"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.