She turned her head, watching him with pale blue eyes that swam with emotion. "I'm treading water, Wyatt. Just treading. Barely keeping myself from drowning, but getting no closer to shore."

He should have murmured something comforting, maybe squeezed her shoulder again. Instead, he reached for her, pulled her out of her chair and into his arms, until she sat on his thigh. Lily offered no resistance, coming to him freely, as if needing the warmth, the physical connection, the reassurance that she really wasn't alone.

"It's all right," he murmured. "You don't always have to be so damned strong, Lily."

Holding her close, he tangled his fingers in her short hair, rubbing its fineness, picturing its blond shade. The movement brought his fingertips to her scars and he touched them lightly. The feel of them made him instinctively grip her tighter, wanting nothing more than to keep anyone from hurting her again.

Lily's head rested on his shoulder, her mouth so close to his neck he experienced her every warm exhalation flowing across his skin. Against his chest, he could feel her heart thudding.

As was his.

Hunger rose within him, surprising, insistent, and compelling. Sweat broke out on his brow and every muscle in his body tensed. He closed his eyes, willing away any personal thoughts, any emotions. He'd become adept at doing so at such a young age, it was second nature now. Yet while he could bring his physical reactions under control, getting a grip on the tenderness he felt for the beautiful woman in his arms proved more difficult.

He could feel her heart pick up its rhythm in her chest. Beating faster in confusion. In surprise. And those warm breaths against his neck grew more rapid, more shallow. Closer. Until he wasn't sure whether he was feeling her exhalations or her soft lips.

Then she lifted her head, stared into his eyes with intense emotion-curiosity? Surprise?

Want.

Groaning, he muttered, "Lily…"

He didn't know what he was about to say, if his impulse would be to apologize or to let her know exactly what she made him feel, but he ended up saying nothing. Because Lily suddenly shot straight up, leaping to her feet with a shocked cry. Her eyes shifted wildly, her mouth open as she gasped for air. Her hands fisted by her sides, she remained very still, rigid with tension.

"What-"

She cut him off with a slash of her hand through the air. "Shh."

Then she leaned closer to the computer. Listening. Concentrating.

She'd heard something, or someone. A familiar voice.

He froze. The speaker was a woman-Dr. Kean, maybe?-talking about the psychology of plastic surgery, how it changed lives.

"Does that answer your question?" the woman said as she concluded her remarks. "Or do you need me to spell it out a little further?" There was a mocking tone there, as if she felt some sort of antipathy toward the person she addressed.

"Nothing further," a man's voice said faintly, almost in the background.

"That's him," Lily whispered. She lifted one trembling hand to her mouth, pressing the other tightly to her stomach as if she had suddenly become nauseous. "That's him, Wyatt."

He didn't know if she was right. He knew only that

Lily believed she was. That she was convinced she'd just heard the voice of her would-be killer.

The audio continued for a few seconds, both of them still and silent, thinking of the ramifications. Then Lily suddenly snapped out of her daze. Mumbling something, she bent over the laptop, skimming her fingers across the touch pad. Pausing the digital file, she backed it up by about two minutes, then resumed.

"He asked a question. That's what I heard."

"What did-"

"Shh!" She leaned close to the monitor. A speaker droned on, then asked, "Are there any further questions?"

A moment of silence. Then a voice said something, indistinct and distant. Wyatt shook his head, not sure he could recognize his own voice if he'd been the one on the tape.

"Could you approach the microphone, please?"

Ah.

Another hesitation, then a man's voice spoke, loud and clear. "Yes, Dr. Kean? I was wondering if you'd tell us just how long a person should try to combat nature by buying a new face or body. When is it time to give up and age gracefully?"

Lily closed her eyes, nodding once, then slowly lowering to crouch down until she was eye level with the screen. "That's the man who kidnapped me, who held me prisoner."

"You're certain?"

She nodded once. "More certain than I've ever been about anything in my entire life. That cruel tone, that edge of sarcasm, did you hear it?"

Of course he'd heard it. The question had been an intentional insult, a taunting gauntlet thrown at Dr. Angela Kean. As if the unsub was mocking her.

Was the doctor, perhaps, an advertisement for her own practice? Someone who lived life that way-putting off aging with expensive surgery?

If so, the question would imply that the questioner knew her. Or at least knew of her.

They might just have broken this case. After all these months, one simple recorded question might have handed them the identity of Lovesprettyboys.

Lily listened to the answer, then the mumbled acknowledgment of the questioner, who once again had spoken off mike, having apparently returned to his seat. When it was over, she paused, scrolled back, and started the exchange again.

"He sounds cold, doesn't he? Jovial on the surface, as if he's intending just a harmless poke at someone he knows. But beneath it…"

"Cold. Yes." More than that, they knew now. He was vicious.

After the third playing, Lily stopped the recording, but this time, she didn't rewind. Instead, her fingers still resting lightly on the keyboard, she slid up onto her chair, staring vacantly at the paused screen. He sensed she was hearing that voice saying any number of other things. Words he whispered in her subconscious.

But she didn't give in to it. She didn't shrink, draw into herself in fear. Did not pull back whatsoever. If anything, the set of her jaw screamed determination and her entire body leaned forward, tense, as if ready to fight to defend herself.

She wouldn't have to. Damn it, he never wanted her to have to do that again.

"Dr. Kean might be able to identify the person speaking, since it sounded like there was some personal tension there," he said, believing every word.

"Exactly. Then well have a suspect"

"That's all we'll have, though," he said, warning her not to get her hopes up. "Remember, I can't do a thing to this guy, can't prosecute him, or even get a warrant to bring him in, without evidence. Namely you."

She nodded once.

"Meaning Lily Fletcher would have to come back from the dead and testify."

Her cheeks, so flushed with color this morning when she'd worked out down on the beach, were powder white. "Will it matter? My testimony, I mean?"

"Of course it will."

"I'll have no credibility. The frightened agent who pretended she was dead."

Wyatt could handle Lily fearing for her own life; she had good reason for that. But he was not about to allow her to question the choices she made to stay alive. He reached for her, taking her chin in his hand and forcing her head up so she'd meet his eye.

"The world decided you were dead without your help. Just because you had the fight-or-flight instinct and hid out so you could stay alive, hoping the monster who tried to kill you would be caught, does not reflect badly on you."

She licked her lip, nodding her thanks for the pep talk. Wyatt dropped his hand.

"I need to go call Brandon," he said, immediately turning toward the door. "I want him to segregate that snippet out, enhance it as much as possible."

"And then?"

"And then," he replied, "I'm going to make an appointment to see a doctor."