"Just don't look too closely at the scars," she replied, smoothly moving from Intermediate to Position Four.
"Something else for the plastic surgeon to take care of."
Another soundless turn. "Maybe I'll go down to Williamsburg to see one."
He crossed his arms, his strong jaw jutting out. "Don't even think about it."
She'd gotten the reaction she expected. "You said yourself that hearing the voices of some of the doctors from that symposium might be of use."
"I meant recordings of their voices," he insisted, "which I'll have from Brandon sometime this morning. You are absolutely not going to stroll into the offices of the doctor whose car was stolen and try to listen for the voice of the monster who attacked you."
Position Five. Breathe deeply. Slow and steady.
"Maybe he'd see me and drop over dead from a heart attack, sure he was seeing a ghost," she said, not really serious. She wasn't crazy, and she certainly wouldn't waltz into a place that could put her face-to-face with someone who wanted to kill her.
Well, at least not until she'd tried it Wyatt's way, listening to the recordings or searching for any other audible resources she could find.
If all else failed, however? Well, she didn't think any- one else she had worked with on a daily basis would immediately recognize her now. So while she wouldn't necessarily make an appointment and walk right into the lion's den, perhaps there was another way. Shadowing a group going to lunch and sitting nearby? Delivering a package, or flowers? Something that would get her close-but not too close.
"Stop thinking about it," he ordered.
She paused to stare at him. "You can't control what goes on in my head."
"No, but I can control whether I leave the keys to my Jeep here or not. And if I get the idea you're thinking of making any long-distance trips, I guarantee you I'll be taking them with me."
A humorless laugh escaped her lips. "Gee, thanks for the reminder that I'm completely at your mercy."
He thrust out a frustrated breath and stalked closer. "Damn it, Lily, you're not a charity case. I don't begrudge you anything. I just don't want you to get hurt again."
"You're being kind. You have to admit, I am a charity case." The reality of that rankled. Lily had never relied on anyone, not since her parents had died and she and her sister had played a game of here-we-go-round-the-foster-care-system. She didn't like being completely supported by anyone. "I'll probably never be able to repay you for all my medical expenses, even if I can get back my unclaimed financial accounts."
He waved a hand, as if money meant absolutely nothing. Though she didn't know a lot about Wyatt's background, other than the fact that his family owned this house-and that he never used it, for some deep, dark reason that the locals hinted at but she had never pried into-she had no doubt the man had money. So much money, he hadn't batted an eye when paying her bills, whisking her up here, renovating the house, buying the Jeep.
That didn't mean she wasn't going to try to pay him back, somehow, someway. Sometime. Even if it took the rest of her life.
"I don't care about the money. I only care about your need to do something leading you into a dark, dangerous situation."
Hearing the genuine intensity, she had to try to mollify him. "Look, you and I both know I'm a hermit and the chances of me going more than ten miles from here are very slim, meaning a trip to Virginia is almost inconceivable."
"You really have no desire to leave? Haven't had any impulse to just go?"
Though his expression remained neutral, he seemed very interested in hearing her answer. She couldn't help wondering why he seemed so concerned. "What is it you're really trying to get at?"
He shook his head slowly. "Just curious."
Yeah, right. The man never asked idle questions; he was also after something. Now he seemed to be asking if she had the nerve to leave here, or if she just intended to give up and hide from the world forever.
Well, haven't you considered it?
She ignored the inner voice. "What is it you're accusing me of, Wyatt?"
He countered with a question. "Should I be accusing you of something?"
"Don't pull that interrogator garbage on me, okay? If you have something to say, just say it, would you?"
"Will you do the same?"
She managed to smother a groan that he'd done it again, and think about what he'd asked. Would she do the same? Be honest and open? About most things, probably. About the case, her physical well-being, the house, what was going on in the outside world. Yes. Absolutely.
But what went on in her head? What she was really thinking, feeling?
Not bloody likely.
"Forget I asked," she snapped.
Deliberately turning away, she tried to get back into her exercise, closing her eyes and breathing deeply. She heard the sarge's voice in her head as she moved, remembering how hard such simple movements had been a few months ago, when her muscles had only recently healed after the slash job the bullet and her attacker's instruments had done on them. After a few moments, she found her center, rediscovered her calm, and was able to focus.
"So," she asked, ready to resume their conversation, "Brandon agreed that my voice idea was solid?"
Wyatt backed off, too, as if knowing she had already put their harsh words out of her head. "He did. The owner of the car, Dr. Kean, was interviewed on tape, along with her sister-in-law, who provided an alibi and backed up her claim that she knew nothing of the stolen vehicle until the morning after your attack. Brandon is sending me a snippet of that interview."
"Anyone else from the convention?"
"All of the workshops were recorded, the audio copies offered for sale online. We're gathering every one of them. We'll have a lot of material for you to listen to." He glanced at his watch. "Probably starting by this afternoon."
Position Eight. Flow. Calm.
"Brandon must have gotten an early start."
Wyatt leaned against the handrail at the base of the stairs, his feet crossed at the ankles, arms at the chest. "He responded to my e-mail at six forty-five this morning and said he'd work on this from home so there'd be no delay due to his commute to the office."
"He's a good kid."
He laughed softly.
"What?"
"That kid is only a couple of years your junior."
Maybe in physical years. Not in experience. Not in the journey of the soul.
"He's also in love with you."
She closed her eyes briefly, then opened them to glare at him. "Damn it, Wyatt, I'd just gotten my calm back."
He shrugged, unrepentant. "You need to deal with it."
"I did deal with it," she snapped. "Why do you think I asked him to stop coming up?"
Despite asking him to stop coming to visit her, as he'd done every single week last spring, she did miss him. Brandon was the closest thing to a brother she'd ever had. Putting a stop to his visits had been for his sake, more than hers.
Lily wasn't blind. She had known before she was kidnapped that Brandon was a flirt and a player, and that he liked trying out his cocky charm on her. But after he'd been part of the rescue, he'd turned into a hovering, cautious caretaker who treated her as if she needed to be wrapped in cotton. And he wanted to be the one wrapping that cotton around her and carrying her in his pocket.
Nothing brought the protective romantic gene out in a man like thinking he had a fragile, wounded woman to take care of. With Brandon, it had gone a step further. It hadn't escaped her notice that he had feelings for her. That-the thought of him wasting his time and emotion on her when she would never return it-had been the primary reason she'd asked him not to come back.