AN: Sorry if this update was a tad late(r). On top of life's usual hassles, my phone stopped working out of the blue so I had to sort that out.

Also, a forewarning! There are two sentences in this chapter that are borderline "M" rated, so keep that in mind before reading. And as always, please review!

/

"It's not too late to change your mind," Dotty said. "The boys and I can cancel our trip. Or you could come along. Reverend Milton has an extra seat in his car."

Amanda stuffed Jamie's favourite pillow into a teeming suitcase. Her family was going away to Williamsburg for the weekend, and as usual, the boys had put off packing until the last second. With some effort, she dragged the zipper tab closed. Then she stood up, wiping a sheen of sweat from her forehead.

"Oh, no. I think it'd be good for me to be alone. And the boys are so excited…"

Dotty did not press the point, just stretched out and held her tight.

"You need to tell them," she said into her ear.

"Yes, Mother, I will."

"Preferably after the trip. The sooner they can adjust to the idea, the better."

"I'll tell them as soon as they're unpacked," Amanda said appeasingly.

They separated with matching smiles, although Dotty's was decidedly more toothy. Less forced. A soft horn sounded outside, and on the second honk, Jamie charged into the den, with Phillip not far behind.

"Reverend Milton is here to pick us up!"

"Well let's not keep him waiting," Amanda said. "But first, c'mere."

Bracing herself, she knelt and opened her arms. Jamie grafted himself to her side. Not to be outdone, Phillip flew down the adjoining step and claimed her other arm. Jostled by the force of their hugs, she wobbled on the balls of her feet.

"Listen to your grandmother." She pecked Phillip's hair. "And take lots of photos of old buildings for me." A second kiss for Jamie's forehead. "I love you both."

The goodbyes were swift but sincere. Each son claimed his luggage then bounded up the step to the entry. Dotty was the last to leave. She patted Amanda consolingly.

"If you need us, we'll be at the Plum and Pig Inn. I left the number on the fridge."

And just like that, Amanda was alone. The Reverend's old hatchback puttered down the road and faded from her ears, taking her family with it.

But it was not her family's absence that she felt most keenly.

In the silence and privacy of her home, she began to break down. Her throat closed so that she had to squeeze out each sound.

"The worst part about this work is the feelings. Lee always said not to get attached," she said to herself, words cracking into little splinters. "He was r-right about that."

"I never thought I'd live to hear you say that," said a warm baritone.

Mouth agape, Amanda rose and did a one-eighty.

Lee was waiting under the back doorframe, a satchel slung over his shoulder and dimples in full force. Ficus leaves framed his face. Aside from a slight pallor, he looked the exact same—refined, rugged, roguish, and alive. He circled the couch and continued to speak.

"Actually I didn't live to see it. Not officially, of course."

He stopped just shy of five feet, as if unsure of the greeting he'd receive. Amanda rose in a trance.

"You're alive?"

"Last I checked."

"You're alive and standing in my family room." This time it wasn't a question.

"That's right."

Tears welled in her eyes. Mired in an outpouring of affection and relief, she rushed to him and collided with his chest. His solid body reassured her better than any words. Lee stumbled back, rigid as a steel pole.

"Ow, ow-"

She jumped then skittered backwards, staring at him in concern. Lines bracketed his forehead and there were grooves between his brows. Sometime in the commotion, his satchel crumpled to the carpet. No one bothered to retrieve it.

"Oh, God. Did I hurt you?"

"A little bit, yeah."

Anger sparked through her like a live wire. "Good." She whirled so that her back was to him, griping and sniffling under her breath. "I am so angry with you!"

"What, for being alive?"

"No! For whatever it is you're pulling. Whatever sick, secret mission you're on that causes this deceit."

"Look, was it a nice funeral?" Lee asked, far too flip. "Not too fancy?"

"Oh-!" Her voice climbed an octave.

"Sort of 'come as you are'..."

"How dare you make jokes?" She turned back around. Her voice dropped to a whisper. "Three days, Lee. Three. Days."

At last, Lee seemed to register the gravity of her reaction. "Hey," he said, stepping closer. "Hey, it's OK."

"No it's not."

Another step brought them within arm's reach. "I'm here now, aren't I?"

Amanda ducked her head and bit the inside of her cheek. She didn't dare look at him. She saw his casket go down, she heard eulogies, she mourned him.

"I've been really upset about this. I'm still upset about it. I thought I lost a friend, and that hurt. And I was frightened t-too and, uh…"

She hugged herself above a teensy bump, bundled by folds of cloth. Red blotches mottled her cheeks and her shoulders shook like pistons. She looked like a wreck and felt worse, but rallied herself.

"I know you don't like tears," she began again. "I know they frighten you more than bullets, so I'm sorry about this little scene. But you brought it on yourself because none of it would be necessary if you weren't dead—which you are not—and I cared that you were dead. And I don't care if you don't care that I care!"

"I do care," Lee said. The aftershocks of her explosion left him subdued and almost shy. "Really. Thank you."

They stood in companionable silence, not quite touching, but on the cusp. A moat divided them from anything more. If Lee objected to her usage of "friend", he didn't voice it. It felt right.

Amanda dabbed under her eyes. "You're welcome. Would you like a sandwich?"

"That would be nice."

She led him into the kitchen, maintaining a good four feet or so between them. As soon as they crossed the threshold she was assaulted by memories. Digging through the fridge offered a momentary respite, but that could only last so long. She turned and clutched the deli meat to her turtleneck-blouse combo. Lee had boosted himself onto the island and was waiting patiently.

His weight impaled her in place, pressing her pelvis into the counter. Her nails scrabbled the laminate while something wet and warm ran down her leg.

His husky voice brought her reminiscing to a screeching halt. "'Haven't been in here for a while," he said. Apparently his mind was in the same gopher hole as hers.

Amanda didn't deign to reply. "Why did you do it?" she asked instead.

"I nearly was dead."

She dropped a bagged loaf beside him and stared.

"My pen pal, the guy who wrote that note at Monk's? He attacked me three days ago. Nearly made good his threat."

"Are you OK?"

"Except for a little vent in my left shoulder, yeah."

Grimacing, Amanda took two slices of bread and set them on a plate. First that gunshot in his right shoulder, and now a stab wound to the left. She knew that Lee was a trained operative. Logically, he must have more than his fair share of scrapes and close calls. But that did nothing to dampen her ruth.

Lee kept talking as she smeared mayonnaise on one side and laid a wad of ham overtop. He filled her in on his recovery, the masked man's escape, and what little evidence they had.

"Billy and I figured that if the killer thought I was dead, he'd feel free to move on to his next victim. He'd never suspect I was investigating my own murder. You and Billy are the only two who know the plan. Got any milk?"

"In the refrigerator," Amanda said, dazed by all these developments.

Lee reached into the refrigerator and pulled out a jug from the back. In spite of herself, she found her gaze drifting to his shapely backside. The slam of the door brought her senses back to reality. For shame. The man had been resurrected for fifteen minutes, and this was how she reacted? Her eyes swung away.

"How are you gonna investigate if you're supposed to be dead? You can't show your face. Who's going to do your leg work? If Billy and I are the only two th-"

Lee's expression answered her questions for her. It was her. It was always her.

"Oh," she squeaked.

"I'm not crazy about the idea either. But the killer is obviously plugged into the intelligence community and Billy wanted someone the guy wouldn't know."

"Say I do volunteer. What would be our game plan? Where would we rendezvous? Where would our headquarters be? How are you supposed to hide?"

"See, now this part is either incredibly convenient, or incredibly awkward, depending on your answer."

"To what question?"

"Can I stay here?"

"No."

He planted the heels of his palms into the countertop and leaned forward, determined and timid, forceful but faltering.

"Look, no one I know would ever look for me here and everyone you know is out of town. So if you could just get past the psychological barrier of having me around, everything would be swell." He breezed out of the kitchen, back to his discarded day bag. "So where do you want me to put my things, hm?"

"Guatemala," Amanda muttered under her breath.

Living in close quarters was out of the question. Her wandering thoughts over the past few minutes proved that. Life was enough of a pressure-cooker without Lee thrown into the mix. Although…

She laid a hand on her navel. Maybe this was fate's way of intervening. An excuse to drop the bombshell. A second chance. She shed this notion like loose skin.

They were in a good place right now. Telling the truth would bring them back to square one, and in the middle of an important case, no less. Quite literally a life-or-death situation. Plus, she'd be lying if she said that she wasn't still peeved at him. She slapped the two halves of Lee's sandwich together, then sighed.

Another opportunity would come along. Hopefully before her family returned.