--11--

i

It was ten minutes to nine when they finally left the Key Bridge and inched through the ever-increasing traffic toward the Agency. Water from last night's rainstorm had pooled by the curbside, making driving in the right lane especially hazardous this morning. Factor the ever-increasing fog into the equation, and you had the makings of a traffic nightmare. Turning on the windshield washer, Francine sighed impatiently as she waited for the wipers to squeegee the spots away. "Billy's going to be furious," she announced as the glass dried. "He said nine o'clock sharp."

Her passenger leaned back against the leather headrest. "We're only running a few minutes late."

"A few minutes might as well be a few hours. You don't know Billy Melrose. The Agency joke is that he uses a stopwatch to steep his tea." Francine tapped an impatient rhythm against the steering wheel with her pale pink fingernail as the light ahead turned red yet again.

Mandy closed her eyes with a stifled yawn. "That won't make the traffic clear any faster you know."

One eye on the road ahead and one eye on the rearview mirror, Francine quickly maneuvered the Alpha Romeo into the left lane. "Does that tip come straight from the north woods?" she snapped.

"Believe it or not, we have traffic jams in the sticks as well. Once a stray cow and her calf blocked the road for a good hour."

Francine sighed. "Point taken. Just for the record, I didn't mean anything derogatory. I was only trying to make conversation."

"No, Francine, I'm the one who should apologize. I barely closed my eyes last night, and my head is killing me."

"I've got some Tylenol in my purse."

She rolled her eyes. "Everyone wants to medicate me today."

Francine glanced sideways at Mandy. It wasn't only a headache that had caused her uncharacteristic silence on the ride from Virginia. One thing she knew for certain, Amanda King—or whatever name she wanted to call herself—was not the quiet type. It wasn't hard to guess that her unusual reserve had something to do with the way Lee had torn out of the house this morning. It must have been some argument; the Porsche had all but mowed her down as she'd come up the walk.

"I guess last night's revelation must have been come as a pretty big shock to you," Francine observed in a quiet voice.

"You have no idea."

"Oh, I think I do." Her lips parted in a smile. "I'm the one who discovered you out there in the back of nowhere, remember?"

"Yeah. I suppose you never expected your investigation to unearth a ghost."

There was a hint of amusement in her voice, and Francine relaxed for the first time since they'd left Arlington. Maybe things weren't quite as hopeless as the expression on Lee's face had led her to believe.

"I'd never been so shocked in my entire life," she joked in return. "And in this business I've seen more than a few things that would knock an elephant to his knees."

Mandy snorted. "I'll bet."

"It's not an easy line of work, you know."

She turned her dark brown eyes on Francine. "Then why do it?"

"Someone has to. 'It's a dirty job,'" Francine intoned with a deep laugh, "but a very necessary one." She shot her a look. "You used to know that."

Mandy leaned her head against the cool glass of the window. "If you're trying to make excuses for him, don't bother."

"It's not an excuse . . . well, not exactly. I'm just trying to explain that in this business, everything isn't always black and white. Agents follow orders because national security depends on it, Mandy. It's ingrained, like shaking hands with your right hand and not your left. It's not easy to abandon that, trust me."

"'Trust' . . ." She sighed. "That's just it, Francine, don't you see? He didn't trust me." She opened her palm and turned over a small gold ring in her hand. "What about the life we'd supposedly made together? Certainly the vows we took should have counted for something."

"They did—for Lee more than most men." She nodded at the ring resting in Amanda's—Mandy's—palm. "You're familiar with the phrase, 'till death do us part'? Well, he didn't—part from you, I mean. Not for one minute of one day since you've been gone."

Mandy puckered her lips. "That's pretty hard to believe."

"Why?"

"Come on, Francine. I mean, he's not exactly Quasimodo, you know. There must have been plenty of women who were more than willing to help him forget his dead wife."

"I didn't say there hadn't been opportunities," she said sharply. "Just that he didn't act on them."

Mandy closed her hand tightly around the ring. "Oh," she said, faintly.

"It's not really all that surprising, when you take everything into account."

"What do you mean?" she asked, her voice gaining an urgent quality.

Francine smiled at her sudden interest. "He'd never had much family to speak of, you see. Once he'd finally found one, he didn't want to let go. Moving on would have been almost like admitting that none of it had happened. Of course, I didn't realize at the time that he was grieving not only for his wife, but for his child as well."

Her eyes widened. "No one knew about—"

"No one even knew you were married. You'd kept it a secret, to protect your family."

Her hand flew to her neck, and her fingers played over her skin a few times, as if searching for something that wasn't there. "I didn't realize," she murmured, obviously distracted.

"I always had the impression that you two had decided to come clean shortly before you . . . before the incident with Brimstone," Francine continued briskly, as if Mandy's actions were nothing out of the ordinary. "Although Lee never said anything to me about it at the time. He's a pretty private person, keeps his feelings to himself, in case you hadn't noticed."

"I'd noticed," she said, with a faint half-smile.

"I think that's part of why Lee seems to have such a fatal attraction for members of the opposite sex. Women sense that he doesn't let himself care about people easily, and they all want to be the one to change him." Francine snorted. "I never thought a simple housewife from Arlington would be the one to succeed where so many others had failed. Myself included."

Mandy shifted in her seat. "You and Lee were . . .?"

"Oh, once upon a time, many years ago . . ." Francine sighed. "It's been over for a long time. Heck, I think it was over before it really started. We're friends now, nothing more."

The traffic cleared ahead, and Francine urged the Alpha Romeo forward. As she sped down M street toward the Shops at Georgetown Park, she saw 'Mandy's expression settle into a curious frown, as if her heart was waging a war with her common sense. "Tell me about Lee's childhood," she requested suddenly.

"How much do you know?" Francine asked, cautiously testing the waters. The last thing she wanted to do was make matters worse than they already appeared to be.

Mandy shrugged. "That his parents died in an accident when he was a child, but not much more."

"Well, it wasn't exactly an 'accident'. His parents were killed in the line of duty. They were both in the business."

Mandy's eyebrows lifted, giving her a slightly startled appearance. "His parents were agents?"

"His father was with the CIA, his mother with MI-6. She was British, you know. Lee has dual citizenship."

"What happened to him after they died?"

"He lived with his grandmother for a while, but then she died, too. Caring for an active five year old was a lot to handle for a woman with a failing heart. When he was about seven, I think, he ended up in the custody of his father's half-brother. The man was career military—a well respected officer, by all accounts, but he gave more warmth to his squadron than to the little boy he was saddled with so inconveniently."

She frowned. "Lee mentioned an uncle, but I guess I didn't realize he'd been his guardian. There were no pictures at his place, nothing to—"

"Lee took you to his place?" Francine smiled. "That says a lot right there, doesn't it?"

"Tell me more about this uncle," Mandy said, brushing aside her remark. She inclined her body to the left as she waiting for Francine to continue.

"I don't know much more than I've already told you. As I said, Lee's a pretty private person—even with the few people he calls friends. They had a pretty stormy relationship, one that had only started to mend in the last couple of years." She smiled. "I always suspected you had a hand in that. Unfortunately, the Colonel was killed during a routine maneuver the spring after you di . . . disappeared," she amended.

"That must have been awful for him," she whispered. "On top of everything else . . ."

"It was a pretty tough time for Lee. In the wake of your . . . accident . . . he'd decided to come clean about everything, and your mother and the boys were still reeling from learning about all the secrecy. They weren't having much to do with him, I'm afraid. It was as if he'd lost his last link to the past."

"But he and Jamie . . . they seem, well, pretty close. What changed?"

"Lee had a car accident that landed him back in the hospital." She paused, looking deliberately into the rearview mirror as she played for time. "I probably shouldn't be telling you this—"

"Francine—"

"Mandy, Lee would kill me for breaking his confidence. Besides, the Agency is just up ahead."

"Please, Francine. Don't stop now—there have been too many half-truths already." She tapped her fingertips together, frowning thoughtfully. "You know you want to tell me, or you wouldn't have started."

Francine turned onto 30th Street, sighing as the shops and pubs gave way to neat row houses. "It's not exactly a pretty story."

"I don't care. I'm sick to death of people trying to 'spare' the emotional cripple. I'm not made of glass. I won't break."

"I never thought you would," Francine told her, with a slow smile. "You've more than proven what you're made of."

As the Agency loomed up on her left, she made a decision. "Okay," she said as she breezed past the entrance to IFF and pulled into the parking lot across the street. "But I can't drive and tell this tale at the same time."

Stopping, she turned off the ignition, wondering what the hell she was thinking. Billy would be pacing the halls, and Lee would probably demand they send out a search party, but she couldn't seem to stop herself. Mandy was more right than she knew; she'd been aching to share this story since the day her identity had been confirmed. Twisting in her seat, Francine drew in a deep breath and began.

"Lee had a pretty rough time of it after the run-in with Brimstone that supposedly took your life—"

"He told me, Francine. He was injured—"

"Amanda," she snapped, forgetting to use the new name in her annoyance, "if you want to hear this, stop interrupting. We don't have a lot of time, and this is difficult enough without backtracking all the time."

"Sorry," she mumbled, sucking her lower lip into her mouth.

"Yes, he was injured in the gunplay with the Brimstone group but, knowing Lee, he probably downplayed its seriousness." Francine shot her a warning look as she started to speak again. "The bullet wounds sapped his strength," she continued, "and losing you, well, that seemed to do the same to his will to live. Not to mention that every other part of his life was falling apart as well. He had to face an Agency panel of inquiry into your death. Standard procedure when an agent loses a partner, but when Dr. Smyth found out about your secret marriage, he finally saw his chance to rid himself of Scarecrow once and for all."

"But what happened to me wasn't Lee's fault," she said, her confusion evident.

Francine set her jaw. "No, it wasn't, but that didn't matter to Smyth. Lee had always been a particularly sharp thorn in the old man's side, and he took his revenge with great pleasure. Lee was suspended pending a review of all his cases from the previous eight months."

Mandy's eyes flashed. "That's so unfair."

"That's not the half of it. Your ex, Joe King, married shortly after that and took legal custody of the boys from your mother. They moved to Annapolis, ostensibly for his job, but the real reason was that Joe didn't want Phillip and Jamie too near Lee. His lifestyle was dangerous, he told them. After all, hadn't their mother died because of it? He couldn't risk Brimstone going after his sons."

"But that doesn't make any sense." Mandy shifted on the seat, her puzzled frown deepening. "The boys would have probably been safer with Lee's protection than without it."

"I agree, but people don't always make the wisest decisions when they're grieving. Lee didn't fight it, either. Joe's unspoken accusations merely confirmed what he already felt. That he was responsible for what happened to you," she added at Mandy's look.

"What about my mother?" she croaked. "Surely she didn't believe—"

"Your mother was dealing with her own pain. She'd lost not only her daughter, but the boys she'd been raising almost as her own." She shot Mandy a worried glance. "Do you want me to stop?"

She surreptitiously brushed away a tear. "Go on. Tell me the rest of it."

"This is where the story gets kind of ugly." Taking another deep breath, she plunged ahead. "Lee was in a great deal of physical pain from his injuries, and he . . . well, he got into some bad trouble with prescription pain pills. He wasn't thinking clearly at the time, and when they stopped giving him any relief, he started mixing them with alcohol. As you can imagine, the results were disastrous."

Mandy turned toward the window to trace a figure eight on the glass with her finger. "I had no idea . . ."

"Yeah." Francine smiled grimly. "Despite Dr. Smyth's attempts to discredit him, Internal Affairs had finally cleared him of all culpability in your 'death.' But he was in no shape by that time, physically or emotionally, to go back to work."

Mandy swallowed hard. "What happened, Francine?" she demanded to know in a raspy voice.

"One night, he knocked back a few too many at Nedlindger's Pub—that's the local hangout for those of us in the intelligence game—and wrapped his car around a light pole. He claimed he didn't remember how it happened, but with the level of alcohol in his system, it was small wonder that he blacked out. I think it would have ended his career right there if it hadn't been for two people—Billy, who helped him get back on his feet professionally, and your mother, who did the same for him personally."

"My mother? But I thought you said—"

"She'd had a change of heart. She kept a vigil at the hospital night and day until, by the sheer force of her will, Lee had no choice but to pull himself out of his depression. With all the time we spent in Parker General Hospital at Lee's bedside, I got to know her pretty well. She's one tough cookie," Francine added with a knowing grin.

"She's living in Switzerland now, Jamie said."

Francine smiled. "I have a feeling she'll turn up sooner rather than later, and then we'll all have hell to pay for not calling her home the minute we discovered you were alive."

Mandy rubbed the tips of her fingers across her forehead. "Damn, it," she murmured, "why can't I remember?"

Pretending not to notice, Francine continued her story. "As soon as Lee was released from the hospital, your mother went to work on Joe. He'd mellowed a bit by then, and I think he was feeling a little guilty for shutting the boys off from Lee. He was their stepfather, after all, and the closest connection they had to their mother. With a little more urging on her part, he agreed to visitation, if the boys wanted it. Surprisingly, Jamie was the one who jumped at the chance."

Mandy jerked her head up. "Why surprisingly?"

"Because before you died, Lee seemed to get along better with Phillip, or so he told me. Jamie had always been pretty reserved with him. Funny how things turn out, isn't it?"

"'Funny' isn't exactly the word that comes to mind at the moment."

Francine ignored the remark. "I had no idea Lee would turn out to be such a great father," she said, with a pointed look in Mandy's direction. "He's actually Jamie's temporary guardian at the moment. The boy has been living with him since Joe and his wife left for Africa last summer. He even bought that new place up in Annapolis so that Jamie could finish his senior year without changing high schools."

"The toothbrush . . ." She let out a sad sigh. "So that's who . . ."

"That's who, what?" Francine asked.

She shook her head mechanically, as if her system had finally reached overload. "It doesn't matter," she replied in a dull voice.

"You're wrong, Mandy. Despite what you think at the moment, or how it may appear, you matter a great deal to Lee."

Mandy managed a weak smile. "Then why couldn't he tell me all this? Why did I have to hear it from you? Did he think I wouldn't understand?"

"I think he was afraid you'd understand all too well." Francine turned to her with pained eyes. "The last thing he would want from you is pity. It's been hard enough as it is for him to stand by and watch you in your relationship with Brad." As she looked away, Francine continued. "There's more you need to hear. And this I really shouldn't be telling you—"

"Damn it, Francine." Her hands gripped the armrest. "Just say it!"

Francine rounded her eyes. The woman looked as if she might jump across the console and wring the truth out of her. "Dr. Smyth hasn't been satisfied with the progress—or lack of it—in your case," she began slowly. "He's pushing hard for a different type of memory enhancing treatment. A more direct route, shall we say, but . . . well, unpleasant is not an adequate way to describe it."

"I don't understand."

"I'm talking about drug-induced interrogation."

"But I'd never choose to do something like that—"

Francine rolled her eyes. "'Choosing' wouldn't have anything to do with it."

"I see." Mandy let out a long, slow breath. "Is that what this meeting is all about this morning? You're delivering the lamb to the slaughter?"

"Smyth may want his shot at you, Mandy, but he won't get it. Lee will see to that. He's been watching your back all along, you know. From the first moment this protocol was even hinted at, he's moved heaven and earth to keep you out of Quidd's hands."

Mandy sighed. "Why are you telling me all this, Francine? Aren't you violating some sacrosanct Agency code?"

"A half-dozen of them, actually." She met Mandy's gaze straight on. "I guess I thought you needed to know that your life wasn't the only one that had been turned upside down by what Brimstone did. What you do with the information is, of course, your business." She cleared her throat. "Now, we really do need to get going, or I'll be looking for a new job sooner rather than later."

She reached for the ignition key, but Mandy's hand stopped her. "Thank you," she said simply.

"For what?"

"For being the only one honest enough to tell me what I needed to know. You're a good friend, Francine."

Francine returned her grim smile. For the first time, she actually felt like Amanda's friend as well as Lee's. Who said amnesia didn't have its benefits? "Come on, we'd better get going before Lee and Billy really do send out a posse."

ii

Jamie pushed his glasses back up on his nose and forced himself to focus on his medieval history text. There was something comforting in reading about things that had taken place centuries ago, he told himself as his concentration waned; unlike current events, their outcome was already assured. For a split second, he wished he was an old man, his life behind him, so he'd know once and for all how everything had played out.

He tried to read again, but it was no use; elaborate tales of fiefdoms and lords didn't seem particularly relevant at the moment. As he heard Phillip thunder down the stairs, he gave up entirely and tossed the book aside. "Hey, what're you doing?" he called as his brother disappeared into the living room without a word.

When Phillip didn't answer, Jamie bounced to his feet and jogged after him, only to find himself splayed out across the foyer floor.

"Hey, geek face," Phillip remarked as he helped Jamie up, "you'd better watch it. Your two left feet are showing again. I'm kinda surprised you haven't fallen overboard on that boat you and Lee are so crazy about sailing."

"Shut up, Phillip." Jamie brushed himself off. "Maybe if you didn't leave your junk everywhere . . ." Looking down, he retrieved the backpack with the words, "Indiana University" stitched across the back. It was stuffed to the gills with his brother's belongings.

"Give me that," Phillip said, snatching the bag from Jamie's hands.

Jamie's eyes widened behind his glasses. Mindful of Agent Henderson sitting at the kitchen table, he demanded in a low voice, "What are you up to now?"

"What does it look like?" His brother shot a quick glance over his shoulder then whispered, "I'm going back to school."

"But you can't. We're in protective custody."

"Prison, you mean." Phillip sneered.

"Okay, if that's what you want to call it, but—"

"Listen, dork breath, you saw what just happened in the kitchen a little while ago. If you think I'm gonna stay put and listen to that asshole go on and on about our new 'family,' you're crazier than I think you are."

"I'm not the one around here who's crazy," Jamie shot back. "Look, I don't like the guy any better than you do, but you still can't breach security."

Walking to the window, Phillip peered out. "Watch me."

Jamie pursed his lips and tried another approach. "You don't really think you're gonna get past all those agents, do you?

"I managed it yesterday. All it takes is a little imagination. Besides, it's so foggy out there you can't see your hand in front of your face. Perfect weather to disappear."

Jamie rubbed the back of his neck. "Lee will be really steamed when he finds out what you've done."

"So what else is new? He's always steamed at me for something. Why stop now?"

"You never give him much of a chance to be anything else. Besides, you can't go," he repeated stubbornly. "I still need your help here. You heard Stevenson this morning. We can't just let him waltz in and break up Mom and Lee—"

"You're such a baby, you know that?" Phillip muttered, searching the misty yard outside the window. "You still think we have any kind of say about what goes on in this family."

"Of course we do. I know Mom will listen if we just—"

"Dream on." Phillip turned to face him. "If Dad didn't listen when we told him we wanted to stay here with Grandma instead of changing schools and moving to Annapolis, what makes you think Mom will?"

"Dad never listens," Jamie began, "but Mom always takes our feelings into account."

"She used to, before she had amnesia. She doesn't even remember who we are at the moment—or who Lee is, for that matter. Dad's memories were perfectly intact, and look where that got us."

"But he was just trying to do what he thought was best. He was the custodial parent—"

"Yeah, I heard that bullshit from Grandma, too. I don't buy it." Phillip clenched his jaw. "We weren't babies—the courts would have listened to what we wanted. That is, if Grandma had cared enough to fight it."

Jamie shook his head. "So you're mad at her now, too?"

"Yes . . . no . . . I don't know." Phillip's scowl deepened, and he exhaled loudly. "Okay, maybe she thought she was doing what was best for us. Dad can be pretty persuasive when he wants to be. I can see her buying that crock about her 'getting on in years' and not being able to handle two teenagers." His features hardened. "But what about Lee? He wasn't exactly over the hill, but when Dad told him he couldn't see us, he didn't even give enough of a damn to fight it!"

Jamie frowned. "Who told you that?"

"It doesn't matter," Phillip murmured, looking away. "I just know what happened, that's all."

"Phillip—"

"Okay, okay." He pushed out a breath. "I overheard Dad and Carrie talking, right after we moved to Annapolis. About how relieved Lee was about the 'no visitation' rule Dad had imposed. He didn't want to see us, Jamie."

"That can't be true. You must have misunderstood."

"I didn't misunderstand a damn thing. But, hey, I don't expect you to take my word for it. That's why I never said anything to you about it."

Rage seemed to ripple through Phillip, and Jamie took a step back. What he'd overheard didn't make any sense, unless . . . "You know, Lee was in a pretty bad way that first year after Mom died. He could barely take care of himself, let alone anyone else."

"Yeah, well, what's his excuse now?"

"What do you mean?"

"I mean that he didn't want you to tell me Mom was alive, did he? That shows exactly how much he cares. Of course, what should I expect from the man who doesn't give a damn where I spend the Thanksgiving holiday?"

"But you told him you wouldn't come home for Thanksgiving unless hell froze over." Jamie looked at his brother peculiarly. Phillip was making even less sense than he usually did. "Look," he said, starting for the kitchen, "I'm gonna call Lee right now and clear all this up—"

"Like hell you will!" Dropping his backpack, Phillip grabbed Jamie's arm and jerked him back into the living room. "I know what I heard, and nothing Lee has to say will change my mind. Besides, he'd only deny it, anyway." He released his brother and ran both hands through his hair. "God, when I think how I idolized the guy, hung on his every word. Dad was right about him all along. We were just part of his game, and when Mom died, he didn't want any part of her excess baggage anymore—"

"That just doesn't wash," Jamie tried again. He hadn't seen his brother this upset since the night they'd heard the news about their mother's death. "If he didn't want us, why on earth would he have rearranged his life to let me live with him this year?"

"Because that's what everyone does for you, haven't you realized that by now? When Mom died, Grandma, Dad, Carrie—everyone—all they ever talked about was how this was going to affect you. Poor little Jamie, he's always been the sensitive one. No one gave a damn about how I was feeling. That day in the hospital, when Lee told us about their 'mystery marriage,' he kept looking at you the whole time."

"Phillip, you've somehow got this all screwed up in your head—"

"You're the one who's screwed up, pal, not me." His brother's eyes blazed. "Why can't you see Lee for the man he really is?"

Jamie raised his eyebrows knowingly. "Everyone makes mistakes, Phillip."

"God, you sound just like Grandma," Phillip snapped, anger radiating off him in hot waves. "Lee said that he was the one who talked Mom into keeping their marriage a secret. Does that sound like someone who intended to stick around for the long haul?"

"They kept their marriage a secret because of their jobs."

"Believe that, if it makes you feel better. It's really no skin off my nose." Scowling, he hefted his backpack to one shoulder. "I mean, if our own father didn't care enough to stick around when we were kids, then why should I have expected Lee to be any different?"

"But Phillip, all that stuff happened a long time ago. Now that Mom's alive, we have a chance to change everything, be a real family—"

"Bullshit. The story's already written, and we can't do a damn thing to change it."

"I don't know what you mean."

"I mean, free will is nothing but a load of crap. The ending to everything is already pre-determined."

Jamie's eyes widened. "Don't tell me you've actually been paying attention in philosophy class."

"Look at what happened to Mom and Lee," Phillip went on, oblivious to Jamie's remark. "He was supposed to be this big, hot-shot agent, but when it came right down to it, he couldn't even begin protect his own partner." His voice grew strained and his words came out rapidly. "So don't hand me this garbage about 'second chances' and rewriting the future. Life's a goddamned crapshoot, any way you slice it. The only thing any of us can do is to get the hell out the way and try not to get caught in the rubble."

Shoving his brother aside, Phillip yanked open the door. "See you, Junior," he spat out as he stepped outside. "Give my best to our mother and stepfather."

"Phillip, wait," Jamie cried, sprinting after him, "you can't—"

He never got the chance to finish his sentence. One masked man and then another seemed to materialize out of the fog, shoving their way though the door. Jamie found himself slammed up against the wall. The last thing he saw as he lost consciousness was his brother's limp body slumped across the intruder's shoulder.

iii

Lee paced a restless path around Billy's office. As the minute hand on the wall clock pushed ever downward past nine o'clock, his level of panic rose incrementally. "Where the hell are they, Billy?" he grumbled, any pretense of patience in shambles.

"Traffic, probably," was Melrose's stoic reply. "Not everyone drives like a bat out of hell, you know."

"Even in that Italian rattletrap Francine calls a car, they should have been here by now."

Billy laughed. "You're a fine one to talk. That Porsche you drive isn't much better. Buy American. It's more patriotic."

"No sale, Billy. You're not going to derail me by starting that discussion again." Lee's eyes narrowed. "They're late, any way you slice it."

Billy let out a loud sigh. "As Francine loves to remind anyone who'll listen, she's a highly trained, highly capable agent."

"Even the best agents run into the unexpected sometimes," he countered. "Isn't that what you're always saying?"

"Lee, if you were so worried about Francine's abilities, you should have brought Amanda yourself."

"I would have, but . . ." He worked his fingers into the tight muscles of his neck. "I wasn't exactly given that option."

Billy's eyes followed the flash of gold on his hand. "I see you're wearing your ring again."

"Yeah, well . . ." He hunched his shoulders. "Phillip kind of blew the lid off our little ruse last night."

"I read the morning briefing from the security team," Billy informed him.

Lee made a face. "Stan must have been scribbling fast and furious."

"You know as well as I do that the recording agent has a duty to report anything pertinent to the case," Billy shot back. "Agent Henderson was discreet. His report stated basic facts, nothing more."

"I suppose that's something to be thankful for." Lee didn't relish the thought of Dr. Smyth reading the intimate details of his latest troubles, especially the conversation this morning. Although what had happened earlier was probably sizzling through the intelligence community grapevine by now; no matter how circumspect the security teams, there would be no stopping the gossip. His discussion with Amanda hadn't exactly been quiet.

Billy seemed to read his mind. "Jeannie tells me I'm a pretty good listener, if you feel like talking."

"Not much to say. Amanda's mad as hell that I lied to her, and we're through. End of story."

Concern shadowed his friend's face. "Lee—"

"Sorry, but if you don't mind, I'd rather not sift through the rubble of my marriage right now, okay?" He paced another circle around the room. "Where is Smyth, anyway? I thought at least he would be on time for the ritual burning at the stake. I'm sure he's been looking forward to the thrill of lighting the first match."

"I told you I'd take care of Smyth."

"You'd better, Billy, because if you don't, I will."

"Watch yourself, Scarecrow. You won't be able to help Amanda from a holding cell."

"Smyth can take a flying leap off a short pier, for all I care. It doesn't matter what he says. I won't let Quidd touch one hair—"

As Francine cleared her throat, Lee looked up. She'd paused somewhat inelegantly in mid-stride and now waited half-in, half-out of Billy's office with Amanda by her side, her brown eyes open wide.

"Don't you believe in knocking anymore, Francine?" Billy asked, his gaze darting from Lee to Amanda with a worried frown.

"Sorry." Francine's cheeks actually colored at the awkwardness of the situation. "Mrs. Marsten wasn't at her desk, so we thought . . ."

"Yes, well . . ." Billy harrumphed. "Mavis called in sick this morning. I guess she finally succumbed to that cold bug that's been making the rounds." Billy leaned heavily on the back of his chair. "I think I may be catching it myself."

"You should boil a grapefruit, sir," Amanda offered. "It works wonders."

Lee looked at her strangely. "Who told you that?"

She shrugged. "Just something I heard, I suppose. What difference does it make?"

"Your mother swears by that recipe. She's the only person I know who thinks eating the mushy pulp of a hot grapefruit can actually cure a cold." He shuddered at the memory. Unfortunately, Dotty thought her homemade remedy was a cure-all for any number of ills, real or imagined.

Amanda scrunched her forehead into a frown. "Do you think I remembered that?"

"It's possible." He turned to Melrose. "Billy, I think we should have Claudia in for a consult, as soon as possible. If Amanda is starting to remember something, that's one more bit of ammunition."

Billy nodded his agreement. "It's definitely worth a try. Francine, see if Dr. Joyce is in the building."

A look of understanding seemed to pass between Amanda and Francine as the latter quitted the room. "Sir," Amanda said, stepping forward, "if Dr. Joyce thinks it will help, maybe we could try hypnosis again."

"Hypnosis is merely a tinker toy, boys and girls." A heavy silence descended as Dr. Smyth entered the room, the white-coated Dr. Quidd in tow. "As I told you last night, Melrose, it's time to play with a larger erector set."

Harlan Quidd stepped forward and offered his hand. "Hello, Amanda. Or would you prefer me to call you Mandy?"

"I'd prefer that you get the hell out of here and leave her alone, Quidd," Lee said, stepping protectively between them.

"Your solicitude is touching, Scarecrow, especially in light of the latest development with Mrs. Scarecrow, here." There was a cold menace behind Smyth's words. "But it's wearing thin on my already jagged nerves."

"Listen, Smyth—"

"No, you listen. You're too close to the situation, always were. That's why we're in this predicament now. But I'm not heartless. If it's too much for you, our friend Quidd here will put you out for a few days, until it's over." Smyth smiled, showing a row of highly polished teeth. "In fact, I'd take great pleasure in making that an order."

"That's enough, Austin." Coming around in front of his desk, Billy straightened his tie, adjusted his suit coat and flexed his neck. "Nobody's putting anyone out around here."

"Says who, Billy my boy?" The words were teasing, but the tone beneath them was anything but.

"Says the President of the United States." Billy thrust an official-looking document beneath the old man's nose. "I have a signed order from President Bush giving the State Department and me, as its liaison to the Agency, complete authority over treatment in this case."

"Poppycock, Melrose. I'm still the chief around here. Harlan, she's all yours."

Lee pushed Amanda behind him. "Over my dead body, Quidd."

Dr. Quidd took a quick step backward and hastily turned toward Billy. "May I see that paper?"

"Absolutely," he agreed, with a confident smile. "I trust you'll find everything in order, Harlan."

Dr. Quidd expelled a deep breath as he perused the paper, whether from relief or annoyance, it was impossible to tell. When at length Quidd nodded and handed back the paper, Lee shot Billy a grateful look. He'd been as good as his word; he'd stopped Smyth dead in his tracks. But he couldn't help but wonder what kind of limb his friend had straddled to achieve it, and what might happen to them all if that limb were to break.

Smyth's thoughts were obviously traveling in the same direction. "This may be check, Melrose," he said, taking no pains to mask his hostility, "but it's not checkmate—not by a long shot. The winds may well blow the President's advisors in another direction next week, and where will that leave you?" He smiled thinly. "Ta ta 'til then. You'd better pray that Mrs. Scarecrow here has a miraculous breakthrough—pronto."

Quidd shrugged his shoulders as he followed Smyth from the room, and Lee turned to Billy. "Is he right, do you think?"

"I don't know. The polls say it could go either way."

"Excuse me," Amanda put in, a flash of annoyance in her voice. "But could someone please tell me what's going on? That's the most confusing man I've ever met. Extremely rude, as well."

Lee smiled gloomily. "That's our Dr. Smyth. We're concerned about the election, Amanda. Smyth is intimating that the results may have some influence over whether or not Billy remains in charge of this case."

She furrowed her brow. "How?"

"Smyth probably feels he'll have more leverage to influence the President's advisors. A lame duck president certainly has a lot less to lose." He shot Billy a glance. "I suppose he was also implying that he could have your job as well."

"You let me worry about that. We've won a short reprieve—let's make the most of it." He looked from Lee to Amanda. "I think a follow-up conversation with Harlan Quidd might be in order—just to make certain Smyth doesn't have anything else up his sleeve. If you two will excuse me . . ."

As Billy hurried from the room, Amanda turned away, focusing her attention on the desk with unaccustomed zeal.

Lee followed her with his eyes. "Subtlety never was his strong suit," he said, with a sigh.

"Yeah." She picked up a small paperweight, idly transferring it from her right hand to her left. She started to speak then paused, as if searching for something to say. "I guess I've been so befuddled that I'd almost forgotten that there was an election coming up."

Lee looked down at the carpet. "I know what you mean. Sometimes it's hard to believe that, despite our personal problems, there's an actual world wagging on out there. Amanda . . ." Lifting his eyes, he caught her awkward gaze. "How's your headache?"

"I'd actually forgotten all about it. Maybe that's the cure the doctors have been searching for—pure terror." She smiled faintly. "Too bad they can't bottle it, huh?"

Lee grinned. "I've never thought of Dr. Smyth as the cure for a headache. More often than not, he's been the cause of mine."

"I can well imagine." Biting her lip, she stepped closer to him. "Lee, about what happened earlier, at the house . . ."

"Yes?" he prodded, drawing a tight rein on his emotions. He'd already let them run loose enough for one morning.

"I didn't mean to sound, well, ungrateful. And I just wanted you to know that . . ." She swallowed hard.

"Know what, Amanda?" Despite his resolution to keep himself in check, he couldn't help but feel a surge of hope.

"That I really appreciate everything you've done for Jamie," she finished in a rush.

"Francine has a big mouth," he muttered, ducking his head. "You don't have to thank me. He's a great kid. I'm going to miss him when . . . well, I'm going to miss him," he finished.

"You mean if . . ." Her brown eyes misted as her words trailed off, and she made a great show of studying the carpet.

"Yes," Lee said, with a sigh. It was obvious she hadn't thought past the present crisis to the next step. But she would, and soon. And then she would go on with her life. If they didn't stop Brimstone and she had to go into witness protection, he might never see Jamie again. Or Annie and Phillip, for that matter. If push came to shove, could he let go of his family all over again and not lose his sanity for good this time? He didn't know.

"Lee, look at me."

Frowning, he reluctantly complied. Even without her memory, she still could read him far too well.

"No matter what happens between us," she said in a halting voice, "the boys and Annie are your children. I would never keep them from you, don't you know that? We'll work something out."

"I suppose we will," he said, with a sigh. Hearing her actually admit that there would be visitation arrangements to work out filled him with an ineffable sadness. "I just wish . . ." He clamped down on his emotions and let his words trail off. There was no room in his life for 'might-have-been's; reality was more than enough to deal with at the moment.

Amanda started to say something, but Francine's entrance cut her off. "Where's Billy?" she demanded, her blue eyes frantically searching the room.

"What's happened?" Lee countered, his body stiffening. Francine's expression bore no resemblance to the coolly detached professional he knew so well.

"I need to find Billy," she said, avoiding his gaze.

A cold feeling grew in Lee's stomach, not unlike what he'd felt that night by the Anacostia River, five long years ago. "Don't keep us in the dark," he ordered, automatically reaching for Amanda's hand. "If Smyth has found a way around the presidential order, I think we have a right to know."

"No, it's not . . ." Her eyes swept over Amanda before resting on his, as if debating how much she information she should divulge. When he nodded, she stepped forward and spoke in a clipped voice. "I was down in the bullpen looking for Claudia when this came over the emergency wire." She handed Lee the paper but her eyes were glued to Amanda. "It's a police report from Arlington. Shots were fired on Maplewood Drive. We have at least one agent down."

"Annie . . . the boys . . ." Her hand clenched around his as she choked down a sob.

Lee turned to Francine, his heart stopping for a moment as he asked the question his wife couldn't quite voice. "What happened to the kids?"

Francine glanced grimly at Amanda then shook her head. "I'm sorry, Lee. The children—all of them—they're gone."