There was one surefire way to do that. If Lily had killed Miller, the police were probably looking for her. And if she'd been hiding out, faking her own death and shit, the FBI would find her. Either one would do. Didn't really matter to him which of them picked her up and tossed her into a cell, as long as she was off the street and off his trail.

He thought about it, wondered which would have more pull to keep her ass in jail, and decided to go for her own former colleagues. Because not only did Lily deserve to get picked up, but so did that Blackstone dude. If he was hiding her, he was guilty and deserved to get in trouble with the FBI, too.

Decision made. He didn't need some anonymous voice on a phone telling him what to do. Jesse had covered his own ass more than once, and he'd do it again now. Which was why, with no hesitation whatsoever, he called information and got the number for the FBI. And after several explanations and transfers, he finally ended up getting a promise that an agent would be calling him back real soon, that he just had to be patient since it was so early on a Saturday.

Okay, he'd be patient. But this agent better call pronto, because the idea of just getting on a bus and riding until his money ran out was sounding better and better to Jesse.

He glanced at his watch. Six thirty. He'd give it till noon. Then, call or no call, he was outta here. Meaning this agent, this Tom Anspaugh, had better get to work.

Facing a long drive down to Williamsburg, Wyatt prepared to leave very early Saturday morning. He'd been distracted, quiet, and at first Lily had wondered if it was because he had regrets, not just about making love to her, but about telling her his secrets.

"Is everything okay?"

He glanced at her from across the shadowy bedroom, buttoning his shirt, slipping a jacket on over his broad shoulders. Donning the uniform that turned him from passionate lover to aloof FBI agent.

"Fine."

"You're quiet." She walked into the room and sat on the edge of the bed. Jackie was downstairs, so she probably shouldn't, but she couldn't help it. As far as mornings after went, this situation wasn't ideal.

He seemed to know it. Crossing the room, he lifted a hand to her cheek, brushing his thumb across her bottom lip. "It's fine, Lily, I promise. I'm just focused on what I have to do, how I'm going to question Roger Underwood's widow." He leaned over and touched his mouth to hers, softly, sweetly, adding, "All I can think of is catching this guy. Making all of this go away."

As long as he meant all the bad stuff, and none of the good that had come out of it, she found that a fine idea. Unfortunately, she couldn't be sure of that. He was being tender now, but did he see her sharing that big bed with him again tonight? They were together, but that didn't mean they were some kind of "happily ever after" couple.

"Okay," she said, "good luck, and please keep in touch."

He kissed her again, lightly, not taking her in his arms. Mentally, he was already gone, back in that place where reason and intellect completely banished emotion.

She liked that about him, but as she watched him walk down the stairs and exit the house, she couldn't deny she would have liked a single whisper about what he was feeling.

Lily was no fool; she had no illusions that being Wyatt’s lover meant she had a permanent place in his life. Honestly, she didn't think he wanted anyone to have a place in his life. On his pillow for a night or two? Maybe even for a week or two? Okay. Beyond that, though, she strongly suspected Wyatt had decided years ago that he was meant to be alone. He'd flat out admitted he wasn't cut out for the marriage-family routine.

"In case you haven't noticed," she muttered, "I'm not exactly dying for that, either."

A couple of years ago? Oh, yes, she'd wanted the whole nine yards. Wanted the family she'd never had growing up, wanted to be a mom like her sister, wanted a beautiful little boy and a nice home and a life partner.

Now she just wanted life. Big and dynamic, to be lived full throttle, with an eye toward savoring, not surviving, because any day could be the final day. Love could fit into her vision of that life, even if Wyatt didn't see it in his. She might even see marriage working its way in there.

But children? Oh, no. Not ever. Not after Zach.

It was kind of funny, in an odd way. She'd found out last night that Dean Taggert was engaged to be married to his girlfriend, Stacey Rhodes. It seemed Stacey was pregnant The news had surprised her, because Lily remembered well how the other woman had felt about raising children. The female sheriff had seen some dark times, including a campus shooting spree, and she'd told Dean, already the father of a young son, that she never saw herself having children. Yet here she was, happily pregnant and engaged.

Some would tell Lily that the story was an example of why one should never say never.

"Never," she repeated, meaning it wholeheartedly, not affected by the other couple's situation at all. With everything she had seen of this world in the past few years, she would never willingly bring another soul into it. So, no, maybe she and Wyatt didn't have the radically different dreams of the future he seemed to think they did.

She and Jackie spent a quiet morning together, catching up a little, chatting about the other woman's kids and her husband. Both of them seemed to want to put off the day, as if holding the investigation at bay for another hour might make it easier to deal with when the time came. Finally, though, they could avoid it no longer. Lily asked for a half hour to shower, then promised to come back down ready to get to work.

She took a hot, steamy shower, using Wyatt's bathroom, his shampoo, his soap. She even dried off with the same towel he'd used. It still smelled of him, and she wanted to hold on to that scent.

Afterward, she dressed quickly, pulling on loose shorts and a T-shirt, knowing Jackie had been waiting patiently. Together, they were going to look through the background check the other agent had conducted on Roger Underwood. Before heading to the guest room to grab her own brush, though, Lily paused to glance at the clock. Wyatt would be in Williamsburg right now, possibly even inside the offices where Underwood had worn the normal, surgeon's face over the secret, twisted devil's maw that reflected his true self He'd somehow lived nearly fifty years disguising what he was, fooling the community and his patients, even members of his family.

Well, maybe not all the members of his family. They might have known. In fact, Wyatt seemed pretty sure his wife and sister had suspected something about the man, since they'd both lied about not recognizing the voice on the tape.

Maybe because she was in law enforcement, she couldn't understand the concept of lying to protect someone who committed such hideous acts. She'd loved her sister. But would she have covered for Laura if she had been guilty of such brutal crimes?

"No way," she whispered as she walked across the hall to the other bedroom, with the pristine, unmade bed.

But Roger Underwood's loved ones had. So what did that say about them?

"That they're all equally as twisted," she told her reflection as she pulled a brush out of her purse and yanked it through her hair. The dark strands were almost long enough to pull into a short ponytail. For now, though, she just tucked them behind her ears, not even caring about the scars about which she had once been so self-conscious. She barely even noticed them anymore, maybe because she had been healing from the inside out for so long, they'd almost become invisible to her eyes.

Taking the steps two at a time, she jogged downstairs barefoot, seeing Jackie sitting in Wyatt's dining room. The other woman didn't even look up, simply pushing a file folder across the broad, gleaming table. "Check these out. Names of every registered sex offender in the Williamsburg area. Nothing that screams a connection with Underwood, but it's a place to start."