"She ended up at the lighthouse," Lily murmured.

"Of course."

"You don't have to say it."

He nodded his appreciation, knowing she meant it. She didn't need to hear the details. She knew without him telling her that his mother had gone into that place and put the gun to her own head, unable to live with what she had done, much less go through the rest of her life without the man she loved.

"Where did they find you?" she whispered.

"Back up at the beach house. I vaguely remember walking back and forth, one place to the other, all night long, hoping one of them would wake up."

She sniffed again and reached for his hand in the semidarkness. "How old were you, Wyatt?"

In a movie, this was where the violins would build to a crescendo and the drama would well up as the dam on his emotions finally broke. Only this wasn't a movie; this was life. His life. He'd dealt with it for years and he was far beyond the point of needing to break.

"I was five."

Lily dropped her face into her hands.

"Don't," he cautioned. "You don't need to do that. I have very few memories. And after that, my very warm and nurturing grandparents took me in and raised me in a loving home. I'm not the poor little lost soul you're imagining."

"Maybe not. But everything you are, every choice you've ever made, has been a result of that one awful event." Not looking up at him, she added, "And you can't tell me not to cry for you. I can if I want to."

He loved her for wanting to, even if he genuinely didn't need her sympathy. But sweet, tender Lily needed to give it to him.

She shifted, curling against him, burrowing into his arms. Wyatt held her close, feeling her shake as she shed her silent tears. They wet his chest as he stroked her hair, comforting her, telling her over and over that he was all right and had been for a very long time.

Finally, she fell asleep again, still in his arms, half on his lap. He held her for a long while, knowing this time she was out for the night, wrung out physically and emotionally.

He hadn't intended to wring her out, hadn't meant to hurt her at all. He'd simply wanted to tell her the truth because she deserved to hear it. And also, he supposed, to offer her warning. Whatever he might be feeling for Lily, and she him, that didn't mean he envisioned himself truly changing his life for her. He was solitary and self-contained, driven and focused on his job, used to culling emotions that threatened to weaken him. He didn't like distractions, didn't want entanglements.

Just because he'd fallen in love with her didn't mean he envisioned anything actually changing. He'd simply do with that love exactly what he'd done with all the other emotions he'd dealt with in his life: acknowledge it, give it a half second to burn brightly, then get it completely under control. That had always worked for him before.

As he studied her sleeping face, however, he began to wonder if what had always worked in the past would do the trick yet again. And if he really wanted it to.

Mulling it over, he was surprised to hear his cell phone ring interrupt the late-night silence. It had been in his pants pocket and the pants had been tossed somewhere across the room. Disengaging himself from Lily, he quickly got out of bed and followed the sound of the ringing. As soon as he located the trousers, he dug the phone out and answered it on the fifth ring, not even glancing at the caller ID. "Blackstone."

"Agent Blackstone? I need your help," a man's voice said. He sounded shaky, nervous.

"Who is this?"

"You don't know me."

"How did you get this number?"

"That doesn't really matter. What matters is, I think somebody's trying to kill me, and you're the only person who can protect me. I need to see you."

Lily moved in her sleep, mumbling something.

"Hold on a minute." Wyatt headed for the door, stepping out into the hallway, not wanting to wake her. Shutting the door behind him, he lifted the phone to his ear again. "Now, tell me who you are."

"I'm scared."

"I can't help you if you don't tell me your name."

The man hesitated again. "You don't get it. Nobody will help me. Nobody will care that she's coming after me."

Wyatt tensed, not even sure why. This call could be just about anything, from a prank to someone he'd worked with on a previous case. Something, however, put him instantly on alert, making him realize something big was happening. Very big.

"I'm going to give you until the count of five to tell me who you are. Then, if you haven't told me who you are and exactly what you want from me, I will hang up."

The man fell silent for a moment. Then, when Wyatt had mentally reached the count of four, he finally admitted his name, shocking Wyatt so much he almost dropped the phone.

"My name is Jesse Tyrone Boyd. And I think one of your former employees, Agent Lily Fletcher, is going to try to kill me."

Chapter 16

Wyatt Blackstone might be some famous, tough-guy FBI agent, but as far as Jesse was concerned, he was a fucking pussy.

The fed had refused to meet with him. Even now, shortly before dawn the next morning, Jesse could hardly believe it. The plan had been perfect, all laid out, and it still hadn't worked. When Jesse had called, saying he had proof Lily Fletcher was alive and gunning for him, and needed to see Wyatt in person, right away, the agent was supposed to say, "You betcha." He should have been all curious and worried, wondering how Jesse could know the blond troublemaker had survived, and why he thought she was gunning for him.

The son of a bitch had refused.

Well, he hadn't exactly said no. He'd just said there was no way he would come in person to talk to him last night. Blackstone had offered to have another agent pick Jesse up. He'd demanded to know where Jesse was, said he'd make sure he was protected. But he had absolutely hands down said there was no way he was coming out to meet him before this morning.

"Probably too busy screwing the lying bitch who's hiding in your house," he muttered sourly as he stared out the window of the dark house in which he was hiding.

Blackstone's place remained pretty quiet, though one of those dark blue sedans was parked out front. It hadn't been there last night, showing up sometime while Jesse had slept. For all he knew, the whole gang of them were in there right now, working on tracing Jesse's call to Blackstone, all ready to come at him like a gang of vigilantes.

"You're not such a genius after all, are ya?" he mumbled, staring at his cell phone and thinking of the person who'd called him on it last night. His so-called benefactor had put the whole scheme into Jesse's head, promising Blackstone could be lured out with the right bait. Once the agent was gone, off on a wild-goose chase to meet with Jesse-who had no intention of showing up-Lily Fletcher would have been alone in that house. A sitting duck. Jesse could have taken care of her and been gone again before her boyfriend ever figured out he'd been had.

No Lily to come after him for revenge. No Lily to testify against him now that Jesse's alibi was dead and gone.

Wrong. What a big screwup the entire idea had been.

Now what was he supposed to do? Just stay here in this house, waiting for a real estate agent to show it and figure out someone was flopping here and call the cops? Or leave and hang out in the old neighborhood, begging his ma to take him in, just waiting to feel Fletcher's bullet hit him right between the shoulder blades, like it had poor Will Miller?

"No way," he said aloud, wishing he had a way to call back the mysterious person who'd been helping him out. He was entirely on his own.

Well, fine, then. He'd do this on his own-he was no dummy. Frankly, now that he thought about it, the whole scheme to get Blackstone out of the house so Jesse could get to Lily seemed way over the top. As much as he would have liked the satisfaction of choking the life right out of the woman, the main thing was to keep her from getting to him.