Legends Lost

This is ridiculous, thinks Amanda as she closes her hotel room for the second — or is it third? — time. She’d thought she’d heard Lee’s door open at least once since the shower in Francine’s room started to run, but when she checked, there’d only been an empty hallway.

It’s worse than musical chairs.

She should, she knows, just get ready for bed. It’s late. They have a full schedule in the morning.

Instead, she still stands by the door, listening for footsteps, for anything, in the hallway.

Lee’s been so distant ever since Joe came back into town. Tonight, though, especially toward the end, he’d almost been his old flirtatious self, to the point he actually made a pass at her. A pass! At her!

What kind of field work?

You know.

Oh, yes. She knows. And she’d been sending a message when she’d invited him into her room for coffee. Neither one of them cares for decaf.

Francine’s shower shuts off, and the hallway outside is still quiet. Amanda shakes her head. Why is she still standing at the door? The moment had passed as quickly as it came; there will be no pointed — if indirect — questions tonight. Why has Lee been so distant? Does he actually think she’d ever even consider getting back together with Joe?

Doesn’t he know her better than that by now?

All right, Amanda tells herself. One more time. Then I’m going to bed, no matter what. Even if, she decides, she doesn’t sleep because she’s thinking too much about this.

Careful to keep the hinges from squeaking, she cracks the hotel room door and peers out toward Lee’s. It’s just a crack. She’s not going to stick her head out this time, especially since there’s probably nothing to see —

Then her eyes flick up, and meet Lee’s. His door’s cracked open about the same distance as hers.

They stare at each other, neither moving, until Amanda suddenly needs to breathe. Exhaling softly and silently, she opens her door another two inches. Still not all the way, but enough to be clearly visible.

His eyes light up and his mouth falls open slightly, but a moment after that, he’s in the hallway, making sure to lock his door. Amanda steps aside to let him through her own door —

And finds herself pushed back against that door, his hand closing over hers to throw the latch. Before she can make a sound, his mouth is on hers, gentle but hot, sweet but demanding, overwhelming yet achingly familiar. Yes. This was what they’d both been thinking about, and both of them know it.

His hands cradle her head as he deepens the kiss, and she responds wholeheartedly, wrapping her arms around his waist to pull him closer. It isn’t a moment to think about, or analyze. It’s one to be felt, and she’s more than willing. Questions can come later.

The tip of Lee’s tongue teases her lips, and she parts them in reply, unable to keep a whimper from slipping out when she does so. She’s nearly forgotten what it’s like to kiss him, and doing it like this? Without cover of darkness or a case? It’s so much better than she remembers.

He presses against her, deepening the kiss even further, whispering against her mouth, and she can’t hold back another moan. This is amazing. It’s glorious. Why have they waited so long to —

Then she hears what he’s whispering.

He can’t have you. Not now. Not this time. Tell him it’s too late. He can’t go —

Amanda shoves him away hard. They’re both gasping as they break apart.

She finds her voice first. “Is that what you’ve been thinking?”

Lee blinks. “What?”

“Don’t pretend with me, Lee Stetson! You’re only over here because you’re afraid I’m back with Joe!”

“It’s not that simple —”

“I think it is.” She pushes off the door, stalking past him into the middle of the hotel room. She needs space.

He follows, but doesn’t reach for her. “Amanda, wait —”

“No.” She whirls, facing him. “No. If you don’t know me better than that by now, then you don’t know me at all!” She shakes her head, unsure if she’s more embarrassed or angry. “And if — if —” if this is what it takes to actually get you to do something, maybe we’re both imagining things! “I’m not some prize to be fought over, especially because Joe’s not fighting!”

“No, Amanda, that’s not —”

She can feel tears threatening now, and darn it, she is not going to let Lee see those. Amanda paces back to the door, opening it wide, though she keeps her voice down. “We have an early morning. Go get some sleep.”

He takes a breath before nodding. “All right. And I’m — I’m sorry — it’s not —”

“Lee,” she interrupts, and she’s suddenly exhausted. Bone-deep weariness. “Just — good night. All right?”

He pauses just outside her door, looking back with an expression that’s equal parts guilty, forlorn, and accepting. “Good night, Amanda. Sleep well.”

After closing and locking the door, she falls against it again, but this time it’s forward, leaning her forehead against it while she tries to process what just happened. Musical chairs, indeed! More like a game of duck-duck-goose on uneven ground, the kind where everyone ends up tripping and falling before it’s over.

Wow, she thinks. You’re really reaching with that metaphor, Amanda. Maybe you’re more tired than you thought.

She pushes back up to a stand, sighing heavily. The most ridiculous part of the past several minutes is that it really is late, and they really do have a busy day ahead.

Maybe, she reflects as she starts to undress, that’s a good thing.

If they’re busy, they won’t have to talk about what’s happened tonight. She’s not ready to do that. She has no idea when she will be.

Not if this is the way things are going.

Lee has the day after New Year’s off, but he’s restless, vibrating around his apartment. It had snowed overnight, but then gotten up just above freezing, so now there are sheets of ice everywhere. Going out’s not the best idea. The problem is, staying here isn’t either.

He tries to emulate Amanda and clean, but just thinking about her is enough to drive him even crazier. After half an hour, he throws a dishcloth at the sink and gives in. This isn’t going to work either. Nothing that reminds him of Amanda will.

Why hadn’t she been at the New Year’s party?

He’d invited her, of course. They’d spent the last two New Year’s Eves at the Russian Embassy, and he’d come to think of it as one of their own little traditions — even though last year had been something of a debacle. He’d promised her, when he asked her this year, that there’d be no vodka.

“That’s nice,” she’d answered, “but I’ll have to decline. I have plans.”

Lee couldn’t quite bring himself to ask what those plans were. He couldn’t bring himself to ask anything too personal. Ever since he’d come back into town, there’d seemed to be a barrier between him and Amanda. He doesn’t like it. Not one bit.

If she’d spent New Year’s with her ex-husband, he doesn’t really want to know about it.

Except, of course, that he does.

Muttering another disgusted curse under his breath, Lee finds his jacket and heads out. Even if it’s not safe to drive, he’s walked through worse. The air outside is crisp and cold, though raw and damp. He ignores it, ignores the fact that he can see his breath, ignores the people he passes by. Ignores pretty much everything, in fact, except the thoughts that just plain won’t stop.

She’s with Joe. She prefers Joe.

Lee shakes his head. Amanda hasn’t said anything along those lines. Hasn’t mentioned spending time with Joe outside of a few excursions that concentrated on the boys. There’s no reason to think they’ve rekindled things.

All the same, he hadn’t misinterpreted the look on her ex-husband’s face that night at Dooley’s. He wants her back.

Except she’s come in to work several times. She’d even worked a case with him. One that, despite all their banter, had left them strangely at odds with each other for quite a while. It’d been years since they had argued like that, and while they’d found their way through the disagreement about William Towne and Wally Tuttle, it had left him reeling. Were they backsliding? Was it a sign of things changing?

His foot slips on an icy dip in the sidewalk, and Lee has to lurch forward to keep from falling. The jolt pulls him out of his head and back to his icy surroundings.

And once again, he’s disgusted.

He doesn’t do this. He doesn’t brood over his relationships with women. If they begin to go sour, he cuts his losses and moves on. He never lets himself get emotionally involved. That way leads to compromise.

It’s not like you and Amanda were in a relationship anyway, part of his mind reminds him.

He shakes his head sharply. No more brooding. No more ruminating. If Amanda prefers the comfort of being with her ex-husband, well, that’s just one more reason that he’s had the right attitude all along.

But you don’t know that’s the case. You’re just second-guessing things, some other part of his mind points out.

Lee kicks against a pile of snow on the ground, causing it to vanish into a spray of icy pellets.

If he could only just talk to her! Over the past few months, after they’d quit making excuses about spending time together outside of work, it had begun to feel as if they could talk about anything. It’s been a delightful novelty for him. And he likes it. He likes the dinners, the errands, the evenings that last longer than they strictly need to. Until now, he hasn’t realized how much he loves just sitting and talking to Amanda —

Lee stops in his tracks.

No, he doesn’t.

He doesn’t love it.

He can’t love it.

That’s not how his life works.

A car passes by, fishtailing its way up the street, and in the process it throws a curtain of ice and slush his direction. Lee jumps back, but he’s not quite able to avoid it altogether, and the cold water soaks through his shoes and socks. He’ll need to go home and change them, and sooner would be better than later.

Even if it does mean sitting in an apartment that suddenly seems to be too large and too quiet.

He waves distractedly at the doorman as he comes back into his building, making a beeline for the elevator.

“Oh,” says the doorman just before the door closes. “I meant to ask you to tell Mrs. King that her cookies were delicious.”

“I’ll let her know.” Lee’s last word is cut off by the elevator doors, but it’s just as well. The last thing he needs is just one more reminder about Amanda.

He kicks his shoes off the minute he’s through his door, hopping from foot to foot as he peels the socks off behind them. The warmth in the apartment feels good against his skin. Almost sensuous, in a way, after the way the wet cold had been seeping through. It reminds him of all the times he’d been a convenient warm body. It’s never something he minded, especially when he was doing the same thing in reverse.

Is that all he’d ever been to Amanda?

He shakes his head again. No. That wasn’t her style. And they hadn’t done anything like that anyway.

Damn it, if he could just talk to her!

Catching sight of himself in the hallway mirror, he shakes his head. He looks more troubled now than he had when he’d left.

“So talk to her, you coward,” he tells his reflection.

But what if I find out something I don’t want to know?

He shakes his head in disgust once more. And this time, he heads for the liquor cabinet. He’d kept his word about not drinking too much on New Year’s Eve. He’d never made any promises about the day afterward.

It’s unseasonably warm for late December; Amanda has a jacket over her sweater, but there’s no need for coats or hats. They’ve dropped anchor, out here in the harbor, for just a little while, and Lee’s shooed her out of the Mata Hari II’s kitchen. “If you want me to cook, then let me cook.”

It would only be fair for him to cook tonight, she decides. After all, she cooked last night, though it had to be simple fare. Neither of them had thought to bring groceries with them for this quick jaunt, so they’d been limited to whatever they could find in the pantry. Which was mostly canned items. Last night, Amanda had combined corned beef hash and green beans. It had been edible, but certainly not the best thing she’d ever made.

They’d finished anyway, and then ended up staying up well past midnight sipping on wine.

She leans forward, resting her arms against the rail, listening to the sounds of the harbor at night. The murmur of water lapping at the ketch’s hull. The sails, loosely furled, flapping a little in the breeze. Every now and then there’s a whisper of what might be feathers, even though it’s not the right time of year for sea birds.

The air itself is soft, gentle against the skin of her face. It’s a beautiful night. Amanda inhales deeply, trying to simply be in the moment.

She can’t.

How soon will Mr. Melrose want their report? How will they describe the fact that they missed finding Bart by just that much, the first time they’d looked? And what is she going to tell her mother and the boys when she’s late getting home tonight — especially since she was gone all night last night? She’s a creative person, but she’s starting to run out of ideas for cover stories.

One drawback of a mind like hers is that it’s never silent. It ruminates over details, worries about possibilities, looks for patterns and connections that might not even be there. And the more she tries to shut it down, to simply rest and be, the louder it gets.

The case is over, Amanda, she tells herself.

The cacophony in her mind doesn’t even slow down.

With a deep sigh, she lets her head fall forward onto her arms. It’s always been this way. She can stay quiet. She can keep physically still. But she can almost never stop the whirling thoughts in her head. Even when she desperately wants to. Such as now, when all she wants to do is to just take it all in.

The sound of ceramic on wood brings her out of her reverie. The smell of canned stew reaches her nose right around the same time.

“You could have just called me back below,” she tells Lee.

“Nah.” He’s also carrying a bowl for himself. “Too pretty out here.”

Amanda picks up her bowl, tastes the stew. He’s added some spices, the kind that bring out the rich heartiness of the beef and the vegetables’ rich flavors. “I like what you’ve done here.”

“Good.”

For several minutes, there’s just the sound of spoons clinking against bowls as they eat. Amanda’s surprised to realize she’s hungry. But the stew is a good, thick one, and he’s brought out portions that are generous without being overwhelming. She wonders if he did the same thing she did last night: split the can between them, taking slightly more for himself, of course. But not much more.

She closes her eyes. Analyzing again, when she could be simply enjoying the meal. Come on, she tells her thoughts, be quiet and focus!

There’s another soft clink of ceramic on wood. Lee’s done. She takes her own last two bites and puts her used bowl and spoon next to his. They can take them below in a minute.

Lee has his thumbs hooked in his belt loops, face raised into the quiet night. “Beautiful out here.”

“Yes,” she agrees.

“Quiet. Peaceful.”

I wish, she thinks, but she says nothing.

Out of the corner of her eye, she sees him smile in the shifting lights. Then there’s a touch on her waist, his hands gently guiding her back into his chest, his arms settling and lingering, warm around her. She inhales slowly, desperate to at least stop and enjoy this.

And her mind goes quiet.

At first, she’s off-balance. It’s strange, this silence. Unusual. She needs a couple of slow, even breaths to relax into it.

Lee’s lips ghost against her temple before his chin comes to rest onto her shoulder. He’s holding her close, but not tight. She can hear his breathing, soft and steady, perfectly matching the quiet, even thumping against her left shoulder blade.

Amanda’s last thoughts spiral down into the silence. Now there’s just sensation: his body warmth, the gentle breeze, the water quietly lapping. There’s a lingering scent, echoing the spices he’d used on the stew.

She’s not sure how long they stay like that, simply watching the night together.

“I’m glad we stopped,” Lee finally says. “Even if just for a little while.”

“Yes,” she whispers. “I am too. It’s such a beautiful night.”

“And you’re so comfortable,” he continues. “Have I ever told you that?”

“No.”

“I’ll need to make sure I mention it more often, then.”

She’s not sure how long they stay like this, either, but it’s enough. For this moment, everything is enough.

She probably thinks she knows what’s going to happen tonight.

Lee tries to keep his grin from giving anything away as he steps out of the car to help her in. It’s chilly, as befits December, so she’s wearing a wrap over her dress. He only gets a glimpse of black stockings and heels.

For a long moment, his brain stutters to a stop. Is she wearing — ?

No, he decides. She wouldn’t give him the satisfaction.

Then again, the Amanda who’d teased him with a picture in the Q-Bureau earlier this week very well might have. It takes a bit of effort to keep his eyes on the road as he pulls toward the Interstate. Unfortunately — or maybe fortunately — traffic’s still busy enough to provide the rest of any distraction he might need. He fiddles around for some light music, just enough to set a mood without being suggestive.

Amanda apparently wanted to play. He was willing…as long as he got to set the rules.

The game starts less than ten minutes into the ride. “This isn’t the way to Spencer’s.”

“Not to our usual one, no,” he counters.

She thinks about that for a moment.

“Don’t worry,” he continues. “You’ll be home before you turn into a pumpkin.” Unless you don’t want to be, he thinks but doesn’t add. Then he shakes his head. Now isn’t the time to think that way.

He thought he’d kept the headshake subtle, but her eyes narrow just enough to let him know she’d noticed. Rather than calling him on it, though, she changes the subject to other things, lighter things. Nothing about work; after all, this isn’t two co-workers getting together for a drink. It’s a date. A date she’d asked him for, not the other way around.

It’s about an hour to Baltimore, and their conversation drifts from topic to topic — the music, what they might have to eat, places near enough to D.C. to visit but that somehow, neither of them ever had. It’s light. Pleasant. Non-confrontational. Utterly delightful. And it leaves him a tad nervous.

Especially after the Corvette’s heater kicks in and she lets the wrap fall open slightly. She’s wearing a black dress.

But is it the black dress? He can’t quite tell from the way she’s sitting, and by the time he gets out and flips his keys to a valet, he’s not sure if he wants it to be that dress or not. She draws the wrap closer as they walk into the building, leaving him wondering even more — and not just about what she’s wearing.

Then, with a decidedly saucy look, she lets the wrap slide off right into his hands once they’re inside, giving him a clear view of the pearl buttons down the back.

Lee can’t quite keep his breath from hitching. But he does manage to keep his hands steady as he hangs it up for her. “You look nice.”

Her answer is one of those heart-stopping smiles, but her eyes glitter. “Thank you.”

Was that look mischievous? Amused? Something else? He decides to test the waters. “And maybe a little like trouble.”

Now her smile becomes openly challenging. “Wouldn’t you like to know?”

Despite the exchange, dinner’s as pleasant as the drive was. Comfortable. Easy. Light. He wonders when he should bring up the other part of her request: and then, we’ll take it from there. Or if. Will she beat him to it? Will she try to forget she said it? What is the next move in this little game they’ve been playing?

Or have they even been playing a game tonight? Don’t overthink it, Stetson. On the surface, there’s nothing to suggest this isn’t a simple dinner date.

Even if it is in Baltimore.

While she’s wearing that dress.

He lets her choose her own timing for the next move.

She launches the salvo as they leave the restaurant. “That was so good. And I’m so full.” The words sound innocent. The emphasis — and her sideways glance — tell a different story.

Thinking quickly, Lee trails a finger across her bare shoulder as he helps her back into her wrap. The touch is light enough to deny or justify if need be. The muscle underneath Amanda’s skin tenses slightly, but she doesn’t otherwise react.

“It’s warm enough for a walk,” he suggests mildly. “And we’re near the Harbor.”

“Lead on, then,” she invites, slipping a half-step closer.

It’s perfectly normal to tuck her hand into his elbow, he tells himself. And not at all unusual for them, which is likely why she hadn’t asked first. They’re quiet as they make their way over toward Top of the World, but it’s an easy silence, a companionable one. He hears the water lapping softly against the bulkheads, the occasional burst of laughter from other people in the distance, the soft drone of traffic from farther away. It’s a beautiful night.

“Should we go up to the observation deck?” he asks as they get nearer.

“Sure,” she answers, leaning in slightly, and he finds himself wondering whether they’ll be alone in the elevator on the way up.

Easy there, he tells himself. You’re supposed to be staying in control. And it is a public observation deck.

Which, when they get there, is closed. The lights in the lobby have been dimmed, but there’s enough for them to make out the sign: Closed for the Season. A janitorial cart parked in front of the elevator doors drives the point home.

Lee inhales sharply. He should have checked. He should have asked.

But Amanda doesn’t seem upset; she just shrugs and turns around. “We’ll just enjoy the view from here, then.”

He can’t resist the opening. “View of what?”

“Oh, you know.” Her movement has brought them nearly face-to-face. “The Harbor. The water. The night.”

His eyes fall to her face, and the question comes out before he can stop it. “Do you like what you see?”

The corners of her mouth quirk up as she traces the line of his lapel with one hand. “I don’t know. Is there something worth seeing?”

It would be so easy to kiss her, he realizes. So perfect. Almost expected.

Which is precisely why he doesn’t. Instead, he just wraps his arm around her, steering them back out toward the sidewalk. “You’ll have to let me know.”

She makes a non-committal noise and, ever so slightly, rolls her eyes. But the smile at her lips, while softening the sting, doesn’t quite overcome it. Lee has to actively work to keep his breathing normal. It’s just restraint, he tells himself. After all, he still has to drive her back to Washington and her car. Pushing too far might have made that too awkward, or difficult —

Or exhilarating, his mind adds before he can stop the thought. And maybe a reason not to go back right away.

Lee bites the inside of his cheek. This is Amanda, damn it. He’s not going to think about her like that.

At least, not right now.

Or ever.

But maybe?

He shakes his head to banish the thought.

As he helps her back into her car, she’s the one who lets a finger trail across his skin, leaving goosebumps in its wake. He closes his eyes and wonders when, exactly, he’d lost control over the situation. Assuming he’d ever had it in the first place.

With her? Clearly, that’s not always a safe assumption.

They’re completely quiet on the way home.

Amanda’s frustrated.

They’d been this close to finally crossing the threshold they’ve been edging toward, so close that she’d felt his breath on her lips, felt his heartbeat against hers. She’s not convinced they didn’t briefly make contact just before they were interrupted, but of course, that doesn’t matter now. Instead, they’re focused on staying utterly, completely quiet — and out of the line of fire.

In the darkness, Lee’s hand is warm and strong as it wraps around hers.

After far too long, they settle back down, staying near the rise of land that had protected them. They need to rest. Sleep if they can, which is why they’re exchanging barbs about the sleeping arrangements.

Lee gives up with a huff, flopping onto his back. “Oh, just forget it and come here.”

With the way they’ve worked themselves around, she really does end up on her left side as he pulls her against his right shoulder. Lee wraps his arms around her and drapes the chain across his torso and behind his back. They’re both stiff and nervous, but neither one of them brings up the elephant in the room — or the swamp, as it were.

Lee sighs into her hair, and she feels his lips lightly brush the crown of her head. “I guess this’ll have to be enough.”

“Enough?” She tries to stay quiet. It’s not easy.

“No fire,” he continues, and his speech is becoming slurred. “’s a shame. Was nice.”

She takes a sharp breath, letting it out slowly, willing her tension to go with it. “It was, wasn’t it?”

“Yeah.” There’s the sound of a yawn. “Sorry. Adren’line crash. We sh’ld sleep an’way.”

How, she wants to ask, is she supposed to sleep after that? Excitement, exhilaration, terror, and — who knows what else?

But he’s already snoring softly. She pokes his side, and he shifts just enough the noise stops. Amanda closes her eyes, irritated. He’s right, of course, but that just makes things worse.

This isn’t over, buster, she tells him silently. We’re not even close to being done talking.

She wakes up flat on her own back with his lips against her temple.

At first, Amanda doesn’t dare let herself even breathe. But that can’t last — oxygen isn’t optional — so she tries to keep her breathing shallow. Her muscles are wound tighter than they had been before.

She tries to puzzle it out. Evidently, she’d followed him into sleep even though she didn’t think she would be able to. Clearly, they’ve shifted positions since then. She can just barely feel the chain on the ground under them.

Lee’s lips press against her skin again. This time, he combines it with a soft sigh, and when it’s done, he nuzzles the outside of her ear. His breathing is slow, deep, even. Is he even awake?

She whispers his name as softly as she can. He doesn’t respond.

All right, then. Maybe he is asleep.

It’s the slightest of shifts to turn her head, to try and get his attention.

She’s distracted as his mouth trails across her cheek, feather light, continuing until it reaches the corner of her lips. Amanda tells herself it’s only natural to respond. Their lips brush once, twice, three times, and then he sighs softly and they’re kissing in earnest now.

Shouldn’t she stop him, if she’s not even sure he’s awake?

Then she feels his whole body twitch with awareness.

Yet he doesn’t stop kissing her. If anything, he deepens it, teasing her lips with his tongue and catching her exhalation with his own. His free hand cradles her face, and she reaches toward his hair, whimpering softly when the chain stops the movement.

Lee responds by rolling backward just enough to free her hand. Then his mouth seeks hers again, and he makes a soft, inarticulate noise when she scratches lightly against the nape of his neck.

This is so much better than she’d imagined. She’d known he could kiss; this isn’t their first time, after all. But it’s the first time they aren’t under duress. He takes his time, teasing, tasting, testing. It’s deceptively gentle, and her limbs begin to grow heavy with lassitude and pleasure as she kisses him back.

When she pauses to catch her breath, she opens her eyes to look at him. His are tightly closed, and that’s when she understands. Her eyes slam back shut even as their kisses deepen.

Amanda’s not sure how long they go on like that, sharing kisses and breathless gasps, exploring this new reality that’s sprung up between them. She lets herself get lost in the moment. She needs this. They need this.

Even if it’s the complete opposite of the open acknowledgment she wants.

They eventually drift back off, and when they awaken again, the sun’s up and there’s an urge of a different kind. Lee’s wide eyes suggest he has the same problem. Somehow, they manage to arrange themselves so their backs are to each other while they relieve themselves.

Afterward, he’s focused and businesslike, though not unkind. Amanda finds herself reacting the same way: they need to get themselves to safety and finish the mission. The chain that binds them feels heavier now than it did last night, and that’s as good a reason as any to want this over sooner rather than later.

“Lee?” she asks him outside the bull pen.

“Hmm?”

“About last night.”

His voice becomes gentler. Softer. “I know. I know.”

Amanda lets herself feel the beginning of what might be hope, but it’s dashed immediately when he continues.

“Just two cold people seeking a little warmth, right?”

And with that one sentence, all her frustration and irritation surges right back out from wherever it had gone. No, it wasn’t, and you know it! she wants to yell. Why are we playing this same old game again?

The look on his face stops the words before they get out.

But she can’t quite let the question slide, either. “Not exactly.”

Then she walks away, before she risks saying anything else, and for a long moment there’s just silence behind her. Good. It serves him right not to get the last word.

That’s when she hears trotting footsteps. “Amanda.”

She starts walking faster.

“Amanda, wait a minute! What was that supposed to —”

She slaps the elevator button. Hard. The doors open immediately and she steps through, using the Door Close button to make sure he can’t follow.

But she can still hear him, muffled, on the other side. “Damn it Amanda, don’t just —”

The rest of what he says is cut off by the sound of the elevator as it begins to move. When she arrives at the Georgetown foyer, she exits with long strides, her ID already in her hand and tossed carelessly onto Mrs. Marston’s desk. Just as she opens the outside door, she hears the internal stairwell door burst open.

Amanda doesn’t even slow down. Let him stew in her words for a while.

Besides, she knows what’s going to happen next. He’ll find excuses to be out in the field the next couple of days. She’ll throw herself into the sea of paperwork that’s always present in the Q-Bureau. Once they both simmer down, they’ll go on as though nothing happened.

Except, her mind insists, something did!

She’s at her car now, and Lee’s nowhere to be seen — or heard. Amanda throws her picnic basket in with more than the necessary force, causing it to bounce against the seat. Then she lets herself slump against the open door for a long moment.

This is how it always goes.

She can’t stop herself from wondering if this is how it always will.

Amanda’s her usual cheerful self this evening, but whenever her eyes fall on Lee, he sees a bit of unease creep into her expression. He doesn’t ask why. He doesn’t need to. It mirrors the disquiet he can’t quite shake.

She’d spied on him. On him.

“Settle down,” Harry told him earlier this evening, when he’d asked them to stay for dinner. “I already told you I ordered her. She didn’t do it without protesting, either. And don’t forget that the very first thing she did was verify my story. With you, of all people.”

True enough; he’d even helped Amanda with that research, although he hadn’t understood her intent at the time. Lee’s honest enough to admit he wouldn’t be anywhere near this upset had Harry recruited, say, Francine or Leatherneck. Or even one of the more junior agents.

But Amanda?

She’s not an agent at all! She’s not even full-time with the Agency!

That’s exactly why Harry chose her, he reminds himself, as their eyes meet and drop yet again.

They’re in Harry’s den now, enjoying glasses of wine while they debate the best place to hang the bullet-scarred portrait. The digestif is an excellent vintage, and the conversation is delightful. Any other time, Lee would be enjoying himself. He can be himself here, without worrying about secrets, expectations, or image. He’s as safe here as he is in Amanda’s back yard.

But is that a safe place anymore, knowing what he knows now?

“Lee?” She lays a hand on his forearm. “Is everything all right?”

“Yeah, sure. Of course.” The words are a little too fast, a little too loud. “We solved the case. We got the letter and —”

“Lee.” Now she’s gently chiding him. She always knows when he’s putting up a front. She always has.

“I think he’s still a little stung,” observes Harry.

Lee takes a sip of the wine, mostly so he has an excuse to drop his eyes. Safety’s a two-edged sword when combined with honesty. He knows that. But where’s the line between honesty and transparency? Between safety and vulnerability? And do those lines cross, or do they run in parallel?

“Well,” Amanda points out, “we did go behind his back. The boys are like that all the time, when I do something they don’t like even when they know it’s for their own good.”

“Amanda,” he protests. “I’m not a little boy.”

“She didn’t say you were,” remarks Harry. “But you’ve had a bit of a — shock’s probably too strong a word. Jolt, maybe, or bump. Whatever it is,” and now his mentor won’t let him look away, “it’s not pleasant to find out people you care about have kept secrets. Is it?”

Lee’s ready to talk about something else. “Did we figure out if there’s a stud behind that wall over the fireplace? I can come back in a day or two with a stud finder if we need.”

Harry exhales loudly. “Amanda, honey, I’m sorry to be such a terrible host, but do you mind entertaining yourself for a few minutes? I’m sure Ike would be happy to give you a tour of the place while I talk sense into Lee.”

“I could use a trip to the ladies room,” she replies. “Do your plants need watering? I can do that now, while I’m up. I always like to water in the evenings when I can. It gives the plants the best chance to take advantage of it, and in a garden like yours, watering would be a pleasure and not a chore.”

Lee scowls. The sentiment is just like Amanda. But he keeps his mouth shut. He’s probably said too much already.

“So,” says Harry once the room has fallen quiet again. “That’s your girl.”

“Not my girl.” Lee shakes his head. “We proved that this week. We’ve never been anything more than co-workers, anyway.”

Harry rolls his eyes. “Who are you trying to convince? Me, or yourself?”

He can’t quite figure out the answer to that.

“She only spied on you because she cares about you. A lot.”

Scoffing, Lee pushes to his feet, prowling along the walls. “Maybe if we reversed the desk and the credenza. That’d create the perfect place for the painting.”

“Don’t try and change the subject.” Harry’s tone is firm. “And sit back down.”

Irritated, he obeys.

“What are you afraid of?”

“Afraid?” asks Lee incredulously. “You’re imagining things.”

“I don’t think so. When’s the last time you well and truly wanted her out of the Agency and your life?”

Lee takes a sharp breath. He doesn’t know the answer to that, either. While it’s true that things have been slowly changing, on this last case, that had actually been a liability. Amanda, he’d said, it’s just that sometimes I wish I could just get good and steamed. But every time you make me mad, you turn around and do something to make me grateful.

Why can’t he stay mad at her anymore? When was the last time he had?

“I see,” says Harry, breaking into his thoughts.

“Lay off, will you? It’s been a rough few days. We should talk about you anyway. It’s time you really did retire.”

“Nothing to talk about there.” Harry waves a hand. “I’ve had my fun and then some. Nearly getting caught — and taking the whole Agency down with me? Uh-uh. I’m done. And if and when I ever start missing it again, all I’ll need to do is look at this painting to remind myself.”

There’s a pause before he continues.

“It’s not so easy sometimes, to find some bright line between two categories like working and retired. God knows I’ve proven that enough times. But I’m an old man, and there aren’t very many lines left for me.” His eyes become distant. “I’ve already had to leave too many people behind.”

Lee feels his breathing ease. “You’ll have to do a lot worse than this to destroy your legacy with the Agency.”

“I suppose. You care about Amanda. Deeply.”

“I what?” The verbal whiplash catches him off guard.

“You wouldn’t talk about her the way you do, if you didn’t care about her.”

“I barely talk about her at all! I barely even think about her when she’s not around!”

“Is that a fact? How many times have you ranted to me about her?”

Caught, Lee lowers his eyes to the wine glass again. “Then I talk too much sometimes.”

Harry sighs. “Look, son, you can deny it all you want, but I’m telling you. Figure this out. Now. Don’t wait. There’ll come a time when you’ll need to know exactly how far you’ll go for her — and across which lines. When that time comes, you won’t have the space to be confused.” He paused. “If you haven’t figured out what you want by then, circumstances will make the decision for you.”

Lee has never heard Harry say anything like that before. “Is that the voice of experience?”

“It is, but the story’s not worth telling at this late date. We’re talking about you and Amanda.”

“There is no ‘me and Amanda’! Never has been. Never will be! Those lines are solid.” He won’t think about the ones that have already been crossed. Not right now.

“If that’s so, why’d you bring it up just now?”

“Okay,” he snaps. “Fine. I don’t know. I don’t know, all right? But I —” he swallows. “Not tonight. It’s too much, too soon. Damn it, Harry, she spied on me!”

“We’ve been over that. And it’s all right if you need to go slow, as long as you don’t stop. Welcome back, my dear. Did you have a good look around?”

There’s a moment of blind panic. How much of that had Amanda heard?

Her expression is neutral, deliberately bland. There’s no point in asking.

Lee shakes his head. Lines aren’t supposed to be blurry. You should always know where the boundaries are — and where the risk lies.

But he can’t tell. Not this time. This time, he’s stuck in between the crossed lines and what, for all he knows, might already be crosshairs. And he doesn’t like it.

Not one bit.

She’s been debating the wisdom of bringing a cake with her ever since he issued the invitation; every argument against the idea was perfectly counterbalanced by one in favor. Amanda’s still bickering with herself as she parks and goes to Lee’s door, the cake plate in her hands. She’d rather be caught with it unnecessarily than arrive without it and find out he’d wanted her to bring one. After all, he’d offered dinner. Not necessarily dessert.

Then he opens the door, and all thoughts of cake vanish.

“Oh,” she murmurs. “I didn’t realize.”

Lee takes the cake from her and ushers her in. “Didn’t realize what?”

She stammers, worried she’ll say it wrong. They’ve had so many miscommunications lately. While they’ve managed to work their way through them, she’s not anxious to start another one.

Lee puts the cake on his dining table before reaching for Amanda’s hands. “You look fantastic.”

She’d debated herself about that, too. She’d been irritated enough not to wear the black dress he’d praised a few days ago, but she also hadn’t quite understood what he’d meant by just the two of us, alone, a nice steak, a bottle of red wine, baked potato on the side…no shop talk for a change. She hadn’t wanted to be underdressed, either. It had taken her a good hour to settle on a dressy pantsuit.

“Amanda?” asks Lee, breaking into her ruminations. He’s peering at her. “What didn’t you realize?”

It comes out in a rush. “You cooked.”

He raises his eyebrows. “Even I don’t like my steak completely raw.”

“No, it’s just…” she trails off, still awkward. She’s not quite sure what to do with her purse, or even her hands for that matter. He still has the latter captured anyway. “Nothing. I thought a cake would be nice, but you could’ve asked me to bring a salad or something. You didn’t have to do — whatever it is you’ve done.” She’s not quite sure what “it” is, but it definitely smells fantastic.

“Just some interesting spices I’ve picked up here and there,” he tells her, dropping one hand so that he can pick the cake plate back up before escorting her to the kitchen. “I, ah, I think you’ll like it.”

Something in the tone of his voice gets Amanda’s attention. Now she’s the one who peers at him. His hands are comfortable and competent as they put the cake on the counter and flip the steaks he’s searing, but he’s not quite meeting her eyes. The expression on his face is similar to the half-smile he puts on when he’s trying to lighten a tense moment. Similar, but not quite the same. Something’s up, something shy and uncertain and maybe even a bit awkward.

Amanda shakes her head ruefully. There’s no need for that. Not here, not now. Not when he’s the only person around to even notice and get embarrassed about any gaffes she might make.

“I’m sure it’ll be fine, Lee. You know your way around a kitchen,” she finally manages after the silence has gone on just a bit too long. It’s an effort not to become fidgety and jumpy. She feels as though she’s on edge, the way she used to be before they’d gotten used to working together.

“Then what didn’t you realize?” he asks.

“Oh!” She’d completely forgotten he’d asked that question. “It’s nothing.”

“Hey.” He’d been moving away from her, toward the bottle of wine and the glasses beside it on the counter, but now turns back toward her. He reaches for her again, stopping before he actually touches her face. “If you’re thinking it, it probably needs to be said.”

Amanda feels warmth rise in her cheeks. “I didn’t understand you meant to stay in and make dinner.”

“This? Oh,” and the too-light quality of his laugh makes her wonder if he feels as nervous as she does. “It’s all right. Don’t worry about it.”

“Will you at least let me help out with something?” she asks, still somewhat anxious. “Make the salad, maybe?”

Lee shakes his head. “I did that already. Besides, you’re my guest, and this cake’ll be more than enough thank-you. But you can pour the wine if you want.”

Amanda does, hoping he doesn’t notice her hands are trembling. There’s an odd feel to the air tonight, a sentiment not quite acknowledged or expressed but unmistakably still present. She knows full well he had an invitation to a fancy embassy party tonight, but here he is, in jeans and an apron in his own kitchen instead. The words about his date with Leslie echo in her memory. Yeah, um, well. She won’t be lonely, believe me. She’s working, anyway. She’s got her own invitation.

A high-society dinner party, or cooking steaks for her at his apartment. The Lee Stetson she’d met just over two years ago wouldn’t have considered those two options even remotely comparable.

She hands him one of the wine glasses as he finishes putting the steaks on plates, and he takes an appreciative sip as he turns the stove burner off with a quick, practiced flick of the fingers. He’s cooked in here more than she’d thought he had. When exactly had he stopped using those little black books, anyway? They’d been surprisingly dusty when he’d turned them over to Francine and her, not too long before.

Amanda shakes her head again as Lee puts his wine glass down. He pulls the potatoes out of the oven, arranging them on the plates, slicing them open to let the steam out. She sees the salad bowl on the counter now, beyond where the wine had been, and picks it up to bring it over. He accepts it with another one of those almost-smiles. He’s still not quite meeting her eyes.

She gives in to her worry. “Is everything all right?”

That earns her the first expression she’s been able to quickly categorize since he let her in. “Why wouldn’t it be?”

“I don’t know,” she admits. Should she call him out about this weird vibe-or-whatever-it-is that she’s feeling tonight? Or is that something she’s making up in her head to account for her own nervousness?

She remembers all the missteps they’ve made lately, and opts for the latter. He seats her at his dinner table before bringing out their plates and wine glasses. For a while they’re both quiet; the food’s good and, she realizes, she is hungry. But when they’re both finished and she tries to take their plates to the kitchen, he stops her.

“I told you,” he says quietly. “You’re a guest. Why don’t you sit down?”

“Lee.” Amanda has no idea what she might say next.

“Amanda. Sit down. Please?”

It’s the last part that gets her. She can use her fingers to count the number of times he’s ever sincerely used that word with her. Acquiescing, she settles back onto her chair as he takes the plates and returns with two smaller ones, each bearing a slice of cake. He’s also got the wine bottle and tops up both their glasses before he sits down.

“This is good,” she remarks, indicating the wine. “Um. What is it?”

“Freemark Abbey Merlot,” he answers. “Red Barn, from 1981.” Then, seeing her confusion, his first normal smile of the night appears, complete with dimples. “It’s a red wine from California. Works with both chocolate cake and steak.”

“Oh,” she answers, mostly because she can’t think of anything else to say. “It’s very good.”

“That it is. You know the differences between reds?”

Warmth spreads across her cheeks again.

“Hey,” he replies. “It’s not the sort of thing I’d expect to see at a Little League game. Merlot’s lighter than Cabernet Sauvignon, and tends to be more fruity.”

“All right,” she answers, trying and failing to memorize the French words. “I’ll take your word for it.”

He laughs, but it’s kind. “I won’t quiz you later. This cake, though…” he trails off. “It’s like you made it for this particular wine. Perfectly matched.”

“Which is the match? The cake or the wine?”

“Which one do you want it to be?” A twinkle comes into his eyes, and that’s when Amanda realizes he’s finally met her gaze.

“Oh, you,” she answers, playing the game back. She’s more relaxed and comfortable now herself, and the vaguely odd feeling in the air seems to have dissipated. “You can’t have a match unless you have two different things to match up.”

“At least two,” he corrects her lightly, and now dimples appear. “But there could theoretically be more.”

“I never said there wasn’t. Just that you need a minimum of two. Like…oh, I don’t know. Apples and caramel, maybe, or peanut butter and jelly.”

“Or ham and eggs,” he suggests. “Liver and onions.”

“I’ll take your word on that last one, too.”

He tries again. “Bacon and cabbage?”

She pulls a face.

“Don’t look at me like that! It’s a traditional Irish dish. Well, it uses back bacon instead of side bacon. But it’s a real dish, and it’s good.”

She’s confused again. “Back bacon?”

“Oh, that’s right. In the United States it’s called Canadian-style bacon. Though I have no idea why since it’s not called that in Canada.”

She takes another sip of her wine — and he’s right, it is a near-perfect match with the chocolate cake — and then leans forward. “You’ve traveled a lot.”

At that, his laugh becomes a little more rueful. “Yeah. It’s great for learning tolerance and flexibility, and I’ve always enjoyed sniffing out little bits of trivia here and there. But…” and now the laughter’s died down. “It can also get lonely, and there comes a time when you’re almost too cosmopolitan. It makes you jaded.”

“Jaded? You mean like your casual attitude about parties at the Russian Embassy?” As soon as the words are out, Amanda’s hand flies to her mouth. She hadn’t meant to sound like that. Because she’s not jealous. She’s not!

He gives her a look that tells her he wasn’t fooled for a second, but his words let her off the hook. “I just wanted to have a quiet night in tonight. It’s pretty outside.”

Amanda briefly debates whether she should let him off the hook by not pointing out that it’s hard to experience outdoor weather on a night in, but only for a moment. “Yeah, it does sometimes get really nice during the fall, doesn’t it? Did you want to go for a walk?”

“Maybe later,” he answers. “We should let dinner settle a bit first.” Standing up, he goes to a cabinet in the living room and turns on the stereo, sliding the tuner around until he finds some soft pop. “You know, that’s one thing I don’t know. What kind of music do you like?”

Amanda shrugs. “A little of this, a little of that. Mother likes Big Band, and the boys usually listen to whatever’s most popular on WASH or Q107.”

“Amanda. I asked what kind of music you like.”

She’s dismayed to realize she doesn’t really have an answer to that question. She hasn’t ever thought about music that way.

He shakes his head, but leaves the tuner where it is, coming up in front of her with his hands spread. She accepts the invitation, letting Lee lead her into a slow, easy dance. He’s a good dancer, mindful of how he leads but still easy to follow. She knows that. She hadn’t known what it would be like to feel his arm warm on her waist, the soft skin of his cheek against hers. They don’t ever dance this close when they’re out in public, at a party. The only time Amanda can remember dancing with Lee like this was the first time they’d met.

She hadn’t mistaken his intentional overfamiliarity at the time; it was another one of his taunts. But he hasn’t been in a taunting mood tonight. If she had to describe the way he’s been acting, Amanda might have called it reflective. Or maybe thoughtful, or even introspective. None of those words are ones she’d ever thought would be in the same sentence as Lee Stetson’s name.

The music shifts to something from around the time she was in college. It’s bouncy, with lyrics that make her smile as they talk about bright sunshine, and rainbows, and blue skies. While it’s faster than what was on before, it’s not so fast as to be undanceable. Still, Lee steps back a bit to allow for the shift in pattern. Amanda can’t quite figure out why that leaves her feeling a bit unmoored, as though an anchor were pulled loose.

“What?”

Evidently her thoughts had been showing on her face. Amanda’s laugh is lighter and higher than normal. “Nothing. Well, something. I was thinking in nautical terms, which is awfully ironic, isn’t it?”

He chuckles, too, and then their eyes meet and lock. Somewhere in the back of her awareness, Amanda knows the music is still playing, that they might even still be dancing. But she’s no longer focused on that. All she can see is the open look on his face, the way his lips part slightly, the way his eyes are shining. It’s almost as though —

No, she thinks. She’s mistaken. Enough with the silly romanticizing, Amanda. There’s even some irritation; she’d thought she’d conquered that schoolgirl crush a good while back.

But as the song ends and a deejay’s voice spills into the room, they stay there, standing still as they stare into each other’s eyes. It belatedly occurs to her that Lee has always tried to present a mysterious aura, an inscrutable persona, an enigmatic facade. The key word there would be tried, though, because for some reason she’s always found him ridiculously easy to read. At first, she’d been entertained every time that drove him crazy, but in the last several months that feeling has become less funny and more good-natured, less about poking fun and more about shared amusement.

At this moment, though, she can tell he’s not feeling particularly playful. There’s something more in his gaze. It’s almost as though he’s considering something, evaluating his options, trying to guess what her reactions might be. As though he’s imagining the possibilities, wondering about likelihoods, figuring probabilities.

Lee Stetson is mentally trying her on as — as what? A girlfriend? A lover? A sweetheart? Whatever it is, it isn’t strictly professional. Or platonic.

Tonight isn’t two friends getting together for a meal and conversation. Tonight’s meant to be a date.

A date. With Lee. At his request.

She gasps softly as full comprehension hits, her heart thumping and her breathing becoming erratic. But then the music comes back, and this time it’s a much faster song. It’s not one they can dance to, at least not like this, and their arms fall to their sides.

“What time is it?” she asks softly, reaching for any distraction she can find.

He checks his watch. “A little past nine.”

“Oh.” It’s later than she’d thought.

“You need to get back to the house? Tuck your boys in?” The question is gentle and understanding.

She shakes her head. “They’ll insist they’re too old for it. But we do have to go into the office tomorrow, which means I shouldn’t stay out late.”

“All right.” Just like that, the moment passes, and they’re back to being co-workers and friends. Partners. Two people who care enough about each other to end an evening at a normal time while honestly looking forward to seeing each other again the next day.

Lee walks her out to her car, and they say good night. But a block down the street, Amanda finds herself pulling into a parking lot. She needs a minute to settle down. While she’s stunned and incredulous, she knows she’s exactly right. She hasn’t imagined anything. Rather, she’s seen him perfectly clearly.

She just doesn’t have a clue about how she wants to react to that clarity.