Life itself is the most wonderful fairy tale.
Hans Christian Andersen
----------------------------------------------------------------
Prologue
She couldn't stop watching him--the little gestures, each twitch, and
every secret glance. Did he think she couldn't see? Why was Lee
shutting her out? They'd always talked about everything. Amanda
slid out of her chair and eased behind him. It was already February,
and the date was circled in red on his battered desk calendar. Their
second anniversary was two weeks away.
He didn't look up. Just a light touch, at first--gentle as he
started in surprise--then she stroked his back, increasing the
pressure as he leaned into it. She pushed harder and felt the knots
loosen under her fingertips, first the neck, and then the shoulders.
Amanda stopped only when he relaxed and slouched in his
chair. "Better?"
"Yeah. I think so."
"You hid behind your paper all morning. Why? There's a problem,
isn't there?" She pulled a chair around from the front of his desk,
scooting close enough to block any escape.
"Amanda . . . I--"
"What's wrong? You know you can talk to me. Is it something I've
done or said? Is it Mother? One of the boys?" Amanda hoped she
could deal with the answer.
"No, of course not, it's just . . . I . . . I've been feeling a
little . . . tired." His fingers tightened on the armrest.
"Restless?" she asked, keeping her tone low and matter-of-fact.
"Frustrated." Spoken softly, it was almost an
afterthought. "Sometimes it's . . . it's just too much. Our
caseloads. Everything at home. The ballgames, dinner at eight, the
block parties, and visits from Aunt Lillian. Schedules.
Interruptions." He sighed, and his eyes met hers. "I thought that
when we were married and we could tell the world, that we'd have more
time together, not less. Everything is important, and it's not like
we can just ignore it all. I just wish . . ."
"Me, too." Amanda's gaze dropped to the desktop and the calendar
with the date circled in red. "We'll think of something."
Chapter 1
"I never would have thought of this." Amanda leaned back in the
passenger seat as the Corvette wound along the narrow, twisting
driveway. The tips of castle spires, just visible over the treetops,
glistened in the cool afternoon sun. "I know we wanted some time
away, but I never imagined staying at the `Fairy Tale Fantasy
Resort.'"
A rumpled brochure lay in her lap, and she hoped the pictures were
exaggerated. She glanced at the driver, and at least that view was
reassuring. Lee held the wheel lightly, a smile playing at the
corner of his mouth.
For the first time in weeks, the tension that had cloaked the usual
Scarecrow joi de vivre was lifting. The furrow between his eyebrows
was smoothed away, and the softness and sparkle were in his eyes
again. Her reservations melted as quickly as they had surfaced. It
was a miracle that Mother had won a vacation for two at the resort,
and giving it to the two of them for their anniversary had been sheer
inspiration.
"It's not the place that's important, it's the company," Lee said,
glancing her way. He smiled, and she had to grin back. "I would've
booked the nearest vacant cave. We never seem to have enough time
alone."
"Our room will be an Arabian Nights theme, right?" Her fingertips
brushed his shoulder. "I wish they'd had a picture of it in the
brochure. Do you think it'll be like the old storybook pictures?
You know, Persian rugs, exotic silks, and cool evenings under the
stars? When I think about the `Arabian Nights,' I imagine a handsome
man on a gleaming white horse, swooping down to carry me across the
desert."
His smile was back. "Sounds vaguely familiar. Didn't we do that one
already? I think I remember a white horse."
"That's hardly the same thing. Every time I've seen you on a horse,
someone's shooting at you."
"So you want to be swept away, do you? I think I can arrange that."
His tone rekindled the heat in her cheeks. "We'll try to get it
right this time." Lee turned his attention back to the road, and she
breathed a sigh of relief. The man was just too charming for his own
good. Once she had him alone, she'd show him some sweeping. She had
a little number packed away that would knock his socks off. A free
vacation wasn't the only thing that came out of that Rebecca's
Fantasies catalogue.
As they rounded the last hill, the turrets atop the hotel rose into
view. Amanda sighed. It was a confused confection of jumbled
picture book castles and commercial sweetness, but somehow the
brochure didn't do it justice.
------------------------------------------------
This is not going well at all. Amanda peeked through her splayed
fingers, and then closed her eyes. Their relaxing vacation--gone up
in smoke.
"You've gotta be kidding? I have our reservation right here. Look,
it says room 301--Arabian Nights." Lee's voice rose as he slapped
the paperwork on the counter. The check-in clerk stepped back and
looked ready to run.
Amanda placed a soothing hand on Lee's arm. "It's okay, really.
Let's see what else they have."
"It's not okay. It isn't our fault these idiots double-booked the
room." He leaned toward the unfortunate clerk, who took a second
step back.
She tugged at his sleeve, pulling him away from the counter. "I'm
tired. You're tired. We need a room. Let's just see what they
have, okay? Remember, you said the place wasn't important, right?
And you've still got the company."
Her smile must have been contagious. Lee's tight muscles relaxed
under her fingers, and he sucked in a deep breath, a sheepish grin
tugging at his lips.
"You sure know how to throw a guy's words back at him, don't you?"
"Yeah, I learned it from the boys."
Twenty minutes later, they hesitated in front of room 314.
Amanda nudged Lee in the ribs with a sharp elbow. "Go on. How bad
can it be?"
He turned the key in the lock, took a deep breath, and swung the door
open with a flourish. "This bad."
Shocked, she drifted to the middle of the room and turned a complete
circle, jaw dropped. As the unusual surroundings numbed her senses,
her toiletry case and purse plopped to the floor unnoticed.
"Oh, my." With a final resigned glance around the room, she scooped
up her bags and deposited them on the edge of the oversized
bed. "We've been swallowed alive."
Lee looked happier than he had any right to be. His earlier
annoyance apparently forgotten, he tossed his suitcases in the corner
and strolled around the room. He touched the curved pink walls and
ran his hands along an arched rib. "It's amazing, really. Amanda,
look at this. Driftwood . . . sea foam carpet . . . even teeth."
A smile forced its way past the shock, and she wandered over to stand
beside her husband. It was true. This was a monster of a room. She
fingered the artful rags hanging from hooks on a broad
white 'rib.' "Who would ever fantasize about being swallowed by a
whale? I mean, look, there are even castaway costumes to go with it."
Lee halted his examination of the room and began to examine her, and
a thrill raced up her spine at his feral grin. His voice was husky,
and promise smoldered in his sexy eyes. "Hmmm, let's see. Two
castaways, adrift on the sea . . . swallowed by the behemoth.
Together forever, and all alone. No appointments."
He slipped behind her.
"No responsibilities . . . " Strong arms wrapped around her waist.
"No dinner invitations . . ."
She smiled. "No interruptions?"
Amanda gasped as he swept her up into his arms and carried her to the
bed. "Just you and me. All alone."
He undid each button on her blouse with tantalizing deliberation.
She allowed him to press her back into the soft pillows, and her
breath quickened in anticipation.
Maybe this room wasn't so bad after all.
------------------------------------------
After a brisk blow-dry, Amanda dragged the comb through her
hair. "Lee? You almost ready?" Fastening the last pearl button on
her light blue dress, she bumped the bathroom door open with her hip
and padded into the room.
Lee slammed down the telephone receiver and whirled to face her, his
face red and hands clenched.
"Who was that?" she asked. It couldn't be good. The mixture of
guilt and anger on her husband's face was not reassuring. He was up
to something, keeping her out of the loop.
"Just the front desk. Nothing important." But anger sparked in his
eyes, and all the tension had returned.
The worry in his eyes cut through her curiosity, and she shook her
head as she slipped behind him. Wrapping her arms around his waist,
Amanda rested her cheek against his warm shoulder and hugged him
until his tense muscles relaxed. A Class C interrogation was in
order, but somehow she couldn't bring herself to question him. Not
now. There would be time tonight, when they were more relaxed.
"Lee?"
"Yeah, I know," he mumbled. "You don't have to say it. Relax."
He turned and pulled her into his arms. "I don't want anything to
interfere with our vacation. I just want a little time alone with my
wife. Is that too much to ask?"
"No, it's not," she replied, touching her lips to his. "Nothing is
going to stop us from having a wonderful time. After all, what could
possibly happen at the Fantasy Suites?" With a smile, she took his
hand and tugged him toward the door. "Let's start with dinner, and
we can work our way up from there."
"Or down." His warm smile was back, and she could feel the heat rise
in her cheeks at his appraising glance. Maybe the interrogation
could wait until tomorrow.
First things first.
The elevator door opened into the lobby and the faint scent of garlic
shrimp and filet mignon drew them to the restaurant. At just that
moment, Amanda's stomach rumbled, and Lee smiled at her, with one
eyebrow raised.
"Hungry?" His smile broadened at the obvious, and his gentle hand
guided her as the waiter led them to a small table in front of a
large picture window. The red-splashed sunset was slipping behind
the hills, and by the time the server brought a menu, the sky had
dimmed to a gentle rose-gray.
It was beautiful. Peaceful. Amanda settled back in her chair to
enjoy the romantic meal with her husband. The waiter was friendly,
the service quick, and her blackened salmon was absolutely
delicious. It was so rare to be a couple sharing a meal by
candlelight. She reached across the table and touched his hand. Lee
smiled back at her, as relaxed and contented as she was.
She jumped as her chair was jostled from behind and craned her neck
to watch a waiter sail around the table to stop at Lee's elbow.
"I'm sorry to bother you, but there is a phone call for Mr. Stetson.
May I show you to the front desk?" The waiter was polite, but Lee
ignored him.
"Isn't this roast beef great?" Lee speared another bite with
determination.
Over his head, she met the waiter's eyes and shrugged. As the young
man turned and strode from the dining room, she grasped Lee's hand
and gently slipped the fork from his fingers.
"I think this is just about enough. I want to know what's going on.
Now." She placed the fork out of his reach. "You know who's
calling, right?"
Heaving a sigh, his shoulders drooped. "Yeah. Dr. Smyth."
"What!" Amanda squeaked. "Why would Dr. Smyth call you here? Oh my
gosh, what could the Agency want that's so important that they had to
find us on our vacation?"
Lee shrugged. "I don't know. I keep hanging up."
He reached across the table and clasped her hand. "I don't want
anything to ruin our second honeymoon. I want to spend time with
you, to relax. I want to--"
When her chair was bumped from behind, she jerked her hand away, then
gasped as something wet and cold cascaded down the front of her
dress.
"I'm so, so sorry, ma'am. How clumsy of me." The waiter dabbed at
her soaked dress, ignoring her attempts to evade him, while sloshing
more iced tea across the table with each bob and weave.
Amanda slid out of her chair and stepped back from the red-faced
waiter, while Lee stormed out of his seat and ripped the damp rag
from the man's hand.
"Enough!" He tossed the rag on the table and reached for her,
concern in his eyes.
She took a deep breath and forced a smile, shaking iced tea from her
stained skirt. Murphy's Law strikes again. "I'm okay, really. I'm
just glad it was a cold drink." She looked over Lee's
shoulder. "Here comes the manager, I think."
The short, balding man apologized profusely, his fingers fluttering
as he waved his hands and bounced on the balls of his feet. " . . .
This has never happened before . . ."
Amanda tuned him out. Was this trip just doomed to disaster? She
edged around the table and touched Lee's sleeve.
Tearing his attention away from the agitated little man, he slid his
arm around her waist. "Let's go back to our room so you can change.
We can always get room service later." His smile looked
forced. "Unless we can think of something better to do."
She hugged him, trying to transfer as little tea as possible to his
slacks. As they walked through the lobby, the concierge appeared
beside them.
"Mr. Stetson?"
Lee nodded cautiously.
"I have a call for you at the front desk."
With her arm tucked in his, she felt his muscles tense, and he
brushed past the startled man without a reply. Amanda planted her
feet, pulling him up short.
"Lee, take the call." When he opened his mouth to protest, she
placed her fingers across his lips. "You need to take this call. We
can't hide from it. If the Agency is this persistent, it has to be
something serious, right?"
He brushed her cheek with his fingertips. "Too practical. But what
about you?"
"Why don't I go back to our room and get changed, while you find out
what's going on?" She smiled. "We'll work it out when you get back,
whatever it is. Okay?"
His lips brushed hers. "Okay. But if Smyth thinks we're coming back
early, he's sadly mistaken."
Chapter 2
It took forever for the elevator door to open, and Amanda was glad it
was empty when she stepped inside. Wet, cold, and worried, she
leaned back against the wall and counted the floors. The door slid
open at three, and she trudged down the hall.
It shouldn't be this hard to spend time with your husband. A quick
shower and a change of clothes would adjust her attitude, and whining
wasn't productive, but Amanda allowed herself to wallow in her
misery. She was exhausted. Her energy faded with each doorway she
passed, and she concentrated on counting the steps to her room.
The door to her left flew open, and she whirled in surprise. When
her gaze locked on the gun, her breath caught in her throat. A vise-
like grip enveloped her wrist, and she was yanked off her feet and
propelled into the room.
The door slammed shut behind her, and darkness descended.
I'm not afraid of the dark. I'm not. "Could you turn on the light?
Please?"
Amanda gulped deep breaths and leaned against a wall, taking small
comfort from the solid surface behind her. Squinting into the
darkness, she waited for the owner of the iron grip to make another
move. How could she fight him if she couldn't see?
His throaty chuckle sent chills up her spine. "Pardon me. I couldn't
resist a touch of the melodramatic." The light flicked on, and she
blinked in the sudden glare, pressing even harder against the cold,
unforgiving wall.
It couldn't be. Impossible.
The Glock didn't waver as its owner motioned her to a scarf-draped
chair, a suave smile creasing his face but never reaching his hard
eyes. "Sit, little Scarecrow. We meet again, just as I promised.
We have much to talk about, you and I."
--------------------------------------------------------
Lee fought down the anger that threatened to consume his holiday and
rested his hands on the counter. The phone, with its annoying red
lights, flashed a warning. Well, there was no help for it; it was
time to see what the old buzzard wanted. Since the line wasn't
secure, how vital could it really be?
"Stetson here."
"Well, well, well. The crow finally comes home to roost. Avoiding
me, Scarecrow? You should know better."
"I'm on vacation, as you should know, since it was approved through
your office." Lee's fingers clenched around the receiver. "What do
you want?"
"Cut to the chase, eh? I like that. Very well, a Russian bird of
your acquaintance is flying the coop, and I need him in the net
before the day is over. He's in your neck of the woods, so I've
taken the liberty of guiding him your way. You need only to bag him
and hold him for retrieval. His handlers should arrive in less than
twenty-four hours."
"You've sent him here? A Russian--"
"Open lines don't mix with open lips, Scarecrow, you know that. I'm
sure you and the little missus can keep him entertained."
Smyth's tone changed.
"Our little canary asked specifically for you. There is too much at
stake here for your whims to take precedence. You will pick him up,
and you will keep him safe. Understood?
Lee's shoulders slumped in defeat. "How will I know him?"
"Oh, you'll know him, I suspect. You will be contacted when our
people arrive."
He held the receiver to his ear for several seconds, listening to the
dial tone, then placed it back in the cradle. Russian agents didn't
defect every day, and this one was obviously a prime catch, or Smyth
wouldn't have dealt with it personally. Somehow, that didn't make
him feel any better.
How was he going to tell Amanda? Funny how life's little worries
changed. A week ago, his well-ordered suburban life had felt like a
burden.
Now, it was looking pretty good.
Suddenly Lee was tired. Waiting for the elevator door to open seemed
like a monumental task. How was he going to tell Amanda? What could
he say? "Sorry, sweetheart, vacation's over--back to work?" The
doors opened, and he stepped inside. He slumped against the rear
wall and concentrated on the sound of the gears. Maybe the elevator
would stall before it reached the third floor.
No such luck, and as he walked down the long hallway, he considered
and discarded explanation after explanation, each sounding as cold
and wooden as the last. Oh, she would understand--she always did.
Amanda had an infinite capacity to absorb change. She'd put a good
face on it and spend the rest of the trip cheering him up.
That prospect didn't lighten his step.
Room 314 loomed in the distance, and Lee hesitated. Time to face the
music. Gathering what was left of his composure, he swung the door
open. "Honey, I'm home."
No laughter greeted him, and a sliver of worry stabbed his heart.
Foolish of course--she was probably in the bathroom. A quick look
showed him all he needed to know. Each item was just as they'd left
it--the clothes still neatly folded on the bed, a damp towel draped
across the shower door, her suitcase was undisturbed.
Amanda wasn't here. Somehow, between the lobby and their room, she'd
disappeared. Every instinct was screaming as he dove for the phone,
and only one thought pushed through the panic.
He'd kill Dr. Smyth if anyone harmed even one hair on Amanda's head.
Slowly. Painfully.
Damn the man.
It took only minutes. Secure phone line or not, he'd gotten his
answer. Such a simple matter--agent missing, presumed captured.
Only it wasn't simple when your wife was the agent and backup was an
eternity away. He slammed the telephone against the table and
struggled to focus. Finding Amanda had to take precedence over
killing Dr. Smyth. For the moment.
The Agency had sent the defector to this hotel--a Russian wolf among
the vacationing sheep. Lee's fingers clenched. Why this agent?
Smyth had been cagey on the unsecured line, but it hadn't taken much
for the scenario to become clear.
Why, of all the KGB operatives in the country, did it have to be
Viktor Zinoniev?
----------------------------------------------------------------------
"You fooled me, little Scarecrow. It's a rare man, or woman, who can
do that." Zinoniev inclined his head and touched the brim of his
fedora. "When I had you in the palm of my hand, you held to that
identity, even in the face of terror. Strength under adversity, as
it were."
Amanda licked her dry lips, but kept her eyes focused on his. She
refused to look at the gun in his hand. "I'm not--"
"Of course you aren't the Scarecrow. I learned that--to my chagrin--
when I filed my reports. Imagine the mirth when my superiors
discovered I'd captured a housewife--and almost shipped her to the
motherland as the great American agent. That little faux pas nearly
destroyed my career."
Pain was etched into the lines on his forehead, but a certain wry
humor glinted in his dark eyes. He was hard to read, and Amanda
wasn't about to let her guard down. At least, not until he pointed
that gun in another direction.
"But, alas, my dear, I recovered my honor and rebuilt my reputation.
Until now, that has been enough. I was looking forward to
retirement, a quiet life in the countryside, visits with my
grandchildren." His gaze dropped to the gun in his hand, and he
loosened his grip. "As much as it pains me to say it, I need help.
And where else could I seek it, hmmm?"
The muscles in her stomach slowly unclenched. She wasn't going to
die? Wow.
Zinoniev flipped the gun through his manicured fingers and held it
out, grip first. "I place my life in your hands, little Scarecrow."
He smiled as she reached out and plucked the weapon from his hand.
He turned his back on her and walked to the bed, settling on the edge
of the mattress. "Where is the tall lad? Can you get him? I only
have the energy to make my explanations once."
Amanda relaxed, a shuddering breath hissing through her teeth as she
turned her back on Zinoniev and dialed her room. He had enjoyed
pointing that gun at her just a little too much. She didn't trust
him, but the gun in her hand was a comforting weight. Still, she
needed Lee. Now. Please let him be there.
--------------------------------------------------------------------
It was only a minute, but it seemed like she'd been standing by the
door for hours, listening for Lee's footsteps in the hall. She
held the gun on Zinoniev, who perched on the corner of the bed and
watched her, that hint of amusement still ghosting through his eyes.
Humor? What was the humor in this situation? Amanda focused on
her "captive" and realized that it was indeed a strange little
scene. She wasn't sure exactly who had the upper hand here--the cold-
blooded KGB operative who had willingly dropped his gun in her hands,
or herself--a surprised wife on a second honeymoon. The fact that
she was also a spy just made it even stranger. She fought to keep a
grin from tugging at her mouth. No, this wasn't funny.
Well, not much.
Of course, the surroundings only added to the surreal scene. The
bright pillows of silk and the layered Persian carpets flowed into
the walls, draped with tapestries and billowing scarves. The room
looked familiar, and then it hit. This was the room that she and Lee
had booked. Well, that explained why it wasn't available. Zinoniev
must have some resources he hadn't mentioned yet, including cash for
bribes.
Welcome footsteps pelted down the hall, and Amanda spared a quick
glance at the doorknob. She'd recognize that out-of-breath panting
anywhere. Without turning, she fumbled for the lock with her free
hand and then stepped aside as the door burst inward.
"Zinoniev, damn it, where is she?" The force of his entry propelled
Lee into the middle of the room.
His target buffed an elegantly manicured fingernail on his lapel,
ignoring the gun aimed at his chest, and then aimed the same finger
in Amanda's general direction. Lee's gaze remained locked on
Zinoniev's, as he reached out his arm to gather her in.
"I'm okay," she said, as she allowed herself to be pulled to his
side. Solid and warm and there in the knick of time, as always.
Well, perhaps a couple of minutes late. She relaxed into his side,
but slid out of his grasp when he would have pressed her behind him.
"What took you so long?" As Zinoniev's voice broke the tension,
Amanda and Lee turned to stare at their captive.
Lee's look of bemused indignation was almost worth all the worry.
His sharp glance took in the gun in her hand and Zinoniev's position
in the room. A slow smile spread across his face, replacing worry
with pride.
The smile lasted two seconds.
"A bit slow there, my lad. You really need to be quicker than that.
It took you, what, thirty seconds to make it down the hall?" Amanda
felt Lee grow several inches as his back snapped ramrod straight.
Why was Zinoniev baiting him?
Maybe to keep a little of his dignity. There was a tightness around
Zinoniev's mouth, and was that a waver in the cultured facade? He
was worried. She was struck again by the absurdity of the
situation. Just what was going on here?
"Lee?"
"I think I'll let our friendly neighborhood KGB operative do the
explaining." His gun never wavered. "Why the sudden urge to come
over to our side? Run out of flunkies like Rostov to do your dirty
work?"
For the first time, the superior smirk faded, and Zinoniev looked
away.
Chapter 3
"Power." When he turned back, his eyes were bleak, and Amanda fought
down a sudden pang of sympathy. "It's always about power. Who has
it. Who seeks it."
He paused, and the silence stretched uncomfortably, until Lee
gestured for him to continue.
Zinoniev sighed. "It's the usual sordid story. There are so few of
the old guard left. Just myself and a handful of others. But some
are highly placed and still wield a modicum of control, and I know
them all. Youngsters like Rostov are restless, hungry for esteem and
power, and increasingly less patient to wait for their natural rise.
Some sought to take the reins of power early. A coup, if you will."
His eyes fixed on the gilded mirror to his left, and his voice lost
all traces of emotion. "It was my time. Time to lay down the burden
of my service for Mother Russia and spend time playing with my
grandchildren. A simple desire, really . . ."
Lee snorted. "Yeah, right, let's hear another one. Do you honestly
intend to paint yourself as a victim here? I don't buy it. Skip the
tall tales and get to the facts. Who's coming after you, and what
are we up against here?"
"I was framed, to put it inelegantly." Zinoniev toyed with the edge
of his sleeve. "It was to be my last assignment, and my years of
service would have been complete. Instead, certain evidence surfaced
which pointed to my subversion, my desire to betray the KGB, and a
plan to defect to your lovely country. Of course, it was ludicrous,
but in discrediting me, they also forced the hands of my friends in
the division."
When Zinoniev's eyes met hers, Amanda could feel some sincerity in
them, but Lee snorted again. "Okay, so what brings you here? Why
are we so lucky?"
"To protect themselves and the organization, my . . . friends . . .
were forced to call out the dogs. I was left with no option but to
contemplate the very things I was accused of, or die. I found I was
not ready to die quietly and alone with my name discredited."
The smile lifted the corner of his mouth again. "And who to help me
in my time of need? Why, none other than the Scarecrow and the
delightful Mrs. King." At Lee's grimace, he continued, "I let it be
known to your Doctor Smyth that I might be willing to . . .
well . . . cross over, shall we say? Smyth jumped at the chance."
He turned a quizzical eye toward Lee. "Have you ever noticed that he
seems a little unbalanced?"
His gaze traveled from Amanda to Lee and settled on the gun in Lee's
hand. He shrugged. "Ah, well, never mind. I have placed certain
limitations on the information I will provide to your Agency. While
I have no qualms about bringing down Rostov and his bullyboys, I will
do nothing to harm the interests of my country. Now why don't we all
sit down and talk about it. I'm getting a decided crick in my neck
staring up at you."
"Are you hungry?"
Both sets of eyes trained on Amanda as she pulled a chair from the
small table in the corner of the room and pushed it in Lee's
direction. She snagged a second chair for herself and settled into
it. They were still staring at her when she picked up the receiver
and pulled out the room service menu. "Oh, come on, if we're going
to be talking all night, we might as well have something brought up.
I'm starving. Remember, my dinner was interrupted." She brushed at
the drying stains on her dress. Too late to worry about that now.
Lee's posture relaxed just a little, and the muzzle of the gun
dipped.
"Did you actually reserve this room Mr. . . . um . . . Zinoniev, or
did you just . . . well . . . borrow it?"
Zinoniev flashed her a wide grin. "The room was reserved--after a
fashion--under a pseudonym. And I think dinner would be a grand
idea. We are sailing under a flag of truce, are we not?"
Amanda looked up at Lee, who hovered over his chair. With an
exasperated sigh, he holstered his gun and plopped into it. "Yeah,
right."
His expression was closed and suspicious and spoke volumes. She knew
he wasn't about to trust the wily Russian. Neither was she. But the
man was their assignment.
And she was very hungry.
Lee cleared his throat and shifted in his chair. "I don't know about
a truce, but I still need to know the details. Who's after you and
how many? Were you followed here? If you were followed, how long
until they make their move?"
"I wish I had answers for you. I don't believe I was tracked here,
but you must remember, we are dealing with the best. I know. I
trained him. Now that the hound has bitten his master's hand and
tasted blood, Rostov will follow the scent until he has found me. As
to the numbers we might face, I suspect it's no greater than three."
Zinoniev paused and pinned Lee with a pointed stare. "Lad, if they
have tracked me here, then we will need to work together, you and I.
And the little Scarecrow, of course."
"She's not the--"
Zinoniev cut him off with a wave. "She is to me."
Lee started to rise from his chair, and Amanda rustled the menu to
break the tension clouding the room.
"How about Italian?"
------------------------------------------------------
Amid the jumbled empty plates, half-filled glasses, and napkins,
Amanda and Zinoniev chatted like old friends. During dinner, the
conversation had drifted to duty and the things one must do for one's
country. While Lee had to agree that there were certain necessary
and somewhat unsavory acts committed in the name of duty and country,
the damn Russian had taken it to new heights. Duty? Yeah, right.
But Amanda seemed to be buying the guy's entire load.
And then came the touching family stories, enough to make him sick.
First it was Zinoniev's wife, then the kids, and now the man was
showing off pictures of his grandkids, to Amanda's appreciative
murmurs.
He couldn't believe it. There was something surreal about the
scene. It felt . . . well . . . it was just wrong. He cleared his
throat for the third time.
It was Zinoniev who caught his glare over the top of Amanda's head.
Something about the superior grin made Lee want to remove it
permanently from its owner's face, but it would have to be business
first. Before he could gather enough breath to speak, Zinoniev beat
him to it.
"Little Scarecrow?" His grin grew broader as he touched her
shoulder. "I believe the tall lad is trying to get your attention.
Either that, or the last bit of garlic bread didn't go down well."
Lee clenched his fist, but forced a calm smile of his own and
gestured when Amanda swiveled around to look at him. "Can I see you
a minute?"
He tucked his hand under her arm and ushered her into the bathroom.
He could still see Zinoniev reflected in the mirror.
"Okay, here I am. What's going on?" Her tone carried a hint of
annoyance.
She didn't get it. His own impatience began to leak through, and he
didn't try to stop it. "Amanda, just what do you think you're
doing? Next thing, you two will be sharing recipes. You know this
guy is a killer, right? He ordered me killed and nearly shipped you
to Russia. He's killed our people, and he'd do it again."
Amanda's eyes were wide, but not with chagrin. "Of course I know who
and what he is. As well as you do. But right now, he's our duty."
She placed one finger against his chest and gave a little push for
emphasis. "The more we know about him, the better off we'll be.
Come on, you can't deny that."
"Just don't get too friendly."
"Sharing recipes, huh?" She turned and walked away. "Viktor makes a
mean strudel."
It couldn't get much worse, but thankfully, the torment would be
short. In a few hours, the Agency would descend and remove this
thorn from his side. And Viktor Zinoniev would be nothing more than
a bad memory.
Three hours later, the thorn was still there and seemed to be
settling in for the night. Lee caught Amanda's eye and motioned her
into the bathroom. Again.
"This is getting to be a habit." She grinned and then sobered. "Are
we going to spend the night here?"
Her gaze dropped to her stained dress, and her thoughts were as plain
as day. "I'd really like to change," she said. "Do you think it's
safe to go back to our room and get a change of clothes and maybe
take a shower? I'd rather not shower here."
"Not with our friend in the next room, huh?"
She shook her head.
"I see. Hands across the water only reach so far?" Temper flashed
in her eyes, but as he held her gaze, humor began to creep in, until
they were both grinning. After a furtive look over her shoulder, she
trailed her fingertips up the front of his shirt, until she could cup
his cheek in her hand. He leaned into the caress and captured her
hand with his own.
"Not exactly the second honeymoon we planned, is it?" she
murmured. "No quiet time just for us. I wish . . ."
He pulled her close, for once not worrying about Zinoniev, or the
Agency, or anything else. For one moment, his focus was clear. As
his lips caressed hers, she signed and leaned into his embrace.
"Later," he whispered. "Just you and me--"
"And Baby makes three. Isn't that how it goes?" Zinoniev watched
them with something akin to fatherly pride. Lee reluctantly released
Amanda and nudged her toward the door. "I think it's safe for you to
go back to our room and get some things. But if you're not back in
twenty minutes, we'll come find you."
"Play nice, boys." With a final look, she slipped out the door,
leaving him alone with the still grinning Zinoniev.
It was going to be a long night.
Chapter 4
Thank goodness it was only down the hall. It was funny, really. She
almost wished she could be a fly on the wall, listening to Lee and
Zinoniev while she was gone. He was bating Lee, no doubt about it.
And Lee, whose patience had been stretched thin before this trip even
started, was jumping at the bait.
Well, she'd be back before they took each other apart. She hoped.
After a quick shower, she slipped into her favorite jeans and T-shirt
and laced on comfortable tennis shoes. The outfit might not be
festive, but it was clean. She dragged a comb through her damp hair
and contemplated the small pile of things she'd grabbed for Lee.
Razor, change of clothes . . . oh, yes, and a toothbrush.
As she swept the rest of the items into her smallest suitcase, she
stole a glance at the clock on the nightstand. Fifteen minutes. Not
bad, really. She flipped off the lights and poked her nose into the
hallway. The coast was clear, so she eased out into the corridor and
jogged down the hall.
The elevator door was sliding shut as she passed by. All the
precautions were probably unnecessary, but it was always wise to--
The doors glided shut, but not before a surprised face was framed in
the narrowing opening. For a second, their eyes met, and then it was
too late.
Rostov.
His surprised shout was cut off as the elevator descended, and Amanda
jumped at the dull thud that rattled the doors. In that one instant
he'd recognized her, and he'd be back up the stairs in a flash when
the elevator stopped.
She dropped her suitcase as she dashed down the hallway. Lee wasn't
going to need it now. Half expecting at any minute to feel Rostov's
hot breath on her neck, she hit the door still running and rattled
the knob.
"Lee, let me in. Hurry!" Still no one in the hall, but she could
have only seconds. If Rostov had accomplices, they were probably
already checking the hotel records for recent arrivals. Their safe
haven wasn't safe any more.
The door swung open, and she pushed her way past a startled Lee,
dragging the door shut in her wake.
"He saw me!" she gasped, ignoring the dumbfounded expressions.
"Who--"
"Rostov. I saw him going down on the elevator as I went past."
Amanda's eyes darted to Zinoniev's ashen face. "Lee, he saw me! He
has to be right behind me, and he saw which way I was going. We need
to leave now."
For one interminably long second, they stared at each other, knowing
what this meant. They would be trapped. If Rostov and his cronies
were already prowling the hallway, they wouldn't be able to elude
them.
"And just how are we going to leave? If we venture into the hall,
we'll be seen. If we stay here, they will undoubtedly discover my
room number first, since there can't be many single men in this fine
establishment." Zinoniev stood, with his mask firmly in place. "Any
ideas? I believe this is what I'm paying you for."
She tugged at Lee's sleeve, and he broke eye contact with Zinoniev to
offer her a sick grin. "All we need to do is stall for time. The
Agency handlers should be here any minute, so we just need to keep
you on ice until then." He gestured. "You first."
Zinoniev's gaze followed the wave of Lee's arm, and his eyes
widened. "I believe you are serious."
"You bet I am, now get moving."
"We don't have much time before they find this room. It might take
them longer to find ours. And it's closer to the emergency exits and
stairway." Amanda grasped the startled Russian's hand and tugged him
toward the sliding glass door. She only hoped the balconies extended
all the way across the back of the building. If not, it was going to
be a long drop.
She pushed Zinoniev out the ornate gilt doors, stumbling on the silk
pillows strewn about the sheltered balcony. Lee shut the door behind
them, and then led the way to the adjoining balcony.
Amanda accepted his hand as she scrambled over the wrought iron rails
that separated each suite, and Zinoniev panted behind them. Each
balcony was themed to each room, in a crazy patchwork of styles and
designs. Through the forest, into the jungle, past a Swiss chalet,
and into the Taj Mahal.
She followed Lee over another rail and ran into his back as he
stopped dead. Her hands on his back, she could feel him hesitate,
and she leaned to peer around him. Zinoniev pulled himself over with
a groan, mumbling something about divine retribution, and stumbled to
a stop behind her.
"I'm, um . . ." Lee reached back and fumbled for her hand. Grasping
it tightly, he towed her along behind him as she craned to see who he
had spoken to. "Shhhh, " he whispered. "You'll wake her up."
"Her?" Amanda snuck a peek and wished she hadn't.
A primordial forest scene, complete with flowers and twinkling
lights, spread out beside them. But it was no fairy that slumbered
beneath the synthetic apple tree, with the serpent twisted through
the boughs. In this "Garden of Eden," Eve slept, oblivious to her
visitors.
Eyes averted, Amanda all but pushed Lee ahead of her. She couldn't
slink away fast enough.
Zinoniev's throaty chuckle was followed by a sleepy grunt from the
occupant of the chase lounge, sheltered amid the rather garish silk
flowers. "Oh, goodness," he whispered, as his hands nudged her
back. "I suspect she'll wake."
Sandwiched between the two men, she winced as she barked her shins on
the rails when Lee all but dragged her onto the next balcony. The
large red-haired woman had looked so peaceful, sleeping in the
moonlight. A fleeting thought slipped unwanted into Amanda's head,
and she forced it away. Apple trees and serpents and a very large
Eve. She supposed that particular fantasy theme saved the hotel
money on costumes and such.
The next balcony was artfully piled with crates, ropes, and other
nautical flotsam and jetsam, all very familiar. They were back in
the belly of the beast, and from Zinoniev's rude snort behind her, he
must have regained his sense of humor. Perhaps he'd found it a few
balconies back--in the Garden of Eden.
"You chose this room? My, my . . ."
Lee ushered them through the portal and shut the doors behind
him. "Hardly. I think that someone bribed the front desk, because
when we got here, our reserved room was unavailable."
"Isn't that terrible? I think you should complain." Zinoniev
perched on the corner of the bed with a sigh. "I would have worn
more comfortable shoes if I had known you two were so athletic. It's
exhausting trying to keep up with you." He smiled at Amanda and
gestured at Lee, who was pacing the room. "Is he always like this?"
She opened her mouth to answer, and then snapped it closed. There
was no way she was going to answer that one.
"Don't get too comfortable there. This is just a temporary fix.
Amanda?"
"I know." He didn't need to tell her what their chances of discovery
were; this little room switch bought them only minutes, if that. And
once Rostov and his men were in the halls, they'd be trapped. If
they could just make it to the emergency exit . . .
A thickly accented voice shouted from down the hall, "Hotel
Security. Open up."
They were checking the rooms, and the chance at escaping in the usual
way was gone.
Lee walked outside to the railing and peered over the edge. Out the
doors like a flash and beside him, Amanda followed his gaze over the
railing. Her stomach leaped into her throat. Oh, no, not again.
When he turned to her, there was speculation in his eyes, a grim
humor. "Shall I get our guest?" Without waiting for her nod, he
turned on his heels and strode back into the room.
"Up and at 'em!" He grabbed Zinoniev by the lapel of his jacket and
hauled him to his feet. "You won't get another invitation."
"Why do we always come to this point?" Amanda didn't really expect
an answer. She peered again at the murky duck pond beneath her
feet. It was only three stories . . . How bad could it be?
The real question was 'How deep could it be?' She turned away from
the rail--and the speculation--and almost smiled as Lee frog-marched
Zinoniev to the edge. Lee was enjoying this way too much.
Zinoniev grabbed the rail and planted his feet. "You can't be
serious." He looked from Amanda, to Lee, and back again, and then
sighed. "Undoubtedly, you are."
She jumped as the room's doorknob rattled. "Hotel Security. Open
this door!"
"Lee?"
He turned to Zinoniev and shrugged. "It's your choice. If you want
to wait for the Goon Squad, help yourself." He clasped Amanda's hand
and squeezed it reassuringly. "Ready, Sundance?"
Swallowing her fear, she squeezed back. "Ready when you are, Butch."
As the pool leaped up to meet them, the last sound she heard was the
Russian's startled "Who?"
------------------------------------------------
Thank goodness it was a lot deeper than it looked. That it had also
been more putrid than expected was unfortunate. When Zinoniev had
splashed beside her, she'd opened her mouth in surprise.
Not the best idea.
They slithered up the bank and ducked against the hotel wall, out of
sight from prying eyes above. Hopefully, by the time the Russian
broke into the room, there'd be no sign of them, not even a ripple on
the water. But they needed to find a safe haven. Amanda tried to
wring the water from the ends of her T-shirt and caught Lee's
eye. "What now?"
"We need to get out of sight," he said, as he plucked the last of the
wet marsh grass from behind his ear.
"I believe that can be arranged." Their charge, looking decidedly
less dapper, fished around in his collar, and then flipped a half
rake through his fingers. "Which room would you prefer?"
"Preferably, an empty one." Lee reached for Amanda's hand and pulled
her against his side, as the staccato beat of an angry Russian voice
pelted from above.
She slipped her hand from his and forged ahead, past the glow from
four occupied rooms, and then stopped. And listened. At last. This
one seemed empty. If they could just get to the phone, and then slip
away . . .
With a deft twist of the rake, the lock released, and Zinoniev eased
the sliding door open. Before he could cross the threshold, Lee
pulled him back and stepped through first. Amanda followed, her hand
against his back. This room was the "Gypsy Caravan" theme, with
garishly colored walls and a rounded wooden ceiling. Multicolored
scarves fluttered from the double doors and festooned the lamps and
furniture. It was loud and tasteless and cheerful. Amanda smiled. A
bright spot in an otherwise soggy evening.
The room was quiet, and Amanda blinked to focus her eyes in the
darkness. Oh no! It may have seemed empty, but it wasn't
unoccupied. "Lee!" she hissed, tugging at his damp shirt and
pointing. He followed her finger, and his eyes widened.
A frilly white dress pooled carelessly on the floor at their feet,
and a trail of flowers, shoes, and scattered clothing led to the
bedroom. It couldn't be.
But it was.
"Who's there?" A tremulous voice wavered from behind them. They
whirled and gaped at the woman, girl really, curled in the
overstuffed corner chair and wrapped in one of the shawls that
littered the room. Her tearstained eyes glistened in the darkness,
and she pulled her knees up to her chest. "Don't hurt me . . ."
Amanda couldn't help it. She reacted to that voice like the mother
she was, forgetting about the case and Zinoniev. Holding her hand
out toward the girl, she gestured the men away. From the incredulous
look on Lee's face, he couldn't figure out why the young bride
reached out for her, instead of cringing away. All Amanda had to do
is walk into a room, and strangers gathered around her. He would
never understand magic behind it, but it was there, strong and bright
Before Amanda could get to her, the bedroom door burst open beside
them and the "groom" spilled into the room. She spared him a glance,
and then gathered up the weeping girl. Lee would sort him out.
After depositing the young man in a chair with a quelling look, Lee
shoved Zinoniev toward the bedroom. "Try to find some dry clothes."
Amanda ignored Lee's dumbfounded expression as she continued to sooth
the weeping bride. Maybe she could explain it later.
"And--and--and . . ." The girl was sobbing in her arms, and she met
Lee's gaze over the trembling blonde head and shrugged.
"So when you came back from the bar, he was too tired?" She kept her
voice soothing and soft. "Why were you in the chair, instead of--"
"He . . . he . . . he fell asleep, right when we were . . ."
Lee seemed to think it was safer to take another shot at convincing
the quivering young man that they were the good guys. American
agents. Hooray for the red white and blue! He did everything but
wave a flag and sing the Star Spangled Banner, but the kid still
looked skeptical.
When Zinoniev wandered out of the bedroom, wearing stonewashed jeans
that were at least six inches too long, and a "Grateful Dead" T-
shirt, Lee snickered. The ever-present fedora, still damp from its
dousing in the duck pond, perched precariously on his damp head.
"I wouldn't laugh if I were you," the Russian said. "The young man
has the most appalling fashion sense. These are yours."
Lee caught the pile of clothes as it hit him in the chest.
At the sound of the older agent's voice, the young groom's eyes
widened. Nothing like a Russian accent to convince a captive of an
agent's homegrown roots. Amanda reached out and patted his
knee. "Everything's going to be okay, Ron. You are doing a great
service for your country."
When Lee padded back into the room, toweling his still damp hair,
Amanda had to stare and choke down a snicker of her own . . . The
jeans were a size too small, and he yanked at the yellow muscle
shirt. Meeting her gaze, a smile tugged at the corner of his mouth,
and she had to smile back. So much for the vaunted Scarecrow fashion
statement.
Zinoniev had been a surprising help with the two newlyweds, who had
moved to the settee and sat shoulder to shoulder, hands now clasped
together. They seemed remarkably at ease, considering that strangers
had invaded their honeymoon suite. It hadn't taken a moment to
arrange for the change of clothes, and she really couldn't wait to
slip into something dry and less fragrant.
Lee quirked a finger in her direction, and, with a final soft word to
the youngsters, she pulled herself from the chair and followed him
into the bathroom.
"Your turn, love." He pointed to a pair of jeans and a fresh white
shirt. "I think I'm going to stash our friend in the maintenance
shed for the moment. I can't imagine it's going to be much longer
before our backup shows up."
"When will they get here?"
"I wish I knew. We just need to stall a little while longer." He
held out the rumpled change of clothing.
They looked good and were bound to be a better fit. Christina seemed
to be about her size. "Wait until I get changed, okay?"
"It makes more sense to do it now, Amanda, before they reach this
floor. I'll just be a second. And then . . ."
"We can lead them on a merry chase until our guys get here?"
He waggled his eyebrows. "Exactly."
"I wish we could call the Agency . . ."
Lee's brow furrowed for a moment, and then he shook his head. "We
can't know if they are monitoring the switchboard. I'll try to swing
by the `Vette on the way back and call from there. But as far into
the mountains as we are, I might not be able to connect." He ran a
gentle finger down her cheek and across her lips, and Amanda leaned
into the welcome touch. "This is the home stretch, just a little
while longer."
"I know." She kissed his finger, and then turned him around and gave
him a little shove. "Go on. The sooner you hide him, the sooner you
can come back. But if you aren't back in fifteen minutes, I'll be
right after you."
With a final look over his shoulder, he strode away to collect
Zinoniev.
Chapter 5
Five minutes later, Amanda fastened the last button on the white
cotton shirt and walked back into the main room, looking for
Christina to thank her for the change of clothing. They were still
on the sofa, and . . .
She turned away, blushing furiously, and backed into the bedroom. It
seemed like they were going to be just fine. But what should she do
in the mean time? It was tempting to pick up the phone and call the
Agency. So tempting. What were the odds of one of the agents
monitoring the switchboard? This was a resort, after all, and even
their rather loud search of the building must have drawn attention by
now. The Russians were taking chances, maybe she should, too.
She hated to wait and do nothing.
Sitting on the corner of the bed, she stared at the clock on the
nightstand. Five more minutes, and she was going after Lee. This
was ridiculous, just sitting here waiting. Four minutes now. Maybe
she could split the difference.
"Open up. Hotel Security."
Amanda bolted to her feet. They were here.
Ron and Christina were hastily rearranging their silk blankets, and
the girl clutched his arm as the young man met Amanda's eyes, then
looked away. "She's in here. Help!" He scrambled to his feet and
darted to the door.
Even as it swung wide, Amanda was sprinting for the gilt-framed
double doors and freedom.
"Oh, Ron, no!" Christina's shrill voice was drowned out by the
thunder of footsteps.
She almost made it. Her hand was on the handle, when strong arms
wrapped around her from behind and dragged her backward through the
bedroom. The click of handcuffs cut through her heart like a knife,
and she met Ron's eyes as she was propelled through the room. He
looked away again.
Christina's tear-stained face was ghostly white as she
watched. "Why?"
Ron shrugged. "The old fart spoke Russian. Do you really think they
were our guys?"
Hustled out the door and flanked by two burly KGB agents, Amanda
studied her options and sucked in a deep breath. A good loud scream
might bring someone running. But the wind rushed out of her lungs
with a grunt as the muzzle of a gun jabbed her ribs.
"Be silent or die," said the gun-wielding agent.
Amanda squinted into the dim light. They were heading for the
parking lot, and once they were there, who knew where she might end
up. She started to hang back, stalling for time, but they towed her
along between them. Panic stirred in her stomach, and she went limp,
trying to make them lose their grip. A spat of rapid Russian, too
fast to make out, rattled over her head, then a cold, damp cloth was
pressed over her mouth.
Iron-strong arms held her as she struggled against the sickly smell
and the familiar darkness. Her last thought pushed back the fog, and
then was buried within it.
Lee . . .
------------------------------------------------
Ouch!
Amanda gasped and opened her eyes to darkness. The familiar bite of
handcuffs sparked a helpless rising panic, and she struggled,
writhing to ease the pain in her wrists. She was tied. Trapped.
Where was she?
The vibration of tires on a gravel road rumbled through her hip and
shoulder, and the smell of exhaust and motor oil stung her nose. It
was the trunk of a car--had to be. Why was she here? How? She
struggled against the cuffs and worked her jaw against the tape over
her mouth.
Rubbing the side of her face against the rough carpet beneath her,
she caught the edge of the tape and teased it away from her mouth. A
rug burn was nothing, and she ignored the sting as the tape pulled
away.
The narrow space closed in around her, squeezing. It was the crate
again, cramped and cold, on the way to her first meeting with
Zinoniev. The car veered to the left, and then to the right,
knocking her against the hard metal sides. A sudden sharp pain in
her shoulder brought her back to the present, and she lay gasping,
trying to brace her feet and shoulders to ease the thrashing. She
had to think, to plan. She'd gotten out of tight spots before.
Willing her heart to stop pounding, Amanda counted to ten, and when
she felt the panic easing, she did it again.
One . . . two . . . three . . .
As she focused on the numbers, her breathing slowed, and the tight
muscles in her chest began to relax. Okay, time to think.
What had happened? It was so fuzzy . . .
A strong arm around her neck, dragging her backward. She'd felt the
rough cloth against her nose and mouth and choked on the familiar
sweet smell. Chloroform.
She was a hostage, and they needed her alive to force Lee's hand.
It had to be hours, or days. It seemed like forever, trapped in the
trunk with little air and dwindling light. It was probably only
minutes. But even forever could end. With a kind of sick relief,
she felt the slide of the tires as the car jerked to a halt.
Fear pounded back when the car door slammed and the crunch of
footsteps circled the car. She needed to run, to fight, to do
something. Anything. The trunk popped open and a large figure loomed
in the starlight. Huge hands bruised her arms as she was jerked out
and tossed over his leather-clad shoulder. She struggled, trying to
make him drop her, but a sharp poke in her ribs stole her breath for
the few steps it took to reach the building she had glimpsed. The
sound of heavy-soled shoes on a hollow wooden porch told her that
they had reached their destination.
She tried to croak out a question, which earned her another jab.
Seven steps inside the door, and her heart lurched as he yanked her
from his shoulder, and she fell back to bounce on--what? A couch?
Cot?
"Why am I here? What . . . ?" She tried to sit up, but the weight
of a heavy body crushed her backward. She fought madly, using
everything she had. Knees flailing, writhing under the bruising
weight, she felt his fingers fumble underneath her to unlock the
handcuffs that secured her wrists.
A chance! A quick jerk and her hands were free, and she tried to
squirm out from under him. Pushing her deeper into the cot, he
yanked her left arm over her head, and she felt the sting of the
metal around her wrist, and a click as they snapped shut on the
frame. Despite her trashing, her right arm followed.
She was trapped.
"What are you going to do?" She knew the answer, but she needed to
say something to release the tension. Her voice was pathetic, and
she hated it. It was weak, frightened, and angry tears pricked her
eyes. Amanda fought them. Spies don't cry.
"It will be a long and lonely wait. Pray that the Scarecrow follows
orders." His footsteps tracked across the room and out onto the
porch, and she was alone. Wondering why she had seen only the one
agent, Amanda began to work at the cuffs, twisting her wrists and
wiggling.
One agent here, and one missing. And where was Rostov?
------------------------------------------
"What the--" Hands balled into fists, Lee whirled and confronted
Zinoniev. Zinoniev shoved him again.
"Get down, you great young fool! It's Rostov."
Lee ducked behind a hedge, a full twenty yards from their target--the
rusted metal shed on the edge of the golf course. Rostov was just
visible through the leaves, striding back and forth in front of the
hotel. A second man darted up the walkway from the direction of the
riding stable.
Zinoniev tapped Lee's arm and hissed, "Uri Tarenkhov."
"Look, Zinoniev, why don't you see if you can get to that silver
Corvette, three rows over and two from that tree." He pressed his
keys into Zinoniev's hands. "Get in and keep your head down. I'll
take care of our friend Tarenkhov."
Zinoniev slipped away.
Rostov paused as the other man jogged toward him, and then he pulled
the taller man into the shadows.
Two of them accounted for, but where was number three? With both of
them in one place, there was no doubt in his mind that he could take
them, but the variables were daunting. Lee hesitated and glanced
toward the parking lot. Where was Zinoniev? He should have been in
the `Vette by now.
Zinoniev couldn't have gone after them himself, could he? Lee
watched and waited. The two agents broke apart--Tarenkhov striding
toward the parking lot and Rostov back through the double doors of
the hotel. And still no sign of his reluctant charge.
Making up his mind, he sidled along the hedge line, staying out of
sight but keeping his gaze on Tarenkhov. Divide and conquer, it
wasn't just for war games any more. If he could take the man out
quietly, he would increase their odds. And then he was going to find
Zinoniev and break his legs.
Five minutes later, he prodded the inert figure with his foot. This
was the best the KGB had to offer? Now what was he going to do with
him? Lee glanced around the parking lot, until his gaze crossed the
metal shed. If Zinoniev wasn't using it, it might be a good place to
stash Terankhov.
Lee dragged the man through the parking lot, grimacing as his
unwieldy burden thumped up along the curb. That was probably going
to hurt later. After rolling the agent across the threshhold, he
dragged the door shut behind him and scanned the tiny room. Loops of
cord hung from hooks on the walls, and a cabinet yielded a roll of
duct tape. By the time the Russian's angry eyes flashed over the
gag, he was trussed up like a Thanksgiving turkey. He smiled at his
handiwork as he shoved his captive under a workbench and used a
little more tape to secure him to the bench's legs. It wouldn't hold
him for long, and there was always a chance of discovery, but he just
needed to buy a little time.
Dusting off his hands, he left the dark shed and jogged to his car.
If Zinoniev wasn't there, he was going to be in trouble; he'd given
the Russian his only set of keys. A glitter caught his eye, and he
grimaced. Zinoniev had been there all right. His car keys mocked
him, placed dead center on the `Vette's hood.
The phone still beckoned; it would only take a second to call Billy
and find out when the Agency couriers would arrive. He reached for
the door handle and froze.
The small white note gleamed dully in the moonlight. He plucked it
off the driver's side window.
'Bring Vicktor Zinoniev to the cabin. Three miles up the dirt road,
turn left at the third dead tree. If you come without him, she dies.'
Lee crumpled the note in his fist and tried to control his
breathing. Maybe they didn't have her. Maybe it was a bluff. He
glanced at his watch--it had been thirty minutes since he'd left
Amanda in the newlywed's room, and she had promised to come after him
in fifteen. She was late.
They had her. And he didn't have Zinoniev. He must have seen the
note and skipped out. Lee swore and pounded the hood. If they hurt
her, there was nowhere in the world that they could hide. And when
he was done with them, he would find Vicktor Zinoniev and drag him
back, breathing or not.
Think, Stetson, think. He needed an ace in the hole, and he needed
it now. There wasn't much to bargain with, and if he couldn't get
Zinoniev . . .
Rostov. He was still in the hotel. Lee strode toward the softly
glowing facade, ignoring the twinkling lights and fairytale
ambiance. If he couldn't lay his hands on Zinoniev, then Rostov was
the next best thing. When he went to bring her back, he wouldn't be
alone. He tried to ignore the stirrings of fear that threatened to
distract him. It worked once, and it could work again.
Trading Rostov for Amanda was getting to be a bad habit.
Chapter 6
It was only the wind.
Amanda held her breath and worked the end of the paperclip into the
handcuff's lock. It wasn't a half rake, but it might do the trick,
if she could just get it at the right angle. She didn't have much
choice. There wasn't anything else within reach of her hands or
feet.
One tumbler, then two, clicked into line. Lee wasn't going to walk
into an ambush. Not if she could help it. If she could just pick
this darn lock before the Russian wandered back in, she'd have a
chance.
Down to the last one. She twisted the paperclip, and ever so
gently . . .
. . . dropped it. Amanda twisted, trying to catch it on her shirt,
but it bounced off a button and onto the floor. Oh, great! Now what?
Anger coursed through her veins and replaced the last vestige of
fear. This was ridiculous! Sliding her legs off the cot, she stood,
her arms still held fast by the cuffs. She tugged experimentally,
but the bedframe didn't budge. She didn't know how much time she'd
have, but taking it apart with her bare hands was starting to look
good.
The soft crunch of leaves underfoot stopped her cold. Heart
hammering in her chest, she strained to listen. There it was again.
He was coming back! She tugged harder.
His face popped up in the window!
Amanda threw herself backward, instinct overriding common sense, and
almost fell as she stumbled against the far wall. She met his eyes
and let out an explosive breath.
"Zinoniev," she hissed. "What--?"
He cut her off with a finger across his lips and pointed to the
door. Then it hit. She stared at her wrists, the cuffs dangling
from her right hand. Wow. That last turn must have done it.
No time to think about it now. She slipped beside the cabin door and
peered out. No sign of anyone. Dawn was beginning to brighten the
woods, and she would lose the cover of darkness. She needed to do
something. Quick. When she turned a querying look toward Zinoniev,
he was gone.
She needed to even the odds a bit, and her gaze swept the cramped
room. A slow smile was hard to contain as she reached for the poker
beside the tiny fireplace. It felt good in her hand. Nice and
solid.
Hefting it, she peered out the door again, scanning the trees for
signs of the enemy. A puff of cigarette smoke pinpointed her
adversary. She eased out the door and edged around the back of the
cabin. If she could just get behind him . . .
The thick tree trunks provided a handy cover, and Amanda dodged from
trunk to trunk, her eyes never leaving the target. Just a few feet
more. He was standing in a small clearing, fiddling with his
cigarette. Exposed. But if she went for him, she would be exposed,
too. She raised her poker and prepared to charge.
"Oh, my, I seem to be lost. Can you point the way to the ninth
green?"
As Zinoniev tipped his hat and smiled, the Russian agent fumbled for
his gun. Before her former captor could take aim, Amanda darted
toward him, swinging the poker with all her strength. It caught the
agent across the stomach, and he curled over with a startled grunt.
A precise tap on the head dropped him like a rock, and she fought
back a burst of nausea. She didn't want to hurt him.
Well, he wasn't going anywhere for a while, but she didn't want to
take any chances. She fished through his pockets and fumbled for the
key to the handcuffs. After snapping them off her wrist, she rolled
the man over to a tree and eased his hands around the trunk, locking
them in place. That should do it.
"Thanks, Mr. Zinoniev, I'm . . ." She turned toward him.
There was no one there. Amanda whirled around, scanning the woods.
How could he just disappear like that? And now what? It was
decision time, but what should she do? She could wait for Lee to
come. But sitting here while he was out there somewhere--worried--
didn't feel right.
There was no sign of the car. So she and her captor must have been
stashed here. And there was no sign of Rostov or the other KGB
goon.
Of course, marching off into the sunrise wasn't the best option
either. She'd come here in a trunk, and she had no idea where she
was. Amanda wandered through the trees, until she came to the edge
of a plateau. The valley spread below her was dotted with trees and
small ponds, connected by a carpet of green.
She was above the golf course.
On the far side of the valley, the turrets of the resort gleamed
dully in the growing dawn. It couldn't be that far, maybe a couple
of miles. Deer trails meandered down the hill below her feet, in
gentle switchbacks between the trees. She picked the widest one and
started down.
It was going to be a long walk.
------------------------------------------
Damn it! Where was the man?
Lee stalked through the lobby for the second time. Every move was a
second too late. Rostov had cleared out the room the agents had
commandeered. A young waiter had spotted him as he walked out the
front doors. If he was heading for a rendezvous with Amanda's
captor, he would be aiming for the parking lot, and Lee intended to
get there first.
He had to be just seconds behind him, but there was no sign of his
quarry.
Perhaps the loss of one of his team had thrown him. So far, the
agent hadn't been discovered, but it was only a matter of time before
one of the caretakers came across him and raised a hue and cry.
A blonde head bobbed behind a well-manicured hedge to his right, and
he ducked down and trailed after him. Rostov. But the man wasn't
walking to the parking lot. The lights from the resort's riding
stable illuminated the walkway, and Lee edged closer as the Russian
approached the caretaker's apartment adjacent to the main barn and
knocked. The door eased open. After a brief conversation, Rostov
slipped the disheveled caretaker a roll of bills and a set of keys.
So that was how he had done it. Paid off an employee for the room
master keys. He probably had information about the resort routines
and staff, too. Well, his run of luck was going to end now.
Horses were already tied to the rail in front of the barn, waiting to
be saddled for the sunrise trail ride. Lee sighed as he cut through
the barn aisle; he and Amanda had planned to go on that ride this
morning. Anger and worry quickened his pace. If he didn't catch
Rostov as he came around . . .
He darted around the front of the barn and hit his quarry broadside,
knocking him back into the open tack room.
"You!" Rostov swung wildly as Lee dodged behind a saddle rack.
A savage grin crossed Lee's face as he feinted around the rack and
lunged for him, only to be knocked back by the handful of leather
bridles that Rostov was swinging over his head. He grabbed the
trailing leather and yanked Rostov over the saddles piled by the
door, but lost his balance as his legs tangled with the lead ropes
underfoot. Rostov shoved past him and ran out the door.
He plucked furiously at the jumbled leather and nylon straps that
encircled his ankle, hopping on one foot and almost dragging a fallen
saddle through the door. The last loop slipped away as he heard the
buzz of the electric feed cart thrumming to life, with Rostov at the
wheel.
Lee pelted down the aisle-way, jumping feed buckets and batting aside
rakes and brooms, his eyes on his target. He reached out, almost
touching the back of the cart--already in motion. A final leap
carried him onto the back of the cart, and he grabbed for Rostov's
collar.
His fingers closed on air as the cart hit a bump, spilling him off
the back and facedown into the dirt.
No! Rostov was not going to get away--Amanda's life depended on it.
He scrambled to his knees and looked around. Then his fevered gaze
spotted his salvation. Ignoring the surprised snort as he yanked the
quick-release knot free, he swung up onto the bony back of the first
horse at the hitching rack and took a firm grip on the lead rope.
No time for a bridle or saddle. He thumped his heels against the
startled horse's ribs and leaned forward as he pounded after Rostov.
The feed cart careened across the golf course, each swerve and bump
spilling grain and clouds of hay. At least the thing wasn't meant
for speed.
He hadn't ridden bareback since he was a kid, but some things stuck
with you--like the fear of falling off at a gallop. Just the thought
of it made him grip more tightly with his knees.
Rostov glanced over his shoulder, and Lee could have sworn he could
make out the surprise on the guy's face. Just a few strides more and
he would have him in his grasp. When he was within ten feet of the
cart, he kneed the horse closer and grabbed a handful of mane. As he
pulled alongside the cart, he reached out and grabbed Rostov's coat
collar from behind and pulled back on his makeshift reins.
Only the iron grip of his legs kept him on the horse as Rostov popped
out of the driver's seat and sailed backward. Lee released his grip
as the Russian rolled head over heels, to land face down on the damp
grass. He pulled the horse in a circle and trotted back to his
fallen adversary.
He slid off the sweaty horse, then flipped Rostov over with the tip
of his shoe and dragged him to his knees.
"Where is she, damn it?" Lee shook him to punctuate each
word. "Which way is the cabin?"
He followed Rostov's trembling finger and stared up to the plateau.
Glancing back at the resort, he smiled as he saw a caravan of
headlights winding down the road through the hills behind it. It had
to be the cavalry, but there was no time to waste.
His hand still wrapped in Rostov's shirt, he jerked him to his
feet. "Come on, we have a little house call to make." Lee shoved
him toward the horse. "You better pray that she's okay, because if
she's not, I'll kill you."
There was little gratification in watching the fear rise in Rostov's
eyes.
--------------------------------------------------------
Amanda limped down the last switchback and stepped onto the manicured
grass. Civilization at last. Her knee throbbed, and she tried to
think of something else--like picking the brambles out of her hair.
The torn jeans and her sore rump kept bringing her mind back to her
last fall. Hopping over that fallen log hadn't been the best idea.
She'd bumped her knee when her legs slipped out from under her. The
scrape was visible through the tear in her jeans, but there wasn't
anything she could do about it now.
The only positive side was sliding halfway down the hill on her
rear. Her speedy descent may have been hard on her jeans, but at
least it had shortened the distance.
The sun was almost up now, and the view of the resort would have been
rather pretty, if she didn't have so far to walk. Gritting her
teeth, she forged ahead.
A commotion to her left caught her attention, and she stopped and
blinked. Headlights gathered at the far edge of the golf course and
coming toward her was--was something. It looked like . . . almost as
if . . .
No, it couldn't be. Could it?
It could!
Amanda shuffled into a painful jog as her Knight in Shining Armor
cantered across the vast expanse of grass, the rising sun a corona of
gold around his heroic figure. After a few strides, she staggered to
a halt and braced her hands on her thighs, gasping. He was going to
have to come to her. As he neared, the hero started looking a bit
ragged. And what was that thing flopping in front of him?
The warm relief in his eyes, as he pulled the horse to a halt beside
her, was almost enough to make her forget her sore knee. He rode
bareback, with a handcuffed man draped in front of him. It certainly
didn't look comfortable for either of them.
With a grunt, Lee shoved his burden off the other side of the animal
and leaned toward her with his hand outstretched. He didn't respond
to the startled yelp as Rostov thudded unceremoniously onto the
grass.
Rostov and golf courses--a bad habit they were going to have to
break.
She barely noticed the stream of headlights as the cars lined up
behind him. Doors swung open, and the Agency presence announced
itself, in the dark suits and darker glasses of the agents that
poured from the cars. Glancing at them, all Amanda could think of
was how annoyed the resort would be at the deep ruts in their nice
green fairway.
Shaking her head to clear it, she pointed toward the
plateau. "There's another one up there. He's cuffed to a tree,
though."
A burly young agent yanked Rostov to his feet and dragged him around
to Amanda's side of the horse. "You've got Rostov? Where's the main
target?"
Amanda fixed an innocent wide-eyed stare on the young man's
face. "Zinoniev? I have no idea, haven't seen him." She turned her
gaze to Lee and grinned. She'd tell him later.
Even as he pulled her up in front of him, Lee turned to the agent
obviously in charge of the operation. "There's another one in the
maintenance shed by the parking lot. You might want to grab that
one, too."
"But, sir, Zinoniev?" It was almost a plea. Amanda didn't envy the
man. He was going to have to explain the Russian's loss. Smyth
shouldn't be too disappointed, though. Not with a prime catch like
Rostov to crow about.
She stifled a sneeze and leaned back in Lee's arms as she felt him
pull on the lead rope and urge the horse forward. It felt good to be
off her feet, even balanced precariously on this beast's slippery
shoulders.
But duty was duty. "Shouldn't we stay and . . ."
He drummed his heals against the horse's sides and tightened his arms
around her. "Hang on," he whispered, and she could almost hear his
smile. Giving in to the inevitable, she grabbed a handful of mane
and hung on as they rode off into the sunrise.
The horse wasn't white, but it would have to do.
Epilogue
The debriefing was quick, thank goodness, but the tone was a little
unpleasant. It was just as well that Smyth was on the phone and not
in the room, because even at a distance, Amanda could hear him
bellowing.
A search of the resort had found no sign of Vicktor Zinoniev, but
with three ranking KGB operatives in custody, there wasn't much to
complain about. Lee paced back and forth as the assembled agents
fired questions, punctuated by Dr. Smyth's strident tones from the
speakerphone.
She'd taken her turn under fire first, and Lee was wrapping up.
"Yes, I know. But the escape of one aging KGB operative isn't as
important as the intelligence we will gain by sweating Rostov. His
network was behind the scenes in the Zirenchov conspiracy, and you
know he was instrumental in that assassination attempt in Bolivia."
"Scarecrow, I want you back here on the next flight. You need to
explain--" Smyth's tone was unmistakable, and Amanda braced for the
inevitable. Vacation over.
"No."
She looked up and met Lee's gaze. A grin quirked the corner of his
mouth, and she felt the warmth of his humor. Vacation not over.
Vacation just beginning.
"Sir, I'll be in your office on Monday morning, just as planned, with
a full report, but for now--" He grasped her hand before Smyth could
sputter an answer.
Her hand firmly in Lee's, they walked down the hallway, and Amanda
tried to ignore the increasingly annoying pain in her knee.
"You're glad he escaped, aren't you? Even after everything he's
done." Lee paused, still clasping her hand.
She thought about it for a moment. He was the enemy, a highly-
trained KGB agent. He'd orchestrated some of the most complex
intelligence leaks and had implemented his directives without mercy.
But . . .
"Yeah. I think I am. Are you?" She leaned against him now.
His gaze swept over her scratched face, the tears in the knees of her
dusty jeans, and settled on her knee. With a grin, he swept her into
his arms, ignoring her startled squeak.
"Lee!" She pushed at his chest as he marched through the empty lobby
toward the elevator. "Put me down now. I can walk. What if someone
sees?"
"Let 'em. What's wrong with a man carrying his wife over the
threshold?"
"This isn't our doorstep."
He smiled again. "Give me a couple of floors and it will be."
Amanda relaxed into his arms and gave in to the inevitable. There
was no reasoning with him when he was like this. "You know Dr. Smyth
is going to be angry when we get back?"
Lee didn't answer as he stepped into the elevator, and he showed no
signs of putting her down.
"And you never answered my first question."
He bumped the button with his elbow and shifted his grip as the doors
whooshed shut. "Amanda, right now the last thing on my mind is Dr.
Smyth." He waggled his eyebrows at her until she grinned back. At
least his intentions were perfectly clear.
"And Zinoniev?" she persisted.
His chest rose in a sigh. "Vicktor Zinoniev won't be interfering
with our second honeymoon, and he's the second to last thing on my
mind. But . . ."
"But?" The elevator stopped at the third floor, and the door
opened.
She wasn't going to let it drop. "But?"
"The guy has class."
A giggle bubbled up, and she clamped her hand over her mouth to stop
it. She must be more tired than she thought. Lee had to be tired,
too, carrying her so far. She tugged at his shirt. "You can put me
down now, really."
He shook his head. "No. It's over the threshold you go, and you'll
relax and enjoy it."
"What the--" The note on the door to their room was odd enough, but
the look on Lee's face was priceless. She plucked the message from
the door and turned it over in her hands.
I've taken the liberty of moving your personal items to room 301. Z
The sprawling initial left no doubt as to the writer. Unless Zorro
had infiltrated their room, Vicktor Zinoniev had been there. Lee
swung her to her feet and brushed her behind him as he reached for
his gun. Amanda ducked under his restraining arm and shoved the door
open, flipping on the light as they both peered inside.
The room was spotless. Not a speck of dust, no suitcases, not a
single sign that anyone had ever occupied it.
"Why?" Amanda stifled the sinking feeling that coursed through her
tired body. She was filthy and tired and now her nice clean clothes
were gone. "What did he do with our clothes?" A whine crept into
her voice, and she knew it, but she was too tired to care. "I
thought it was all over. I thought . . ."
"Only one way to find out." Lee slipped his arm around her waist and
guided her down the hall. As they approached room 301, she felt him
ease his gun from its shoulder holster.
A small square of paper was taped to the door, and this time, Lee
pulled it off. She poked him in the ribs.
"What is it? What does it say?" The little mystery had actually
started to lift her spirits, and now curiosity replaced exhaustion as
she tried to snatch the note. He flipped the paper in his fingers,
and Amanda read the elegant script.
Welcome, and enjoy with my compliments, little Scarecrow. Tell the
big fella to stop scowling. Z
She reached for the doorknob, but Lee gently brushed her away. When
he eased the door open and looked inside, his gun was still firmly in
his grasp. Her hands were on his back as she tried to lean around
him to see. His smooth muscles began to quiver under her fingers and
then shake.
"Lee, what is it? Please?" Without warning, he whirled and swept
her into his arms, ignoring her surprise. He was laughing now, as he
carried her into the room and kicked the door closed behind him.
As much as she enjoyed his strong arms around her, she pushed at his
chest until he swung her around and her feet touched the floor. With
his arm still around her waist, they walked together to the center of
the suite and stared.
The room was decked in Arabian splendor, with canvas walls draped
with silk tapestries and exotic fabrics. A multitude of woven rugs
were scattered on the floor, and silk pillows in warm shades of red
and orange were interspersed with the cool greens of a desert oasis.
A platter of tropical fruits, candied dates, and nuts rested atop a
bolster, just begging to be devoured. It was a feast fit for a
desert prince--and his princess.
Lee shook his head and grinned. "Well, you gotta admit, for a cold-
blooded killer, he has style, the bast--" He looked at Amanda, who
smiled and supplied the correct word.
"Scoundrel."
"Yeah, that's what I meant--scoundrel. When did he have time to do
this? It didn't look like this when we were in here earlier."
She turned a complete circle and stared at the silks and
treasures. "It didn't look like this in the brochure, either."
"I do remember one feature from the brochure." He grinned and
gestured at the ceiling "Open Sesame!"
A panel slid back, opening the room to the morning sun, and Amanda
gasped. Lee snaked his arm around her waist and pulled her down on
the bed among the silk pillows.
As she melted into his embrace, his warm lips sought hers, and she
sighed against his mouth, but he pulled away, holding her at arm's
length as she tried again to capture his lips with her own.
"You're so beautiful."
Remembering the twigs in her hair and the dust on her clothes, she
started to pull away, but he drew her into his arms. "You're not
leaving my sight."
His tone was so warm, so loving, that the dirt and horse sweat faded
from her mind. Her whole world was right here in her arms. His
breath was warm on her skin, and she tried to memorize each moment,
savor each sensation.
"Lee?"
"Hmm?"
Amanda trailed her fingers along his chest. "This wasn't exactly the
relaxing vacation we had planned. This was supposed to be good for
you. Relax you, and give us that time alone. We weren't alone
much." She sucked in a shuddering breath and snuggled against
him. "We never finished our talk the other morning. I don't want
you to feel frustrated or trapped."
"Amanda, I--"
She placed her fingers across his lips. Those soft hazel eyes melted
her heart every time. "All of that--the schedules, those little
annoying things--they're just a part of real life. Marriage isn't
about white picket fences and fairytales. You're tied to us with
bonds of love, and expectation, and responsibility. It's not just
you anymore; it's us. It's all of us. We love you, and I
understand."
"I don't feel tied down." He pulled her closer. "All this reminded
me how wonderful and rare `routine' is."
He slid off the bed, tugging her with him. Letting go of his hand,
Amanda kicked a few scattered pillows across the floor and arranged
them into a nest near the platters. She dropped into the pile,
dragging Lee down with her, and leaned against his shoulder.
"How did Zinoniev do all this?" she wondered aloud. "And where did
he go? He really helped me, back at the cabin."
He cupped her cheek in his palm and pressed his lips to her
forehead. "No idea, but I wouldn't put it past him to make it out of
the country."
"You don't seem upset by it."
"I guess I owe the man. He was there for you when you needed him.
Enough of Viktor Zinoniev. I don't remember inviting him on our
second honeymoon. Let's find a better subject." Lee smiled, his
eyes warm with love. Amanda's stomach chose that moment to rumble,
and she blushed as he rubbed it and grinned. "I think we should do
something about that. But first, how about I run the bath?"
A warm bath sounded lovely, but that fruit looked delicious.
"So, what do you want to do for our Anniversary next year?" She
reached across his knees for a ripe peach.
Laughing, he pulled her into his lap. "Hmm . . . how about the
jungle room? I hear it's wild."
The End
Story Notes:
Timeline: Second anniversary. Marriage is common knowledge
Episode Reference: Saved by the Bells
Episode Reference: Saved by the Bells