VI

"but i can't stop the rain,

i can't hold back the thunder

oh, but i

can make one vow

and promise you my heart right now . . ."

Thursday, November 26, 1987

9:32 p.m.

I stood on the front porch as the boys piled their gear into the trunk of Joe's car. "See you guys tomorrow," I called to them. "And don't give your dad a hard time."

"We'll be fine," Joe assured me as he prepared to follow Phillip and Jamie. "I'll drop them off tomorrow night after the rehearsal dinner."

"Thanks, Joe." I rubbed my arms to ward off the chill. "I know you must have a million and one things on your mind, what with the wedding and entertaining your future in-laws . . ."

"The boys are my family, too. I love having them with me. Besides," he said, as I drew my lips tightly together, "Lee looks like he could use a little time to unwind."

I couldn't argue with him there. Lee's behavior on the patio had made that plain enough. There was a wild desperation to his fevered kisses that struck an all too familiar chord. I closed my eyes as images of another night burned in my mind—the night we'd conceived our child. I'd felt the same jolt of electricity between us then.

"You have the strangest look on your face, Amanda." Joe put an arm around my shoulder. "Are you sure you're going to be okay? If you need me, Carrie could take the boys tonight and I could stay."

I smiled and shook my head. "I'm just fine, Joe."

"If you say so."

I groaned at the skepticism in his voice. "Look, I really do appreciate your offer to help out tonight. And you're right, Lee and I could use some private time together, he's clearly exhausted. But it's nothing more than that. You don't have to worry about me, and you certainly don't have to worry about the boys. They're just fine, too." My eyes narrowed as I added pointedly, "Right where they are."

Unwilling to meet my gaze, Joe planted a chaste kiss on my forehead. "See you tomorrow, sweetheart."

I watched him back the car out of the driveway and head in the direction of his new house in Chevy Chase. At the last moment, Jamie turned and waved goodbye from the backseat. Something pulled at my heart as I saw his face framed in the car window. I had an overwhelming urge to gather him close to me, to protect him from anything or anyone who tried to hurt him—including his father's good intentions. Returning his wave with a grim smile, I walked back into the house.

Mother was waiting in the foyer. "Amanda, I completely forgot that I promised to take Edna Gilstrap some pumpkin pie."

She sounded out of breath, and I raised an eyebrow as I glanced down at the slim remains of our dessert. "Really, Mother, you don't have to bolt out of here like some sort of fugitive—"

"Yes, I do. You know how maudlin poor Edna gets this time of year." She gave me a knowing smile. "Now, I'll probably stay and watch the late show with her, so don't feel you have to wait up."

My face flushed to what could only be a bright shade of crimson. "You know how much I appreciate—"

She gave me a quick hug, her eyes sparkling as she released me. "Goodnight, darling. Give Lee a kiss for me and tell him how glad we all are to have him home."

The door clicked shut; I was finally alone with my husband. I had the oddest feeling in my chest, as if all the breath had been squeezed out of my body. After all those long, lonely days and nights, not knowing if Lee was dead or alive, here he was, sitting on the couch in my very own family room. It was almost too much somehow.

Taking a deep breath, I marched myself up then down the short flight of stairs into the den. "Well, Stetson," I said with a laugh that sounded more nervous than happy, "you certainly know how to clear out a room."

He grinned. "I'm not sure Arlington's ready for the utilitarian terrorist look. I almost scared myself when I looked in the mirror."

"Well, you certainly scared Carrie's mother."

Lee's eyes twinkled. "That's a bad thing? I've never met such an awful old bat. I almost feel sorry for Joe."

"That's big of you." I smiled faintly as I sat down beside him.

He ran his hand through his unruly locks. "You know, I haven't worn my hair this long since my first semester in college when I was trying to get my uncle's goat."

I chuckled and cocked my head. "And did you?"

"Not really. I don't think anything I did ever really fazed the old man."

"Why do it then?" I traced my finger along the corded edge of the sofa.

He flicked a piece of lint from the pant leg of his black jumpsuit. "Who knows why kids do half the crazy things they do."

We both fell into an awkward silence as I nodded. I mentally kicked myself. With all the things we needed to discuss, all the things I'd dreamed of saying to him, I could only manage a discourse on the finer points of adolescent rebellion. Was I totally out of my mind?

"I must be totally out of my mind," Lee said, a flash of humor crossing his face. "I've thought about our being together again every moment of every day for the past three months, and now all I can talk about is the Colonel."

"I guess we're both acting kind of silly, huh?"

"Yeah, we are."

His voice held an unspoken challenge. I raised my head, for the first time truly meeting his gaze. His eyes burned with a longing that couldn't be described, and I shivered. "Oh, Lee, I've missed you so much."

He leaned closer and reached for me, but instead of letting him push me down on the couch as he so obviously wanted to do, I swung my legs across his lap. He adjusted with only a hint of disappointment. With slow deliberation, he placed tender kisses first on the center of my forehead, then on each eyebrow, and finally on the tip of my nose. "I've missed you, too, Mrs. Stetson," he murmured as he at last moved to my mouth.

I hummed softly against his lips. "Say that again."

"I've missed you?" He tilted back to catch my eye.

I smiled and shook my head. "'Mrs. Stetson.' It sounds really good."

He brushed away the tears that trickled down my cheeks. "I love you, Mrs. Stetson."

He underscored those last words in the deep, gravelly tone that had haunted my dreams these past few months. My voice shook as I replied, "I love you, too."

As he leaned forward this time, a sigh escaped from deep inside me. His mouth, so warm and wonderful against mine, engendered an even deeper craving. Somewhere in the back of my mind I knew I should stop him, that there were things we still needed to say to each other. I couldn't. The pleasure of his kiss was drugging in its sweetness, and I returned it with equal ardor. I wanted nothing more than to be swept into his arms and carried to the nearest bed.

His magical lips traveled from my mouth to my neck; I moaned softly as he nibbled the spot below my ear that always drove me crazy. "Amanda." He growled my name tenderly as he tried to pull me closer. "Where on earth did you get this crazy sweater? It keeps bunching up between us."

I suddenly felt as if I'd been doused by an imaginary bucket of cold water. "Lee." I struggled to escape his increasingly intimate embrace. "We really have to talk."

He obviously had other ideas. "We have the rest of our lives to talk, Amanda," he murmured, kissing me again. "I want you so much I can barely think straight."

His hand began a tantalizing journey up my leg. "Wait, Lee," I gasped. "We have the rest of our lives to do this, too. Right now there are some things I . . . you . . . really need to know."

He regarded me oddly for a moment before disentangling our bodies. "Okay," he agreed, albeit reluctantly. "But if you insist on talking, it'll be safer if we do it with a little space between us."

I couldn't have agreed more. "Where have you been?" I asked, trying to collect my scattered thoughts. "When you missed your check-ins, we were afraid—"

"I know." He let out a long breath. "There were a few times there I was afraid of the same thing. Ali and Karras seemed to buy my cover story at first—that I'd managed to slip through the net just like they had. But after Francine managed to escape, Karras suspected . . . well, I just couldn't risk . . ." His voice grew quiet as he stiffened. "It doesn't matter now."

I rubbed his knee. "What aren't you telling me, sweetheart?"

He twisted away to look over the back of the couch into the brightly lit kitchen. "There are things that happened on this assignment that I don't want to think about, much less tell you, Amanda," he said, after a beat.

Anguish was imprinted on every line of his face. "It was really awful, wasn't it?" I whispered.

"Yeah, it was. But it's in the past now. I'm home. I survived."

"And it really is over?"

He nodded. "Arbaalk, Karbala—whatever you want to call it—is finally broken. Birol's old boss is dead, and Karras is safely in custody in London. Crum's people are handling the interrogation, so the Agency won't be involved from here on out. Case closed, once and for all." I felt his hand clasp mine as he faced me again. "Now," he planted a tiny kiss on the inside of my wrist, "enough about me. How are you? You look . . . different somehow. Billy said you've had a pretty rough time of it. I'm really sorry, Amanda."

I slid my hand from his and pushed off the couch. "What else did Billy tell you?"

"Nothing specific." He scratched his head, obviously confused. "We barely had time to say hello before the debriefing."

"The debriefing?" I frowned. "Exactly how long have you been back, Lee?"

He exhaled loudly. "Since sometime late last night, I think."

"Late last night?" A hard edge crept into my voice. "You've been home all this time?"

Some indefinable emotion flitted across his face, and he brushed at his shaggy hair again. "If you choose to call being poked and prodded by the Agency medics then forced to face a squad of interrogators 'home,' Amanda, then I suppose the answer is yes."

My breathing quickened. "Why didn't you at least let me know you were okay? Do you have any idea how worried I've been about you? How worried we've all been?"

"Of course I do. This hasn't exactly been a picnic for me, you know. Do you think I enjoyed being put through my paces by Smyth's lackeys when all I wanted to do was see my family?"

"You could have called," I insisted in what Joe always used to call my "pigheaded" tone.

Lee lost his tenuous hold on his temper as he sprang off the couch. "I tried to call you every time the debriefing team gave me a break," he shot back, "but the damn phone line was always busy!"

"Phillip." I groaned, suddenly remembering. "He—"

"Look, Amanda, does it really matter? I'm here now, we're together."

I folded my hands across my stomach as I looked at him. "I don't know what's the matter with me," I said, feeling more than a little guilty. "I didn't mean to snap at you. It's just that I've been out of my mind, not knowing . . ."

He crossed the room and gathered me into his arms. "I'm sorry, too. Billy did offer to send a courier to give you a message, but I wanted to tell you myself. I guess I didn't stop to think about what you were going through. But I promise you, Amanda, no more. I have no intention of going anywhere, ever again."

Tears filled my eyes as I felt the tender touch of his lips on my hair, my ear, my cheek. "Lee," I began, in a shuddering voice. "I—"

He silenced me with a soul-shattering kiss. I could no longer hold back; I opened my mouth to his tongue, an aching need flowing through me as he probed deeply. He tried to mold his body to mine, his hands caressing my neck and shoulders, stroking down ever so slowly to the hollows of my back. Unable to think clearly under his passionate onslaught, I pressed closer, moaning my need as his hand slipped beneath my sweater then moved leisurely across my hips to my stomach . . .

He reared back as if he'd touched hot flame. "Amanda, what the hell . . ."

I flushed as his eyes swept over every inch of me. His expression sobered as the changes he'd overlooked earlier finally registered . . . the curve of my slightly fuller face, the new tautness of my breasts, the bulge at my waistline that he suddenly realized wasn't fabric at all, but flesh . . .

"Oh my God, you're pregnant!"

"Yes," I said, backing away. His words sounded like an indictment.

He continued to stare at me. "I can't believe this. Are you . . . is it . . . everything . . . okay? The baby—"

"The baby's just fine."

"Thank God." His expression of shock turned into a silly grin, and he stepped closer to cup my face. "Are you okay?" he asked, a funny catch in his voice.

His thumbs stroked my cheeks, and I covered his hands with mine. "Yeah, I'm just fine, too."

He looked at me in disbelief. "I never even gave this scenario a thought. I mean that you . . . that we . . ."

"Yeah, well . . ." I chuckled as I rubbed my belly; a tongue-tied Scarecrow was an incredulous sight to behold. "We most definitely are, pal."

He bit his bottom lip and shook his head. "We have to go shopping," his said, his beard tickling me as he hugged me closer.

Burying my face in his neck, I let out a happy laugh. The moment was everything I'd wished for and more. "We have some time yet before we have to worry about buying cribs," I told him dreamily.

"Cribs, hell! We need to buy a whole new house—with a state of the art security system. I heard a rumor last spring that the Seaforth people are marketing a new home version, but there are still a few flaws that—"

"Lee," I cried breathlessly. "Hold on a minute."

"Amanda, installing these things takes time." He sighed patiently, as if he was explaining to a small child. "Summer's not all that far away—"

"Lee." I pulled back to look at him, my voice subdued as understanding dawned. "The baby's due in March."

"March?" His smile faded into a frown as he did the mental math. "A-man-da. Exactly how long have you known about this baby?"

"Since . . . the beginning of August."

"But that would mean . . ." His eyes darkened dangerously. "You knew, didn't you . . . when we were all at Mrs. McMurty's. You knew, then?"

I nodded.

"And you just let me leave. . ." Anger sharpened his words. "You just let me leave without saying anything?"

"I . . . wanted . . . to. But everything happened so fast. Billy showed up and told us about Francine and then I was . . . well, scared, I guess."

"Scared?" He snorted. "Of what?"

Suddenly cold, I wrapped my arms around myself. "I thought that if you knew, then you wouldn't be able to do . . . what you had to do. So much was depending on you . . ." I rattled on as he continued to stare at me. "Francine was depending on you."

"You were depending on me." His words stabbed the air. "Depending on me to clean up the mess you'd made with your renegade investigation."

"Lee," I cried, stung. "That's not fair!"

"You're damn right it isn't. My own wife didn't trust me enough to tell me the truth!"

Anger, hot and furious, bubbled up inside me. "You're a fine one to talk, Stetson. Maybe if my own husband had trusted me in the first place, we wouldn't even be having this conversation."

"I did trust you." Lee yanked his hair back as he began to pace. "I explained everything in my letter. I specifically asked you not to look for me, that it would only make things worse. But instead you go off half-cocked, as usual—"

"Half-cocked!" My breath burned in my throat. "Well, thanks a lot, Scarecrow. A fine partner you turned out to be."

"At least I know how to follow orders." His voice had quieted, but his words held an undertone of cold contempt.

"Yes, you do," I returned, matching his attitude measure for measure. "You followed them straight out of my life. All it took was one word from Dr. Smyth."

"Damn it, Amanda. I told you what was at stake."

"Yes, you did. After the fact."

"The letter—"

"You didn't write that damned letter of yours until after you'd put me through the hell of thinking you didn't care anymore." Still seething, I roared at him, "Besides, I didn't receive it, so it doesn't count."

He paused to glare at me from across the room. "What are you talking about?"

"Your little performance was so compelling that Joe bought it hook, line and sinker. He thought you were deliberately trying to hurt me, so he never gave me your letter . . . at least, not until it was too late."

Lee's breathing turned ragged. "That damned bastard. He let you think I'd just walked away—"

"No, Lee," I spat back at him, rage choking me. "You let me think that. Joe was only trying to protect me."

Lee turned a cold eye on me. "I should have known you'd take his side. You always do."

I glowered at him. "What on earth is that supposed to mean?"

His lips thinned in anger. "It means that I crawl back home after three months of God-knows-what kind of hell, only to find your ex-husband happily carving the Thanksgiving turkey."

"He was just . . . wait a minute." My brows shot up. "You were spying on me! How long, Lee . . . how long were you out there, skulking around in the backyard?"

"Long enough to see Joe King happily presiding over Thanksgiving dinner at the head of our table! Well, my table, technically, since it's the one that came from my apartment."

"Well, you're certainly welcome to take it back." My heart hammered in my chest. "I've managed to come this far without any help from you. Why start now?"

The sudden silence hung in the air between us. "Why, indeed," Lee replied as he abruptly turned on his heel.

The sound of the slamming door hit me with the force of a sucker punch. I stepped backward on unsteady legs, grateful when I bumped the edge of the chair. As my knees buckled, I grabbed for the arms and lowered myself down.

I couldn't stop shaking. I'd suspected all along how Lee was going to react when he learned my secret, but the blind ferocity of my own response shocked me to the core. Where had all that rage come from? I must have been more furious at him than I'd allowed myself to believe.

But no sooner had I acknowledged the feeling than I felt its hold on me loosen. I'd been angry for so long—first at Lee for leaving me, then at Joe for playing God with the letter. But had I really behaved any better?

I remembered the haunted look in Lee's eyes when he'd arrived at Mrs. McMurty's, his halting confession that he hadn't expected to come home alive, the sorrow stamped on his face as he'd been forced to say goodbye yet again. He'd hurt me, that's true, but I'd certainly returned the favor by keeping the news of our baby from him. Is that what I'd intended all along—some subconscious payback for my husband's lies? If so, I'd certainly succeeded.

Exhausted, I shrank down lower into the chair. The edges of our wedding rings chafed my skin, and I pulled the chain from beneath my sweater. Removing the rings with painstaking care, I placed them on the coffee table. The gold bands glistened in the soft lamplight. I stared at them, my eyes a watery blur. When the tears came this time, I didn't even try to hold them back.