Chapter 10
Lee stared blankly into the frenzied crowd feeling numb. Around him, the mass of people showed no sign of thinning. He looked down at his watch blearily . . . 2:10 . . . early morning here in Rome . . . a little after 8:00 on a Sunday evening in D.C.
What are they doing? he wondered drunkenly. Those people that I call friends back in the U.S. What are they doing right now?
Billy would be with Jeanine and the kids. That was a given. The Agency never stopped. Morning, noon, and night . . . one endless day after another . . . year upon year . . . it continued relentlessly. But somehow Billy had learned how to put the brakes on and find some small measure of calm in the endless ebb and flow of the work. Had made a place in his life where normalcy ruled and there were people who loved him unconditionally waiting. What would that be like? he wondered. To have someone waiting when you came home . . . to know there was someone who really cared . . .
And Francine? What would she be doing mid-evening on a Sunday? Out, most likely, with a senator or some other wealthy aristocrat. Power and money, that was what she looked for in a companion. No common, everyday, run-of-the-mill guy for her . . . not since Jonathan. No one knew better than Lee the price Francine had paid for letting her guard down and allowing Jonathan to get close. She'd never been the same after he left.
Like you, his little voice whispered. It had been nagging at him for days. You let your guard down . . . let her in. Just like you let Dorothy in.
"Go away!" he snarled under his breath. Amanda. Lee shook his head, clutching the bar abruptly as the movement unsettled his balance. He didn't want to think about Amanda. He looked around for the redhead, but she was nowhere in sight. How the hell long does it take to go to the bathroom? he thought irritably. As long as he had her to focus on, he could keep the thoughts of Amanda at bay.
"What can I get you?"
Lee turned unsteadily to look at the man behind the bar. "What?"
"I said, what can I get for you?"
Lee stared at him uncomprehendingly for a long moment. Then he shook his head abruptly. "Nothing. I don't need anything." Pushing away from the bar, he stumbled toward the back of the club. He wasn't entirely sure what drove him. All he knew was that he had the sudden urgent need to talk to someone sane . . . someone who knew him for who he really was . . . not Scarecrow, the covert operative – the spy . . . but Lee Stetson, the man. The compulsion was overpowering and irresistible.
Struggling through the crowds unsteadily, he pushed toward the back of the club. He knew he'd seen a phone somewhere. He wasn't quite sure where, but he knew he had to find it. Finally forced into asking one of the bouncers in the club, he was directed to a dim back corner of a dingy corridor far away from the dance floor. Here the sounds of the club were blessedly muted and the dull light seemed to ease the ache in his skull.
Fumbling a little, he picked up the receiver and pressed the code for calling card dialing. Reluctantly, with a series of pops, clicks, and static, the connection was made and he blindly began entering numbers. His hand seemed to move with a life of its own, entering access codes, card numbers, country codes, and finally a phone number. He gave no thought to the numbers . . . just keyed them in instinctively. And then it was ringing. Once. Twice. A third time . . .
"Hello?"
Lee blinked, struggling to force his mind to register that someone had answered.
"Hello? Is someone there?"
This time the words registered clearly and he clutched the phone like a lifeline, recognizing the voice and knowing suddenly what number he had called. "Is A-Amanda there?" A blast of static caused him to pull the phone away from his ear sharply. When he returned it, he could barely hear the voice on the other end.
"Hello? Are you still there?"
"Yes. Is Amanda there?" Abruptly, the interference disappeared and the response was as clear as if Dottie was right next door.
"No, I'm sorry, she's not. You just missed her."
"Oh." She wasn't home? On a Sunday night? He clutched the phone tighter. How could that be? "Do you know when she'll be back?"
"I'm afraid it will be late," Dotty replied. "She has an engagement for the evening. May I tell her who's calling?"
Lee staggered back and leaned heavily against the wall. She was out . . . on a date. Again, the crackle of static blurred the connection and then receded once more.
"Are you still there? Hello? I can't hear you . . ."
"I-I was hoping to talk to Amanda," he said, still reeling.
"Who is this?" Under normal circumstances, Lee could have fielded the question easily, but the combination of liquor, his emotional turmoil, and Dottie's sharply demanding tone pulled a response from him before he even realized what he was saying.
"L-Lee." There was a brief pause.
"Lee? Lee wh . . . oh, wait! Her boss? Lee Stedman? Or is it Stetson?"
"Stetson," he agreed numbly. "Lee Stetson."
"I'm so sorry, Mr. Stetson. I don't know why I can't keep that straight. For some reason, I got Stedman stuck in my mind and I just can't seem to get rid of it! That's just like me."
"Yes. Mrs. West, I –"
"I really am sorry, Mr. Stetson, but Amanda isn't here. That nice Commander Windsor took her out for the evening. They were going to some fancy dress ball. They just left." Dottie sighed happily. "She looked so lovely in that new gown . . ."
The pain that welled up inside of him was so intense that for an instant he thought he was going to be forced to his knees. His eyes closed and he leaned against the wall, struggling against the maelstrom of emotions that raged inside of him. Amanda, no! his mind cried to her. But she wasn't here. She was with Windsor. The memory was so clear . . . Amanda standing there looking up at him with that sweet, shy smile while he brought her hand to his lips and kissed it. Windsor had wanted her. It was written in every line of his body and every look he gave her. "Amanda . . . " he cried out under his breath.
"I beg your pardon? Mr. Stetson are you still there?"
With a mighty effort, he forced his mind back to the phone again. "Yes," he replied huskily. "Yes, I'm here, Mrs. West. I'm sorry. I got distracted. What did you say?"
"I asked if I could take a number or a message for you."
That question brought him abruptly back to awareness. "No!" he responded frantically. She couldn't know he'd called! Then, realizing how it must have sounded to Amanda's mother, he moderated his tone as best he could. "No, Mrs. West. It's not necessary. D-Don't even tell her I called. I wouldn't want her to think I was ch – . . . that she had missed my call. It's nothing urgent. I was just touching base . . . to see how things were going."
"Oh. Well, surely I should tell her that –"
"No! Please! She gets so . . . upset . . . if she thinks I wanted something and that she wasn't available. It – it is Sunday, after all. I-I just expected her to be home, that's all."
"I'm really very sorry."
"It doesn't matter. I need to go. Goodbye." He slammed the receiver down, not even giving a thought to what Amanda's mother must be thinking.
Amanda. And Windsor.
Jealousy, rage, fear, helplessness . . . the storm of emotions that tore at him at that thought left him shaking. What was happening to him? When had what Amanda King was doing . . . or who she was doing it with . . . become something that could rock his entire world?
When they decided to take her away from you, that voice in his head whispered to him again. Why are you surprised? You were hateful to her . . . hurt her so often. She put up with your temper tantrums and your attitudes, had absolute faith in everything you did, and accepted your half-hearted apologies without question. How long did you think she could continue that way? How long did you think Billy would allow it? Now he's going to give her a new partner and has put you as far away as he can so you don't interfere. And Windsor . . . he knows what he wants and won't hesitate to go after it. There's no way you can stop him.
With a ragged breath, he shoved himself off of the wall and stumbled back toward the lights and sounds of the club. He had to get back . . . back to the man he used to be . . . the man who was safe behind his walls . . . to the life he knew. If he didn't, he was lost.
The din hit him like a sledgehammer as he exited the back corridor into the main room. Without an instant's hesitation, he veered away from the dance floor and made straight for the bar. Gesturing imperiously to the bartender, he demanded, "Scotch . . . on the rocks . . . a double." When the man set it in front of him, he snatched it up and drained it swiftly. "Again," he commanded hoarsely. The bartender shook his head but did as he was told. Catching a flash of bright green in the corner of his eye, he turned his head and saw the redhead coming toward him.
"Here you are," she said in her heavily accented English. "Where had you gon' to? I look, but could not fine . . ." The slur in her voice was unmistakable. Drunk, Lee thought unsteadily. Both of us . . . but not drunk enough.
He took a gulp of the new drink and reached for her. The heavy scent of her perfume enveloped him as he put an arm around her and pulled her tightly against his side. He smiled and asked in slightly slurred Italian, "Did you miss me?" Dropping his head, he rubbed his face in her hair and nibbled at the top of her ear. "Jus' had a li'l business to take care of," he whispered. "Din't want it interrupting the rest of our night. Now, I'm alllll yours."
She giggled and rubbed against him suggestively. "Les dance," she said, drawing away and pulling him toward the dance floor.
"But I jus' got a new drink."
"Bring it. I want to dance. Then I leave . . . you will come, yes?"
Taking another swallow from the glass he held, he staggered after her, "I will come, yes."
