Thursday, July 30, 1987

5:15 p.m.

"Amanda, I need to add our notes to the summary of the ATS, but I can't locate the file."

"That's because I haven't typed it yet, Francine." I gritted my teeth. "I've had my hands full with these emergency background checks you handed me. Billy wants them first thing tomorrow, remember?"

"Well, he wants the updated information on the Anti-Terrorism Symposium tonight," my partner informed me. "He has a dinner meeting with Dr. Smyth. How do you expect me to add our recommendations to the secure file if they're not typed?"

"I know this might be a novel approach, but you could do it yourself." I waged a losing battle to keep my irritation out of my voice. "Or is typing too mundane a task for such a senior agent?"

Her eyes rounded as her eyebrows shot up. "Well, well, there is a sharp tongue beneath that oh-so-sweet exterior. Tell me, dear, is that what sent Scarecrow running off to London?"

I'd grown adept at sidestepping Francine's snide remarks, but that one touched a very raw nerve. Shaking with anger, I started to bite out an equally nasty retort when suddenly the feeling hit me. Taking a few quick breaths, I pushed up from my desk. "Excuse me," I croaked, heading out of the bullpen at a brisk run. I knew better than to let myself get so upset. It only served to churn my stomach, leading to the inevitable consequence.

Thankfully the ladies' lounge was empty. Racing for the nearest stall, I promptly lost my lunch and what was left of my breakfast. As I made my way to the sink on shaky legs, I glanced at my watch. Yes, pretty much right on schedule. I wondered vaguely if you could still call this "morning" sickness when it occurred so late in the afternoon.

I really needed to stop putting off that visit to the doctor. I'd been procrastinating for the better part of the week, and it didn't take a genius to figure out why. As long as my condition hadn't been officially confirmed, I could still pretend that maybe—just maybe—what I grew more certain of every day wasn't true.

I finished rinsing my mouth then reached for a paper towel. Wetting it, I pressed it first to my forehead, then to the back of my neck, all the while taking a series of slow, deep breaths. A few minutes passed and I gradually started to feel better; a few more and I'd surely be able to return to my desk and deal with Francine.

Unfortunately, she seemed to have other ideas. "Amanda, are you in here?" she called, sticking her head through the door.

Her voice sounded strangely hesitant, but it still set my nerves on edge. I braced my hands on the edge of the sink, willing the returning nausea to subside. "I'll be right out, Francine."

Instead of picking up on my less than subtle hint, she marched into the bathroom. I could barely stop my exasperated groan; you'd think such a superior agent would recognize a plea for privacy when she heard one. But instead of the look of grand hauteur I'd come to expect in her eyes, I saw only concern.

"Are you okay?" she asked, almost shyly. "When you ran out of the bullpen, I was worried."

"Yeah, I'm okay." I modulated my tone. After the way she'd treated me, she didn't deserve it, but I couldn't help myself. Her oddly erratic behavior in some ways reminded me of Lee.

Francine took it as an invitation to take charge again. "You don't look okay, Amanda," she pronounced after checking me out from head to toe. "You look like you need to sit down."

I let her lead me over to the small sofa in the corner of the lounge. As I sank down, I realized that she'd been right. Leaning back, I shut my eyes. When I opened them a few minutes later, I was a little aggravated to find Francine still beside me.

"Look," she began, her tone uncharacteristically conciliatory, "I didn't mean to . . . well, sometimes I let myself get a little carried away, you know, and . . . well . . . say things that . . ." She broke off with a moan. "Oh, I don't know, Amanda, I'm really not very good at this at all."

I arched my brows. "At apologizing?"

"Yeah, that, too." She twisted her mouth into a sour smile.

"This . . . situation . . . isn't easy exactly for me, either," I told her after a minute. Part of me wanted to let her off the hook, but another part clung to my hostility. It felt good. "You know, I'm supposed to be working with you, not for you, Francine."

She shook her head, obviously chagrined. "I guess I'm not much of a bargain as a replacement partner, am I?"

My mouth twitched as I fought a smile. "You could say that."

"Yeah." She rolled her eyes. "I know I'm not always . . . well, easy to get along with. And I can be a little, uh, inflexible at times."

I coughed. "Inflexible?"

"Maybe even rigid." As my eyes widened, Francine bit her lip. "Okay, okay, I'll admit it. I'm a royal pain in the rear."

"Thank you," I said, with a large grin.

Francine leaned back against the couch and studied the ceiling. "That remark I made earlier, about Lee . . . it was uncalled for. I haven't been in the best of moods since Jonathan walked out on me, and I took it out on you. I really am sorry, Amanda."

I gave her shoulder a comforting squeeze. "We all deal with pain in different ways, I guess."

She nodded, her eyes growing large and liquid as she looked at me. "I was just so sure this time that things were going to work out. I wanted so badly to believe he was a different man. But the minute the going got rough, what did he do? He took off again. I guess people don't change as much as you think they do."

When I didn't answer, her hand flew to her mouth. "Oh, Amanda, I wasn't talking about . . ."

I nodded, and, leaning closer to me, she dropped her voice. "For what it's worth, Lee's leaving like that took me by surprise, too."

I swallowed hard and managed a, "Yeah."

Francine's expression softened. "You know, maybe this is out of line, too, but I'm going to say it anyway. I've known Lee Stetson for a long time. I've never seen him care about anyone the way he cared about you. I remember when he called from California to say that you'd been shot, the man was practically a basket case. And afterwards, while we were working together, he told me that you were one in a million. In his own way, he loved you, I'm certain of it."

My cheeks suddenly felt damp, and I wiped the tears away. Mother had said practically the same thing to me, and I hadn't reacted this way. Somehow, hearing the words coming from Francine unraveled the tight knots I'd crafted to keep my emotions in check. "You haven't heard from him, have you?" I asked, holding my breath as I waited for the answer.

"No. I've tried to call him a few times, but he's always out of the office. I miss him, too. We've been friends for a long time."

I sat up straighter. "I haven't been able to reach him, either. Doesn't it strike you as a little odd that he's never around?"

"Amanda." She put a timid hand on my arm, as if she wasn't much in the habit of comforting people. "I know what you're thinking, but Lee's a master at avoiding people he doesn't want to talk to. Trust me, I speak from experience here. When we . . . well, when I got a little too serious about him, he took an assignment in Germany for six months. No one heard from him then, either."

When I didn't respond to that, she cleared her throat and looked at her watch. "It's after five. Why don't you call it a day? I can finish up those notes and get the file to Billy."

"You'll never finish it on time, Francine. You really are a lousy typist," I added, with a smile.

"I'll admit it isn't my best talent," she said with a grin of her own.

Palms on my knees, I pushed off the couch. "I'll do it. Just give me a few minutes to get our notes together."

"Okay." She rose, too. "Thank you, I do appreciate it." She hesitated for a fraction of a second before removing a card from the back of her I.D. "Here, use my clearance to transfer the notes directly into the secure file. It'll save time."

I willed my fingers not to tremble as I reached for the card. "Thanks, Francine." I managed to add, in a voice that sounded remarkably casual, "Do you want to wait while I finish up or . . .?"

She shook her head, a slightly guilty look on her face. "I'd like to get out of here a little early for once, if that's okay. It's been a really rotten day. Just hold onto that until tomorrow, if you don't mind."

My lips curved into a half-smile. "No, Francine, I don't mind at all."