Black at Heart

by Leslie Parrish

  The idea might immediately have left the mind of someone like Anspaugh, who was easily cowed by the trappings of wealth and couldn't picture the dark, seedy side of the lifestyle. Wyatt, however, didn't discount any possibility, however violent, however bloody. He knew rage and bloodthirstiness were in no way limited to the average person.

  He suddenly wanted to dig around. More so than before he'd come here. Because if these women weren't hiding something, then he had no business calling himself an FBI agent.

  "Thank you both, very much, for your time," he murmured, rising to say good-bye to the two doctors. He wanted out of here, away from the ornate office and the aura of privilege and wealth. He would happily leave them to their tension and their family drama, to their rich patients and their soap opera lifestyle.

  He didn't envy them one bit. And the idea that he might have been raised much the same way, if not for a twist of fate and a single night of bloody rage, served as a reminder that he was on the right path. He'd gone in the right direction with his life, and wouldn't trade places with the golf-playing surgeon or the angry husband controlled by his wife's family for anything in the world.

  He headed through the building, hesitating near the front desk. The receptionist wasn't there. For a moment, he considered tracking her down to ask her to listen to the recording, but since she'd admitted she was new here, he didn't think it was worth it. Doing so would be an obvious sign that he didn't trust Drs. Kean and Underwood. And while that was true, he didn't see the need to put their guards up so quickly on a long shot with a temporary employee.

  Wyatt proceeded to the front door. Opening it, he stepped back, out of the way, to allow yet another patient to enter, this one already attractive, though her severe hairstyle hardened her features. Her eyes widened behind her trendy glasses and she gave him a quick once-over, then quickly averted her gaze. She didn't even thank him for the courtesy, probably wanting to keep a low profile for this, a visit to a plastic surgeon who would remove a chin or fill a wrinkle or smooth some age spots. Holding on to youth and physical beauty had never been more important, or so it seemed in this little microcosm of society.

  Funny. Even with her shaved head, her scars, her bandages, stitches, and bruises, Lily Fletcher was more beautiful than any woman in the building.

  Outside, he walked toward the car, already planning his next move. He had come here looking for a witness. He wondered, though, with all the little details he'd heard from Judith Underwood and Angela Kean, if he might have stumbled upon a clue that could lead him to a suspect.

  The family certainly bore more investigation.

  Getting in his car, Wyatt couldn't deny his disappointment that he still didn't know whose voice was on that tape. He dreaded calling Lily and telling her. But he'd also make it clear that he wasn't about to give up. There had been hundreds of people at that convention, dozens in that workshop. Someone, somewhere, would recognize that voice. He had to believe that.

  For Lily's sake. For all their sakes.

  Standing shoulder to shoulder, she and her sister-in-law watched the handsome FBI agent exit the building.

  They had been completely silent, just staring at each other for a long moment after he'd departed, before they moved, almost in unison, to the large tinted window overlooking the parking lot. And it wasn't until he was in his car, driving away-hopefully never to return-that she finally broke the silence. "You lied."

  A shrug. "So did you."

  Well, of course. There'd been no other choice. Not lying would have brought a damned murder investigation down on them. Reputations could be destroyed, all they'd worked for torn apart, the family crucified in the press.

  And what happened to the family happened to the practice.

  "Do you think he believed either one of us?"

  "Probably not. But let's not panic just yet."

  "Why now?" she murmured, torn between fear and resentment. "Why, after all this time, and why that one recording? What can it possibly prove?"

  With a frown, the other woman replied, "I have no idea. But one thing is sure: We can't let this go any further. Do we have anyone in the family with FBI contacts? Somebody who can nip this thing in the bud, get rid of that tape?"

  Good point; she should have thought of it herself "I'll work on that." Lowering her voice to a thick whisper, she added, "Do you believe it? That he was involved, somehow, with stealing the car? Stalking those children?"

  A bitter laugh was her only response.

  Yes. Her sister-in-law believed. God help them, they both did. Because there had been other signs, other children. And they were all damned for having known about it and yet doing nothing.

  "We have got to get this under control. To make sure that agent never gets near Father."

  She shuddered at the very thought, rubbing a shaking hand over her eyes. "This could destroy us all. Child molestation. Murder/' Then, not sure she even wanted the answer, she asked flat out. "I thought it was under control. That he'd been scared off after whatever happened last summer with that Web site he was so obsessed with."

  The other surgeon, so brilliant, so charmed, sneered in response. "Only a fool would think he could resist those baser urges for long."

  She shuddered, hating to even imagine it. Had he always been that way? Had the rest of them just been too blind to see? Was she herself one of the fools?

  "If he did it, he certainly timed it well, knowing how busy the rest of us would be with the conference, while he would be assumed to be there, as well. Though we both know he made himself scarce that weekend and was hardly around."

  "Almost as if he had planned it that way," her hated sister-in-law replied.

  Perhaps he had. It hurt to think about someone she had once so loved. But perhaps he had.

  They each turned from the window, walking toward the office door, saying nothing else. They were allies now, though neither of them liked it-or each other. But they had no choice. The family had to be protected; Dr. Alfred Underwood's legacy and the practice's reputation could not be tarnished by any hint of a scandal.

  And a pedophilia/murder investigation would make for quite a scandal. It could bring down every single one of them. So for now, the two of them were trapped, helpless, and forced to shield each other. She and her sister-in-law would remain silent conspirators.

  Together, they would have to make sure that the entire family wasn't headed for total destruction because of the actions of one sick, unbalanced member of it.

  Chapter 9

  "Come on, you can do better than that. Hurt me. Take me out the very moment I come at you."

  Lily blew out the side of her mouth at an errant strand of sweaty hair that clung to the side of her face. Her head down, she backed up and forced her body to relax, bouncing a little on her bare toes on the exercise mat beneath her feet. Sarge, aka Sergeant Wally Devlin, U.S. Army, Ret., stood a few feet away, his big body clad in desert camo, his head down as he studied her from under bushy brows. Any second now, he would come at her, giving her no warning as to which move he intended to use, where he might grab her, if he'd lunge or kick or dive.

  And she would fight back.

  "Don't think," he snapped. "Don't plan. And for God's sake, don't dwell on what you might have done to change what happened in the past. Just do it now."

  What she might have done to change the past? Considering she'd been shot a few times within milliseconds of seeing her attacker's hand-and his weapon-come around the side of the surveillance van door, she didn't chide herself for not doing more.

  Getting involved in the Lovesprettyboys investigation to begin with? Well, that was another story. High kicks and fast punches might not have stopped her from getting shot. But minding her own business, doing her own job, and not lying to her boss about what was going on probably would have.

  "Come on, Lily, get-"

  He lunged without warning, midsentence. Went left. Her body reacted instinctively. She swung right, curled her left leg for a Crescen
t Kick, then immediately spun farther and hit him with a Double Side Piercing Kick.

  "Good girl!" he chortled as he fell to the mat.

  She stepped back into a waiting position, not even winded. "You okay?"

  He rolled onto his knees and looked up at her. "That's the kind of response I was looking for. Instinct kicks in. You don't overanalyze-your body tells you what to do."

  The sarge was powerfully built, stubborn, and tough, but he was also a sixty-year-old man. She'd put him on the mat pretty hard, and it hadn't been the first time today. They'd been at it for an hour, enjoying the afternoon session outdoors on the patio to savor the warmth of the September day. She extended a hand to help him up.

  He stared at it, rolled his eyes, then ignored her help and rose with a grunt. "Don't go getting cocky, girlie."

  She grinned. At first, the man had seemed like a grizzly bear. He'd pushed her hard when she hadn't believed she was ready to be pushed. He'd made her strong and made her want to be even stronger. But she'd come to recognize him as more teddy than grizzly. She didn't remember her father very well, since she'd been five when her parents had died. But she hoped he would have been at least a little bit like this man.

  Reaching for a towel on the nearby table, he wiped his brow, then grabbed a water bottle and downed half its contents. Lily wasn't fooled by his weary demeanor or his heavy breathing. The man had set her up on more than one occasion. She looked for a tiny twitch of his mouth, or the shift of his eyes as he studied her position, something that would indicate a surprise assault.

  "Want some?" he asked, lifting a second water bottle.

  Still prepared, she nodded once, and extended her hand.

  He grabbed it, tugged her forward, tried to twist her around. She responded with two quick jabs and a kick that dropped him to his knees on the mat.

  'Excellent!"

  "Wow, remind me to never offer you a bottle of water," a voice said.

  Lily tensed, the way she hadn't when preparing for Sarge's next move. Because she recognized the voice.

  A small part of her, the part that was still Lily Fletcher, who couldn't seem to get through a day without doing something klutzy, reacted with pleasure. Pure happiness at the thought of seeing a friend poured through her before she could stop it.

  But the rest of her responded only with wariness, wondering what Brandon Cole was doing here, and what the visit meant.

  "Brandon," she said, nodding at the spiky-haired blond who stood in the open doorway leading from the kitchen. He'd once been her friend, someone who'd somehow been able to make her smile, even on days when she thought she'd never smile again.

  She'd missed him. But not enough to invite him to start coming back around again, building up his expectations that their relationship could be something it had never been, and would never be.

  "Hey, gorgeous." He stepped out, arms wide, smiling so gently, genuinely happy to see her, she couldn't be annoyed that he'd surprised her. Or that he'd ignored her instructions not to come up.

  She allowed him to tug her close for a hug, but quickly pulled away. "I'm a sweaty mess," she said with a forced laugh. Gesturing toward his trendy-as-always clothes, which looked as though they'd come off the pages of a men's fashion magazine, she added, "I couldn't afford to have that outfit dry-cleaned, much less replace it if I ruin it."

  Knowing Brandon wouldn't have come alone, especially not on a Thursday afternoon, and that he couldn't have gotten in without Wyatt to bring him through the security checkpoints, she glanced past him into the darker depths of the house. A shadow stood there, tall, solid. Then he stepped closer and she saw his eyes.

  Those wary, worried eyes.

  Lily tensed. "What's wrong?"

  She hadn't spoken to him since the previous evening. After his unproductive visit to the Virginia doctor's office on Tuesday, he'd dived deep into other possible witnesses. He and Brandon had contacted convention attendees, and when he'd called her last night with an update, he'd said they were striking out with every one. Some of the doctors genuinely didn't recognize the voice of the monster on the tape. Others, however, wouldn't listen at all; they just weren't willing to cooperate. Which made her wonder if someone had asked them not to.

  Of course, that could just be the pessimist in her.

  "Hello, Wyatt," she murmured. "Two Thursdays in a row. I'm honored." She wondered if he heard her insincerity, or her sarcasm. Frankly, she didn't know why she enjoyed jabbing at him, letting him know she wasn't exactly chomping at the bit to have him around. Maybe it was because she had once liked being around him a bit too much, and the feeling had never been reciprocated. Or because on that one night when she wondered whether it might be reciprocated, he had backed off so fast he might have sprouted wings and flown off the side of the cliff from the beach house.

  Then she remembered the way he had left Sunday. The way he'd stormed out into the night, desperate to get away from her curious eyes, from her questions. From any responsibility to explain anything about himself to another human being.

  And she realized why she was a little annoyed. Yes, she'd been sympathetic and she knew he had been horrified by the drunk at the restaurant. But part of her had really expected him to at least mention the incident, apologize for practically dumping her without a word. Yet he hadn't. He'd acted as though it had never happened. Which meant he had absolutely no intention of ever discussing the matter again.

  "Hello, Lily," he replied evenly before glancing at Sarge. "Wyatt."

  The army sergeant extended a hand, shaking Wyatt's firmly. Lily didn't know how the men knew each other, but she did know Wyatt trusted Devlin completely. The older man had made a comment or two that made it sound as though he'd known Wyatt from childhood, but he'd quickly clammed up whenever the subject skirted too close to Blackstone's sheltered past. She would bet Sarge was one of those people with some answers to the questions she wouldn't allow herself to ask.

  "Good to see you again, son. We were just finishing up, but we can work out a little longer if you'd like to join in."

  Wyatt managed a small smile and shook his head. "I'm afraid not."

  The two men eyed each other steadily and, like Lily, the sarge realized Wyatt was not here to pay a social call. "Guess I'll run, then," he said. Turning to Lily, he added, "You're getting too good. Be ready for me to try out one or two new tricks on you next time."

  "Anytime, anywhere," she said with a genuine smile. The man was a true friend. He'd helped her regain not only her physical strength but her mental strength as well. Because the more confident Lily became in her ability to defend herself, the more sure she was that she would, eventually, leave this place. Go and have that real life for herself.

  "Let me walk you out. I want to get a cold drink, anyway," Lily said. She headed for the door, brushing past Wyatt, touching him ever so lightly, arm against arm.

  Whatever that drink was, she didn't imagine it would be cold enough to wash away the small flash of heat still singeing her arm where it had brushed her former boss's. Nor to douse the confused warmth that arose when his eyes flared the tiniest bit and his handsome mouth opened on a surprised inhalation.

  He'd felt the spark, too.

  She led Devlin to the door, smiled her thanks, then closed and locked it behind him and headed for the kitchen. Wyatt had remained outside on the patio, but Brandon had come in. The refrigerator door was open, and he was half-visible behind it as he rooted around inside.

  "Sorry, you won't find any Mountain Dew." As if he needed it. The young man was a cyclone of energy. She had often felt exhausted just watching him work in the office they'd shared.

  "Don't need it. This’ll do fine," he said, pulling out two bottles of water.

  He tossed one to her. Lily caught it in midair, the condensation slick and cooling against her hot skin.

  "Wyatt?" he asked, glancing past her at the doorway. "Want one?"

  She hadn't needed Brandon to confirm Wyatt's presence behind her. Her whole
body had grown tense and aware the moment he'd stepped inside off the patio. The very air had felt different as it parted and shifted around him. The subtle scent of his masculine cologne teased her nose and she felt warmth fill her cheeks.

  Not embarrassed warmth, as she'd often experienced with the man in the old days. Rather, her body's warm, womanly acknowledgment of how he affected her.

  "No, thank you," said that deep voice. "Lily, we need to talk to you."

  Opening her bottle, she drank deeply of the cold water, then pulled out one of the kitchen chairs and plopped down onto it. "Phone broken?"

  "It's serious."

  She knew that. She'd known that from the minute she realized Wyatt had brought reinforcements on this visit. She'd known by the way her heart kept thudding at the look of undeniable concern in Wyatt's deep blue eyes.

  This was bad. So bad, she'd needed to sit down to listen to it. She just hadn't wanted him to know she'd already realized that much.

  "Okay. Shoot."

  Wyatt and Brandon exchanged a look, then took seats with her at the table.

  "After I left here Sunday night, what did you do between then and Tuesday night when I called you about my trip to Virginia?"

  She tapped a finger on her temple, as if thinking about it. "Hmm, I had the girls over for a game of Bunco, and I performed in the local community theater's production of Annie, and I bought a round for the guys down at the bar." She managed to avoid rolling her eyes. "What do you think I did?"

  He didn't rise to the bait, remaining on subject. "You stayed here, alone, no trips to the store, nothing?"

  "Nothing. I did some shopping last week and had plenty of supplies."

  "Any visitors? Was the sarge here on Monday?"

  "No. Because of the holiday, we changed our schedule to Tuesday afternoon and today."

  "But he called you Monday to do that?"

  She shook her head slowly. "No, we arranged it last

  Friday when he came. You must have been inside at the time."

  His taut jaw grew even tighter and she wondered if he was going to crack his own teeth by clenching them so hard.