And you think she could be a killer?
No. He didn't. From far away, in the middle of a crime scene, the evidence had seemed damning. But being back here in her company for one single day had reminded him of all the reasons why Lily could not be the vicious, cold-blooded murderer he sought.
Could he see her picking up a gun and shooting the man who'd attacked her if he came at her again, intending to do her harm? Oh, absolutely. As easily as he could see himself doing the same thing in her position.
But murdering random strangers so violently, with all the foresight, planning, and brutality those cases had involved? He just didn't believe it and felt almost foolish for coming up here with the intention of spying on her.
Something else was going on, the ties to Lily either completely coincidental-
Or not.
It was the not that worried him. The not that would keep him up nights until he discovered who the lily killer was, and how he was connected to Lily Fletcher.
There was, of course, one very obvious possibility. Lovesprettyboys, having been thwarted in his efforts to find out what happened to Lily after she'd escaped his clutches, might be trying to get law enforcement to do the job for him. He had to be going out of his mind, believing himself to be one of only two people who knew Lily hadn't been in that van when it crashed off the Route 17 bridge into the York River. Yet having absolutely no idea what had happened to her, he had to be wondering if she might reemerge and point her accusing finger in his direction.
Setting her up to look like a serial killer was one way to get the authorities interested in making absolutely certain of Lily's fate, since they'd never found a body. If the vicious crimes raised doubt about her "death," the ensuing investigation could lead everyone-the police, and the unsub-to the truth about Lily Fletcher. What had happened to her. And where she was today.
The unsub wouldn't want her to be arrested and tell what she knew. He just needed her to be found, possibly drawn back to Washington for an investigation. So he could get one clear shot at her.
Jesus.
So far it seemed that Wyatt was alone in associating Lily with the murdered men in those hotel rooms. God help them all if someone like Anspaugh, who had such an ax to grind against both Lily and Wyatt, stumbled across it.
Wyatt had to move faster. He needed to find Lovesprettyboys, because doing so might very well solve both cases. And only once the man was caught would Lily Fletcher be both physically safe and out from under the cloud of suspicion.
"Okay, let's proceed. I'm ready to hear the clips from the various workshops," Lily said, as oblivious to their closeness as he was affected by it. "I don't need to listen to the content, obviously, so this should go much more quickly."
The quicker they finished, the better, in Wyatt's opinion. He honestly didn't believe this idea was going to lead to something useful. There were just too many variables. Not only might Lily's memory of her attacker's voice be unclear, but it was a long shot that the unsub had in fact attended the convention at the hotel. The odds were even slimmer that he was a speaker whose session had been recorded.
But Lily wanted to try. So they'd try. The sooner they finished, and the sooner he could back away and reconstruct that professional, polite barrier between them, the better.
Lily started the first clip, listened to a few words from the speaker, then moved on. Again. Again. With each click of the touch pad, her shoulders seemed to droop further, her full lips tighten even more.
There had been two dozen workshops and it took less than an hour to listen to the clips from all but the two panels.
Though disappointment rolled off her, Lily didn't give up. She pulled up the first panel, listened long enough to hear a few words from every speaker. Then came the second group workshop, the final possibility.
The panel featured five speakers, including the sisters-in-law Drs. Kean and Underwood, both of whom they'd already heard. Relaxed at first, Lily began to physically tense as they finished their presentations, giving way to the other speakers on the panel. Because the other speakers were all men-ones they hadn't heard before. Theirs would be the final voices, the last chance to hear the echoes from her nightmares. Lily appeared to hold her breath, waiting for them to get their turns at the microphone.
Then they did. And her last hope died.
"Nothing," she said, shaking her head in utter disappointment, shock tugging her mouth down and lowering her lashes over her eyes.
"Look, it was a good idea. But we both knew it was a long shot."
"I guess." She leaned back in her chair, lifting her face to stare at the ceiling. When she spoke, her voice was so soft, he almost didn't hear her, especially over the voice of the workshop presenter, still droning from the computers speakers. "Maybe it's better."
Though he thought he understood, he still asked, "Why?
She continued staring straight up, not meeting his gaze. "Because now the only time I hear his voice is in my nightmares, when I'm asleep. If I hear it when I'm awake, I might never be able to get the sound out of my head."
Wyatt couldn't stand the defeatist tone, or the awful weariness in her body. Jesus, the woman had survived so much, she deserved some peace. And knowing the man who wanted her dead would never be able to touch her again would give her that peace.
"We'll find him," he insisted. He put a hand on her shoulder, squeezing it in reassurance. This time, she didn't pull away. "I promise you we're going to find him."
She turned her head, watching him with pale blue eyes that swam with emotion. "I'm treading water, Wyatt. Just treading. Barely keeping myself from drowning, but getting no closer to shore."
He should have murmured something comforting, maybe squeezed her shoulder again. Instead, he reached for her, pulled her out of her chair and into his arms, until she sat on his thigh. Lily offered no resistance, coming to him freely, as if needing the warmth, the physical connection, the reassurance that she really wasn't alone.
"It's all right," he murmured. "You don't always have to be so damned strong, Lily."
Holding her close, he tangled his fingers in her short hair, rubbing its fineness, picturing its blond shade. The movement brought his fingertips to her scars and he touched them lightly. The feel of them made him instinctively grip her tighter, wanting nothing more than to keep anyone from hurting her again.
Lily's head rested on his shoulder, her mouth so close to his neck he experienced her every warm exhalation flowing across his skin. Against his chest, he could feel her heart thudding.
As was his.
Hunger rose within him, surprising, insistent, and compelling. Sweat broke out on his brow and every muscle in his body tensed. He closed his eyes, willing away any personal thoughts, any emotions. He'd become adept at doing so at such a young age, it was second nature now. Yet while he could bring his physical reactions under control, getting a grip on the tenderness he felt for the beautiful woman in his arms proved more difficult.
He could feel her heart pick up its rhythm in her chest. Beating faster in confusion. In surprise. And those warm breaths against his neck grew more rapid, more shallow. Closer. Until he wasn't sure whether he was feeling her exhalations or her soft lips.
Then she lifted her head, stared into his eyes with intense emotion-curiosity? Surprise?
Want.
Groaning, he muttered, "Lily…"
He didn't know what he was about to say, if his impulse would be to apologize or to let her know exactly what she made him feel, but he ended up saying nothing. Because Lily suddenly shot straight up, leaping to her feet with a shocked cry. Her eyes shifted wildly, her mouth open as she gasped for air. Her hands fisted by her sides, she remained very still, rigid with tension.