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, working 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.