--10--

i

The pain throbbed out an agonizing cadence as she came downstairs. Pausing, Mandy squeezed her eyes shut in an attempt to dull the ache. The three extra-strength Tylenol capsules she'd swallowed might as well have been candy for all the good they'd done. By now her headache was so strong that she could barely remember her name. A subtle irony, she thought with a grim smile, since that was what had started this whole mess in the first place.

She hadn't suffered such a bad attack in years—not since Annie's second birthday, anyway. The doctors in Michigan had never been able to pinpoint an organic cause for the blinding headaches. They'd ordered all the tests, written the prerequisite scripts, but nothing helped. Frustrated, they'd labeled her symptoms as psychosomatic and handed her off to the therapists. Out of sight, out of mind, clinically speaking; fodder for someone else's failure.

"It's another bad one, isn't it?"

She looked up to find Brad standing at the base of the stairs. "I've had worse. I just need to ride it out, right?"

Brad crossed the foyer and put his fingers gently on her temples. "Close your eyes," he said, as he rubbed in small circles.

"It's okay, Brad, you don't have to—"

"Close your eyes."

She did as he asked, breathing deeply in a rhythmic pattern as he continued his gentle massage. After a few minutes, the vise squeezing her head loosened just a bit. "Thanks, it's beginning to feel better."

"See, sometimes the doctor does know best. Now, if you'd just give up this stubborn notion that you have to deal with these episodes with over the counter meds and let me prescribe something—"

She shook her head carefully, still mindful of the pain. "Those pills make me too groggy."

"Sleep is exactly what you need right now."

"What I need right now is time to think," she said, pulling away.

He frowned. "About what?"

"Do you even have to ask?" Even the slight rise of her eyebrows caused pain to ripple through her again, and she winced.

"Mandy, this doesn't change the way I feel about you one whit." He took her by the arms, his thumbs caressing her lightly. "We always knew there was a possibility that you had a husband and a family out there somewhere. Now that we know for certain, we'll just have to deal with it, that's all."

"Brad, please, I can't do this right now." Pulling from his loose embrace, she added wearily, "My head hurts too much."

Brad exhaled loudly. "Maybe that's why it hurts, did you think about that?"

"Well, thank you, Dr. Freud," she snapped.

He shook his head. "Sarcasm won't make this go away. You can't run away from your problems—"

"Is that what you think I'm doing?"

"What would you call it when the woman you love can't even come to you with something as simple as a headache?"

"I'd think she was confused by learning too much, too fast. I'd think maybe she needed a little time and a little space to work through some things. And I'd think that if I loved her as much as I keep saying I do, I'd try a little understanding instead of handing out armchair psychoanalysis."

A small muscle flicked in Brad's jaw. "Maybe it would be easier to do all that if you didn't keep shutting me out. You know how I feel about you, Mandy. I've loved you from almost the first moment I saw you on that beach, staring out at the water, your face set in such a look of sadness. It touched me somehow . . . I can't explain it. All I wanted was to replace your pain with a little happiness. And for the most part, I think I've succeeded."

"Brad—"

"Haven't I done everything you wanted," he persisted, "given you everything you asked for? Friendship, when you couldn't commit to anything more, a job when you needed it, even a stand-in father for Annie . . ."

She let out a loud sigh as his words trailed off. "You've been wonderful, Brad."

"That night in the cabin, before we were plunged into this waking nightmare, I thought you finally wanted the same things I do. To get married and build a life together."

"I did."

"You did?" He leaned closer. "Nothing's changed for me, Mandy. I still want it. I still want you."

As he bent to kiss her, she turned her head. "Please, Brad," she entreated, feeling even guiltier as he stiffened and turned away. "I can't do this right now, not when I'm so confused that I don't know which end is up. I need time."

"And I need a woman who's willing to commit to me, all the way." He sighed and rubbed the back of his neck. "Okay, you win. I'll give you the space you need, but you need to give me something, too. This time, you either marry me or you walk away—there's no middle ground anymore."

"Brad, I—"

"Sorry to interrupt this touching scene, but we need to get over to the Agency, Amanda."

They both turned at the sound of Lee's voice. He'd paused just shy of the living room door to lean against the wall. His arms were folded across his chest, his quiet stare at Brad barely concealing his unspoken challenge. A male animal clearly marking his territory.

Brad immediately bristled in response. "I've had just about enough of you, Stetson," he said, stepping forward. "I don't give a damn who the hell you were to her. I'm her fiancé now. I'm the man she loves. What happened last night hasn't changed that."

"Hasn't it?" As Lee's eyes found hers, she reddened and turned away. "You're making a hell of a lot of assumptions, Stevenson," he said, evidently satisfied by what he saw on her face. "I think it's time we got a few things out into the open."

"Fine by me," Brad returned, his eyes flashing menacingly.

"All right, that's enough." Mandy moved quickly to stop the impending confrontation. "I'd appreciate it if you two could stop behaving like alpha dogs long enough to remember that there are children upstairs." She glared first at Lee, then at Brad. "Or do I have to call security and have them remind you?"

Brad backed down, shaking his head in obvious disgust. "It's too early in the morning for this. I need a cup of coffee. Are you coming, Mandy?"

"Amanda," Lee said, emphasizing the name as he moved closer, "we need to talk."

"Yes," she told him coolly, "I couldn't agree more." She turned to Brad, her eyes holding a silent plea for patience. "Could you give us a few minutes alone?"

He started to say something then let out a long sigh. "Just remember what I said," he reminded her as he headed into the kitchen. "I meant every word."

When they were finally alone, she took a deep breath and turned to Lee. "Okay, you have exactly two minutes. Start talking."

"Thanks a lot," he shot back. "You gave him a hell of a lot more than that."

"Were you spying on me?" she demanded. "Just how long were you standing there, anyway?"

He scowled. "Long enough."

"Just because you're my . . . well, that doesn't give you the right to . . ." She bit off the words. "Look, Lee, as far as I'm concerned, you've had more than your share of opportunities to talk to me over the past week." She tried to modulate her voice, which sounded entirely too loud in her head. The last thing she wanted was Annie padding down the stairs at an inopportune moment. "Anything you could possibly say to me now is too little, too late," she added in a harsh whisper.

"The least you could do is to give me the benefit of the doubt, Amanda. You know I tried to tell you—"

"You couldn't possibly be speaking of last night, could you?" Placing her hands firmly on her hips, she glared him. "Would that have been before or after you let me make a first class idiot of myself?"

"It wasn't like that, and you know it."

She sneered. "I don't know anything, haven't you heard? I have amnesia. So you tell me, Lee," she backed him into the living room, tossing out the words in time to her pounding head. "When did you try to make things so clear to me, huh?"

"Amanda—"

"That night I arrived, when you introduced yourself as the head of the security team?" Her voice rose. "In any one of the endless sessions with Dr. Joyce, when I was struggling so hard to remember even the tiniest scrap of information? Maybe it was when you showed up at my bedside with Annie," she continued, blinking to assuage the burning sensation in her eyes, "and I asked you to tell me about the accident. Oh, yes, and let's not forget when I confided how worried I was that Joe King might want custody of our daughter. What a good laugh you must have had over that one!"

"There's nothing remotely laughable about any part of this damned situation."

His voice sounded weary and hoarse, and Mandy noted that his makeshift bed on the sofa hadn't been slept in. Another time, she might have felt concern, but at the moment she was just too far gone to care. "I think we've cleared the air sufficiently," she said, turning to retrace her steps into the hall.

He shot out his hand and pulled her back. "You seem to think this has been nothing short of a walk in the park for me."

"Let me go," she growled under her breath. "You have no idea what I think, buster!"

He released her arm and glared. "Yeah, well, that goes double for you. You don't have any idea what kind of torture it's been, living in the same house with you, pretending we were ex-partners, nothing more—"

"The pretense wasn't my fault—"

"—Keeping my mouth shut when all I wanted to do was . . ." He seemed to gulp down the rest of the words. "How easy do you think it's been, Amanda, being reminded every day and night that my own wife doesn't even remember my name?" Moving closer, he locked eyes with her. "Or maybe you think it's been a barrel of laughs watching that jerk put his hands all over you—"

"You leave Brad out of this!"

"Well, that would be convenient for you, wouldn't it? Or have you forgotten about last night now, too?"

"At least Brad's never lied to me! He's honest about what he feels."

Lee's lips slanted downward into a half-sneer. "Yeah, he hands out ultimatums particularly well, doesn't he?"

"At least he doesn't play me for a fool!"

"I've never once—"

"What about all that nonsense you fed me in the car about not 'seeing' me with Brad? Not to mention the talk about the woman you lost—"

"You said that, not me."

"Oh, that's a very fine distinction, isn't it? You didn't contradict me. You let me go on and on like that," she continued hotly, "pour out my heart to you . . . and all the time . . ."

The floor tilted, her headache throbbed, and for a strange moment, she seemed to be watching everything from outside her body. The tilting became a swaying and, as if from a great distance, she heard Lee call her name. The next thing she knew, a pair of strong arms closed around her.

"Lean forward and put your head between your knees," he advised as he placed her gently on the sofa. "That's it. Now, take a few slow, deep breaths."

She followed his orders, obedient as a child in this small thing. He was right; a few long breaths chased away the dizzying spots before her eyes. A few more and she gradually became aware of her surroundings again . . . the freshly vacuumed carpet, the speck of dust on the toe of her shoe, the light hairs on the back of the hand that held hers.

"I'm okay," she told him, smiling weakly. "It's just this headache . . . it's a real killer."

"Do you want me to get you something? Call . . . someone?"

Call Brad, she knew he meant. It must have cost him dearly to make that offer, and despite the cold blast of anger she still felt, she found herself warming to him. "Don't worry," she said, with a slight shake of her head, "it'll subside. They always do."

He frowned. "Does this happen often?"

"Not as much as it used to. Stress triggers it, or at least that's the general consensus of the most recent medical minds."

He gave a bitter laugh. "I see you've embraced my high opinion of the profession. You've probably had enough poking and prodding to last a lifetime," he added, almost to himself.

"You could say that." Sliding her hand out from under his, she briefly touched the slim gold band he wore on the third finger of his left hand and looked up at him questioningly.

He shrugged. "I figured there was no point in hiding it anymore."

She turned to study the pair of bookends sitting slightly askew atop the mantle. They seemed odd somehow, out of place. Much the way she felt. "You should have told me," she said, sighing.

"The doctors thought . . ." He brushed his fingers through his hair again. "Dr. Joyce felt that if we fed you too much information, too soon, it might hamper your progress. Taint the memories that returned."

She pulled away slightly. "But when the memories didn't return, you still didn't say anything. Why, Lee? You were my husband . . ."

"I am your husband, Amanda."

"Then didn't you owe me that much? Didn't you owe me the truth?"

He looked away. "I did try to tell you last night. Then we got the phone call . . ."

She pushed off the couch and walked away from him on shaky legs. "Let me guess. You wanted to spare me. When you saw how upset I was, you couldn't bring yourself to burden me with anything as mundane as reality."

"I was worried about what was happening here at the house. I thought . . ." He rose and crossed to her, adding in a tone whose edge was unmistakable, "They're my children, too, you know."

Raising her head, she found herself looking into a pair of deep eyes. Their pull was so strong, so overwhelming, that she almost took a step forward. It would be so easy to capitulate, to let him hold her and promise to make everything okay, the way she knew he would. Such beautiful hazel eyes, so expressive, so . . . familiar. They were Annie's eyes, she thought, marveling that she had never noticed before. Annie's eyes . . .

Anger swept through her again, stronger than ever, as once again everything he'd kept from her hit her squarely in the face. "Yes, they are your children," she said with sudden vehemence, jerking herself away from him. "And for their sakes, if for nothing else, you should have told me the truth."

"I only wanted to do what was best for everyone." He thrust his hands into his pockets, as if he didn't quite know what to do with them. "It's just that, with everything that's happened, it's kind of hard to know what that is anymore."

"An easy way to rationalize deception, I suppose. But it doesn't change the way I feel."

"And how about the way you felt last night? Are you going to dismiss that so easily as well?"

The tingling memory of his lips on hers sent a momentary shiver through her slim frame, but the cold core of anger in the pit of her stomach banished the feeling before it could take hold. "What happened between us last night—whatever it was I felt—was based on a lie."

"You don't really believe that."

"Yes, I do. I'm not like you. I can't barter the truth away so easily—not when I've been searching for it so desperately for the past five years." She let out a long sigh. "I suppose all that stuff you handed me about doctors' orders and not wanting to 'taint' my memory makes perfect sense in your world. But that's not the world I live in. I only know one reality—I was your wife, and you didn't trust me enough to tell me that basic fact. You were the father of my child, and you kept that knowledge from both of us. That's what I can't get past." She turned narrowed eyes on him. "And that's what I can't forgive."

"Amanda—"

"No, Lee. I'm sorry, but I can't—I won't—play these games anymore."

He stepped closer, a heart-rending tenderness in his gaze. "I don't want to play games, either," he whispered.

The huskiness in his voice struck a chord deep inside her. It made her dizzy all over again, and she struggled to regain the equilibrium her anger gave her. It was all she had left to protect herself. Hardening her eyes, she looked at him once more. "I'm sorry, Lee, I can't. It's just too late. It's over."

An awkward silence sprang up between them, and she sighed. "I know we're supposed to meet Mr. Melrose, but . . ."

He stared at a space over her right shoulder. "You're right," he said, after a beat. "We should go."

"No, Lee."

"We don't have a choice, Amanda. There's still the matter of Brimstone."

"No, I . . ." She swallowed hard. "What I meant was . . . I called Francine this morning and made arrangements for her to drive me. I need some . . . some space right now."

His expression darkened. "I see."

"Well, I guess I'll see you there, then," she said when he remained silent. She turned to go, but his voice called her back. "Please, Lee, don't do this anymore," she begged. "We've said all there is to say."

"Not quite." Marching over to her, he reached into his pocket. "Here, I believe I have something that belongs to you."

"I can't—"

He silenced her with a look. "It's yours," he said coldly, placing the perfect circle of gold in her hand. "Do whatever the hell you want with it."

ii

Jamie cracked open the living room window and breathed deeply. Even though the rain had stopped, a mist hung over the lawn, making it difficult to see the security team parked down the street. He knew the agents were there, though; Francine had taken them coffee before setting out for the Agency with his mother.

He'd come downstairs early with the intention of talking to Lee, but his stepfather was already deep in another conversation—if you could dignify the harsh words he'd overheard in the living room with that name. Once more, he cursed himself for not following Lee's instructions. His mother had sounded more sad than angry, and that scared him; that, and the fact that Lee hadn't said a word to him as he'd stormed out the front door. Of course, he didn't really have to say anything; the expression on his face more than told the story. What had possessed him to think bringing Phillip into the equation would actually make things better? He'd forgotten what an absolute pain his brother could be sometimes.

"Are you still seeing ghosts and goblins outside, worm brain?"

Though Phillip's irreverent laugh was muffled by the piece of doughnut he'd stuffed into his mouth, Jamie still bristled. "I don't care what you did or didn't see. There was something up in that tree house."

Phillip popped the last of his breakfast into his mouth and snickered again. "The ghost of Bobby Kenwood, no doubt, come back to claim his territory."

"Why don't you—" He stuffed the expletive back into his mouth as he caught sight of his sister standing wide-eyed at the base of the stairs. "Hey, Annie," he forced a light tone into his voice, "whatcha doin' there?"

Clamping her mouth shut, the little girl shook her head. Jamie moved quickly to her and squatted. "Did you make a picture?" he asked, gently prying a crumpled piece of paper from her hand. "It's really good."

As she shook her head again, Phillip, who had come up behind him, took the paper from Jamie's hand. "Sure it is," he said, straightening the rumpled edges. "I'll bet Jamie couldn't do as well with his camera."

Over his shoulder, Jamie shot his brother a look then turned back to Annie, employing the nickname he'd heard his mother use. "What's the matter, Munchkin?"

Her lower lip trembled slightly as she solemnly looked around. Leaning closer to Jamie, she said in a loud whisper, "I'm scared of ghosts."

"Hey, Annie." Phillip wore a look of chagrin as he lifted his small sister into his arms. "There aren't really any ghosts. I was just kiddin' ole Jamie here."

She squinted, considering his words. "But there might be. It's almost Halloween, and that's when the ghosts come out."

"Yeah, well . . ." Shrugging his shoulders, he looked helplessly at his brother.

Jamie patted the little girl's back. "Not real ghosts, kiddo, made-up ones."

"Uh-uh." She scrunched her forehead. "Uncle Brad said so, and he always tells the truth. He told me all about the headless . . . headless . . ."

"Horseman?" Jamie supplied.

"Yeah." Her bottom lip trembled.

"But that's just a story, right Phillip?" Jamie raised an eyebrow. What kind of stuff was Stevenson filling her head with, anyway?

"Yeah, it's only a story, Annie," Phillip agreed. "Grandma used to read it to us, too, at Halloween, but we weren't as little as you."

"It is too real. There's ev . . . ev . . . ev-dence to prove it," she insisted, with an emphatic shake of her head. "I heard the big kids down the beach talkin' about it, and Uncle Brad explained it all."

Phillip groaned. "Oh, God, she's exactly like her—"

"Tell you what, Annie," Jamie said, narrowing his eyes at his brother. "Even if there are ghosts, you've got us now. And Phillip here is big enough and mean enough to scare any ghost in town," he added, with a sneer.

"That's right," Phillip assured her. "I'll protect you."

Annie fingers played with the edge of Phillip's t-shirt as her lips pulled into a pout. "I don't like it here," she said, obviously not the least bit mollified. "I want to go home."

"You and me both, kid," Phillip muttered as Jamie rolled his eyes. "But we can't right now. We have to stay here until Mommy finishes her . . . business . . . with Lee."

Her face brightened just a bit as she looked at her brother. "And then we can go home?"

"Well, I, um—"

"Sure we can, Annie." Brad Stevenson came down the stairs and lifted the little girl out of Phillip's arms. "You'd like that, wouldn't you? If we all went home and became a family?"

"Yeah," she said, enthusiastically. "I want to go home. I miss the big lake."

"Me, too." Smiling, he set her down. "Be Uncle Brad's good girl and go get dressed."

Jamie exchanged a look with Phillip as Annie happily ran up the stairs. "Dr. Stevenson—"

"Jamie, I thought we decided that you were going to call me Brad," he said, frowning.

"Dr. Stevenson," he repeated stubbornly, "you really shouldn't tell her things like that."

Brad Stevenson let out a long-suffering sigh. "Come on, guys," he said, looking mostly at Phillip, "I think maybe it's time we had a serious talk."

Jamie started to protest, but Phillip shrugged, indicating that they should follow Stevenson into the kitchen. Biting off his angry words, he silently complied. Stan Henderson, the agent who'd been on duty last night, immediately made himself scarce as they all sat down at the table.

"Do you guys want some breakfast?" Stevenson asked, suddenly ill at ease.

"No, thanks," Phillip patted his stomach, "already ate."

Shaking his head, Jamie said in a prickly tone, "Look, Dr. Stevenson, what exactly is it you wanted to discuss with us?"

"The future," he replied brusquely.

Phillip raised an eyebrow. "What about it?"

"I don't blame you for being upset," Stevenson continued, ignoring Phillip's glib remark. "I know discovering that your mother is alive after all this time has come as something of a shock to you."

Phillip tightened his lips and nodded. "That's the understatement of the year."

"But considering all that's going to happen now," he spoke more to Phillip than to Jamie, "I think we should make an effort to get to know each other a little better."

"Okay." Phillip slouched in his chair and regarded the doctor with cool eyes. "You already seem to get on pretty well with Annie."

Stevenson smiled. "I've known her since she was a baby. She's a terrific little girl, which I'm sure you'll find out once you spend some time with her."

Phillip shot his brother a conspiratorial look. "Jamie and I, well, we can already see that. I guess you kinda like being her father, huh?"

"I've always wanted children of my own," he confided.

Though Stevenson had clearly missed the undertone to Phillip's voice that was so evident to Jamie, he couldn't keep silent. "But she's . . . she's not your daughter," he sputtered, anger bubbling to the surface once again. "She's Lee's."

"Aw, come on, Jamie," Phillip grinned, "that's a minor obstacle to old Brad, here, isn't it? He's known Annie since she was a baby, after all. Tell me," he leaned across the table, "exactly how long have you been sleeping with our mother, anyway?"

"Phillip!" Jamie felt his face reddening.

Phillip lurched forward, the legs of his chair scraping the floor. "No, Jamie, it's a perfectly fair question. Brad here wants to have a 'serious talk,' and I couldn't agree more." He fixed his eyes on Stevenson once again. "Tell me, doc, you meet a woman who doesn't know who the hell she is, with a kid who obviously didn't materialize out of nowhere . . . just how long did you wait before taking advantage of her?"

Stevenson launched himself away from the table, his chair falling with a loud bang as he stood. "That part of my relationship with your mother is none of your damned business!"

Phillip jumped to his feet as well. "The hell it isn't. Someone sure needs to look out for her, since it's more than apparent that she can't protect herself from all the jerks that keep preying on her."

Stevenson clenched his hands into tight fists. "Look, kid, Stetson may take that crap you hand out to him, but don't make the mistake of thinking I will." His voice pulsed with quiet fury. "Have I made myself perfectly clear?"

"Yeah, sure." Though Phillip answered nonchalantly enough, tiny beads of sweat broke out on his forehead. "I've had enough of this shit," he muttered as he abruptly quitted the room.

Stevenson let out a deep breath as he ran a hand through his hair. "I guess I could have handled that better."

Jamie flicked a crumb from the table. "I guess none of us really knows how to behave in this situation," he said, voicing an apology of sorts. Anger at his brother churned in his stomach. Trust Phillip to leave him holding the bag once again.

"I guess you guys have had it pretty rough these past few years," Stevenson said.

"Yeah, well . . ." He moistened his dry lips. "Grandma says it's part of life, and you have to learn to deal with it if you're gonna survive."

"Your grandmother sounds like a very wise woman."

Jamie met the older man's gaze. "She used to remind my stepmother all the time that ready-made families like ours come with a lot of emotional baggage."

Stevenson tightened his lips. "And you don't think I'm the person to take that on, do you?" As Jamie shrugged, he added, "Look, I realize that this situation just became a lot more complicated—"

"I tried to tell you the other day that there was stuff you didn't know." Jamie stared down at his fingers as he drummed them on the tabletop. "No matter what Phillip says, Lee's a really good guy."

"I can see that you feel pretty strongly about your stepfather, but when all is said and done, it's your mother's opinion that will count, Jamie."

His head shot up. "You seem pretty sure they won't get back together."

"I think Mandy made her feelings pretty clear to him this morning before she left."

"It was just a fight," Jamie insisted, ignoring the small kernel of dread that had planted itself firmly in his belly. "They used to do that all the time. It doesn't mean anything."

"If they fought a lot, that has to tell you something."

"That's not really what I mean. Yeah, they used to fight, but it was more like . . . well, I don't really know how to describe it."

Stevenson sighed. "Look, I don't want to argue with you—either of you," he said, turning his eyes toward the stairs. "What happens next is your mother's decision. I guess the only thing we can do now is to wait for her to make it."

Jamie swallowed hard. "I guess so." Lee's clouded eyes flashed before him once again, and he prayed that someone could talk some sense into his mother before it was too late.