If he'd done some research, if Will had gone on the computer to look up the guy's crimes, would he have still gone through with it? What did it say about him as a person that he'd lied, for money, to help set a goddamned child molester and murderer free?
"Pop-pop-pop-pop," Toby said with a sleepy smile, mumbling the words Will had been teaching him every day for a week.
God forgive me.
A little kid. A little boy not much older than Toby. Boyd had taken him. Hurt him. Killed him.
If there was a hell, Will would someday be there with the man he'd helped set free, both of them sitting front row, center.
"Pop-pop."
"That's right, I'm your pop-pop," he said, kissing the tousled blond curls on the top of the baby's soft head. "And I'll always be there for ya, kid. I'm gonna watch over you, take care of-"
A loud noise cut off his sentence. Pop! Pop! Something hit him, then something else, bang-bang, two in a row.
The bullets struck hard, pain erupting in his lower back, and in his left shoulder. He stumbled forward from the impact, staggering onto the sidewalk, dropping to his knees. Even as he fell, he was careful to hold the baby up so his tiny frame didn't smash onto the cement.
The sharp pain from each gunshot rapidly expanded, spreading throughout his body before merging to create one enormous torrent of anguish. He'd never known a person could hurt so much.
"Toby." The word lingered on his lips. As he started to fall forward, knowing he was going to land on his face, he gently pushed the boy to the side, out of harm's way.
"Help," he whispered, not even sure he understood what had happened. "Help."
Toby began to whimper. Then to cry. But his cries were drowned out by the sound of a car's engine, revving up and roaring away, the tires spinning and screaming on the blacktop as the vehicle tore up the block.
"Pop-pop?"
Will reached for the boy, his own flesh and blood, the kid who was supposed to be his chance to make everything right, to do it all over again. He wanted to touch him, to stroke that hair, brush his fingers against that little cheek, and promise it would all be okay.
But his fingers were bloody and his arm was weak and he was dying, and Will could only stare at the child as the world went dark and he headed for his front row, center seat.
Chapter 14
Though Lily knew her former coworkers had been informed of her miraculous resurrection and wouldn't be caught by surprise as Jackie had been, she couldn't contain her nervousness as it drew closer to seven thirty. That was when the other three men she had worked with, all good, fine agents, would be coming over to Wyatt's to help work on Lily's case. Late this afternoon, Wyatt had called Dean Taggert, Kyle Mulrooney, and Alec Lambert into his office and had told them the whole story. He'd given them a choice: Walk out and pretend they had never heard a thing, staying out of the mess that was almost surely headed their way. Or help.
All three of them were on their way over here to help.
Though Wyatt, Jackie, and Brandon swore the new members of the team, Christian and Anna, could be trusted, Lily had made the decision not to bring them in. She didn't know them; they didn't know her. Why should they have any loyalty to her, especially if it could hurt their own careers? It was better that they remain in the dark. More of that plausible deniability. And as Brandon said, at least there would be two members of the Black CATs still employed if this went down badly.
Oh, God, please don't let it come to that. What an awful repayment that would be for the sacrifices and the loyalty, the friendship, and the never-ending support these people had offered her.
That support could make all the difference. Because with those brilliant minds working on both cases, something would happen. It had to. They would all take on different assignments, providing backup, doing legwork, chasing down clues, leaving Wyatt free to pursue their one hot lead: Roger Underwood. He intended to go back down to Williamsburg the next day, to try to surprise the bastard's widow at her home, see if he could shake her story and get any more information out of her. At the very least, confronting her about her lies regarding her husband's voice on the tape should get a reaction out of the woman.
She'd obviously lied about the voice in order to protect her husband. But did she know what she had been protecting him from? How far would someone go to cover up for a loved one? How much would a person do out of love for someone else, a husband, a brother, a son?
Wyatt wanted to know. So did Lily.
"Would you stop pacing?" Wyatt asked, interrupting her.
"You're sure they aren't angry with me?" she asked him again as she prowled the huge living room, which encompassed the front half of the downstairs. Every time she passed one of the windows, she peered out, looking for a dark-colored sedan, and a familiar handsome face emerging from it.
'if they're angry, it's at me for not bringing them in and letting them help long ago," Wyatt insisted. "Not you. Never you."
"Unlike Anspaugh."
"Unlike Anspaugh," he admitted.
Wyatt had told her all the details about his meeting in the deputy director's office today, leaving out nothing. Afterward, she had come around to his way of thinking-coming forward now, today, would land her in jail, not in a witness stand testifying against Jesse Boyd. Besides, as he reminded her, if she wanted to maintain any credibility as a witness whatsoever, she couldn't get up there and be introduced as a suspected serial killer herself.
She'd clear her name, then go after Boyd. Even though the delay nearly killed her.
Tense, Lily perched on the corner of a chair, sat for a moment, then stood and resumed her pacing. Wyatt finally stepped closer, put both hands on her shoulders, and ran them up and down, warming the skin she hadn't realized had grown cold. "It's okay."
His hands, so strong, solid, and tender, brought not only warmth but calm. It was as if with each inch his palms slid against her skin, another bit of tension was pulled free from her, replacing worry and fear with comfort and calm.
Lily's eyes drifted closed and she remained very still, letting him touch her, stroke away her cares. She swayed a little on her feet, until her hip brushed against his, and the tips of her breasts scraped the front of his jacket. She tried to hide the intense pleasure she got out of not just his touch, but that Wyatt was the one touching her. Wyatt, the dream man she'd once thought so out of reach, Wyatt the hero, the savior, the friend.
She wanted him to become Wyatt the lover.
It was crazy-Jackie was in the kitchen throwing together some dinner, and the others would be arriving at any minute-but Lily couldn't stop herself. Her eyes slowly opening, she lifted her hands, sliding them onto his shoulders, the tips of her thumbs caressing his neck. Held back by nothing, not pride or fear or intimidation, she looked up at him, silently asking him for the world, or just the little part of it he inhabited.
He smiled faintly, shaking his head. But he wasn't saying no. That expression told her that as crazy as it might be, the answer was yes.
"When this is over," he whispered.
"Tonight's meeting?" she asked, intentionally misunderstanding.
He barked a quick laugh. "You know what I mean."
Now it was Lily's turn to shake her head. "No."
"Yes, you do."
"I meant no, that's not acceptable."
"It's not, huh?"
She leaned closer, rising up onto her tiptoes so their mouths shared the same inch of air space. Then she eliminated it, pressing her lips onto his in a kiss so fleeting, so soft, that if not for the way her mouth tingled, she wouldn't have been certain she'd kissed him at all.
"If there's one thing the past few years have taught me, Wyatt, it's to take nothing for granted. Don't put off something you want for a future date, because for all you know, your future might not extend beyond today."