Part III

'Here in this bed of emptiness

Button by button

I come undone . . .'

--9--

i

Every light was blazing when they arrived. He'd burned rubber on the highway to get back to the house in Arlington, but even with the speedometer edging close to ninety, it still felt as if the Porsche was traveling in slow motion.

Amanda scrunched her forehead into a worried frown as they pulled to a stop across the street. They'd exchanged only a few words on the trip home, their minds too busily engaged anticipating whatever emergency awaited them here. "Is that Mr. Melrose's car?" she asked, absently chewing on her fingernails.

"It's Billy's," he noted with a modicum of relief. Whatever had occurred, at least Billy was on the inside.

Lee did a hasty perimeter search, but everything appeared to be in order. The security vans were still in place, it didn't appear as if extra teams had been dispatched and Billy's car was parked prominently in the driveway. Still, the tone of Mavis Marsten's call had set off every one of his alarm bells, and he couldn't discount it. He'd learned all too painfully that, where Brimstone was concerned, appearances were often deceiving.

She seemed to read his mind. "Maybe the phone call didn't have anything to do with Brimstone?" she offered.

"I suppose they could have needed us for a briefing." Despite his words of assurance, there was a tightening in his gut, and he added in a low voice, "But I think you should wait in the car—"

"No."

"Just until I make sure—"

"No." Her brown eyes narrowed dangerously. "That's my family in there."

Since he didn't have time to waste engaged in a debate, he capitulated more readily than usual. Besides, experience had taught him not to argue with that particular look.

Drawing his gun, he motioned for her to get out of the car. He skirted the edge of the house to peer through the living room window, her hand resting on his shoulder as she matched her steps to his.

Nothing. The action must be in the back.

Pointing in the direction of the driveway, he made his way cautiously toward the French doors leading to the den, Amanda still trailing behind him. From this vantage point, he should have been able to see into the den, but the blinds were closed. The hair on the back of his neck prickled—every agent worth his salt knew that particular ploy only invited suspicion.

Grabbing Amanda's hand, he ordered her to stay well behind him as they made their way to the kitchen door. He paused to give her a warning before entering, but it was unnecessary; she'd already flattened herself against the side of the house. He slowly turned his key in the lock and cracked the door open. It seemed peaceful enough, but his years of training put him on the alert, and Lee turned to Amanda once more. A look of quiet understanding passed between them. Not caring if his response might be considered too extreme, he braced his left hand with his right, took careful aim and kicked the door fully open.

Pandemonium ensued. A chair hit the floor, someone screamed, and Lee found himself staring into the barrel of half a dozen drawn guns. Adrenaline pumped through him, and he blurted out breathlessly, "What the hell . . .?"

Francine's eyes rounded as she quickly trained her weapon on the ceiling, and from behind the circle of agents who'd moved the shield her, Annie began to cry.

"You scared the shit out of us, Lee," Jamie said, voicing the general consensus. "That's some way to enter a room."

Lee shot the boy a withering look as he holstered his gun. "We got a message from Marsten that there was trouble here," he said, addressing Billy. "From the way she made it sound, all hell was breaking loose."

Billy nodded an order for the rest of the agents to stand down. "We've had a slight . . . complication, that's all. I probably should have made that clearer to her when I asked her to call you in."

"When I saw that the blinds were closed, I thought . . ." Lee expelled a loud breath.

"That's my fault," the tall agent from Justice offered. "The little girl was playing with them earlier, and I must have forgotten to re-adjust them."

Lee barely heard the man's explanation as relief sank in. He reached for Amanda, but she was already rushing past him to gather the crying child into her arms. "It's okay, honey," she soothed, rubbing circles across her daughter's stiff back. "Mommy's right here."

Brad Stevenson brushed past the security team and lunged forward. "That was smooth, Stetson," he muttered as Annie continued to sob into her mother's shoulder.

Sending Amanda a silent apology over Annie's head, Lee moved to take both of them into his arms, to feel the solid warmth of them for just a moment, to make sure they were okay. Instead, he collided with Stevenson, who evidently had the same intention.

"Do you mind?" the man ground out through clenched teeth.

"Actually, I do," he shot back. He'd had enough of this idiot to last a lifetime, and he wasn't about to brook any more unwelcome interference.

Amanda, however, appeared to have other ideas. "Please, Lee," she said, stepping between them. "Annie's scared to death. We've had enough drama for one night, don't you think?"

"Mom!" A sandy-haired young man elbowed his way through the swarm of agents. "Mom, is that you?"

As Amanda turned wide eyes on the speaker, Lee stifled a groan. He had a sinking feeling the evening's drama had yet to begin. "Phillip, you're here," he said, stating the obvious.

The boy's expression darkened even further. "Yeah, no thanks to you."

Lee ran a hand through his hair. "There were reasons—"

"I don't want to hear any more of your 'need to know' bullshit, Lee. I've had enough to last two lifetimes." He turned to Amanda, moisture pooling in his eyes. "Mom, it's me." His look was tentative, unsure. "Your son."

"I know." A slow smile broke out on her face. "I'd recognize you anywhere."

"You know who I am? You remember?" Excitement carried his voice to a higher pitch, and for a moment Phillip sounded like that little boy Lee had once watched through the kitchen window.

"Jamie showed me your picture." Amanda kissed her daughter's soft forehead, then set the little girl down. "And this is Annie."

"Yeah," Phillip put in quickly to cover his disappointment, "we've already met."

"He's my big brother," Annie announced proudly, as if she'd just discovered the eighth Wonder of the World.

"Well, one of them, anyway." He gave his mother a wistful smile. "I can't believe this, Mom. You look wonderful."

Amanda pulled him into a long hug. "I'm really glad you're here. I've wanted to meet you so badly. We should have called right away, I know, but . . ." She wiped away a stray tear as she released him.

"It's okay." He glowered at Lee. "It wasn't your fault."

Lee rocked back on his heels. "Let's not start, okay? Give your mother a chance to breathe."

"Don't tell me what to do," Phillip shot back, looking amazingly like Amanda as his eyes narrowed. "You're not my father."

Tension crackled though the room, and Amanda frowned as she looked from Lee to Phillip. "I'm not exactly sure what's going on here, but I think Annie's had enough excitement. It's way past your bedtime, right, Munchkin?"

"I'm sure it is," Lee put in promptly. "Let's put this discussion on hold, shall we?"

Phillip looked as if he was about to argue the point then obviously thought better of it. "Yeah, you're an expert at that, aren't you, Lee?" was all he mumbled as he marched away into the den. Avoiding Lee's thunderous gaze, Jamie slunk after his brother.

Amanda looked questioningly at Lee, her eyes clearly troubled. At his shrug, she bit her lip and turned to her daughter. "Annie, go say goodnight to your brothers and then let's get you tucked into bed."

"But Mommy—"

"No 'buts' young lady," Stevenson chimed in. "I can see by your mother's expression that I'm already in the doghouse for letting you get out of bed. Come on, a quick goodnight and up the stairs we go."

"I'll be right back," Amanda told Lee pointedly as she walked through the den to the hall.

Gritting his teeth, Lee watched Brad Stevenson hoist Annie onto his shoulders and follow Amanda up the stairs. Tempted as he was to punch the guy's lights out, he knew he had to bide his time. Even if Amanda had no conscious memories of it, their passion was still alive; their encounter in his bedroom had proven that beyond a shadow of a doubt. It was merely a matter of rekindling the flame . . .

As soon as he diffused the ticking time bomb sprawled unhappily across the couch in the den. Of all the moments for Phillip to turn up . . .

He turned to Billy with a furious expression. "Where were your surveillance teams?"

Billy frowned. "He gave them the slip—quite effectively, I might add."

"Yeah," Francine chirped. "He executed a perfect bait and switch during his chemistry lab. Phillip was on a plane heading east before those clowns from the Midwest Bureau realized they were watching the wrong kid."

Lee gave her a sour look. "And I suppose we have the clowns on our end to thank for missing him in D.C."

"He knew better than to take a direct flight. He landed in New York and drove down." Francine grinned. "Are you sure you haven't been giving him lessons?"

Lee rolled his eyes. "He must come by the talent genetically."

"I'm sorry, Lee," Billy sighed. "We tried to head him off before he got this far, but we were too late."

"How did he find out . . . no, don't tell me," he glanced at Jamie, slumped over the other arm of the sofa. "I already know."

"We'll leave you alone to deal with this." Motioning for Francine to follow, Billy paused by the back door. "How did things go with Amanda today?"

Lee smiled. "Nothing concrete yet, but I think we're on the verge of something."

"So I see," Francine remarked. "If I were you, I'd try buttoning that shirt again."

Lee glared at her as he redid the buttons he'd mismatched in his haste to leave Annapolis. Leave it to Francine to notice the minuscule details others missed. Then again, maybe that accounted for the angry scowl on Stevenson's face.

"I've got another piece of bad news," Billy told him with a sigh. "Dr. Smyth has ordered a command performance. You and Amanda both—tomorrow morning, my office, nine o'clock sharp."

"Billy—"

"Be there, Scarecrow," he ordered, brooking no refusal, "or I'll send an escort. This is a matter of national security."

"If you think I'm going to hand her over to Quidd without a fight—"

"I expect nothing of the kind." Billy shot Francine a look; there was no doubt he knew the source of Lee's information. "Leave Smyth to me, and you," he jerked his head toward the den, "deal with the emergency here." He turned to Francine. "Move it, Desmond. You and I need to have a few words."

"I'll straighten things out with him," she whispered to Lee on her way out. "You go talk to your sons."

Lee groaned inwardly. Talk to his sons . . . if only matters could be resolved that easily.

He found the pair huddled together on the couch, so engrossed in their whispered quarrel that they didn't hear him come in. Apparently Phillip's innate abilities as a covert operative were short lived.

He sank down into the chair opposite the boys. "I take it we have you to thank for this premature family reunion," he said, locking eyes with Jamie.

"You told Grandma," Jamie mumbled, fixing his gaze on the carpet to avoid Lee's sharp stare.

"That's not the point—"

"It sure as hell is!" Phillip quickly jumped to the defense of the brother he'd been arguing with only moments before. "At least Jamie had the decency to let me know my mother was still alive. I was the last one in this family to find out anything!"

Lee's lips puckered in annoyance, but he held onto his temper. On so many levels, Phillip was still a kid. Amanda'skid, he reminded himself. His kid. Ignoring the accusation, he turned to his younger stepson. "I thought we had an understanding," he said, his irritation clear.

"Look, Lee, you asked me not to tell Mom, and I didn't."

"A minor point, young man. You knew exactly what you were doing, just as you knew why I asked you to leave this alone. I'm really disappointed in you."

Jamie seemed almost on the verge of tears. "I didn't mean to—"

"Maybe he thought I had a 'need to know,'" Phillip interrupted with a sneer. "I'm sure you can relate to that."

"I'll get to your behavior in a minute," Lee snapped. "I'm talking to your brother right now."

Phillip leapt from the couch and stood in front of his stepfather, his arms folded across his chest. "Why don't you get off his back and pick on someone your own size?"

Sudden anger lit his eyes. Lee pulled himself up to his full height but, to his surprise, Phillip's gaze met his without any adjustment. His anger deflated as quickly as it had flared, only to be replaced by an ineffable sorrow. He remembered a lanky boy, all arms and legs and awkward social graces. Suddenly he was faced with a solid young man, his gangly adolescence far behind him. When had that happened?

"I'm sorry if I hurt your feelings, Phillip," he said, not unkindly. "I didn't intend to keep you in the dark for long. It's a complicated situation."

"Yeah," he snorted, "I've heard that song before. What was it going to take before you could bring yourself to tell me my mother had come back from the dead—another accident?"

Sighing, Lee prayed for patience. "We simply felt it would be better to let her deal with one issue at a time."

"So her children are issues now?" He stepped closer to Lee. "Is that why you never told us about Annie?"

"I didn't know about Annie."

"But you knew Mom was pregnant," he persisted, not giving an inch. "Didn't you?"

"Yes. Your mother and I found out shortly before she . . . the accident. I didn't think . . ." He let out a long breath. "There didn't seem to be any point in adding to everyone else's grief. There was already more than enough pain to go around."

"Unbelievable. You knew Mom was going to have a baby, and you still let her keep working. You let her go into the field with you that night, let them pump bullets into her . . ."

Lee winced; Phillip had a real talent for going for the jugular. "There's nothing you can say that I haven't said to myself, a thousand times over," he told him. "If I could undo what happened that night and switch places with your mother, I would, in a heartbeat."

Phillip continued as if Lee had never spoken. "I can understand you not giving a damn about us," he said, displaying a prosecutorial zeal that would have brought a tear to the eye of his attorney father, "but that was your own kid you put in danger. How could you risk her life?"

"Cut it out, Phillip." Jamie sprang off the couch, interposing his skinny frame between the solid bulk of his brother and stepfather. "You can be a real jerk sometimes, you know that?"

"Not as big a jerk as he is." He shoved his brother aside. "I'm almost glad Mom has amnesia," he yelled, his rage surging beyond control. "The best thing that ever happened to her was forgetting she was married to you!"

A loud gasp, torn from a raspy throat, made them all start. Three heads whipped around to the foyer where Amanda stood, shaking. She looked as if she might topple over, if it not for the support of Brad Stevenson's arms. How long she'd been there was anybody's guess, but it was clearly obvious that it had been more than long enough.

Lee instinctively moved toward her, but she warned him away with a shake of her head, shock warring with fury as she stared at him across a ringing silence.

"Damn you," she said at last, her nostrils flaring as she shook off Stevenson's embrace. "Damn you for not telling me."

ii

Lying on his back in the narrow bed, Jamie King tightened his grip on the blanket, watching as the light from Mrs. Gilstrap's patio filtered through the window. His grandmother had never replaced the worn-out shade; the myriad of minute tears still cast an intricate pattern of lines and circles on the ceiling, the way it had since he was a boy. When he was growing up, he used to spin stories in his mind out of those images. Over the years, castles and dragons had given way to bicycles and skateboards and, finally, to the intricate shapes and angles seen through camera lenses. Until the night his mother had kissed him goodnight, gone off to work, and hadn't come home again. After that, the only things the old ceiling revealed were the smudges she had meant to paint over, if only she could have found the time. Maybe his dad had been right after all to limit their visits here . . .

Swallowing past the dryness in his throat, Jamie ground his fist into the mattress. Curling onto his side, he stared at the slightly blurry lump on the bed across from his. After five motionless minutes passed, he decided that Phillip really had fallen asleep after all. Punching his pillow, he flopped onto his back and sighed.

"Oh my God! Don't tell me you still can't go to sleep without your goddamned 'squishy' pillow."

"Shut up, Phillip," he grumbled.

His brother's slow chuckle seemed to magnify in the darkness. "Remember when you dragged that stupid thing with you to Williamsburg? I thought Grandma would have a cow when you insisted on carrying it right through the lobby of the 'Hog and Hound.'"

Jamie laughed. "It was the 'Pig and Plum,' I think."

"Whatever." Phillip yawned. "What happened to that old thing, anyway?"

"Carrie threw it out right after we moved to Dad's, remember? She said it was full of mold."

"That's right. You cried every night for a week, and Carrie told everyone at school you had allergies. She really was the stepmother from hell, wasn't she?"

"Oh, she wasn't that bad."

Phillip snorted. "I think you're getting sentimental in your old age, bro. You hated her guts just as much as I did at first."

"She was okay," Jamie reiterated, with a sigh. "She just wasn't . . ."

He struggled to force some saliva past the large lump in his throat. Phillip was right; they had both hated Carrie during that first lonely year, but they probably would have hated anyone who'd taken their mother's place. Though she'd tried hard to make friends with them, neither boy had been willing or able to let her into their lives. A research chemist, Carrie was accustomed to working long hours in the lab, just as their father did at the EAO; becoming one of the primary parents to two teenage boys was not something she'd bargained for.

Phillip never really did warm up to their stepmother; instead, he chose to spend more and more time at friends' houses or with the latest in a string of female conquests, leaving Jamie even more isolated in his new home in Annapolis. It was only after he'd reconnected with Lee that Jamie had been able to see Carrie in a different light.

"Hey," Phillip called out quietly as the silence between them lengthened, "are you okay, worm brain?"

"I guess so." Jamie shivered as the same sense of loss he'd experienced in the wake of his mother's death overwhelmed him once again. Maybe it was being here with his brother, in their childhood bedroom, that brought the memories back so clearly. Whatever it was, he knew that Phillip felt it, too. He hadn't called him "worm brain" in years. But at least, no matter what happened from here on out, he and Phillip would get their mother back. It was very likely that Lee would have to go through the pain of losing her all over again to that Brad creep. "I just wish things were different, that's all," he said, speaking his thoughts aloud.

"If you're upset about what happened downstairs with Lee, don't be." Phillip's voice vibrated with intensity in the quiet room. "He got exactly what he deserved."

"God, Phillip," he groaned, "why can't you ever give the guy a break? It's not like you're so perfect, you know."

"You and Grandma can beat the drum for the Lee Stetson fan club all you want," Phillip shot back. "Just don't expect me to join in."

"If you'd only give him a chance—"

"Don't waste your breath; it's never gonna happen. Now shut up and let me get some sleep." Pulling the blanket over his head, Phillip turned his back on his brother.

Grabbing his glasses off the bedside table, Jamie sat up and leaned against the wall. Once his brother made up his mind about something, there was no changing it. When their mother died, Phillip cast Lee as the villain in the piece, just as he'd blamed their Dad for going to Africa all those years ago. Grandma always said that Phillip was an "all-or-nothing' kind of guy.

He supposed that was true enough. His brother always had to be the shortstop on their Little League team or he didn't want to play at all, while Jamie had been perfectly content in the outfield. And he hadn't really gotten excited about Junior Trailblazers until he'd made it to Raccoon Level. Over-compensating, Grandma called it; although Jamie still couldn't figure out exactly what she thought Phillip needed to overcompensate for so badly. He was great at sports, girls rang the phone off the hook to talk to him, and he always hung with the cool group at school. Even Lee liked him best, back when he'd first started hanging around the house.

And Phillip had been just as crazy about Lee. From day one, the two of them had shared an easy friendship. Phillip never ran out of things to say to him, or felt like he had three left feet whenever they all played basketball. Jamie could still remember the pangs of jealousy he'd suffered that first summer, when Lee and Phillip had grown so close, and he'd felt more and more like an outsider in his own family. According to Phillip, Lee walked on water . . . so why had he turned on him so completely when their mother died? Try as he might, Jamie still couldn't fathom it.

After Lee's car accident, when Phillip still stubbornly refused to have anything to do with their injured stepfather, his grandmother had tried to explain his rotten behavior. She'd told him that everyone had different ways of dealing with guilt and pain, and that his brother had to work through his in his own time and in his own way. Lee understood what Phillip was going through better than anyone, she assured him, and that was all that mattered. She must have been right; Lee was always so patient with Phillip, even when he was at his nastiest. Like tonight . . .

Giving up on sleep for the moment, Jamie abandoned the narrow bed in favor of pacing. It was a habit he'd picked up from his step-dad, and it really did help him sort through his thoughts. Though Lee kidded him about it, he often came to his room when he heard Jamie prowling around at night, offering to talk. He wouldn't knock on his door tonight, though. There was no way he'd chance another confrontation with Phillip, not with Mom and Annie just down the hall. And Jamie didn't quite have the guts to go in search of his stepfather . . . not yet, anyway. As Grandma always said, better to let the cake cool before cutting into it. Lee had been pretty angry about the stunt he'd pulled with Phillip. Even Jamie had to admit that it hadn't been one of his brightest ideas; his mother and Dr. Stevenson now seemed tighter than ever.

Pausing by the window, he opened the shade a crack. Funny—as a kid, he'd always thought the backyard stretched on forever, but it looked so small to him now, as did the little tree house his dad had built in the old oak that summer he came home on leave from the EAO. It was showing signs of wear now, and the missing slats on the far side gave it a dilapidated look. He remembered Lee saying that he'd reinforced the flooring a few months ago, but he must have never gotten around to re-nailing the wallboards. He and Phillip had loved that old tree house, as had most of the neighborhood kids. They'd had to chase that pesky little Bobby Kenwood out of it almost every day after school for two solid months. Though he hadn't known it at the time, that autumn in the sixth grade would be one of the best of his life; it was the last fall not marred by memories of what had happened to his mother.

Sighing, he glanced at the clock on the nightstand. He should follow his brother's example and get some shut-eye; morning would be here all too soon. He'd talk to Lee first thing, and straighten things out between them.

He'd just moved away from the window with a yawn when suddenly he saw it . . . a flash of light in the corner of his eye, almost too subtle to be observed, coming directly from the tree house. "Phillip, come here," he hissed, shifting his weight from foot to foot, "I see something."

"Wha . . .?" his brother called sleepily.

One hand clutching the shade, he jerked his head toward the window. "There's someone out there," he repeated through clenched teeth.

"Sure there is," he replied, with a yawn. "There's a truck load of agents in the backyard."

"No, it's not the security team. Besides, what I saw was up in the tree house, not out on the perimeter."

"'Perimeter' . . ." Phillip snorted the word. "I leave you alone with Lee for a few months, and now you're even talkin' like him. Okay, okay," he said, as Jamie groaned impatiently, "I'll look, if it means that much to you."

Throwing aside the covers, Phillip stomped to the window, his bare feet pounding on the carpeted floor. Folding his arms across his chest, he stared into dark yard. "I don't see a damn thing."

"Right out there, on the far side of the tree house. You can see someone in there, where the boards are missing."

Phillip looked again then shook his head. "The only things out there are trees, some undercover feds, and a few by-products of your over-active imagination."

Jamie elbowed his brother aside and peered out the window. "I'm telling you, it's right . . ." His words trailed away as he searched the still night. "It was right there," he insisted stubbornly. "Are you sure you didn't see anything?"

"No, I didn't." Phillip padded back to the bed. "I'm not the one who needs glasses, remember? My vision is twenty-twenty, even in the dark. Whatever you saw was probably a reflection on the glass from a passing car."

"Maybe . . ." Jamie strained harder to see through the darkness. Phillip was right; everything appeared peaceful enough now. "Do you think I should tell Lee?"

"Now there's a plan," Phillip jeered. "As if he wasn't wound up enough already tonight. Did you see how he burst into the kitchen earlier, guns blazing? That's just what Mom needs, on top of everything else—a full-scale security flap because you mistook a bunch of squirrels for enemy agents."

Jamie rubbed the back of his neck. "Yeah, I guess."

"Look, you go tattle to Lee if it will make you feel all warm and fuzzy inside. I'm sure he'll even pat you on the head and say you did 'the right thing.'"

Jamie chucked his pillow at his brother's head. "Go to hell, Phillip."

"Chickens first," he countered, the way he had when they were children. Balling up the pillow, he rested his head on it with a sleepy sigh. "Thanks for the extra pillow."

Scowling, Jamie tossed his glasses onto the nightstand and crawled back into bed. Rolling onto his side, he tucked his arm beneath his head. "I still think I saw something."

"And I think you should get out of the house more. You're reading way too many spy novels in your spare time."

"Who needs to read them when you can live them," Jamie muttered as he closed his eyes.

From across the room, Phillip grunted. "Good night, worm brain."