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**

3. PART THREE

PART THREE

"If I should die before I wake . . ."

~ XIX ~

"El Sr. y la Sra. . . ." The desk clerk glanced at his file then looked up with a toadying smile. "El Sr. y la Sra. Stedman, dé la bienvenida al Escondrijo del Amante. Yo lo espero y su esposa tuvo un vuelo agradable."

"Thank you." Lee smiled warmly as his arm snaked out to draw Amanda's body closer. "We had a very pleasant flight, didn't we, Darling?"

She let out a light, melodic laugh, her expression matching his. "Yes, we did."

"Perdóneme, but I thought you had specified Spanish as your language of choice."

Affecting a quizzical look, Lee shook his head. "No, I'm afraid you must be mistaken."

"Enrique must have taken your reservation," the man informed them ruefully. "It is not the first error he has made. Fortunately, he is no longer with us. If there are any inaccuracies with any of the other preferences you specified, you have only to call the front desk. At Escondrijo del Amante, we pride ourselves in attention to even the smallest detail."

"Oh, I'm sure everything will be just fine," Amanda stated as she glanced at Lee with an impatient sigh. "Right, Sweetheart?"

Unable to answer, Lee merely nodded. That name, so casually bandied about, unexpectedly stung him. It was silly, he reminded himself. After all, they were undercover. Endearments were not only necessary, they were expected. Hadn't he just called her 'darling?' It was just that, for a moment, he felt uncomfortably like . . . Joe King.

"Sweetheart?"

He felt the subtle pressure of Amanda's hand on his arm. Slipping back into his role, he turned to the clerk once again, allowing a note of urgency to creep into his voice. "If someone could please show us to our room?"

The clerk's knowing grinned revealed a small gap between his front teeth. "Of course, Mr. and Mrs. Stedman." Motioning for a bellcap, he added, "We hope you have a wonderful honeymoon. And, again, if there's anything you need . . ."

Lee dismissed the clerk with a brusque nod. His fingers resting lightly on Amanda's hip, he escorted her across the elegant, two-story lobby. The late afternoon light filtered down on them through the vaulted glass ceiling as they followed the bellhop at a leisurely pace. The quaint, turn of the century furnishings, intimately grouped throughout the large room, lent the feeling of a bygone era. To complete the picture, the tinkling sounds of a piano could be heard from somewhere above them. Struck by an odd feeling of disconnect, Lee suddenly found himself wishing they were there for no other purpose than to bask in the luxurious comfort of the world-class resort.

The feeling lasted until they reached the antique elevator. "Honeymoon?" Amanda hissed in his ear as they stepped inside, her brow creased in a furious frown.

"I told you, I had to pull strings to get this reservation," he muttered, hoping she'd leave it at that. He knew how little she cared for this type of charade. "I couldn't be choosy."

"Any other surprises you'd care to share?"

The annoyance in her tone was impossible to miss. He shot her a warning glance, inclining his head in the direction of the bellhop who was maneuvering their luggage into the small space. Amanda rolled her eyes, but took the hint.

He could tell she was still angry, though, by the way she toyed with that heart-shaped necklace she always wore. It was a habit he'd come to use over the years as a barometer for her moods. A few casual swipes signaled mild irritation; twisting it around her finger meant he was really in the doghouse. And that time she'd actually gotten it caught on her ring . . . 

Her ring.

Lee sucked in a breath. He shot the bellhop an uneasy glance as he quickly folded her hand in his. The boy seemed disinterested enough; perhaps he hadn't noticed her glaringly naked finger after all. Although the boy's eyes *had* seemed to drift curiously in their direction once or twice.

Squaring his shoulders, he turned to Amanda with a stunning smile. Slowly, he drew her hand up, carefully studying each line in her palm with deliberate care. Leaning forward ever so slightly, he traced her lifeline with the tip of his tongue, stopping at the end to place a sensual kiss on the pulse point of her wrist. As if on cue, she shivered slightly, the little sigh that escaped her lips a perfect validation of their cover.

Lee whistled softly; she might be angry, but her timing was as impeccable as ever. Turning her hand, he directed his attention next to her slender fingers, softly stoking each one in turn. By the time he finally arrived at her ring finger, the smirking bellhop had averted his eyes, and Lee reached into his pocket. Without missing a beat, he slipped a plain platinum band onto Amanda's waiting finger.

The conveyance came to a precipitous stop, the gilt-edged doors opening with a powerful 'whoosh.' As they stepped out into the hall, Amanda seized the first opportunity to remove her hand from his, pushing it forcefully into her pocket as they both followed the bellboy down the long, narrow corridor.

It opened into a small alcove. "Here you are, Mr. and Mrs. Stedman," he informed them as he opened the door marked 554. "Just as you specified, one of our most private accommodations. I hope you enjoy your stay."

"I'm sure we will," Lee replied, stepping aside to allow Amanda to enter. Eager to be rid of their unwanted audience, he hastily slapped a few bills into the boy's hands and picked up their suitcases. "I'll take it from here."

The bellhop grinned appreciatively as he pocketed the tip. "If you need anything during our stay, my name is Simon." With a respectful tilt of his head, he retreated back down the hall.

"Lee," he heard Amanda say irritably as he crossed the threshold. Her eyes flashed as she eyed the phony wedding ring around her finger. "We need . . ."

"There'll be plenty of time to unpack, Darling," he quickly replied, shooting her a warning as he deposited their bags in the corner. She nodded her understanding with a sour grimace. Matching her look, he retrieved a slim, silver case from his pocket, saying in an enthusiastic voice, "I've heard wonderful things about this place. I'm sure the trip will be unforgettable." Keeping up the inane banter, he quickly and efficiently swept the room. It appeared to be clean. Although, noting the particularly grim set of Amanda's jaw as she watched in stony silence, he almost wished the damn bug detector would beep. 

Snapping the case closed, he let out a deep sigh. "We can talk now."

"Oh, we can talk now?" she repeated with cool sarcasm, drumming her fingers on her arm as she eyed him frostily. "As opposed to . . . what? Not being able to talk back in Arlington? Or on the plane? Or on the cab ride from the airport?"

Letting out a short breath, he retrieved his small suitcase. "Look, Amanda," he began as he busied himself with unpacking. "I know this is awkward, and you're upset . . ."

"How perceptive of you, Scarecrow."

The use of his codename grated jarringly. "What did you expect me to do?" he grumbled, tossing some shirts haphazardly into a drawer. "I couldn't exactly arrange for separate rooms at this particular resort. It caters to lovers." 

She waved her ring finger accusingly in the air. "So you said to yourself, hey, why not take it a step further?"

Ignoring her look, he turned back to his suitcase. He pulled out his sweats, hesitated a moment, then carelessly stuffed them into the same drawer. "Dr. Smyth was breathing down my neck. I had less than thirty minutes to throw this scenario together. I may have let a few minor details slip . . ."

"'A few minor details?' For Pete's sake, Lee!" Shaking her head, she quickly crossed the room. "Here, give me that," she ordered as she snatched the jacket from his hands. "It's going to be full of wrinkles." Shaking it with unusual zeal, she marched to the closet, hanging it up with a furious bang. Then, zeroing in on his drawer, she removed the tangled mass of shirts and dumped them on top of the polished dresser. Grabbing one from the pile, she folded it across her chest, energetically smoothing out the wrinkles. "I think, under the circumstances, I had a need to know," she groused as she placed the shirt carefully back in the drawer.

"I realize that. And I had every intention of . . ." He stopped, glaring at her as she started folding yet another shirt. "I'm a big boy, Amanda," he snapped. "I can take care of my own . . ."

Turning abruptly, she whipped the shirt in his direction, hitting him squarely in the face. "Be my guest."

"And *that*," he returned, stooping to retrieve the fallen clothing with an exaggerated flourish, "is exactly why I didn't tell you. I knew how you'd react."

Pushing him aside, she hefted her own suitcase onto the bed, tugging unmercifully at the zipper. "Then all the more reason to discuss it with me," she told him, grabbing an armful of her own clothing. She started for the dresser, then abruptly changed course, blowing out a sharp breath as she flung the bundle back onto the bed. 

He could see the small muscles in her jaw clenching. This argument was escalating into their usual impasse even faster than usual. "Okay, okay," he ground out, struggling to hang onto what remained of his temper. "I get the point."

"No, I don't think you do," she responded, her hands on her hips. "You have no idea what I'm so angry about, do you?

Lee let out an exasperated sigh. "Look, I'm sorry about all this. The room . . ."

"I couldn't care less about this stupid room. You always *think* you know how I'm going to react in any given situation, but you really haven't got a clue. Why don't you try talking to me sometimes? I might surprise you."

"Amanda . . ."

"Damn it, Lee!" she cried with sudden vehemence. "We're supposed to be partners!"

He bit his lip. "There wasn't time to . . ."

"That's a bunch of baloney," she all but shouted. "You make time for the things you want to make time for."

He narrowed his eyes at her, his entire form stiffening as he folded his arms across his chest. "Just what the hell is *that* supposed to mean?"

"It means that you certainly found a few spare minutes to call your good friend Francine on the way to the airport," she returned, almost spitting the words at him. "And again when we landed."

"I had information to coordinate with her."

Her scowl became a contemptuous smile. "Is that what they call it these days?"

"What the hell are you getting at?"

"As if you didn't know."

Her convoluted thought processes were more than he could take. Picking up his small travel case, he flung it disconsolately onto the nearby chaise. "You know, you're right about one thing -- I don't know how you're going to react any more. Maybe I should have taken Francine up on her offer to come down here with me."

"Yeah, well, I'm sure it would have been *much* more pleasant for you."

"At least Francine and I wouldn't be having this pointless argument. You know the rules of this game as well as I do. Damn, it Amanda, you were easier to work with as an untrained civilian!"

Her sharp intake of breath hit him like a knife, and he knew he'd gone too far. Punching his fist impotently into his palm, he stole a guilty glance over his shoulder. She stood very still, her eyes unreadable as she absently toyed with her make-believe wedding band.

"I guess I should be flattered you didn't tell me to wait in the car until this was all over," she told him, her voice shaking with an emotion she was clearly trying desperately to control. 

The pain he had caused was plainly obvious, and he found himself shifting uncomfortably under her gaze. "Amanda, I . . . I didn't mean that the way it sounded." He took a small step forward. "And I didn't mean to . . . well, I'm . . ."

Shaking her head, she quickly held up her hand. Crossing the room, she flung open the French doors, stepping out onto the small balcony.  She stood statue-like for a few minutes, her eyes fixed on the scene below. Then, leaning forward on the railing, she sighed loudly.

Lee let out a long breath of his own. She had a perfect right to be angry. He really had intended to discuss all this with her on the plane, but he just couldn't seem to find the words. So, like a coward, he'd let it slide, keeping his own solitary vigil out the small rectangular window instead.

Why had he found it so difficult to brief her? This was simply business, he reminded himself, not an assignation. And he was a professional. He just needed to let Scarecrow take control, the way he'd done countless other times in the field. Anything else was simply counterproductive. He'd signed those damned papers, right? Put those messy emotions to rest once and for all?

Drawing in a deep breath, he joined her on the balcony. The room had a westerly view, and he allowed his gaze to drift out over the horizon. The large expanse of blue-green stretched out as far as the eye could see. The stillness was hypnotic, and, as the fiery orange sun slid slowly into the sea, an unaccustomed feeling of tranquility settled over him. They stood in silence for a time, side by side, watching the small boats dock in the waning light.

"It's beautiful, isn't it?"

He glanced at her out of the corner of his eye. A cool breeze wafted off the water, gently ruffling the tendrils of hair that had eluded her clip. "Yes," he answered, "it is."

She shifted her shoulders ever so slightly. "Lee, if we're going to find out what happened to Jamie, we have to work together from now on." 

He nodded, his voice catching as she turned and fully caught his gaze. Her eyes seemed darker than ever as they steadily met his, as if she could somehow see inside his soul. There was something different about her, he realized with a start. Or maybe it had been there all along, and he had been too blind to see it.

"So," she went on, her voice barely audible as she extended her hand. "Partners?"

Unable to look away, he reached out to her. "Yeah," he managed to croak as skin met skin. "Partners."

~ XX ~

Amanda smiled as Lee reached out across the table to take her hand. "Dinner was absolutely wonderful, Darling," she told him breathlessly.

"Can I interest you in some dessert?" he asked, gently rubbing his thumb across her knuckles.

She knew it was only a reflex, but the strange intimacy of the gesture caused her to shift uneasily in her chair. "No, thanks," she all but croaked. "I don't think I could eat another bite."

He replied with a rumbling laugh. "Food is the furthest thing from my mind, Mrs. Stedman."

The waiter cleared the last of the dishes, leaving them alone again. Letting out a long breath, she swiftly reclaimed her hand. "You were about to fill me in on your conversation with the bellboy," she reminded him as she abandoned their cover.

She watched as Lee leaned back in his chair, absently fiddling with the Agency-issue wedding ring he'd slipped on while she was dressing for dinner. It obviously felt as foreign to him as the one she wore. "Our friend Simon was very helpful," he finally informed her. "It seems there *is* an old trail that leads to the other side of the island, but it's not very well traveled."

"Yes, that fits with what Bryce told me," she told him. It was oddly disconcerting to see the unfamiliar flash of silver on his finger, so different from the glistening gold band she'd placed there. "What about the supplies we'll need?"

He took a long, deliberate drink of water, his eyes darting around the room before coming to rest again on hers. "There's a shop in the marketplace that sells hiking gear."

His hesitancy touched off a warning bell, and she leaned forward again across the small table. "Simon can get the stuff we need, right?"

"Yes, he'll have everything delivered in the morning," Lee told her reluctantly.

"Then things are falling right into place."

He turned his upper body slightly as he shifted his gaze toward the window. The lights from the open-air nightclub twinkled invitingly from across the lawn, and Amanda watched him take in every nuance of the scene. She knew what was coming; she'd seen that same look in his eyes enough times over the years. There was a time when Lee used to handle his nerves before a big mission by cracking jokes; ever since the shooting in California, he needed to have 'the conversation.' Sipping her wine, she waited for him to begin their ritual dance.

"Look, Amanda . . . I've been thinking," he said, right on schedule. "Maybe it would be better if you . . ."

"No."

"This isn't going to be a walk in the park."

"I wasn't expecting it would be."

"We could get lost."

"We've got a map."

"Simon said the trail hasn't been used in years," Lee warned. "It could be impassable."

"Then we'll figure something else out."

"Amanda . . ."

She sighed, her exasperation finally showing. "You're the one who taught me you can't plan for every contingency, Lee."

He eyed her as he drummed his fingers lightly on the table. "At the very least, it's a good day's march over some pretty tough terrain."

"We'll handle it together." As she sensed his resolve begin to weaken, she delivered the final parry. "Partners, remember?"

He nodded grudgingly, and Amanda smiled. Their discussion had reached its inevitable conclusion; Lee had resigned himself. "Hey, you don't have to worry about me," she assured him one more time. "In case you haven't noticed, I'm still in pretty good shape."

Lee chuckled, the taut lines in his face suddenly relaxing. "Oh," he responded, his voice deep and low, "I've noticed."

It was Amanda's turn to look away. Lightly fanning herself, she let her gaze drift out over the lawn. Faint strains from the flamenco band could be heard even in the crowded dining room, the brightly colored lanterns strung around the dance floor projecting an almost magical glow. Closing her eyes, she tried to lose herself in the music. It wasn't any use. She could feel his gaze on her still, and her cheeks burned.

It was only the anticipation of what tomorrow would bring, she reminded herself sharply. That jumpy, butterfly feeling she'd always had in school on the eve of a final exam. She knew Lee felt it, too. In the past, more often than not, it had propelled them straight to the nearest bed. Those were the times their encounters were the most intense. Every look, every touch, seemed to burn its way right into their souls. It was as if their bodies demanded proof that they were still in the here and now, together, and very much alive.

"Amanda."

Her eyes flew open at the sound of her name. Lee was standing beside her, his hand outstretched. "So," she heard him say, the whispered word a soft caress. "Do you want to?"

Her mouth suddenly seemed excessively dry. "Want to?" she croaked, reaching for a glass of water.

"Dance, Amanda. You know, you, me, music . . ." He gave her a strange look. "Are you okay?"

His words were barely audible over the roaring in her ears. She tried to cover her nerves with a laugh, but it sounded high and forced. Tossing her napkin onto the table, she quickly stood, brushing a crumb from her dress. "I'm fine," she assured him. "You just took me by surprise, that's all. I thought you hated to dance."

He shrugged, shifting from foot to foot. "It's, ah, you know, part of our cover."

Her thumb brushed over the ring resting on her finger. "Our cover . . . right." Drawing in a deep breath, she straightened her shoulders and reached for his hand. "Just don't step on my foot," she managed to tease as she allowed him to steer her in the direction of the music.

He pretended to be affronted. "When have I ever stepped on your foot?"

"Do I have to remind you again of that debacle in Monte Carlo?"

"That wasn't my fault, and you know it," he laughed as they picked their way down the cobbled steps that led out across the lawn. "I was simply trying to avoid the fallout."

"Yeah," she snickered. "That blonde *was* practically spilling out of her dress."

He gave her hand a tight squeeze. "I was referring to the explosive device under the bandstand."

"Sure you were."

As they reached the intimate dance area, Lee pulled her into his arms. "I promise to keep my foot under surveillance at all times," he said with a grin, swaying her in perfect time to the music. "Scout's honor."

"You always say that," Amanda murmured, struggling to still the slight tremor that had somehow crept into her voice. "But you were never a Boy Scout."

He laughed, the deep, rumbling sound echoing close to her ear as his arms tightened around her, and she leaned into him. Lee's cheek grazed hers, the slight stubble of his evening beard a delightful tickle against her skin. The rare moment of harmony felt good. They seemed to fit perfectly together, their bodies instinctively remembering the other's rhythm. How long had it been since they'd danced? Jamie's wedding, she remembered suddenly. The band had been wonderful, and they'd lingered on the dance floor well into the night. She couldn't remember when she'd seen Lee so relaxed, without even a thought of the Agency intruding on their time together. He and Phillip both . . .

Involuntarily, she shivered.

"Is the breeze too cool?" he asked, running his long fingers over her back.

"It might be at that," she said, a slight catch in her voice. "Would you mind very much if we called it a night?"

He drew back to look at her with a slightly mocking eye. "Still worried about your feet?"

She shook her head. "I'm suddenly really tired, that's all."

He seemed to understand or, at least, had the good grace not to tease her further. Either way, Amanda was grateful. Lee was the only man she knew who could be totally obnoxious one moment and amazingly sensitive the next.

Avoiding the restaurant, they skirted the lawn, taking the less traveled shortcut to the lobby. Even so, there seemed to be people everywhere, and Lee placed a possessive arm around her waist as he led her to the elevator. A smartly dressed couple followed them in, and she felt him tense beside her. He immediately pulled her to him, angling his body protectively between her and the dark haired couple standing beside them. When the strangers got off one floor below theirs, his sigh of relief was audible.

Amanda understood. This farce they were playing must be taking its toll on him, too. With his hand curved around her hip, it seemed an eternity before they reached the safety of their room. She watched silently as Lee quickly swept for bugs, the stiff lines of his back relaxing slightly when the reading came up clean once again. Removing his jacket, he tossed it onto the chair. "I'm really beat," he groused as he loosened then pulled off his bowtie. "It's been a long day."

Amanda nodded, swiftly retrieving his discarded coat. As his fingers routinely undid the studs on his shirtfront, she moved to the closet, hanging the jacket up with painstaking care. She could hear the loud thud of his shoes as they hit the floor behind her. "Do you want me to leave a wake-up call?" she said, trying to still the trembling in her voice.

"No, that's okay," he replied through a yawn. "I'll probably be up at sunrise. I just need to catch a few hours' sleep."

Nodding, she turned around. Lee was sitting on the side of the large, canopied bed that suddenly seemed to dominate the room. His unbuttoned shirt revealed more than a little of his smooth, well-muscled chest. He'd been working out, she thought as she quickly averted her eyes.

She heard him let out a long breath. "I guess we, uh, should have talked about this earlier."

"What happened to the real Stedmans?" she asked as she walked over to the video cabinet. "Or were they just an invention?"

"They were real. There wasn't time to fabricate a new legend, and when I saw the name, I just . . ."

She stole a glance at him over her shoulder. "Cheated them out of a honeymoon?"

"Nah," he said, his expression endearingly sheepish. "They're enjoying an all-expense paid cruise to Mexico."

"Mexico?"

He grinned. "Spanish was their 'language of choice,' remember."

"Oh, yeah," she said, pulling her eyes away from his smile with an effort. Her finger traced the stack of DVD's in the well-stocked video cabinet. "I suppose we could always watch a movie," she said with a forced laugh.

At Lee's sigh, she turned around. "Look, Amanda," he said, rubbing his neck as he closed the distance between them. "It's okay. I'll just sleep on the . . ." His eyes cast desperately around the room.

"The chair?" she supplied skeptically as she took in the dimensions of the small chaise lounge. "I don't think you'll fit."

"I can take the floor," Lee offered reluctantly.

"It's not even carpeted."

He shrugged lightly. "I've slept in worse places."

"The senior agent always gets the bed," she told him, her voice barely audible as she watched the play of muscles across his chest. "Isn't that the drill?"

"Tell you what," he told her kindly. "I'll defer my senior status to you this time. You've more than earned it."

Her lips curved up in a hint of a smile. "This really is silly, isn't it? It's not like we've never . . ." Walking over to the dresser, she grabbed a t-shirt and pajama pants from the drawer. "We can share the bed," she stated matter-of-factly as she headed for the bathroom. "We both need some sleep if we intend to trek across the island tomorrow."

"Amanda . . ." His voice sounded deeper than usual as he called her name. "Are you sure?"

Pursing her lips, she nodded, giving him one last look as she claimed the blessed sanctuary of the bathroom. "Just don't hog all the covers, okay?"

"You're the one who does that," she heard him retort as she closed the door.

~ XXI ~

Chest heaving, he ran beside the gurney, the persistent wail of a siren echoing in the distance. As a pair of electric doors swung open, a deep, booming voice rose above the general din of the crowded ambulance bay.

"Stand clear."

His head was throbbing. In his still foggy brain, the roar of the explosion seemed to echo interminably, mixed with the cries of the injured. Victim and perpetrator alike, it made no difference. In the chaotic, smoke-filled shell that had once been the old Allied Chemical building, it had been impossible to distinguish friend from foe.

Inside the emergency room at Parker General Hospital, there was bedlam of another kind.

"Male Caucasian, approximately twenty-six years old. Multiple gunshot wounds to the abdomen and chest."

The voices seemed to grow louder as two emergency physicians worked on the patient, cataloging his injuries with textbook precision.

"Small wound adjacent to the breastbone."

"Two wounds to the anterior abdominal wall."

"No exit wound."

The throbbing in his head stepped up a notch as he watched one nurse draw blood with vampire-like efficiency, while another finished connecting the various intravenous tubing that had been started in the ambulance. Their tasks complete, they turned their eyes on him.

"Sir, I'll have to ask you to step outside."

"I'm not leaving."

"Only trained medical personnel are allowed in the trauma unit."

"I'm not leaving. He's my son."

A new hive of white-coated personnel swarmed suddenly. He found himself roughly shunted aside, forgotten in the carefully controlled chaos of changing shifts. The N.E.S.T. team, he realized with grim relief. Phillip was in good hands now. If he could only get closer, make sure the boy knew he hadn't left him.

"Lee . . ."

A shallow, breathy voice called his name. Eyes still stinging from the smoky warehouse, Lee wiped away the excess moisture with the edge of his sleeve. Pushing forward, he blindly grabbed a hand.

"I'm right here."

Cold, clammy fingers closed weakly around his. He squeezed back.

"Shhh, shhh, don't try to talk."

He blanched as he took in the full extent of the damage. He'd seen it before, gunshot wounds from bullets that tore through flesh and bone with the force of a tornado, spreading damage far beyond their trajectories. He looked into his son's too-pale face and lied.

"Everything's gonna be okay."

"Lee . . ." the boy called again.

His voice was weaker this time. Desperation sought an outlet in an old childhood nickname. "Hang in there, Chief."

"Waited . . . should have. Like . . . like you said."

Looking up, he caught the attending physician's eye. It was Sam Crenshaw, the same trauma surgeon who'd treated him last year. Reputedly one of the very best, he ran his N.E.S.T. unit strictly by the book. Strangely, Sam didn't order him from the room.

Phillip moaned, frothy red bubbles at his lips.

"Shhh, Chief, save your strength."

Their eyes met, and in that moment he realized Phillip understood. The boy smiled feebly, shallow gasps punctuating the simple phrases he struggled to utter. "Not their fault . . . waited . . . should have. Tell Mom I. . ."

An alarm rang. Insistent hands tore him from his son as the emergency team sprang back to life.

"I've got diminished breath sounds."

"Paddles."

"Clear."

The room began to swim. In his mind, even their words seemed to eddy and swirl.

"He's coding."

"Clear"

"Flatline."

"No!"

Inside his head, he was screaming, but the word escaped his mouth in little more than a choking whisper. The room seemed to darken around the edges of his eyes as he struggled for air.

"No . . . Phillip . . ."

He managed a few ragged breaths before the floor rose to meet his face.  From someplace far away, he heard the team switch their attention to him.

"Phillip . . ."

Hands shook his shoulder, while cool fingers wiped his brow. He tried to shake them off. Damn doctors . . . Phillip was the one who needed their help. Still they persisted, their hands a gentle pressure on his forehead, his shoulder, his chest. They called his name over and over, rousing him back to consciousness with pointed determination . . .

"Wake up . . ."

"No . . ."

"Wake up."

"No!"

He struggled, but still the persistent hands held him back. He had to stop them, fight them off.

"Shhh--shhh, it's okay." Soft words reassured him. "Wake up, Lee, it's me. It's Amanda."

Squinting, he looked up into a pair of agonizingly familiar brown eyes. "Amanda?" he croaked, his heart still pounding in his chest.

"Yes," she said, biting her lip as she looked down at the hands that gripped her forearms.

He tried to move, but the sheets had wound their way into a tangled mass about him, makeshift bonds that nonetheless held him firmly. And there was something pushing on his chest . . . no, not something . . . someone. Amanda had flung herself atop him, leveraging her body weight to pin him to the bed.  What the hell . . .  He gasped in a breath, perspiration drawing a thin, scraggly line down his cheek.

"Lee," he heard her whisper again. "Let go. You're hurting me."

Responding to her gently prodding tone, he immediately loosened his grasp. "Where are we?" he gasped, his eyes darting around the room.

"San Simeon." Her tone was patient, calm, a mother comforting a fretful child. "The island . . ."

"Oh, yeah," he grunted as memory flooded over him, the spinning vortex of his subconscious no longer dragging him down. "I guess I was dreaming," he told her, moistening his lips with his tongue. His mouth felt like cotton.

"Seemed more like a full-fledged nightmare to me."

Closing his eyes for a moment, he shook his head. "It was nothing, really."

"Do you want to talk about it?" she inquired tenderly, brushing aside his nonchalance.

"Uh . . ." He fell silent as he returned her earnest gaze. The look in her eyes was oddly compelling, touching an aching chord of memory deep inside. Or maybe it was the moonlight streaming through the open window to bathe her face in its soft, penumbral light. He'd almost forgotten how beautiful she was . . . his Amanda.

She tilted her head to one side, a wayward strand of sleep-tousled hair tickling the tip of her nose. "Tell me about your nightmare," she said, more sigh than sentence.

He tried, but the words stubbornly refused to come. In the muted light, Lee could dimly make out the fine worry lines around the edges of her eyes, the shadows that bespoke her own sleepless nights. He couldn't add his burden to hers; he didn't have that right anymore.

He turned his head away. "Must have been that sherry sauce at dinner," he laughed, a dull flat sound that thudded in his chest.

She blew out a sharp breath. "Sherry sauce?"

"Yeah, I should . . . I should really know better."

Amanda quickly rolled away. Tucking her legs beneath her, she sat cross-legged on the bed, frowning as she absently rubbed the small red marks on her upper arms. 

"I hurt you," he cried, stung. "Oh, Amanda . . ." He sprang up, turning his back to her as he swung his feet forcefully to the floor. "I knew this was a bad idea."

He heard the soft rustle of sheets behind him. "How often do you have these nightmares about Phillip?" she pressed, her breath coming in short, puffy rasps against his neck.

He clutched at the ends of the blanket, twisting them tightly between his fingers.

"You called out his name," she explained in a sudden rush before he could ask. "I was, uh, watching you. I guess I wasn't sleeping so well, either."

He gave a low, contemptuous laugh. "A lot of that goin' around, huh?"

A tentative hand brushed his shoulder, massaging his back with light strokes. "Tell me about the dream."

"No." Abandoning the bed, he strode to the window, resting his forehead against the pane of glass. It felt deliciously cool. Closing his eyes, he concentrated on breathing in and out.

The floorboards creaked as she came up behind him. Her hand touched his shoulder again, this time squeezing with gently persistent pressure. "Leave it alone," he declared, the bald words sounding harsh even to his ears.

"I can't," she whispered, her voice cracking. "This isn't the first time, is it?"

He stepped deliberately out of her reach. "I don't know what you mean."

"You were dreaming last night, too, on the sofa. I heard you saying something when I came home from . . ."

"Your date?" he snapped, whipping around to face her. She couldn't seem to meet his eye, studying the floor instead with unusual diligence. "Don't worry," he snorted contemptuously, turning back to the window once again. "You don't have to concern yourself about my sleeping habits anymore."

"I do when they tie you up in knots," she rebuked, her voice rising as she jerked her head up. "In case you've forgotten, Scarecrow, we're about to go rogue on a covert op. I have to know if you're going to be able to handle it. I'm your partner, remember?"

"So you keep telling me. Well, thanks for your concern, Mrs. King," he spat sarcastically, "but it's misplaced." Crossing swiftly to the dresser, he blindly grabbed some pants from the bottom drawer, his chest rising and falling unevenly as he struggled into them.

"Don't run away from this, Lee."

"Look who's talking," he ground out, shoving his other leg through the stiff denim fabric. "As I recall, when things got tough, *you* ran clear through five states."

"And a fat lot of good it did me." Sighing softly, she walked over to the bed. "That's the trouble with running," she murmured, her fingers toying with the drawstring on her pajama pants. "Your problems tend to run right along with you."

Lee turned away. Pulling up his jeans, he quickly fastened the button and gave the zipper a vigorous tug, the sound of the metal teeth magnified in the stilted silence. He forced his feet into his shoes before heading resolutely toward the door, glancing reflexively over his shoulder one last time.

What he saw stopped him cold. Amanda sat silently on the edge of the bed, eyes focused on some unknown spot outside in the night. Awash in the gentle moonlight, her complexion appeared paler than ever, her body held with motionless rigidity. A stick figure, he thought suddenly. A caricature of the woman who had once been so full of life.

Yet, even in her unyielding obstinacy, there was some element that defied definition. Maybe it was the misplaced sensuality in the soft curve of her cheek or the way her tongue darted out every so often to tease at her upper lip. Beneath the hard, inflexible picture she presented nestled a small core of vitality, stubbornly kept alive through the agony of the past year. Though brittle, she had never broken; he was the one who had done that.

His anger suddenly deflated. Padding over to the bed, he sat down beside her. "I'm sorry, Amanda," he began in a low voice. "I wish . . . I wish I could . . ."

Pausing, he let out a frustrated breath. "Believe me," he tried again, "I'd talk about it if . . . if I thought it would change things. Hell, I'd even shout about it at the top of my lungs from that balcony over there. But the outcome would still be the same. Nothing I say . . . or don't say, for that matter . . . will wipe away what happened. It replays over and over in my head. I can't stop it. Maybe I don't even *want* to stop it anymore," he realized, brushing his fingers distractedly through his hair. "I just have to live with what happened. What I did . . . *didn't* . . . do."

The tension in her shoulders slowly relaxed. "What didn't you do?" she asked in a small voice.

"I . . . didn't . . . save . . . him."

"*You* didn't pull the trigger, Lee," she said after a moment's pause.

"I may as well have." He risked a glance out of the corner of his eye. Just as he expected, she didn't deny it.

"Friendly fire," she opined with a bitter little laugh. "There's an oxymoron if I ever heard one."

Lee shook his head. "All those years, all that field experience, and . . . when it came right down to it, the great Scarecrow couldn't even get up off the goddamned floor. Couldn't stop our own people from . . ." Breathing roughly, he slammed his fist violently into the nearest pillow. As it collided with the edge of the headboard, he involuntarily winced.

The sound galvanized Amanda into action.  "Let me see . . ."

"I'm fine," he choked out between clenched teeth, pulling his hand tightly into his chest.

Reaching across him, she switched the light on low. "Let me see your hand, Lee," she demanded sternly. 

"It's okay, see?" He gingerly flexed his fingers a few times. "I just grazed the edge of the knuckle."

Reaching out, she took his large hand in hers. As she tenderly felt the throbbing spots, Lee added with a forced laugh, "At least I had the foresight to smash my right hand."

Pursing her lips, she shook her head. "I don't think anything's broken," she pronounced at length. Her fingers lingered on his flesh, softly rubbing his enflamed knuckle in tiny little circles. The gentle rhythm of her touch soothed him, just as it had all those years ago on that long, cold Christmas Eve in the Virginia woods. He'd barely known her, yet even then she'd possessed an uncanny ability to ease his wounds, seen and unseen. What a long road they'd traveled since, years together that couldn't be foresworn. He shifted toward her ever so slightly, pulled without volition by the power of their shared history.

With quiet urgency, he whispered her name.

She looked up at the sound, so foreign now, her eyes fastening on his. They shone with a bright luminescence, the tears she still stubbornly refused to let fall glistening in the faint lamplight. Reaching out, he tenderly cupped her cheek with his good hand.

Moaning his name with a startled gasp, she leaned into his touch. Almost in slow motion, he felt himself bend toward her, drawn by something beyond his control. Tilting his head, his lips sought hers. She sighed then, her eyelids fluttering shut as she strained to meet him, and he, too, closed his eyes in aching anticipation.

Something bumped sharply against the door. Startled by the sound, he abruptly pulled back.

"What . . ." she began, but he shook his head, bringing his finger to his lips. Footsteps sounded outside for a brief moment, then, just as quickly, faded to nothingness.

Silently springing up, Lee reached into the nearby nightstand to retrieve his gun. Jerking his head in the direction of the noise, he caught Amanda's eye. They crossed the room in tandem, Amanda flattening herself protectively against the wall. At her sharp nod, he flung open the door, one hand bracing the other as, gun pointed, he stepped into the hall.

The small alcove was deserted. Lifting the muzzle, he looked back into the room. On the large canopied bed, two small indentations marked the spot where only moments ago his mouth had been a few scant millimeters from hers. Frowning slightly, he took a few steps into the long hallway beyond their room. Nothing there, either. Had his imagination been conjuring up phantoms to protect him?

"It's clear," he sighed, holstering his weapon inside his belt as he came back into their room. "There's no one out here."

"There was," Amanda assured him as she stepped out from behind the door. Her cheeks reddening slightly, she added firmly, "I heard it, too."

"Maybe I should take another look around, just to be . . ."

"Lee," she interrupted suddenly, her eyes on the floor. "What's that stuck to your shoe?"

He followed her puzzled gaze, bending to retrieve the small piece of crumpled white paper. In his haste to get through the door, he must have stepped on it.

Eyes narrowing, he opened the folded note. "What the . . ." he began, stopping himself as he felt Amanda's hand on his arm. Their eyes met for a moment as they both absorbed the meaning behind the words scrawled hastily in a large, broad hand.

'Go home before it's too late.'

~ XXII ~

"Let's rest for a minute."

Amanda nodded, gratefully dropping her backpack at her feet. Negotiating the steep mountain trail was beginning to take its toll, but she had stubbornly refused to ask for a break. If Lee could keep up this grueling pace, well then, so could she.

Lifting her canteen, she cautiously quenched her thirst. Their water supply should last, but there was no reason to stretch their resources. The bellboy, Simon, had been unable to procure their entire order from the island supply store. Wiping the sweat from her brow, she offered the canteen to Lee.

As he shook his head, Amanda sighed. The silent treatment appeared to be continuing. Lee had been unusually tight-lipped since they'd started their cross-country trek this morning, answering her in monosyllables, if at all. After a while, she'd simply given up trying to talk to him. If he wanted to ignore what had almost happened between them last night, then that was just fine with her.

Feeling Lee's eyes on her, Amanda rubbed her hand self-consciously across the back of her neck. Her cheeks felt flushed; the moist, sticky island heat was a sharp contrast to the chilly Chicago weather she'd grown accustomed to. Untying the red patterned bandana from her neck, she dampened it sparingly with the cool water then quickly pressed it against her neck and wrists.

As her ministrations revived her, her flagging energy also began to return. Considering she was operating on a few scant hours of sleep, she felt amazingly alert. Still, years of field experience had taught her to seize the opportunity to rest whenever it presented itself. Sitting Indian-style on the ground, she took a deep breath and closed her eyes.

The silence in the hills was more profound than the quiet of the city, and Amanda felt her body relax almost immediately. She only wished her mind would follow suit. Despite her earlier vow to put the previous night's events out of her head, as the refreshing solitude settled around her, her thoughts instantly traveled there. It didn't take a genius to understand why. Ever since she'd climbed into that wide, canopied bed with Lee, the past had pulled at her with persistently sticky tentacles. Feelings she thought she'd come to terms with flared up once again. And something else . . . the memory of that last time they'd shared a bed . . . the last time they'd made love. 

The episode still weighed heavily on her mind. In the immediate aftermath of Phillip's accident, loving each other was just too . . . painful . . . to contemplate. Of course, in those first few days, they'd both felt only a blessed numbness. Then funeral arrangements and condolence messages from family, friends and co-workers all blurred together to form one endless waking nightmare. As time passed and the reality of Phillip's death eventually sank in, a funny kind of exhaustion settled over them. Like wind-up dolls, they moved through the days with mechanical precision, doing only those things that absolutely needed to be done. By the time the Agency Board of Inquiry concluded and the angry recriminations began, they'd honed their avoidance pattern to perfection. They simply never went to bed at the same time anymore. A novel to be finished, the late-night news, Jay Leno . . . the excuses were different, but the end result was always the same. It was just . . . easier . . . that way.

But one night when she mounted the stairs, Lee followed. As they slipped between the cool sheets together for the first time in months, he reached for her. Amanda knew she should stop him, knew it in the very depths of her soul, in her heart that still felt as if it was swathed in thick cotton. But somehow she couldn't bring herself to say no. Truth be told, part of her didn't want to -- the part that daily dreamed of the way things used to be. They were still husband and wife, after all, still entitled to the same release normal married couples took as a matter of course. And, oh! How she longed to be normal!

It was an unmitigated disaster. Their perfunctory union held no joy, no passion or completion. When it was finally over, they both rolled away, the unbridgeable cavern between them wider than ever. Curling into a ball, she hugged her knees tightly to her chest. From his edge of the bed, Lee was equally silent, and, after a while, she sensed him drifting into a restless sleep. It was then, to the accompaniment of his soft, intermittent snores, that she came to a bitter realization.

Not even Lee's tender touch could make her feel alive again. Too many words had been left unsaid for too long. Angry accusations had been hurled back and forth in their stead, until even the most basic truth between them had been irrevocably altered. They were only two people going through the empty motions of a marriage, afraid to make love but more afraid *not* to. Lying there in the cloying darkness, she'd never felt more alone. She knew then -- it was finally over. A few weeks later, she'd told him just that . . . told him she was moving to Chicago.

And he'd let her go.

But last night, in that jasmine scented hotel room, the unexpected spark between them had seemed anything *but* a reflex.  If it hadn't been for that noise outside their room . . .

"Looks like we're in for some weather."

Lee's voice took her by surprise; lost in the past, she'd almost forgotten their mission. Quickly opening her eyes, she glanced up at the sky. He was right. The white, puffy clouds shading them from the brutal afternoon sun were ominously darker, while the air had grown distinctly cooler, and there was a light rumbling in the distance.

"Is that thunder?" she asked, brushing off the seat of her shorts as she scrambled up from the ground.

Lee nodded curtly. Picking up her discarded backpack, he quickly slid the straps over her shoulders. "We'd better get moving," he told her in crisp, clipped tones. "There's no cover around here, and I have a bad feeling we're going to need it." Securing his own bundle, he started back up the trail, Amanda following a few feet behind.

They'd only covered a few short yards when the first fat drops began to fall. Within minutes, the sky opened up, the rain emptying down with unrelenting power. Adjusting her backpack, she struggled along, pausing only to push a few wet strands of hair from her eyes.

When she looked up, he had disappeared, swallowed up by the cascading sheets of water. "Lee?" she called almost frantically, yelling to make herself heard over the wind. "Where are you?"

"I'm right here." Even as the sound of his words evaporated in the torrential downpour, a strong hand closed tightly around hers. "Come on," he shouted again. "I found another path."

Skirting the mud puddles forming at their feet, Lee pulled her along. As they reached the top of the hill, he veered off the main track onto a smaller trail. It was a footpath, and, from the looks of things, one that had been recently forged. The entrance had been cleverly covered with underbrush. If it wasn't for the gusting wind from the sudden storm, Amanda was sure they would never have discovered it.

The tall trees loomed above them as they trudged down the narrow path. At least here there was more shelter from the pounding rain, even if it came at a price. Their forward progress slowed considerably as Lee was forced to pick their way through the dense foliage. The terrain was rougher, too; she could definitely feel rocks beneath her feet.

"Amanda, look!"

At the excitement in Lee's voice, Amanda turned her head. Off the path to their right, she spied a small cave-like fissure by a grouping of large rocks. Heaving a sigh of relief, she followed Lee's lead. 

The opening was small -- barely room enough for two people. "We'll have to leave the gear out here," Lee advised.

"Well, at least it's waterproof," Amanda returned with false cheer. "I wish I could say as much for us."

"Yeah." Dumping his backpack on the ground, he speedily helped to remove hers, then pulled her beneath the sheltering rocks. Water clung to her skin, and Lee casually skimmed his palms over her upper arms in an attempt to dry her. Looking up, she returned his rueful glance. They might be out of the sheeting rain, but the damage had been done. They were both wet to the bone.

"It should be over soon," Lee's voice reassured her from somewhere in the vicinity of her ear. "Simon told me these sudden island storms never last long this time of year." 

She nodded, her eyes surveying the dimensions of their makeshift shelter. The ceiling was a bit too short, she realized; Lee had to hunch over to fit inside. It was an awkward position, and he kept adjusting his stance. The last shift had drawn her closer to him, so near that she could feel the uneven rise and fall of his chest.

"It'll warm up in a few minutes," he said from somewhere over her head.

"Um-hmm," she muttered, biting her lip as her fingers brushed across his chest. Lee's rain-soaked shirt clung to him like a second skin.

"My God, Amanda," he cried. "Your hands are like ice."

"I'll b-b-be o-k-kay." Her words chattered almost as loudly as her teeth.

"These wet clothes aren't helping." Pulling her sopping shirt away from her body, Lee began to run his hands up and down the bare skin of her back. "Better?" he asked, concern clearly evident.

Despite her chill, Amanda felt her cheeks grow hot. "What about you?" she asked shakily. "You're just as wet as I am."

"I can handle it."

She pulled back slightly. "And I can't?"

"A-man-da!"

Her eyes narrowed. When he drawled her name like that, with just the right touch of irritation, she always saw red. "Just what is *that* supposed to mean?" she demanded fiercely. If her sudden flash of anger was a shield for something else, she didn't want to think about it, concentrating instead on the look of annoyed exasperation on her partner's face. Pulling away from his grasp, she stepped backward into the rain, jumping slightly as she felt the bite of the raindrops on her shoulder.

Lee quickly pulled her back into the shelter of the rock. His strong arms surrounded her in a bear-hug, holding her to him. "Amanda," he ground out through clenched teeth, tightening his grip as she continued to struggle. "Would you please stay put? I'm cold, too, okay? I need your body heat." 

"Oh" she said breathlessly. Willing herself to relax, she allowed his arms to envelop her tightly. "Is that better?" she asked in a small voice.

"Yeah," he whispered gruffly. "Thanks."

Closing her eyes, she rested her head against his chest. She could hear the solid thumping of his heart mixed with the sharp rat-tat-tat of the rain on the rock. From somewhere outside herself, she noted that the storm appeared to be abating. Sighing, she snuggled closer.

"You can be so stubborn sometimes," Lee murmured suddenly, his breathing harsh.

She smiled against his chest. "So I've been told a time or two."

"Well, see if you can curb it until we thaw out."

Tilting her head back, she looked up into his eyes. They had turned a deep greenish-gold, and there was a teasing sparkle in them she hadn't seen in a long time. "I'll work on it," she grinned as new warmth flowed through her.

He returned her look. "Good. After all, it wouldn't do to let my partner catch pneumonia."

"Oh, yeah?"

"Yeah," he replied roughly. "I might need you to watch my back."

She laughed. "I thought you were here to watch *my* back, Stetson," she challenged, stepping back as she cocked her head.

Raking his eyes over her, he let out a low, throaty laugh. "Oh, I suppose I could manage that, too."

She suddenly realized just how transparent a damp white t-shirt could be. Blushing like a schoolgirl, she instinctively crossed her arms over her chest, twisting her body to face the inside of the makeshift cave.

"I'm sorry." His whispered words sounded close to her ear. "I didn't mean to make you feel uncomfortable."

"You didn't. It's just that I . . ." Shaking her head, she drew in a deep breath.

He gently turned her to face him. Forced to stoop in the confined space, his mouth was only inches from hers. "You what, Amanda?"

"I, um . . ." Sighing, she moistened her lips. Her hands resting lightly on his hips, she could feel the tension in his body . . . and the same jolt of electricity she'd experienced last night in their hotel room.

"A-man-da," he whispered softly, drawing out her name once again.  

It didn't annoy her this time. As she felt his fingers gently brush the strands of hair from her face, she looked into his eyes. They shone with a bright light, as if he'd suddenly been lit up from the inside out.

"Lee," she began softly. "I was, uh, just going to say . . . that, um . . . well, your pocket's buzzing," she finished breathlessly as the small phone in his pants pocket began to vibrate. Maybe you'd better answer it."

He all but ripped the phone from his pocket, muttering a terse, "Stetson. Oh, hi, Francine," he added, allowing a softer note to creep into his tone. "Yeah, me, too . . . No, that's okay. I was having trouble with the reception this morning." His hand still played absently along her back, but his attention was focused on his phone call. Frowning, Amanda untangled herself from his now clumsy embrace. 

Stepping outside the small enclosure, she realized that the rain had stopped just as suddenly as it began. Stretching, she gingerly worked the kinks out of her cramped muscles as Lee's voice hummed in the background.

"Oh, yeah, I totally agree. Call Carter at home and tell her she doesn't have time to be sick right now. We're shorthanded."

Opening her backpack, she pulled out a fresh shirt. She heard Lee laugh, the deep, rumbling one he'd always reserved for her. "What did you manage to dig up for me?" he asked, suddenly serious again.

She couldn't listen anymore, couldn't listen to him talk to Francine like his . . . his partner. Heading back to the footpath, she walked a little ways up the trail. Certain she was hidden from Lee's view, she peeled off her damp shirt, pulling a clean one from her bag. Her bra, too, was soaked through. She didn't have another; she'd have to make do with the undershirt she'd packed. Her shorts and shoes would just have to dry as she wore them. It shouldn't take too long; the chill from the storm had already left the air.

She started back toward Lee's position, then quickly changed her mind. The intimacy of their little cave suddenly seemed overwhelming. She didn't want to share it with Francine, even by proxy. When he finally managed to tear himself away from his . . . associate . . . Lee could just damn well come looking for her.

"I'm heading back to the main trail," she carelessly called out as she breezed past his position. Not giving him the chance to answer, she trudged away, retracing their steps with greater speed than before. For some reason, the path was much easier to follow this time . . . wider, more open. Puzzled, she stopped to get her bearings. The terrain didn't look familiar. Had she taken a wrong turn? Letting out an exasperated breath, she began to double back.

Eyes on the ground, she heard the distinctive click of the gun before she saw it. "Hands in the air," the sharp voice commanded, and suddenly found herself staring down the barrel of a gun.

"Oh, my gosh!"

The man loomed closer, menacing her with the gun. "I said, get those hands up."

Amanda slowly complied. She knew she should be afraid, but that old Agency training she'd worked so hard to forget over the course of the past twelve months automatically kicked in. Affecting a shell-shocked glare, she stared down her would-be assailant as she began to compile a mental dossier.

Military issue camouflage fatigue pants, an olive-green t-shirt, semi-automatic rifle . . . the man was a soldier, or he had been at one time. He was a good head shorter than she was, but otherwise stocky and well-built. She supposed he could even be called handsome, if not for the long, jagged scar cutting his left cheek in two. And one other oddity . . . his right forearm bore some strange marks. Three small circles in the shape of a triangle . . . cigarette burns, perhaps.

A shiver ran down her spine. Taking a small step backwards, she mentally calculated the distance back to the cave and Lee.

"Don't try it, Mrs. King," the man advised harshly. Tightening his grip on his large gun, he prodded her shoulder with the tip. "Let's take a little walk, shall we? Right over there."

As she moved in the direction the man indicated, she suddenly emerged into a small clearing.

"Okay, stop right there and turn around. Slowly."

She reluctantly obeyed his order. "Look, I don't know . . ."

"Be quiet," he ordered harshly. "Now, kneel down and interlock your hands behind your head."

The classic position of submission; this man knew what he was doing. She said a silent prayer that she did, too.

"Who are you?" she demanded with as much bravado as she could muster. "And how do you know my name?"

The soldier laughed. "You play the game well, Mrs. King. Place your enemy on the defensive and probe for intelligence. Now, let's put away the Agency training manual, shall we? Just give a good yell for Scarecrow -- I know you're dying to, and I'm willing to bet he can't be too far behind."

Biting her lip, Amanda quickly weighed the options. This soldier evidently was well-versed in Agency techniques. Not only did he know her name, but he was familiar with Lee's codename as well. She'd obviously stumbled into some kind of op, covert or otherwise, she wasn't quite sure. If it was sanctioned, the odds of survival were at least a little better. Either way, logic dictated the man had backup nearby.

He spoke again, his tone clearly impatient now. "You've had more than enough time to assess the situation, Mrs. King, and I trust you've correctly concluded that I'm in control. Now, for the last time -- call for Scarecrow. I'm quickly running out of patience." 

Amanda stubbornly set her chin. Mustering her courage, she responded boldly, "I think I just lost my voice."

The soldier placed the barrel of his gun squarely against the back of her head. "Find it . . . now!"

Her mouth went dry. As she tried to speak, Amanda caught a sudden glimpse of movement. Praying it was Lee and not the unknown soldier's reinforcements, she cleared her throat and took a deep breath. "I can't call Scarecrow," she informed her captor in a loud voice. "He's too far away to hear me."

"For your sake, you'd better hope that's not true. It would be a shame to splatter such a beautiful agent's brains all over these woods."

"Your intel's outdated," Amanda choked out. "I'm no agent."

The man laughed. "Of course not. You're just a tourist out for an afternoon stroll."

She heard the sharp snap of a twig. "That's right, she is. And you're interfering with her exercise."

Amanda smiled. There was no mistaking that deep, gravelly voice. "Now," Lee continued with a grim laugh, "I suggest you lower your gun before I'm forced to splatter *your* brains all over these woods. Trust me -- it wouldn't be a shame at all."

"It seems you were wrong, Mrs. King. He wasn't as far out of earshot as you thought." To Lee, he added, "Nice of you to join us, Scarecrow."

Lee pressed his gun more firmly against the man's temple. "Do I know you?"

"No, but I know *you* . . .and the lovely Mrs. King here. In fact, I've been expecting you. Ramon!"

A similarly clad, albeit slightly older, soldier suddenly materialized. "Now, I think even you'll agree that the balance has shifted in my favor. Kindly hand over your gun."

The man's eyes had a cold, empty look. His weathered face seemed strangely familiar to Amanda, but she couldn't place him. The odd aura of déjà vu sent a chill down her spine.

Her partner's eerie silence completed the feeling. "Do as he says, Lee," she croaked out. She knew what no doubt was running through his mind, but this was no time for heroics. As she heard the leader mockingly thank him for surrendering his weapon, she breathed a sigh of relief.

It was short-lived.

At the first sound of a scuffle, she reacted without thinking. Grabbing for a fallen tree branch, she made a desperate lunge for the man called Ramon. Two more brawny soldiers appeared out of nowhere, their strong arms restraining her. Open-mouthed, she watched as Lee wrestled the scar-faced soldier to the ground. The man dropped his gun, but Amanda saw the flash of steel through the tangle of arms and legs. Time seemed to stand still as the two men struggled to gain purchase over the knife. Then, as Ramon brought his rifle to bear, it was as if someone had suddenly fast-forwarded a videotape. Everything became a blur as the other soldiers followed his lead, and in the chaos of shouting men and firing rifles, she heard her voice scream out, "Lee!"

~ XXIII ~

The smell of food cooking roused him back to consciousness. Through the fog still clouding his mind, the soft, lilting twang of Amanda's voice reached out to him. He had the vague impression she'd been calling his name at intermittent intervals for some time.

"Lee," she repeated as he began to stir. "Lee, are you okay?"

He moaned as he lifted his head. "Uh, yeah, I think so."

"Thank God. I've been trying to rouse you for over an hour."

Groaning again, he took a deep breath, filling his lungs with much-needed air. His head throbbed rhythmically in time to his pulse. At least he still *had* a pulse, he thought as he numbly lifted his left hand to massage the ache.

"Ouch," Amanda proclaimed loudly. "You can't move like that, Lee. We're chained together."

"What the . . ." He swallowed the obscenity; Amanda hated that kind of language. Blinking a few times, he took stock of their predicament. They were sitting back-to-back on either side of a large tree, their arms stretched behind them on either side of the thick trunk. Just as Amanda said, they were chained together with thick steel handcuffs, his left wrist to her right and vice-versa. He exhaled loudly. It was a truly ingenious way to secure prisoners -- exposed and vulnerable, and not a damn thing they could do about it.

"What happened?" he asked, running his tongue over his teeth. His mouth tasted like month old mothballs.  

Amanda sighed. "When you tackled Scar-face back there, I tried to take out the other soldier, but . . ."

"With what?" Lee asked incredulously. "You weren't armed."

"There was broken branch on the ground."

"Oh, Amanda." Lee rolled his eyes. "Of all the lame . . ." he began, gritting his teeth at the pain his small gesture had caused.

"Look who's talking!" she interrupted hotly. "Those two men had semi-automatic rifles. What the hell were *you* thinking?"

He bit his lip. When Amanda punctuated a sentence with *hell*, she was past upset. It was a good question, though, one he almost feared to answer. Why had he tried to tackle those men when he knew he didn't stand a rat's chance of subduing them? It went against every tenet of his training.

As images of the smoke-filled warehouse where Phillip had been shot flashed through his mind, he let out a long breath. When he'd seen Amanda in similar peril, something inside him had just snapped, and he knew he would have moved heaven and earth to save her. It was a damn fool stunt, one that could have gotten them both killed. Maybe Francine had been right after all. He really had no business being in the field anymore.

"Scarecrow?" he heard his partner demand gently. "Are you okay?"

The use of his codename had the desired effect. Snapping his iron control back into place, he assured her roughly, "I'm fine. And you're right -- it *was* a stupid move. It won't happen again."

He heard her suck in a quavering breath. "I thought they were going to kill you."

There a quality in her voice Lee couldn't define. Was it concern for a partner's safety or something more? Pushing the fleeting thought aside, he asked, "Why *didn't* they kill me?"

"I don't know. For a minute there, I thought the soldiers were going to open fire, but they seemed to go out of their way to spare both of us. That scar-faced man who'd stopped me -- he wasn't alone. When you tackled him, the rest of his troops suddenly joined the party."

"The rest of his troops?" He only recalled one other man.

"Yeah. There were six of them. When they started toward you . . ." She drew another shaky breath. "Well, at least they didn't shoot. But one of them knocked you pretty hard with the butt of his rifle instead."

Lee gave a short laugh. "Guess that explains my headache."

"Scar-face was pretty mad. He made them carry you all the way back here." She paused, adding in a quiet voice, "I think they need us alive for some reason."

"That's reassuring." Resting his head against the tree, he looked up. The late afternoon light had faded, and the evening stars now shone against the dark sky. Miniature diamonds, Amanda used to call them. The night sky always seemed so much brighter away from the city lights. In spite of their predicament, he found himself smiling. How they'd both loved those weekend camping trips with the boys.

Closing his eyes, Lee willed the throbbing in his head to stop. He wondered mildly if he had a concussion. His vision didn't appear to be blurred -- that was a good sign. And he wasn't nauseated. In fact, he could really use some food. Whatever the troop quartermaster was cooking in that pot sure smelled good, he thought, recalling what had awakened him in the first place.

Amanda's thoughts echoed his. "So if they want us alive, do you think they intend to feed us?" she asked with a hollow laugh. "I know I should be too worried to eat, but I'm really hungry."

"*You're* hungry," Lee retorted as his stomach protested loudly. "At least *you* ate breakfast."

"See, Stetson," she teased, "you should listen to me. You never know when breakfast is going to come in handy. After all, it's the most important meal . . ."

"Of the day," he finished with a wry grin. "Yeah, so I've been told."

She laughed lightly, then suddenly turned serious again. "Lee, are we in big trouble here or just the regular kind?"

He whistled softly. "I wish I knew. At least they don't seem too concerned with us at the moment."

"Maybe they're hungry, too. Did you see those . . ." She hesitated, and for a moment Lee thought she wasn't going to continue. Then she asked in a hushed voice, "Did you see those funny marks on their arms?"

Lee frowned. "What marks?"

"Burns -- at least, that's what they looked like to me. On their right forearms . . . three small circles."

Lee sat up straighter. "In a triangular pattern?" he inquired, his voice oddly strangled.

"Yes." Amanda let out a breath. "You're not thinking . . ?"

He nodded. "The Triad Corps. My God, I thought they'd been weeded out years ago when Sid Rollins was forced to resign as head of Covert Operations."

"I know that Rollins had an agenda of his own, but how does this Triad Corps fit in?"

Lee sighed. "They were a group of fanatics that all espoused Rollins' half-baked theories of American elitism -- the man's own personal guerilla squad."

"They're Agency, then?"

Lee could hear the anger rippling through her words. "Agency, CIA, FBI . . . the branch didn't matter much to Rollins," he assured her, "only their misplaced idealism. Those marks you saw were the result of their initiation ceremony. Reputedly, they were made by a lighted cigarette. The inductee couldn't move, couldn't make a sound while they were 'branded'.  If they did, they were taken out."

"Of the corps?"

"No. They were a dangerous, unsanctioned group, Amanda. Rollins couldn't afford witnesses."

"Oh, my gosh."

"Exactly," Lee replied grimly. "That's part of what makes them so lethal. They'll do anything, follow any order. But I . . . well, I always thought the Triads were more myth than fact. Nothing surfaced about them when we bumped heads with Rollins over that missing poet. Are you absolutely positive, Amanda?"

"Yes. All the men back at the clearing had those identical marks. Well, everyone but Ramon, that is." She let out a deep sigh. "I don't know about the others in camp. None of them have been close enough for me to check them out."

"How many of them are there, do you think?"

"I don't know for sure. I think I've counted about ten so far."

Narrowing his eyes, Lee studied the small group of men huddled around the fire. While they all wore the same green and black camouflage suits, they appeared to be made up of two distinctly separate forces -- one American, the other a nationality of Spanish descent. Perhaps natives of San Simeon . . . it didn't matter. Either way, if they were dealing with members of the Triad Corps, 'big trouble' didn't begin to cover their situation.

Behind him, he could sense Amanda suddenly tense up. "Lee, someone's coming."

Gingerly turning his head, he strained to see the area on her side of the tree. He could just make out the outline of two figures marching toward them. As they came closer, he recognized them. It was the scar-faced leader from the clearing and the other man . . . Ramon.

The man Amanda had referred to as 'Scar-face' let out a laugh. "Well, Scarecrow, glad to see you've joined us again. I hope you and the good Mrs. King haven't found the accommodations too . . . primitive."

Lee raised his arm, Amanda's wrist dangling limply from his. "Just charming, thank you."

"Perhaps you'll find El Legarto more entertaining," Scar-face continued with a knowing smile. "Now that you're awake, he's ready to have a little talk with you." He turned to Ramon. "Libere un par de esposas," he ordered sharply.

Nodding, Ramon produced a small key from his pocket. Stepping to the far side of the tree, he quickly unlocked one set of cuffs. "Levante," he muttered to Lee and Amanda under his breath.

Amanda had already begun to scramble to her feet. Clenching his teeth against the throbbing pain in the back of his head, Lee followed suit. The ground swayed beneath him for a few moments as he fought to regain his land legs, and he braced his free hand against the tree to steady himself. A tender hand stroked his cheek, and large, expressive brown eyes looked up into his.

"You okay?" Amanda whispered softly.

As he nodded, Scar-face warned them brusquely, "El Legarto doesn't like to be kept waiting."

Lee turned a malevolent eye on the man. "Yeah, I sure wouldn't want to do that."

Ramon gave his shoulder a forceful shove. "Muévalo, asshole."

He started toward the burly soldier, but a sharp pressure on his arm brought him up short. "Lee," Amanda rasped. "He's not worth it."

He suddenly remembered their wrists were still shackled together by the remaining pair of handcuffs. Even if he managed to land a lucky punch before Scar-face took him down, Amanda could be unintentionally hurt. His life didn't matter, but he wouldn't place hers in jeopardy. Smiling weakly, he covered her hand with his where it still rested on his arm. "It's all right, Amanda," he told her in a steady voice. "I'm okay."

"Save it for later," their captor interrupted harshly. "If you're still around, that is. Let's go."

As Ramon led the way across the camp, Lee choked down his anger. At least the aborted encounter had jump-started his adrenaline flow. As soon as they got out of this mess, those two were dead meat.

They came to a stop in front of a large tent. Scar-face pulled back the front flap, indicating that they should enter. Lee stole a quick glance at Amanda. Though a little pale, she appeared to be holding it together. Unconsciously, he reached for her hand, entwining his fingers tightly with hers. He'd always admired his partner's grit, but never more than at this moment. Giving her hand a squeeze, he led the way into the tent. 

~ XXIV ~

"Apresúrese," the man called Ramon muttered sharply.

Sensing Lee begin to bristle again, she gave him a warning nudge. He raised his eyebrows in response, flashing her that brash smile she knew so well. Amanda heaved a sigh of relief. Since his botched rescue attempt back at the clearing, her partner had been behaving like a powder charge ready to blow. *This* was the Scarecrow she remembered, calm to the point of cockiness under pressure. She desperately needed him to stay that way. His easy assurance was the well from which her own small measure of bravery sprung.

The man in the back of the tent quietly cleared his throat, and Amanda pulled her eyes from Lee with an effort. As her partner gave her hand another reassuring squeeze, she studied the man the others had reverently referred to as 'El Legarto.' His back was to them, so she couldn't see his face, but his form appeared muscular and well-built. Though his full head of hair was mostly gray now, she could tell that it had once been as dark as hers. An old soldier, perhaps -- one who had seen too many campaigns.

"Usted nos puede salir ahora, Ramon." He spoke in well-modulated tones, the soft Spanish words a lilting rhythm to Amanda's ear.

"¿Pero El Legarto, usted piensa que eso es sabio? Usted sabe que estos dos agentes americanos notorios son hábiles y bien entrenados y usted es un hombre importante. . . Importante a la gente de San Cardenzia."

Lee smiled smugly as the men spoke, his eyes alight with possibilities. From the way Ramon glared at him, Amanda knew he saw it, too. Though she couldn't understand the soldiers' conversation word for word, it was easy to grasp the gist of it. Hero worship was easily translated in any language. As Ramon spoke to his leader, his face shone with a strange inner light. He was obviously hesitant to leave such an important man alone and unprotected with two such notorious American agents. There was something familiar about these men, something she couldn't place. The strange feeling that this had all happened before struck her once again.

At last, Ramon reluctantly left the tent, and the old soldier folded his hands behind his back as he began to pace. He moved with a pronounced limp, favoring his stiff right leg. "You'll have to forgive Ramon," he told them with a deep sigh. "We have been through much together and he is very . . . protective."

"So I gathered." Lee's tone held just a hint of arrogance. Amanda recognized the ploy immediately; it was Scarecrow's usual modus operandi when faced with an opponent who had the upper hand. Thank goodness it was business as usual so far.

"He doesn't have anything to worry about," she heard Lee continue. "You certainly have the advantage here."

The man let out a strangled laugh. "Yes, so it would appear. But then nothing is ever as it seems, eh, Scarecrow? One cannot be *too* careful." He turned slowly, his lips curving up in a smile. "So, after all this time, we finally meet formally."

Amanda gave Lee a puzzled glance. He shook his head, lifting his shoulders ever so slightly. Evidently he was as much in the dark as she.

The man chuckled softly. "And the loyal Mrs. King . . . so many years of service and still no code name? Surely, as Scarecrow's partner, you would have merited one. Or perhaps he still has you running his errands, eh?"

"Oh, my gosh!" Amanda stammered as recollection flooded back in an unstoppable rush. El Legarto and Ramon . . . these were the same men who had abducted her from that hot dog stand all those years ago. What was the name again? Milo's Daffy Dogs! Yes, that was it. She had inadvertently picked up a message intended for Lee, and the small band of San Cardenzian rebels had mistaken her for an agent.

Of course, in those days, someone was *always* mistaking her for an agent. Maybe that's why she still remembered events from that first year, even after all this time. As she'd become seasoned, the faces had all blurred together, one case almost indistinguishable from the next, but the experiences she'd had that first year with Lee were different somehow. Virgin terror left an indelible impression.

El Legarto's grin widened as he saw the recognition in her eyes. "You see, Scarecrow, Mrs. King recognizes me. No matter. I'm happy to refresh your memory. 1983 . . . my men and I had pledged ourselves to deliver our country from the hands of that pig DiGreggorio -- a righteous struggle which your government chose to disavow. You Americans would rather support oppression, it seems -- as long as it's politically expedient."

"You were going to gas Arlington," Amanda accused, her eyes wide. "There's nothing 'righteous' about killing innocent people."

"That doesn't matter to 'El Legarto', Amanda," Lee put in. "After President DiGreggorio was deposed, his party's regime in San Cardenzia thought nothing of massacring scores of helpless women and children."

Springing forward, the soldier stood toe to toe with Lee, his thunderous eyes flashing with fury. "Those women and children were no innocents. They were used as human decoys! They bombed our camps, the houses of our families . . ." Drawing a deep breath, he turned away, limping slowly back to his makeshift desk. "That doesn't matter now," he murmured softly. "That water passed under the bridge long, long ago. Times change, as do allies. I think expediency has put us on the same side now, eh, Scarecrow?"

"What are you talking about?"

Letting out a deep sigh, El Legarto sat clumsily on the edge of his desk. "Sit, Scarecrow, Mrs. King," he requested, indicating two small folding chairs off to the right.

"I think we'll stand, thanks," Lee replied with a supercilious smile.

"I said sit down!" the soldier bellowed in an imperious tone. "Or I will call Ramon in here to teach you some respect. Don't try my patience, I warn you."

Amanda increased her pressure on Lee's fingers, nodding in the direction of the chairs. He reluctantly followed her lead, and Amanda squeezed his hand in a silent thank you as they both sat down.

"That's better," El Legarto replied, looking down on them with a self-satisfied smirk.

Amanda had to admire the man's strategy. Since he was shorter than Lee, he had to look up at his opponent when they were standing. Now, perched on the higher desk, he had the psychological advantage. As Lee shot her a slightly chagrined smile, she knew he was thinking the same thing.

El Legarto drew a deep breath. "Scarecrow is right, Mrs. King. After that pig DiGreggorio was. . . disposed of . . . there was a short period of retribution. But 'El Carnicero' himself was not the harmless playboy he was portrayed as by your American press."

Amanda raised an eyebrow enquiringly. "'El Carnicero?'"

"DiGreggorio's other nickname," Lee supplied with a grim smile. "'The Butcher.'"

"An apt description, I assure you," the soldier stated sadly. "My friend Ramon lost three of his seven children to El Carcinero's 'camps.'" He let out a deep sigh. "A man's children are his future . . . wouldn't you agree, Mrs. King?"

"Yes," she choked out softly, her voice caught somewhere in the back of her throat.

Lee sprang to his feet, his eyes flashing ominously. "Look, El Legarto, or whatever it is you call yourself these days. Get to the point or I'll . . ."

"Lee," Amanda entreated as the infuriated El Legarto swiftly drew his holstered weapon. "It's fine. I'm okay, really. Sit down."

"You should listen to your Mrs. King, Scarecrow. She is a very wise woman."

El Legarto's mocking laugh made her shiver. The man was seriously unbalanced. Shooting another pleading look at Lee, she gently tugged on his arm.

Lee complied, eying the soldier warily as he lowered himself into the chair. As he settled back, he reached for her hand. The reassuring presence of his fingers entwined with hers renewed her strength, and she managed to face their captor with an aura of calm resolve.

"You were telling us about what happened in San Cardenzia," she prompted, forcing a friendly smile.

El Legarto nodded. "Yes -- but only as a point of reference. Under our new El Presidente, our small country flourished, and I resigned from . . . ah, public service. Yet I still dedicated myself to the betterment of our people, as did the rest of my loyal compatriots. We worked very hard to bring modern conveniences to the people of our country, things you Americans take for granted . . . food, housing . . . health care."

Amanda shot Lee a look. He was leaning forward in his chair, his brow knit into a troubled frown as El Legarto continued his story.

"A few years ago, I was instrumental in bringing new vaccines to our small country. You see, they would ensure our people -- our children -- a better future, free from the diseases that had cut short the lives of so many."

"The vaccine from North Shore Labs," Amanda whispered softly as she caught Lee's eye.

"Yes. The vaccine that brought riches to the coffers of the corrupt American company called 'Iguana Associates' brought only death to the good people of San Cardenzia. You see, Mrs. King, when I was finally released from your American prison and returned to my own country, I married. I had a family, a son." A shadow passed across El Legarto's face, but he quickly threw it off. "To show my good faith, my son was one of the first to receive the new vaccine. And also one of the first to die from it." 

"I'm so sorry," she began, but he cut her off.

"So, you see, we have more in common than you might think. I believe you, too, have lost your son to these capitalist pigs."

"My son . . ."

El Legarto smiled bleakly. "Dr. James King . . . I believe he worked for these 'los asesinos.'"

"No," she gasped, fear roughening her voice. "You're wrong . . . Jamie would never . . ."

The soldier raised a hand. "Do not worry, Mrs. King. Your son is not dead . . . not yet. Our intelligence reports that he is being held prisoner in the citadel of American decadence -- your own Senator Topping's seaside fortress."

"He's alive!" Amanda gasped. "Lee . . ."

Lee put a restraining hand on her arm as she tried to leap out of the chair. "And you know this . . . how?" he demanded, his eyes cautioning her.

"We have someone on the inside. As I said, I have allies in this struggle. American allies this time -- I believe you met some of them in the woods."

Amanda looked expressively at Lee. The Triad Corps was an unsanctioned band of ruthless killers. Surely El Legarto knew this?

"If you have American allies, as you say," Lee demanded, "what do you need with us?"

"I know all about the warring factions within your Agency, Scarecrow. I can't let your petty interdepartmental squabbles interfere with my righteous vengeance for my people. For my son."

"We're not here officially," Amanda put in swiftly. "I'm not even an agent anymore . . ."

Lee gave her hand a sharp warning squeeze. "Amanda's right," he agreed casually, his voice devoid of the emotion that had been all too evident in hers. "We aren't here in our official capacity."

El Legarto eyed them carefully. "So what happens to the others is of no consequence to you?"

"That's right," Lee assured him coldly. "Our only interest is in our son."

Frowning, El Legarto rose slowly from his desk. Hands behind his back, he began to pace again, every so often shooting a puzzled glance in their direction. Pausing at last, he widened his stance as his eyes came to rest on Lee. A look of understanding passed between the two men.

"You understand these butchers must pay for their crimes. Iguana Associates has formed an unholy alliance with Los Lobos. We have long struggled to free our country from their grasp. There can be no quarter given."

"Yes," Lee stated grimly. "I understand. But, in exchange, you understand that our son is not a part of this. He's a victim, too, and must not be harmed."

Amanda held her breath as El Legarto considered the unspoken proposition. "Agreed," the man pronounced at last. "We are set to move at daybreak. As it happens, two of my men met with a small accident two days ago and I find myself . . . shorthanded." El Legarto extended his hand. "Welcome to the ranks of 'Los Combatientes de la Libertad,' Scarecrow and Mrs. King."

~ XXV ~

"Hold still. I need to get a closer look at this."

Lee sucked in a sharp breath as Amanda's fingers probed the painful bump. "Watch it, will you?" he said, wincing. The back of his head felt as if he'd lost an argument with a sledgehammer.

Amanda sighed her annoyance. "I'm doing the best I can, Lee. I don't have a lot to work with." She let out another long breath. "You have a pretty nice goose-egg here. And a small, jagged looking cut, but I don't think it's deep enough to need stitches."

"Too late for that now anyway," he grumbled. "Guess I'll just have to be thankful for small favors."

"Yes, you will. That was a pretty stupid stunt, Stetson."

"You don't have to remind me. We've already had that conversa . . . ouch!" He yanked his head away as she dabbed at his stinging cut with the rough cloth. "That hurts!"

"Then stop wiggling," she ordered with mock sternness. It was the same tone she'd always used when one of her 'boys' required some mothering. He could almost picture the look of tolerant resignation on her face as she added, "If I don't clean this out, it could become infected."

Though her touch was gentle, the combination of dirt and dried blood was hours old, and Lee had to grit his teeth as she continued her ministrations. He could tell she hated to hurt him; every time he flinched, she sucked in a tiny little breath. Lee smiled. In an odd sort of way, it was a good pain. Yes, being the object of his wife's tender concern once again felt *damn* good. His wife . . .

"There, you're as good as new," she pronounced as she tossed the wet cloth aside with a flourish. "Now that wasn't so bad, was it?"

"As bad as what?" Lee groused, gingerly moving his head from side to side. The cut was throbbing like a persistent drum in his head.

"Honestly," Amanda scolded as she settled down beside him on the small cot. "You're just as bad as . . ." Her words suddenly trailed off. Taking a deep breath, she squeezed her eyes tightly shut. When she finally opened them again, the remnants of the tears she'd fought so hard to control were still evident.

Magnified by the pooling moisture, her luminous eyes looked darker than ever. He couldn't help himself. He trailed his finger along her cheek where the tears stubbornly refused to fall.

"I'm sorry," she choked out, grasping his hand with a slightly embarrassed smile. "I didn't mean to do that. I just can't believe he's really alive."

He cautiously returned her look. "I know. It's wonderful news, Amanda."

"It's a miracle," she gushed, the happy words spilling from her mouth. "I know I kept saying he'd be okay, but part of me was afraid to really believe it. And now to finally know . . . What's the matter?" she demanded hoarsely, alarmed by his silence. "You do trust El Legarto's word, don't you?"

Snorting softly, Lee lifted their still shackled wrists. "About as much as he trusts us." As her face clouded, he added quickly, "But where Jamie's concerned . . . yes, Amanda, I do believe he was telling the truth. There was something in his eyes when he spoke about his son. If Jamie was dead, he would have acknowledged it and used *that* to recruit us."

Shaking her head, she gave him a sheepish smile. "Did we just become mercenaries?"

Lee frowned. Pushing off the cot, he started to move, but the unexpected resistance brought him up short. "Sorry," he said as he sank down once again.

"I'm restless, too." Grinning, she added, "I suppose we could always pace in tandem."

"What we should do is get some rest," Lee advised, struggling to stifle a yawn. As he finally allowed himself to relax, bone-aching fatigue crashed in on him from every side. "Tomorrow's operation is as big as they come."

At Amanda's solemn nod, he surveyed their makeshift quarters. Their supplies were meager indeed. El Legarto had refused to return their backpacks, and outside the tent to which they'd been 'assigned,' a taciturn San Cardenzian Freedom Fighter stood guard. Inside, they'd been allowed only the basics – a lantern, a pitcher of water, some strips of cloth and a basin bowl for washing, a thin blanket and one *very* small cot.

"Well," he muttered apologetically, "I guess we'll just have make do tonight with these, uh, elegant accommodations."

Amanda's lips curved up into a wry smile. "It sure beats that tree," she said as she scooted to the inside of the cot. Lifting an eyebrow, she patted the space next to her. "Come on, I'll share."

Lee glanced down ruefully at the cuffs. "I don't think you have too much choice," he said with a forced laugh.

Amanda looked over at the lantern. "Are we going to fight about that?"

Lee rolled his eyes. "No. You'll just try to turn it off when I fall asleep anyway -- might as well do it now and save the aggravation."

Her face scrunched up into a tiny pout. "Very funny."

A soft darkness surrounded them as Lee switched off the light. He lay down beside her, carefully drawing the thin blanket up over them. The night air wasn't cold by any stretch of the imagination, but they were still dressed in hiking shorts and t-shirts. Trying not to think of how good a hot shower would feel about now, he closed his eyes.

Though thoroughly exhausted a few short minutes ago, sleep was suddenly the farthest thing from his mind. Close beside him, he could hear the sound of Amanda's even breathing; it warmed his skin where her head rested in its familiar niche just below his chin. Her left hand lay comfortably atop his chest, her little finger moving in the gentle rhythm it always unconsciously sought as she reached the outer edge of slumber. Their crude bed was uncomfortable, and every so often he felt her shift against him, a lilting sigh emanating from her mouth. Lee bit his lip. If she didn't settle down soon, this cot wasn't the only thing that was going to be good and hard.

Blowing out a sharp breath, he forced himself to concentrate on tomorrow's mission. Outside their tent, he could hear the sounds of the camp battening down for the night. He managed to catch a few stray words of whispered conversation as different groups of soldiers passed by, but nothing of any significance. Some were obviously on their way to grab some sack time themselves, others to stand guard around the perimeter. From the information he and Amanda had been able to put together earlier, he figured their number at ten. They seemed evenly divided -- five San Cardenzians and five Americans. Lee frowned. El Legarto had mentioned losing two men. Had they been members of his 'Los Combatientes de la Libertad' or the covert Triad Corps?

The sound of Amanda's voice broke the silence. "Lee," he heard her whisper softly. "We've got a problem here."

"Only one?" he retorted sarcastically.

"I'm lying on my right side."

He let out a small groan. "Oh, Amanda."

"You *know* I can't sleep on my right side."

"Well, I don't know what you expect *me* to do about it," he snapped, struggling to quell his body's reaction as she squirmed again.

She gently prodded his shoulder. "Roll over."

"And just how do you propose I do that?" He shook the handcuffs lightly. "We're kinda joined at the hip here, remember?"

Lee could hear her short "hmm" as she considered the situation. "I'll just have to crawl over you," she informed him. Before he could protest, she moved her body across his chest. "Okay, you roll this way and I'll go that way," she instructed as she leveraged her weight against him.

"*This* way?" he whispered harshly. His self-control was stretched to the limit. A few more minutes of this torture and he might just . . .

"No, Lee," he heard Amanda cry in frustration. "*This* way. *I'm* going *that* way."

He grumbled softly under his breath, "Make up your mind."

"Come on," she exhorted, "let's try it again on the count of three. I'd like to get some sleep before the sun comes up."

He grimaced painfully. "Now *there's* a novel idea."

Ignoring him, she began to count slowly and deliberately, "One . . . two . . . three!" Rolling together, they clumsily shifted their positions on the cot. "There," Amanda announced with a satisfied sigh. "Isn't that better?"

Lee grunted. "No. Now I'm lying on those blasted cuffs." He tried vainly to lift his body, but their hands were wedged firmly beneath them.

"I guess it *is* kind of awkward," she admitted with rueful sigh. "Lie still and let me get my arm out from under . . ."

"That's not going to work, Amanda. The chain is too damned short."

"We do seem to be kind of . . . stuck." Her words carried the faintest hint of amusement. "I guess we should have just stood up and shifted position, huh?"

"You're the one who seemed to be in charge of logistics," he said with a sour grimace.

Amanda grinned. "Well, now we're just going to have to roll you back over on your back."

"'We?'" he rejoined sarcastically.

"Come on, hurry up, I think my hand's falling asleep." Swallowing his retort, he silently complied. "There, I think that did it," she proclaimed as they completed the maneuver.

Her upper body was draped across his chest, her face tantalizingly close to his, but their hands were undeniably free. As a few stray strands of her hair teased his cheeks, he looked up into her deep brown eyes. "Yeah," he choked hoarsely, "I think you're right."

She drew in a deep breath. He could feel the subtle change in pressure against his chest as she let it out with agonizing slowness. "Lee," she began, his name barely a whisper on her lips. "I . . ."

"Toque eso otra vez, asshole, y usted es muerto!"

"Es mi cena. Usted Americanos locos piensan que el todo pertenece a usted."

The angry words sounded as if they were right outside their tent. As Amanda started to speak, Lee shook his head, quickly silencing her. Distinct sounds of a scuffle could be heard, then the sudden click of a rifle.

"Vuelva a sus tiendas, ustedes dos," a third man ordered harshly. "Si El Legarto lo oyen, usted tendrá más que alimento para preocuparse por."

Grumbling under his breath in Spanish, one of the men walked away. The other let out a harsh laugh. "Sorry, Scurto," he muttered, an edge of fearful respect to his voice. "But that damned . . ."

"You stupid asshole," the man called 'Scurto' replied harshly. Lee recognized the voice of the scar-faced soldier, and he carefully catalogued the name. "This is neither the time nor the place. Save it for tomorrow. Do you want to blow everything?"

Their voices became indistinguishable as they moved away from the tent. Amanda raised an eyebrow. "What was that all about?"

"Evidently there's no love lost between El Legarto's Freedom Fighters and our pals the Triads." Lee shook his head. "There's a hellava lot more going on here than meets the eye."

From her perch on his chest, Amanda earnestly caught his gaze. "You can say that again."

Lee exhaled loudly, turning his eyes from hers. "We'd better get some sleep. I have a feeling we'll need to be extra-sharp tomorrow."

"Yeah, I guess you're right." With a bittersweet sigh, she snuggled closer against him, laying her head lightly on his shoulder.

An uneasy quiet settled around them. Outside the door of the tent, he could hear the muffled sounds of their guard's boots as he shuffled his feet, punctuated by the intermittent chirping of a cicada. Now and again, from somewhere outside the camp, the muted hoot of an owl added to the repertoire. Background noise, all of it; the perimeter of *his* world had narrowed sharply, defined by the woman he held in his arms once again. His breath caught in his throat.

"Amanda," he entreated suddenly in a husky whisper. "Promise me something."

"Sure, what?" she murmured against his chest, sleep already slurring her words.

"No matter what happens tomorrow . . . Jamie has to be your first priority. Nothing -- no one -- can get in the way of that."

She was strangely silent. "Amanda," he admonished again. "Please. I have to know he's going to be okay. Nothing can go wrong -- not this time . . ."

Her raspy breath cut him off. "My family is always my first priority, Lee," she whispered harshly. "You should know that by now."

He gave her a tender squeeze. "Good. Then everything will be okay."

She sighed plaintively against his chest. "Goodnight, Lee. Get some sleep."

"'Night," he mumbled back indistinctly against her hair. It had a faintly sweet smell, reminiscent of other nights together too numerous to count. Such an ordinary thing really, yet as he breathed in the familiar scent, he knew . . . beyond a shadow of a doubt . . . in the very depths of his soul . . . signing a piece of paper had changed nothing.

He was still in love with her.