--7--
i
When Mandy came downstairs, Brad was waiting for her in the kitchen, a look of grim determination in his eyes. To say he was less than pleased with Lee's new plan to stimulate her reluctant memories would be a serious understatement. The entire household must have heard his earlier pronouncements on the subject, which had only ceased when Annie, upset by the argument, started to cry. Even so, she was hard pressed to fault his behavior. Brad had been more than patient through all that had happened over the past few days.
But that didn't mean she was in the mood for a repeat performance. "We're not going to hash this out all over again, are we?" she warned as he edged closer.
"Not at all," he returned, adopting an agreeable tone. "If you've made up your mind to persist with this foolishness, then I suppose all I can do is support your decision."
"That's big of you." She gave him a sour smile.
He folded his arms across his chest. "But only on one condition. I'm going with you."
"No, you're not," she informed him, with equal stubbornness.
"Mandy—"
"No, Brad, I'm sorry. I know you're worried about me, and I appreciate your concern, but this is something I have to do on my own."
"Then do it on your own." Anger propelled his words, and he struggled to control it. "Do it on your own with Dr. Joyce, do it on your own with Agent Melrose, or that Desmond woman, or any other one of those damned feds. Just don't do it with Stetson."
"You really don't like him, do you?" she asked, tired of pretending there wasn't a growing animosity between the two men.
"No, I don't."
"He was my partner, Brad. He took two bullets trying to save my life."
"So they say. No, Mandy," he said as she started to jump to Lee's defense again, "we only have his word about what happened that night. How do you know he wasn't part of it? Maybe he was the one who set you up."
"Lee would never hurt me, I know that."
"No, you don't." Brad sighed. "You're simply too trusting, sweetheart. You always see the good in people. That's what I love about you, but—"
"But what, Brad?" She expelled a long, exasperated breath. "Just say it. You don't trust me."
"It's Stetson I don't trust," he ground out through clenched teeth. "The man isn't what he seems."
"What on earth are you talking about?" The muscles in her shoulders cramped, and Mandy threw her head back, vainly trying to work out the kinks.
"I can tell when someone's trying to cover something up," Brad insisted. "If Stetson's not lying about what happened that night, then it's something else. I can see it in his eyes, every time he looks at you."
Mandy chuckled softly. "You know, Brad, if I didn't know better, I'd say you're sounding exactly like a jealous person. I'm not sure if I should feel flattered or flustered. Maybe a little of both."
"I guess maybe I am jealous, a little." His face screwed up in a curious mixture of frown and smile. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to imply that there was something going on between the two of you."
She crossed to him and gave him a tender kiss on the cheek. "I know you didn't. And I'm sorry for snapping. I'm not used this Neanderthal side of you, I guess."
He shrugged. "Maybe being here with all these federal agents is making me territorial. It's not easy, watching you with them every day, knowing that they have a claim on the woman you used to be. Deep down, a part of me is afraid that I'll lose you to all that, if and when you get your memory back."
"Oh, Brad—"
"Mandy . . ." His eyes captured hers, silently begging, and there was an urgent quality to his voice that hadn't been there before. "Let's just get the hell out of here. Take Annie and go back to our old life, to the way things used to be."
"And live happily ever after, just like that?"
"Why not?"
"What about Brimstone? They're still a threat."
"Then we get married and go into witness protection, the way Melrose suggested."
"It's not as easy as it seems, you know. They give you a whole new identity."
"So?"
"So I have no intention of seeing you end up selling shoes in some department store in Montana. Brad, you're a doctor. I can't ask you to give that up—it's your calling."
"I'd give that up and more, if it meant we could be together. Your boys could come with us," he persisted, "we could be a family—you, me, Annie, all of us. Admit, it, Mandy. Part of you wants nothing more than to leave all this behind and simply be happy."
"Even if you're right, don't you think Jamie and Phillip will have something to say about where and how we live? And what about Joe?"
He stiffened. "You ex-husband has a new wife, a new life."
"And a new daughter he knows nothing about. Brad, I have to tell him about Annie—he deserves that much."
"What if you do and he wants custody?" Brad asked, almost slyly. "Have you thought of that?"
"He wouldn't—"
"You don't know that. He raised the boys after your supposed death. Did a damn good job of it, too, from all appearances." His eyes darkened as his expression grew even more serious. "Joe King is an attorney, isn't he? Good at his job, too, from what Jamie says. If he was so inclined, he could make a case that your life is a threat to Annie. You were a federal agent, you've made enemies."
"That life has nothing to do with Annie."
"Doesn't it? Look what's happened to her since all this began. Not exactly storybook material."
Stung, she turned away and braced both hands on the counter. There was a risk inherent in the life she'd led, memories or no memories; that much was obvious. What if Joe King decided he didn't want his daughter exposed to such a dangerous lifestyle, that she would be safer with him? To lose her Annie . . . the simple thought of it was almost too much to bear.
For so long she'd thought of Annie's father in the abstract. In some ways, it had been easier to envision a faceless abuser, someone whose feelings could be discounted, instead of a decent man who deserved to know his daughter. But would a decent man tear their child from the only parent she had ever known, demolish what fragile security their little girl had left? She didn't know.
"Mandy, sweetheart . . ." Brad's voice spoke softly in her ear as he slid his arms around her. "I'm sorry to upset you, but you have to look at all the possibilities. You've got those answers you wanted so badly. You know who Annie's father is. Can't you let that be enough?"
Suddenly exhausted, she leaned back and rested her body against his. Brad's solid presence eased her fears, as it had from the first day she'd met him on the beach. It would be so easy to agree, allow him to comfort her, take care of her. Enter witness protection, receive a new name, a fresh start; let the identity of Amanda King, with all its pain, slip away forever . . .
"I'm sorry, Brad," she whispered at last. "I want to let go of the past, probably even more than you realize. But I just . . . can't. Something's holding me here, something I can't walk away from. At least, not right now. I know it doesn't make any sense, but it's the way I feel."
He gave her one last squeeze then released her. "It's okay. You wouldn't be the woman I love if you could abandon the people who need you. I suppose I shouldn't be surprised that the federal government falls into that category as well."
She smiled faintly. "Will you do me a favor?"
"You know I will."
"Take care of Annie while I'm gone."
He nodded. "And Jamie, too, if he'll let me. You do what you have to do," he brushed his lips across her forehead, "and don't worry about us."
"Thank you."
"No thanks necessary." He stepped away, his tender smile waning as he gazed earnestly into her eyes. "Just promise to do me one favor in return, okay? Watch your step with Stetson. Jealousy aside, I still think he's hiding something."
"Okay," she sighed, "if you feel that strongly about it."
Kissing Brad goodbye, she waited until he went upstairs to Annie before going in search of Lee. She found him in the living room, with Jamie and Agent Desmond, deep in a whispered conversation. Mandy couldn't help but feel as if she'd walked in on the third act of a play, its convoluted plot lost on her.
Brad's warning echoed in her mind. As a small kernel of doubt crept in, the tightness in her shoulders spread down to the other muscles in her back. Was Lee truly who he appeared to be, the partner who had risked his life to save hers? Or did he have a deeper agenda, some darker purpose she couldn't begin to fathom?
Mandy swallowed hard. If Brad's theory was correct—if Lee was hiding something—then she intended to find out exactly what that something might be.
ii
"This is wonderful. What made you think of coming here?"
He smiled as he watched her determinedly scrape the bottom of her cup with the plastic spoon. "Chalk it up to a sudden desire for tutti-frutti. Rumor has it this is the best ice-cream stand in D.C. Thought I'd get an unbiased opinion."
"It definitely gets my vote." Her tongue chased a dribble of chocolate as it trickled down her lip. "Though I have to say, this is a pretty strange lunch."
"It's got three of the four food groups," he said, pointing to his banana split. "Dairy, fruit, even protein."
"Protein?"
"The nuts," he grinned. "Here, I'll be happy to share."
She gave a quick laugh. "No, thanks, I don't want my jeans to get too tight."
He swept his eyes swept over her appreciatively. "You look like you're in pretty good shape to me. I guess you're still addicted to those morning exercise shows, huh?"
"I seem to have stumbled onto another weight control regimen. Hysteria tends to keep the pounds off, or so they say." When he didn't reply, she added with a forced laugh, "Although, I've always wondered who 'they' are. I keep picturing a big group of people carving edicts onto a tablet or something . . ."
As she rambled on, Lee felt his face set into a stiff smile. He'd wanted this time alone with Amanda so badly, but seeing her so ill at ease with him was a different form of torture. They'd always had an easygoing rapport, even in the early days when she was driving him crazy.
Looking up, he found her staring at him strangely. Evidently she'd finally asked a question he was supposed to answer. "Sorry," he said, clearing his throat and giving her his full attention. "You were saying . . .?"
"I asked you if we came here often."
"Often enough. We spent most of our time together in the Q-Bureau, though."
She sighed. "I wish it had triggered some memories for me."
"It's okay. I'm not some dewy-eyed romantic. I certainly didn't think that we'd climb the stairs, walk through the door and suddenly your memory would be restored. I'm a realist." He gave a short laugh. "I've had to be."
"I liked that it had windows," she offered.
"Don't let the glass fool you. Each pane is over an inch thick, capable of withstanding .30 caliber shells."
"Still, it's pleasant to look out on the world. The rest of the . . . Agency . . . makes me feel so claustrophobic. Underground like that, you can't even tell if it's night or day."
"The Agency moved back above ground in the early eighties, when space became a premium. The office uses the cover of a film library, but how much longer we'll need it is anybody's guess. What with all the cutbacks to our budget . . ." He frowned. "Our esteemed chief, Dr. Smyth, isn't much of a visionary, I'm afraid."
"You don't think very highly of him, do you?"
"What makes you say that?"
She shrugged. "Something in your eyes, when you say his name. Like Annie's when she swallows nasty-tasting medicine . . ."
"Amanda?" he asked as she fell silent. "You okay?"
"Yeah." She gulped in a breath, looking into her lap before continuing. "So why don't you like him? Dr. Smyth, I mean."
Lee regarded her closely. For a brief moment, she'd seemed almost on the verge of . . . something. Or maybe it had merely been a product of his imagination; he hardly knew anymore. "Smyth isn't a practical agent," he explained with a patient sigh. "Never been in the field himself, but has plenty of ideas about how things should be run. A few more guys like him, highly placed in the government infrastructure, and we'll have hell to pay. If he'd moved on Brimstone years ago, the way I urged him to . . . well, maybe we wouldn't be in this predicament now. Administration," he grumbled. "Nothing but a bunch of damned bureaucratic paper pushers, each and every one."
"If you feel so strongly about it, I'm surprised you decided to join their ranks."
He smiled distastefully. "I didn't exactly have a choice. I couldn't go into the field anymore."
"Because of what happened to us? Your injuries?"
"Something like that." Lee cleared his throat. "Let's change the subject."
"Okay." She tapped her spoon idly against the empty cup. "How well do you know Joe King?"
"Your ex?" Wincing, he flexed his leg beneath the picnic table. "Well enough, I suppose."
"So you two are friends?"
"It's more like we've developed a pleasant tolerance over the years. We respect each other, but he isn't someone I'd take to Randy's on Friday night for a steak and a beer, and I'm pretty certain the feeling is mutual." He eyed her carefully. "Why the sudden interest?"
He watched as she pursed and un-pursed her lips. "I just like to know who I'm dealing with, that's all," she said at last.
"Amanda, if you're asking whether Joe will be happy that you're okay, the answer is an unequivocal yes. He was pretty torn up after you . . . well, after the accident. And, despite his latest African sojourn, he was there for the boys when they needed him."
"So he's a good father, then," she said, almost glumly.
"Jamie would say so."
"But not Phillip?"
"No, I didn't mean . . . oh, hell, I don't know what I mean. Yes, the man's a good father, an excellent father, the father-of-the-year. Is that what you wanted to hear?"
She turned her deep brown eyes on him. "Why are you so defensive all of a sudden? What did I say?"
"Nothing." He ran a hand through his hair. "I'm sorry, I guess I'm a little on edge."
"I'm sorry, too. I'm just so worried . . ."
"About what?" Stretching his arm across the table, he impulsively took her hand. "Amanda, you can confide in me. I'd like to help, if I can."
She looked down, studying the long fingers that were entwined with her smaller ones. "Do you think Joe is the type of man who would fight for custody of his children?" she asked suddenly.
"Is that what's got you so upset? Amanda, Jamie will be eighteen next month and Phillip—"
"No, it's not the boys. It's . . . well, it's Annie."
He pulled back. "Annie?"
She nodded. "If Joe feels she's in danger, I'm afraid he might seek custody."
"What does Joe have to do with . . .?"
"You know . . ."
She made a dismissive gesture with her hand, and suddenly he did know, all too clearly. And that knowledge made him sick to his stomach. "I think I've had my fill of ice cream," he spat out.
Extricating himself from the table, he double-timed it to the car. He heard her call his name over and over, knew she was following him, but he didn't care. Anger surged through him—at Amanda, for not remembering; at Brimstone, for taking her from him in the first place; at Joe King, for helping to fuel Phillip's resentment, however unwittingly; at Brad Stevenson, for his self-satisfied smirk every time he put his hands on her . . . even at Dotty, for offering platitudes from a continent away. A red miasma swam in front on his eyes, and suddenly it was with him again, the overpowering urge that eclipsed everything else, even his desire for his wife.
He needed a drink.
"Lee, please . . ." Intensity caused her voice to shake, but he barely heard her over the roaring in his ears. "Come on," she implored, tugging at his arm.
He suddenly realized that he was standing in the middle of the street. Thank heaven there hadn't been any traffic; he couldn't have moved out of its way if he'd wanted to. Swallowing hard, he allowed her to lead him back to the safety of the curb.
"I'm sorry," he whispered, his voice hoarse as he endeavored to pull himself back together. "That hasn't happened to me in a long time."
"What hasn't? Lee . . .?"
He shoved his hands into his pockets. "Momentary blackout resulting from unresolved emotional trauma, or so my shrink says. Then again, the man has an unresolved ice cream obsession, so he isn't exactly humming with mental health himself." Lee sighed. "Must be a hazard of the trade."
"Baloney."
"Excuse me?"
"You heard me. Don't give me that psychobabble. It was something specific that I said, wasn't it? Something about Joe." She narrowed her eyes. "What aren't you telling me?"
"Amanda—"
"My goodness, Mandy Keane, of all people . . . it is you!"
They both turned toward the sound with an effort, and Lee watched Amanda's eyebrows shoot up as recognition dawned. "Mrs. Johnstone," she exclaimed, "what on earth are you doing here?"
"The annual fall road trip with the group from church," the plump woman replied. "We're touring the nation's capital this year."
"That's right, I remember Reverend Dickerson talking about it, but I didn't realize you'd signed up."
"Oh, it was a last minute kind of thing."
"I see." Amanda smiled wanly. "Are you having a nice time?"
"Oh, Herman and I," she nodded at the hulking giant standing next to her, "we decided to strike out on our own."
"Herman's her son," Amanda muttered out of the side of her mouth before Lee could speak.
As the surly-looking young man grunted a hello, Lee feigned a smile. The guy's greasy hair was pulled back into a ponytail, and he looked as if he'd never missed a meal in his life.
"Yes," Mrs. Johnstone laughed. "People are always saying Herman is the spitting image of his late father, but personally, I don't see it. His father was much taller."
Lee raised an eyebrow. "You don't say."
Mrs. Johnstone rattled on as if he hadn't spoken. "The group was on their way to tour Arlington National Cemetery. Trust me," she confided, pulling closer, "when you get to be my age, the last thing you need to see is a bunch of gravestones, no matter how famous. What brings you to D.C., Mandy? You aren't two-timing that nice Dr. Brad, are you?"
"Of course not, Mrs. Johnstone."
"We all heard about what happened to your poor house. It's just terrible when those old oil heaters malfunction. I guess you'll be moving in with the doctor, now, won't you?" She glanced speculatively at Lee. "Unless you've already made other arrangements, that is."
"Um, I'm sorry, Mrs. Johnstone, this is Lee Stetson, an old friend of mine." She emphasized the word friend. "Lee, this is Edith Johnstone, the woman I told you about from Michigan."
Lee massaged the bridge of his nose in an attempt to ward off his imminent headache. "Oh, yeah," he said, turning to the beaming woman. Could anyone really be that happy?
"She's the one who befriended me in the hospital," he heard Amanda say. "Remember?"
"Of course," he lied. "Nice to meet you."
"Pleased to meet you, too, I'm sure," Edith Johnstone responded, vigorously pumping the hand Lee extended. "Any friend of Mandy's, you know—"
"Yes, well, if you'll excuse us, we're late for an appointment." Grabbing Amanda by the arm, he hustled her away from Edith Johnstone and her colossal son. The woman looked like she could talk the ears off an elephant, as his mother-in-law would say, and what little patience he had left was already in tatters.
"Give my regards to Dr. Brad," the old woman called, waving frantically even after they reached the sanctuary of the car.
"Lee, that was really rude," Amanda began before he even closed the door. "Mrs. Johnstone is a nice woman—"
"I'm sure she is," he groaned, "but a lapse in courtesy is the least of my problems right now."
"Yes, I can see that."
Her voice was cool, distant, and Lee cringed as he eased the Porsche into the traffic. So far, nothing about their day together had gone as planned. The trip to the Q-Bureau had been an unmitigated disaster, in more ways than one. Despite his words to the contrary, he could feel himself silently willing her to remember from the moment they'd climbed the familiar staircase, even as he willed himself to forget. To see Amanda view the room that had played such a pivotal role in their relationship through a stranger's eyes brought home everything they'd lost. With so much unspoken tension lurking about, small wonder her erroneous supposition about Annie's parentage had upset his emotional apple cart—it was already toppling.
As they stopped for a traffic light, Lee seized the opportunity to study his wife's profile. She looked cool and serene, despite the distress he knew she was feeling. Fighting the wave of desire that welled up inside, he gripped the steering wheel tighter. "Amanda—"
A horn honked loudly behind him as the light turned green. As the car whizzed by, the driver gave him the finger. Resisting the temptation to respond in kind, he shifted gears and urged the Porsche forward. "Look Amanda," he tried again, "I owe you an apology for my behavior back at the ice cream stand. It's been a rough couple of days, what with everything that's happened, and I . . . well, I guess I'm a little more off-balance than I thought."
"Yeah, I understand," she said, but he could tell that she didn't. He barely understood it himself.
"You don't have anything to worry about," he told her, dropping his voice to a soothing whisper. "Annie's father would never take her away from you—I promise."
She looked over at him, her eyes full of tears. "I hope you're right."
"I know I'm right. Now come on," he adopted an upbeat tone, "what do you say we give this memory jogging another shot, okay?"
She glanced at him out of the corner of her eye. "You never give up on finding a silver lining, do you?"
"Well, it's no business—"
"For a pessimist," she finished, an odd expression on her face. Smoothing the wrinkles from her jeans, she fixed her gaze on the window. "Okay, then," she said in a low voice, "what do you suggest?"
Lee let out a deep breath, telling himself that her reply had only been a coincidence, nothing more. Still, he couldn't squelch the small seed of hope taking root inside him. The memories were still there, just below the surface, waiting for the right catalyst to bring them back to life. "Maybe if we recreate our movements from that last day, it could shake something loose."
"I'm game if you are," she said, though the way her body shifted uncomfortably in her seat told a different story. "Where do we start?"
He smiled grimly. "Where this all began, Amanda—at Brimstone."
iii
Jamie King drummed his fingers on the coffee table. Though only a few seconds had passed, it felt more like hours to the worn-out teen. "Come on, Annie," he said, struggling to hide his annoyance. "It's your turn."
"I don't want to play this silly old game." Pitching the controller into a corner of the sofa, she shook her head, sending her pigtails flying. "No, I don't."
Blowing out a deep breath of exasperation, Jamie desperately searched the room. Not one of the agents on the afternoon shift seemed willing to acknowledge his existence, let alone come to his rescue—not even Francine. Couldn't she see that he needed help here? I mean, that was her job, wasn't it? Providing back up when someone was cornered?
Plastering a smile on his face, he turned to his small sister once again. "'Super Mario Brothers' is a classic. Phillip and I used to play all the time."
Nothing. She had to be the most stubborn kid on the planet. "It's really fun," he tried one more time, "especially when you get to the upper levels. Here, you can watch me."
Grabbing the controller, he worked the Nintendo game with a concentration it hadn't commanded since Junior High. Out of the corner of his eye, he caught sight of Annie's frown. The little girl had clenched her small hands into fists and squeezed her eyes shut, refusing to watch. On the screen, Mario crashed and burned. Strike one . . .
"All right, you win." He flung himself back against the couch cushions. "We don't have to play. We can do anything you want."
"Anything?" She looked hopeful.
"Anything," he repeated, grinning widely. Maybe this wasn't so hard—he just had to give the kid whatever she wanted.
"I want to see Mommy," she announced, bouncing up and down on the sofa.
"Well, anything but that," he amended with a groan.
She scrunched up her face. "Why?"
"Mommy had to go out for a while with Lee."
"Why?"
"Because they had work to do today."
"Why?" she persisted.
"Because she had to, that's why." Exasperation leant his words a harsh tenor, and the little girl's lower lip trembled, tears pooling in her eyes. Strike two . . .
"Mommy will be home soon," he assured the child, moderating his tone. "In the meantime, there's a ton of things to do here."
Folding her arms across her chest, she glared at Jamie. "I want to play with my sand toys."
Jamie brushed aside a strand of hair that had fallen into his eyes. "Well, that's kind of tough to do right now. I mean, we don't exactly have any sand."
"There's sand at my house and a big beach and a lake to swim in and all sorts of fun stuff. This old house isn't fun at all. I want to go home."
"Annie . . ." He groaned. All those years that he'd wanted to be a big brother, he'd had no idea how exhausting it could be. No wonder Phillip had tortured him so mercilessly behind their mother's back.
"I want to go home," she repeated, her tears falling freely now. "And I want my mommy." She clamped her mouth tightly shut, as if she'd made her final proclamation on the subject.
Jamie shot Francine another pleading look, but she looked as helpless as he felt. Strike three—he was definitely out. Reluctantly, he sought help from the only source left. "Uh, Dr. Stevenson . . ."
The man jumped up with what could only be smug delight. He must have been biding his time, waiting for him to bite the dust just like good old Mario in the Nintendo game. Feeling as if he'd been out-maneuvered by a pro, Jamie watched with an uncomfortable frown as Stevenson squatted down to Annie's eye level and gently took hold of her hands.
"Hey, Munchkin, if you go into the kitchen, I have a feeling you'll find a brand new coloring book and crayons on the table." He huddled closer, whispering as if divulging a state secret. "I'll bet if you color Mommy a pretty picture, she'll be back in no time."
The little girl considered this. "Can I draw her one instead?" she asked, the beginnings of a smile tugging at her tiny lips.
Stevenson nodded. "She'd probably like that best of all."
Annie jumped off the sofa. "I'll make you one, too, Jamie," she offered, racing into the kitchen, her distress magically forgotten.
"Uh, thanks," Jamie murmured begrudgingly as Dr. Stevenson took the place beside him that Annie had just vacated.
"It's perfectly natural for her to miss her mother and her home, you know." Stevenson slanted his body toward Jamie's. "After all, a lot's happened to her in a short time."
Leaning away, Jamie grabbed his cola from the end table and brought it to his lips, only to remember he'd finished it an hour ago. He slammed the empty Coke can back down on the table with a hollow thud.
Stevenson moved to the opposite end of the sofa and regarded him through hooded eyes. "I'm not the enemy, you know," he said, his voice low and even. "If you'd give me a chance, you might see that."
Jamie shot a nervous glance in Francine's direction. Stationed diplomatically by the cooking island in the kitchen, she appeared to be watching Annie, but he could tell her ears were trained on the drama unfolding in the den. He dropped his voice to a loud whisper as he turned to address Stevenson. "I don't think this is a good time to talk about this."
"I disagree," he countered, rejecting Jamie's plea. "We've been dancing around the subject for days. We're here by ourselves, just us men. It's a perfect time."
Jamie raised an eyebrow. "'Us men?'"
"Okay," Stevenson laughed, "I guess that was a little trite. But I'm getting kind of desperate, trying to find some common ground."
Regarding the man coolly, he adopted the air of studied nonchalance Phillip had perfected over the past few years. "Why bother?"
"Look, Jamie, whether you approve or not, I'm part of your mother's life . . . a big part." His voice took on a slight edge as he added, "After all, I'm going to be your stepfather—"
"I already have a step—" Glaring at Stevenson, Jamie shoved his glasses back up on his nose. "I already have a father," he amended. "I don't need another."
Steven exhaled loudly. "Okay, I suppose that's fair. You are eighteen, after all . . ."
"Not until next month." Jamie glowered at him. "My birthday's in November."
"I didn't know that."
"Yeah, that's pretty obvious."
"Jamie . . ."
He concentrated on the arm of the sofa, pinching the cloth furniture guard roughly between his fingers. "See, that's the trouble. You don't know the first thing about me or my family. You can't just walk in here and pretend you do." He pinned Brad Stevenson with a piercing gaze. "And you don't really know my mother, either."
Stevenson stiffened, and Jamie suddenly realized how tall the man was. "I know Mandy Keane," he said, his quiet voice belying his size. "I know a warm, wonderful, funny woman who cares very deeply for everyone around her. Is that so different from the 'Amanda King' you all knew?"
"I guess not, but . . ."
Ignoring the feeble protest, Stevenson pressed his advantage. "And I know that same woman loves you and your brother, Phillip, just the way she loves Annie. She wants you all to be happy—to be a family."
"We were a family. Before . . ." He shot a quick look over his shoulder. Francine was still looking at Annie, but she'd edged closer to the den. Jamie shifted toward Stevenson. "There's stuff you don't know," he said, one eye on the ever-vigilant agent. "What's going on here isn't the real story."
Stevenson drew a deep breath, as if marshalling all his patience. "My feelings for your mother are very real—just as hers are for me."
"But that's only because she can't remember right now—"
"Jamie." The man handed him a sadly compassionate smile. "Your mother and I are going to be married. I know this is hard on you, son—"
"Don't call me that!" He leapt off the couch, away from Brad Stevenson, away from the truths he couldn't deny but didn't want to hear. If his mother didn't get her memory back . . . He bristled, redirecting his anger at the doctor. "I'm not your son, and I never will be," he reiterated in a loud voice.
His response drew a sharp look from Francine, part warning, part sympathy. Though he refused to acknowledge her, Jamie obediently clamped his mouth shut. Silence settled over the room, more disconcerting than the previously shouted words. "Look, Dr Stevenson," he said after a beat, "I'm sorry I yelled at you. I'm sure you mean well, and I can see that you care about my mom—"
"I love her, Jamie, very much."
"Maybe you do. And maybe she loves you, too, or thinks she does." He locked eyes with Francine, who had crept into the den and was now observing wordlessly from a position behind the couch, ready to pounce. A phrase popped into his mind from the book his popular literature class read last year. "Big Brother is watching." Crossing his arms, he shot the agent a challenging look. Big Brother, or in this case, Big Sister, could watch all she wanted; it wouldn't change a damn thing.
He turned back to the man sitting on the sofa, a look of long-suffering tolerance etched onto his face. "Dr. Stevenson—"
"I wish you'd call me Brad."
The man was almost pleading now, and, for his mother's sake, Jamie softened his tone. She did seem to care about the guy, after all. "Dr. Stevenson, I know you want to marry my mom and all, but . . ." He took a deep breath and plunged ahead. "Like I said, there's stuff you don't know right now. When she gets her memory back, things will change. You'll see."
"Jamie." His patience finally spent, he ground the name out between his teeth. "Your father has remarried, made a new life for himself. Doesn't your mother deserve the same happiness? Now, I can understand this kind of behavior from Annie, but you're not a child any more—"
"You're right, I'm not a child, and I haven't been for five years. When my mother died, I had to grow up in a damned hurry, whether I wanted to or not. But you're wrong about the rest of it. You're the one who doesn't understand what's going on. And that's all I have to say," he put in quickly, before Francine could interrupt.
Brad Stevenson rubbed his fingers across his forehead then slowly rose from the couch. "Okay, Jamie," he said, straining for sincerity. "I won't argue the point anymore. I can see that you need to believe . . ." He crossed the room, resting a hand lightly on the boy's shoulder. As Jamie immediately shrugged it off, he let out a resigned sigh. "Just remember, I'm here for you if you ever decide you want to talk," he said, before retreating strategically to the kitchen.
Alone in the den at last, Jamie turned to Francine. As the willowy agent nodded her approval of his restraint, he shrugged his shoulders in silent acknowledgement. He knew what they expected of him—Francine, Mr. Melrose, even Lee. He'd heard the drill a thousand times over the past days and nights. But they were wrong—Jamie knew that as well, as surely as he knew what his mother would want him to do.
His gaze drifted to the kitchen table where Annie sat, her small legs kicking the rung of the chair as she colored. Every so often she smiled at Brad Stevenson, who sat possessively by her side, admiring her work with forced joviality.
Jamie felt something clench in his stomach. If only he hadn't promised Lee . . . none of them deserved what was happening here—not even Brad Stevenson. Francine thought so, too; that's why she hadn't stepped in sooner. He'd seen it flash across her rounded blue eyes before she'd drawn the cloak of professionalism around herself again, the way Lee always did when he was upset. No, coming clean was the right thing to do. If Francine could just stop being a spy long enough to remember that she was also Lee's friend, Jamie knew she would agree.
"I'm gonna go lie down," he mumbled, brushing a hand across his brow as he backed toward the landing. "I've got a headache."
Francine smiled her sympathy. "This will all sort itself out, Jamie, if you just let events take their course."
He nodded, then turned and headed up the stairs, a rudimentary plan already forming. There was a way to end this charade and still keep his word to Lee. He'd simply take Francine's advice; let events take their course.
Right after he gave them one tiny, little nudge.
iv
The tall brick building sat on a quiet street in Georgetown. There was nothing remarkable about it at all—the sign proclaiming the corporate headquarters of "Brimstone International" was even smaller than I.F.F.'s. It was hard to believe that the unassuming structure could house the ruthless group of commercial terrorists who were responsible for any number of heinous crimes. Of course, maybe that was the point—hiding in plain sight had certainly shielded them thus far.
"Do you think the file is still in there?" she asked in a quiet voice.
"I don't know, Amanda. The Agency tore the place apart after . . ." He shook his head. "They never found anything incriminating. We assumed that Streator had destroyed the evidence. "
Mandy shivered as she watched the light drizzle fall. It looked cold and damp outside, and she was grateful for the comfort of the car, however cramped, and the warming drink that Lee had procured from the specialty store on the corner.
"I guess we used to do this a lot." She stifled a yawn. "Sit in the car, I mean."
"So much for the glamorous world of espionage," he said, quirking his eyebrows a few times. Eyes twinkling, he added, "Although, I'm sad to admit, sitting in the car was a skill you had a hard time mastering."
His ready laugh did more to warm her than the rich Brazilian brew, and she stole a quiet moment to look at him. After the scene at the ice cream stand, Lee had been strangely quiet for the remainder of the afternoon, and Mandy was glad to see him relax, if only temporarily. Try as she might to resist, there was something about Lee Stetson that she found oddly compelling. After spending the better part of the day in his company, she was more determined than ever to unravel the mystery surrounding the puzzling man who had once been her partner.
As if sensing her attempt to probe his psyche, he turned to her with a sigh. "Amanda, I'm sorry about what happened earlier. I shouldn't have lost control. You don't have to worry, it won't happen again."
"You don't have to keep apologizing, Lee. I'm not worried in the least."
"Then why do you keep looking at me like that out of the corner of your eye, when you think I can't see?"
"I'm trying to figure you out."
He snorted. "Well, when you do, clue me in."
"Brad thinks you're hiding something, you know." She tilted her head as she looked at him. "Is he right?"
"Of course I'm hiding something." The tiny muscle in the corner of his jaw twitched repeatedly, like an overactive tic. "I'm a spy, Amanda. My whole life is classified."
"I see." She hesitated, then asked in a low voice, "I guess she hurt you pretty badly, huh?"
"I don't know what you mean." He tightened his hands around the steering wheel, refusing to look at her.
"The woman you were involved with—the one who gave you the ring." She indicated the pale band of skin on the third finger of his left hand. "It's obvious the breakup was recent. Maybe it would help to talk about it."
He blew out a shaky breath. "Somehow I don't think so."
"Was it because of your job? I mean, I could understand if it was. I imagine this line of work can be kind of hard on a relationship."
He grunted. "That's the understatement of the year."
She shook her head sadly. "I can't begin to conceive of how I managed to juggle it all—the job, my family . . ."
"You took to the work like you born to do it," he said, his admiration obvious. "Those uncanny instincts of yours saved my butt more times than I can say. Even when you had no idea what you were doing." He shook his head. "You used to drive Francine crazy. Here she was, this highly trained agent, working a desk, and there you were, a mere housewife from Arlington, working the field."
Mandy grinned. "And my family . . . was I as capable with them, too?"
"I guess you could say that. After all, you were a finalist in the Arlington 'Mother of the Year' contest."
"Did I win?"
"Uh, no." A deep chuckle rumbled out of his chest. "The final round was disrupted by a bomb, and the judges tended to take a dim view of that."
"I'll bet," she harrumphed.
"It didn't faze Phillip and Jamie, though. You were always tops in their book." His expression turned wistful. "I used to watch you through the kitchen window sometimes, with the boys, while I was waiting for you to slip outside to join me on a case. You made me long for things I thought I'd put behind me years ago . . . security, a home, family."
Mandy's eyes misted; she'd longed for those same things herself, not so long ago. "You told me last night that your parents were killed in an accident when you were small. That must have been horrible for you."
He shrugged. "You play the hand you're dealt. It wasn't always so bad."
She had the distinct impression that it wasn't always so good, either, but she let the observation slide. If Lee needed to downplay his unhappy childhood, who was she to tear apart his carefully constructed defenses? At least he had a childhood to remember.
She turned to him once again. "So, tell me why things didn't work out. With your relationship, I mean."
"It was 'beyond our control,' as the saying goes."
"What was?"
"Life, I guess." He let out a deep sigh. "Amanda, please. Just leave it alone, okay? Not everything can be explained away with logic."
"I like to think it can. I mean, when you don't remember who you are or anything about your life, logic is all you have to rely on."
"What do you mean?" he asked, his spy-mind obviously intrigued.
"Well, take your missing ring, for example. When I regained consciousness in the hospital, I wasn't wearing a ring. That's how I knew I wasn't married."
He rapped his knuckles against the steering wheel. "Maybe you'd simply misplaced it."
"A logical assumption . . . but there was no evidence to suggest a ring had been lost. No pale marks on the skin, for instance."
He absently rubbed the empty space on his finger. "I see."
"And I was right, wasn't I? Joe and I divorced years ago."
"In 1982, according to the paperwork," he muttered.
She leaned toward him. "Lee, did I ever say what went wrong? With my marriage, I mean."
"Not really. The topic of your life with Joe was pretty much off-limits."
"Kind of like your relationship, huh?" she asked, with a sly smile.
"Something like that." He suddenly turned to her. "Okay, you've had your fun grilling me—turnabout is fair play."
"I suppose," she said, inching her body toward the window.
"So tell me, what's the story with this Brad guy?"
She licked her lips. "We've known each other for about three years or so. Why?"
"Just curious, I guess. I don't really see the two of you together, that's all."
"Why not?" she demanded, her defenses bristling.
Lee shrugged. "He seems kind of . . . possessive."
"Brad is the least possessive man you'd ever want to meet."
"If you say so. Are you two really engaged?" he asked casually.
"Just curious again?"
"Well, you're obviously not wearing an engagement ring, so the question has some validity." He quirked his eyebrows. "Logically speaking, that is."
"Maybe I simply misplaced it," she shot back.
"Touché," he laughed. "But you haven't really answered my question."
Mandy shifted uncomfortably. "Do you think it's strange that someone would want to marry an amnesiac?"
He hunched his shoulders. "You said it, not me."
"Brad's a very special man. He wants to marry me, and he's willing to take the risk," Mandy told him, wishing she didn't sound quite so defensive.
"And what about you, Amanda? Are you willing to take the risk, too?"
She absently twisted the button on her jacket. "Brad's been very good to me and to Annie. He's been a father to her, even though she's not his biological child."
"Well, I suppose that's as good a reason as any to get married." Lee's voice turned harsh. "Logical, too."
"That's not fair," she cried, stung.
He pressed his large form against the leather seat. "Okay, so he loves you, we'll give him that. I still haven't heard you say that you love him."
She shifted uncomfortably, suddenly feeling as if she'd been stuffed into one of Annie's matchbox cars. Lee was so tall—how did he ever mange to sit comfortably in this tiny space? "I care about Brad very much," she said, suddenly overcome by the need to convince him, to make him understand. "He's a good, kind man, which you'd discover for yourself if you could manage to say a civil word to him."
"Okay, I'll take your word for it. He's a paragon of virtue, in and out of bed."
Rancor sharpened her voice. "My sex life is none of your business, Mr. Stetson."
"No, I suppose not," he said, turning to stare out the window.
The silence settled oppressively around them, making the car feel even smaller. Unable to stand it, Mandy switched on the radio, twisting the dials until she located a country station. Brad loved country music, she reminded herself as Garth Brooks began to wail soulfully about dreams and rivers.
"Look," she said, struggling to keep her voice even. "I was lonely when I met Brad—achingly lonely. Is that so hard to understand?"
"Not at all," the words hissed from his mouth, "I think I can grasp the concept."
"Brad filled a void in my life, made me laugh again. He made me want to live for someone else besides my child. If that's not love, then you tell me what is."
"That's easy." Lee switched off the radio then twisted to face her, the flecks of green in his eyes more pronounced in the waning light. "It's caring about someone so deeply that you put their happiness ahead of everyone and everything else. It's making a commitment after years of being a loner, building a life together, a home, a family, even if no one knows it but the two of you. It's a feeling so strong, so overpowering that you can't walk away, even though you know it would probably be better if you did. It sure as hell doesn't stem from gratitude or because you think you owe someone something." He sneered. "If you're willing to settle for that kind of devotion, you'd be better off buying a dog."
Mandy pulled her jacket more tightly around her. "I guess it's a lucky thing I'm involved with Brad and not you then, isn't it?"
Lee stopped abruptly and turned to stare out the window again. "You're right, I have no business quizzing you about your love life."
"Then why are you?"
"Why am I what?"
"Quizzing me about my love life. What does it matter to you who I marry?"
"It doesn't," he ground out. "I told you, I was just curious to know where you stand. With Stevenson, I mean. Forget I said anything."
Mandy gripped the gearshift until her knuckles whitened. "With pleasure."
Gritting her teeth, she jerked her head to look out the opposite window. A slow shiver rippled through her, shaking her to the core. In the reflection of the glass, Lee's expression hardened, but it was Brad's face she saw, Brad's voice that filled the dark void of the encroaching night with tenderly whispered words of love. Mandy wanted so desperately to respond, but she couldn't . . .
She couldn't because she didn't love Brad, at least, not in the same fierce way that he loved her. Was she simply using him, using his deep commitment to her, his unstinting devotion, to ward off the frightening void of an unknown past?
For what? So that she could feel less crazy, less alone? It had been the force of Brad's feelings that had brought about their engagement, not hers. Was it fair to him to go forward when she still felt all these doubts?
But what about Annie? She loved Brad . . . and she needed a father, deserved the stability of a home with two parents . . .
"Lee," she entreated, not even trying to stop the tears from streaming down her face. "Can we please go?"
"Well, sure, your wish is my . . ." He turned, saw her wretched despair, and stopped short. "Where to?" he managed to blurt out through a voice husky with emotion.
"Anywhere that's not . . . here," she replied, her silent sobbing threatening to choke her.
He started the car without a word. Mandy leaned back and closed her eyes, thankful for his burst of sensitivity. She tried to tell herself that things would be okay, but she was beyond listening. If she turned her back on Brad's love, she would have no one but herself to rely on.
And that scared the hell out of her.