Amanda heard the
telltale squeak of the bathroom door as it slowly opened.
"You aren't asleep
in there, are you?"
Opening her eyes, she
found Lee squatting beside the tub, a lopsided grin on his face.
"No," she answered in kind. "Just relaxing a little."
Reaching out, she laid her hand against his face, the prickly evening stubble
like sandpaper as she traced the curve of his cheek. "You're late
again."
"I know," he
grunted, rising to sit on the edge of the tub. "Couldn't be helped."
"Did you eat
something, at least?"
"Billy ordered us
something from the cafeteria," he replied, stifling a yawn as he leaned
over to plant a soft kiss on her forehead. She sighed as he pulled back, pursing her lips together as she saw the look
in his eyes. Lately, they always seemed to wear that same tired expression, but
this time she thought she caught a flash of something else before he turned
away.
"So, need someone
to wash your back?" he offered before she could comment.
"Sure." Passing him the sponge, she leaned forward,
struggling a bit as she shifted position. "What I wouldn't give right now
for that Jacuzzi we had on the island," she griped as she accepted his
helping hand.
"I know," he
agreed, a note of longing creeping into his voice. "But I'm afraid this
tub is definitely not made for two." She heard his low laugh as he moved
to a kneeling position behind her. "I'm not even sure it was made for one
and a half."
"Watch it,
Stetson," she warned ominously. "I may be a bit bulkier these days,
but I can still put up a pretty mean fight." She splashed some water
playfully in his direction.
"Maybe, but your
aim still hasn't improved much," he laughed as the water missed him and
hit the floor. "Okay, okay," he added quickly, grabbing her wrist
before she could prove him wrong. "You win. You could take me." He
leaned in, and she felt his lips against hers. "I wouldn't even put up
much of a struggle."
He kissed her again,
lightly at first, then with quickly building intensity. It produced that same familiar, tingly
feeling in the pit of her stomach. She wanted to respond, but she felt herself
holding back. The edginess she'd just
glimpsed in his eyes was also present in his kiss.
He suddenly stopped, and
she knew he'd recognized it, too. Sighing, he rested his forehead wearily
against hers.
"Lee. . . "
He took deep breath,
quickly looking away. "Sorry," he whispered in a low voice. "I
promised to wash your back, didn't I?"
Before she could answer,
he quickly moved behind her again, retrieving the floating sponge. She heard
the soft ripple of the water as he dipped below its surface. Following his
usual pattern, he began to wash her lower back with light, even strokes,
traveling higher on each circular pass. The familiar routine produced a feeling
of intimate comfort. By the time his rhythmic rubbing had reached her neck and
shoulders, Amanda could feel her tension ebb along with his. She knew that they
had both reached a decision.
"You don't seem too
surprised that my session with Billy ran late," he told her at last.
"Carrie came by
tonight. I really like her, you know?
It's funny - when Joe first told me that he hoped we'd be friends, I didn't
really think it would happen. I mean, I
thought. . ." She felt Lee give her shoulder a gentle squeeze, and she
exhaled softly. "They heard from the EAO."
"Do the boys know?"
She tightened her arms
around her knees, pulling herself as far forward as she could manage. "Yes. I
didn't want to lie to them."
"Well," he sighed,
"you did the right thing. They deserve to know the truth. . ."
"The truth," she
snorted, twisting her neck to relive the kinks. "I'm not sure I even know what
that is any more. Carrie said the EAO wasn't going to pay the ransom."
She heard his sharp
intake of breath as he tucked the sponge behind the small bar on the soap dish.
His fingers brushed through her hair before moving over her shoulders, then
down to gently knead the soft flesh on her arms. "They can't negotiate with terrorists," he whispered, his
warm breath lightly tickling her left ear. "You know that as well as I
do."
"Yeah, I do," she
croaked, swiftly banishing the unwelcome image of dark, piercing eyes from her
mind. "Joe must be so scared. . . and alone. I remember what that felt like."
She saw Lee quickly
avert his eyes, his attention suddenly focused on the thick white grout framing
the tiles. They seldom talked about what had happened with Addi Birol. Time had passed, but guilt kept the memories
still painfully fresh - his for not being able to protect her, hers for being
the unwitting cause of his purported treason.
He exhaled loudly,
gifting her with a bittersweet smile as he gently kissed the tip of her nose.
"I was so proud of you," he told her in a voice barely more than a
whisper. "You held on like a trooper. You have to believe that Joe will,
too."
"I did have one
advantage," she murmured, her brown eyes locking on his hazel ones. "I knew you'd come for me."
His head shook almost
imperceptibly as he leaned forward. It was a simple kiss, his lips barely
grazing hers as they made contact, but the emotion flowed between them like a
living thing, her eyes stinging with unexpected tears. Turning slightly so he
wouldn't see, she extended her hand. "Help me out of here, will you?"
she asked, her voice cracking despite her best efforts. "I'm about to turn
into a prune."
Rising, he grasped both
of her arms, pulling her easily from the tub. "Watch the water," he
warned, grabbing a towel and covering her as he helped her alight.
"Carrie was beside
herself," she said sadly, shivering a little as he gently patted her dry.
"Without help from the EAO. . . well, she doesn't think she can raise the
money to pay them herself."
"Five million is
pretty substantial," he agreed, reaching for her robe. "Even if she could get her hands on
that kind of money, it probably wouldn't do any good."
He held open the soft
terrycloth material and she turned, slipping her arms inside. "How did you
know the amount? She said Stevenson from the EAO only found out early this
evening."
"They requested
Agency intervention." He looked away, not quite meeting her eye.
"And?"
"Officially, the
answer is, 'no'. Bush may denounce the taking of American hostages, but at this
point, the only stand he's willing to make is a verbal one."
She watched as he began
to methodically unbutton his shirt, focusing an inordinate amount of attention
on a task that was second nature to him. Avoiding her gaze once more, he
swiftly removed it, tossing it carefully into the hamper.
"And unofficially?"
she prompted softly as he started on his pants. Slipping out of them, he waited
until they were neatly folded before finally meeting her eye.
"Unofficially is
another story."
She sighed. "It
always is."
"I told Billy I had
to talk to you."
She turned away this
time, bracing her hands against the sink. Looking up, she glanced into the
mirror, but Lee's reflection was indistinct, blurred by the steamy remains of
her bath. She heard the sound of running water behind her, and his murmured promise
to be out in a few minutes. She briefly wondered if he'd made his decision
before or after she'd so conveniently placed the notion in his head.
Sighing once again, she
headed into the bedroom. Reaching into
the drawer, she drew out a nightgown, discarding her robe and pulling the soft
blue material quickly over her head. This was her favorite, the one she'd taken
to wearing whenever Lee worked late. The soft fabric was warm and comfortable,
the memories more so. It brought to mind red-capped men and gray October
mornings.
She heard the shower
shut off. Lee emerged a few minutes later, a large yellow bath towel wrapped
securely about his waist. He paused by the dresser, humming an indistinct
melody as he towel-dried his hair with short, vigorous strokes. When he finished, he slid open the top
drawer, its annoying creek grating like fingernails on a chalkboard. One more
thing he somehow hadn't gotten around to fixing. She turned away as he rummaged
through it for something to wear, knew even without looking that he'd selected
the usual boxers and t-shirt.
When she spoke, the
words came out in a whisper. "Who
would your partner be?"
"John
Pierce." He closed the drawer with his hip, then walked slowly into the
bathroom to discard his towels. "Houdini is a good man," she heard
him call. "I've worked with him before."
"Still. . . "
He left the bathroom,
hesitating for a second in the doorway before slowly closing the distance
between them. "Amanda, there was a tape." His arms tightened around
her from behind, his lips nuzzling her ear. "If we wait for this to play
itself out through official channels, it might be too late."
She felt his fingers
wander down her arm, then across her abdomen in slow circles. The baby inside
her kicked lightly; an elbow or maybe a knee, she thought distractedly. Leaning
back against her husband with a tremulous sigh, she covered his hand with hers,
pressing it against her. "He needs his daddy."
"No one knows that
better than I do," he croaked, his voice hoarse and raspy. "But so do
Phillip and Jamie."
She twisted in his arms,
reaching up to gently cup his cheek. "I know that, too."
Grasping her hand, he
lightly kissed her palm, drawing her with him to the bed. Turning out the
light, he slid beneath the covers. He held open the sheet in invitation, and
she sank down beside him. Spooning against her, he enclosed her in his arms and
whispered softly in her ear.
"Think about
it."