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The Energy of Sun Rays

Francine: Revelations

Francine found herself becoming thoughtful. "Motive," she mused. "They'd also have means, if they're the same people we tangled with for the Colonial Cookery case. And the same conversation that gave them motive —"

"Would simultaneously have granted them opportunity, thus completing the trifecta," finished Douglas. He was scribbling on his own notepad now. "I'm due to check in with the Service next week anyway, and I think I shall ask them to reach out to the BBC to find out if they know anything about this report your son was researching. Do you remember what it was called, Mrs. Stetson?"

"Amanda," she corrected. "I've asked you to call me that before, especially since I'm still using 'King' at the Agency."

"Which," observed Lee, "you actually don't need to do anymore. Especially since you have a code name now."

"We'll figure that out later. But no, Douglas, I don't remember what that report was called. But I can call the school office to see if they still have the assignments Phillip had already turned in. I think he'd done at least one about this topic already, so I'll bet the name is in there. I need to call them anyway, to let them know we're transferring Jamie out."

Francine was startled. "I thought you'd told me that you were waiting until you'd found a house. Have you done that?"

"No," said Amanda, "but we need to go ahead and get him out of Arlington Heights now. It's just for the rest of this school year. We'll make final decisions once we know where we'll end up."

Out of the corner of her eye, she could see Lee's lips thin with annoyance, but it was probably better to leave that argument between the two of them. Taking the notepad from Douglas' hand, she reviewed what he'd written there. "You're going to have the Service check with Tass and Pravda too? I thought said I would do that."

"The London desks," he clarified. "They may get a different answer than you get from Washington."

"I didn't realize this was a survey course," she snapped back.

"More information would hardly be an issue," he responded, equally testy. "Given that it's taken us this long to even develop our first lead."

"What, you think I'm incompetent?"

"I said earlier that I don't think that!" Now he sounded exasperated. "I just want to gather all potential information we can, against any discovery that this line of questioning is not the correct one. I'm also trying to keep the phone calls to a minimum, since transatlantic lines don't come without cost. At least, not for us."

"Not for us either," she answered, "but when we need to make them, we make them."

"Perhaps that's why your Agency is always having budget problems. Lack of prudence!"

"Now, you wait just a min—"

"Enough!" bellowed Lee. "That's the second time I've had to separate the two of you. Do I need to send you to opposite corners?"

Out of the corner of her eye, she could see Amanda smothering laughter. That infuriated her enough to send her to her feet. "We've been here long enough to have decorated a tree if that had been our intent, and now that we have a plan there's no need to stay any further anyway. I'll call a cab."

"You'll not do any such thing. I'll take you back to your car at the Agency."

"I wouldn't want to put your nose any further out of joint than it already is!"

"Francine," said Amanda gently. "You are being a little ridiculous."

"Ridiculous? Ridiculous! What's ridiculous is that the Agency somehow thinks that I'm not capable of handling this on my own! I have a partner, and it's not him!" It was only after the words came out of her mouth that she realized how petulant they sounded. Aggravated even further, she snatched their empty water glasses and headed toward the kitchen.

Lee followed her. "That was pretty."

"Don't you start."

He held up his hands. "Wouldn't dream of it. But would you care to tell me what the problem is?"

"He's — " she found herself heading toward spluttering. "He's just not one of us, I guess."

"Clearly, since you haven't told him which agent was compromised in Mrs. Welch's kitchen. Not that I'm going to either," he added quickly. "But I don't think he'd think less of you if he found out."

"I think less of me that it went down that way in the first place!"

"Come on, Francine. Every agent gets taken out sometimes. The only ones who haven't been yet are the rookies."

"But he's an outsider. It's one thing to admit it to you. It's another when it comes to him!"

"Why do you care so much what he thinks, anyway?" he shot back. "That's not like the Francine we all know and love."

She opened her mouth to reply, but then closed it again when she realized that she had no response. He was right: she did care what Douglas thought of her. But why? she wondered. What does it matter what he thinks of you, since he'll be heading back to England after this case is over and you'll probably never see him again?

Lee was watching her face, and he nodded in response to something in her expression. "I see."

"See what?"

"You know who the two of you sound like, don't you?"

"Who?"

"Amanda and me. Back when we were first working together."

"Yeah, but that was Billy's doing."

"And this wasn't? The case that brought him over here ended a while back."

"I…" she trailed off. "I thought he'd finished that earlier than expected, and since he was available, Billy gave him this one because you couldn't work it."

"No," said Lee. "Trent asked if he could stay. Apparently, he enjoys working with our Agency. All Billy did was approve the request and smooth the way."

There didn't seem to be a good response to that, either. "Oh."

"Yeah. Go back out there, Francine, and tell him you'll ride with him to the Agency." He held up a finger. "And try to be on your best behavior, will you? Since I won't be there to break you up?"

At that, she couldn't help but chuckle, but at the same time she nodded. Still, she had to admit that the entire concept of Douglas and her as partners, or perhaps even more, sounded as ludicrous as —

— well, as ludicrous as the notion of a cosmopolitan agent and a suburban housewife becoming partners, and then more.

She emphatically shut down that line of thought before she finished walking into the living room.

Douglas was remarkably quiet in the car. It had begun to snow gently, enough to be seen but not enough to stick to the roads, and he turned on the windshield wipers. Their steady thunk-thunk was the only sound for the first half of the trip, but finally he broke the silence.

"Do you think," he began, "that Mrs. Stetson — er, Amanda — may be pregnant?"

"What?"

"Her sickness just as we got there, and the fact that she's been feeling more tired than usual of late. It's noticeable, although it's not enough to affect her work."

"I, ah, it's not the kind of thing she and I would normally talk about. I'm not…" she trailed off. "I'm not as motherly as she is."

"Part of your charm, actually," he remarked. "Is it the custom here to wait before announcing a pregnancy?"

"I think so," she answered. "I know that the first — what do they call it, trimester? Ten to twelve weeks or so — that's when most miscarriages happen. So mothers will usually keep quiet until they're sure. That way the folks around them don't start baby showers only for it to end in disaster."

"Seems prudent. I might have…" he trailed off. "Never mind. It's over and done with. All in the past now."

Francine blinked at the non sequitur. "You don't strike me as the type to prefer non-motherly women."

He chuckled, but it was ironic. "No. Not anymore."

"So what do you…" that could stray into dangerous territory, she realized. "You were like that once, then?"

There was a long pause before he sighed. "Yes. I'm a widower, Francine. My wife died from a hemorrhage that followed a miscarriage. It's something I'd rather not discuss any further."

The pain in his voice was raw enough to explain why, and it took her a few minutes of mental scrambling before she could come up with a suitable reply. "I'm sorry. That was — thank you for telling me. It couldn't have been easy. Um. Do you, ah, do you think this new line of investigation will give us any results?"

He took a deep breath, and his hands relaxed on the steering wheel. "It certainly seems plausible, especially if we're dealing with a rogue group versus something state-sponsored. I read up on that Colonial Cookery case, you know. Your match of the ballistics was quite the connection. How did you realize that, anyway?"

"I…" she trailed off, but then she remembered Lee's suggestion in the kitchen. "I don't need the file to remember all the details of that case. The compromised agent? That was me. I was…I was taking private lessons from Mrs. Welch, and I'd mentioned that I worked for IFF. Her group found out what that actually was. So they…they began drugging me during the lessons, and pumping me for information about agent movements." Francine's face was flaming, and she had to turn away to look out the window. "Five agents died before we figured it out."

"Hey." A warm hand covered hers. "You were ambushed and narcotized. That's hardly cooperation."

"Five agents, Douglas." She took a breath, fighting for control. "I'm sure you understand why this is something I'd rather not talk about."

"Of course." He turned into the parking lot, coming up behind her car. "Here we go, jiggety-jig. You'll be safe going home?"

"Yeah." She took a steadying breath before opening the car door. "Thank you. Lee sort of hinted that I should tell you, before we left. I'm…I'm glad I did."

He held her hand for a moment longer, and the warmth began spreading up her arm. "I'm glad you did, too. Thank you for trusting me."

"Thank you for trusting me about your wife," she answered before she got out and went to her car. He watched until she got inside, driving off after she started it, but she sat there for a few minutes to collect herself. That conversation had certainly gone to interesting places, and she hadn't even been annoyed, never mind aggravated, the way she usually was when dealing with Douglas.

And if Lee had been right about him not thinking less of her once he found out, then perhaps he was also right about —

She shook her head, clearing it, and then put the car in gear. They had a case to solve. That needed to be the focus.