Part IV

'Gone like a frightened bird

Into the sky

Won't you take everything I ever had

And leave me to die

As I cry holy tears . . .'

--12--

i

The steel-gray afternoon sky threatened rain. It had turned unexpectedly cold at mid-day, and gusts of wind blew intermittently through the yard of the small house on Maplewood Drive. Standing at the French doors in the den, Mandy followed the flight of the last autumn leaves as they were torn reluctantly from the trees. Despite the blustery weather, softer images pushed into her mind . . . of snow melting into sparkling pools of water . . . of tiny leaves budding from the frigid earth . . . of the unending cycle of new life.

It was from a book, she realized with sigh; the one she'd read to Annie when old Mrs. Schuster had finally passed on. But the peaceful images the story engendered seemed ludicrous now. You could explain loss all you wanted to, drag out all the pretty words, but until you felt it in your very core, it was simply rhetoric. This awful pain, like a thousand knives slicing through her gut, must have been what Lee had experienced five years ago. My God, how had he survived it? No wonder he'd sought refuge in pills and alcohol. At the moment, Mandy would welcome such oblivion herself.

She glanced over her shoulder to where he still sat slumped on the couch, his blank eyes staring at nothing in particular. No doubt the words Francine Desmond had uttered a few short hours ago were playing over and over in his mind, just as they were in hers . . . gone . . . gone . . . gone.

She supposed in different circumstances she should have been able to take some small measure of comfort in their shared heartache. This man was her husband, after all. But instead of drawing them closer together, their loss only served to drive them further apart. Would it be any different if Brad was the one here with her instead of Lee? Or was this particular type of torment just too personal to be shared with anyone?

Hugging herself, she wandered restlessly from room to room. The Agency had commandeered the dining room for their command center, and agents scurried about, some setting up a bank of phones, some carting in boxes of files, while still others swept for hidden listening devices. Mr. Melrose nodded curtly to each one in turn; Mandy watched the unspoken communication pass between them, like some kind of bizarre agent shorthand. Had there really been a time when she, too, had understood it?

Turning away, she drifted back into the den. The cheery décor that had become so familiar to her over the past few days did nothing to diminish the grief arcing through her. She could certainly understand why her mother had fled this house for another country. She would never again think of these rooms without the ghastly images they conjured . . . the bodies of men sworn to protect her drooped in the vans outside, Brad's unconscious form sprawled incongruously on the stairs, the vacant eyes of the slain agent, Stan Henderson, staring up at her from the kitchen floor, the bullet hole in his forehead a gaping third eye. Lee was right—she should have waited in the car until the ghastly trail had been swept clean.

"Scarecrow . . . Mandy."

She jumped at the sound of Billy Melrose's voice. He was all business, as evidenced by the way he addressed Lee. She wondered absently if it was a defense mechanism, a way to distance himself from the horror of his job. No wonder they all had code names—they couldn't survive without them.

"Billy." Lee's voice rasped from somewhere off to her left; he'd evidently abandoned the couch at long last. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw him rotate his head to relieve the tension in his neck. "You have news?"

The agent's eyes wore a bleak, weary look. "It's a mixed bag."

"The lab report," Lee choked out. "Was it—"

"It was conclusive. The blood on the scene belonged only to agents Henderson and Ripley. That means the children—"

"—could still be alive," Lee finished, his sigh of relief audible. "Thank God." He squared his shoulders, all business now, as if an invisible switch had been turned on inside him. "Has the field team finished the initial assessment?"

"Yes. Preliminary data suggests that they hit the house sometime between nine and ten this morning." Melrose paced as he ticked off the facts. "The outside teams were neutralized with nerve gas filtered through the venting system on the vans. Most likely they never knew what hit them."

Lee scowled. "And they most likely didn't see anything, either."

Melrose nodded. "Dr. Stevenson was shot with some kind of tranquilizer gun, but our inside team was taken out by 9mm carbines equipped with silencers." He expelled a long breath. "Scarecrow, the bullets had the same distinctive markings as the ones used on you that night in Anacostia. Similar bullet casings were also found in the rubble of your house in Michigan, Mandy."

Lee's expression grew even grimmer. "Brimstone's left their calling card."

"I'm afraid so." He paused. "But why take out Henderson and Ripley? Simply to make a grisly statement?"

Lee's eyes narrowed. "More to the point—why go to the trouble of leaving Stevenson alive?"

Snapping out of her fog of anguish, Mandy spun toward Lee and grabbed his arm. "Wait a minute. Surely you don't think that Brad had something to do with this?"

"I don't think anything," he told her as he shook off her hand. "I know that we have two agents down while your . . . your fiancé . . . was left unharmed." The word "fiancé" came out as little more than a snarl.

"I'd hardly say that he's unharmed," Mandy volleyed back. "The paramedics wheeled him out of here on a stretcher and loaded him into an ambulance."

"Yeah," Lee snorted. "Pretty convenient, don't you think?"

"We don't know what to think at this stage of the game, Scarecrow," Billy interposed, attempting to deflate the rapidly escalating argument. "And we won't, not until we can question him."

"Exactly my point, Billy. Why are we sitting around here, twiddling our thumbs, instead of finding out what he knows?"

Melrose's two bushy eyebrows became one. "And how would you suggest we accomplish that? The man's still unconscious."

"Then we should damn well wake him up," Lee growled.

The weary agent shook his head. "You know as well as I do that unless the doctors can determine what was used on him, a counter-agent could have potentially disastrous side-effects."

"Damn it, Billy!" Lee pounded his fist against the wall. "Every minute we waste, the trail only grows colder. We have to act before it's too late."

"Then maybe you should concentrate on someone who really knows something," Mandy's eyes flashed, "instead of persecuting an innocent man."

"Oh, yeah?" Anger sparked in his voice as Lee glowered at her. "And who exactly would that be?"

"Don't you think it's a little coincidental that all this happened right after we left the house this morning?" She looked to Mr. Melrose, her brown eyes widening. "Who knew that we were going to the Agency, sir?"

Melrose frowned as he considered the ramifications of her question. "You're suggesting that it could be an inside job."

"I think it makes logical sense."

"Yes," he started to pace again, "you may have a point. Only a handful of people knew you'd be out of the house. Dr. Smyth and the two agents who were on duty last night, Henderson and Ripley—"

"Both of whom are dead," Lee pointed out harshly.

"Francine, of course," Billy continued, ignoring Lee's outburst, "and my assistant, Mavis Marsten. Not a very likely list of suspects, I'm afraid."

"Yeah," Lee sneered, "I'm sure we'd glean a wealth of information from grilling Francine. The names of the top French designers would come in particularly handy."

"We've thrown a pretty tight security blanket over this case, I'm afraid," Melrose said, the gentleness of his tone ameliorating his thunderous glare at Lee.

Mandy shrugged. "It was just a thought . . ."

"A good one, Mandy, definitely worth pursing. Sometimes the most unlikely sources can provide just the break you need. You and Scarecrow have certainly proven that enough times in the past." He held up his hand as Lee stepped forward. "I'll authorize a team to question everyone who had knowledge of this morning's meeting."

Lee looked at him, a smug smile tugging at his lips. "You know, Billy, I'm beginning to think you could be on the right track after all."

"I'm glad you agree, Scarecrow," Melrose snapped.

"Oh, I do. And there's one more person who should be on your short list of possible suspects, a person who not only knew where we were going to be this morning, but has also known our whereabouts every step of the way since this whole mess began."

"Who?" Mandy asked eagerly.

"Stevenson, of course." Lee's eyes blazed as he sent her a twisted smile. "Your lover."

Mandy bristled as he spat out the last word. "You have no right to—"

"To interfere in your love-life? Yeah, you've made that pretty clear. But when it puts my children in jeopardy—"

"You act like you have a monopoly on pain! You're not the only one who's lost—"

"Stop this, both of you," Melrose barked, his words ringing through the small den. "This sniping isn't doing anyone any good—least of all Phillip, Jamie and Annie. We need to examine every possible scenario if we're going to have a prayer of finding them."

Mandy managed a tense smile as she backed away from Lee. "I'm sorry, sir. You're right."

"Then you need to question Stevenson as well as everyone else," Lee insisted, anger still seeping through his words. "He knew we were going to be out of the house this morning. And he had more than enough motive and opportunity to engineer a kidnapping with his buddies at Brimstone."

"That's ridiculous." Mounting fury caused her voice to quiver uncontrollably. "Brad would never hurt Annie. He loves her like a fa—"

Melrose coughed as a look of raw anguish flashed through Lee's eyes. Swallowing the word she'd almost uttered, Mandy took a shaky step forward. "Lee, I didn't mean—"

He turned away. "You said we needed to explore every avenue," he told Billy, speaking as if Melrose was the only person in the room. "Brimstone has my children. If we wait for Stevenson to wake up from his beauty sleep on his own, it may very well be too late for them."

Melrose hesitated as he looked from Lee to Mandy. "Okay," he said, after a beat. "I'll send Claudia Joyce over to Parker General Hospital to assess Dr. Stevenson's medical situation. If she okays it—and I do mean if," he reiterated, shooting a warning at Lee, "then I'll authorize the counter-agent."

"Thanks, Billy, you won't regret it."

He shot a quick glance at Mandy's face. "I already do," he murmured as he headed back to the command center.

Turning away from Lee, Mandy walked over to the French doors once again. The storm gathering in the distance had caused the sky to darken considerably. As the beginnings of a headache began to throb through her, she pressed her fingers to her temples. "I hope you're proud of yourself," she muttered as the pain began to pulse rapidly, in time to her heartbeat. "You've coerced Mr. Melrose into risking the life of an innocent man."

The sound of restless footsteps striking the floor behind her abruptly quieted. "Innocence is a matter of opinion in this case, I guess."

"Yes, I suppose it is." She glanced at him over her shoulder. "What makes you so certain that he's guilty?"

A small muscle twitched in Lee's jaw. "What makes you so damned sure that he's not?"

"Because I know Bradley Stevenson. He's a good man who's devoted his life to caring for others less fortunate."

"A ringing endorsement, if ever I heard one. Tell me, has he also pledged himself to single-handedly alleviate the suffering of starving children in a third world nation? That seems to be your type, after all."

Clenching her fingers into tight fists, she turned the rest of the way, so there would be no chance he'd mistake the look in her eyes. "I know because Brad Stevenson doesn't lie to me," she said, slowly and distinctly.

Lee took a small step back. The pain of her verbal blow flashed across his face again, but only for an instant. The next moment he stiffened and regarded her with barely concealed contempt. "The bedroom's no barometer for the truth," he stated coldly. "You can't absolve Stevenson from suspicion simply because you're sleeping with him."

"Go to hell, Stetson," she spat out, her anger at last rippling freely through every word.

"You're too late." He raised an eyebrow as he met her steely gaze. "Where do you think I've been for the past five years, Amanda?"

Mandy turned back to the window. She sensed rather than heard Lee quit the room, and gritted her teeth as the pulses in her head began to beat with the strength of sledgehammers. She tried to breathe slowly and rhythmically, the way Brad had taught her, but this time even the shallowest breath seemed to make the pounding worse. She longed for the comfort of strong arms around her to lessen the pain, but whose arms she couldn't quite decide. All she knew for certain was the stinging ache of loneliness as it swept through her. She wanted Annie, she wanted her sons, she wanted . . .

Thunder boomed suddenly in the distance as, outside, the first fat drops of rain began to fall.

ii

His first hint of returning awareness was the smell of rotten eggs. The second was the raspy voice rattling in his ear. "Jamie . . . Jamie . . ."

The sound vibrated through him, and he groaned softly. "Jamie," the grating noise persisted, "Wake up!"

"Leave me alone," he muttered groggily. "I can sleep a little longer. It's not time for school yet."

"Come on, Jamie . . ." The plea was desperate this time, accompanied by a gentle shake. "Please . . . wake up."

With a monumental effort, he opened first one eye, then the other. His vision blurred for a moment then slowly his brother's face came into focus.

Phillip was staring down at him, his forehead crinkled into a worried frown. "Thank God you're awake," he said, his relief evident. "I was beginning to think you were out for the count."

He sat up and blinked, shaking his head in an attempt to clear the fog from his mind. "It's okay," Phillip reassured him as he swayed woozily. "I was kinda out of it at first, too. It'll get better in a few minutes."

Jamie gingerly patted the back of his skull where a large goose-egg had formed. "Ouch," he grumbled, "that hurts."

"I think you must have hit your head. Maybe that's why it took you longer to come out of it. You'll be okay."

"Yeah, well, excuse me if I don't take the word of the guy who got a 'D' in biology." Jamie stood and carefully tested his legs. When they seemed to hold his weight, he sighed in relief and looked to his brother. "Phillip, what happened to us?"

"I don't know. The last thing I remember, I was charging out the front door and then . . . bam! It was like I ran smack into a brick wall. Next thing I knew, I woke up in here."

Licking his dry lips, Jamie gazed at their surroundings with bewildered eyes. They were in a small room painted entirely white—ceiling, walls, floor, everything. There were no windows; one bare light bulb hung from the ceiling, giving off a stark glow. No furniture, either, save for the three small cots lined up perpendicular to the wall. On the bed in the farthest corner his sister's tiny form was curled into a tight ball. "Annie," he whispered harshly. "Is she . . .?"

"She's all right, for now," Phillip said. "At least, I think she is."

Bracing himself against the wall, Jamie staggered over to her bed. He gently smoothed a strand of hair from Annie's forehead, the way he'd seen his mother do numerous times over the past few days. The little girl murmured something unintelligible but didn't stir. "I guess you're right," he murmured doubtfully. "It looks like she'll be okay."

"That's what I told you," Phillip announced, as if saying it would make it so.

Jamie rolled his eyes. "Where the hell are we, anyway? And why does it smell so bad in here?" he asked, pinching his nose.

"I haven't got a clue. I just woke up myself a little while ago."

Jamie took a second look around, assessing his surroundings this time the way Lee always did whenever he entered unfamiliar territory. The stark white paint gave the room a sterile feel, and there was that awful odor . . . It reminded him of his school field trip to the Annapolis Research Center the previous winter. Could they be in some kind of laboratory facility?

"Do you remember hearing anything at all, Phillip?"

His brother shook his head. "Just odd, disconnected stuff—dogs barking and something that sounded like a siren." Phillip massaged his forehead. "But that doesn't make any sense, so it was probably just a nightmare."

"This whole thing is a nightmare. Phillip . . ." Jamie swallowed hard. "What do you suppose they're going to do with us?"

His brother expelled a loud breath, pushed off his cot and began to pace. "Well, I don't think they brought us here to throw us a surprise party, worm brain."

"I wonder how long we've been here," he murmured as he looked down at his wrist. The spot where his watch should have been was conspicuously bare.

"Yeah, they took mine, too. But it's gotta be late afternoon, or early evening, at least."

Jamie tilted his head. "How do you figure that?"

"My gut." Phillip grinned sheepishly. "I guess it's kind of a minor point at a time like this, but I'm really hungry."

As if on cue, Jamie's stomach growled. "Yeah, I know what you mean." He glanced over at Annie. "I guess maybe it's a good thing she's still out of it, huh?"

In the next instant, as the door burst open, Jamie decided that it was a very good thing indeed that Annie was still sleeping. A man stood in the doorframe, his bulky body all but filling the space.

The brothers exchanged a look. "Ah, hello, there," Phillip said, hiding his nerves behind his usual impertinence.

As the man grunted, Jamie was reminded of the ogre in the storybook he'd been reading to Annie. Their visitor certainly looked the part as well. His shoulders were so massive that they actually touched the sides of the doorway, and his arms resembled stubby tree trunks. His thick, shoulder-length hair was pulled back into a ponytail and looked as if it could stand a good washing. The large hand that gripped his massive gun sported some kind of tattoo that disappeared beneath the sleeve of his shirt. The starched white coat he wore was in total contrast to his general disarray.

"So, can we do something for you?" Phillip asked when the man remained eerily silent.

"Yeah, you can come with me."

"Why? What do you want with us?" Though Phillip managed to keep his voice his voice even, Jamie noted that the words came out a half-octave higher than usual.

"Come on," the man ordered again, this time waving the gun for emphasis.

Jamie started to step forward, when he felt Phillip's hand grip his shoulder. "We're not going anywhere with you until you tell us who you are and what you want with us." This time, his brother's voice sounded normal—almost.

The tattooed giant cocked his gun and aimed it at Jamie's forehead. "Right now," he commanded, his scowl deepening.

Jamie tried to swallow but he had no saliva. "I think I'd better do as he says."

"Yeah, I think you're right," Phillip croaked.

As Jamie moved, the large man shook his head. "Not you," he said, turning the gun on Phillip. "You . . . the one with smart mouth. Let's go."

Phillip took a tiny step forward, his cocky assurance evaporating as he stared down the barrel of the gun. "You'll behave yourself," the man told Phillip, waving his hand around the room, "if you want to see them keep on breathing."

Phillip smiled weakly and nodded. "Maybe he just wants to talk to me or something," he muttered to Jamie.

"Yeah, sure. It'll be fine." Jamie wasn't sure who he was trying to reassure—himself or his brother. Despite Phillip's earlier show of bravado, his complexion was deathly pale.

Jamie watched helplessly as his brother crossed slowly to their captor. The big man handcuffed him and tossed a hood over his head. "Watch yourself, worm brain," he cautioned as the man shoved him roughly through the door.

Jamie's heart hammered in his chest. "Phillip, don't do anything . . . stupid," he finished to the closed door.

iii

From his position on the couch, Lee kept one eye on Amanda's stiff back as she stood at the window and one ear on the Agency team manning the command center in the dining room. So far, there was nothing to report from either front—Amanda hadn't moved and Brimstone hadn't called. At this rate, the entire evening would turn out to be nothing short of a monumental exercise in aggravation.

His wife's mounting frustration was evident. As the day dragged on and no ransom demands from Brimstone were forthcoming, Amanda's posture seemed to grow even more rigid. The increasingly inclement weather only added to the overall strain. The sheeting rain had all but obliterated the already waning light. According to the CSN weather report, another front was moving through the area, and they were predicting the storms would get worse before they were over. Flood warnings had been issued for the low-lying areas, and it wouldn't fare well with anyone caught outside. He could only pray that, wherever they were, the children were warm and dry. Little Annie had such a slight frame; it wouldn't take much for her to catch . . .

Though he immediately clamped his mind shut against such a dismal prognosis, a chill swept through him. "Catch your death." The phrase that his mother-in-law tossed about in casual conversation took on a more sinister implication, one he refused to acknowledge. They would recover Phillip, Jamie and Annie, alive and unharmed. Any other outcome was simply unacceptable.

"Do you know what time is it?"

He started at the sound of Amanda's voice; she hadn't spoken directly to him since their harsh exchange earlier in the day. "I asked what time it was," she repeated, when he sat there, staring at her like a fool.

Lee consulted at his watch. "Uh, it's almost five."

"Thanks." She jerked her head at the antique clock on the bookshelf. "That thing stopped a few hours ago."

"Oh, yeah. I guess I didn't wind it fully the last time."

As she turned away, he rose stiffly and walked to the bookshelf, carefully opening the face of old clock Dotty had brought home from her first trip to Switzerland. It was an ornate monstrosity that still needed to be wound with a key every eighth day. When Lee had teased her about not purchasing one of the cuckoo clocks the Swiss were so famous for, she'd merely smiled and informed him that this one suited her just fine. The last thing she needed was some brightly-painted wooden bird reminding her every hour on the hour how crazy her life had become.

Crossing back to the couch, he lowered himself down and tried to find a comfortable position. The newly wound timepiece ticked off the seconds, calling even more attention to the silent phone. This was the part of the job he hated—the endless waiting. Though his current administrative position kept him out of the line of fire much of the time, there was a part of him that still longed for the action of the field and probably always would. His body appeared to be in agreement; the enforced inactivity had caused his leg to ache fiercely.

Then again, maybe the pain was his penance for his the way he'd treated Amanda this morning. He'd certainly behaved like a first-class jackass. The nagging little voice in the back of his head—the one he listened to in his more lucid moments—kept urging him to apologize. Even Billy, who was usually his staunchest ally, had been disgusted by his behavior. Why couldn't he put his animosity toward Amanda's lover aside long enough to give her the support and comfort she so obviously needed? Their children were missing, for God's sake; at a time like this, nothing else should matter.

His gaze traveled once again to where Amanda stood by the French doors, a stiffly silent sentinel. It was almost as if, by keeping watch, she could force the kids to materialize on the lawn. Her mouth, set in an angry slash, was so different from last night's yielding softness. Was it really less than twenty-four hours since they'd been together in his bedroom? Since he'd held her in his arms, felt the arousing brush of her lips across his body? To have her there beside him had been nothing short of a dream-come-true. How often had he longed for her presence to fill the cold, empty hours of the night? Closing his eyes with a sigh, Lee forced his mind back to happier times.

"I'm not sure how much more of this I can take."

He bolted upright under her scrutiny, thankful for the moment that mind-reading was not one of his wife's many talents.

"Mr. Melrose went to the hospital over three hours ago," she continued, her frown deepening. "Shouldn't we have heard something by now?"

"You can't just snap your fingers and get information, Amanda." He shifted uncomfortably. "These things take time."

She regarded him coldly over her shoulder. "Yes, I imagine torture is rarely accomplished in the split of a second."

"Billy will make sure Claudia takes things slowly," he said evenly, keeping the fresh wave of jealousy at bay with an effort. "That's why he went to supervise Stevenson's interrogation himself."

"So you're finally willing to admit it, then?"

"Admit what?" he asked, the edge to her voice making him decidedly uncomfortable.

She turned to face him. "That what you've insisted on putting Brad through is nothing short of an interrogation."

"It's just an expression. A class 'C' interrogation isn't bad at all. It's a soft questioning, with lots of hand-holding and gentle prodding." He quirked an eyebrow at her. "Actually, you used to be pretty damned good at it."

She shook her head slowly. "It seems so strange to think that once I used to be . . ."

"A spy?" he supplied, his lips curving into a cheerless smile.

She snorted softly. "I thought you preferred 'intelligence operative.'"

Lee shrugged. "Somehow it doesn't seem to make a helluva lot of difference at the moment."

"I know what you mean." Her eyes drifted toward the dining room. "Why do you think we haven't heard anything from Brimstone?"

He pushed up off the sofa and began to pace, favoring his bad leg ever so slightly. "Because they want to make us sweat."

"Yeah, well . . ." She caught Lee's eye. "It's working."

"I know." He glanced at the half-empty food tray on the kitchen counter. The surveillance team had eaten earlier, but Amanda had stubbornly refused to partake. "You really should try to put something in your stomach."

"I can't, Lee." She wrapped her arms tightly around herself. "I feel like there's a knife in my stomach."

"It won't do the kids any good if you pass out. You need fuel to keep you on your feet."

"Okay, okay. I'll try."

She let out a deep sigh as she trailed reluctantly after him. Before she could change her mind, he quickly fixed two plates and brought them to the table. "You really will feel better," he said, in response to her doubtful look. "Trust me."

They ate in silence. Outside, fat raindrops continued to smack the windowpanes, but inside, the kitchen was bathed in a warm glow. Someone had thoughtfully removed a few of the light bulbs from the hanging fixture, softening the bright light. Francine, perhaps? No, that wasn't her modus operandi; it was more in line with what Amanda would think to do on stakeout.

Unfortunately, the altered ambiance wasn't having much effect on their appetites. The tension in his gut gave the food a tinny taste, much like the mess hall grub at the many Air Force bases where he'd grown up. Amanda appeared to be having an equally hard time. He watched with a frown as she broke tiny pieces of bread off the edges of her sandwich and made a great show of consuming them. If only he could get her to relax, even for just a little bit . . .

"Um, Amanda," he began haltingly. "There's something I've wanted to ask you about, if you don't mind."

She raised her big brown eyes to his. "What?"

"It's about Annie." He massaged the back of his neck. "I know this probably isn't a great time, but I've got a million questions."

She smiled softly. "No, it's okay. For some strange reason, I think it might help to talk about her. Make things seem more—"

"Normal. Yeah, I know." He let out a long breath. "Her birth . . . was it . . . were you . . .?"

Amanda smiled. "It was a piece of cake. Annie was born in the middle of the night. I practically slept through it."

"I guess that's good, huh?"

She chuckled. "That's very good. I think I set some kind of record for the shortest labor that night—I remember the nurse saying that the woman in the next room had been at it for ten hours."

"I'm glad you didn't have to go through anything like that."

"Me, too. I was scared enough, being there all alone—it would have been much worse if it had lasted for hours."

"I'm really sorry you had to do that by yourself, Amanda." Though he meant every word, there was still a small part of him that was secretly glad she hadn't shared the intimacy of Annie's birth with Brad Stevenson. "So everything was okay with her, then?" he asked, when she didn't respond.

Amanda smiled to herself. "She was absolutely perfect."

"I'm glad. After everything that happened to you, I was afraid maybe . . ."

"I was, too, at first. Even though the doctors assured me that the ultrasounds looked fine, I didn't really believe them until I saw her for myself—my own tiny miracle."

"I guess she was, at that," he murmured thoughtfully.

"Annie was just determined to come into this world, I guess. I almost miscarried twice—once early on in the hospital, then later, after I'd settled in Harrisville. But in the end, she was only a couple of weeks early, as closely as the doctors could estimate. I didn't know any dates, you see . . ."

"August," he said huskily. "Joe took the boys on a trip, and your mother went to visit her sister in Rhode Island. We got to play Mr. and Mrs. Stetson for an entire week."

"Did we stay here . . .?"

"No, we went to the mountains. There were too many prying eyes in this town, and we'd never really had a honeymoon." He felt his body flush with warmth at the memory. "August thirteenth was our sixth month anniversary."

She smiled. "Seems appropriate."

He smiled back. "Yeah, that's what you said when I suggested the trip." As Amanda shifted in her seat, he let his eyes rest on a spot just over her shoulder. "Tell me, why did you name her Annie?"

She gave a funny half-laugh. "I don't know. When the nurse brought in the birth certificate, it just kind of popped out. Actually, her full name is Lois Anne. Not exactly run-of-the-mill, is it?"

"Not really. But then nothing about you was ever 'run-of-the-mill,' Amanda."

She cleared her throat lightly. "I guess we hadn't had much chance to discuss names."

"Actually, we had talked about it." He leaned back in his chair. "Heck, we didn't talk about anything but after we got over the initial shock. If it was a girl, we were going to name her after—"

The ringing phone brought him instantly alert. It could be anyone, he told himself. Billy, reporting in from the hospital; Francine giving an update on the questioning of the Agency personnel . . . it could even be Dotty, checking up on them from Switzerland. After all, he'd forgotten to update her last night as he'd promised. But his sixth sense, honed to perfection over the years, knew better.

Beaman, monitoring the phone trace from the dining room, confirmed his suspicions. "Scarecrow, I think this is it."

He automatically grabbed Amanda's hand. "Remember, keep—"

"Cool," she finished. "Don't worry about me."

"Okay then, let's do this." Entwining his fingers with hers, he led her into the dining room.