Her attention was drawn from the monster. The person Jesse had been checking on began to sit up, the child murderer lending a hand. They both rose to their feet; then Jesse moved a little to the right, enough for Lily to get a better look. She saw silver glasses, a pinched face.
The lawyer. Claire Vincent.
She wasn't entirely surprised. Ever since this morning when Jackie had pointed out Claire's name on the background report, identified as Roger Underwood's stepsister, she'd been curious to learn more. Now, seeing her here, Lily began to put things together. Was it possible the attorney was the lily murderer, and Boyd now her accomplice?
Wanting to hear their plans, she risked making a sound. She slid her fingers into the crevice of the door, tugging it open one inch, no farther, glad she'd left it unlocked when she'd gotten home a half hour ago.
"Get upstairs," the woman inside was saying. "The shower's still running. With the thunder, she probably didn't even realize she heard a gunshot." She pointed toward the floor with one hand, the other clutching her right side, which was coated with blood. She'd been hurt.
God, did Lily wish she could see more. Like who that other dark shape crumpled on the floor could be. Whose gun Jesse was bending over to retrieve.
Please, please, not him. But she already knew it was. Wyatt had come looking for her and walked right into an ambush.
"Shoot her the minute you walk in the bathroom. Don't say anything-just shoot right through the shower curtain or the door. Take her down."
"I don't know how," Boyd said, his voice whiny, weak. "I never shot a gun in my life."
"You stupid fool!" Claire snarled, her face twisted with rage, her eyes sparking with an insane light. "Go shoot her or I'll do it-then I'll come back down here and kill you myself."
That would be convenient, but she couldn't hope the woman would kill her accomplice before he found out Lily was not upstairs in the shower.
"It wasn't Fletcher who killed Will Miller, was it?"
Lily had no idea who Will Miller was.
"It was you. You set this all up, wanted me to kill her for you. Do your dirty work, right?"
"Your genius is staggering," the woman said. "Now get up there and finish the job before I bleed to death. You do want her dead, don't you?"
Boyd nodded. "Yeah. But I don't like being used."
The woman swayed, but her condescension was clear. "I apologize; do forgive me for my bad manners. Now go."
Jesse went, trudging slowly, step by step, as if dreading his deadly errand. The man held the gun out to his side, as if he was afraid it would go off by itself and kill him.
If only Lily were that lucky.
In a moment, Claire Vincent was wounded and alone, but she was also psychotic. Like a trapped animal, she might be even more dangerous right now. If Lily hadn't been damn sure that was Wyatt lying unconscious-not dead, please, God, not dead-on the floor, she would have slipped over the railing, down to the beach, and escaped the two killers. But she couldn't, not without Wyatt.
She eased the door farther, never taking her eyes off Claire. The woman had sagged against the wall, bent over, blood dripping freely from between her splayed fingers.
Four steps to get past the kitchen table. Two more to reach the knife block on the counter. Second one from the right was the biggest, but the one on the far left was sharper, utterly wicked. Twelve steps across the smooth wood floor to the base of the open staircase. For seven of those, she would be blind to anyone descending, but entirely visible to the wounded woman at their base. Those last five would be the most critical. Either of the two murderers could see her and warn the other.
Lily crept in, cautious. She counted her footsteps. Reaching in the darkness for the knife block, she unerringly withdrew the one she wanted.
She turned and walked again. Ten steps. Eight. Six. All the time eyeing the stairs for Jesse's return, then past them to focus on Claire Vincent.
Risking one quick, confirming glance at the body on the floor, she recognized Wyatt. Her heart raced when she saw the wound on his shoulder, the blood on the back of his head. But she also saw his chest moving as he breathed. Not dead. Yet she couldn't help him until she eliminated both threats.
She'd reached the danger zone. No way to see if Boyd was coming down, no way to hide from Claire's gaze. Steeling her will and gripping the knife, she flew forward, aided by the element of surprise, and had the knife under the lawyer's throat before the other woman could even gasp.
The lawyer's eyes rounded with shock. "You…"
"I'm finished with my shower," she whispered.
Lily looked up and saw nothing. Jesse was apparently still standing in her bedroom, trying to grow a big enough set of balls to burst into the bathroom and kill her. Or figure out how to turn the damn gun safety off.
Claire opened her mouth as if to scream.
"Don't or I'll slit your throat. I swear to God I would take pleasure in doing it."
The woman whimpered. She appeared dazed, in pain, and, judging by the amount of blood at her feet, badly wounded. Yet she'd still managed to orchestrate Lily's murder, to cock her weapon-Jesse-aim it, and send it up the stairs to finish the job.
Lily should have shoved the woman down, grabbed Wyatt, and dragged him out of here. But he was badly hurt. The steps down to the driveway were long, to the beach even longer, and Jesse had Wyatt's gun. He could catch up with them and shoot them down easily. So instead, she grabbed Claire by the front of her shirt and pulled her, hard, to the floor. She reached for the phone, which sat on the closest table, lifted the receiver, and heard nothing but dead air. The cut cord on the back of it explained why.
"Thanks. I can use that," she snarled, yanking the longer part of the cord out of the wall. Moving quickly, she wound it around Claire's hands, binding her tightly.
A quick glance up the stairs confirmed Jesse's continued indecision. Lily took the opportunity to check on Wyatt. His shoulder gaped open-she could see the bone-but the blood loss wasn't critical yet. A quick check of the bloody lump on his head led her to believe he'd been struck, not shot.
"You're going to be okay," she whispered. "This will all be over with in a couple of minutes." She considered rooting through his pockets to look for his cell phone, but didn't want to risk moving him, and also didn't want to keep her back to the stairs any longer. "I'll take care of Boyd, then get you some help." She reached down to gently brush his dark hair off his brow. "I love you."
Returning to the base of the stairs, the knife in her hands, Lily crouched and listened for any sounds from above. When Jesse pounded down those stairs, he was going to get one heck of a surprise.
"I need an ambulance," Claire whispered weakly.
"Fuck you."
"I mean it. I'll die. It was never personal, you know, never against you."
Lily ignored her, unable to believe the gall of the woman who'd come here to kill her.
"Roger called me for help that night," she whispered. "Me, of all people, I was the one he turned to. I'd loved him all those years and he was finally turning to me."
Okay, the woman was obviously sick.
"I didn't know about you, or that other agent. He just told me he'd gotten in trouble and needed help getting rid of the van. I knew nothing else until I saw the news the next day. He'd made me an accessory after the fact to murder and I had no idea."
"Poor you, now shut up." Lily cocked her head, listening, still no sound from upstairs. What the hell was Jesse doing, taking a nap on her bed?