--4--

i

Lee Stetson stood outside the Debriefing Room on Level Six, his face pressed against the one-way glass. He'd experienced a moment like this—wished for it, prayed for it—each and every night for the past five years. And each and every morning he'd awoken to find it nothing more than an insubstantial dream, the tortured conjuring of an inconsolable husband's mind.

But this time the woman in that room was no phantom. She looked real enough, sounded real enough and, if Lee could only get the opportunity to enclose her in his arms, he supposed she'd feel real enough, too.

Seeing her again, inside the heart of the Agency, it was easy to forget how much time had passed. He could almost imagine that this was merely another routine debriefing. In a few minutes she'd step outside the room, flash that special smile reserved just for him, and they'd steal away to a quiet dinner.

But he couldn't turn back the clock, no matter how hard he wished for it. Circumstances had compelled his Amanda to forge a new life and raise yet another child on her own. And, most painful of all to accept, someone else was now the recipient of her smiles.

A hand brushed across his shoulders as Francine came up behind him. "How's it going in there?"

Lee swallowed hard and closed his eyes. "I switched off the audio. I couldn't listen anymore."

"It's rough, I know. If anyone can get to the bottom of this, it's Dr. Joyce."

"I can't believe she really thinks this is 'Thornton's Repression.' The technique is difficult enough for an experienced agent to manage, but Amanda . . . ." He shook his head helplessly.

"Claudia's the expert in this field, Lee. She knows how to proceed in cases like this better than anyone."

Nodding, Lee forced himself to look at Amanda again. She sat very straight in her chair, listening attentively as Claudia Joyce explained her treatment options. Every so often her eyes darted around the room, resting for a few seconds on nothing in particular. Then, with an effort, she reigned herself in, focusing once again on the doctor. As Lee observed the endless sequence, he found his hands clenching into tight fists.

"Good lord, Francine—what in God's name could have happened to make her repress her entire existence? I can't even let myself go there—"

"Then don't." Kneading his taut shoulder, she leaned closer. "Your wife is home, she's alive. Hang on to that miracle, and everything else will sort itself out in time."

"I hope you're right."

"Lee, Amanda's a strong woman and a damned good agent. She'd have to be," she murmured almost grudgingly, "or she never would have come through this ordeal in one piece."

"Yeah, I should have known she was way too stubborn to die."

"You said that, not me." Francine caught his eye. "Trust in that stubbornness to bring her back the rest of the way."

Lee straightened his back and squared his shoulders. "You're right—she'll lick this, just the way she has everything else." His lips formed the beginnings of a smile as he turned to Francine. "I guess I'm out of practice at finding those silver linings. They've been few and far between lately."

"Well, here's another one, although not necessarily for you. Monsieur Maxim will be releasing his new spring line soon." She gave him a playful nudge. "I'd say I turned up something pretty significant in the back woods, wouldn't you?"

"You sure as hell did." Lee tilted his head. "And you can book your flight to Paris as soon as you do me one more teeny, little favor—"

"Uh-uh, Scarecrow," she shook her head emphatically, "not this time, no way—"

"Get me into her room."

"Billy would have my head on a platter and then serve it up to Dr. Smyth—"

"Damn it, Francine! I may not be able to see my wife at the moment, but there's no power on this earth that's going to keep me from my daughter!"

"Lee—"

"Look, I'm going to do this one way or another but," he changed tactics and sent her a pleading smile, "it would be easier—and less messy—with your help."

Francine pursed her lips. "What do you want me to do?"

"Get rid of that Bozo doctor for a few minutes so I can see her alone."

"I'm not sure that's such a good idea. Lee, you may be that little girl's father, but she doesn't know who you are—"

"She's asleep; she won't even know I'm there. But I want—I need—to be in that room with my child. Please, just do this one thing for me."

Francine must have recognized the intractable determination in his eyes, for she capitulated with a loud groan. "Give me a minute to come up with something to distract the country doctor." Smiling sourly, she started down the hall. "I'll bet Amanda took that package at the train station that morning just to shut him up," she mumbled under her breath.

Turning back to the window, Lee gazed at his wife one more time. He ached to hold her, to feel her body against his as he rocked her back and forth, to let her know there was nothing more to fear. He settled for tracing the outline of her cheek on the cold pane of glass. "Hang in there, Amanda," he whispered as he closed the shutter on the viewing window. "I'm right here."

The little girl was curled into a tight ball on the cot, a stuffed panda bear clutched to her chest. She whimpered every few minutes, on the verge of waking. But, each time, she sought and found the thumb that had slipped from her mouth, coaxing herself back into a quieter slumber with a few vigorous sucks.

Mesmerized by her slightest movement, Lee stood as close as he could to the makeshift bed. His daughter. If the DNA tests hadn't already proven it beyond the shadow of a doubt, he would still have known the moment he laid eyes on her. The wavy hair, the rounded cheeks, the thick lashes—he'd seen it all before, in one of the rare pictures his uncle had retrieved from his parents' photo albums. The child—Annie, Amanda had called her—was a miniature replica of himself at that age.

He smiled sadly as he watched her sleep. He and Amanda had wanted her, this sweet little girl, but not nearly enough. They should have put her needs first and come clean to Billy when Amanda first discovered she was pregnant. Instead, they'd continued to work the case, rationalizing their child's safety away . . . Amanda's cover was good, the intelligence they were getting on Brimstone would topple the organization . . . just one more day, one more week . . . God, they'd been so arrogant, blithely assuming they were invincible. The great Scarecrow and Mrs. King . . .

But even Agency legends topple sooner or later.

Stepping closer, he stretched out his hand. If only he could touch her, hold her, for just one moment. He'd already lost so much time—her whole life—that even one more second seemed unthinkable.

He restrained himself with a Herculean effort. Francine was right; biology or not, to this innocent child, he was no better than a stranger.

Heedless of his bad leg, Lee squatted to study the tiny face more closely. Her lashes were wet and clumped together—she'd been crying. Was the cruel cycle beginning all over again? Five years ago, he'd dragged the boys through hell by insinuating himself into their lives. Phillip still hated his guts for it—would Annie feel the same way someday? Then again, seeing her, knowing she existed, a living, breathing part of him, of Amanda . . . how could he ever find the strength to walk away? No, he couldn't do it; it was simply too much to ask.

"What the hell is going on here?"

Though spoken in a whisper, the words nonetheless startled him. Springing up, Lee whirled to face the intruder, his left hand automatically reaching for his hip.

A small muscle worked in the man's jaw as he stepped ominously closer. "You feds are some pieces of work. It's bad enough that you've subjected my fiancée to a barrage of psychological tests, but if you think you're going to start in on my daughter, you're barking up the wrong tree."

Lee ground his teeth as he struggled to hold on to his temper. This jerk didn't know how lucky he was that he no longer routinely carried a gun. "Look, buddy, you have no idea who you're talkin' to here—"

"Neither do you." Shoving Lee to the side, he stationed himself solidly in front of Annie. "This little girl has been traumatized enough over the past few days. Now get out, before I throw you out."

Lee edged closer and thumped him on the chest. "You and what army, pal?"

His adversary lunged forward. As Lee moved quickly to sidestep the puny blow, he put too much weight on his bad leg. It buckled, sending him crashing into a chair then tumbling to the ground. Startled from her fragile sleep, Annie began to cry.

"Now look what you've done," the man growled, leaping over Lee in his haste to reach the child. "It's all right. Uncle Brad's got you now." Turning his back on Lee, he gathered Annie to him and rocked her rhythmically. The child's screaming quieted to small hiccups as she relaxed against him. "I want my mommy," she declared, glaring at Lee over her protector's shoulder.

Lee struggled to his feet and smiled at the child. "Hello, sweetheart," he said, pulling out Amanda's favorite endearment. "Your mommy's busy right now, but you'll see her soon."

She regarded him gravely but didn't cry. Taking that as a positive sign, he slowly approached her. "My name is Lee. What's yours?"

She frowned, as if considering the question, then screwed her face up and began to wail again. "I want my mommy," she repeated loudly. "I want my mommy."

Lee felt almost miserable enough to echo her sentiments. The child was Amanda's daughter, no doubt about it—she certainly hadn't gotten her single-mindedness from him. Annie continued to scream, great sobs wracking her small body as she called for her mother again and again. He stood by helplessly as "Uncle Brad" increased the tempo of his rocking which, Lee noted in a fleeting moment of satisfaction, didn't seem to console her.

"Mom-mee," she cried, drawing out the name into one long, heartbroken yowl. "Mom-mee."

"It's okay, Munchkin, Mommy's right here."

Focused as he was on Annie, Lee hadn't heard her come in. Without sparing a glance for him, Amanda sat the child on her lap, her fingers wiping the tears from the blotchy cheeks.

"Brad, could you get a tissue from my purse? She's getting a nosebleed."

Watching Brad rifle through Amanda's black handbag, Lee felt the bile rise in his throat. There was a strange intimacy about the act that made him want to rip the interloper's arms from his sockets. Resisting the urge, he shoved his hands into his pockets instead.

Unfortunately, his gesture had not gone unobserved. "Outside, Scarecrow," Billy hissed in his ear. "Now!"

Ignoring the order, Lee moved toward Amanda, but Billy blocked his path. "I won't tell you again," he warned as he grabbed Lee's arm. "You're not doing anyone any good in here. Move it, or I'll be forced to cuff you. You don't want Amanda to see that, do you?"

Lee opened his mouth to protest, but one look told him his superior meant business. Clamping his mouth shut, he allowed Billy to escort him into the hall.

"What the hell," Billy started in as soon as the door closed. "I allow you on this level on one condition—that you wait for my go-ahead before making contact with Amanda and Annie—and what do you do the minute my back is turned . . .?"

Lee shrugged. "She was asleep. I didn't think it would do any harm."

Billy shook his head at the continuing turmoil in the small interrogation room. "Well, you obviously thought wrong."

"I just wanted to watch her for a few minutes, without a glass wall between us." Lee glanced resentfully at the one-way window. "If Bozo the Clown there hadn't waltzed in like he owned the place—"

"Okay, okay," Melrose groaned, his look conveying his understanding, "I get the picture."

"She's beautiful, isn't she, Billy?" Lee asked, looking over his shoulder at the little girl on the other side of the window.

"Yes, she is." Billy grinned. "The moment I saw her, I knew she was your child. She looks just like you."

Lee leaned heavily against the wall. "What did Claudia have to say?"

"It's Thornton's Repression, all right," said the tall, angular woman who approached from the adjacent hallway. "I'd stake my career on it."

Subdued, Lee nodded. He almost wished for a physical diagnosis. He knew only too well how few agents fully recovered from the psychological mind games the Agency's founder, Harry V. Thornton, had designed to prevent the transfer of vital information to the enemy. "What now?"

Billy glanced at Dr. Joyce. At her nod, he spoke softly. "We've discussed the options with Amanda and we've decided—"

"'We?'" Lee echoed sarcastically. "Funny, I don't remember being consulted. Or have you two conveniently repressed a few things yourselves? I'm her husband, damn it—I do have some rights in this situation!"

"And no one is trying to circumvent those rights, Scarecrow," Dr. Joyce informed him brusquely. "I'm just trying to do what's best for my patient. And at the moment that means concentrating on her needs, not yours."

Lee bit back his bitter retort. "Just tell me what the plan is and be done with it."

Billy eyed Lee for a moment, as if gauging how much he should say. "First of all, we need to get your family under twenty-four hour guard at a safe house. I'm going to use agents from the Justice Department—"

"Justice?" Lee bristled. "Why?"

"Think about it, Lee," Billy said, lowering his voice. "Someone here at the Agency must have altered those DNA tests five years ago to make us believe Amanda was dead. Until we find our mole, everyone is suspect."

"Then we shouldn't use one of our regular houses," Lee said. "What about my place? It's in a secure neighborhood far enough from D.C.—"

"Too far away, Scarecrow," Dr. Joyce interposed. "That neck of the woods wouldn't ring any bells for her."

Lee exhaled loudly. "Then what about her old house in Arlington?"

"Didn't Mrs. West sell the place when she moved?" Billy asked.

"No. Dotty closed the house, but she couldn't bear to part with it. I think she intended to move back home someday, when the memories weren't so fresh. I keep an eye on the place for her."

Billy exchanged a look with Dr. Joyce. "It might be just the ticket," the doctor stated in her deep, emphatic voice.

"One more thing." Lee clutched Billy's arm. "Bring in your watchdogs from Justice, if you insist, but I'm heading the security team myself."

"You're sure you can handle it?" Billy demanded to know, not mincing any words. "From what I saw in that room, I have serious doubts about your ability to perform with any degree of professionalism right now. Maybe with a little more time—"

"Time is no narcotic for pain, Billy. You either endure it or you don't. I will, because I don't have any other choice. Amanda needs me, whether she knows it or not."

Billy began to pace. "You'd be living in the same house with the man who considers himself your wife's fiancée, twenty-four hours a day."

"Just a minute, Billy." Claudia Joyce gave Lee a thoughtful look before turning to her colleague. "If this is 'Thornton's Repression', Scarecrow might be the only one who can break through her mental defenses."

Billy scowled. "How so?"

"I'm guessing the trigger is somewhere in her personal life, in someplace—or someone—who would make her feel safe." She turned to Lee. "But, Scarecrow, you can't force it. That would only send her under deeper—so deep we might never get her back. It's a needle-sharp emotional line. Are you up to straddling it?"

Lee leveled his gaze at Billy. "I'll do whatever it takes to get my wife back."

Billy paused, his swift intake of breath filling the moment. "Okay, you can have your shot. But only on one condition, Scarecrow. I'm sending Desmond in to watch your back. One negative report from her, and you'll find yourself in a holding cell until this is finished. You got that?"

"Yeah, Billy, I got that." He tossed his shoulders back as he eyed Melrose coldly. "Now, if you'll excuse me, there's someone I need to see."

Billy looked through the observation glass to where Amanda sat holding little Annie, her head resting on Brad Stevenson's shoulder. "Lee, think before you go tearing in there—"

"I have no intention of bursting in where I'm so obviously not wanted." His words were cold and harsh. "I'm going to Annapolis to talk to Jamie. I may not be able to be of use to my wife and daughter at the moment, but my son needs to know that his mother has come back from the dead."

As well as the sister he never knew about, Lee added to himself. Jamie had forgiven him a lot over the past few years. He could only hope their relationship was strong enough to survive this final secret as well.

ii

"Did you get them all?"

"Yeah, I think so." The boy's voice sounded flat. "Your wedding picture was the only one left upstairs. Grandma must have taken the rest with her when she moved."

Lee exhaled loudly. "Well, that about does it, then. I took the green photo album from the bottom shelf."

Jamie turned his bluish-gray eyes on him. "What if Mom wants to see pictures?"

"That's fine, Jamie. You can show her all the pictures you want—"

"Just none with you in them." He flopped down on the couch. "I don't like this, Lee. It's lying, no matter how much you try to dress it up with all that psychological crap—"

"Jamie—"

"Sorry," he murmured, with a sheepish glance at his stepfather. "I guess I'd better start watching my mouth, huh?"

Lee gave him a friendly shove. "I guess we'd both better clean up our acts. We wouldn't want your baby sister to pick up any bad habits."

Dipping his head, Jamie smiled shyly. "I can't believe I have a sister. Does she look like me?"

Lee grinned. "She kinda looks like me, Sport."

"That's cool." Jamie smiled, but it didn't quite reach his eyes. Leaning back on the sofa, he toyed nervously with the afghan his great-aunt Lillian had crocheted. She'd presented it to Amanda so proudly that Christmas of 1986. Lee remembered the occasion with crystal clarity—it was his first and last Christmas Eve in the King household.

Jamie seemed caught up in memories, too. "It feels really weird to be in this house again," he said, in a small voice. "Phillip and I only came here a few times after Mom . . . Well, Grandma always came to see us. Dad thought it was better that way. Gosh, I wonder what he'll think when he hears Mom is alive."

Lee smiled grimly. He could easily imagine Joe's reaction. In the weeks and months after Amanda's death, Joe had often acted as if he were the grieving husband, not Lee. Despite the divorce, Amanda and Joe had maintained a close relationship. He'd wondered more than once how Joe's then fiancée, Carrie, had handled that.

Pacing in front of the window, Lee stole a look at his watch. It was getting late—where the hell were they? Seven-thirty, Billy had said; it was way past that now. Over on the sofa, Jamie had managed to unravel one of the afghan's yarns. The waiting was getting to him, too.

He vaguely wondered if Jamie's looks would strike a familiar chord in Amanda. As his stepsons grew older, they had come to resemble Joe more and more, but he knew Jamie hated to be reminded of that. More than once he'd caught the boy studying himself in the mirror, searching for some fleeting physical reminder of his mother. He should have told Jamie that he didn't need to look like Amanda to be like her. She was there in his every smile, in his heartfelt compassion for others, in the way he broke through the defensive barriers Lee tried to erect once again. Jamie King was Amanda's son through and through.

"I still can't believe you and Mom had a baby together," Jamie murmured. He carefully covered the small hole he'd made in the afghan and tossed it aside. "Jesus, Lee—no wonder you went so crazy when she died. You should have told us she was pregnant."

Lee peered out the window, searching the street for some sign that the Agency sedan was near. "What would that have changed? It certainly wouldn't have brought your mother back—just given you one more person to mourn."

"Maybe Phillip wouldn't have acted like such a shit if he'd known."

"Or he would have had an even better reason to resent me," Lee muttered.

"Does Grandma know?"

"No."

"Well, are you going to tell her?" Jamie asked, an accusative note creeping into his voice.

Lee sighed. "That'll have to be your mother's decision. Dr. Joyce—the Agency physician who's treating her—thinks it would be better if we take our cues from her."

"But what about Phillip? I mean, we've got all this protection, and he's out there all alone. He's gonna be okay, isn't he?"

Lee turned to the boy. The plaintive, almost whiney, tone in his voice reminded him of the early days of his marriage, when Jamie had barely tolerated his presence and Phillip had been his staunchest supporter. Things had truly come full circle.

"Don't worry, Jamie. We've dispatched an agent team from the Midwest office to keep an eye on Phillip. He'll be fine, I promise you."

"He should be here with us," Jamie insisted stubbornly. "It's not fair—he's Mom's son, too."

"Give your mother a chance to catch her breath. She must be pretty overwhelmed at the moment." He shot Jamie a compassionate glance. "Just don't expect too much, too soon, okay?"

The boy eyed him suspiciously. "What about you, Lee?"

"What about me? I'm fine."

Jamie tilted his head. "Who are you trying to convince—me or yourself?"

Lee groaned inwardly. Trust Jamie to see right through his attempts to disguise his feelings. Just like his mother. If he didn't get a stronger handle on his emotions, the game would be over before it started. And he couldn't afford to lose this one—there was too much at stake.

The walkie-talkie at his side squawked to life, and a familiar voice came over the wire. "Relocation One, this is Relocation Two," Francine Desmond barked, in full agent mode. "We're only a few blocks from you. Is everything secure? Over."

Lee depressed the button as he brought the box to his lips. "Roger that, Relocation Two. We're buttoned up tight on our end. What's your E.T.A.? Over."

"Two minutes. Over and out."

Lee turned to Jamie. "Looks like they're almost here, Sport. Remember, I'm just your mom's ex-partner, okay?"

"So am I supposed to call you 'Mr. Stetson'?" Jamie crinkled his nose in distaste. "Or will just plain 'sir' do?"

"Cute. This isn't a picnic for me, either, you know."

"Sorry." Swallowing hard, the boy came to stand beside him. "Lee . . . I'm scared. I'm not sure I know what to say to her."

He ruffled Jamie's hair, the way his mother used to do. "Relax and be yourself."

Jamie's expression grew serious. "I will if you will."

"I'll give it my best shot."

A nondescript brown car pulled into the driveway. Lee made one more sweep with his eyes, noting that everything inside the house was in perfect order—the furniture dusted, fresh flowers placed on the kitchen counter, new security locks installed. There was only one final thing to do, and he couldn't put it off any longer.

Looking down at his left hand, he felt a sudden pang. Since the day he'd put the slim gold band back on his finger, he'd worn it faithfully. It was a reminder of everything he and Amanda had shared, as well as everything they'd lost. Standing beside the open grave that cloudy day in Arlington cemetery, he'd made a solemn vow never to remove it.

Glancing at Jamie, he saw that the boy's eyes were glued to the driveway where, even now, Amanda was alighting from the car; a few short steps would see her safely inside. No, Billy had made himself crystal clear on this point. He couldn't chance it.

Blowing out a long breath, he slowly removed his wedding band and slipped it into his pocket. For now, he had to put aside the role of husband and become once again the man who watched her life from the other side of the window.

Schooling his face into a neutral expression, he opened the door. "Hello," he said, as they stepped onto the front porch. "I'm Lee Stetson, the agent in charge of security."