Disclaimer: I don't own any of The Pretender characters. They belong to NBC, Fox Studios and Pretender Productions. No infringement intended.

This is my first ever tP fanfic. Please let me know what you think of it!




Till We Meet Again
When Sorry Isn't Enough
Langer M. Fritz



I-90
Philadelphia, Pennsylvania

He looked at the time on his wristwatch and smirked. Another five minutes to go and her Centre-issued Lincoln Towncar would sputter to a gradual halt right about there, on the other side of the busy interstate highway. He couldn't wait to see the expression on her face as he waved a last goodbye before heading in the opposite direction. His smile broadened as he thought about the ingenuity of his latest prank on Miss Parker. It's all so simple ... child's play in fact. Just a tinker under the hood with a timer to cut off the car's engine ... making that all important phone call to get her started on the chase when she, Sydney and Broots were at his last hideout ...

Jarod smiled again, crossing his legs and leaning back comfortably against his black Ford Explorer. The look on her face would be priceless. Beats the roach motel and strip search anytime. Well, maybe not the strip search. The Pretender smirked again as he waited expectantly.

The minutes went by. He stared down the road, but still no sign of the towncar. Jarod frowned a little and proceeded to try her cell phone. No answer. He climbed into the Explorer and started the engine. Maybe her car stalled further up the road. With her driving like a bat out of hell, that wasn't such an impossibility. Nevertheless, his frowned deepened. He should have anticipated the distance and timing better. "Jarod, you're slipping," he chided himself.

The Explorer merged into traffic. About ten miles down the road, traffic began to slow considerably. A cursory glance over the concrete road divider and Jarod could see that traffic was backed up for miles from that direction too.

Then he noticed the billowing smoke and flashing red lights in the distance. His grip on the steering wheel tightened.

As his car approached the site of the flashing red lights on the other side of the highway, Jarod pulled to the road shoulder and got out. He couldn't see much, what with traffic from both directions, and a few emergency service vehicles obscuring his view.

And then he saw Sydney. His mentor was seated at the back of an emergency service vehicle and had his hand pressed to his forehead.

Jarod began to dash across the highway, ignoring the blaring of horns and shouts from irate drivers. He leapt over the concrete divider and sprinted toward where Sydney was.

"Sydney," Jarod called out as he approached. The older man looked up on hearing his name.

"Jarod," he said weakly.

"Sydney, are you all right?" Jarod asked anxiously, looking Sydney up and down.

"I'm fine," Sydney said, trying to stem the bleeding from the cut on his forehead. "Just a cut."

"What happened?" Jarod asked, turning his head to assess the situation.

That was when he noticed Broots. The man was hovering on the edge of the accident scene, looking on apprehensively at a group of EMTs and police personnel surrounding the wreck of a car.

His chest tightened as he glanced back at Sydney. The older man did not have to say a word. He already knew what had happened.

Jarod began running toward the car wreck.

When he brushed past an ashen-faced and surprised Broots, the techie could only manage, "J-J-Jarod ... Miss Parker ..."

He couldn't see anything. There were too many of them crowding around the car. And then suddenly, an outstretched arm impeded his movement.

"Sir, you have to stand back," the policeman ordered.

Jarod looked at the man dazedly. He had to get to her, and he said the first thing that came to mind, "I'm a medical doctor, I can help."

The policeman stared at Jarod for a moment and then slowly lowered his arm. "Go ahead, doc. They'll need any help you can give them."

As Jarod approached, his heart sank. The front left side of the Lincoln Towncar was crushed like an accordion. It had obviously struck the concrete road divider with some force before spinning to a stop by the innermost lane.

And then he saw her.

========================================================================

"There was a loud pop and then the car just spun out of control," the witness was recounting to the police officer by the side of the road. "I'm lucky to be alive, I tell you."

"Missed sideswiping my car by this much," he exaggerated, showing an inch of space between his thumb and forefinger. "I don't know how the hell she did it, but I think she saved quite a few lives today by doing just enough to steer clear of everyone else."

========================================================================

He didn't know how they were going to pry her out of that mangled mess. All he knew was he had never felt so helpless in all his life, standing there watching them. He needed to help, wanted to help so badly.

He caught glimpses of her as they moved around.

There was so much blood. Too much blood.

She was unconscious and they had placed a brace around her neck to prevent possible spinal injuries.

He was about to move closer when there was a tap on his shoulder.

It was Sydney.

"Jarod, you have to go now."

Jarod shook his head vigorously, "No, I need to help her."

"Listen to me, Jarod," Sydney said, putting his free hand on Jarod's shoulder. "You have to go now, Jarod. A sweeper team should be here soon. Parker called them before we left your place."

"No, Sydney. I'm not leaving. It's my fault, it's all my fault."

"What do you mean?"

Jarod bowed his head and whispered, "I caused the accident, Syd. I'm the reason she's there now."

His voice choking, Jarod tried to hold back his tears.

"I don't understand, Jarod. How can you be the cause ..."

"Syd, Syd!" Broots interrupted, running up to the two men. "I see Sam and the others!"

Broots turned to point to the snake of vehicles on the road. There, in the distance was the Centre-issued car caught in the jam.

"You've got to go now," Sydney pleaded with Jarod again. "We'll take care of Miss Parker."

Jarod glanced at his mentor and then turned to the wreck of the car again.

"No Syd, " Jarod said again. "I don't care if they catch me. Not now."

"I care, Jarod. We all do," he paused, and nodded toward the wreckage.

"If you really want to help her, go now before it's too late," Sydney reasoned.

Jarod snapped his head in the direction of Sydney. He was about to argue when he realized the truth of Sydney's words. He could never truly help her if he was locked up in the Centre.

He turned his attention toward the wreckage again, and took a few steps closer.

"I'm so sorry," he whispered.

And then he was gone.

========================================================================

One Year Later
Somewhere in New Jersey

"It's your fault! It's always your fault! Everything's always your fault!" she berated him, her anger and pain echoing over and over again.

"Parker, please. Please let me explain," he pleaded, tears streaming down his face. "I didn't mean it. Please let me explain."

"No. No more. You're a murderer, Jarod. You kill everyone you touch. First my mother, then Kyle and now, ME!" she shouted at him.

"NOOOOO...." Jarod screamed, sitting upright in his bed, perspiration soaking the sheets.

He combed his fingers through his hair, and untangled himself from the sheets, standing up.

He sighed heavily, heading into the bathroom of the sparsely furnished motel room. He turned on the light and paused in front of the mirror.

The reflection staring back at him was gaunt and pale, and it didn't help that he hadn't shaved in weeks. He sighed again, lowering his eyes.

"I'm so sorry, Parker."

Disclaimer: Please refer to Part 1.



Till We Meet Again
Part 2: Unshed Tears
Langer M. Fritz



Nightfall
Blue Cove Lawn Cemetery
Blue Cove, Delaware


Slivers of moonlight streamed through the trees onto the well-manicured lawns.

The lone figure made his way slowly but purposefully toward a particular headstone. If not for that single long-stemmed white rose clasped in his hand, the black-clad figure would have melted right into the shadows.

He knew the risks were great, coming back here on the anniversary of her death. But he also knew it was something he had to do.

To say that proper goodbye. To say the things he needed to say to her.

He had been too cowardly to face her the day of her funeral, having ran as far away as possible upon news of her death. And he had been running away since that day.

But here he was now. The running had finally stopped for the moment.

He stared at the black marbled headstone.

"Parker," it simply read, followed by the names of two tragic women who were so alike and different all at the same time. Together again. At last.

Catherine Parker M. Parker
Beloved Wife & Mother Beloved Daughter & Sister

He knelt down and placed the solitary rose in front of her name. There was a long, painful pause before he began awkwardly.

"I--" he stopped.

What do you say when you know her death was your fault? I'm sorry? I didn't mean it to happen? It was an accident? All inadequate. All already screamed countless of times from the throes of his nightmares this past 12 months.

He took a deep breath, and tried again; this time from the heart.

"I miss you," he began slowly, running his fingers tenderly across the letters of her name.

"I miss talking to you. I miss looking into your eyes. I even miss the fiery blue flames that burn within them when you're angry at me."

He allowed a small smile to creep in as he thought back to that time at the Dover Town Bank.

"You've got quite a set showing up here," she had spat out through clenched teeth as she glared at him with those blue eyes.

And she had never looked more beautiful.

"I wish--," he stopped again. No, no more wishes. They never come true. Not for him anyway.

He knelt there for the longest time, lost in his silent memories of that sweet young girl he first knew. And of that beautiful woman he wanted so much to hate, but could never quite bring himself to do. Of the regrets the way things turned out between them ...

"I knew you would come," a familiar voice broke into his reverie.

Jarod stood and spun around to stare at the figure before him.

"Sydney," the Pretender finally acknowledged.

"Hello, Jarod," Sydney said matter of factly, taking the few steps to close the gap between them. "It has been a while. How are you?"

"As well as can be expected," he replied, automatically glancing around out of habit to assure himself that Sydney was alone.

"Don't worry. I came alone," Sydney reassured him. "Broots made very sure Lyle and the others are traipsing across Big Sky Country right at this moment looking for you and the Major as we speak."

"Big Sky Country?" the Pretender asked naively.

Sydney smiled. He had missed these moments with his protege. For all his supposed worldliness, the man-child standing before him still had a million things to learn.

"Montana."

Jarod nodded silently.

"Why haven't you called at all?" Sydney prodded gently, and for the first time Jarod noticed that his mentor looked to have aged 10 years since they last saw each other.

"We've been very worried, Broots and I," Sydney continued.

Jarod avoided the question and instead asked, "How have you been Sydney?"

"Things have been different since ..." Sydney trailed off. "But we've learned to adjust. I'm glad to see you're all right Jarod. When you stopped calling after her death, we both thought ..."

"How did you cope with the death of your brother, Sydney?" Jarod interrupted.

"I blamed myself for a very long time," Sydney replied. "But then Jacob made me realize before his death that the accident wasn't my fault."

Jarod understood the parallel Sydney was trying to make.

"I'm to blame for her death, you know," Jarod berated himself. "All I ever wanted was for her to see the truth about them, but in the end I was the one ..." he whispered through unshed tears, "the one responsible for her death."

"It's not your fault, Jarod."

"How can you be so sure, Sydney? Did you know I purposely put a timer under the hood to cut off the engine? Purposely put all your lives in danger so that I could have some fun at her expense. Did you know that?" Jarod spoke bitterly, his voice rising with the suppressed anger he felt for himself.

"A miscalculated prank, Jarod. I know you never meant to hurt Miss Parker."

"It wasn't just a miscalculation," Jarod's pain and anger echoed through the eerie silence of the cemetery. "I KILLED HER."

"No you didn't, Jarod," Sydney spoke steadily, "The timer never had the chance to shut off the engine."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean someone shot out one of the tires, and that's how she lost control of the car."

"What?"

"Someone wanted us dead."

========================================================================


Motel 6
Somewhere in Delaware

Jarod stared intently at his computer screen. Sydney had spoken the truth, he thought as he pored over the police report on Parker's "accident." Someone had conveniently buried the case, presumably to discourage prying eyes and continued interest.

The police had in fact found a slug embedded in the right rear tire. They had also found the timer under the hood, but had attributed the sudden loss of control of the car solely to the bullet. There was also a witness who reported hearing a loud popping sound before the towncar hit the road divider and spun out of control.

It was murder, pure and simple.

And here he had been living in a haze this past year while Parker's killer walked free. All he knew to do was to run away from the pain and the guilt. At least Sydney and Broots did something. They found out the truth about Parker's death.

He had been mourning her for a year now. It was time to find the justice that was denied her.

Jarod straightened his shoulders. He needed to make up for lost time. And he knew just where to start looking.

Jarod accessed the Centre's computer mainframe.

He had a murderer to catch.

Disclaimer: Please refer to Part 1.



Till We Meet Again
Part 3: Life's Little Mysteries
Langer M. Fritz



The Centre
Blue Cove, Delaware

As Broots took that walk through the halls of the Centre's sublevels from Sydney's office to the tech room, his steps slowed and his shoulders hunched the more he thought of what he had to do.

He wasn't sure whether he should be feeling elation or fear. Elation in knowing that Jarod had finally contacted his concerned mentor, or fear that Lyle would find out about it.

The thumbless psychopath had been on a rampage lately, Sydney and him being his chief targets for their failure in tracking down Jarod, the Major or the clone. The closest they had gotten in the last 12 months was when they missed Major Charles and the clone at a cattle ranch outside Houston by mere seconds, watching as the car carrying the duo sped away spewing dirt in their wake.

Not that he or Sydney was trying very hard. The fact of the matter was since Miss Parker's death, neither was in any great hurry to witness the capture of Jarod and his family. The lack of effort on both their parts was unspoken of course. A kind of silent agreement between confidantes. It will never do to talk about such things at the Centre. An immediate death sentence if Lyle or the Triumvirate even had an inkling, Broots brooded as he walked on.

So what now of Jarod's latest request through Sydney? It was one thing to slow the progress of Lyle and his team of sweepers by planting false trails like the latest one to nowhere in Montana, but quite another to be actively in contact with the Pretender, helping him.

But Broots also knew he owed Miss Parker to do the right thing. It was the least he could do for his friend. Jarod needed his help in finding out who killed her.

It wasn't asking too much of a friend, was it?

Well, it was if your head's on the chopping block, one half of him argued.

But it's for Miss Parker, the other half countered.

Yeah, and you'd be joining your friend real soon if you went through with it.

But it's for the woman you once had a crush on.

Oh, right, like she reciprocated or had any feelings for you.

What about Debbie? The little girl idolized Miss Parker. The least you could do was help ...

Smack! Broots had walked right into ...

"M ... Mr. ... Ly ... Lyle!" poor Broots stammered in shock.

Taking a step or two back to regain his balance, the dapper Lyle didn't miss a beat as he said calmly, "I hope that means you were thinking really hard at capturing Jarod and the others, Mr. Broots?"

"Uh, ... y...yes, ... Mr. Lyle."

"Any news yet?"

"N ... no ... not at the moment."

Lyle raised an eyebrow and waited, "Well?"

"Well?" asked the clueless Broots.

"What are you still doing here?" asked Lyle impatiently. "Get to work!"

"Y ... ye ... yes, Mr. Lyle," Broots answered, scampering away.

As Broots turned a corner, he stopped to lean against the wall to take a breath.

The walls looked to be closing in. And they're closing in on him, he sighed heavily.


========================================================================

The Red Tattoo Restaurant
Ocean Front Walk
Venice Beach, California


"Hey lady, I ordered a side of mixed vegetables, not coleslaw," the man called to the retreating figure of the waitress who had just placed his order on the table.

The tall brunette walked back to the table and forced a smile at the man, "Yes?"

"I asked for a side of mixed vegetables, not coleslaw," the well-muscled man repeated.

"I'm sorry, I'll make the change now," the waitress said, picking up the plate. That was when out of the corner of her eye she saw the man wink to his two male companions.

"And while you're at it, baby, why don't you walk that tight ass of yours back to the cook and tell him we would prefer our meals hot?" the man said, smiling broadly at his companions.

A fiery flash sparked in the eyes of the waitress.

********

Jean Branson could spot trouble a mile away. The minute those three hulks walked into the restaurant, she knew they were trouble. With a capital T.

Granted that their waitress was a very attractive woman, and Jean had gotten used to male customers' reactions to this striking brunette, but too much was too much. First, there was the ogling the minute they sat down. Then there were the snickers, rude remarks and gestures every time her back was turned.

The veteran waitress saw her young charge's flash of anger and knew the storm was about to turn into a full gale force hurricane.

She hurried over, hoping to avert a disaster in the making, weaving her way expertly through the dinnertime crowd at the tables.

She heard her young charge's slow and deliberate reply, which matched the icy smile on her face, "You like your meal hot? I'll let you have it hot now."

Lightning quick, Jean Branson intercepted the plate and its contents before they came raining down on top of the obnoxious hulk's head.

"Sir, we'll get right to it," Jean said, taking a hold of her young charge's arm and the plate of food, and dragging her toward the kitchen.

Upon entering the kitchen through the double swinging doors, her inexperienced charge turned to Jean and said heatedly, "Why did you stop me?"

"He's the customer, remember? And what's the first rule?" Jean asked calmly, walking over to one of the counters to replace the offending coleslaw with mixed vegetables.

"The customer's always right," the younger woman mumbled grudgingly.

"But he deserved it," she added as an afterthought.

Jean walked back to the woman. "We both know he deserved that and more. BUT ... he's the customer."

The forty-something head waitress shrugged her shoulders and gave the younger woman a resigned smile as she headed back out the doors with the man's food.

The brunette ran a hand through her shoulder-length hair as she looked at the retreating back of the older woman.

She groaned and muttered, "God, I need a cigarette."

========================================================================

A week later
Outside Blue Cove, Delaware

Sydney didn't think it was such a good idea, but he trusted his protégé's judgment. Jarod had suggested they meet at the one place he knew the Centre would never think to look, and they were each making their way there.

As Sydney's car pulled into the driveway, its headlights brought into view the beautiful, single-story country home - Miss Parker's home to be exact.

Sydney alighted and glanced around. Except for the swaying shadows cast by the trees in the gently blowing breeze, all was quiet. Guess I'm the first to arrive, thought Sydney.

He approached the front door and tried the knob. It was unlocked.

As the door opened to reveal the interior, Sydney was surprised to see a warm amber glow enveloping the white sheets covering the furniture in the room.

Then he saw him.

Standing by the fireplace, Jarod was looking intently at the flames engulfing the logs.

As Sydney walked in, Jarod turned to the older man, "Hello, Sydney."

"Hello, Jarod," Sydney replied, making his way to stand next to younger man by the fireplace.

Both were quiet as they stared at the flames. Then Sydney noticed a photo frame in one of Jarod's hands. It was Miss Parker's favorite - the one with Catherine Parker smiling dotingly down on her daughter during a much happier time.

"Seems like it was just yesterday that I met her," Jarod said quietly when he noticed Sydney staring at the photo. "So full of life and hope. Why did things have to change so much, Syd?"

"Sometimes in life, circumstances have a way of changing people," Sydney said philosophically.

"You mean the CENTRE has a way of changing people and destroying lives," Jarod refuted bitterly.

"Jarod-," Sydney sighed and was about to reply when he was interrupted by the sound of a car pulling into the driveway. "That must be Broots."

********

The three men had removed some of the sheets covering the living room furniture and were now perched on the couch.

"What have you found for us, Mr. Broots?" Jarod asked, looking at the techie intently.

"Uh, I've been doing some backtracking," Broots answered, whispering. "And everything seems the norm-"

"Broots, why are you whispering?" Sydney asked, trying to keep the laughter out of his voice.

"Uh ... um ... oh, sorry Syd," Broots corrected himself, speaking in his normal tone. "It's just that I ... um ... half expect ... eh ... the house to be bugged."

"I checked, Broots," Jarod said, giving a half-smile that indicated he had left nothing to chance. As usual.

"Go on, Broots," Sydney encouraged.

"Well, as I was saying, my backtracking in the Centre mainframe has indicated nothing that I would term unusual, but then again, everything at the Centre is unusual," Broots explained.

"And the point is?" Jarod asked, a tad impatiently.

"Well, uh, the point is ... although there wasn't anything I would term as highly unusual, there seemed to have been quite a bit of communication between Mr. Lyle and Mr. White prior to and immediately after ... uh ... Miss Parker's death."

"What sorts of communication?" Sydney prodded.

"Mostly classified phone conversations, and a couple of emails."

"What were they about?" asked Jarod.

"I haven't been able to access any of them yet ... Mr. Lyle has been trying out a new scrambler to prevent outside intrusion on Centre communications," Broots said, looking meaningfully at the "intruder" in question. "And I've been trying to decipher and unscramble them."

Jarod stood and stared off into space, contemplating.

Then he turned to face the two seated men, "Continue in that direction Broots, there may well be something there."

"Uh, Ja-Jarod," Broots said, feeling awkward at having to address the Pretender by name directly. "There's something else."

Jarod raised an eyebrow at Broots.

"It's about Mr. Raines. His communication log indicates regular communication with someone at Clarkson Pharmaceuticals in Sunnyvale, California."

"Clarkson," Sydney repeated, looking up at Jarod. "Isn't that the company that makes the anti-depressant drug-"

"Panalex," Jarod finished for his mentor, as he began to pace. He recalled a red notebook case a few years back where he had exposed a doctor for murdering the hospital administrator that was initially thought to be a simple case of Panalex overdose. He had then gone on to help George Harper rescue his kidnapped son, Patrick.

"But that's not so unusual," the sound of Sydney's voice interrupted his thoughts. "Raines himself admitted to being a major shareholder in the company - his "nest egg," according to him."

Broots cleared his throat to say, "Not unusual in and of itself, but it's the WHO he's been communicating with that's .. uh ... a little odd."

He now had their attention. "He's been in contact with a low level pharmaceuticals sales rep."

"What would Raines want with a company sales rep?" Sydney asked, puzzled.

"Not just any company sales rep, Syd," Broots replied, and then paused. "Remember Michael Patrick?"

Sydney's eyes narrowed. Jarod noticed the grim look on the older man's face.

"Who is he, Sydney?"

========================================================================

The Red Tattoo Restaurant
Back alleyway
Venice Beach, California

The brunette sat on the back steps of the Red Tattoo, sneaking a smoke during her break.

She inhaled deeply and let out a sigh.

"I thought you said you quit?" a voice admonished from behind her.

Jean Branson came into view as she moved to stand in front of the younger woman.

"I did, or I think I did," the woman replied, taking another puff.

"What's wrong?" Jean asked in a motherly fashion, taking a seat next to her.

Jean had sort of taken the younger woman under her wing since she started working at the restaurant six months ago.

"If you absolutely must know - everything," the younger woman sighed again.

"Trouble on the homefront?" Jean asked.

She was met by silence as the brunette took another puff of her cigarette before tossing the bud to the ground, and flattening it forcefully with a foot.

"Everything okay with the hubby?" she tried again.

"The sex is good when he's around," the brunette replied dryly.

The older woman let out a laugh before continuing in a more serious tone. "If you're unhappy, get out while you still can, before the kids come. Trust me, I'm speaking from experience," advised the thrice-divorced woman.

"You know I can't," she replied.

"I really don't understand why you stay with that man," Jean fumed. "Half the time he isn't around, and when he is, he is all possessive and crazy. Remember the hard time he gave you about working here? What did he expect? You staying at home all day doing nothing and waiting for him to call when he's on the road?"

"He's just protective. He doesn't want me to over-exert myself," the younger woman tried to put up a defense for her husband.

"Hmphh! Oh, sure, over-exert! He just wants to make sure he knows where you are 24 hours a day, 7 days a week," the older woman continued hotly. "You're more than capable of taking care of yourself. Leave him."

"I can't," she repeated. "He's my only connection to the past."

"Oh, Kate ..."

Disclaimer: Please refer to Part 1.

Author's Note: Lots of references made to the Season 1 episode "The Better Part of Valor." You may want to pay special attention to this episode when it comes around on TNT.



Till We Meet Again
Part 4: Follow Your Instincts
Langer M. Fritz



Cul-de-sac, Hilton Street
Sunnyvale, California

Jarod sat in his blue, nondescript rental car and starred out the side-window at the house across the street. He had driven from LAX, having arrived from Dover on a red-eye flight. He had no idea why he was following this lead. Logically, and according to what Broots had told him, he should be concentrating his efforts on Mr. White and Lyle. He didn't have the evidence yet, but he was sure those two had something to do with the tire blowout in Philadelphia, and the subsequent death of Miss Parker. No, not just any death, he reminded himself. It was premeditated murder.

But here he was, sitting in the car, staring at a house with its requisite white picket fence and trimmed front lawn in a quiet suburban street corner as the sun rose above a row of similarly built homes.

He rolled down the car window and breathed in deeply the morning air. He could sense the dozen or so families on this street beginning to wake from their slumber, readying themselves for a new day at work or at school. The showers were running, the coffee percolating, and the kids crying or yelling for their parents' attention.

He smiled his sad, envious smile and turned his attention back to the manila folder lying on the front passenger seat. He picked it up and opened it.

Michael Patrick.

He had initially no idea who Michael Patrick was when Broots first mentioned the man during their meeting at Miss Parker's home. All he knew was that the Clarkson Pharmaceuticals sales rep had been in contact with Raines regularly. But then more had come to light from his Centre "inside men."

Michael Patrick was an ex-flame of Miss Parker's and had bumped into her "accidentally" in a restaurant in Blue Cove when she was out dining with Sydney. It was later that they discovered his renewed romantic interest in Miss Parker was no more than his way of getting inside information on the whereabouts of Jarod.

He could still hear Sydney telling him how they had missed him, Jarod, at the Pittsburgh Fire Dept. - the "Fighting 16" - and discovered Michael Patrick there instead.

It was as if someone had literally shaken him out of a long forgotten memory. He had "met" the infamous Mr. Patrick. At the station house just as he was about to leave his latest pretend after solving the case of firefighter Tamara Copeland's death. The man had pulled a gun on him, and he was sure he was heading back to the Centre in cuffs when Amber, the "Fighting 16"'s Dalmatian had given a mighty bark that distracted Patrick long enough for Jarod to send his gun flying with a swipe of his Halliburton and to make his subsequent escape. He had thought the man a Centre sweeper and had left it at that, putting him completely out of his mind. But now it appeared that there was more to Michael Patrick than met the eye.

And according to Sydney, Michael Patrick had been working for Raines then. Still is, apparently.

Jarod refocused on the open folder on his lap. He picked up a photograph and gazed at it - a smiling Michael Patrick with his lovely wife and daughter.

"What are you up to, Michael Patrick?" Jarod murmured, his brows furrowing.

Just then the front door to the house that Jarod had been watching opened. Out stepped the man in question. Patrick turned to say a few words to his wife who stood at the doorway, gave her an affectionate kiss and headed to his car parked on the driveway.

==================================================================

The Seaview Apartments
Venice Beach, California

Kate was having a hard time sleeping again. Her nightmares were always the same. Shapeless faces and shadows that hounded her till she woke screaming. She turned with a groan to look at the clock - just past six. Time for her to get up anyway. She headed to the bathroom in search of the prescription drugs to help ease her massive headache.

She stared at herself in the mirror and reached up a hand to her forehead, gingerly tracing the scare at her hairline. Why can't she remember anything?

Her husband had told her it took time to regain her memory after that bad accident. But it had been more than a year and still she remembered nothing, save for what he's been telling her. That they've been married for three years and his work took him away from home often.
Kate headed to the balcony that overlooked the Pacific Ocean. The slight breeze soothed her frayed nerves, and returned her to some semblance of calmness.

She looked to the unfinished canvas to her left. Her physical therapist (when she first got out of the hospital) had encouraged her to paint, emphasizing its therapeutic benefits. And, a year on, she still painted.

She looked at the unfinished work with a critical eye. Not bad at all.

Jean had seen her sketches and paintings when she visited once, and had thought them good enough to sell. Kate had laughed it off, saying that the paintings were a side hobby, and not meant for the eyes of others. She still remembered her conversation with Jean a couple of months back.

"Oh come on, why don't you try selling them? I betcha people'll be lining up to buy them. I tell you, they're that good," Jean had persuaded.

Kate laughed at what she thought was the funniest thing she heard yet. "You've got to be kidding right? Who in their right mind will pay for them?"

"They're really good, Kate. You have talent. Any chance you're the offspring of Picasso and just forgot?" Jean joked.

"I wish!" Kate replied smilingly.

"Seriously, these paintings are meant to be seen and appreciated. Not hidden away to gather dust. And besides, it's your chance to earn a little extra something. I, for one, know the Red Tattoo's paying you pittance," Jean reasoned. "I betcha old man McGraw will be more than happy to hog your wares at his little sidewalk setup by the beach if you dangle a little commission carrot in front of him."

Kate was beginning to get caught up in Jean's enthusiasm. "Do you really think it'll work?"

"Why wouldn't it?" Jean answered eagerly as she stretched out on Kate's living room couch. "As I see it, it's an ideal spot to show off your paintings on the walk. And with some persuasion of the female kind, plus some monetary reward, McGraw will bite. He's there most parts of the year anyways touting his knick-knacks to the tourists."

Kate plopped down next to her friend and quietly thought it out.

Jean looked at her and could guess at what she was thinking. "Afraid that hubby of yours would say no?"

Kate turned her intense blue eyes on her friend. "What do you think? He's Mr. I-Don't-Think-You-Should-Work-And-Should-Stay-At-Home, remember? The one who still thinks I should take things easy? He'll have a fit if he finds out I'm expanding my side hobby."

"Who's to say he has to know?" Jean said mischievously.

Kate never did tell her husband about this little secret of theirs. He would never have approved.

==================================================================

Clarkson Pharmaceuticals
Sunnyvale, California

Jarod really did not appreciate this stakeout. He hated the waiting and the inactivity.

He opened his laptop, connected it to a host of sophisticated satellite peripherals and began typing furiously.

"Let's see what we have on you, Mr. Patrick," Jarod muttered. Within minutes he had gained access to the Clarkson Pharmaceuticals mainframe.

More clicking of the keys and then, "Bingo!"

It seemed Patrick has been scheduled to leave on a business trip today.

And, a call was made to Blue Cove, Delaware from his office phone.

"What are you reporting to Raines about?" Jarod said out loud, chewing on his lower lip as he pondered.

It was too late to intercept and tap into his phone call now. But Jarod had a back-up plan. He opened his e-mail account, and sent a quick message to Broots. The techie would know what to do about future incoming calls to Raines from California.

Just then, Jarod spotted Patrick walking out of the building and heading to his car.

"Here we go," Jarod said as he started his car.

==================================================================

Ocean Front Walk
Venice Beach, California

It had been easy tailing the unsuspecting sales rep since he left Sunnyvale, but the teeming crowds at this famous beach haunt was making it difficult for Jarod to keep up with his quarry. Except for the occasional sight of Michael Patrick's bobbing head somewhere in front of him, more often than not, Jarod was dodging the masses taking their leisurely strolls.

And then just as suddenly, the man disappeared from sight. Jarod ran toward where he last saw Patrick, stood at the exact spot, but ... nothing.

He whirled around, scanning all directions. Nothing.

"Damn!" the pretender swore angrily.

==================================================================

Later That Night
The Seaview Apartments
Venice Beach, California

Kate stared at the ceiling as she listened to the sound of the ocean waves breaking on the shore nearby. And that periodic snort from the man who slept beside her.

She turned her head sideways to look at her sleeping husband and sighed.

Was their marriage always like this? That occasional wham-bam-thank-you-ma'am when he came home. What about their courtship days? Was he a romantic? Did she ever receive that surprise bouquet of a dozen roses from him? Did they take moonlit walks on the beach? Or sit at a sidewalk café as they whiled away the time talking about nothing and everything?

She had no recollection and so couldn't compare. But she was sure that was what she wanted in her marriage.

They have had arguments over his long absences from home. She would count herself lucky if she saw him three consecutive days in a week. But he was always able to explain that away - that as a sales representative for a major pharmaceuticals company, he was expected to travel.

But something was still not right, she sensed. Who was this stranger who shared her bed? They hardly communicated, and when they did they argued about his job or her hours at the Red Tattoo. She recalled the time they had that heated exchange over her friendship with Jean Branson when she first started working at the restaurant. He had called Jean a tramp and a bad influence. And he was ridiculously possessive when it came to what she did and whom she saw. It was Gestapo-style interrogation on her whereabouts every minute of the day, every day of the week, be it in person or over the phone when he was away.

She didn't know how much longer she could tolerate being in this marriage. Yes, her amnesia might have been a contributing factor, but Kate was sure it wasn't the only reason.

She hated even thinking about it, but that's what her marriage was - a sham.

==================================================================

The Next Morning
Ocean Front Walk
Venice Beach, California

Jarod loved being out so early in the morning - watching as the first rays of the sun broke over the horizon, and this little community coming to life.

He of course knew he had a job to do today. Find the elusive Michael Patrick. But what the hell? He was here now, the man was no where to be found (he had checked all the nearby hotels and motels), it was a great day, so why not give himself a much needed break?

He sighted a man pushing an ice-cream cart and made a beeline for it.

He caught up to the man and said politely, "I'll like a double scoop of chocolate chip ice-cream on a cone please?"

The vendor stopped and turned to look at the dark-haired man standing next to him as if he had grown horns on his head.

Just as he was about to utter some well-chosen words to let that oddity of a man know what he thought of him, there was the sound of a crash, and then cursing.

Jarod turned his attention to the sound and hurried over to the old man bent over the items that had spilled over from his cart.

"Here, let me help you," Jarod said, bending down to help pick up the things up.

He handed the items back and watched as the old man displayed them on his makeshift cart.

The old man then turned toward Jarod. "William McGraw III at your service," he stuck out a hand and gave Jarod a firm handshake. "Mighty kind of you to have helped, young man. This back of mine ain't what it used to be."

"Jarod," he introduced and smiled. "And it was my pleasure."

He looked around at the assortment of goods the old man had to sell - from sunglasses and souvenir T-shirts to a variety of handmade arts and crafts. "You've got quite a set up here, Mr. McGraw."

The old man nodded as he continued to display his wares for sale. He declared proudly, "Been doing this for the last twenty years. Makes a decent living."

He next took a series of 8x10 sketches and paintings from the storage area within the cart and began displaying them.

"Nice," Jarod commented as he gave the paintings a cursory glance.

And then one of the paintings caught his attention.

He picked it up with trembling hands and asked, "Where did you get this?"


TBC