What she was feeling? Well, that hadn't been difficult.

Lily had always worn her emotions on her sleeve. Which hadn't been the best asset in a field that required dispassion and analytic thinking.

Funny, the woman the world considered dead would probably be better at her job now than she had been before.

"I don't want the car back. Ever. I simply want to get rid of it," said the voice on the recording.

Lily sighed, reached out, and closed the audio file with a click. "Moving on."

Yet, she didn't immediately start the first of the workshop snippets. He suspected he knew why. Part of her was anxious to hear every voice, screen every possibility. Even knowing this whole enterprise was a long shot and she probably wouldn't recognize a single person.

But another part of her had to be very afraid she would. Hearing words spoken by the man who'd held her, hurt her, would be shocking. Possibly even terrifying. His voice rising like a ghost from the computer speakers could push her over the edge into that panicked state she'd been in all those months ago when she'd been rescued.

Wyatt honestly didn't know how she would react. Which was why he slid his chair a little closer, ready to offer a steadying hand on her shoulder.

Positioned so close to her, he suddenly realized he should have thought twice. The soft, delicate fragrance of honeysuckle rose off her skin. Her favorite lotion. He'd seen it in her apartment, which he'd gone to clean out after her "death," and made sure she was stocked in it. So she smelled like the same sweet, soft young woman he'd known.

She's not that woman.

No. She wasn't. Though his immediate sensory reaction to the scent was a familiar jolt of tenderness and protectiveness, it didn't counteract his other senses. The scrape of her bare leg against his jeans ratcheted up the tension, as did the sound of each of her slow in-and-out breaths. Her hand, resting beside his on the table, was so damned slim, fragile, yet the arms revealed by the sleeveless tank top were toned and sculpted with muscle.

She was strong and soft, sweet and tough. The biggest distraction of his entire adult life.

And you think she could be a killer?

No. He didn't. From far away, in the middle of a crime scene, the evidence had seemed damning. But being back here in her company for one single day had reminded him of all the reasons why Lily could not be the vicious, cold-blooded murderer he sought.

Could he see her picking up a gun and shooting the man who'd attacked her if he came at her again, intending to do her harm? Oh, absolutely. As easily as he could see himself doing the same thing in her position.

But murdering random strangers so violently, with all the foresight, planning, and brutality those cases had involved? He just didn't believe it and felt almost foolish for coming up here with the intention of spying on her.

Something else was going on, the ties to Lily either completely coincidental-

Or not.

It was the not that worried him. The not that would keep him up nights until he discovered who the lily killer was, and how he was connected to Lily Fletcher.

There was, of course, one very obvious possibility. Lovesprettyboys, having been thwarted in his efforts to find out what happened to Lily after she'd escaped his clutches, might be trying to get law enforcement to do the job for him. He had to be going out of his mind, believing himself to be one of only two people who knew Lily hadn't been in that van when it crashed off the Route 17 bridge into the York River. Yet having absolutely no idea what had happened to her, he had to be wondering if she might reemerge and point her accusing finger in his direction.

Setting her up to look like a serial killer was one way to get the authorities interested in making absolutely certain of Lily's fate, since they'd never found a body. If the vicious crimes raised doubt about her "death," the ensuing investigation could lead everyone-the police, and the unsub-to the truth about Lily Fletcher. What had happened to her. And where she was today.

The unsub wouldn't want her to be arrested and tell what she knew. He just needed her to be found, possibly drawn back to Washington for an investigation. So he could get one clear shot at her.

Jesus.

So far it seemed that Wyatt was alone in associating Lily with the murdered men in those hotel rooms. God help them all if someone like Anspaugh, who had such an ax to grind against both Lily and Wyatt, stumbled across it.

Wyatt had to move faster. He needed to find Lovesprettyboys, because doing so might very well solve both cases. And only once the man was caught would Lily Fletcher be both physically safe and out from under the cloud of suspicion.

"Okay, let's proceed. I'm ready to hear the clips from the various workshops," Lily said, as oblivious to their closeness as he was affected by it. "I don't need to listen to the content, obviously, so this should go much more quickly."

The quicker they finished, the better, in Wyatt's opinion. He honestly didn't believe this idea was going to lead to something useful. There were just too many variables. Not only might Lily's memory of her attacker's voice be unclear, but it was a long shot that the unsub had in fact attended the convention at the hotel. The odds were even slimmer that he was a speaker whose session had been recorded.

But Lily wanted to try. So they'd try. The sooner they finished, and the sooner he could back away and reconstruct that professional, polite barrier between them, the better.

Lily started the first clip, listened to a few words from the speaker, then moved on. Again. Again. With each click of the touch pad, her shoulders seemed to droop further, her full lips tighten even more.

There had been two dozen workshops and it took less than an hour to listen to the clips from all but the two panels.

Though disappointment rolled off her, Lily didn't give up. She pulled up the first panel, listened long enough to hear a few words from every speaker. Then came the second group workshop, the final possibility.

The panel featured five speakers, including the sisters-in-law Drs. Kean and Underwood, both of whom they'd already heard. Relaxed at first, Lily began to physically tense as they finished their presentations, giving way to the other speakers on the panel. Because the other speakers were all men-ones they hadn't heard before. Theirs would be the final voices, the last chance to hear the echoes from her nightmares. Lily appeared to hold her breath, waiting for them to get their turns at the microphone.

Then they did. And her last hope died.

"Nothing," she said, shaking her head in utter disappointment, shock tugging her mouth down and lowering her lashes over her eyes.

"Look, it was a good idea. But we both knew it was a long shot."

"I guess." She leaned back in her chair, lifting her face to stare at the ceiling. When she spoke, her voice was so soft, he almost didn't hear her, especially over the voice of the workshop presenter, still droning from the computers speakers. "Maybe it's better."

Though he thought he understood, he still asked, "Why?

She continued staring straight up, not meeting his gaze. "Because now the only time I hear his voice is in my nightmares, when I'm asleep. If I hear it when I'm awake, I might never be able to get the sound out of my head."

Wyatt couldn't stand the defeatist tone, or the awful weariness in her body. Jesus, the woman had survived so much, she deserved some peace. And knowing the man who wanted her dead would never be able to touch her again would give her that peace.

"We'll find him," he insisted. He put a hand on her shoulder, squeezing it in reassurance. This time, she didn't pull away. "I promise you we're going to find him."