Part II
'Tangled in these silhouettes
Floating face down in a river of regret
And thoughts of you . . .'
--5--
i
When the first rays of soft morning light began to filter through the window shade, Mandy finally admitted that sleep was not going to be a possibility. She was grateful that Annie, at least, had been able to rest. Overwhelmed by all she'd experienced over the past week—the assault on her home and resulting fire, the ride in the big Air Force transport jet, the sights and sounds of the nation's capital—her daughter had fallen asleep almost before her head hit the pillow. If only Mandy could have been as fortunate.
Surrendering to her wakefulness, she crept downstairs in search of a cup of coffee. The house was quiet in the early morning, despite the presence of the federal deputies. At home, Mandy loved this time of day, the chance to slip outside and sip her coffee, the ever-present sound of the water all the company she needed. That's what she missed, she realized as she surveyed the grassy backyard. The background noise of the city notwithstanding, this land-locked house in Virginia was too quiet.
Although, she had to admit, the bright kitchen did cheer her. Had she chosen these colors herself, spent hours blending hues of blue and yellow to achieve just the right effect? She couldn't picture herself decorating a home; in Harrisville, she'd been content to leave her small cottage exactly as she'd found it.
Bracing her back against the counter, Mandy seized a moment to savor the welcome solitude that, in another hour, was sure to become a precious commodity. Though alone in the kitchen, she couldn't shake the uneasy feeling that she was being observed. The "goldfish in a bowl" sensation had been with her almost constantly since the night of the attack. She knew it resulted from an overactive imagination, but it left her jumpy and on edge nonetheless.
Or maybe it was simply a byproduct of exhaustion. She'd almost forgotten what it was like to sleep the entire night through, without the day's events re-playing constantly in her head. Each time she closed her eyes, images overwhelmed her—the confusion in Brad's eyes as he struggled to come to grips with all they'd learned about her past; Mr. Melrose's perpetual scowl whenever he spoke her name; the grim set of Dr. Joyce's mouth as she explained the prognosis for recovering her lost memories. But it was the brown-haired boy's haunted expression that had tormented her waking dreams last night.
The poor young man . . . Jamie, wasn't it? Yes, she was sure they'd told her his name was Jamie. Phillip was the older boy, the one who was away at college. Her sons . . .
Mandy's thoughts flew to the little girl sleeping soundly upstairs. Annie was a part of her, as essential to her life as breathing, just as Jamie King surely must have been, once upon a time. He was her own flesh and blood—why couldn't she remember him? How could she bury her entire life and the people she loved along with it? Certainly something about the boy should have sparked a memory.
But she only saw a gangly, bespectacled young man with sad eyes. Where was the fierce rush of maternal love that overpowered her whenever she looked at her daughter? She wanted to reach out to Jamie but there was a constraint between them that she couldn't overcome. Why couldn't she treat him as she did Annie, comfort him, let him know that everything was going to be okay? She could only manage a clumsy hug that was as hard on him as it was on her. So much for a heartfelt mother-son reunion.
Pushing the bitter recriminations aside for now, she decided to concentrate on her most immediate need. If she was to survive the demons this day was bound to unleash, she desperately needed a caffeine fix. She made a quick sweep of the containers on the counter without any luck; from the way they'd stashed the stuff, you'd think coffee was a controlled substance in D.C. Then again, considering the strung-out expressions of the guards outside, that could well be true. Why anyone would actually choose to be shot at for a living, she couldn't fathom. And she was supposed to be one of them . . .
Shaking her head, she refocused on the task at hand, feeling a little like a cat burglar as she continued to rummage through the cupboards. Her frantic search unearthed three six-packs of soda, assorted packages of pasta, several boxes of cereal—and way in the back, buried behind some dated canned goods—a bag of very stale, very hard marshmallows. Finally settling for the warm soda, she popped the tab and took a greedy gulp.
"Cola first in the morning? I guess tastes do change."
Startled by the gravelly voice, Mandy jumped. The bright red can of Coke slipped through her hand, splattering fizzing soda all over the tall man who had materialized at her side.
"Oh, my . . . I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to . . . I'm usually not so clumsy . . ." She rattled on, unable to stem the tide words that flooded from her mouth. A funny look passed across the man's face—half-smile or half-frown, Mandy couldn't quite decide. Suddenly even more flustered, she grabbed the dishtowel hanging on the refrigerator door and started to blot his wet slacks.
Sucking in a sharp breath, he quickly grabbed her hand. His touch lingered for a long moment before he spoke in a raspy voice she had to strain to hear, "I've got it, Amanda."
Her cheeks suffused with a deep blush when he said that name. "I really am sorry," she murmured, as he worked the cloth over the deep stains on his pants and shirt.
"It's okay." He shrugged, trying to appear nonchalant. "I needed to take a shower anyway. I just kinda thought I'd wait until I went upstairs."
She bit her bottom lip. There it was again, that same note of vague unease she'd caught in his voice last night. Lee Stetson—her partner from that other life, the life she didn't remember. His behavior had puzzled her from the moment she'd set foot in the house. If they were supposed to be such good friends, as Mr. Melrose intimated, then why couldn't he bring himself to shake the hand she'd offered? And the way he'd treated Brad—Mandy suspected a K.G.B. agent would have experienced a warmer welcome.
Letting out an exasperated sigh, she grabbed another dishcloth and mopped up the spilled cola from the floor and counter before addressing him again. "Look, Mr. Stetson—"
"Please." He folded the damp towel then tossed it on the counter. "Call me Lee. I think the last time you called me 'Mr. Stetson' I was dragging you out of some asinine job interview."
"Okay, I'll try." Mandy cleared her throat. "Mr. Stetson—"
"What were you looking for? Before I startled you, that is."
She placed her hands firmly on her hips. "You didn't startle me. I simply didn't hear you coming, that's all."
"I guess my field skills aren't as rusty as I thought then."
A warm tingle pulsed through her at his smile. "What do you mean?" she muttered, confused by her reaction.
He exhaled loudly. "Nothing. It's just that I've been jockeying a desk lately, that's all. Amanda . . ." He tilted his head as he looked at her. "Do you mind if I call you that? I don't think I can call you 'Mandy.'"
She frowned slightly. "Why not?"
"Because, as you once made a point of informing an old girlfriend of mine, no one ever calls you 'Mandy.'"
"Oh. So, I guess you must date a lot, huh?" Her cheeks flushed again. Why on earth had she asked him that? And what did it matter to her whether the man dated one woman or twenty?
His hazel eyes seemed to bore into her soul. "Not lately," he replied, his voice deep and low. He raised his hand as if to rake his fingers through his hair, then seemed to catch himself. "So," he said, still staring at her as he crossed his arms over his chest, "you never told me what you were looking for."
"Coffee," she rasped, barely able to get the word out. "I was looking for some coffee."
Crossing to the refrigerator, he opened the door and retrieved a large can. "I take it you still prefer the leaded version."
Mandy sighed. "It's that obvious?"
"Pretty much. Here, let me." Opening the can, he deftly measured out the coffee, inserted the filter into the coffeemaker then flipped the switch. "I remembered to fill the reservoir last night but forgot to add the coffee. It should be ready in a few minutes."
"Is making coffee part of your routine security duties?" she asked, with a faint smile.
He snorted. "Yeah, that's right. We're a full-service agency."
She shifted her weight nervously. "Mr. Stetson—"
He shot her a pointed look. "I'm Lee, remember?"
"No, I don't remember. That's the problem, isn't it?"
He took a step toward her. "Amanda—"
"Are you hungry?" she asked, backing away ever so slightly. "If you'd like, I could fix you something to eat."
Shaking his head, he focused on a spot somewhere over her left shoulder. "I don't usually do much for breakfast."
"You're just like Brad. He never eats a thing, no matter how much I fuss."
He frowned. "On second thought, maybe I am a little hungry."
Ignoring his deepening scowl, Mandy jumped into action. "Pancakes okay? Assuming we have the ingredients, that is."
"They stocked the kitchen with the essentials. Pancake mix probably falls under that category for most normal people." He rifled through the far cupboard. "Yeah, here you go."
"Thanks. Annie loves pancakes, and I want to make her something special this morning. She's had a tough time of it lately."
His face softened. "She's a beautiful little girl."
"She's the joy of my life. I think I would have lost my sanity, especially that first year, if it hadn't been for Annie. She kept me going when I didn't have anything else to live for . . ." She cleared her throat. "Well, I'm sure you don't want to hear about all this."
"No," he spoke in a rush, "I want to know. How did you end up in that little town in Michigan?"
"Quite by accident, really. One of the Bedside Bluebell volunteers at the Burns Clinic—that's the hospital where I was taken after my accident—told me about this little place on the eastern side of the state called Harrisville. Her son had a cottage there, and she was about to move in with him. Edith Johnstone . . ." Mandy shook her head. "She's quite a character, actually. To make a long story short, she painted such a vivid picture of the quaint little town that I decided to check the place out for myself. I fell in love with the lake and never left." She shrugged. "It's not a bad place to raise a child. Or, at least, it wasn't . . . before . . ."
Reaching out, he laid a hand on her shoulder. "It'll all work out, Amanda, you'll see. For you and Annie both."
She nodded, oddly comforted by his gentle grip. He really was an incredible-looking man. His smile seemed to envelop everyone around him in an invisible blanket of warmth. It was a pity he didn't do it more often. Dropping her voice, she stepped closer. "Can I ask you something?"
"You can ask me anything."
The pleading fervor in his voice was vaguely reminiscent of another place, another time. Mandy suddenly had the feeling that if she could only figure out where and when, she'd finally have all those answers she needed. "Lee, I . . . well, I was just wondering—"
"'Morning, darling." Brad Stevenson walked briskly into the room, his hair still damp from the shower. Coming immediately to her side, he put an arm around her shoulder. "Did you sleep well?"
Her face fell. "Not really. I'm just glad my tossing and turning didn't wake Annie." She sighed as she looked up at Brad. "She's started sucking her thumb again."
"It's a perfectly normal reaction to the trauma she's experienced. Tell you what," he sidled closer, "next time you can't sleep, come crawl in bed with me."
Mandy watched Lee's eyes darken as Brad leaned in to kiss her. Suddenly self-conscious, she pulled away. "Brad, please," she murmured, nodding at the now-glowering agent.
"Don't mind me," Lee said, the stiff mask he'd displayed last night suddenly back in place. "I'm overdue for a shower anyway—I seem to be all sticky. Besides," he added with a sour smile, "that coffee you needed so badly is ready. I'll leave you to enjoy it."
"But your pancakes—"
"I'm sure you can convince your friend to make an exception to his hard-and-fast rule and eat breakfast this morning. You'll be happy to oblige her, won't you, Stevenson?"
Brad bristled and moved forward. "Look, Stetson, I don't know what kind of chip you have on your shoulder, but—"
"Now stop this, right now." Frowning, Mandy stepped between the two men. "It's too early in the morning, okay?"
"I don't trust that guy," Brad muttered, as Lee beat a strategic retreat toward the stairs. "First I catch him cozying up to Annie, now you. He's up to something—I just can't figure out what."
"I think you're suffering from shadow shock. You know, seeing conspiracies where none exist," she explained, too tired to ponder how she seemed to have acquired yet another snippet of disconnected information. "Now, come on, let's forget about Lee Stetson and enjoy our breakfast."
But as Mandy listened to the sound of those firmly receding footsteps, she had a sneaking suspicion keeping her resolution would be easier said than done.
ii
Fighting the physical exhaustion that threatened to overwhelm her, Mandy pressed her back into the sofa cushions. Her morning session with Dr. Joyce had drained the last reserves of her energy. Names, pictures and places whirled through her mind as she'd struggled to put sense to seemingly senseless events. But it was the relentless interrogation that had caused the hard knot in her stomach.
"Do you know her?"
Though the words came from Dr. Joyce, for some reason she heard them in a lightly accented voice. The benignly menacing question sent chills through her. She wanted to run, to get as far away from this place as she could, to crawl into a hole and hide. Thankfully, Mr. Stetson noted her panic and quickly intervened. Dr. Joyce's protest died on her lips when she saw the look in his eyes. Abruptly ceasing her questioning, she suggested they explore a different avenue.
Now that the throbbing pain in her head had settled into a dull ache, Mandy was actually enjoying herself. At least looking at old family pictures provided an opportunity to connect with her son. Jamie had been unusually quiet all morning, watching the events unfold from the periphery with solemn eyes. Oddly, he appeared more at home with the federal agents than with his family. She supposed she could understand his wariness of Brad; it was only natural, considering the rather unorthodox situation they'd found themselves in. She was confident that, given enough time, Brad would be able to win him over.
"And these are from last summer," Jamie informed her, "right before Phillip went back to school. We spent his last weekend at home hiking in the Blue Ridge. Phillip really likes the outdoors."
Mandy admired the panoramic shots of mountains, woods and sky. "I can't believe you took these pictures yourself. They look almost professional."
"I've been into photography for a while now. Le—" He swallowed the word and drew in a sharp breath. "Someone gave me a camera a few years back and I've been hooked ever since."
"Well, they're absolutely wonderful. You have a true artist's eye."
Jamie smiled at the compliment. "I want to major in history in college, but I was thinking about a minor in photo journalism, like you did."
"I minored in photo journalism?" Mandy raised her eyebrows. "Wow. You should see the pictures I take—I'm lucky if the heads aren't cut off."
"Yeah," Jamie laughed, "Grandma always used to say she should get a tuition refund for those courses."
"Look at this, Mommy." Annie thrust a dog-eared album into her hands, where several photos of a costumed boy in a large hat were prominently displayed. "He's funny looking," Annie said, giggling.
Jamie grinned. "That's my brother, Phillip, in his seventh grade play. He had the lead in 'Rumplestiltskin.'" A slight frown creased his forehead. "I guess that would make him your brother, too, kiddo."
As the boy's easy smile faded into the glum look he'd sported all morning, Mandy forced a note of cheeriness into her voice. "I really enjoy school productions. I had so much fun watching Annie's recital last year. Her three-year-old ballet class danced the part of the roses in the 'Ode to Spring' finale."
"Yeah, wanna see?" Annie leapt off the couch and made a few wild pirouettes, finally ending in a heap on the floor.
Jamie smiled at the little girl, but offered no comment. Annie was quite obviously enamored of her older brother, but the verdict still seemed to be out on Jamie's end. Maybe, given the circumstances, a little sibling rivalry was to be expected. She'd have to ask Brad.
Turning to her daughter, she said, "That's very good, sweetheart. And I'll bet Phillip was just as good in his play, right, Jamie?"
"I guess." The boy shrugged. "You missed Phillip's play. You were working or something."
Mandy groaned inwardly. Three steps forward, two back; breaking through her son's emotional barriers was going to be harder than she'd originally thought. "Come here, Annie." She made a show of patting the empty space on the couch to mask her disappointment. "Let's look at the rest of the pictures."
Annie obediently scrambled up, but instead of sitting beside Mandy, climbed up next to her brother. "Who are they?" she asked, pointing to a group of smiling faces.
"That's me and Mom and Phillip, and the two people standing behind the couch are Grandma and Aunt Lillian."
"Who's that guy?" Annie asked, snuggling closer into Jamie's side.
He shifted uncomfortably. "Uh, that's my dad."
Curious, Mandy studied the photo. Earlier this morning, she'd badgered Dr. Joyce into giving her access to the file on her ex-husband. The facts in the thin dossier rang no familiar bells—Joseph James King, parents Jack and Gloria; married Amanda Dorothea West in 1973; graduated Georgetown Law in '75; attorney for the EAO; divorced in 1982; married Carrie Louise Webber in 1988; current assignment, Africa, as special EAO counsel to the Estoccian president. But, as the old saying avowed, this one picture really was worth a thousand words.
They looked like an advertisement for the perfect family. The photo must have been taken at Christmastime; there was tinsel everywhere, even in Jamie's hair. The parents sat together in the center of the sofa, their arms around each other, flanked on either side by an adolescent boy, the younger one still in that gawky, preteen stage. Two older women, obviously related, smiled benignly as they gazed down at the foursome. The man wasn't strikingly handsome, not like Brad or . . . well, Lee Stetson . . . but his face was warm and kind. And it was plainly obvious that the woman in the picture cared for him very much.
Her eyes sought Jamie's. "When was this taken?"
"1986 . . . a few days before Christmas. Dad spent the entire holiday with us that year."
"He stayed here, at the house?"
"Yeah. You thought he'd like to spend time with us, since he was back in the States now and all." Jamie's eyes misted. "It was our last Christmas together, as a family, before everything changed."
Mandy glanced down at Annie. "I guess your dad and I were pretty close, huh?"
Jamie nodded. "You guys never fought, not the way some of my friends' divorced parents do. You always told us you loved Dad. You just couldn't be married to him. When he first came back, Phillip and I used to hope, but . . ." He hunched his shoulders. "Things turned out okay."
Annie's face clouded over. "I don't have a daddy," she said, her lower lip trembling.
Jamie stiffened. "You have a dad, Annie—he just can't be with you right now, that's all."
The child turned her large eyes on him. "Where is he?"
"He's . . ." Jamie hesitated. "He's away right now. But that doesn't mean he doesn't care about you. And you know, sometimes, you get new parents, and that can be really good too." His gaze wandered to the dining room where the agent team had gathered. "You can have a stepparent who loves you just as much as a biological parent."
Annie tilted her head. "What's bi-logical?"
"That means you're related to someone by blood, sweetie," Mandy told her, "like you and me. And your brother is right—it takes more than biology to be a parent. You have lots of people who love you."
"Uncle Brad loves me," Annie chirped. "He told me so."
Mandy stroked the child's fine hair. "Yes, he does."
"Excuse me." Jamie frowned and pushed up from the couch. "I'm getting kind of hungry—"
"Jamie." Mandy laid a quick hand on his arm. "I think there are some things we need to talk about, don't you?"
The boy bit his lip as he looked down at Annie, "Yeah, maybe you're right. Mom, I—"
Lee Stetson appeared in the doorway, his arms folded across his chest. "One of the guys just made a Marvelous Marvin's run," he said, staring pointedly at Jamie. "The food's on the kitchen table."
Jamie held the man's gaze for a moment then sighed. "Yeah, thanks, you're right. I should get something to eat."
With a brief nod in her direction, Stetson followed the boy into the kitchen. Mandy pursed her lips. Jamie had been on the verge of telling her something before he'd been interrupted, something important. But one look from Lee Stetson, and he'd closed up tighter than a drum. Why were the federal agents so insistent that she recover her memories on her own? Surely she had the right to information about her own life . . .
Then again, maybe the answers Jamie was trying to give her were staring her right in the face. She flipped through the pages of the worn album, so clearly kept with loving care. There were some empty spaces toward the back—photos pulled out and framed perhaps? She turned another page, and there it was, laid out before her . . . The summer of 1987 . . . the summer when Annie must have been conceived.
The family album told the story more eloquently than words. No pictures of her with a serious boyfriend adorned these pages, not even a brief snapshot of a friend she might have been seeing casually. Only pictures of her ex-husband . . . of Amanda and Joe King . . . their loving expressions plainly evident in each and every shot.
Mandy swallowed hard. It made perfect sense. Jamie's protectiveness of Joe, his veiled reference that Annie's father couldn't be with her right now . . . Joe had even spent that last holiday with them. No wonder Jamie and Phillip thought their parents might get back together. There was no other logical explanation—Joe King must be Annie's father.
But they hadn't remarried . . . why? Was it as Jamie intimated—they just couldn't live together? Or were they planning to marry when fate intervened? But no, that couldn't be the case. Joe was with Carrie; according to the file, he'd married her shortly after his ex-wife's supposed death. Had Annie been nothing more than a mistake, the product of a last fling they'd both regretted? Joe was obviously happy with his new wife. The woman shared his dreams, his passion for helping others, or so Jamie said. She'd even packed up and moved to Africa with him . . .
Walking to the window, Mandy stared vacantly into the front yard. It was all too much to think about right now. Everything in her life had changed so fast, she was almost as overwhelmed as Annie. To suddenly be uprooted from everything familiar, to find herself here, in this strange little house purported to be her home . . . well, thank goodness for Brad. He was her one anchor in this sea of chaos.
As her eyes drifted over the front yard, a sudden thought struck her. If her mother lived in Switzerland, as they'd told her, then who cared for this house? The bushes were trimmed, the leaves raked, the picket fence freshly painted. Inside, too, everything was neat as a pin; there were even fresh flowers on the kitchen counter. This was not the work of a handyman or a cleaning service; this house had been tended with love for quite some time. Even more pieces to a puzzle that didn't seem to fit . . .
Mandy squeezed her eyes shut. She was so tired, even her nerves throbbed. Trying to remember was akin to butting her head against a brick wall. Maybe she should just give up, go into the Witness Protection Program. Mr. Melrose was hinting that might be a possibility, if her memory didn't return. For her own safety . . .
But where would that leave Jamie and Phillip? She couldn't uproot them from everyone they knew and loved. Father, stepmother, friends . . . no, it wouldn't be fair. But now that they knew their mother was alive, would it be fair of her to walk away? It was a no-win situation, any way you sliced it.
Mandy scrubbed the fatigue from her eyes. No, there was only one thing to do. She had to break through the thick wall keeping her from her past. Too many people depended on her—her children, Brad . . . even the federal government. She had something that awful Brimstone needed. Until she remembered, witness protection or no witness protection, they were all in danger.
And for herself, personally . . . well, she only knew one thing for certain. She would find no peace until she managed to unite her two disparate halves, blend the woman she'd been with the woman she'd become. Only then could she move forward with her life.
Squaring her shoulders, she marched into the dining room. "Dr. Joyce," she said in a firm voice, "I'm ready to try again."