--19--

i

Smothering a long-overdue yawn, Francine closed the door to Billy's office. When the agents from Justice had relieved her security detail at Parker General, she'd returned to the Agency to oversee the questioning of Brimstone's geriatric operative, Edith Johnstone. She supposed she could have left it to others but, like Billy, she had a personal stake in this case.

"Well, there it is," she said, dropping a folder containing a hastily typed report onto his desk. "Johnstone's preliminary statement."

"So soon? We only picked her up a few hours ago." Billy fingered the file. "Or didn't she have anything of substance to give us?"

"Oh, she can definitely give us substance. In fact, the woman's sitting in detention singing like a bird." Francine helped herself to coffee from the carafe on the side table then eased herself down into a chair. "But I'm afraid the real pay-off comes with a price tag."

"She wants immunity?"

Praying that this latest jolt of caffeine would do the trick, she took a long sip. "You've got it. Relocation, a new identity—the whole nine yards."

"And what exactly do we get in return?"

"In return, she'll name names and hand us Brimstone's covert operation, tied up neatly on a silver platter."

Billy frowned. "We don't need her to do that. Now that we have our hands on that dossier Amanda put together, Brimstone's days are numbered."

"Unfortunately, we may only have hours, not days. You need to read Johnstone's statement. Scarecrow's intelligence was right on the money. Brimstone is mobilizing even as we speak. Without Edith Johnstone, we may not be able to stop them in time."

"Exactamundo, Desmond." Dr. Smyth pushed open the door and lounged against the frame, his cigarette holder lodged between his teeth. "Which is why we're going to give this Johnstone woman every last thing she wants."

Francine bounced to her feet, the Agency Director's hostile glare more effective than the most potent stimulant. "I didn't realize you were in the building, sir."

"Yes, Austin." Billy pressed his lips together in annoyance. "What's coaxed you away from your important meeting on the Hill?"

"A phone call from the President, and a most unpleasant one, at that." Dr. Smyth sauntered across the room and stopped in front of Billy's desk. "Trust me—Mr. Bush is not a happy camper when he's confronted by news of an imminent threat to national security. Nor was he any more pleased to learn that his presidency has been at the center of a terrorist plot hatched not five miles from the White House."

"What plot?" Billy demanded.

Smyth picked up the file containing Edith Johnston's preliminary statement and held it out to Francine. "Shall I do the honors, Desmond, or do you want the privilege?"

Hanging onto her self-control by a slim thread, she straightened her back and turned to Billy. "I was just about to brief you, sir," she said, retrieving the file from Smyth and handing it back to Billy. "If we believe Edith Johnstone's information, Brimstone plans to disrupt the presidential election on Tuesday by threatening to release a chemical weapon at polling places across the country. In New York City, Atlanta, Detroit and Los Angeles, to name a few suggested targets."

Blatantly violating Billy's no smoking policy, Smyth lit his cigarette. "And it gets worse, kiddies. The scheme was reputedly hatched at the behest of several highly placed members of Mr. Bush's re-election committee, who are concerned with the direction the latest polls have taken. I don't have to tell you what would happen if the possibility of such an attack was made public."

"No, you don't," Billy said grimly. "Given the right set of circumstances, it could be enough to postpone the election."

"While virtually assuring the President's re-election once the crisis was contained," Francine added, her brows arching.

Billy's frown deepened into a furious scowl. "What proof do we have of any of this?"

"Enough to get the President's knickers in a fine twist, let me tell you," Smyth said. "George may want to win re-election, but not at that cost. He's demanding to know which members of his team are behind this potential catastrophe, and pronto. There are only six more days until the polls open. Until we stop these terrorists once and for all, we're operating on borrowed time."

"I take it you have a suggestion as to how we should do that," Billy said dryly, "or you wouldn't be standing there looking like a cat that swallowed a canary."

Smyth puffed on his cigarette. "Conveniently for everyone concerned, our answer is sitting just a few floors above us, on the detention level."

"Edith Johnstone?"

"She's the key to it all. The woman knows their codes, and she's willing to deal—for the right price, of course."

Billy's lips parted in a sarcastic smile. "That's a little too convenient for my taste. I wouldn't think she'd be so willing play ball with the Agency—after all, our team did kill her son."

"She has no great love for Brimstone, either," Smyth stated with equanimity. "Apparently her former friends intended to do away with the good Edith and her son in that factory, right along with the Stetson-King entourage."

Billy cocked his head. "Just covering their bases, or did they have something darker in mind?"

Smyth shrugged. "It seems they discovered that she and Junior had an agenda of their own and were siphoning Brimstone funds to make it happen—hence the hasty change in last night's agenda. When Johstone found out her position had been compromised, she tried to call in the cavalry by dispatching that cryptic note which sent you and King running off to Anacostia. Alas for the unfortunate Herman, her plan backfired."

"Then it may have been more than the storm that was interfering with our equipment," Billy said thoughtfully. "If Johnstone inadvertently tipped our hand to Brimstone—"

"We may never know the truth behind that particular sequence of events. Frankly, at the moment I couldn't care less which of Brimstone's thugs decided to do each other in. I'm much more concerned with the danger to our nation's security, and it would behoove you to be as well." Smyth's expression darkened dangerously as he glared at Billy and Francine. "And to counter that threat we need the Johnstone woman."

Billy tossed the file onto his cluttered desk. "I don't care what cards she brings to the table, she'll get total immunity over my dead body. I have no intention of allowing the woman who has participated first-hand in the emotional torture of two of my best agents to simply walk away."

"She's a minor player. The rest of Brimstone's merry band is still out there, waiting to wreak their havoc." Leaning back, Smyth inhaled then blew out a long puff of smoke with unusual zeal. "They're the real culprits, the ones who are ultimately responsible for what happened to Scarecrow and the lovely Mrs. King. I would think you'd want to see them burn."

Billy shot to his feet. "You know I do. But I fail to see how making a deal with this woman is the answer. We have other options on the table."

Smyth's lips curled into what passed for a smile. "I suppose you mean Marsten."

"Yes. I don't care what Johnstone claims—if it wasn't for Mavis, we might never have found those children in time. Certainly she deserves some consideration."

"Less than a thimbleful, as far as I'm concerned. I haven't much tolerance for traitors, and even less for turncoats within our own ranks." Smyth puffed vigorously on his cigarette. "Do your homework, Melrose. Read that file."

"Since you've obviously studied it in some detail," he said, with a sigh of resignation, "why don't you save us all a lot of time and simply summarize it?"

"My pleasure." Smyth sent another ring of smoke in Billy's direction. "If we credit what our garrulous friend, Edith, has to say, Brimstone's top field scientist, Arnold Streator, was a nervous sort. He'd compiled a list of names of the people involved in Brimstone's, shall we say, less orthodox endeavors—an insurance policy in the event that something nasty happened to him. When Streator met the grim reaper last month, it set in motion a chain of events that couldn't be stopped."

Billy scowled. "What the hell does any of this have to do with Amanda's disappearance?"

"Apparently Arnold Streator had been in charge of 'Project King' from the beginning," Francine put in as Billy's temper showed unmistakable symptoms of erupting at long last. "When he found out his operation had been infiltrated, he leaked information about a phony meeting with some boys from the Munich branch, counting on Amanda to take the bait."

"And when she did, he arranged that little party for them on the banks of the Anacostia." Smyth chortled. "When King clammed up courtesy of Thorton's repression, he was ordered to execute her. But instead he decided to keep her alive, secreted away in that little town in Michigan. Edith and her son, Herman, were the watchdogs—they reported directly to Streator."

"So the rest of Brimstone wasn't aware of what he'd done with Amanda?"

"Bingo, Billy. That is, not until Streator bit the big one last month. His second-in-command –our friend with the birthmark—apparently came down with a fatal case of cold feet and spilled his guts. When the others discovered the intrepid Mrs. King was alive and kicking, they ordered their hit squad to take her out."

"So Mrs. Marsten was telling the truth," Billy said, his eyes narrowing. "She really didn't know that Amanda was still alive."

"Yes, it appears she had no hand in that bushwhack." Smyth puffed strenuously, in time to his pacing. "Luckily, our own Mrs. King proved to be more than a match for Brimstone's team of assassins the second time around."

Francine raised an eyebrow as she caught Billy's gaze. Buried in Smyth's words was something akin to a compliment. "According to the Johnstone woman," Francine went on, "she's the one who convinced Brimstone to alter the plan. To cover their bases, they needed to know once and for all if Amanda was in possession of anything that might incriminate them. Since Thorton's Repression is an Agency technique they'd been unable to crack, they decided to give her back to the Agency and let us break down the barriers."

"I suppose I don't have to tell you what they were looking for," said Smyth, his eyes narrowing.

"No, you don't." Billy let out a loud sigh. "The names of the Brimstone's conspirators must be contained the copies of Streator's papers that Amanda hid in their corporate office."

Francine nodded. "Though Johnstone claims only someone familiar with Brimstone's codes will be able to decipher the information—"

"Which brings us back to why it's necessary to make that deal that seems so distasteful to you," Smyth finished.

"My God, if this is true . . ." Billy sank down into his chair, his voice trailing off.

"I see you understand the conundrum." Smyth glared at Billy. "I don't have to tell you that the King woman's failure to document the whereabouts of that file is a breach of protocol that could and should result in the filing of criminal charges."

Billy placed his forefingers inside his shirt collar and stretched his neck. "Those are pretty strong words, Austin. I'm assuming if you've also read the statement Amanda gave us, you realize that she had no reason to suspect that the papers held any incriminating information whatsoever."

"That wasn't her call, Billy. Her job was to gather the facts and let other, more qualified minds interpret their meaning. She should never have waited to turn over such vital information—"

"It's easy enough to say that now. Hindsight may be twenty-twenty, but it's a luxury an agent in the field can't always afford. Her breach—if you can go so far as to call it that—demonstrates lack of judgment on the part of an inexperienced agent, nothing more."

"Unfortunately, the Oval Office is looking for a scapegoat in all this, and I have no intention of being the dog they kick. Inexperienced or not, she was the agent of record." He held up his hand as Billy started to argue again. "owever, iHowever, in the interest of everything Amanda King has been through because of that 'breach,' as you call it, I'm willing to think as you do in the matter and label it an error in judgment. An error I'm also willing to overlook—provided we get what we need from the Johnstone woman to stop Brimstone once and for all."

He took a last drag of his cigarette, releasing the smoke in one long, exaggerated puff. "Since you were her supervisor at the time of the incident, Melrose, I'll leave the decision to you. Make the deal with Johnstone and wrap up this mess or let King suffer the consequences."

Bowing with a flourish, he backed out of the room saying, "Don't look so down, Billy. At least some of the tarnish has been removed from your favorite duo. It appears that Stetson and King were correct in their suspicions of Brimstone after all." Chuckling under his breath, Smyth headed across the reception area to his private sanctum.

"I wonder if I'd get the electric chair for pushing that man in front of a bus on his way home tonight," Francine mumbled as Smyth's door clicked shut.

Billy let out a loud groan. "There isn't a jury of your peers who would convict you. In fact, I'd wager they'd throw you a party."

"So, what do we do about Mrs. Johnstone?"

"I know what I should do—I should get Quidd over here to break that woman and make her talk. But, as Smyth pointed out with so much relish, time is of the essence. We need to stop Brimstone now. As much as I hate the idea," he said at last, "we make the deal."

"You know that will probably preclude any arrangement you might want to broker for Mrs. Marsten."

"Of course I do," he snapped, his frustration clearly evident. "Damn it—I was really hoping we could work out a deal for her. Amanda's already agreed to give a statement on her behalf. For Dan's sake, if nothing else . . ."

"Maybe her attorney will be able to argue extenuating circumstances."

"I'm not sure there are any extenuating circumstances where treason is concerned, Francine. At least, not in Smyth's book." He grabbed his pad and scribbled some words then, tearing off the top sheet with more intensity than the action called for, he handed the paper to Francine. "It's done. Get my official authorization of immunity for Edith Johnstone up to Legal and have them start the ball rolling—pronto, as our exalted leader would say."

Francine turned the paper over in her hand. As much as she hated the thought of the odious little woman enjoying the comforts of witness protection while Mrs. Marsten languished in a prison cell, someone would have to pay the piper—it was an incontrovertible fact. Deals were made all the time in this town. At least Lee and Amanda would come out on the right side of this one.

Pausing at the door, she turned to her friend. "If my vote counts for anything, you're doing the right thing, Billy."

Billy scowled as he stared beyond Francine to the framed picture of Mavis and Dan Marsten that sat atop his former assistant's desk. "I'm not so sure Amanda will agree with you," he muttered softly.

ii

Sunshine streamed through the window into the small hospital room. Amanda could feel its warmth on her face, even through the double-paned glass. Outside, the wind had settled into a caressing breeze that rustled the few remaining leaves on the trees, a welcome change after the bluster of the past few days. Indian summer, in all its glory, was finally upon them.

She heard his firm, distinctive footfalls in the hall before he entered the room. Steeling herself, she turned from the window to greet him.

"I didn't realize you were here," he said, a light frown clouding his face. "Have you been waiting long?"

"I was just admiring the view. It's such a pretty day . . ." Her words trailed off into a sigh.

"Yes, it is." He shook his head. "I was beginning to think all it did was rain in this town."

Amanda cleared her throat. He was dressed in street clothes, instead of the hospital gown she'd expected, and she was struck once again by the sheer power of his physical presence, just as on that morning years ago. "The nurse said you were having some tests done—"

"Just a final round of blood work, nothing of any consequence. The results should be back within the hour. Then . . ." He shrugged his shoulders. "Then it looks like I'll be free to go."

Nodding, she tucked her hair neatly behind her ears. "Brad," she began, drawing a deep breath, "I came here to talk to you about—"

"You don't have to say anything." He smiled, but it didn't quite reach his eyes. Crossing slowly to her, he reached for her left hand. "That's a beautiful ring, Mrs. Stetson."

Removing her fingers from his, she twisted her wedding band. "I'd almost forgotten I was wearing it again."

"It must feel natural, then."

Embarrassed, she let her hands hang limply at her sides. "Brad—"

"You know, I met your mother last night," he said, his voice unusually heavy. "Outside of Annie's room. She's quite a woman. She was kind enough to buy me a cup of coffee and tell me a very interesting tale . . ." He smiled sadly as he caught her eye. "About a man in a red hat."

Amanda shifted her feet. "She did?"

"Among other things." Walking over to the dresser, he began to toss a few stray toiletries into a bag. "Dotty has quite a way with words. She painted a strikingly vivid picture of what your life had been like before you disappeared, as well as what . . . everyone . . . went through after your 'death.' So much so that I thought maybe I owed Stetson an apology for the way I'd been behaving toward him." He laughed lightly. "And you know me, once I get an idea into my head, I like to act on it. So I decided, well, why not stop by his room and see if maybe he was having trouble sleeping, too."

"You came by Lee's room last night?" Her hand shot to her mouth. "He didn't say anything about—"

"Yes, well, as it turns out, he wasn't having half as much trouble sleeping as I seemed to be." He lifted an eyebrow as he looked at her. "Neither were you, for that matter."

Moving quickly to the closet, he removed his jacket from a hanger and shrugged into it. "So you see, you don't have to explain at all," he said, smoothing the lapels. "I understand much more clearly than you might think."

"I don't . . ." Amanda gulped down a breath. "I don't know what to say."

He let out a deep sigh. "Don't look so sad, Mandy. Those blank spaces in your past are finally gone. It's everything you've always wanted, isn't it?"

"Yes, it is, but . . . but I never intended to hurt you in the process. Oh, Brad . . ." Her voice failed.

Walking calmly to the tray table, he poured out some water from the pitcher. "Here," he said, handing her a cup. "Drink this."

"Thanks," she whispered, letting the liquid soothe her dry throat. Looking up, she caught Brad's gaze. "I don't know how I would have survived these past few years without you, you know."

"It was what I wanted, too," he told her kindly. "Don't forget that. It's funny . . ." His eyes took on a faraway look. "I thought I had all the answers, had your past all plotted out . . . the reports from the doctors in Traverse City, the emotional distance you kept between us, even Annie . . . I was so proud of myself, making the pieces fit neatly together, like some kind of jigsaw puzzle. Only it turns out the picture they finally made wasn't remotely like the one I'd imagined." He sighed. "Then again, maybe some part of you sensed all along that our suppositions were wrong."

Amanda pressed her lips together and nodded. "I love him, Brad."

"I know you do." He winced slightly as he turned away. "I could see that last night."

"What will you do now?"

"Go back to Michigan, to my practice. It's a good life."

In her mind's eye she saw the sun sparkling on the water and the waves gently lapping the shore. "Yes," she whispered, "it is."

There was an ineffable sadness about him as he asked, "Would you mind explaining things to Annie, about why I've gone home? I stopped in to see her this morning, but I couldn't quite bring myself to say goodbye."

Amanda nodded. "She'll miss you, you know."

"I'll miss her, too." Stepping toward her, he added in a low voice, "Almost as much as I'll miss her mother."

"I'm so sorry that you were drawn into the middle of all this. You don't deserve . . ." She drew in a shaky breath. "How do I ever begin to thank you for everything you've done for us?"

"By making peace with your past, once and for all." He cupped her face with his hands. "Do you think you can finally do that?"

She gave him a soft smile. "I'm going to give it a darned good try. There's a lot I have to make up for—to Lee and to the boys."

He leaned in to gently kiss her forehead. "Just be happy, okay?"

"That's what I want for you, too," she said, tears filling her eyes as she gazed up at him.

"Like you, I'm going to give it a darned good try. Mandy . . ." He tilted his head. "Do they ever actually call you that?"

"No," she sighed softly, "they don't."

He nodded. "Do you think your . . . husband . . . would mind if I called Annie in a week or two, once she's a little more settled? I think it might be easier on her if I don't disappear from her life completely right now."

"Of course it will be okay, Brad. You've been an important part of Annie's life. Lee understands that."

"Maybe you'll bring her back to the lake sometime," he murmured. "It's beautiful there—especially in the summer."

Feeling the unspoken wish in his gaze, she lowered her eyes to the floor. A small part of her returned that longing—the part Brad Stevenson had brought back to life one warm, summer morning by the sandy shores of Lake Huron. But a far greater part of her heart belonged to her husband, and she knew it always would. What had attracted her to Brad were all the traits that reminded her of Lee; she could see that so clearly now.

"Well, I suppose I should be going," she said, breaking the awkward silence that had sprung up between them. "I promised Annie we'd all have lunch together."

"You'd better hurry, then—it's almost noon." He stepped forward to gather her in his arms one last time. "Kiss Annie goodbye for me," he whispered as she pulled back.

"I will. Brad . . ." She paused at the door. "Take care of yourself, okay?"

"Yeah," he said. "You, too . . . Amanda."

iii

Lee had just completed his second trip down the hospital corridor when Billy stepped off the elevator. "So I was right, Scarecrow," he said, letting out a quick laugh. "Bum knee or not, I told Francine I'd find you pacing the halls."

Leaning heavily on his crutches, Lee rolled his eyes. "Whatever you do, don't tell Scardelli. I'm supposed to stay in that blasted wheelchair until he sees the results of my latest M.R.I.

"You actually consented to the test?" Billy slowed his pace to match Lee's as they started down the long corridor. "I'm impressed."

"Amanda kind of insisted." Lee grinned sheepishly. His wife had a way of meeting head-on the medical issues he tried to avoid. He had to admit that it felt damn good to be on the receiving end of her loving concern once again.

"Does this mean you're finally going to have the knee surgery?" Billy asked.

"I suppose so." He shook his head as he recalled their spirited consultation with the doctor earlier that morning. Scardelli had been urging him to do something about his knee for years; the doctor left the meeting a happy man. "You know how Amanda can be," he said, groaning.

Billy let loose a deep belly laugh. "Indeed I do. And I intend to tell her that she has my full support."

"Great, now I don't stand a snowball's chance in hell."

"You're damned right you don't." Billy scanned the hallway. "Where is that wife of yours, anyway? I half-expected to see her glued to your side now that Dr. Stevenson's departed for Michigan."

"Annie's a little upset, so she brought the boys down to her room to try and distract her." Lee exhaled loudly. "It's been kind of a rough afternoon."

"I suppose that's understandable, given everything that little girl has been through."

"Yeah, I know." Balancing himself on his crutches, he pushed open the door to his room. "I just wish I could be part of the solution instead of the problem."

"She'll come around." Billy gave a cursory nod to the agent on duty as he followed Lee inside. "I mean, look at you and Jamie . . ."

"That's just the trouble, Billy. If there's one thing I've learned, it's that biology has absolutely nothing to do with being a dad. Despite the way I feel about the situation, Stevenson did his damnedest to fit that bill, and it shows. Annie's pretty attached to him." He exhaled loudly. "I told Amanda I didn't mind if he kept in touch."

Billy raised an eyebrow. "But . . .?"

"But nothing." Handing off his crutches, he eased himself back onto the bed. As usual, he'd overdone it; every muscle ached. "I'll put up with Amanda's ex-fiancé, if I have to. I'm ready and willing to do whatever's best for Annie."

A smile crossed Billy's face. "Well then, how about taking her home, for starters?"

"I'd like nothing better, but . . . wait a minute." As Lee jerked his head up, Billy was grinning broadly. "Are you telling me that this Brimstone business has finally been wrapped up?"

"I got the call from MI-6 about an hour ago. The kidnappers' leader was picked up at Heathrow. They'll be shipping him back Stateside in a few days."

"The sweep was successful, then."

"Down to a man. As much as I hate to admit it, the Johnstone woman's information paid off big time. Thanks to her, we've even located the second mole."

"The one who left the note at the house?"

Billy nodded. "Turns out it was a Justice Department agent she managed to buy off with a wad of Brimstone's cash. He'd been keeping the house under surveillance—on and off duty, it seems. One of our own team . . ." Billy expelled a loud breath. "At least Justice sprang this leak and not the Agency."

"I suppose that explains why security didn't spot him."

"Yes. The man was firmly entrenched on the inside. If it hadn't been for Edith Johnstone, he most likely would have slipped through the net."

Lee frowned. "So this means the offer of immunity will stand, then."

"I'm afraid so. There just isn't any way around it. The woman delivered everything she promised to."

"I hate to think of even one of those monsters going free." Lee shook his head. "If I'd only been able to make contact with Streator that night, then maybe all of this could have been avoided. Maybe my children wouldn't have been dragged into—"

"We'll never know exactly what information Streator intended to hand you that night," Billy said, with a deep sigh. "All we can do is to be grateful that his death set in motion the chain of events that brought Amanda back to you. The bottom line is—there's nothing standing in your way anymore."

"What do you mean?"

Billy gave Lee a significant look. "I mean that, as soon as N.E.S.T. clears you medically, you can all go home."

"With or without security?" he asked, still not quite able to believe it.

"We'll keep a light surveillance on your place for few days, just as a precaution. But for all intents and purposes, it's over, Scarecrow. Case closed."

"Case closed . . ."

He shut his eyes for a moment, imagining himself at home in Annapolis at long last, with his family. He knew without a doubt how much Amanda would love the place. He realized now that when he'd bought the townhouse, he'd been subconsciously thinking of her tastes all along. Now, suddenly, his pipedream was a reality.

"You know, Billy," he sighed, "there were times when I thought it might never be over—"

"What's over?" Amanda asked. With a pleasant smile for Billy, she moved directly to Lee's side and reached for his hand.

Billy grinned as he looked from Amanda to Lee. "I'll let him tell you. I need to get home, while Jeannie still remembers what I look like."

Moving quickly, Amanda gave Billy a kiss on the cheek. "Thank you, sir—for everything."

"It was my pleasure. You know how I feel . . ." He looked past her to Lee. ". . . about both of you," he finished with a bashful grin.

"So, how's Annie doing?" Lee asked as Billy beat a hasty retreat.

"Better, I think. Mother went over to the Arlington house and scrounged up some of my old toys from the attic. It's unbelievable how much stuff she's actually kept all these years—especially that silly doll of mine. 'Lois Anne' . . ." She bit her lip.

Lee made room for her on the bed. "Your mother is the original pack rat, you know."

"Yeah." Her color rose as she gave him a slightly sheepish look. "I'm sorry I named our daughter after my old rag doll. We were going to call her Jennie . . . for your mother . . ."

Pulling her into his arms, he brushed his lips through her hair. "I like 'Annie.' It suits her."

Amanda nodded and entwined her fingers with his. "So, did Billy want anything specific or was he just checking in?"

Lee looked at her for a long moment. There was just the slightest hint of sadness in her eyes; he hoped, in time, to be able to wipe it away completely. In the meantime, he would be satisfied with baby steps. A smile, a laugh, a simple sigh of contentment . . .

"He had some good news for a change." Leaning over, he gave her a tender kiss. "What do you say to rounding up our family and heading home, Mrs. Stetson?"