"So I stay up the block in my car all night long. This morning, this young guy shows up-one of the agents in the file you sent me. Cole."

Interesting that the younger agent would show up at his boss's house on a workday. Why hadn't Blackstone gone into the office?

"I try to inch a little closer. See his neighbors leave for work, both of 'em, and slip into the backyard on the right. Blackstone, the blond dude, and the woman are outside on the patio talking. The wall's real high, so I can't see 'em, but I hear their voices. All three of 'em."

"Could you hear what they were saying?"

"Nah, nothing specific. But a few minutes later, this other one shows up. Good-looking black woman wearing a dark pantsuit. Obviously another fed."

Special Agent Jackie Stokes. Her picture lay on the desk, part of the complete dossier on Blackstone's team.

"She tries the front, gets no answer, then comes around to the back. I edge as close as I can get, hoping to see or hear something when she goes in the gate."

He hesitated, probably for dramatic effect. Fool. There was no time for these games. Impatience sparked an angry prompt. "Well? Tell me the rest, now!"

"Okay, okay. The woman, she goes in, but she stops right there with the gate open. Then she kinda squeals. She calls out a name. A woman's name. I risked taking a peek, and I see her running toward the black-haired woman, giving her a big hug, the two of 'em sobbing their faces off."

"You can't mean…"

"Yep. That's exactly what I'm telling you. The name she calls out? I heard it clear as a bell. It's Lily."

"Good God."

It was true. Lily was back.

This validated everything, especially the sixth sense that had been whispering for months that she was out there somewhere. Everything that had been done had been worthwhile and the right thing to do. The confirmation should have felt good, but there would be no time to feel good until Lily Fletcher was dead and gone, for real this time.

The biggest surprise of all of this? Lily was with Wyatt Blackstone. No-nonsense, scrupulously honest Wyatt Blackstone, who, according to rumor, had let a number of other agents, and friends, go down when he'd seen some illicit behavior in the FBI crime lab.

Mr. Squeaky Clean was hiding a suspected serial killer. A woman who'd faked her own death.

Her lover? There had been no indication of that in any of the background checks.

Merely her protector, then? Her white knight?

This made things a little more difficult. Because while there were always people to be bought, bribes to be offered for a guard to look the other way while a suspect was being transported, there was no weak link in Blackstone's group. Not a one. Especially not the man himself.

If she was under his protection, Lily would be very difficult to get to.

There were two obvious options. Call in an anonymous tip to another FBI agent. Perhaps one who had an ax to grind against Blackstone-there were, reportedly, quite a few. That might kill two birds with one stone, resulting in Lily's arrest and Blackstone being tossed on his ear, stripped of his credentials, his title, his weapon.

A good choice. But also a risky one. Killing Lily while she was in federal custody had always been the last resort. A better one was getting at her now.

"You still there?" Jonesy asked.

"Sorry. Yes. Listen, you've done an excellent job. I just have one more for you to do."

"What's that?"

"I want you to stay there and try to get a photograph of Lily Fletcher. Do you think you can do that?"

"Might not be easy. That wall is high as shit."

"It's worth twice what I'm paying you now."

He whistled. "Double, huh?"

"That is generally what twice means."

Jonesy obviously didn't understand sarcasm. "Oh, sure. Okay, you got a deal. Gotta go."

The man hung up without another word, which was fine. Hopefully it meant he was returning immediately to do what he'd been asked to. Which meant a picture of Lily should soon be forthcoming. Even without a firm plan in mind, the photograph was a good idea. If Lily's looks had changed too drastically, she might not be recognizable even to someone who knew her well. Someone like, say, Jesse Boyd.

Because he was, of course, option two. Jesse was desperate to avoid going back to prison. The man seethed with hatred and rage toward the woman he felt had helped send him there.

By now, he should also be in something of a panic about his personal safety. The seed had been planted. Boyd had to be wondering if his victim's aunt would come gunning for him now that she knew he was free.

Hmm. There might be a way to make that more plausible, more frightening. A way to convince Boyd his nemesis was coming after him, going through whomever she had to in order to gain her revenge. Starting, perhaps, with the man who'd given Boyd the false alibi?

"Will Miller." His address and phone number were a few key clicks away.

How frightening would it be for Boyd to hear his anonymous alibi had been murdered? For a man like Boyd? A coward? Probably utterly terrifying. And a frightened man was a desperate man. In that state, he would practically be a lethal weapon.

It merely remained to point that weapon in the right direction, and see if he could get past the protective circle Wyatt Blackstone had placed around his vulnerable young lady friend.

Jackie Stokes was one of the most coolheaded, intelligent people Wyatt knew. So for her to have to sit in a chair and put her head between her knees to keep herself from passing out said a lot about how she was taking Lily's miraculous reappearance. So far, she'd been focused on her happiness. But he knew her well enough to know the questions would begin firing out of her mouth any second now.

"I can't effing believe this; I just can't. This only happens in movies, doesn't it? Is this for real?"

"I'm so sorry, Jackie," Lily said. Her voice was tremulous, as if she, too, knew Jackie would transition from shock to raging curiosity any second now. She sat close to the other woman, one slim hand on Jackie's shoulder, repeating the apologies he knew came straight from her heart. "I can't tell you how sorry I am to have put you through such pain. I know you mourned for me, grieved for me."

The words gave Jackie something else to focus on, and she shot straight up in her chair. On came the curiosity, and some of the anger he'd anticipated.

"You know. You know that. How do you know that?" She glanced up at Wyatt and Brandon, her dark eyes accusing. "Because they told you?" Rising to her feet, she stalked toward Wyatt, sticking her index finger out. "How long have you known? How long have you kept this from the rest of us?"

He didn't even try to downplay it. "Since the night of the funeral."

"The funeral," she whispered. "Lily's funeral." She closed her eyes briefly, obviously remembering that day, that whole vivid time. When she reopened them, he noticed some of the fire had left them, but not that obvious need to know the truth.

"And you?" she asked Brandon.

"The same," he said.

"Seven and a half months. You've known all this time." • She slowly turned and looked at Lily, walking over and brushing her fingers in the soft black hair. Apparently noticing the scars on her head, she bent over and, like she probably did with her own kids, gently brushed her lips over the top of Lily's damaged ear, as if wanting to kiss away the pain. "My God, what did he do to you, child? What did that madman do?"

Jackie had reached the right conclusion, her quick mind filling in the pieces without needing them all laid out for her.

"Did he have you that whole time? Between the night you disappeared and the night of your, uh, funeral?"

Lily nodded once, and tears rose to Jackie's eyes, spilling from them onto her pretty cheeks. The woman was about as strong as they came: the one place she was vulnerable was when someone she loved got hurt.