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.