Page 26 of Finding Amanda

Fire ignited behind her eyes. "You're embarrassed! You don't want people to know what kind of a . . . a person you married. You don't want your mother to know."

"This isn't about my mother. This is about your safety?—"

"Right. Sure it is."

With a sigh, he stood and headed to the kitchen. "If it wouldn't be too much trouble, do you think you could at least keep the doors locked when you're home, maybe keep the girls inside?"

"That's not fair to the girls," she said, though there was little protest behind her words.

"Humor me." He grabbed his phone off the kitchen counter and slid it in his jeans pocket. "Meanwhile, I'm going to try to figure out how he found out you'd be there this weekend."

She turned to watch him. "How're you going to do that?"

He walked to the bottom of the stairs and called up, "Girls, I'm leaving."

A moment later, their stocking feet slid down the stairs. Hegrabbed them up, squeezing them until they squealed, and planted a kiss on their cheeks.

"Will we see you tomorrow, Daddy?"

"I hope so," he said. "Maybe I'll stop by on my way home from work."

Amanda stood. "The girls have dance tomorrow night, so we won't be here."

"Okay, I'll try to get to the studio to watch you dance."

Mark half-expected Amanda to ask him not to intrude on their lessons, but she held her tongue—probably because the girls were in the room.

After quick kisses on his cheek, they ran back upstairs, and Mark turned toward the door. He grabbed his bag and jacket. "See you tomorrow."

"You didn't answer my question," she said.

He threw the door open and stepped onto the porch before turning to her. "Somebody told Sheppard about the memoir. I'm going to find out who."

CHAPTER SIX

"Daddy went crazy this weekend."

Amanda filled Sophie's glass with orange juice and slid it across the bar Monday morning. "What do you mean?"

"He was funny, like he couldn't sit down. Up and down, up and down. He cleaned everywhere. Me and Madi laughed at him."

"Madi and I," Amanda corrected automatically.

She could picture it. She'd seen Mark like that before. Right after they'd gotten married, he'd wake up in the middle of the night, his gasp startling her, sweat seeping through his T-shirt and onto her nightgown when she tried to comfort him. He'd never explained, but she knew memories of his tour in Afghanistan haunted him. Back in those days, he channeled his energy into the house—building, sanding, and finishing, scraping, painting, and polishing. In a year he'd transformed their broken-down farmhouse into a beautiful home.

He'd run from memories then. What ghosts had haunted her husband this weekend?

After Amanda dropped the girls off at school, she drove toa diner and snagged a booth by the window. Just as the waitress was filling her coffee cup, Jamie arrived, dumping her giant leather purse on the table and sliding into the booth. This morning, her red hair was drawn back into a loose, curly ponytail. She wore a black turtleneck, suede jacket, and perfectly tattered blue jeans. When Amanda had first met Chris's wife, she'd thought she could never be friends with anybody so perfectly coordinated. How wrong she was.

"Thanks for meeting me. I'm sure you have a lot of catching up to do after being gone all weekend."

"Not that much. I'm glad you came."

"How are you?" Jamie squinted.

Amanda poured cream into her coffee. "I'm fine."

"You're not fine. Tell me what happened."

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