Chapter 5 Charles & Deborah Kluge Charles & Deborah Kluge 2 0 2001-11-05T01:49:00Z 2001-11-05T01:49:00Z 4 1422 8107 67 16 9955 9.2720

Chapter 5

"No, I don't think so.  Perhaps some other time."  Lee smiled mechanically at the lovely, dark-eyed vixen that clung possessively to his right arm.  He could feel her body pressed against him from elbow to ankle and the smell of her perfume all but overwhelmed him.  Detaching her hand as gently as he could, he eased away from her, gesturing toward the table in the far corner of the club.  "I'm here with friends."

"I could join you," she said suggestively.  "I wouldn't mind meeting your friends . . ."

Lee shook his head again.  "Not tonight," he replied firmly.  Tossing a handful of lire down on the bar, he snatched up his drink and beat a hasty retreat.  As he threaded his way through the milling crowd, the heavy dance beat triggered a painful throbbing behind his eyes.  Carefully, he edged out of the crowd and retreated to a shadowed corner against the wall, as far away from the flashing lights and brittle laughter as he could get.

What the hell am I doing here? he asked himself wearily.  Why didn't I just beg off and go back to the hotel?

But he knew why.  He'd really had very little choice.  Once again, his reputation had preceded him and he'd been under pressure to go out and party since the day he arrived.  At first, things had been so busy, he hadn't had much trouble finding excuses not to go.  But after a few days, a routine developed and he began to find his nights free.

He could feel them watching and waiting.  Here was the great Scarecrow himself . . . the infamous ladies' man . . . the one that never went home before the clubs closed . . . and then never went home alone.  They wanted to watch him work, to see if he was as good as everyone claimed he was.  And certainly there wasn't a shortage of candidates.  Within the first day, all of the eligible females in the Italian agency had dropped hints of one kind or another, as had several who weren't as eligible as they should be for the kind of things they were insinuating.  It was no different than it had ever been.  But for some reason, this time all it did was leave a sour taste in the back of his throat.

Leaning against the wall, he closed his eyes and tried to shut out the driving rhythm.  All he wanted was to go home.  Back to the comfort of the familiar D.C. streets, to his own office, his own car, his . . . Amanda.  He saw her again in his mind's eye, color rising in her cheeks, her brown eyes sparkling, her full lips slightly parted.  The intensity of his sudden desire jerked him rudely back to reality.  With a sharp oath, he drained the drink in his hand in one long draught.

Stop being a fool! he swore at himself.  She's your partner.  You know what can happen when you start thinking like this.  Shoving off from the wall, he waded back into the crowd, making his way back to the corner table where his co-workers were seated.  The crowd had grown since he left it.  He'd come to this club with Paulo and Vincente, the two Italian coordinators for his latest assignment.  Both were single and loved the nightlife.  They were the ones who had been urging him to join them for a night on the town, and tonight they'd been particularly persistent.  Finally, he'd bowed to the inevitable and agreed to go.

They'd made the rounds of the Rome club scene, finally ending up here about an hour ago.  Since that time, he'd been hit on three separate times, the last being up at the bar.  Lee noted that since he'd left the table, both men had acquired companions. There were also two men he didn't know and a third that he did.  Lee shook his head and sighed regretfully.  He should have expected this.  After all, the man was assigned to the southern European theater and it wouldn't have taken the grapevine long to spread the word that Scarecrow was in Italy.

"Hey, look what the cat dragged in," he drawled as he came up to the table.  "What took you so long?  I expected you days ago."

The blonde head tilted back and emerald eyes gazed at him with friendly humor.  "Well, well.  It's Scarecrow himself.  How ya been, buddy?"

Lee rounded the table and dropped back into his chair, setting his empty highball glass on the table in front of him.  Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Paulo catch the nearby waitress and point at his empty glass.  Ignoring him, Lee leaned back and eyed the man across from him with a wary smile.  "Life's good, Scorpion.  Things must be going well for you, too.  You're still alive."

"I'm too good for them to catch me, Scarecrow, you ought to know that by now."

Lee snorted.  "It's not going to be the enemy that takes you out, my friend.  It's your questionable choice in women.  Whatever happened to . . . what was her name, anyway?  The blonde Russian . . ."

"Katiana?  Found her just rewards, but not with me.  She's married to an Austrian count now."

Lee laughed.  "What is it with you, Patrick?  You're always losing your paramours to wealthy aristocrats."

Patrick Eldridge, aka the Scorpion, grinned amiably.  "At least it leaves 'em happy."

"You have a point, I suppose."

Patrick looked around pointedly and then quirked an eyebrow at Lee.  "You look a bit underdressed, Lee, my friend.  I'm accustomed to seeing you with a lady on at least one arm . . . usually on both.  What's up?"

Lee shrugged.  "Been busy."

"Don't buy that one," Patrick said taking a swallow of his drink.  "Paulo says that you've been in this club for over an hour.  That's more than enough time for the infamous Scarecrow.  Furthermore, I saw the little lovely you sidestepped at the bar a while ago."

"She wasn't my type," Lee replied, trying to stifle his irritation.  The waitress came up and set a fresh drink down in front of him.  He eyed it warily and then glanced over at Paulo.

"Double scotch on the rocks."  He gestured at Patrick with his chin.  "He said that's what you drink."

Resignedly, Lee picked it up.  Raising the glass in a mocking salute, he sipped it cautiously.  The liquor slid down easily, the mellow flavor marking it as a good single malt.  Lee looked over at Paulo in surprise.  "Very nice.  Thanks."  Feeling eyes on him, he looked back at Patrick again.  "What?" he demanded.  The expression on Scorpion's face made him very uneasy.

"When I heard, I just couldn't believe it.  I told Sandman he was delusional.  Not Scarecrow . . . anyone but Scarecrow.  But by God, I think he was right."

"What are you talking about?" Lee asked irritably, taking another swallow from his glass.  He shifted his shoulders uneasily, trying to ease the building tension within himself.

"You.  And all those nasty rumors."

"What rumors?"

"About the gorgeous brunette . . ."

"Brunette?  What brunette?"  Lee cast his mind back frantically, trying to remember whom he'd been dating recently.  His mind drew an utter blank.  He couldn't remember dating anyone recently.  He spent most of his free time with Amanda.  That realization caused panic to curl through his gut.  "You mean Leslie?" he finally asked in desperation.

Patrick shook his head, his grin widening even more.  "No, not Leslie.  I've heard about her.  Not exactly your type either, I'd have thought.  Way too brainy.  No, from what I hear, this one's named Amanda."

"Amanda!"  Oh God, Lee thought frantically, what do I say?  He leaned back in his chair and laughed, draining his glass once again, but the alcohol didn't seem to be helping.  He was still way too tense.  "You had me going this time, Scorpion.  I'll admit it."

"So you're saying you don't know a woman named Amanda?"

"Where the hell have you been?  Of course I know a woman named Amanda! Compliments of Billy Melrose, I've been saddled with Amanda King as my on-again, off-again partner for the last couple of years." 

"Saddled?" Scorpion asked with an inquisitive look.  "So you're not interested in her."

"In Amanda?  She's a suburban housewife with two kids, for God's sake.  What do you think?"

"I'll admit that it doesn't sound like your style.  I've heard she's a real looker, though."

Unbidden, the image of Amanda rose in Lee's mind, and that sharp pang of desire lanced through him again.  What is wrong with me, he asked himself desperately.  Dorothy . . . remember what happened to Dorothy!

"What do you mean?  What have you heard about Amanda?"

Patrick contemplated him for a minute, then slowly and with apparent relish, he said, "Soft brown hair, brown eyes to get lost in, smooth skin, full lips, a supple body, and legs so long they never seem to end.  She sounds heavenly.  I've been thinking of requesting a transfer back to the States.  If she's fair game . . ."

Lee felt his vision focusing sharply on the man across the table and a loud roaring filled his ears as rage rose up in him like a wave.  I'll kill him, he thought blindly.  If he goes near her, I'll kill him.

His breath seemed to freeze in his lungs as that thought really registered.  Oh God . . . Oh God . . . What's happening to me?  Amanda?  Not Amanda!!  Lee took a deep breath, fighting desperately to hide his panic from those around him.  He forced a hollow laugh and shrugged.  "I suppose Amanda's all right, if you like the type.  You know me, I prefer blondes."  The waitress suddenly reappeared at Lee's elbow and set another drink in front of him.  When he looked at her questioningly, she stepped back and gestured toward a nearby table.

"Compliments of the lady in green."

Lee leaned forward and looked toward the table.  A long-legged redhead in a tight green dress lifted her glass with a smile.  Or redheads, he thought frantically.  A redhead will do . . .  Lee smiled back and raised the new glass in reply.  Clamping down ruthlessly on the radiant memory of Amanda's face, he knocked back the drink hastily and then rose from the table.  "If you will forgive me, gentlemen, I believe that's my cue . . ."