Saturday, August 29, 1987
2:17 a.m.
The great room was dark, save for the light from the fire burning in the hearth. The blaze cast flickering shadows on the richly paneled walls, the logs snapping and crackling as the flames consumed them. Someone must have brought the wood in before the rain started.
Pillowed by the couch cushions, I closed my eyes and listened to the sound of the raindrops striking the roof. They echoed in the silence of the early morning, keeping me company as I waited. Mother and the boys had long since given up the watch and gone to bed. Though I needed sleep as well, I couldn't bring myself to climb the stairs alone, again.
My gaze traveled to the clock on the far wall. The slender hands stared back at me, as if to say that watching wouldn't make them move any faster. It was past two o'clock now. Crumwald must be long gone, his plane already over the Atlantic.
I still couldn't believe Lee had been working with the celebrated Frederick Crumwald. The irony was not lost on me. I'd spent a week with the man at the Anti-Terrorism Symposium, typed his conference notes, scoured his files. Had I overlooked the obvious? There must have been some sign, some clue I hadn't picked up. Surely when I'd accessed the MI-6 files . . .
An exhausted sigh broke the silence. For a moment I thought the sound had come from my lips, but when it happened again, I sprang from the couch. Stepping forward, I whispered, "Is someone there?"
"It's only me, Amanda." Lee ran a hand through his hair as he materialized from the shadows. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to scare you. I thought you'd be asleep by now."
I jutted my chin out as I glowered at him. "Thought or hoped?" Even in the dimly lit room, his distress was impossible to miss. As was the fact that he was soaking wet. Evidently walking in a downpour was preferable to being with his wife.
"I'm sorry," he said, as my eyes raked over him again. "I needed some time alone, that's all."
I looked away. "Seems to me we've had more than enough of that already."
"I didn't mean . . ." He exhaled again. "I've been in deep cover for two months, Amanda. It's hard to make the transition, just like that. I needed to decompress a little before I saw you, that's all."
"So, what you're saying is, you needed some time to be normal." My voice lost some of its edge as I turned back to him. "Tell me something I don't know, Stetson."
His smile faded as he eased himself down on the couch. "Are you okay?" I asked as a short groan escaped his lips.
"Yeah, I'm fine." He looked down at the hardwood floor. "Just fine."
"And pigs fly," I wanted to say. I suddenly noticed the rigid way he held himself, the pain etched in every line on his face, the discoloration beneath his eyes. I longed to take him in my arms, give him the comfort he so clearly needed. But I could only manage to collapse into the nearest chair. It was as if someone had knocked the wind out of me.
I folded my arms across my stomach and rocked back and forth. "You look exhausted, Lee. You need to sleep."
"Amanda—"
"No. We can talk later, when you're rested."
He nodded, whether relieved or distressed at the reprieve, I couldn't tell. He glanced at the stairs. "Uh, where do you want me to . . ."
As his words dissolved into another weary moan, something clutched at my heart. I stood and closed the distance between us with slow, painful footsteps. "Come on. Let's get you into bed."
He grabbed for the hand I extended. "That sounds damn good right about now."
Normally, his intent would have been more than clear, but something seemed "off" somehow. Though he tried to hide it, I saw his discomfort as he pushed himself off the low couch. "Come on," I urged again. "Let's go."
He pulled me to him and touched his lips briefly to my forehead. "Thank you, Amanda. For not . . . well, thank you."
I swallowed hard at the look in his eyes. "It's late, Lee."
He nodded then followed me up the stairs and down the hall. As we entered the spacious master bedroom, I felt my cheeks flush. Someone had been there before us, someone who had drawn the shades and turned down the covers on the bed. The small night-lamp bathed the room in a penumbral light, but the message couldn't have been clearer if it had been lit up in neon.
I glanced over my shoulder at Lee. "Mother really needs to stop reading those romance novels."
He cleared his throat. "One thing you can say for her, she's more efficient than that maid."
"That's for sure." I tried to laugh. "Maybe, when all this is over, she should apply for a job at the Crystal Springs Inn. It might keep her out of our hair."
"It's a thought." Lee shifted his weight, his gaze drifting toward the bathroom. "I could really use a shower. Do you mind?"
"Not at all." I was thankful for something, anything, to relieve the stilted atmosphere. Mother meant well, but I definitely needed to have a talk with her. Right after I killed her. "There are extra towels on the shelf, if you need them."
He was already halfway into the other room. "Thanks, I'll find them."
As the door closed, I sank down on the bed in exhaustion. What on earth was the matter with us, with me? Seeing my husband had consumed my thoughts, waking and sleeping, for the past two months. Now that he was here, at last, I didn't know what to say to him. It was as if a vast canyon had grown between us, and I couldn't bridge the gap to the other side.
Trudging to the dresser, I opened the top drawer and fingered the soft nightgowns. Selecting an appropriately neutral one, I changed clothes and climbed into bed. Sleep tried to claim me, but I fought against it. I wanted to be awake when Lee emerged from the bathroom, if only to wish him one last goodnight. My body had other ideas, though. Challenged by my pregnancy and the tumultuous events of the past few days, I dozed off.
A thudding noise woke me with a start. Confused, I sat up and rubbed my eyes, trying to make sense of my jumbled thoughts. Noting that Lee's side of the bed was as yet undisturbed, I glanced at the clock. Though it felt like hours, I'd only been asleep for a few minutes.
The bathroom door was still closed. "Is everything all right?" I inquired, almost timidly.
He didn't answer. Steeling myself, I marched to the door. My fingers trembled as I took hold of the knob. I didn't want to intrude on his privacy, but . . . I pushed my apprehension aside. Lee was my husband, not some stranger. I was tired of walking on eggshells around him. Opening the door, I entered the small bathroom.
"Oh my gosh!"
Tears filled my eyes at the myriad of bruises, cuts and sores that covered his body. He averted his eyes and swiftly wrapped a thick towel around his hips. "I didn't want you to see this."
"Lee." His name was almost lost in my shuddering breath. "You should have told me."
"It looks much worse than it is, really. I'm fine."
"No, you're not." I propelled myself forward, into his arms. He groaned as I held him, and I quickly let go, alarmed at this new evidence of pain. "Oh, Lee, I'm sorry. Did I hurt you?"
"No." The word was torn from somewhere deep in his chest. "You could never hurt me."
As if to prove it, he pulled me into his arms, his hands moving over my back in odd desperation. My nightgown grew damp as it absorbed the moisture from his skin, but I barely noticed. His breaths were coming in deep, uneven gasps, as he engaged in a monumental struggle to keep his emotions locked deep inside him.
"It's okay," I said, encouraging him to let go. "I've got you, sweetheart. Everything's going to be okay."
"Oh, Amanda, I . . ."
His words became a deep, almost animalistic, moan. I held him fast as sob after wracking sob tore itself from his body. Time ceased as we stood in the bathroom, joined in a frantic embrace. I stroked my fingers through his hair, still wet from the shower, while murmuring words of comfort that were strangely disconnected from my brain. I held him close until, finally, he relaxed against me, and his breathing returned to normal. After a minute, he pulled away and straightened his shoulders, wiping his eyes with deliberation. Then, leaning forward, he bowed his head and braced his arms against the sink.
"I'm sorry. I guess I should have walked this off a bit longer."
I let out a long breath. "I'll be more than happy to accept your apology for any number of things you've done recently, but this isn't one of them. I'm your wife, Lee. You don't have to hide your feelings from me. I love you."
"I love you, too."
"Good. Then that's one less thing we have to worry about, huh?"
"Yeah, I guess it is." His eyes swept over me in one endless, longing look. "My God, Amanda, you look incredible."
The atmosphere in the steamy room took a decidedly different turn. As Lee's eyes continued to devour me, I was acutely conscious of our state of undress. However inclined I was to give in to his very obvious desire, bitter experience had taught me that passion wouldn't solve our problems. Though I had no fear that he would disappear again, I was determined that, this time, we were going to talk before we made love.
I took his hand, drawing him from the strange intimacy of the bathroom. "Come on. I think there are a few things we need to discuss."
"I'm sure you're right." He gave a short laugh. "What I'm not sure of is . . . where to start."
"The beginning is always a good place. How did you end up in Crumwald's unit?"
He glanced at the lamp still burning on the dresser. "Do you mind?" he asked, careful to avoid my gaze. "The light kinda hurts my eyes."
"No, that's fine." Actually, I was as grateful as he was for the cover of darkness. My gaze swept over his battered body one last time as he flipped the light switch. I had a feeling the story he was about to tell would be equally hard on me as well.