She and Jackie spent a quiet morning together, catching up a little, chatting about the other woman's kids and her husband. Both of them seemed to want to put off the day, as if holding the investigation at bay for another hour might make it easier to deal with when the time came. Finally, though, they could avoid it no longer. Lily asked for a half hour to shower, then promised to come back down ready to get to work.
She took a hot, steamy shower, using Wyatt's bathroom, his shampoo, his soap. She even dried off with the same towel he'd used. It still smelled of him, and she wanted to hold on to that scent.
Afterward, she dressed quickly, pulling on loose shorts and a T-shirt, knowing Jackie had been waiting patiently. Together, they were going to look through the background check the other agent had conducted on Roger Underwood. Before heading to the guest room to grab her own brush, though, Lily paused to glance at the clock. Wyatt would be in Williamsburg right now, possibly even inside the offices where Underwood had worn the normal, surgeon's face over the secret, twisted devil's maw that reflected his true self He'd somehow lived nearly fifty years disguising what he was, fooling the community and his patients, even members of his family.
Well, maybe not all the members of his family. They might have known. In fact, Wyatt seemed pretty sure his wife and sister had suspected something about the man, since they'd both lied about not recognizing the voice on the tape.
Maybe because she was in law enforcement, she couldn't understand the concept of lying to protect someone who committed such hideous acts. She'd loved her sister. But would she have covered for Laura if she had been guilty of such brutal crimes?
"No way," she whispered as she walked across the hall to the other bedroom, with the pristine, unmade bed.
But Roger Underwood's loved ones had. So what did that say about them?
"That they're all equally as twisted," she told her reflection as she pulled a brush out of her purse and yanked it through her hair. The dark strands were almost long enough to pull into a short ponytail. For now, though, she just tucked them behind her ears, not even caring about the scars about which she had once been so self-conscious. She barely even noticed them anymore, maybe because she had been healing from the inside out for so long, they'd almost become invisible to her eyes.
Taking the steps two at a time, she jogged downstairs barefoot, seeing Jackie sitting in Wyatt's dining room. The other woman didn't even look up, simply pushing a file folder across the broad, gleaming table. "Check these out. Names of every registered sex offender in the Williamsburg area. Nothing that screams a connection with Underwood, but it's a place to start."
"Maybe one of them went to him to get a face-lift and they bonded over a Cub Scout calendar," Lily said, shaking with disgust. "Gotta look youthful and handsome if you want to try to hide the fact that you're a monster."
The other woman nodded. "Judging by the number of names on that list, they could have kept Underwood's office busy all on their own for a year."
"Maybe that's why the practice is open on Saturday mornings."
That had surprised her, realizing the plastic surgery office was open today, and Wyatt wouldn't be confronting Underwood's widow at her home.
"Just as well," Jackie said. "By showing up unannounced, during business hours, when patients might be around to see and hear, Underwood's family might be more quick to usher Wyatt in for a private talk."
Lily wasn't holding her breath. "Until the very moment they realize he's there to confront them about their lies. Then they'll lawyer up and invite him to come back when he has a warrant."
Though she could be wrong. Wyatt had a way of making women want to talk to him. Maybe it was his calmness, the sense that you could tell him absolutely anything and he would remain understanding, sympathetic, and controlled while coming up with a solution to any problem. It was a rare talent, one she found incredibly appealing. Though Lily had to acknowledge she also liked it when he lost a little of that control. Especially when he lost it with her, in his bed.
Hoping Jackie didn't correctly interpret the satisfied smile she couldn't contain, she turned her head away and said, "I think I'll go get some coffee. Want some?"
"Sure."
Lily started to walk toward the kitchen, but got only a few steps when Jackie stopped her.
"Wait!"
"What is it?"
Jackie was reading over a document on her laptop screen, her eyes narrowed, a frown line between them. "I was just going over this family history and something struck me. A name that looks really familiar."
Lily walked over to stand behind her, staring down at the screen. Jackie moved the cursor to the name in question, highlighting it.
"What does it mean?" she asked, equally surprised.
"I don't know."
"We should probably let Wyatt know " Lily said. She reached into the pocket of her shorts for her cell phone. "I'll try to reach him-"
A squeal of tires from outside interrupted her. A door slammed; someone yelled.
Jackie leapt up and hurried to the front window. "Oh, my God," she whispered, staring out at the street.
"What is it?"
"You've gotta get out of here." The woman spun around, putting her hands in the middle of Lily's back and physically pushing her so hard the phone flew out of Lily's hands. "Out the back door. Fast."
"What?"
"It's Anspaugh," the woman said. "It looks like he brought a whole posse, and I suspect he's gunning for you."
As expected, Judith Underwood hadn't been pleased to hear he was waiting to see her.
Wyatt didn't let that stop him. After informing the receptionist that he'd wait, despite the woman's claims that Dr. Underwood couldn't possibly squeeze in a meeting, he'd taken a seat in the waiting room. It had taken one conversation-just one-and he'd gotten the meeting he wanted. Apparently the grieving widow didn't like hearing that he was talking to the patients about being here to question one of the doctors about a crime.
He was whistling as he followed the receptionist down the familiar back hallway. But he found it hard to maintain the cheery facade when he reached that T in the corridor and came face-to-face with Dr. Roger Underwood's portrait. Wyatt had to pause, stare at the man, search for any glimmer of insanity in his eyes or utter evil in his half smile.
There was nothing. No hint that the man was the kind of depraved monster who would abuse young children. No malice in the smile to show he would gladly slaughter anyone who got in his way.
"It was so sad. A real tragedy," the receptionist said. "Dr. Roger being so young and all."
"Had he had a history of problems with his heart?"
Wyatt asked, wondering so much more about Roger's death now that he knew just what a fiend he had been in life.
"Never," she said. "It really was a mystery. He played tennis all the time, ate right, had regular physicals. Never sick a day."
Very unusual.
The receptionist, who was not the same one he'd seen on his last visit, meaning she might have been around long enough to know something, inched a tiny bit closer. Wyatt knew the move signaled a desire to spill a little more information. With the right prodding she'd do just that.
"Did they do an autopsy?" he asked, trying to sound only mildly interested.
"Uh-uh," said the woman-girl really, who was pretty in a vacant way. "They probably would have if the family hadn't been who they are. But I guess since there wasn't a mark on him, other than the tiny cut where he fell on the wine opener, they didn't suspect anything." She lowered her voice a notch. "There were some whispers, though."