to the recordings. Might just necessitate that trip down to Virginia."

"What would cause you to make that trip, Lily? Not hearing a voice you recognize?" His dark blue eyes glinted in the early-morning sun. "Or hearing one you know all too well?"

She knew what he was really asking. Which did she want more? Justice? Or revenge?

If she heard the voice of the man who'd held her, would it make her long to see him brought to justice so she could begin living her life again? Or merely prompt her to take things into her own hands, pay her own debts, and give the son of a bitch exactly the same tender care he'd given her?

She thought about it. Right at this moment, she honestly didn't know the answer to that question. Vengeance, she had often heard, was a dish best served cold. But the need for it was like an incendiary wire, jolting her with heat and flame. With anger. It sometimes seemed it could drive her to madness.

Drive her to almost anything.

"What does it matter?" she finally replied, going around him onto the bottom step. "I'm not going to do anything until after we listen to the recordings."

He didn't let it go, reaching for her, dropping one strong, solid hand on her shoulder. "And afterward?"

Lily dipped out from under that hand. Seeing his immediate remorse, and knowing he probably assumed he'd frightened her, she felt a moment's regret. She hadn't shrugged off his touch because he had frightened her, but because the idea of Wyatt touching her didn't frighten her one little bit.

It excited her.

Reason enough to get away from the man. But she couldn't see how she could do that, considering he owned the house in which she slept.

There was, however, one place where she knew he wouldn't follow. "I need to cool down after these exercises," she said, completely ignoring his last question. Though she was weary and wanted nothing more than a shower, she added, "I think I'll jog for a while."

Without another word, she spun around and jogged up the beach, heading toward the lighthouse. Wyatt wouldn't follow; he hated the damn place. He'd warned her it was a falling-down ruin and had asked her to never go there. But she knew by the frank disgust in his face whenever he caught sight of it that there was more to it.

Maybe it wasn't nice to go where she knew he wouldn't. But Lily Fletcher was no longer ruled by her need to be nice.

When Brandon Cole had learned that Lily might be able to recognize the voice of her attacker, he'd scrambled to get samples of every voice Wyatt had suggested. Especially the attendees of the medical convention at the hotel from which the car had been stolen.

He hadn't gotten it at first, why they thought it could be a doctor from the hotel, rather than some random thug who'd stolen the first available car.

Then he'd remembered what had been done to Lily. The way her kidnapper had worked on her, stitching her up, however brutally, then shoving narcotics and even antibiotics into her system. All, he believed, to keep her alive for more torture.

He'd had to force that image out of his head by sheer force of will and by throwing himself two hundred percent into the job. Staying home, he'd spent all morning working on the audio clips, sending them to Wyatt around noon. Which was why he didn't hit the office until one p.m.

He'd called early this morning, telling Jackie, who was running the office today while Wyatt was out on leave, that he had forgotten about a dental appointment. She hadn't asked questions. But there had been that heavy, questioning silence she was so good at that made him wonder if she suspected him of something. Jackie sniffed out prevarication the way a dog sniffed out liver treats.

Though only in her forties, Stokes seemed to have adopted the role of mother in the group. Perhaps because she was the only one with kids. Once a forensics expert, she had transferred to the Cyber Division when her son and daughter were babies. She never talked about it, but he'd heard she had come a bit too close to a bullet for comfort, and had decided that a nine-to-five job suited her better while the kids were young. Now that they were a little older, she was back in the field, getting her hands dirty, combining her IT expertise with her field-agent background.

He got in while the others were at lunch, and nodded to the new receptionist. They seemed to get a new one every other month. The members of the team might like the privacy of their ancient suite of offices on the fourth floor, but the support staff was never quite as content.

Reaching the office he had once shared with Lily, he couldn't help thinking about how much he missed her. His new office mate was Anna Delaney. She was good, but so coolly confident he sometimes felt as though she looked at him as an overanxious kid. Lily had been like him. A bit of an outsider. A little untried.

He sat at his desk, flipped on his CPU, then went right back to work on the files. He'd sent them to Wyatt, as well as forwarding copies to himself, but Brandon wanted to keep working on them, cleaning them up as much as possible, to see if he could enhance them in any way. Lily deserved to have every advantage when it came to identifying the man who had kidnapped her.

It wouldn't be easy for her. And would probably be incredibly painful.

I could have been the one to stay with her, help her this weekend.

He should have been the one to stay in Maine with her. He ought to be up there with Lily right now, holding her hand, helping her through this. Taking care of her. After all, they'd been so close once, while she and Wyatt had always had nothing more than an employer-employee relationship.

Brandon had thought it over, wondered, stressed about it, but for the life of him, he just didn't know why Lily didn't want him to come see her anymore. All he had ever wanted to do was protect her, keep her safe. Never again let ugliness or violence intrude on her life if he could possibly help it. And she didn't even want him in the same state.

If she hadn't insisted that Wyatt come only once a month as well, he might have wondered if she had some kind of feelings for the other man. That had sounded crazy when he'd first thought about it-Lily was years younger than their boss and she'd always been nervous and jittery around Wyatt. But he'd noticed a few occasions when she'd looked at Wyatt, or Wyatt had looked at her, that had left him curious.

Still, Brandon knew there was no way Blackstone would take advantage of someone as wounded and fragile as Lily.

"Hey, you made it in, huh?"

He looked up from his computer screen. Seeing Special Agent Jackie Stokes, he offered her a smile, wondering if she could read the tension that had made him sit close to the monitor, his ear almost pressed against the state-of-the-art speaker. "Yeah, sorry about this morning."

"It's okay. We managed one morning without you." Her friendly smile slowly faded and he knew one instant before she opened her mouth again that something had happened. "I want to know what's going on."

He somehow managed to remain completely still. "I don't know what you mean."

Stepping into the office, she pushed the door closed behind her. Her sensible, low-heeled pumps clicked ominously above the whir and hiss of all the computer equipment as she crossed the room. Dropping onto Anna's empty seat, Jackie leaned over, dropping her elbows onto her knees. It was all Brandon could do not to minimize the screen now that she had a direct line of sight. But there was nothing to see-just a paused audio screen. Nothing out of the ordinary. He was simply being paranoid.

Damn, this was hard. Keeping Lily's secret from the world had been difficult enough, but keeping it from those who had loved her? People like Jackie? He honestly didn't know if she was ever going to forgive any of them.

"I know you, Brand," she said with a frank stare, "I know when you're up to something and you have been up to something for quite a while." She glanced at the closed door. "I also know some things are going on in this office that the rest of us aren't aware of"

Brandon put on his best poker face. "Like?"

"Like, some cop called this morning, got put through to me when he heard Wyatt was out. He was asking about something he called the tiger lily murder?"

Oh, shit.

"I had to tell him I didn't know anything about it. It appears Wyatt went out there to walk a crime scene the other day." Jackie sat up in the chair, crossing her arms in front of her chest. "And something tells me you already knew that. It seems as though every time I turn around, the two of you are having quiet conversations, one-on-one meetings. Care to share what's going on?"

"I'm sorry, but I can't help ya," he said, shrugging. It wasn't a lie-he hadn't said he didn't know anything, just that he couldn't help.

She obviously saw right through the hedge in his words. "You can'/, huh?"

Brandon shook his head once, not relenting.

Jackie waited a long moment, then nodded. "Okay.

Guess I'll just talk to SSA Blackstone when he arrives back in the office Tuesday morning."

"You do that," Brandon said, turning his chair around to face his monitor once more. "I really need to get back to work."

He didn't, of course, get right back to work. Not until he heard the office door close quietly behind her as Jackie left.

Maybe it was just as well that Jackie's suspicions were up, that she'd be confronting Wyatt. Perhaps she wouldn't then be so blindsided by the truth. Because if this lead panned out, and Lily was able to recognize a voice on one of those audio files, they might very well have a viable suspect.

Which meant Lily Fletcher might be returning from the dead in the very near future.