Black at Heart

by Leslie Parrish

  It did change everything, didn't it? Learning your new lover's father had been murdered by his mother?

  That was only part of it, though. Finally, Wyatt felt she was ready to hear more, and he was ready to say it, wanting only to get through it, get it over with, so it never had to be discussed again. "My father was a rich, spoiled playboy and my mother was out of her element. Her family was well-off, but nowhere in his league. She didn't know how to handle it, didn't know how to turn a blind eye to his affairs, which came one after another."

  She closed her eyes briefly.

  "Finally he had one too many. She followed him to the beach house and watched him with his latest mistress. After the woman left, she went to confront him. The next thing I heard was a gunshot-"

  She gasped. "My God, you were there?"

  "Of course. I was the boy who survived, remember?"

  A mumbled curse told him she did remember the words the drunk man had said at the restaurant. A sad little sniff told him she was crying about it. Apparently, she remembered all of the drunk's words …the boy they found covered in blood.

  He forced himself to go on, remaining focused on the here and now, relating this just as if it were one of his cases. "I don't believe she was really insane, despite what that idiot at the restaurant started to say."

  "I don't doubt it. People do desperate things when they're hurt."

  He nodded, glad she understood. "She was very hurt. She hated what he did, but she had loved him wildly.

  And he was gone-she'd killed him. Strangely enough, though, she knew one thing: She did not want to live without him. Not even for my sake. So she took me down to the beach, walking in the surf as she cried and raged and figured out what to do."

  "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, wor
king 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.

  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 abo
ut 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."

  "Maybe one of them went to him to get a face-lift and they bonded over a Cub Scout calendar," Lily said, shaking with disgust. "Gotta look youthful and handsome if you want to try to hide the fact that you're a monster."

  The other woman nodded. "Judging by the number of names on that list, they could have kept Underwood's office busy all on their own for a year."

  "Maybe that's why the practice is open on Saturday mornings."

  That had surprised her, realizing the plastic surgery office was open today, and Wyatt wouldn't be confronting Underwood's widow at her home.

  "Just as well," Jackie said. "By showing up unannounced, during business hours, when patients might be around to see and hear, Underwood's family might be more quick to usher Wyatt in for a private talk."