This time, there was no way the shot would miss.

She swallowed, not closing her eyes, glaring at him with all the hatred she felt for the man. Steeling herself for the impact, she was shocked when there was a flash of movement, low, to Jesse's right. Then something swung up from the floor. A thud, a crunch of bone, a man's scream, and then a gunshot.

It missed.

"Wyatt!" she cried, seeing him kneeling beside Jesse Boyd, who was writhing around the floor, screaming about the pain in his leg.

Small wonder, considering an ax protruded from it. The murderous duo had apparently stopped to gather supplies from the garage.

"Lily?" Wyatt whispered.

She launched toward him, wrapping her arms around him to catch him before he could topple over. His arm dangled at his side, the wound bloody and vicious, and she couldn't imagine the pain he was in. Yet he'd still managed to swing that ax, to save her life.

"It's going to be okay," he mumbled, sounding dazed, barely conscious.

"I think that's what I'm supposed to be telling you," she replied, unable to stop kissing his face, stroking his hair. "Let me get your cell phone so I can call an ambulance." Glancing at the two other people who lay on the floor, she muttered, "Or three."

Considering Claire Vincent had stopped moving, had stopped whispering, and hadn't reacted at all to the brief but violent confrontation, maybe one of those would be a hearse instead. Meanwhile, Jesse's screeches had diminished to low whimpers, and when he looked down and saw the ax, he actually passed out. Lily took the precaution of tying him up with a lamp cord.

"Come on," she told Wyatt, not wanting to leave him here, close to the couple who'd nearly killed them both. "Let's call 911. I need to get some pants on, and then we'll wait for the ambulance on the patio." Shaking her head, she admitted, "I could really use a cigarette."

Though the local police wanted her to stay at the scene to answer their questions, Lily insisted on riding with Wyatt in the ambulance. Good thing. Wyatt didn't think he'd be able to let her out of his sight anytime soon. Not without descending into the shakes at the memory of seeing a gun pointed directly at her face.

"You okay?" he asked.

"I think I should be asking you that."

"I'm fine. Hurts, but I'll be fine."

She reached up to wipe at her eyes, not for the first time. "Thank you for saving my life."

"Are you joking? You saved mine, too."

"Does that mean we're now responsible for each other, for the rest of our lives? Isn't that the old saying?"

He turned his head, looking away. Because as much as he wanted her to be part of his life from here on out, he knew she shouldn't be. She'd been thrown into a pit of darkness and tragedy a couple of years ago, but all that was coming to an end. Now she should be with someone who smiled and laughed, someone who'd give her kids, then toss a football around with them in the backyard. Someone who'd charm her and tease her out of an occasional bad mood. Romance her. Grow old together happily.

That wasn't him. None of it. He was serious and intense, didn't want the life he envisioned her having. And while he loved her enough to give it a shot, knowing he would never be what she wanted, or what she really needed, he just couldn't put off the inevitable.

"You're okay; it's all over," he whispered. "You can go now, be free, start over. Live like the past couple of years never happened."

Her voice strained with sorrow, she said, "The past couple of years have changed who I am forever, Wyatt.

They've defined the woman I'm going to be for the rest of my life."

He gripped her hand. "They don't have to. You don't have to let them."

"I can't wave a magic wand and go back to who I once was. Nobody can."

"You deserve some happiness."

She kissed his hand. "As long as I'm with you, I'm happy."

Though it pained him, both physically and emotionally, he slowly shook his head. "No. You don't need to be stuck with me."

"You're not getting rid of me."

He leaned up a little, wishing his head would stop spinning. And while there were better times and better places to have this conversation, he knew he had to tell her the one thing that might convince her that he wasn't the big, wonderful hero she'd painted him to be in her head.

"It's my fault, Lily. All my fault."

"Are you crazy? You saved my life. Not just tonight, not even just back in January. But every single day since." Her voice shook. "You gave me the motivation to get out of bed each morning, to keep working out with Sarge when I thought the pain would drive me insane. Even fighting with you, being mad at you, sending you away, treating you like crap when you came back-all of those things happened because you made me feel, Wyatt, when I once thought I would never feel anything again."

Maybe. That didn't mean she needed to live the remainder of her days based on feelings she'd had during her darkest ones.

Swallowing, his mouth dry, he told her what he'd been unable to tell her before. "When I say it's my fault, I mean, I am responsible for Boyd's release."

She stared down at him, confusion swimming in her blue eyes. "He got out because I wasn't around to testify and keep him in."

"The evidence that was thrown out," he insisted, "was tossed because of me. Because I exposed what was going on in the crime lab."

She sucked in a small, surprised breath.

"The DNA, the fibers, everything. It was all processed in the FBI lab right before I blew the whole place wide-open."

Her mouth in a small circle, she whispered, "Oh."

It was obviously sinking in, but he made it even more clear. "He never would have gotten off, could never have come after you, if not for that. Lily, I am entirely responsible for the release of your nephew's murderer."

"Ma'am, we're about to pull up to the emergency room. You'll need to move out of the way," a man's voice said before Wyatt could even hope for a reply.

"I'm sorry," he murmured. "So damn sorry."

Then a paramedic appeared above him and he could no longer see Lily's face, couldn't gauge her expression.

And had no way of knowing if she'd be there when he woke up.

He was trying to push her away.

Now that she was safe, now that they would, hopefully, be able to return to Washington and take up their lives again, Wyatt had decided she was better off without him.

Lily couldn't pretend surprise. She'd known this day would come. Wyatt had told her many times that he was a loner, an intense man who had never had room in his life for anyone else and liked it that way.

"Well, too bad, mister," she whispered as she paced the waiting room of the hospital. He'd been in surgery for a couple of hours, the doctors trying to save his arm, repair all those ripped muscles and tendons. Her heart broke when she thought of the pain he'd been in and all the pain yet to come when he had to rehabilitate that arm.

She knew a really good therapist. And she'd be right by Sarge's side in urging Wyatt on. Because Lily wasn't going anywhere.

If he had told her he didn't care about her, didn't love her, maybe she'd have thought twice. But since she wouldn't have believed him, maybe not. She probably would still have argued it with him.

He hadn't said that, however. He'd merely tried to drive her away by confessing something that had obviously been racking him with guilt. How utterly Wyatt. Tormenting himself because he'd done the right thing and it had just happened to have an effect on her life.

He just didn't get it. Doing the right thing despite all the obstacles, and the possible repercussions, was one of the things she loved most about him. Just like he'd done the right thing in saving her life, hiding her, keeping her alive all those months when he had known what it would eventually cost him.