Home? To her small, sad apartment and her small, sad life? To the four walls that echoed with the voices of those she had lost, and would cage her as she tried to remain out of sight of the madman who would never rest until he had killed her?

No. Home was not safe. No place would ever be safe. There couldn't be enough security or enough guards. She could never return to a normal life, never let herself be visible or live in the light. Not while that monster lived.

She needed to remain in the darkness. Lily, but not Lily.

Off the grid.

"Wyatt," she whispered, "please…"

"What is it?"

"Please let me stay dead."

Please let me stay dead.

The nightmare began again.

Though once a drunk, Will Miller had always considered himself an honest man. He'd never stolen, never injured anybody. He'd only ever lied to avoid hurting his ex-wife and kids about his little problem with the bottle. He'd managed to keep working in a good job, been respected and liked, right up until the day he'd hit rock bottom.

It was the one thing he'd had any pride in-that he was a good man. A weak one, but a good one. He wanted to be that way again. He might have lived in a fog for several years, but now he'd been totally clean for seven months. Clean, sober, and on the path to a new life.

That new life could be made even better with some money to start it.

He stared at the computer screen, having sneaked into his daughter's family room, where she kept her ancient computer, long after she and her baby had gone to bed. She might be a waitress, living in a tiny two-bedroom apartment, barely making it on her own. Yet his youngest child had given him a place to stay. She was the only family he had left, and he owed her a lot. More than he could ever repay.

"Or maybe not," he whispered, keeping his voice low so as not to wake the woman and child sleeping in the next room. "Maybe I could do more for you both than you ever dreamed," he added.

The computer screen wasn't big, but the number in the Balance column was enormous.

All he had to do to get the access code to all that money was tell one teeny, tiny little white lie. Just one. Then all his troubles-and his daughter's-would be over. He'd be able to take care of her, of the kid. Maybe he'd even be able to get his ex and his two sons to start talking to him again. Really get back to his life.

Hell, maybe it wasn't a lie at all. He'd been drunk for a solid four years before getting himself a spot in a rehab center. He could very well have sat next to this Boyd guy in his favorite Annapolis bar one cold February night, two and a half years back. He'd been there practically every night. So maybe they really had shared a bottle and some stories. Just because he couldn't remember didn't mean it hadn't happened. Boyd remembered, right? If the guy had been railroaded by some lying cops, he deserved a helping hand. Just as Will deserved one. And his daughter deserved one.

The number was hypnotic, shining in the darkened room like a beacon toward a new world. A second chance for all of them.

With just one little lie-which maybe wouldn't be a lie-it would be his.

From the next room, he heard his baby grandson coughing. The kid had been hacking and snotting all week, poor little champ. No insurance, no free clinic within bus range. His daughter was trying to make do with that over-the-counter crap that killed little kids if you gave 'em too much.

You can make this all go away.

Decision made. His stomach didn't even churn as he reached for the phone, ignoring the late hour since he'd been told to call at any time of the day or night.

Will dialed the number he'd been given. When a muffled voice answered, he said. "Okay. I'm in. Tell me what I gotta do."

Chapter 4

When he'd brought Lily here last March, after more than a month in the hospital and a private rehab center, Wyatt had stayed with her for a couple of weeks, ignoring his own discomfort and loathing of the house. The renovations he'd ordered had been completed at top speed, with crews working 24-7, so the place at least looked different enough to allow him to pretend it was another building entirely. And the construction, the gutting of the central part of the house so it was now a huge, airy space full of light and brightness, had been worth it, for Lily's sake. He'd wanted to make sure she felt safe and comfortable and had the strength to remain on her own. He'd also overseen the installation of the security system she'd asked for, even while he tried again to convince her that he could protect her and she did not need to stay in hiding.

To no avail.

She had asked him to let the world think her dead. And on that bitter cold night, when she had seemed so close to death anyway, he had given his word. So had Brandon, the one person Wyatt had contacted after getting Lily's pained call for help.

To this day, he honestly didn't know why he had called only Brandon and none of the rest of the team. Maybe it was because he'd been so desperate, panicking when he never panicked. Brandon's number had been the one he'd dialed, certain if anyone could trace the cell phone's signal and help him figure out Lily's location from the few clues she'd been able to provide, it was the young computer expert. It might have been because he hadn't entirely trusted his own senses, had wondered if he'd been mistaken, hearing Lily's voice when his rational mind told him he couldn't have.

Hell, maybe even because somehow, with the sixth sense he'd always relied upon, he had already known he was racing into a tangled situation that could very well end up hanging him. Them. And while he didn't figure he had much else to lose with the FBI, the others on his team all did. Kyle Mulrooney was too close to retirement. Jackie Stokes had a husband and kids to worry about-and she'd been the most distraught over Lily's death. Why raise her hopes on something that might have been a prank? Alec Lambert was new and already on probation, Dean Taggert just starting to seem to have some kind of personal life again with a new live-in girlfriend. A girlfriend who was also a cop who might ask uncomfortable questions.

Brandon, though, was young and single. Utterly brilliant. And a rule breaker. He'd also been the closest to Lily, sharing an office with her, not to mention a warm friendship.

Looking back, would he have done it any other way? Brought in the cavalry so there would never have been any question of whether Lily Fletcher would return to her life or cease to exist altogether?

He didn't know. And it was too late to worry about it now.

There were other things to worry about.

"HeIp me, Wyatt."

Her voice was faint, though he heard it clearly. Just as he had the very first night they'd spent here and he'd realized she was tormented by nightmares. The beach house wasn't overly large, just two bedrooms and a loft upstairs. Even over the churning of the surf and the gusty March winds, he had easily heard her tormented cries. Like now.

He didn't go to check on her, to see if she truly needed help. Lily was physically fine, not battling any real demons, just the ones in her head.

In the beginning, he often tried to console her, going to her, letting her know she was safe. He would whisper soft reassurances from the doorway of her room, not wanting to enter and startle her with the presence of a man reaching for her in the darkness. He knew better. She'd told him enough about her ordeal for him to realize that much.

His voice often quieted her and she'd stop thrashing and moaning. He would remain there, watching her slowly drift back into a deeper sleep, the vulnerability of her features stark against the scarred head covered in a layer of pale blond fuzz.