Chapter 4

Amanda busied herself arranging the chairs around the craft tables. It was a legitimate activity to engage her time while the rest of the staff settled into their cabins.

At nine o'clock sharp, she heard the screen door open and the light click off.

"Oh," she squeaked, startled by the sudden darkness.

"Sorry," a familiar voice soothed. "I don't want to draw attention to my whereabouts." Quickly, Lee's tall frame materialized behind her, and she jumped a little when two large hands gripped her waist. "Just relax, Amanda, and let your eyes adjust to the darkness."

"Right," she said, with a raspy catch in her voice. Tensing a little, she tried to ignore the close proximity of his body. She may be mad with Lee, but her anger couldn't dim the excitement over working with him again.

He must have felt her discomfiture, because he took a careful step backward, sliding his hands from her sides. "So, what do you have for me?"

Amanda turned abruptly and bumped into his chest. "Oops, sorry."

"It's okay." He flipped on a tiny flashlight and kept the beam directed at the floor.

"Over here," she said, pointing the way to a walk-in closet. Once securely inside, she closed the door and pulled the cord on the dangling light bulb. "After making my calls last night, I came back to camp and searched the craft cabin. Unbelievably, I discovered dynamite in a storage compartment."

"God, what were you thinking?" Lee's voice betrayed his frustration. "That's why we're here, Amanda. Leave the investigation to Francine and me."

"Lee," she said with a clear reprimand, "I was the only one available last night, remember?"

"Of course, I remember, Amanda, but I'm not the one who abruptly hung-up." His chin jutted out in defiance, claiming round one of the fight between Scarecrow and Mrs. King

She shot him an incredulous look, letting him know she was ready to go toe to toe with him. Then, reining in her flash of anger, Amanda slipped off her jacket and straightened her tank top. "Well, Stetson," she said, forcing a more cheerful tone, "if you move the box of number ten tin cans, you'll see the hidden door. It's a very shallow space but big enough for a large duffle bag."

Lee set down his flashlight and began pushing craft items aside on the shelf. "Here," he said, handing her boxes of materials. "My God, there're paints, crayons, glue, scissors, popsicle sticks, clay, construction paper, and even old candles. What the hell are you going to do with all this junk?"

She rolled her eyes. "All the so-called junk is for our projects. I'll be working with small groups of children each day on crafts, stories, and songs that relate to peace."

"And what are you going to do with all the containers?" he asked, pointing to empty baby food jars and number ten tin cans.

"I'll mix paint in the jars. The large cans can be used to carry water, make small cook stoves, and melt wax for candles."

"I got it, Amanda," he said, interrupting her explanation. With both arms stretched over his head, he maneuvered a huge box of cans to the floor. "How did you reach all this stuff, anyway?"

"Well, I used a chair to reach the big box. Actually, I managed to pull the whole thing down on top of me. Those cans sure made a terrible racket when they hit the floor."

"Great, just great. I bet that attracted some unwanted attention."

"I'm reasonably certain no one was around to hear it." Off his skeptical look, she mumbled, "at least I hope not."

Lee used his pen knife to pry open the hidden panel. Feeling around the tight space with his hands, he came up empty. "Amanda, there's nothing here."

"The explosives have to be there. I put everything back exactly the way I found it. And, to be on the safe side, I kept a watchful eye on the craft cabin all day."

"Okay, let me take a better look." Stepping on the bottom shelf, he tested his weight, before boosting himself up higher. "I hope this thing holds."

"Be careful, Lee," Amanda cautioned, worried that he'd pull the shelving down on top of them. In her eagerness to help, she braced both her hands against his rear end, trying to lend support.

He turned to give her a pointed look, but said nothing.

"What?" she asked, clueless to his stare.

"Amanda, do you mind?" He swatted at her hands. "It might work better if you don't distract me."

"Oh, ah, sorry," she croaked, backing off like she'd scorched her fingers on a burning flame. What in the world was she thinking?

Peering into the hidden compartment, he shook his head. "Well, there's nothing here. You've had visitors for sure." Jumping down and missing her toes by a fraction of an inch, he wiped his dusty hands on his pants.

Amanda sucked in a breath, fighting the urge to brush off his jeans. Why did he have to look so darn irresistible at a time like this? She tried to distract herself by focusing on a mosquito that buzzed around his head. "Lee, maybe it's time to question the summer staff."

"Yeah, you're right." Absently, he swatted the bloodsucker as it landed on his neck. "Damn bug," he groaned, scratching the bite. Then crossing his arms in front of him, he assumed a defensive posture. "Amanda, without clear knowledge of the team players, I can't guess who's playing ball with terrorists. You saw the need to call in the cavalry. What are your instincts about the staff?"

"Ah, well," she started to say. The words caught in her throat as she stared at the beads of sweat pooling along his hairline. Perspiration trailed down his short sideburns and dripped onto the neckline of his t-shirt. Amanda faked a cough and averted her eyes from the masculine distraction. Gosh it was getting hot in the tight confines of the closet. Automatically, she reached for a thin paperback songbook and begin to fan them both. "I'm sorry, what was your question?"

"Amanda, you're not listening," he complained, grabbing the songbook from her hands.

She gave herself a mental shake and smiled weakly. "Well, everything seems pretty straight forward. Brandi is an excellent leader and a talented lady, but there's something peculiar that's hard to explain." Her voice trailed off.

"What?" He bent his head toward her lips, apparently trying to hear her words.

Amanda couldn't stop herself. She leaned in a little closer and whispered next to his ear. "Brandi seems too well put-together for camp life."

"Put-together?" Lee pulled away so fast, he bumped his head on the dangling light bulb. "What the hell is that supposed to mean?"

"Oh, never mind." Too late, Amanda realized it was foolhardy to offer her perspective on feminine style to her partner. In Lee's world of glamorous women, vintage wines and gourmet foods, Brandi probably seemed perfectly normal.

He gripped her arm lightly, using it as leverage to make his point. "No, really, tell me what strikes you the most about Brandi Litchfield? The peace camp committee indicated she's well respected as a camp director."

"An off-site committee doesn't see Miss Litchfield in action," Amanda defended, trying to explain her rationale.

"And?"

"Well, I noticed she doesn't get her hands dirty."

"What?" He gave her an incredulous look. "Oh, Amanda, that's pretty lame."

"Think about it," she argued, poking a finger at his chest for added emphasis. "We're roughing it here, not getting ready for a cotillion. Everyone gets down and dirty at camp. Brandi would look more natural sipping a Mint Julep on the veranda of a southern mansion than collecting firewood for a campfire."

"Well, that's quite a stretch. She's the director, after all. I think you're over-reaching in your assessment."

"Lee, I'm sorry, but I just don't trust her. Have you noticed her eyes?"

"Her eyes? Yeah, I've noticed them. They're green, right?"

"Yes," she said, trying to avoid his intense hazel gaze. "Everyone describes Brandi as a ray of sunshine, but I see storm clouds in those green eyes. She's keeping a secret."

"Hell, we all keep secrets."

"Fine. You're probably right. You can judge her for yourself. After all, the two of you will be spending a lot of time together." The names and faces of Ava Spinelli, Magda Petrak and Lady Bromfield flashed through her mind. Gosh, for a ladies man, Lee could be blind to the foibles of women.

"Well," he said impatiently. "Do you have any other stellar insights?"

"I'm thinking," she said, biting back a nasty retort as she rehearsed the idiosyncrasies of the eclectic camp staff. "Let's see, Pete, the camp manager is quiet. Good luck having much of a conversation with him. He often communicates with grunts and nods. However, he's an accomplished carpenter, and if you need your toilet unclogged, he's your man."

"Fine! I'll definitely make a point of engaging Pete. What else have you observed?"

"Loretta Merkel, the camp cook, will talk your ear off - mostly nit-picky gossip. The woman will find fault with everyone, but I'd pay attention. She has her finger on the pulse of the camp."

"Well, I've hung out in enough mess halls to know how that goes. Maybe, I'll have to peel some potatoes soon and lend her my ear. Who else is a candidate?"

Amanda felt a smile tug at the corners of her mouth. "One of the lifeguards looks like the guy on Magnum, P.I."

"Oh, great." Lee rolled his eyes with obvious contempt.

Good Lord, where was she going with this train of thought? "Well, you know, um, Tom 'what's his name' on the private eye TV show. Of course, I don't watch it. Well, not much, anyway. However, sometimes Mother has it on. . . ."

"Your mother? Amanda, we're looking for clues here, not documenting your mother's favorite television shows."

"Yes, of course." Her hands fumbled with the hem of her shirt, while she tried to organize her jumbled thoughts. Why was it so hard to describe another handsome man to Lee Stetson? "Well, I'm trying to tell you about Chuck Harper," she continued. "You've probably met Chuck, the waterfront director."

"You think Chuck looks like your favorite private eye?"

"Well, not exactly, but similar. You know - tall, black curly hair, mustache, handsome."

"I got that, Amanda." Lee started to pace in the impossibly small area. Two steps right - pivot. Two steps left - pivot.

Moving out of his way, with her back to the wall, Amanda pressed on. "Yes, well, Chuck is too tall."

"Too tall for what?" Lee asked, his patience teetering at the breaking point. "Amanda, must we play twenty questions?"

She bit back a retort and hurried on. "Lee, I'm trying to say that Chuck may be too tall to be the man I spotted in the fog last night."

His jaw dropped open. "That's it? Well, thank you for the valuable information. We've hardly narrowed down the possibilities." Lee brushed a hand over his short hair, looking up in surprise when he seemed to remember his crown and glory was truly gone. "Damn it," he said, dropping his hand to his side. "So, Amanda, besides the fact that your mystery man doesn't look like your TV hero, does anything else stand out?"

"Well, one of the two people threatening the camp had an accent." "Okay, that's a lead," Lee said, his interest definitely heightened. "What kind of accent?"

"The man was saying 'ye' instead of you. 'Da,' instead of Dad. It sounded Irish to me."

Lee blew out a long breath and gave her arm a squeeze. "Good, Amanda. At least we have something to go on. Did anything about the second person stand out?"

"The voice was high pitched, so I can't be sure if I heard a female or a male. The second person didn't have an accent." Amanda slid her hands into the pockets of her jeans and shrugged her shoulders. "The companion could be any of the college girls I met this week or even a teenage male."

"Okay, it's not much, but it's all we've got." Lee pushed the supplies back into place and shoved the box of tin cans onto the top shelf. When everything was ready, he handed Amanda her jacket, motioned toward the door, and tugged on the light cord, casting them into darkness.

Before they could exit, the screech of a screen door brought them up short. Someone had entered the craft cabin. An illumination moved under the closet door, as the beam of a flashlight scanned the main room.

Lee's hand shot out to halt Amanda's exit. Grabbing her around the waist, he pulled her backward, placing his hand firmly over her mouth. "Wait," he whispered.

When she nodded in understanding, he slowly dropped his hand. Two bare arms encircled her like a cocoon as he bound her body tightly to his own. Too tight, in her estimation, but, given the predicament they were in, who was she to quibble.

Voices echoed through the cabin, confirming the presence of at least two people. The lightness of their tone and the mingling of their laughter made it seem non-threatening. Regardless, it wouldn't look good for Amanda King and Skip Stanton, if they were caught in a dark supply closet.

The wait seemed interminable. Despite the stuffiness in the enclosed area, goose bumps erupted along her forearms as Lee's hot skin pressed against her exposed flesh. Secured in place, she sagged against him, acutely conscious of the rise and fall of his chest. She'd have to sort out all the mixed signals he was sending when he wasn't standing so close. For now, Amanda reminded the doubting part of her brain that her relationship with Lee was strictly business. The intimacy of the moment was just Scarecrow being protective and keeping her out of trouble.

To her horror, the voices grew louder as footsteps scuffed across the floor toward their hiding place.

"Let's check the supply closet," came the distinct nasal twang of Tonya, one of the female lifeguards. "No one will mind if we borrow a few pencils and a notebook for the dock."

"Good idea," her companion squeaked in a youthful voice.

A thump against the door announced their imminent arrival. "How do you open this thing?" Tonya asked with an annoying whine.

"If you'll move, I'll show you. The latch is tricky." With the sound of scuffling feet and adolescent giggles, the two seemed to change places.

"Ouch. Watch it, Frankie. That's my foot." There was another burst of laughter.

"Oh, my gosh." Amanda turned to face Lee, her heart fluttering wildly in her chest. "What do we do?"

"Play along," Lee whispered as he gathered her snuggly against his frame. There was an exhale of warm breath, and then his mouth descended, crushing her lips beneath his own.

Stunned, Amanda felt her knees buckle. This couldn't be happening. But it was, and she caught on fast. By God, she was going to validate his chosen cover. Pulling back a little, she braced her hands against his chest, reveling in the play of muscles beneath her fingers and the brush of whiskers against her chin. Eagerly accepting his offering, she tenderly moved her lips against the contours of his greedy mouth.

He deepened the kiss and she rewarded his efforts with a pent up passion that longed for release. For an endless moment, all reason took flight. Then, with great effort, she reminded herself to stay focused. This was all an act. Even so, it was the best role she'd ever played.

As expected, the door flew open, the light cord was pulled, and they were fully exposed to their unsuspecting audience.

"Oh, excuse me," Tonya cried, before recognition dawned. "Mrs. King?"

Lee pulled back first, his expression a mixture of shock and awe. Blowing out a rough breath, he flashed his best Stetson smile for the benefit of the intruders. "Well," he said in a husky voice, "there's no privacy around here."

"I'm so sorry," Tonya said, holding her hands to her face in complete dismay.

"Aren't you two a little old for necking in closets?" the squeaky clean Frankie McGuire asked, his voice changing from manly baritone to boy soprano in mid-sentence.

"Frankie!" Tonya chastised him with a poke of her elbow.

A flush of embarrassment burned its way from Amanda's chest to her cheeks. "Please excuse us. We are just . . ."

"Just catching up on old times," Lee supplied with a boyish wink. "We were quite an item in high school. What a shock it was to find each other after all these years." Taking a healthy step back from his supposed ex-girlfriend, he grinned again. "We wanted to enjoy a kiss for old time sake. There's nothing more to it."

"No, nothing more to it," Amanda added, her breathing still a bit labored. Running a trembling finger along the neckline of her shirt, she forced a smile and changed the subject. "So, what can I do for you?"

"Ah, forget it. We'll come back tomorrow." Tonya turned around and shoved Frankie out the door. Then lowering the beams of their flashlights toward the floorboards, the two practically ran for the exit.

Amanda watched them go, dreading any gossip that might arise from the encounter. "That went well, don't you think?" she said, with biting sarcasm. "What if this gets back to the rest of the staff?"

"Forget it, Amanda. No one is going to believe them."

"Well, thank you very much." To her chagrin, she was more affected than he was by the kiss. "I thought we had an Oscar winning performance," she mumbled under her breath.

Lee's eyes widened, before he coughed and looked away. "Let it go, will yeah?" Quickly he yanked at the dangling light cord and led her from the closet.

Amanda grabbed the back of his shirt before he could escape. "What should I do about Mother and the boys? They're scheduled to arrive tomorrow. Things might get dangerous, and they really shouldn't see us working together."

"God, I forgot. Billy did say they'd be here." Turning on his heel, he exhaled an exasperated breath. "Listen, I don't think they should come at all."

"Gosh, they're going to be very disappointed if I tell them not to show up."

"I know, I know." He rested a comforting hand at the narrow of her waist. "Amanda, disappointment is better than the alternative. Do you think you could use the phone in the camp office while everyone is busy with orientation? If you're going to cancel their plans, you should probably do it tonight."

"I'll try, but it will take a pretty convincing reason to change Mother's mind."

He patted her back gently and then turned to go. "Maybe," he called over his shoulder, "you could tell her the whole concept of a peace camp may be blown out of proportion."

To be continued