My Soul To Take

by Mary

A case with a very personal twist forces Scarecrow and Mrs. King back into the field. Will danger reunite them or drive them apart forever? Set in March, 2000. **COMPLETE**

2. PART TWO

PART TWO

"I pray the Lord my soul to keep . . ."

~ X ~

Amanda observed the carefully controlled chaos in the bullpen with a slightly wistful eye. As the agents buzzed around her, moving back and forth from the telex to their desks, then to the main computer screen, she heaved a restless sigh. This must be what it felt like in the eye of a hurricane -- pent-up energy swirling everywhere, while the center merely existed, a perfectly walled-off bubble, unable to act.

"It shouldn't be too much longer, Mrs. King."

Starting, she looked up into the inquisitive brown eyes of Lee's assistant. The name 'King' sounded oddly out of place on the girl's lips; 'West' was her professional moniker now.

"Would you like some more coffee while you wait for Mr. Stetson?" Angela Carter asked, the full pot poised in her hand.

Amanda gave her a terse, "No, thank you," then felt immediate remorse for her uncharacteristic brusqueness. "I've obviously had way too much coffee already this morning," she apologized.

Carter nodded her understanding, gazing at Amanda with a look of shy reverence. "Mrs. King, I just wanted to say . . . well . . ." Her eyes drifted in the direction of Lee's office. Turning a becoming shade of red, she finished summarily, "It's such an honor to work for Mr. Stetson."

Amanda gave the girl a faint smile, wondering briefly if Lee had any idea of the extent of his impressionable young assistant's hero worship. From the way he'd behaved toward her earlier that morning, probably not.

"And now to actually meet you, too," Carter gushed. "Well, what I mean is, Scarecrow and Mrs. King are practically a legend around here."

Amanda raised her eyebrows. The old rumor mill was evidently as effective as ever at creating heroes where none existed. They had only been people doing a job . . . a job that took infinitely more than it gave.

She realized that Carter was still prattling on. Shifting in her seat, she tried to give her a modicum of attention. She'd already been rude enough for one morning.

"You know, Mrs. King, I just hope someday I can be half the field agent you are . . . I mean, were. That is, if I ever get the chance to get out from behind my desk."

Carter's unbridled admiration really was quite touching. "Don't sell yourself short," Amanda found herself telling the girl kindly. "Remember, desk work has its place, too."

As Angela gave her a deferential little nod, Amanda felt a wave of melancholy wash over her. Had she once been as eager as this fresh-faced girl? It seemed almost impossible to comprehend. Her eyes strayed to the comfortable office where Lee was closeted with Francine -- the office that had formerly belonged to Billy Melrose. How long ago had she stood in that very spot, clutching the bits and pieces of her timesheets as she waited for Billy's signature? Sometimes it seemed as if all that must surely have happened in someone else's lifetime.

"Well," Carter said as she, too, cast an eye in Lee's direction. "I'd better get back to work. I have a stack of files on my desk. Paperwork," she moaned. "Nothing exciting there."

Noting the particularly firm set of Lee's jaw as he barked orders into the telephone, Amanda smiled knowingly. "I'm sure your position as Mr. Stetson's assistant demands its own brand of intestinal fortitude."

Carter grinned. "Oh, Mr. Stetson's bark is much worse than his bite," she confided, warming to her subject. "At least, that's what Ms. Desmond's always telling me." Smiling fondly at the formidable agent standing a little behind Lee's desk, Carter added respectfully, "She should know. The two of them go way back together."

Frowning, Amanda considered the young woman's phrase. 'Way back' was certainly one way to put it. Francine's face absolutely dripped sympathetic concern as her slender fingers worked the unseen knots out of Lee's left shoulder. As his stern facade softened, Amanda inexplicably felt her own scowl deepen. Lee relaxed into his chair, his hand hovering in the air for just a moment before it gently covered Francine's. He smiled up at her, mouthing a few words Amanda wasn't able to discern from the bullpen.

It was only a small gesture between friends . . . good friends. But for some reason she couldn't quite fathom, Amanda found the picture they presented more than a little annoying.

She watched as Lee spoke to Francine again. The blonde agent nodded in response, marching over to the office door and sticking her head out into the bullpen. Although she disguised it well, Amanda could discern a slight stiffening of her shoulders.

"Could you join us?" Francine demanded. Her hand tapped an impatient beat against the doorframe as she gazed somewhat belligerently in Amanda's direction.

"Of course," she returned more pleasantly than she felt, her irritation growing. Dismissing Carter with a friendly nod, she headed in Francine's direction, quickly arranging her face in a neutral expression. While they had never been close, Francine's condescending attitude had, over the years, morphed into something akin to friendly respect, and the two of them had achieved a pleasant comradeship.

But none of that was evident now in the woman's cool blue eyes. As they swept over her appraisingly, Amanda could almost feel herself being measured and found wanting. She glanced ruefully at the visitor's pass dangling from her belt. The more things changed, the more they stayed the same. Francine Desmond never did have much use for civilians, either in or outside the field of counter-espionage.

At least Lee had a welcoming smile for her as she entered the office. "Sorry you had to wait," he said, indicating the empty chair with a nod. "It's been one hell of a morning."

Amanda shot a pointed glance at Francine as she eased herself into the comfortable leather seat. "As I recall, this is a pretty typical Monday."

Lee's mouth tightened. "Not quite. Franklin's body was found early this morning in a dumpster."

"Tom Franklin?" At Lee's terse nod, she unconsciously stretched her hand across the desk to him. "I'm so sorry, Lee. Tom was a good man."

"Yes, he was. I've spent the past hour dealing with the family and a mountain of red tape." He shook his head sadly. "I guess losing an agent is one part of this job I'll never quite get used . . ."

His words stopped short as their eyes locked, and Amanda swiftly withdrew her hand. "I guess you haven't had much time for the background search on Iguana Associates," she mumbled.

"Francine was just about to fill me in."

As if on cue, Francine cleared her throat loudly. "I *was* able to do a preliminary run-through and, on the surface, things appear to be totally on the up and up. But . . ." Frowning, she consulted her notes. "When you dig a little deeper, the water gets murkier. It seems three years ago, Iguana Associates brokered a deal with, shall we say, a questionable outcome."

Lee raised an eyebrow. "Questionable as in illegal?"

"Technically, no. They brokered the sale of a number of vaccines to a foreign country. While the drugs weren't approved for use in the U.S., laws governing its sale to the small nation of San Cardenzia were a lot looser."

"San Cardenzia?" Lee asked.

Francine nodded, smiling wryly as she handed him the file. "Polo DiGreggorio's old stomping ground."

"'Stomping' is pretty apropos," Lee grunted as he quickly perused the information. "If I recall, there wasn't much left of that country by the time DiGreggorio's regime finally fell from power."

"Are we talking about the same 'Polo' DiGreggorio?" Amanda asked doubtfully. "The man seemed pretty innocuous to me."

Francine snorted. "I suppose that would depend on your definition of 'innocuous.'"

Lee shot Francine a look before turning to Amanda. "DiGreggorio himself may well have been harmless, but he surrounded himself with some pretty unscrupulous people. They ravaged the country for their own personal gain." His eyes narrowed as he studied the file again. "Looks like history repeated itself here. Iguana Associates made quite a killing -- figuratively *and* literally."

"Yes," Francine agreed. "The proceeds from the sale were extremely lucrative for the company, but many of the recipients died. And the experimental vaccines were developed by none other than . . ."

"North Shore Labs," Amanda finished as she caught Lee's eye. "I knew there was a connection!"

Lee nodded. "Yes, it looks like your instincts were right on."

Amanda caught the unmistakable admiration in his voice. Warmed by his praise, she leaned a little closer. "This could be what Jamie stumbled onto. Maybe Topping and Roman are trying to do it again."

"Now wait a minute, that's a pretty big leap," Francine broke in, her eyebrows shooting up as she, too, looked expressively at Lee.

"I have a feeling about this."

"Oh, well, fine then," the blonde agent snapped. "I'll just go type that in on the warrant. 'Amanda King has a feeling.' That's sure to get us approval to bring in a U.S. Senator for questioning."

Amanda rolled her eyes. "Francine, I was merely . . ."

"This Agency can't just go barging onto Capitol Hill without just cause, Amanda," Francine continued pedantically. "You should at least remember *that* much."

Lee shifted uncomfortably. "Okay, this isn't getting us . . ."

"I wasn't suggesting that 'this Agency' do anything of the sort, Francine," Amanda continued, ignoring Lee's attempt to play peacemaker. "If you'd let me finish, I was about to suggest a simple fact-finding mission."

Francine straightened in her chair, smoothing the fabric of her skirt as she crossed her legs. "And how would you suggest we go about that, dear? Take out an ad in your news magazine?"

Biting back the retort that sprang to her lips, Amanda appealed to Lee. "A friendly little interview couldn't hurt."

"I just finished telling you that the Agency has no grounds to question Senator Topping," Francine began as Lee sprang to his feet practically shouting, "No, Amanda, absolutely not!"

Amanda glanced from Francine's frosty blue eyes to Lee's deeper hazel ones. "Excuse me, Mr. Stetson, but the last time I looked, you weren't *my* boss." Her sarcasm was unmistakable.

"We don't have any idea what Topping is really into," Lee replied gruffly. "It's too dangerous."

"It's the perfect cover, and you know it. I'm a reporter looking for some information on a high-profile politician. After all," she pointed out with a gleeful glance at Francine, "One of your own agents just finished telling us that this Agency has no grounds to question the good Senator."

Francine quickly moved to Lee's side. "Now wait just a minute, I never meant to imply that a civilian should . . ."

Amanda brushed her objection aside. "Besides, what's the harm in a friendly little lunch in a public place?"

"What makes you think he'll even agree to lunch?" Francine demanded. "Bryce Topping avoids the press like the plague."

Amanda smiled. "Oh, I think he'll agree to see me. Bryce and I are old PTA buddies. Besides, we really don't have any other viable choices here, do we?"

"No," Lee said with a deep sigh, "I guess we don't. Francine's right. The Agency can't officially bring Topping in. Still . . ."

As she saw him begin to waver, Amanda delivered the final touch. "You could even be at the restaurant, too. You and Francine both. It'll be okay, Lee, you'll see." Arching her eyebrows, she added lightly, "With the two of you right there, what could possibly happen?"

~ XI ~

Lee heard Francine let out a long breath as he fairly slammed the phone back into its cradle. His morning was going straight to hell, and it seemed there wasn't a damn thing he could do about it.

"I don't suppose we were lucky enough to catch a break on this," Francine said, echoing his sentiments as she gave him a disgusted look.

Lee shook his head. "Franklin's hotel room has been swept clean. The field team doesn't expect to lift even a single print."

"No fingerprints? In a hotel for transients?"

Lee grimaced. "Yes. You know what that means."

"Someone wanted to erase their tracks very thoroughly," Francine said, tapping her fingernails on the desktop. "And you're positive Salzedo is behind this?"

"Who else could it be? Franklin had been working that case for close to nine months. Then just when it looks like we're about to get our break, he ends up with his throat slit. And, according to your 'whereabouts and activities' report, Salzedo's in D.C."

"It *does* seem to have Salzedo and 'Los Lobos' written all over it," Francine agreed.

"Yeah," Lee said sourly. "He did exactly the same thing in El Salvador four years ago."

"If he follows true to form, this means his deal is about to go through."

Lee nodded grimly. "I just wish we had some idea of who's financing him. Salzedo may be a pig, and I'd dearly love to take him out of the action, but he's only a front man. Someone else is backing him, someone connected enough to know we were on the verge of blowing this latest operation sky high."

"You're not suggesting he has someone here on the inside, are you?"

Lee absently rolled his pen back and forth between his fingers. "I don't want to believe that, but, at this point, anything is possible. Damn," he muttered, tossing the writing implement onto the cluttered desk. "The timing on this couldn't be worse, just when I'm up to my neck in this Jamie business."

"Yes," Francine put in dryly, "I'm sure your unexpected houseguest isn't helping your equilibrium any."

Lee gazed out at the bullpen where Amanda appeared to be having an animated conversation with one of her former co-workers. She looked so natural standing there . . . a fish suddenly back in water. "You know, Francine," he murmured thoughtfully, "she's not exactly a rookie agent anymore."

Francine snorted. "You're right. She's not any kind of agent at all."

Letting out an exasperated sigh, he pivoted his chair in Francine's direction. "Let up on her a little.  She isn't in any shape to play your usual game of verbal volleyball."

"You could certainly fool me," Francine said, rolling her eyes as Amanda's laugh reached her from the other room.

Lee compressed his lips, tiny lines appearing around the edges of his mouth. "You didn't see the way she looked a few days ago in Chicago. Her son is missing, maybe even . . ." He stopped, unable to actually put the thought into words. "I don't know if she can survive that again."

Francine let out a breathy sigh. "I understand how tough this is on her. I really do," she protested at Lee's look. "Contrary to popular opinion, I don't have a block of ice for a heart."

A smile tugged at Lee's lips. "You know I never believed those rumors, Francine."

"And I realize that Amanda's been through a lot," she reiterated, ignoring Lee's remark with pointed determination. "But you're the one I'm worried about." Her features softened slightly as she caught his eye.

He looked away. "I can take care of myself."

"That's what I thought when Jonathan and I split," Francine told him, an echo of bitterness in her words. "I know first-hand how painful a divorce can be. And that's when you don't invite heartache right back in through your front door."

"It's not like that," Lee put in quickly. "We're both worried about Jamie, that's all. When we find him . . ."

"Look, Lee, why don't you let me help?" she interrupted, inclining her body ever so slightly toward his. "I could invite Amanda to stay with me."

Lee let out a rumbling laugh. "Oh, yeah, now there's a plan. We'd be mopping up the debris from that explosion until the next millennium. Look, Francine," he added with a sigh, "I appreciate your concern, I really do. And the warning is duly noted. And if you really want to help me, there *is* something you could do."

"Anything, you know that."

"Sign out one of those bracelet devices from supply -- the new experimental one with the built in satellite tracker."

Francine raised her eyebrows, a teasing smile playing around the corners of her mouth. "I don't think it will go with your suit."

"It's for Amanda."

Francine let out a long-suffering sigh. "You're determined to let her go through with this ridiculous 'fact-finding' mission of hers?"

"If I don't help her, she'll just do it without me, you know that as well as I do. At least this way she won't be walking in there without some sort of failsafe."

She sighed. "I'll take care of the paperwork and escort her down to Leatherneck's domain, but if you don't mind, I'll let *him* brief her on its use. Like you said," she finished wryly, "it'll be safer that way."

"Thanks. And Francine . . ." He let out a slow breath. "Lay off the barbs, okay? As a favor to me?"

Francine wrinkled her nose as she headed out the door. "Okay, Stetson, but you're going to owe me big time."

He groaned as he leaned back in his chair. "Aw, come on, you know I've only got one more bottle of the Rosso Picerno '94."

Francine smiled sweetly. "Not anymore."

~ XII ~

"Would you care for some dessert?" Bryce Topping looked across the small table at her, his eyes filled with concern. "You've hardly touched your lunch."

"I'm sorry, Bryce," she replied, letting just the right amount of remorse slip into her voice. It was amazing how quickly all the old moves snapped back into place, she thought as she gave him a warm smile. "I never seem to be able to eat when I'm working."

He immediately returned her look. "Yes, I'm exactly the same way. My aide always has to remind me to take a lunch break. I guess that's why I was so happy to receive your phone call this morning. It's not every day that I'm invited out by such an attractive journalist."

Amanda felt an unaccustomed blush flush her cheeks. Whether it was from Bryce's flattering attention or Lee's icy stare, she wasn't quite sure. Lee's face had seemed to hover in the distance throughout the meal, somewhere just over Bryce Topping's left shoulder. Though she'd tried valiantly to ignore him, she'd still found her eyes drifting time and again to the corner table where her soon to be ex-husband sat just a little too close to Francine.

The Senator's deep, rumbling voice turned her attention back to the table she currently occupied. "You know, Amanda," she heard him say, his tone low and soothing, "I was so sorry about your son's death."

She stiffened slightly. "How did you . . ."

"A man in my position hears things," he said with a tight smile. "I meant to get in touch with you at the time, but I didn't want to intrude. We kind of lost track after Ben and Jamie went to high school, and I wasn't sure . . ."

"It's okay. Nobody really knows quite what to say in a situation like that."

"No, that's not what I mean," he put in quickly. "I lost my nephew about two years ago. He was killed in a car accident, very suddenly."

"You understand, then." She felt the tears gathering behind her eyes, and she drew a sharp little breath, willing them away. "How is Ben doing?"

"Ben's doing very well, thank you," Bryce informed her, responding to her not-so-subtle change of subject with a charming smile. "And how is Jamie? He's a doctor, isn't he?"

"Ah, yes, he is," Amanda stammered, struggling to decipher the puzzling enigma sitting across from her. In the three-quarters of an hour they'd spent together, Bryce Topping had somehow managed to neatly turn the conversation back to her at every turn. And he had obviously done his research before meeting her for this impromptu lunch. The man was either very slick or very sincere, she couldn't quite decide.

"Jamie and his family live in Chicago," she informed Bryce casually, carefully gauging his reaction as she looked into his clear, gray eyes.

Topping seemed unfazed. "Family? You don't mean to tell me . . ."

"Yes, I'm a grandmother," she admitted with a light laugh.

The handsome Senator reached across the table to stroke her hand. "A very beautiful grandmother."

Amanda shivered as his thumb brushed across her knuckles. Despite her ingrained skepticism, she found herself warming to the compliment. It had been such a long time since she'd felt anything but achingly tired.

"Amanda," Bryce said suddenly, regret etched in the fine lines around his eyes. "I have a meeting on the Hill in forty-five minutes." He hesitated for a minute, then warmly squeezed her hand. "I would love to continue this, though, maybe over dinner. Are you free tomorrow night? I have some great new pictures of Ben at my townhouse that I'd love to show you," he added as she seemed to be wavering. "He's living in the Chicago area now, too."

"Dinner at your place?" she asked, ignoring the warning bells going off in her head. She could only imagine what Lee would say to that proposal as she unconsciously glanced in his direction. She wasn't able to catch his eye, though. He seemed totally engrossed in his conversation with Francine.

Bryce gave her hand a gentle squeeze. "What do you say? It would give us a chance to really catch up." He shot her a dazzling smile, one that made the corners of his eyes crinkle attractively. "I have an excellent cook, so no shop talk this time. I want to make very sure you enjoy the meal."

Amanda hesitated. She knew she should say no, but the insistent look in his eyes touched a familiar chord. Something about the man was so appealing, and she found herself responding as she met his ready smile with one of her own.

"I can't think of anything I'd like more, Bryce," she murmured quickly before she could change her mind. "I'll be looking forward to it."

~ XIII ~

Lee tried unsuccessfully to stifle his yawn as he shuffled into the kitchen, shaking his head a few times to dispel the cobwebs from yet another sleepless night. He glanced ruefully at the clock on the oven. Even under the best of circumstances, he'd never been a morning person.

"Would you like some coffee?" he heard Amanda ask, a hint of laughter in her otherwise solicitous tone. "I made a fresh pot."

She sat at the small kitchen table, calmly eating a bowl of cereal. Her face was devoid of makeup, her hair swept back into a simple ponytail, and her silk floral robe clung loosely to her body. Lee sucked in a sharp breath; he'd always loved her in pink.

"I should know better than to offer you breakfast, but there's some cereal left, in case you're interested." She smiled self-consciously at him, as if not quite sure what to make of their sudden domesticity.

"Uh, no, that's okay," he said as he filled the mug she'd left for him on the counter. "Coffee will do just fine." Opening the refrigerator, he grabbed a container of skim milk, pouring a generous amount into the dark liquid.

He heard Amanda's soft chuckle.

"Okay, I'll admit it took a while, but you finally converted me. Besides," he added with a short laugh as he hooked his thumb in his belt, "You were right, as usual. My pants do fit better without the extra calories."

She raised her eyebrows, looking at him in that 'cat that swallowed the canary' way she always adopted when she knew she was right. "Here," she said with a smirk, handing him the Washington Post as he sat down at their breakfast table. "Untouched by human hands."

He grinned thankfully as he opened the pristine paper. Over the years, he'd lost count of the number of times he and Amanda had bumped heads over that particular pet peeve. Perhaps it was because he'd been a bachelor for so long, but a messy morning newspaper drove him crazy. He chuckled softly at the memory of those battles and their inevitable outcome. Living openly as man and wife might have engendered a multitude of mundane little problems, but it had also sparked equally extraordinary rewards.

"Did you sleep well last night?" he inquired from behind the safety of the business section.

"I did, actually." He heard the surprise in her voice. "The stress of the last few weeks must have finally caught up with me."

"I'm still not too sure of that mattress in the guest room. If it's uncomfortable, I'd be happy to . . ."

"No," he heard her answer, a little too quickly. "It's fine, really."

"Uh, yeah, okay," he mumbled, recognizing the same strangled quality in her voice that he heard in his own. Suddenly, he was very grateful for the paper barrier between them. 

At least she'd managed to get some rest in her mother's old room. He had tossed and turned in the bed they used to share, the memory of better times weaving seductively through his mind. He cleared his throat, shifting restlessly in his chair. His control must be slipping; it had been a long time since he'd allowed his conscious thoughts to go there.

"Do you have a heavy schedule today?" Amanda asked as she finished the last of her cereal. Lee could hear her spoon scraping against the bottom of the bowl, the sound oddly soothing.

"Moderately," he answered as he gave the editorial page a final perusal. "I have a meeting with Dr. Smyth that I wish I could postpone. The investigation into Franklin's death is going nowhere fast. Smyth won't be pleased to hear it." Sighing, he tossed the paper aside. "You'd think after all these years, the man would be ready to retire."

Amanda smiled faintly. "I think Dr. Smyth thrives on making everyone around him miserable. It's his own personal fountain of youth."

"Then I'm sure after this afternoon, he'll be good for another twenty years at least."

"You can handle Dr. Smyth. Just do what I always did." She shot him a wicked grin. "When the man starts spouting those nursery rhyme clichés of his, picture him actually *in* the nursery . . . wearing nothing but a great, big diaper."

"Thanks a lot," he moaned. "I'll try *not* to remember that."

As the strains of her soft laughter mingled with his, Lee found himself looking at her more closely. A good night's sleep had done wonders. Her deep brown eyes seemed to have regained some of their old sparkle, and he unconsciously edged his chair closer to hers.

"Don't worry about me if you have a busy day," she murmured as she turned her face toward the window. Blinking, she focused her gaze on some unseen object in the distance.

Was that regret he saw in her eyes or embarrassment? He used to be so good at reading her, but he just couldn't tell any more. He only knew that sitting beside her at their breakfast table, mapping out their day they way they used to do, felt damn good.

"I have a lot to keep me busy, too," she continued, pulling her eyes from the window.

"Such as?" Watching her carefully, he took a draught from his mug. Those wispy strands of hair softly framing her face made her look almost like a girl, as did the bangs that brushed her eyebrows. He wondered absently when she'd started wearing her hair like that. It was very attractive.

"Research on Iguana Associates." Her voice drifted warmly over him. "I want to be prepared for tonight."

"What's tonight?" he questioned with a silly grin.

"My dinner with Bryce Topping."  

Lee's eyes narrowed. "I thought we decided that wasn't a viable idea."

"No," Amanda replied shortly. "*You* decided, Lee. Not me."

He pushed away from the table. "You know how dangerous this could be as well as I do, Amanda. If it turns out Topping is behind this . . ."

"We don't know that." Her chair made a grating sound on the floor as she jumped up and moved to stand by the sink.

Lee watched her stare blankly out the window. "That's a pretty big about-face," he grumbled. "Only yesterday the man topped your suspect list."

She bit her lip, her hands tightening their grip on the counter. "I don't think he fits the profile. He was totally clueless about Dan Roman."

"Or that's what he wants you to think. One lunch with the guy and suddenly you're his biggest fan." Lee snorted derisively. "Don't tell me you're actually falling for his line."

Whirling, she faced him. "I don't know what you're talking about!"

"I'm talking about the way Topping was drooling all over you at lunch yesterday," Lee sneered, crossing over to the small cooking island. "Probably to throw you off the scent. Looks like it worked."

"Well, I'm surprised you even noticed." Hands on her hips, she set her face in a distasteful grimace. "You seemed pretty occupied yourself."

"'Occupied'? What the hell is that supposed to mean?"

"You figure it out," she spat, walking into the den with a determined stride.

Lee watched her retreating form, his back unconsciously straightening to match her rigidity. Amanda could get under his skin faster than anyone he'd ever known. It had always been her particular talent, one she obviously still possessed with a vengeance. He drew a deep breath, letting it out slowly as he followed her into the other room.

"Look," he began, struggling to keep the bubbling anger out of his voice. "Let's not lose sight of what's important here . . . finding Jamie."

"Exactly. *I'm* the one who's been saying he's in trouble all along, remember?"

Lee bristled. "And now you suddenly think that stiff Topping has all the answers?"

Amanda's frown deepened as she pulled herself up to her full height. "How dare you imply . . ."

"I'm not implying anything," Lee said, running his hand absently along the back of the couch as he paced. "I'm just giving you a friendly reminder. You know as well as I do, personal feelings have no place in this work. Facts are the only reality a field agent can trust."

"Well, thank you, Scarecrow, for that extremely helpful refresher course, but I can handle myself in the field."

"There's too much here that doesn't add up," he ground out, his hands clenching into tight fists. "I don't trust Topping."

"Well, I do," she replied, her cheeks flushing as she folded her arms across her chest. "After all, the man is a United States Senator."

"Now there's a recommendation," Lee jeered. "A goddamned politician. Not to mention, the man used to be a lawyer. What better training ground to learn how to lie for a living."

"Now who's stereotyping," she shot back. "Not all lawyers are crooked, you know. I was married to one once."

"And we all know how well *that* turned out!"

"Don't you dare throw Joe in my face! He was a good man, no matter what went wrong between the two of us. You're always so quick to think the worst of everyone. First Joe, now Bryce . . ."

"Maybe because you always insist on seeing everyone through those rose-colored glasses of yours."

"I do not . . ."

"Look, Amanda," he stated sharply, cutting off her protest. "I don't care if the man turns out to be as pure as the driven snow, you don't go to a meet with a suspect without backup. For God's sake, it's such a rookie mistake . . ."

"A 'rookie' mistake?" She drew in a sharp breath, her eyes blazing. "I guess it runs in the family, huh, Lee? Like mother, like son? Or is it the other way around?"

He opened his mouth to repel her attack, but oddly no words would come. He stood facing her instead, breathing mechanically in and out as she delivered the final blow with particular venom. "Regulations didn't seem to bother you so much that day you took a rookie on a hot meet. So please, don't you let it trouble you now."

Wincing, he turned away to hide the ache that surely showed in his eyes. "Do what you want, Amanda," he managed to choke out as he retrieved his car keys and slammed out the door. "You always do."

~ XIV ~

Dousing the small dust rag with a generous spray of furniture polish, Amanda worked the cloth over the edge of the picture frame. She applied a healthy dose of elbow grease, grunting slightly at the effort. If cleaning was a universal cure-all, she would have surely solved the world's problems by now.

Damn Lee Stetson anyway. And damn her for letting him affect her this way.

Less than twenty-four hours under this familiar roof and already the painful epithets were flying thick and fast. Wincing, she recalled the look in his eyes this morning as he'd fled the house. Her cruel words had hit their mark today as surely as the bullets that had torn her son's body eighteen months earlier.

Why was it so important to her to assign blame? It changed nothing. Yet still the angry accusations had spilled from her mouth, almost as if they had a will of their own. A nagging little voice inside her head told her Lee was only a convenient scapegoat for the real culprit. But she wouldn't -- couldn't -- allow her thoughts go back to that dark place.

She'd visited it too often in the weeks and months following Phillip's death. It was a deep hole, filled with monsters that snapped and snarled. They had familiar names, names that tore at her very soul, names like 'regret,' 'recrimination,' and, the thorniest of all, 'what if.'

That was the one that still haunted her dreams.

'What if' the dentist hadn't rescheduled her appointment to the afternoon . . . 'what if' Beaman hadn't let the rookie class out early that day . . . 'what if' Phillip hadn't hero-worshipped his stepfather quite so thoroughly . . . 'what if' she had never taken that package from a handsome stranger so many years ago.

Life and death sometimes hinged on the most inconsequential choices.

Snatching up the Lemon Pledge, she feverishly sprayed her rag once again, applying her muscle to the baseboards. She didn't want all this emotion anymore; it was just too hard. Safely cocooned in a world far away from D.C., she had taken great pains to insulate herself from even the slightest hint of it. In an apartment that bore little resemblance to the warm home they'd once shared, in a job that didn't depend on a partner, in a life that was comforting in its very sterility.

Maybe it was being back here again, in this house brimming with memories. They assaulted her from every side as she moved through the rooms that had once known so much laughter and love. That first family Christmas after their private marriage had finally become a public one; the surprise party the boys had thrown for their fifth wedding anniversary; the special send-off they'd given Jamie before he'd headed off to Northwestern. And that first lonely night as 'empty nesters' that Lee had transformed into another very special beginning.

Gripping her cloth tightly, she desperately cast about for a more productive outlet for her restless energy. There had to be something, some room, some corner that had escaped her cleaning frenzy. Hesitantly, she glanced into the master bedroom. Lee had left the room in his usual state of disarray, clothes strewn haphazardly across the rumpled bed. For a highly trained intelligence operative, he seemed to have an inordinate amount of trouble finding his own closet.

She entered the room without thinking, absently picking up Lee's discarded suit coat as she tossed her rag aside. Gently, almost reverently, she smoothed out the wrinkles. The nubby fabric felt familiar under her fingertips, and she realized it was the very jacket she'd given him for his birthday a few years ago. They had been working some case, a routine surveillance, when he'd spotted it in the store window. One look at the price tag had told her he'd never buy it for himself; her husband's penchant for personal extravagance had long ago been channeled to his family. Which, of course, had only made her all the more determined that he should have it. She smiled, remembering the look on his face when he'd opened the package. His intimate thank you later that night had left her breathless.

She opened the closet, pushing the memories to one side along with the clothes as she reached for a hanger. She carefully placed the jacket where it belonged, on the upper rack for the sport coats, her fingers roaming fleetingly over the other suits before closing the bi-fold doors.

That's when she saw it, sitting on top of the perfectly folded triangle of red, white and blue. Her trembling fingers closed around the small plastic box. A thick layer of dust had accumulated on the clear, see-through surface, the ornately engraved 'Servicium in Umbris' motto all but obliterated. Bringing it to her mouth, she exhaled lightly, carefully wiping it clean with a corner of her shirt.

The Agency Medal of Honor.

She'd never asked Lee what he'd done with it. She hadn't wanted it, hadn't wanted anything from that place, not even the flag they'd solemnly presented her that morning at the cemetery. It was poor repayment for a life wantonly wasted. Still, she couldn't exactly refuse, so she'd accepted it from Dr. Smyth's wizened hands, an implacable smile glued to her face. The entire scene had felt oddly surreal as she'd stood beside the newly turned earth. On either side of her, Lee's and Jamie's eyes had been brimming with tears, and from somewhere over her left shoulder, she'd heard her mother's muffled sobs.  Even the steel-gray clouds overhead had leaked out a steady drizzle.

Still, she hadn't shed a tear . . . not even in the cold solitude of all the lonely nights that followed. She needed to be strong, she reminded herself; she would get through this on her own. Without the comfort of her husband's arms, though he desperately wanted to offer it; without a reassuring kiss from her son, though he needed her to accept it; and without the soothing touch of her mother's hands, though Dotty clearly longed to give it.

Feeling her knees begin to buckle, she quickly sat down on the bed. The mattress gave slightly beneath her weight, the familiar creak a strange comfort. Closing her eyes, she took a few deep, cleansing breaths, the kind they taught in Lamaze class. The process of letting go was not that different from giving birth, it seemed . . . and every bit as painful.

The distinctive ring of her cell phone caught her by surprise, and, unconsciously, she jumped. Breathing deeply once more, she reached into her pocket.

"Amanda?" the deep male voice spoke with tender concern. "Amanda?"

She shook herself, her grip on the phone loosening. "Bryce," she rasped, clearing her throat as she added a stronger, "Hello."

"I just wanted to double check that we're still on for tonight."

She paused, Lee's warning echoing in her ears. Could he be right? Looking down, she caught sight of the bright bronze medal lying beside her on the bed.  Dangerous or not, she couldn't let this happen again, not if there was the smallest chance she could prevent it. She straightened her back determinedly. 

"Yes, Bryce. I'm looking forward to it."

~ XV ~

Lee tried one more time to read the flash data report sitting on his desk. Finally giving up, he set it to one side, running both hands through his hair as he rested his elbows on his desk.

"Still smarting from your interview with Dr. Smyth?" Francine asked as she poked her head inside his office.

Lee rubbed his fingers in small circles on his temples. "What gave me away?"

"Oh, I don't know," she teased as she closed the door and sat down in her usual chair. "Maybe it's that desperate 'I want to jump' look on your face." She let out a tinkling laugh. "Guess Harry must have had administrators like Smyth in mind when he moved the Agency underground, huh?"

"Very funny." Leaning back in his chair, he looked down at the open file. "It's this Franklin business," he grumbled, turning his head away. "It's like we've run into a brick wall. I have dozens of agents scouring this town, and that scum Roberto Salzedo seems to have disappeared into thin air. Damn it, Francine!" Lee exclaimed, pushing away from his desk with a violent shudder. A few papers scattered, floating feather-like to the floor as he began to pace. "When is this all going to stop?"

"You have more on your mind than Franklin's death." He heard Francine suck in a breath. "You might as well tell me -- what did Amanda do now?"

"She's insisting on keeping this ridiculous dinner engagement with Topping tonight."

"For God's sake, Lee," Francine moaned in exasperation. "Just order her to stay out of it."

"Order? Amanda? The woman's as stubborn as ever." A harsh edge crept into his voice as he added, "And she can't seem to let anything go."

"I knew there was more to this than you were saying," Francine stated with a knowing shake of her head. "She lit into you again, didn't she?"

"No matter what we do, it always comes back to the same thing. I was hoping since a little time had passed . . ." He sighed deeply. "I guess there's just no escaping it."

"Lee . . ."

Changing her mind, Francine fell silent, and Lee flinched as he watched her face. Sorrow, anger and an emotion that he couldn't quite identify all blended together as she continued her soundless scrutiny. When she finally spoke, her voice was strangely quiet. "She's wrong, you know."

Lee turned away. "Is she?" he asked, his anguish almost physical. "I don't know anymore."

"She most certainly is!" Francine sprang from her chair, coming up close beside him. "This is exactly what I was afraid of yesterday. Don't let her do this to you again, Lee!"

Shifting slightly, he looked down into her big blue eyes. "Not even if she's right? I was the one who brought Phillip with me that day . . . a rookie." Turning, he walked to the window, his eyes vacantly searching the busy bullpen. "He hadn't even been baptized into this business yet. No wonder he couldn't handle . . ." His sentence drifted off into nothingness.

Gently elbowing him aside, Francine carefully closed the window blinds to outside eyes. Then, slowly and deliberately, she cupped his face with her hands, forcing him to look at her. "What happened wasn't your fault," she stated as she gazed earnestly up at him. "There was a major flap that day, and no one else was available. Your partner was off duty. You were only following procedure."

"If I had waited for backup before entering the warehouse . . ."

She shook her head, drawing her thumbs across his lips to silence him. "You've been over all of this, time and time again . . . with me and with Pfaff. Stop it."

He reached up, grasping her hands in his. "I was the senior agent. I was responsible for him."

"You ordered him to stay put. How could you know he'd disobey you?"

He laughed bitterly as he let go of her hands. "I was exactly the one who *should* have known. Phillip King was genetically incapable of staying in the car." 

Francine started to say something then seemed to think better of it, folding her hands beneath her arms as if that alone would keep her words in check.

"What?" Lee demanded in a weary voice as he took note of her rigid stance. "Come on, Francine, we've known each other for way too long. If you have something to say, spit it out."

"It's just that she makes me so damned angry!  Especially when she behaves as if what happened was all your fault."

"She's hurting." Lumbering over to the couch, he sank down. "It was harder for her."

"That's a bunch of bull," Francine responded angrily as she moved to sit beside him. "You loved that boy every bit as much . . ." She stopped herself as she caught his eye. Hesitating for only the briefest of moments, she trailed two fingers down the side of Lee's face in a comforting caress. "I wish . . ." She let the rest of the words slip away, lost somewhere in a painful moan.

Reaching out, Lee gently captured her hand in his. "I know," he said softly as she gazed at him longingly. He stared, mesmerized, as she parted her lips, the tip of her tongue sensually tracing her upper lip.  Slowly, he drew a deep breath.

"Lee," she whispered, her voice catching in her throat.

His body responded almost automatically; he'd been alone for so long. Closing his eyes, he leaned in to cover her waiting mouth with his own. He could feel her heat as she moved to meet him, a tremulous little sigh escaping her lips.

But the sound that should have been achingly familiar instead struck a dissonant chord. He rose abruptly, dropping Francine's hand as he let out a harsh breath. "I'm sorry," he mumbled as he quickly moved to put some distance between them. "I shouldn't have done that."

He heard her uneven breathing from somewhere behind him. "It's okay," she said at last. "It's not like I don't know better, too."

Pivoting slowly, he faced her, regret and sorrow washing over him as he leaned heavily on his desk. "Francine . . ."

"Don't say it," she said, tugging lightly on her suit jacket as she stood. "We've been down this road before, and we both know where it leads."

His expression unconsciously softened as he met her gaze. Even from across the room, the glistening moisture in her eyes was unmistakable, and his lips curved into a sad smile. "Sometimes I think how much easier it would be if I could only . . ."

Biting her bottom lip, she nodded. "We love who we love, Lee. That's just the way it is." He started to reply, but she abruptly cut him off, her professional mask firmly back in place. "Do you want me to run surveillance at Topping's tonight?"

Lee sat down again behind his desk, absently shuffling his papers. "I have no right to ask you, I know, but since this isn't a sanctioned mission, I can't officially use Agency personnel. And you know she won't wear a wire."

Francine nodded her understanding. "It's not a problem." His eyes followed Francine in silent gratitude as she swiftly re-opened his office blinds. Walking briskly to the door, she told him, "I'll keep you posted."

"Thanks, Francine. And you were right, you know. I do owe you big-time. For a hell of a lot more than this."

"Yeah, you do." Her features softening, she added in a gentler tone, "But that's what good friends are for, right?"

~ XVI ~

"I don't think I could eat another bite," Amanda moaned as she sank into the comfortable sofa. "You certainly weren't kidding about that chef of yours, Bryce. Dinner was absolutely wonderful."

Topping smiled. It was that warm, deep one she'd found so attractive at lunch the other day, the one that crinkled the corners of his eyes. "Then perhaps I can tempt you with a nightcap?"

"Yes, I think you could," Amanda agreed almost without thinking. She couldn't remember the last time she'd felt so at ease.

The evening had, indeed, been one of surprises. Bryce Topping was an extraordinarily entertaining dinner companion, and she'd found herself laughing more than once at his lively tales of life on the Hill. Yet she sensed that beneath his engaging exterior lay a man who approached life with cautious precision, carefully weighing the pros and cons of even the most ordinary matters. It was evident now in the way he studied the well-stocked liquor cabinet, finally selecting a bottle of Baileys Irish Cream, which he held out for her approval.

Amanda caught the subtle gleam in his eye. "How did you know?"

"I spent the holidays with Ben in Chicago," he told her, as if that explained it all. "There's nothing like a shot of Baileys to take the chill out of those December evenings."

She nodded. "Yes. I think that's what I've had the hardest time getting used to. I never knew the meaning of cold until this past winter."

Bryce quickly poured the rich liquid into two small glasses. "With nothing but Baileys to keep you warm?" As he sat down beside her, his eyes flashed with an intensity that was almost tangible. "What a waste."

She felt the blood rise to her cheeks. Quickly accepting the drink he proffered, she turned away to examine the bold design on the arm of the sofa. Its rich, earthy tones spoke of lush green valleys and wide-open spaces. A man's fabric.

A low, gravelly voice intruded on her thoughts. "Feeling comfortable?"

"Mmmm," she murmured, absently sipping her drink. As the smooth liquid slid down her throat, a delicious languorousness did indeed spread through her limbs, warming her from the inside out. She felt the knot that had taken up permanent residence in her stomach of late slowly begin to unravel. "So," she began, meeting Bryce's gaze with renewed strength,

"how long has Ben lived in Chicago?"

"Almost four years now. He has a very nice townhouse in Lake Forest. Are you familiar with the area?"

"Marginally. It's a little ways from the city. My mother and I share on apartment on Lake Shore Drive."

Bryce raised an eyebrow. "I'm impressed."

"Don't be," Amanda responded with a tinkling laugh. "We're only 'condo sitting.' The place actually belongs to Jamie's in-laws. They're out of the country at the moment. Lisa's father is a consultant for a multi-national corporation and is temporarily assigned overseas."

Inching closer, Bryce added in a deep, rumbling voice, "Must have worked out well all around, then."

"Uh, yes, it, uh, has," Amanda replied, distracted by the play of his hand. He'd rested it on the back of the couch, his fingers brushing the edges of her hair as they talked. "They're due back sometime this summer," she said, shifting out of his reach. "So I suppose I'll have to think about moving one of these days."

Bryce leaned back against the sofa, bringing his arm down to rest on his thigh. Amanda watched his thumb rub against the side of his glass with slow deliberateness. "Will you be staying by the lake shore?"

"No, I don't think so," she answered a little too quickly, trying not to think of the way those long, tapered fingers had felt on her hair. The familiar gesture had warmed her almost as much as the Baileys. "It's, ah, really not my style," she added, directing her thoughts to more mundane things.

Bryce smiled. "And what exactly is your style?"

She tilted her head, considering the question. "A more homey sort of comfort, I suppose."

"Don't tell me you're the white picket fence type?"

"Actually, I am. Or I used to be." Setting her drink down on the coffee table, she resolutely drove the image of the house on Maplewood Drive and its occupant from her mind. "I can't believe you find my domestic preferences interesting, Bryce."

"On the contrary," he whispered, his hand closing around hers. "I find everything about you absolutely entrancing." Smiling, he brought her captive fingers to his lips.

Amanda shivered as she felt his mouth warm her flesh. Slipping her hand from his, she made a show of crossing her legs, at the same time moving her body unobtrusively toward the end of the couch. "Do you visit Ben often?" she inquired, channeling the subject once again in a safer direction.

Topping appeared to take the hint. Leaning back, he, too, increased the space between them, and Amanda breathed a short sigh of relief. A buffer zone between herself and the suavely attractive Senator Topping was definitely desirable. She had a sneaking suspicion most of his dates didn't require one.

"No, I don't see Ben as often as I'd like," he informed her, a touch of regret creeping into his voice as he spoke of his son.

Amanda twisted uncomfortably on the sofa. Was the fleeting disappointment she read in his eyes a yearning for his son's companionship or for the small intimacy she had denied him?  Whichever it was, he seemed to recover quickly, regarding her once again with a warm smile. "We did spend a wonderful week together last summer deep sea fishing at the island house."

"The island house?"

Bryce nodded. "I think I promised to show you some pictures. That is, if you're interested."

"I'd love to see them," Amanda responded with unusual zeal.

He headed for the large oak desk in the corner of the room. Thankful for some space to catch her breath, Amanda seized the opportunity to check out the rest of the décor. Bryce had jokingly referred to the den as his personal sanctum, and she could easily see that it was true. The richly appointed room possessed the same comfortable charm as its owner, a charm that was, in its own way, potently attractive to the opposite sex. It was no wonder the name Bryce Topping received frequent mention in the Washington society columns.

"Here they are," Bryce murmured to himself as he pulled a small stack of colorful prints from the top drawer. "These are fairly recent. They were taken just this past August."

Amanda quickly crossed the room, bending over the photos that Bryce spread out across the desk for her inspection. The breathtaking panoramic shots showcased a lush, tropical retreat, but her eyes were immediately drawn to the picture of a tall, sandy-haired youth standing beside a darker, stockier man. "This one's Ben?" she asked, suddenly recalling her mother's remark about the boy's freckles.

"Yes," Bryce beamed. "Hasn't changed much, has he?"

Amanda studied the picture. At first glance, Bennet Topping could indeed have passed for that lanky, twelve-year-old she'd once known, but a closer look revealed that wasn't entirely true. It wasn't that Ben still looked like a boy -- the swarthy man next to him just made him appear that way. "Who is this?" she asked curiously.

"Oh, just some business associate of Ben's. Roberto something or other."

"Well, it certainly is a beautiful setting," she said admiringly as she pointed out a shot of an imposing, castle-like structure. "Where were these taken?"

"At San Simeon. It's a small island in the Caribbean."

"San Simeon? Isn't that where . . ."

"Yes," Bryce rejoined with a laugh. "I'm sure you've heard of it. It's the popular lovers' retreat everyone's been talking about."

"Of course. My magazine ran an article on it just last month. It's supposedly booked almost two years in advance."

"Thankfully, our estate is located on the other side of the island."

She laughed lightly as she glanced at the pictures again. "It certainly doesn't look like you have a problem with tourists."

"Oh, it's very private," he assured her. "There's a small air strip on one end of the property that we use to bring in supplies and staff. From the island itself, we're only accessible by launch."

"Oh, my . . . there's no other way in?"

"Well, I suppose you could trek straight across," he told her with a laugh, "but I wouldn't recommend it. The terrain in the center of the island is quite mountainous and the old trails are practically impassable. Believe me, most tourists don't have the stamina for it."

"I imagine you don't need much security then."

"On the contrary. We have a state of the art system -- the Seaforth 2500 series."

Amanda whistled softly. "That *is* impressive."

"I can't take the credit, I'm afraid. It was installed for President Clinton's weekend visit in '98."

"You really have some vacation home, Bryce," she replied, unable to disguise her surprise.

"I'd love to show it to you some time," he offered with a suave smile. "It really is unique, even if I do say so myself. The house dates back to the late 1800's. Of course, the Toppings owned the entire island at that time, but unfortunately my father was forced to sell off some land. Inflation," he added with a self-deprecating laugh.

"Yes," she countered, glancing playfully around the room. "I can see how you're suffering."

Bryce shrugged off his embarrassment, his gray-green eyes twinkling. "I used to love to go to the island as a boy. My great-grandfather was a history buff, and he modeled the main house after a medieval castle. With modern conveniences added, of course."

"Of course," she grinned.

"It was an adventurous boy's dream come true. Dozens of rooms to get lost in, even an authentic dungeon."

Amanda shivered. "Now *that* doesn't seem like much fun."

"You sound like my father," Bryce laughed. "He always referred to the place as the old man's 'moment of lunacy.'"

She studied the picture thoughtfully once more. "I wouldn't go that far, Bryce. I think the place has a stately charm all its own."

"Now I might have to agree with that if you were standing beside it," he said, his presence warming her as he brushed a stray strand of hair from the side of her face. "The way you look tonight, I almost think you belong there."

"I don't know about that." With a nervous chuckle, she took a small step away from the handsome senator. "I'm really a very ordinary woman."

"Who just happens to have led a pretty extraordinary life. You can't fool me, Mrs. King," he grinned. "I'm afraid I've read about some of your exploits. You *and* the formidable Scarecrow."

Amanda raised an eyebrow in astonishment. "Your security clearance must be pretty high. The Agency operates on a strictly 'need to know' basis."

Topping nodded. "My oversight committee approves your budget."

"I see." Walking over to the French doors, she wrapped her arms around herself, rubbing lightly to ward off the chill. Her eyes stared vacantly into the small flower garden. "Then you also know it's not *my* budget anymore."

She heard soft footsteps on the carpet as he moved in close behind her. "I know all about your severance from the Agency, Amanda. And from Stetson."

His words were laced with quiet understanding, and Amanda heaved a sigh as she felt his breath ruffle her hair. "Then you also know my divorce isn't final yet."

"A technicality, from what I understand." Putting his hands on her shoulders, he gently turned her. "Am I wrong?"

She drew a breath, holding it for a minute before letting go. "No," she whispered as she focused her eyes on a small patch of carpet by her feet. "You're not wrong."

"Then I have a chance."

Looking up, she met his gaze. His eyes burned with a fire that was almost contagious and, as he loomed closer, it threatened to burn out of control. "Bryce," she said, neatly side-stepping his embrace. "This is happening too fast."

He moved closer. "Even if it's what we both want?"

"I . . . I don't know. I'm sorry," she sighed. "I need some time."

Bryce reached out, his finger tenderly tracing the curve of her cheek. "Time to think?" he demanded gently. "Or time to run away from what we're both feeling? Don't deny it, Amanda," he added, his voice taking on a new urgency. "I can tell you feel something, too."

She began to protest, but the words died on her lips. He was right. She did feel something, something she couldn't quite explain. Just looking at him stirred feelings in her she'd thought were a long time dead. Sucking in a breath, she quickly turned away.

"Amanda?" Bryce asked gently. "What is it?"

"Nothing . . . nothing at all. It's just getting late."

"Then I suppose that's my cue to take you home."

She responded with a low laugh. "I brought my own car, remember?"

Bryce heaved a wistful little sigh. "That's right, you did. Guess I won't be using my new convertible to melt your resolve."

"Not tonight, anyway," she told him with a smile, moving to gather up her things. As she reached for her purse, she felt an unusual tickle on her right wrist. Looking down, she caught sight of the sleek sliver bracelet Leatherneck had issued her yesterday, its presence a subtle reminder of the evening's real purpose. A sick feeling stirred in the pit of her stomach. How could she have forgotten Jamie, even for a moment?

She stole a quick glance at the Senator's desk. The pictures they'd been perusing were still strewn haphazardly across the top. She felt a brief flash of guilt as she remembered the affectionate way her new friend had spoken of his family's retreat, but leads sometimes developed from less likely sources.

"Bryce," she reminded him gently, "I'll be needing my coat."

He responded with good humor, though he was obviously still sorry that the evening was drawing to a precipitous close. Amanda watched him cross the room with an odd feeling of regret, her eyes following him until he disappeared into the hall. Positive she was out of his line of sight, she walked purposefully to the desk. With only one small, apprehensive glance over her left shoulder, she deftly slid two of the pictures into her purse.

"Amanda?"

She jumped back at the sound of her name. "Be right there, Bryce," she called, barely able to hear her own voice over the pounding of her heart. Her skills were evidently more atrophied than she'd realized, a fact she fervently hoped had escaped the good senator's notice.

Bryce certainly appeared unperturbed as he helped her on with her wrap. "I had a wonderful time tonight," he sighed, his hands lingering on her arms as they stood eye to eye in the elegant foyer, their bodies perfectly framed in the open front door. "I hope you did, too."

She started to assure him that she had, indeed, enjoyed herself, but her words died on her lips as she recognized the look of longing in his eyes. "Bryce, I . . ."

"Shhh, shhh," he said, laying a finger against her mouth to silence her. "It's okay; I'll give you all the time you need." His face lit up with a sly smile. "But while you're doing that thinking, I hope you'll consider all the arguments in my favor."

With an innate certainty, Amanda knew Bryce Topping was going to kiss her. Knew even before his body leaned toward hers, before his head tilted ever so slightly to the left, before his mouth brushed across her lips with gently persuasive pressure. Knew, and, this time, didn't step away.

"I really do need to get going," she said breathlessly as he pulled his mouth from hers. Raising her fingers, she traced the path his lips had just taken. "Thank you again for the wonderful dinner."

He smiled warmly. "The pleasure was mine. I just hope I didn't bore you too much with all the family stuff."

"I enjoyed seeing the pictures of Ben," she said, one hand convulsively gripping her purse.

Topping didn't seem to notice. "Ben was always such a shy kid," he continued as he escorted her down the short driveway to her car. "I worried about him for so long, but his life has turned out surprisingly well -- a thriving business, even a serious girlfriend."

As she unlocked the door of Lee's silver BMW with the remote, Bryce went on, "You know, I had my doubts when I gave him the seed money to start his company three years ago, but he's already repaid my investment. With interest."

"You must be very proud of him," Amanda said, fighting to keep the slightly strangled quality out of her voice.

"I guess I am at that. Ben's become a real, old-fashioned American success story. Even if he did insist on that ridiculous name." Topping let out an embarrassed laugh. "Damned silly obsession of his."

She felt her stomach drop the rest of the way. "Obsession?"

"Yes. Didn't I tell you? His company is called 'Iguana Associates.'"

~ XVII ~

Gripping his gun in both hands, Lee slowly pushed the door open with his foot. The light inside was barely adequate, but still enough to make out the shadowy figures, even from a distance. From the look of it, they were getting ready to pull up stakes again. Lucky for him he'd caught them in time. His eyes took in the darkened building once again. Five against one . . . yeah, this was his lucky day, all right.

Biting his lip, he ran his mental checklist one final time. Backup should be here any minute. If he could just come up with a creative way to stall for a little while longer. Come on, Scarecrow, think like your partner . . .

He inched forward. Without warning, the world turned upside down, and he was falling, falling . . . enveloped in a wonderful blackness. It was almost tangible, covering him with velvet tentacles. Then . . . blessed silence..

And noise. 

And pain that throbbed persistently through his head.

He dragged himself back into consciousness. A cacophony of sounds rebounded from every side, echoing off the cavernous walls of the old Allied Chemical warehouse. There was a stench as well; the foul smell assaulted his nostrils. He wiped his hand across his nose and cheek, blurred eyes focusing on the crimson smear that rubbed off on his palm.

A familiar voice rose above the others, and he looked up, puzzled. He should recognize it, did recognize it, but it refused to register, lingering instead on the tip of his fogged brain. 

As his mind began to clear, he could hear more voices . . . was that the Agency backup team at last? The jumbled words grew louder, and he caught a flash of light . . . an Agency issue .38 special. And a loud crash . . . no, not a crash . . . a gunshot . . . more than one. Too many for just the perps. The Agency must have come to the rescue at last . . .

Stop! Wait! Phillip, no!

Damn you, Scarecrow, why don't you move . . .

Oh my God . . .

"Phillip!" He crawled over to where the boy was lying in an ever-expanding red pool. "Phillip!"

Amanda's son smiled up at him weakly. "Sorry, Lee. Guess I. . . I screwed up, huh? Forgot about . . . the recognition signals  . . . should have waited."

The room began to swim, colors blending into each other with alarming dissonance. Blue, orange, red . . . my God, so much red . . . screwed up . . . screwed up . . . sorry . . . Lee . . .

Lee . . .

His name floated overhead again, this time soothing him with lilting comfort.

Lee . . .

A burst of light flooded his field of vision. Jerking up into a sitting position, he looked around wildly, eyes blinking against the glare of the lamps. The shadowy world of his nightmare was still so vivid that it took a moment to register that the warm, brightly lit den was, in fact, his own.

"Lee?" The soft dream-voice called out to him again with tender concern. "Are you all right?"

"Amanda?" he said incredulously, not quite sure what was real or what was fantasy. She had appeared so often on the edges of his waking mind that he almost mistook her for an apparition. Poised on the step, her hand still resting on the light switch, he'd never seen anything quite so beautiful.

"I didn't mean to startle you. I just got back from dinner, and at first I didn't realize anyone was in here," she explained in a very real voice, a voice he would have recognized anywhere. Tossing her purse onto a nearby chair, she quickly sat down beside him, giving his knee a reassuring squeeze. "Sorry."

"It's okay," he said, her remorseful tone almost identical to the one that still haunted him on a regular basis. He let out a ragged breath, feigning a yawn to cover the slight tremor in his voice. "Haven't been sleeping too well lately, I guess."

"If all your dreams are like that one, I'm not surprised." She smiled grimly, prying the twisted throw pillow from his grasp. "What was it about?"

"I don't know," he lied, exhaling loudly once again. "I can't remember." Turning his head, he rubbed his eyes, which, for some reason, seemed inexplicably moist. He forced himself to concentrate on the here and now. "Uh, how did your evening go?"

"Fine," he heard her reply in a breathy whisper. "It went fine."

"Then you didn't get anything out of Topping?"

She turned away with a funny jerk of her head. Folding her hands in her lap, she circled her left thumb absently around the right, and he thought he noted a slight hesitation before she gave him an enigmatic, "Not exactly."

The phrase catapulted him off the sofa. He made a show of stretching the kinks out of his back as he glanced surreptitiously over his shoulder. Her attention was still focused on her lap; Amanda never could look at him when she was hiding something.

"So, what 'exactly' is 'not exactly' supposed to mean?" he demanded, losing the battle to curb his growing annoyance. "Either you found something we can use or you didn't."

Wordlessly, she retrieved her purse and removed two photographs, handing him the top one with a peevish smile. "The Topping estate on San Simeon. Quite the vacation spot. Been in their family for years."

"How nice for them," he muttered, his temper stretched to its breaking point. "But I don't see how this . . ."

Amanda cut him off. "Bryce showed me some photographs of his son," she explained, irritation seeping into her voice as well. "They were taken last August, on some kind of fishing excursion."

"I don't see what this has to do with Jamie." Over the years he'd become an expert at deciphering her convoluted thought processes, but evidently she'd taken the art of confusion to a new level.

She abruptly handed him the other picture. "Then maybe this will make things clearer. The tall, skinny one is Ben Topping. Ben as in 'B.' Topping, Lee," she reiterated when he didn't respond.  "Of Iguana Associates."

He clutched the photograph tightly, barely sparing a glance for the tow-headed youth who grinned back at him. "Amanda, this other guy . . ." He pointed to the heavier man with dark, slicked-back hair. "How does Topping know him?"

"A business associate, I think he said."

Lee bristled. "Business associate? You're positive those were the words he used?"

"Yes, I'm positive," Amanda assured him testily as she looked over his shoulder. "Why, do you recognize him?"

"You could say that. Most of Field Section is scouring this town for him as we speak. His name is Roberto Salzedo."

"Salzedo? The man you're looking for in connection with Tom Franklin's death?" She frowned. "Are you sure?"

Lee nodded. "I ran afoul of him in Buenos Aires back in the summer of '82. I was forced to watch as he butchered four members of my team under the guise of an 'interrogation.' Trust me," he declared with a harsh laugh. "I'd know that pig anywhere."

"Oh, my gosh!"

"That's one way to put it." He walked away with a thoughtful frown, two long strides taking him to the back door. "Then it's true," he said, tapping his palm with the photo to emphasize his words. "Topping really does have ties to Los Lobos."

He felt a light hand squeeze his shoulder. "Los Lobos?" Amanda asked, her perfume wafting aromatically under his nose. The scent had always been his favorite, and his mind was suddenly flooded with images of another time and place. "The same group Fleetwood was worried about?"

"Uh, yeah," he stammered, forcing himself to concentrate as he moved out of range. "They're a terrorist organization operating out of Central America. We know they have financing inside the U.S., but we've never been able to link them to a specific name. Until now. My God, a United States Senator . . ." He let out a long breath, turning to her with a grudging smile. "This is good work, Amanda. Really good work."

She didn't seem pleased with the compliment. "A U.S. Senator?" she repeated skeptically. "Now I'm the one who's not following."

Her ready defense of that pompous stiff grated on his already raw nerves. "'B. Topping,'" he reminded her. "The connection's obvious."

Her eyes flashed darkly. "I don't see how that makes Bryce guilty of anything other than fatherhood."

"It's more than enough for me," he rejoined, his anger clearly evident this time as she turned to him with a long-suffering sigh. He recognized the look; it was the one she'd always reserved for the boys whenever they'd tried to pull a fast one.

"Bryce Topping doesn't have anything to do with Iguana Associates, Lee," she stated with categorical assurance. "It's Ben's company, not his."

He folded his arms across his chest. "And you know this -- how?"

"He told me."

"Well, then, it *must* be true."

"Bryce was very forthcoming about the whole thing," she insisted, her foot tapping impatiently on the soft carpet. "Definitely not the modus operandi of a man who has something to hide."

"Since when do you blindly accept the word of a suspect? Good God, Amanda, have you forgotten all your training?"

"I haven't forgotten anything," she ground out. "But I have a feeling Bryce is telling the truth."

"A 'feeling,'" he scoffed.

Lifting her chin, she met his gaze. "You used to trust my instincts, you know. They've certainly saved your butt often enough."

"And landed you in just as many tight spots."

He saw her stiffen as his barb hit its mark. "What's gotten into you?" she snapped. "You're sounding like . . . like . . ."

"Like what?" he challenged, tossing the photo aside as he planted himself directly in front of her. "Like what, Amanda?"

"Not what, who -- Francine!" Shaking her head, she turned away from him to study the silk flower arrangement on the coffee table. "Only coming from you, it's ten times worse. I'm conditioned to expect that kind of condescension from her."

He watched as her slender form bent over the artificial leaves, wiping the light layer of dust away with her thumb. "It's not that I doubt your instincts," he said, his tone unconsciously softening. "It's just that for some reason, where Bryce Topping is concerned, you seem to have blinders on."

She whipped around to face him, almost knocking the basket of greenery to the floor. "I do not!"

He realized with a sudden pang that he'd obviously touched a nerve. "Could have fooled me," he retorted, all restraint finally shot to hell. "The two of you share a few meals and some charming words, and suddenly you're defending the guy's honor right and left." His lip curled up in a sneer, and he couldn't stop himself from adding, "Assuming, of course, that's all you've shared."

The sharp crack of her hand across his cheek brought him up short. "I guess it's true what they say about a good offense," he retorted, his fingers rubbing his still smarting skin.

Her wide eyes stared back at him in astonishment, as if she couldn't quite believe what she'd done. "Lee," she gasped, "I'm . . ."

"Don't," he said, quickly cutting her off. "I think that's probably the most honest thing that's happened between us in a long time."

Stooping, he quickly retrieved the picture that had fallen to the floor. "I'm going to head into the Agency," he informed her in his most businesslike tone, "before the late shift signs off. Run this information and see what comes up. I'll keep you posted."

He grabbed the keys she'd tossed on the table and headed for the door, slipping outside before she had a chance to answer. He didn't want to see the pain that by now had surely replaced the flashing anger in her eyes. He could handle all the rage she could muster; he deserved that, and more. It was her grief he couldn't bear.

Sliding behind the wheel of his silver-gray BMW, he pressed the accelerator to the floor and sped away from the curb.

~ XVIII ~

"That's all we have at this point," Amanda said, struggling to keep an upbeat tone. "We have a few leads that may pan out, but nothing definite yet. Yes, I promise, I'll call as soon as we know anything. Give my love to Lisa and the baby . . . Lee? Yeah, he's, um, fine. I've really got to run, Mother . . . Yes, yes, I will. I'll tell him . . . I love you, too."

She clicked off the phone with an exasperated sigh. No matter the crisis, Dotty West still ran true to form. Amanda supposed she should find some small comfort in that, but there were times when she could barely stop herself from screaming at the thinly veiled comments. Why couldn't her mother understand that these less than subtle hints hurt more than they helped?

As the previous day's exertions finally caught up with her, she headed into the den. Unable to summon the strength to climb the stairs, she stretched out on the couch. It seemed to welcome her as an old friend as she fit her neck into the familiar niche along its bulky arm. 

She remembered the day they'd bought it as if it were yesterday. Lee had feigned his usual disinterest, but when she'd finally managed to drag him into the store, he'd heartily approved her choice. With a grin that had caused her cheeks to flush, he'd whispered that at last she'd found a piece of furniture roomy enough for two. They'd soon discovered it served another purpose as well, its large, over-stuffed cushions providing a comfortable retreat when one of them needed a neutral corner. They made war, it seemed, every bit as passionately as they made love.

Maybe she should have sought refuge here after last night's skirmish. Sleep had skillfully eluded her up in her mother's old room as she'd replayed their encounter over and over again in her mind. Despite her almost desperate efforts to the contrary, her emotions still ran high where Lee was concerned. Even now, the man possessed an uncanny ability to infuriate her, especially when his arrows hit a little too close to the mark.

Is that what had happened last night? Had she reacted so strongly because Lee had been an insufferable prig or because he'd been right?

Too antsy to rest, she abandoned the couch, pacing the small room in spite of her fatigue. She had nothing to feel guilty about, she reminded herself. She was a free agent. She didn't owe Lee Stetson anything, and she'd damn well kiss anyone she wanted to. It wasn't as if she'd intended to let it happen. For some unfathomable reason, Bryce Topping had managed to soothe an aching place inside her soul.

She tried to make some sense of it, but her jumbled emotions defied explanation. Yes, Bryce was certainly good-looking, but not fatally attractive by any stretch of the imagination. Frowning, she tried to recall his face, but his features ran together in her mind. Yet still she found herself inexplicably attracted to him. There was just something about the man's eyes; they sparkled when he smiled, and when she looked into their hazel depths, she saw a world of possibilities instead of a reflection of her own pain.

The doorbell squawked irreverently. Eager to put a stop to the sound, she ran up then down the two sets of small steps leading into the foyer. A brief look through the peephole revealed Francine Desmond standing on her front step, her left hand tapping impatiently against her thigh. Amanda groaned. First her mother, now Francine; evidently this was her day for unsolicited aggravation. Pasting a grin on her face, she opened the door.

"Hello, Francine," she cooed. "This is a surprise."

"I'm sure," the blonde agent replied. Brushing aside the pleasantries, she demanded, "I need to see Lee."

"I'm afraid he's not here at the moment," she replied, straining for civility. Francine seemed unusually adept at annoying her these days, and this morning was definitely no exception.

"Well, may I come in and wait for him?" she inquired in her most sarcastic tone, "or would you prefer me to pitch a tent on the lawn?"

Amanda's smile faded. "Be my guest."

As Francine's scowl deepened, Amanda realized she was blocking her way. Her subconscious must be trying to tell her something; in her current mood, a one-on-one with the prickly blonde agent sounded about as pleasurable as a root canal.

Francine appeared equally thrilled. "Look, Amanda," she told her with a put-upon sigh as she swept through the door. "You don't have to pretend you're any happier about seeing me than I am about being here. As soon as I hand off these files Lee requested, you can get back to doing . . . well, whatever it is you do best."

"I'll be happy to take them," Amanda said with as much graciousness as she could muster.

Francine smiled thinly. "Sorry. Classified material. I'm sure you understand."

"Perfectly," Amanda returned, pushing the heavy door closed with a bang. She took a deep breath and counted to ten, steeling herself to face her guest. "Since you're here, would you like some coffee?" she asked with forced politeness as she led the way into the den.

"If it's not too much trouble." Ensconcing herself on the couch, Francine turned to Amanda with a cool smile. "Black, with just a touch of Sweet and Low."

"Sure," she said, adding under her breath as she headed into the kitchen, "no trouble at all."

Flinging open the cabinet door, Amanda selected a mug then, with a shrug of her shoulders, quickly pulled out another. At least drinking coffee would give her something to do. Filling both mugs to the brim, she added a little sugar to hers. Refilling the spoon, she held it tantalizingly over Francine's coffee before her conscience prevailed. Dumping the granules back into the bowl, she let out a remorseful sigh; artificial sweetener was probably a more appropriate choice for Francine anyway.

"Amanda?" she heard her guest call out in appropriately syrupy tones. "Do you need some help?"

"No, I'm almost finished." Quickly placing the mugs and spoons on a tray, she eyed the poppyseed cake she'd whipped up yesterday. In for a penny, in for a pound, she thought dryly, arranging a few slices attractively on a small plate before heading back to her guest.

"Here you go," she said with a neutral smile as she set the tray on the coffee table. "I'm afraid I couldn't find any Sweet and Low, though."

"Don't worry, I'll get it," Francine offered in her most conciliatory tone. "Lee usually keeps it in the cupboard over the oven." Rising, she marched into the kitchen, immediately returning with a small pink packet. Tearing open the top, she sprinkled just a few granules into the mug. "I'm sure this will hit the spot," she stated sweetly, a satisfied smile on her face as she reclined regally against the cushions.

Amanda lowered herself stiffly into the wing chair, her eyes following Francine's manicured fingers as they brought the dark blue mug to her lips. "Mmmm," she sighed appreciatively as she took a generous sip. "This Brazilian blend always was my favorite."

Crossing her legs, Amanda kicked the air with her foot, watching silently as Francine finished her coffee.

"You know, Amanda, you really should ask Lee to give you some of this to take back home."

"Believe it or not, we have coffee in Chicago," she snapped, her fingers pressing more firmly into the arm of the chair.

"Oh, I'm sure you do," Francine chuckled. Stifling a little yawn, her eyes took inventory of the room, nodding nonchalantly toward the Tibetan ram's horn on the corner table.  "I've always liked that piece. I remember when Lee found . . ."

"Okay, would you care to tell me what kind of game it is we're playing here?" Amanda interrupted, her patience finally spent. "It might help if I knew the rules."

Placing her mug deliberately on the small tray, Francine eyed her calmly. "I never play games, Amanda," she said in carefully modulated tones. "I thought you knew that."

"Then what would you call this charming little performance?"

"Keeping a promise to a friend."

"A friend? Gee, I didn't know you cared."

Francine's lips tightened into a smile. "I don't actually, but Lee asked me not to fight with you . . . as a special favor to him."

Amanda's eyes flashed ominously as she sprang from her chair. "How gallant. But I don't need him to defend me, thank you very much." 

Francine's posture seemed even straighter than usual as she met Amanda's gaze. "Yes," she delivered with quiet aplomb, "you've made that pretty obvious, haven't you?"

"And just what is that supposed to mean?"

"Anything you'd like it to, dear." Uncoiling, she slithered up from the couch. "If you don't mind, I think I will wait for Lee outside after all."

"I do mind, actually," Amanda replied, placing herself solidly in Francine's path as the woman started for the hall. Mounting the small step, she folded her arms across her chest, glaring down into the blonde agent's cool blue eyes. "You've been on my back from the minute I set foot in the Agency the other day. I think you owe me an explanation."

"If you must know, it's just something I felt compelled to do."

Amanda blanched as she recognized the same phrase she'd spoken to Lee when she'd left town a year ago. 

"Just what *are* you doing back here?" Francine continued, her hands firmly planted on her hips. "I thought you'd 'had enough of this town to last a lifetime.'" 

"My son is missing," Amanda managed to grind out through clenched teeth.

"That's right," Francine sighed with feigned empathy, "and none of us would be able to find him without you. Well, for your information, Lee and I were in this business long before you conveniently took it up. I think we can handle it."

"*I* think I've been a pretty valuable member of the team so far. Even if I *am* a civilian," she added with more than a touch of sarcasm.

"You would think that," Francine snapped, shaking her blonde hair into her face. "I can't believe your gall. You decide to trade in your pistol for a pen, then think you can just waltz right back in any time the spirit moves you . . ."

"I have no intention of 'waltzing back' anywhere," Amanda said, jumping down from her perch on the stair. "But even if I did, it wouldn't be *your* decision to make."

"Well, I hope you don't think it's *yours*. The Agency isn't a revolving door, Amanda. And you forfeited any right to be there the day you abandoned your job."

"I didn't abandon anything," she spat in a breathy whisper, wondering why she felt the need to justify herself to the likes of Francine. "I just couldn't do it any more. It was too hard."

"Yes, I suppose it was. After all, your career was handed to you on a silver platter, so why should you be expected to work at it?"

"I worked damned hard at it," she shot back. "You know, I'm sick to death of this 'poor me' routine of yours. You've been handing it to people for years now. Yes, it's tough for a woman in this business, but try being Scarecrow's protégé on top of that! I was constantly proving myself to the women as well as the men. And my marriage certainly didn't make things any easier."

"And we've seen what you do when things aren't easy, haven't we? You turn tail and run! First from your career, then from your marriage."

Amanda felt her hands clenching into fists, the nails digging deeply into her palms. "What happened to my marriage is *my* business, not yours! And certainly *not* the Agency's!"

"Forget it," Francine shouted, throwing up her hands as she headed for the front door. "I should have known better than to open my mouth."

Amanda grabbed her forcefully by the arm. "You started this, now finish it!"

Francine shook her off. "Oh, you're so sure of yourself, aren't you, Mrs. King? You want me to finish this? Well, I'll be happy to! Lee Stetson was a wreck after you walked out on him last year. I should know," she added with particular venom. "*I* was the one who was there to pick up all the pieces."

Amanda's eyes widened as Francine ranted on. "Yes, *your* son is missing," she said, beginning to pace. "How typical! That's all you've thought about for the past year and a half -- *your* son, *your* loss, *your* pain. Do you have emotional blinders on?  Have you given one iota of thought to what it's going to do to Lee if he can't save Jamie? No, of course not. Amanda wants his help, and we all know *that's* what counts here!"

"That's enough, Francine!"

"Can't stomach her responsibilities at the Agency any more?" Francine seethed, the bitter words tumbling over each other in her haste to be rid of them. "That's okay, Amanda can just walk away. Never mind that her partner's relying on her. Can't stomach her marriage anymore? Well, there's an easy solution to that, too. Just pull up stakes and start a new life somewhere else. Never mind that her husband's grieving. Never mind that the Q Bureau's in shambles and his career's in jeopardy because he can't face going into the field anymore. Never mind that he's spent the last year on Pfaff's couch trying to crawl out from under the guilt trip his loving wife laid on him about their son!"

Folding her arms across her stomach, Amanda hunched over as if she'd been struck. "Go to hell! You have no idea what it's like to lose a child."

"No, you're right, I don't. But I do know what it's like to lose my best friend . . . because that's what almost happened last year." Her voice grew stronger as she added forcefully, "And I won't just sit by and watch you and destroy him all over again!"

Amanda straightened, pivoting slowly to face Francine. But instead of the blind fury she'd expected to encounter in the woman's eyes, she found only the remnants of soft tears. "Oh, my gosh," she gasped breathily. "You're in love with him, aren't you?"

Francine turned her head away, brushing back the hair that had fallen across her face. "He's my friend."

"I don't know why I didn't see it before," Amanda whispered, almost to herself. "The furtive little looks, the comforting hand on his shoulder, not to mention knowing where he keeps the Sweet and Low. How long has it been going on?"

Turning on her heel, Francine started for the door again, but Amanda dogged her steps. "Answer my question, Francine," she demanded. "Just how long have you been sleeping with my husband?"

Francine paused in the foyer to lob a parting shot back over her shoulder. "Don't you mean your ex-husband?" she inquired, her cool disdain once again firmly in place. "Surely you don't consider yourself married any more?" 

"You don't know what I think," Amanda told her hotly.

"I saw you, Amanda," Francine pressed, clearly on the offensive again. "That was quite a little scene you and Bryce Topping played out at his front door last night. Full of hearts and flowers and touching farewells."

Amanda's fingers unconsciously flew to her lips. "You were spying on me?"

Francine smiled faintly. "That's a rather quaint way to put it, but yes. I was running surveillance. You didn't honestly think Lee would let you go in there on your own, did you?" 

The front door opened suddenly and they both started, Francine taking a quick step back. Lee burst through the door, acknowledging Amanda with a brief nod as he turned to Francine. "Good, you're here," he said with familiar abruptness. "Did you sign out those satellite surveillance photos I requested?"

"Ah, yes." Francine glanced ruefully into the other room. "I left them on the coffee table."

"Thanks," Lee replied over his shoulder as he barreled into the den. "I'm gonna need them."

Bestowing a contemptuous scowl on Francine, Amanda followed. She could hear the blonde's sharp heels tap the floor close behind her. Ignoring her for the moment, she turned her attention to Lee.

His face betrayed no sign of what had transpired last night between them, and as he briefly read a note attached to the first photo, Amanda watched his brow knit into the frown she'd come to know all too well over the years.

"It's that bad?" she asked in a low voice.

Lee tossed the file onto the sofa. "Dr. Smyth has officially informed me to drop the investigation into Iguana Associates," he said, including them both in his sweeping glance.

Francine immediately moved to lay a soft hand on his arm. "But the evidence we gathered last night on Salzedo . . . how could Smyth just disregard that?"

Lee chuckled grimly. "It seems the Topping kid assured him beyond a shadow of a doubt that he'd severed all connections with one Roberto Salzedo."

Amanda felt herself unconsciously bristling at the scene playing out in front of her. "And Smyth took the word of a suspect?" she asked, an edge to her voice as she caught Lee's eye.

"No," he replied, matching her tone, "but he did take the word of your good friend the Senator."

"What does Bryce have to do with this?" Amanda demanded with a frown.

"Senator Topping asked him as a personal favor to call off the bloodhounds. You'll have to excuse me if I don't give you his exact words," he snorted, shaking off Francine's fingers in his need to pace. "I've had more than my fill of Mother Goose analogies for one morning."

"What now?" Francine asked uncertainly.

Stopping, Lee gave her a look. "We move as planned."

"You're not going ahead with the mission now?" Francine asked incredulously.

His jaw firmly set, he added without a second's hesitation, "You bet I am."

"But Dr. Smyth . . ."

Amanda smiled smugly at Francine. "Smyth can't order the Agency to become officially involved, but I'm sure unofficially is different matter entirely."

Lee gave her a grudging smile. "Yes, it always is." Turning to Francine, he let out a long breath. "Smyth needs deniability. He'll be happy to take the credit for stopping Salzedo, as long as he can justify it after the fact. If not . . . " Lee shrugged. "Well, in this business, sooner or later, everyone's expendable."

"No," Francine stated vehemently. "There must be another way. I could . . ."

"I appreciate the offer, but I can't accept." Smiling faintly, Lee added, "My career, my decision."

"Lee . . ." Casting a look in Amanda's direction, she abruptly changed tacks. "At least let me be your eyes and ears at the Agency. You're going to need someone on the inside."

Lee hesitated, but Amanda could tell it was only momentary. "You know what this means if Smyth finds out."

Francine nodded, her smile matching his. "My career, my decision."

"Just promise me you won't go so far out on that limb that it breaks," Lee said with a resigned sigh. "One sacrificial lamb is enough for Smyth; I won't give him two."

"I'll do what needs to be done," Francine answered. "That much I can promise."

Amanda watched as the two of them continued their conversation in that special shorthand usually reserved for partners. Lee's eyes drifted in her direction, and, almost as if suddenly remembering she was there, he quickly ushered Francine to the door. "I'll need you to set a few things in motion at the Agency before I go," Amanda heard him say. "It shouldn't be too hard -- I've appointed you acting Chief in my stead."

"Just what I always wanted," Francine chirped. "A field promotion."

"If you need anything, you can rely on Carter. She can be a little trying at times, but she knows the status of the pending cases by heart."

"I can handle it."

Lee's response was lost in the loud creak of the opening door. Frowning, Amanda edged a little closer, straining to hear Francine's words. "Lee," she heard her sigh, her tone full of concern. "Are you sure going rogue is the way to handle this?"

"I don't have much choice," came Lee's steely reply. "Smyth's given me seventy-two hours grace -- no more."

"But the last time you were in the field . . ."

Amanda thought she caught a soft tremor in his voice. "That's my son out there, Francine.  If Jamie's somehow gotten himself mixed up with the likes of Salzedo . . ."

"You'll need backup," Francine told him..

"I have it covered. And I know what you think of that idea, so please, spare me another lecture, okay?"

Amanda walked away, not bothering to wait for Francine's reply. Jamie . . . involved with Los Lobos. Was Francine right? Could they already be too late?

She heard the front door close. "Amanda," Lee began tentatively as he joined her in the den. "There's something I have to ask . . ."

She met his eyes with an assurance she didn't feel. Once upon a time, Scarecrow and Mrs. King could have held their own against the best of them; now she wasn't sure. "What's the plan?" she asked in a small voice. 

She heard the same hint of doubt in voice as he answered. "I managed to call in a few favors and wangle a reservation on San Simeon for tonight. At 'El Escondrijo del Amante'."

"'Lover's Hideaway'?" She hoped her brittle laugh would cover the uncertainty in her voice. "How subtle."

Evidently he still knew her too well. "Amanda," Lee said, running a hand slowly through his hair.  "You don't have to do this, you know."

Grinning determinedly, she met his eye. "When do we leave?"

His smile matched hers. "We're on the three o'clock flight."

Nodding, she started for the stairs, but his voice called her back. "There's one more thing," he said, looking at an unseen spot just over her right shoulder. "I did a lot of thinking last night, and there are some things that need to be said."

"We don't have to do this now," she said in an attempt to head him off. The last thing she wanted at the moment was to rehash old arguments.

"Yes," he countered firmly, "we do. If we're going to be able to function in the field, we can't keep tripping over our personal lives every time we turn around. That's the fastest way I know to a bullet . . ." Stopping short, he turned away.

"Lee, it's okay," she began, Francine's accusations ringing in her ears as for the first time she took full note of his distress. She wanted to reach out to him, but suddenly didn't know how.

"You were right, Amanda," he said, sighing deeply. "I didn't have any right to say those things to you last night. What you do and with whom isn't my business anymore." Reaching into his pocket, he quickly pulled out an envelope, turning it over a few times before placing it in her hands. He raised a hesitant finger to her cheek, caressing her for one all too brief moment. "I've been a fool," he told her with a bittersweet smile, "holding onto the past, not allowing either of us to move forward. I signed the divorce papers this morning. As soon as we get back, your attorney can file them."

She clutched the crisp white envelope tightly in her hand. "Lee. I don't know if . . ."

He didn't allow her to finish. "We should both get packed, Mrs. King. We wouldn't want to miss our flight."

Frozen, Amanda could only watch as he disappeared upstairs. Licking her dry lips, she looked down at the envelope in her hands, her finger sliding underneath the flap. She opened it in slow motion, removing the blue-backed papers with special care. The bold typeset seemed to mock her as her eyes were drawn inexorably down the page.

'Whereas, wife shall cause to be filed against husband a Petition for Dissolution of Marriage . . .' 

"No, Lee," she whispered, a solitary tear following the path his fingers had traced on her cheek. "I'm the fool."