That was the one good thing that had come of this entire mess. Anspaugh, at least, had been put on a leash even tighter than Wyatt's. He only hoped that, like a chained dog, the brute didn't get meaner and hungry to bite anyone who came within range.

"I was hoping you might listen to a recording for me." He lifted the small digital recorder and placed it on the desk. Brandon had loaded the pertinent clip onto it. "I'm interested in identifying a man who asked you a question at the panel workshop you gave that weekend at the medical convention."

One of her brows shot up in surprise. "A voice identification? From over seven months ago?"

"I know it's a long shot, Dr. Kean. But it sounded to me as though this person knew you, and perhaps you, him. It could be someone who moves in your circle, someone whose voice you already know."

The doctor did not nod in agreement. Instead, she eyed him steadily. Warily. "Are you implying that someone I know, a physician at that workshop, was the one who"-she thought about her words carefully, then concluded-"stole my car?"

He knew what she was really asking. Did he think someone she knew was a cold-blooded murderer and potential child molester? "I'm not implying anything. Just following up on a lead. Now, would you please just listen?" he replied evenly.

A long pause, then she nodded once. "All right. But I'm not making any promises."

"I don't expect any."

He pulled his chair closer to the desk, sliding the digital device toward Dr. Kean. When she murmured her readiness, he pushed play, hearing the now-familiar voice asking his snide question.

Wyatt never took his eyes off the woman. She kept her head tilted down, staring at her hands, which were tented on her desk, as if she was in deep concentration. The pose also, however, gave her a chance to evade his stare, to keep him from seeing her immediate reaction. He was denied the opportunity to witness any flare of the eyes, a loss of color in her cheeks, a startled inhalation, or a frown that said she did recognize the voice.

When the clip ended, she remained very still. Then, her voice low, she said, "Would you play it again please, just so I can be sure?"

Wyatt's pulse picked up its tempo. The doctor was a calm, intelligent woman who would be deliberate and certain in her responses. Of course she would want to hear it again before confirming she knew the speaker.

He played the file, still watching her. Again, she remained still, so very still. Until finally, a full thirty seconds after the recording ended, she lifted her head and met his stare with an impassive one of her own.

Dread filled him. He knew what she was going to say before the words left her mouth.

"I'm sorry, Agent Blackstone. Truly. But I cannot identify that voice for you."

"You're certain."

"Yes. I'm certain."

Damn it. She didn't shift her gaze, made no obvious signs that she was lying. Her voice didn't quiver.

Of course, she had no reason to lie, so he shouldn't have been looking for such signs. But something about her hesitation before listening had made him wonder whether the doctor would be entirely honest. He didn't imagine anyone would relish the possibility of hearing a familiar voice, knowing the person might have done some horrible things.

By her demeanor now, however, the coolness of her tone and completely unflinching gaze, it appeared she was telling the truth. She couldn't help him.

He wasn't about to give up, though. Not when he finally had a solid lead for the first time in months. "Someone else might recognize him. Another of the speakers, conference attendees. Perhaps your father?"

Her mouth tightened an infinitesimal amount, and so did her jaw. "Can't help you there. My father is away. He and his wife decided not to return from the beach house for a few days. And my husband didn't even attend the convention. He was ill." Ill? Or taking advantage of a night away from his strong-willed wife and her family?

"Philip, my stepbrother, just moved back to Virginia last year and knows very few professionals outside our office. He attended only the banquet, to show support to Father. None of the other weekend events. Besides all that, he just left to return to the beach. He and Father have a standing golf date every Tuesday."

How chummy.

The doctor's tone said she didn't like that one single bit. A jealous daughter, perhaps, envious of her father's closeness to a young stepson who'd waltzed in to take the place of the son he'd lost? If he remembered correctly from the brief family background Brandon had put together for him, the senior Dr. Underwood had married his second wife, who had been raising two children of her own, at least twenty years ago. He hadn't adopted the children, but it sounded as though there was a father-son bond.

Not a sister-brother one, however.

"And your sister-in-law? Judith?" he asked, undeterred, wondering why she was trying to keep her family out of the situation. "She was one of the speakers on that panel with you, wasn't she?"

Again that hint of coolness appeared. "Yes, she was. But I doubt she'll remember any more than I do. There were hundreds of people there, our panel was hugely popular, and we could barely see a soul in the audience from up on the stage."

"Just the same…"

She waved a hand. "If you insist, though I hate for you to waste your time during what I sense is a very important investigation." She glanced at her watch, then rose to her feet. "I believe Judith is with a patient, and I have one to see myself. Why don't you wait here and I'll return with her when we're both free?"

Wyatt shook his head. "No, please don't trouble yourself. I can ask the receptionist to track her down. I've taken up enough of your time."

"It's really no trouble," the woman said. "Just stay here."

But before the doctor could leave, a knock sounded on her door.

"What is it?"

Dr. Judith Underwood herself opened the door and stuck her head in. "Sorry to disturb you, Ang. I need to consult with you when you have the chance."

Dr. Kean frowned, though whether because she just didn't like her sister-in-law, or because she no longer had an excuse to avoid letting the woman hear the audio file, he didn't know. But Wyatt wasn't about to waste the opportunity he'd been given.

"We were just talking about you, Dr. Underwood. I wonder if you might be able to help me." Ignoring Angela Kean's deepening frown, he explained the situation, concluding, "If you don't mind listening, perhaps you'll have more luck than Dr. Kean did?"

"Of course," the other woman said, "I'd be happy to."

Like replaying the same song on an old record, Wyatt found himself again placing the digital recorder on the desk. This time, though, Dr. Kean remained standing, facing the windows, staring outside with her arms crossed over her chest. Judith, the blonde, sat on another visitor's chair, leaning down and listening intently.

He pushed play. He waited, listening to the familiar voice that had imprinted itself on his brain.

The tape ended. A long silence ensued. Then he was entirely disappointed once more.

"I'm sorry, Agent Blackstone," Judith said, as wide-eyed and impassive as her sister-in-law had been. "I just don't know anyone who sounds like that."

It had been a long shot. A stab in the dark. He should have known he wouldn't be fortunate enough to find someone who recognized that voice on the very first go-round.

This would crush Lily. She'd pinned a lot on this lead, hoping, as he did, that her nightmare of uncertainty would soon end.

The two women watched him impassively, never glancing toward each other. The tension between them could fill a lake. But whether it was simply because they disliked each other, or it had something to do with his presence-and the audio recording-he simply didn't know.