RUNNING THE COURSE

Amanda sighed as she settled in the booth, surreptitiously kicking off her running shoes under the table. Across from her, Lee slumped against the red vinyl, his hair in a disarray, the neck of his tee shirt still damp with sweat. He'd shrugged off his jacket but she saw gooseflesh rise on his arms as the cooler air near the window pressed against them.

"That was wild," he said, "I can't believe how fast you ran that course, Amanda."

Amanda flexed her foot under the table. Her ankle was starting to swell, the way it so often did after she pushed too hard — leftovers from an old injury, the result of a disastrous tutorial on hook slides. "Guess all that training paid off."

"You never run like that when we go out together."

"Neither do you." She gave him a slow smile, taking a long, unladylike gulp of water from the glass in front of her. "I saved it all for race day."

He shook his head, and she saw a flash of admiration in his eyes. It made her heart flutter a little. "Billy said you were the fastest one out there."

"In our group, maybe," she said, dubiously. "I can't have been the fastest of everyone."

"Well, you were fast. Whatever you did out there is working."

Amanda didn't want to tell him that what she'd done out there was think about Addi Birol. It was the same thing she thought about whenever she laced up her shoes or attended a training session, whenever she thought about what it would take to get out of a similar situation again.

She didn't like to talk about it with him. She knew that probably wasn't good or healthy but she talked about it with the Agency-appointed therapist and if she was honest, she couldn't bear the look of guilt that crept across his face when the subject came up. As if it had been his fault. It hadn't been — she knew that. It was part of the job. But she knew he felt he should have seen it coming somehow, should have been able to stop it.

The funny thing was, she felt like she should have expected it, too. She'd ignored her instincts — which had all but screamed at her to drop out of the operation when she had the chance — and instead convinced herself she'd be fine, she just had rookie jitters. A case of nerves. It had probably happened to everyone, she'd reasoned.

Now she knew better, but she couldn't talk about it with him. Instead, she'd decided that if it ever came down to it again — if she had to ignore her nearly foolproof alarm system — she'd be ready for whatever came along. Physically and psychologically. The alternative was to quit, and Amanda King was not a quitter.

She watched Lee scan the menu, rubbing his hands on his thighs to warm them up. The day was gray and cold, and the wind had been bitter. It would probably snow later, she thought, and she was glad she'd managed to recruit him to help her rake the leaves in the yard the weekend before. The boys had managed to dodge that chore, packing their bags for a weekend with their father, and her mother had thrown her back out somehow — Amanda assiduously avoided asking — and promised she'd do the spring cleaning instead. Dotty had sat inside with ice and heat, and made them soup and sandwiches.

Sandwiches, she thought, looking at the lunch special. Chicken. Well, that was out. She hadn't eaten a chicken sandwich in two years and she wasn't about to start anytime soon.

Lee closed his menu and settled back in his seat.

"What are you getting?" she asked, desperate for some guidance.

"The lunch special."

Amanda grimaced. "No thanks. Never."

"That's a totally irrational aversion," Lee insisted.

"You try eating something and then getting your stomach pumped right afterwards and see how appetizing it is to you for the rest of your life," she said. "I'm lucky I like chicken at all."

"I guess," he allowed.

"And lots of food aversions are irrational anyway," she said. "I still have food aversions from both pregnancies. They weren't even kind enough to give me the same ones." At his raised brow she held up her hand, counting them off. "Cream of mushroom soup, three-bean salad, pulpy orange juice."

"Three-bean salad isn't much of a loss," he said, wrinkling his nose. "They did you a favor."

"I used to like it." She turned her attention back to the menu, annoyed to discover she was experiencing that strange post-run phenomenon of feeling starving and full all at the same time. "Fruit," she decided. "And eggs." She began to root around in her purse for the little bottle of aspirin she always carried. Her ankle throbbed. Their waitress appeared, as if by magic, and took their orders, then disappeared again.

"Give me your foot," he said.

"What?"

"Come on. I know it's bugging you. Put it up."

"I went through a puddle."

"So did I. About six, actually. Just put it up. It'll feel better."

She sighed and shifted over in the seat, feeling weirdly self-conscious, but she stretched her leg out under the table to rest her foot on the bench beside him. His fingers closed over her ankle, rubbing gently through her white cotton sock, which was damp from top to toe.

"You go too hard sometimes," he said, "especially lately."

"That's pretty funny coming from you." Their waitress paused at the end of the table, her coffee pot at the ready, and they both nodded their assent, watching as she filled their cups.

"Maybe I'm starting to realize it's not a good thing," he said, and she made a little sound in her throat, a kind of scoffing, though she smiled at him. He levelled her with a look that said he knew exactly what was going on, even as his fingers moved up her calf, kneading the hardening knot in the muscle.

She didn't answer him. Instead, she kept her eyes on her coffee, slowly stirring cream into it, watching as a swirl of fat disappeared in the wake of the spoon.

"Amanda," he said. "You know you don't need to prove yourself out there."

"I know. And that's not why I did it."

He drew in a deep breath and let it out again, and she finally looked up from her cup. He rubbed her ankle, rhythmically. She knew he wanted to ask why, and she also knew he wouldn't.

Their waitress approached the table with their food. Amanda watched as she drew out her order pad and moved on to the next table. Lather, rinse, repeat, Amanda thought, suddenly remembering the summer between high school and her first year of college, when she'd done the same thing. She'd worn a cute little blue uniform and a perky ponytail, and had almost always earned the most tips, because she moved fast and knew how to talk to people.

Funny, it wasn't that different from her job now, if she boiled it right down. Moving fast and knowing how to talk to people. How many times had she talked her way out of a bad situation? Most of them, if she thought about it. Even this last time she'd tried to talk her way around giving up what she knew.

Absently, she reached for the chain around her neck, drawing it up and out from under her tee shirt to slide the diamond ring back and forth. The chain was silky smooth, a fine gold that matched the band of the ring. She liked the way it felt around her neck but she hated that the ring was a secret. She had too many of those.

"Have you been wearing that the whole time?" Lee asked, surprised.

Amanda blinked. "No. I put it on in the car. It's been in my purse." She let it drop, and it fell back below the soft cotton of her tee shirt, the stone cool against her skin. "I wanted to wear it, I just didn't want to risk losing it."

His hand paused on her ankle, pressing a little more firmly. She wiggled her toes.

"I wouldn't have worn it out there even if it had been on my finger," she said. "The last thing we need is to do a fingertip search for a solitaire."

He chuckled, then. "Could've been a good refresher."

She relaxed against the back of the booth, enjoying the soothing warmth of his hand on her leg. Though it wasn't stopping her ankle from aching, it was calming the dialogue in her head that had been running non-stop for the better part of a month. She decided to level with him. "I didn't run the course today to prove anything to anyone else," she said. "I did it to prove something to myself."

He nodded. She saw a gleam of understanding in his eyes. And then she realized why he hadn't peppered her with questions, even though he'd wanted to. He'd been there. He knew.

He was waiting.

Amanda's original instinct was always to question, to get to the bottom of things and find out what was wrong, to offer custom-tailored comfort. But that wasn't what she needed, and he'd known it. It startled her, the clarity with which he seemed to understand that. That this was something that just had to run its course, it couldn't be rushed or cajoled into being a different thing than it was.

He let go of her ankle to take a bite of his sandwich. She thought about stealing one of his fries, but didn't. He'd run as hard as she had that morning. He deserved every last one.

"Anyway," she said after a minute, nibbling at her toast, "I think I'm going to book another session with that therapist."

"Kendrick? Kendall?" He frowned.

"Why can none of us remember her name?" Amanda laughed. "Yes. Her."

Lee nodded, pushing his plate aside. "Did she help last time?"

"Yeah. And… I don't know. I need to get on top of it before I wear out my running shoes. Mother's pretty suspicious."

"Well, maybe you should go out at less suspicious times." He quirked an eyebrow at her, and she wondered how he knew she'd been going out after dark. "She probably thinks you're mixed up with spies or something."

Amanda had no comeback for that, so she simply rolled her eyes and sipped her coffee.

"You having pie?"

Amanda shook her head. "No, but I know you are."

"They have apple. I saw it on the way in. No celebratory slice?"

"Oh, fine," she said, knowing he wouldn't let it go, probably because he was hoping to eat her leftovers if she couldn't finish. "But I'm starting to get sore. I think what I really need is a hot shower and a long nap."

"You can have that, too. You can have whatever you want. No one's expecting us until later, are they?"

She shook her head. "I said we'd be there for dinner at five. And we're bringing the pizza." He was coming for dinner that night with her mother and the boys. This was a new thing — he'd had dinner with them a few times now and for the most part, he was starting to find a groove with the family. Not enough for him to take himself off the active duty roster for Thanksgiving, but she knew next year would be different. They had time.

"I really need a hot shower now," she said when they finished their pie. Her legs were starting to stiffen up, and her right hip had started to ache. She wasn't sure how she was going to hide this from her mother, who would have plenty of veiled comments to make if she saw both Lee and Amanda hobbling around the house.

"Let's go," he said, glancing out the window. "It's starting to snow, anyway." He picked up his jacket and dug his wallet out of his pocket. Amanda wiggled her toes back into her shoes, which were unpleasantly clammy now.

Lee turned to her as the door shut behind them. Amanda paused, drawing her coat up around her neck, and he slid an arm around her waist, drawing her against him. "Hey."

"What?"

He shook his head, giving her that half-smile that always made her heart jump. Lee's arm tightened around her, pulling her right up against him, so she was balanced on her toes. She leaned in, her nose pressed against his neck. He smelled like sweat and pecan pie.

"What do you think about a weekend away?"

She drew back, surprised. "When?"

"Week after next, maybe? I was thinking we could go skiing. Get away from things for a few days." His hand moved up her back, rubbing between her shoulder blades. "If you can get away."

"Joe has the boys that weekend," she said. "I bet Mother would love the peace and quiet."

"So yes?"

"Of course."

"Great." He gave her a final squeeze and let go. Amanda instantly missed his warmth. "So no speed runs before then, okay? Take it easy for a couple of weeks."

"I won't go out without you," she said, holding her hand up as if taking an oath.

"Promise?"

"Promise." She laughed, shoving her hands deep into her coat pockets. The wind was really picking up now, and the snow was more rain than anything else. "I think it's cute you think we're actually going to ski."

He fished his keys out of his pocket and raised his brows at her. "Really? I think it's cute that you think we aren't."