Chapter 1

The woman in the black leather trench coat and matching high-heeled boots looked out of place entering the dingy vestibule of the brick low-rise building, but her stride never faltered as she climbed the grimy staircase to the second floor. She stopped at the far end of the dimly lit hall and knocked twice on the door, paused, and knocked once more.

The door was opened almost immediately by a distinguished-looking older gentleman. “Quick, Miss Parker,” he hissed, “inside!” He grabbed her arm and pulled her into the apartment.

She shook off his hand and, while he closed and locked the door behind her, surveyed her surroundings. The apartment, if you could call it that, was basically one room with not enough furniture to hide the threadbare, stained carpet. A sagging couch with dreadful flowered upholstery was the focal piece of the room, but Miss Parker didn’t let her gaze linger on the man lying still – too still - and silent on the overstuffed cushions. Instead she crossed the room in three quick steps and deposited the shopping bag she carried on a table by the one small window in the place. With one long painted nail she spread the crooked slats of the venetian blinds apart and glanced outside. A view of a narrow alley complete with overflowing dumpster and scrawny cat stalking shadows met her eyes.

“Nice place you’ve got here, Sid,” she commented, rubbing the dust off her finger.

“You’re certain you weren’t followed?” Sydney asked, crossing to the table.

The withering glance she sent his way was her only response.

Sydney didn’t seem to notice, as he was busily unpacking the supplies she’d brought – bandages, gauze tape, scissors, alcohol swabs, bottled water. “Did you get the antibiotics?” he asked, the strain in his voice evident.

“Don’t get your stockings in a twist, Nurse Nightingale, they’re right here,” She fished the bottle out of her coat pocket and tossed it to him, noting with grudging admiration his one-handed catch. “So, what’s wrong with me, Doc?”

“Oh, just an infection of the feminine variety,” he said absent-mindedly, checking the label on the bottle.

“Gee, thanks,” she said. As Sydney continued to sort through the medical supplies, she studied him more carefully. He didn’t look good. His gray hair was normally brushed carefully back from his face, but right now a few wisps fell haphazardly over his forehead. His customary coat and tie were gone, his collar open and his sleeves rolled up. A thin film of sweat shone through the stubble above his upper lip. “When was the last time you slept, Sydney?” she asked.

He looked vaguely at his watch then shook his head. “That’s not important right now,” he said tersely. “I need to stabilize him.”

“How is the patient?” Not sure why it was so difficult to do so, Miss Parker slowly turned towards the sofa and finally took a good long look at the man lying there.

Jarod. Jarod lying there, pale and motionless. She’d seen him in distress before – during countless simulations on the DSAs or when he was escaping from the Centre’s latest snare. She’d even seen him in the throes of despair when he was kneeling over the body of his brother. But her usual view of him was his back as he made yet another impossible escape from the Sweepers’ clutches.

So to see him here, lying helpless on a ratty couch in a crummy one-room apartment, was strange enough to make her feel slightly dizzy, like the world had just shifted on its axis. She wondered if it was all an illusion, wondered if maybe the boy genius had learned how to create hallucinations – a handy talent to throw his pursuers off his track. He’d probably been a magician in one of his “pretends” over the past few years, so anything was possible.

Sydney’s voice brought Miss Parker back to reality. “His fever’s down, but he’s lost a lot of blood. Still, the bullet went clean through his side, so we caught a lucky break there.”

“Well, Jarod’s been a surgeon. Couldn’t he have removed the bullet himself?” Miss Parker felt a need to make the situation seem less dire.

“Not in the condition he was in when I found him.”

“And exactly how did that happen again?” Sydney’s call to her this morning had been heavy on drama but light on details. Now, Miss Parker turned the full force of her interrogation gaze on her colleague, daring him to evade her questions.

Sydney sighed and lowered himself into one of the rickety folding chairs at the table. Miss Parker remained standing, as much as to maintain the power position as to avoid contact with whatever the shiny stain was on the seat of the chair nearest her.

“I told you, Jarod called me and asked to meet,” Sydney began.

“And I assume my line was busy and voice mail was malfunctioning, or you certainly would have immediately informed me that our target had made contact,” Miss Parker interrupted coldly.

“He asked for refuge,” Sydney replied quietly but with an undertone that warned her not to object.

Oh, yes, their damn code word that meant Sydney would grant Jarod a safe place to meet so the two men could reminisce about the good old days at the Centre or discuss ways for Jarod to pick up women or chortle over the many uses for fake dog poop. Miss Parker knew the connection between Sydney and Jarod was to the Centre’s advantage, but sometimes she just wanted to slice clean through that umbilical.

“I could tell something was wrong from his tone, but I had no idea. I met him in the back alley of some bar in town and was stunned when I saw he was bleeding.” Syndey inhaled sharply as if reliving the shock of that moment. “I got him in my car and brought him here.”

Miss Parker refrained from asking why Sydney had such a place at his disposal.

“On the way he told me that he’d been ambushed by Lyle and a couple of Sweepers. He’d been shot and barely managed to escape.”

“How the hell did Lyle find him? And why didn’t we know about it? And how did Jarod let himself get shot?” Miss Parker fired out the questions that had plagued her since Sydney called her this morning with his request for supplies. He’d kept the conversation short in case of Centre monitoring.

“I don’t know, Miss Parker. Broots has been keeping track of Lyle’s activities as best he can -”

“Broots! How do we know what he does on his computer all day? He’s probably several levels deep in some online role-playing fantasy or lurking in some singles chat room.”

Sydney removed his glasses and shut his eyes, rubbing the bridge of his nose.

“You didn’t sleep at all last night, did you?” Miss Parker’s tone was accusatory, but that was to cover the twinge of concern she felt for the older man.

“I had to tend to Jarod’s wound. I tell you, he was in bad shape!” Sydney rasped. “That’s why I had to ask you to bring the supplies. I couldn’t leave him alone.”

Miss Parker glanced over at Jarod, wondering again if he was really unconscious. They were speaking in low tones, but if he was faking –

“That’s the only reason you told me at all, isn’t it?” she said bitterly. “Part of you must have wondered if I’d show up here with Willy and Sam to drag Jarod back to the Centre.”

Sydney put his glasses back on, straightened in his chair, and steadied his gaze on her. “Of course, I did,” he said simply. “It was a risk I had to take.” He paused, then added, “So why didn’t you?”

So it was her turn to be interrogated. But she’d grown up at the Centre, and evasiveness was like second nature to her. “Maybe I didn’t want to get you into trouble.” She paused, then added, “Or maybe I didn’t want to see Lyle get the credit for catching Jarod.”

Sydney maintained eye contact a few more seconds, as if waiting for a third explanation, then shrugged and returned his attention to the supplies on the table.

Miss Parker wondered why she felt such a sense of relief that he was letting the matter drop.

“I need to change the dressing on Jarod’s wound,” Sydney said, gathering up packages of bandages and alcohol swabs. “I could use a hand.”

She was about to give some snarky reply about leaving her nurse’s uniform in her closet at home when her cell phone rang. She answered immediately in her customary way. “What?”

“Miss Parker, where are you? All hell is breaking loose here at the Centre! Lyle’s saying he almost caught Jarod last night, your father’s demanding explanations, I can’t find Sydney, there are rumors that the triumvirate might get personally involved, and I just heard a thump from the air ducts which makes me think Angelo’s crawling around in there!”

Broots’ anxiety reached through the phone line and jangled her own nerves.
“Broots, breathe into a bag before you pass out. I’ll be right there.” She snapped her phone shut.

“Trouble?” Sydney asked.

Miss Parker was already headed for the door. “Jarod’s latest great escape has the Centre in an uproar and they want all hands on deck. So slap a new band-aid on boy wonder, tuck him in for the duration, and get your butt back to the Centre pronto.” She didn’t wait for a reply, trusting that Sydney knew when it was high time to save his own skin; he hadn’t lasted all these years at the Centre without well-tuned survival instincts.

The same instincts she had, which was why she didn’t allow herself to spare even one more glance at the man on the sofa as she slammed out of the hole-in-the wall hideout.

Broots was fidgeting in the hallway outside her office when she got to the Centre. Miss Parker hurriedly unlocked her door and shoved him inside. “How many times have I told you not to lurk outside my door looking guilty?” she snapped.

“I- I’m not guilty,” he stammered, nervously fiddling with the bottom button of his ill-fitting cardigan.

“Broots, we work at the Centre. We’re all guilty of something.” Miss Parker cast a glance around the room and noted with satisfaction that nothing seemed out of place. She’d learned long ago to sweep her office every day for listening devices, but that didn’t mean other, more unpleasant surprises couldn’t be left by one of her many enemies – there were plenty of those within these very walls.

“Miss Parker, have you seen Sydney?”

She moved behind her desk and caught a glimpse of her reflection in the glass top; she kept her expression and tone carefully neutral as she replied, “He’s probably down in one of the sim labs trying to determine how many twins it takes to screw in a lightbulb.”

“No, I looked there, but -”

“Calm down, Broots, and tell me what Lyle is saying about Jarod.”

Broots took a deep breath but looked anything but calm as he said, “Lyle claims he almost captured Jarod last night.”

“Which just proves that my brother is stupid as well as psychotic. Why let it be known that you had Jarod in your grasp, only to lose him yet again?”

“Well, he’s also saying Jarod was here, right here in Blue Cove.”

“What?”

“And, and, and L-lyle said he shot at Jarod and is pretty sure he hit him.”

“Pretty sure? Pretty sure?” Miss Parker came around to the front of her desk and planted herself directly in front of Broots. He recoiled a step from her gathering fury. “Who told you this?”

“B-B-Brigitte.”

Miss Parker felt a headache begin to throb behind her eyes. The dynamic between Broots and Brigitte irked her. The blonde bitch slithered up to him and whispered in his ear every chance she got, and Broots always bought whatever load of garbage she fed him. “And did Brigitte give Mr. Broots a lick of her lollipop, too?” Miss Parker asked in a sarcastic sing-song.

Broots flushed.

Miss Parker switched back to her no-nonsense tone. “I assume you’ve hacked into the records of all the local hospitals and sweepers have been dispatched to check them in person to determine if an injured Jarod is indeed lying in an emergency room cubicle somewhere nearby?”

“So far, we haven’t found anyone matching Jarod’s description.”

“So Syd and I have been called in to help with the search.”

“Well, yes, and -” Broots swallowed hard.

“And what? What else did that bleached blonde tell you?”

Broots wouldn’t meet her eyes. “The triumvirate wonders if you and Sydney might have helped Jarod escape.”

“Do they?” Miss Parker’s voice was barely louder than a whisper, but it was razor-sharp. Even though a cold knot was forming in the pit of her stomach, she made sure none of her fear showed in her demeanor.

“I told Brigitte that you’d never help Jarod! You’ve been hunting him for years.”

“Of course, I wouldn’t help Jarod evade capture,” Miss Parker snapped. “But you and I both know what a soft spot Sydney has for his prodigy.”

Broots took a cautious step towards her and spoke quietly, “That’s why I’m so worried that I can’t find Sydney.”

“What I want to know, Broots, is how Lyle even found Jarod,” she said, hoping her abrupt change of topic wouldn’t register with the terrified computer geek.“Especially without us knowing about it. We haven’t had a solid lead on Jarod in months, so how did Lyle manage to ambush him? And why didn’t you know what he was up to? Aren’t you monitoring my brother’s movements as I instructed?”

“I was! I mean, I am! He was supposed to be in New York City all day yesterday.”

“Yet he claims to have spotted Jarod here in Blue Cove.” She got right in his face, close enough to see the beads of sweat break out on his ever-expanding forehead. “How do you explain that, Broots?”

“I don’t know. According to Brigitte, he had an appointment in New York, and-”

“According to Brigitte?” Miss Parker had to resist a very strong urge to shake him. “Here I am thinking you’re using your computer savvy to monitor Lyle’s movements, but instead you’re relying on water cooler gossip! What is wrong with you?”

Broots backed away again. “She-she’s the closest person to Lyle, the b-best person to know what he’s doing.”

“Yes, she’s the closest person to Lyle, which means she’s loyal to Lyle, which means she would have no problem feeding you false information, genius!”

When Broots made no response, Miss Parker let out an exasperated sigh and stalked over to her office doors. She flung them open, turned back to Broots, and demanded, “Get back down to your hole, get on the computer, and get me some accurate information!”

“Yes, Miss Parker,” Broots ducked his head and started to scurry out of the room, but he paused in the doorway to look back, the action appearing to take every ounce of courage he could muster. “What about Sydney?”

“What about me?” A calm voice with a slight accent inquired from the hallway.

Broots looked like he might faint from relief. “Sydney!”

As their colleague entered her office, Miss Parker couldn’t help but be impressed by Sydney’s quick transformation; he was in his customary suit and tie, clean-shaven, gray hair immaculately brushed. Only the circles under his eyes betrayed his exhaustion, but even on a regular work day at the Centre, such marks of fatigue were common and wouldn’t cause suspicion.

“Okay, Broots, Sydney and I are both here now. You get on the computer and double check the records of the local hospitals and free clinics – don’t leave out ones in bad neighborhoods; in fact, look real hard at those. If Jarod’s at a medical facility within 50 miles of the Centre, I want to know about it.”

Broots nodded and hurried away.

“Jarod’s been injured?” Sydney asked sharply.

Miss Parker admired his ability to keep up the charade among walls that had eyes and ears. “Lyle claims to have shot him during an attempted capture,” she said. “No confirmation yet.”

“Lyle got to Jarod? How could this happen?”

“The details are still vague, and Broots is no help. He’s getting his intel from Brigitte these days.” Miss Parker shook her head in frustration. “Broots is half-terrified of the woman, but he still laps up everything she feeds him like some lovesick puppy.”

Sydney raised an eyebrow.

“You don’t need to say it, Sigmund, I know that Broots has a similar relationship with me. Which is how I like it. He may be a nerd, but he’s my nerd, and Brigitte should keep her claws off him.”

“You catch more flies with honey, Miss Parker.”

“Oh, brilliant, Syd. Did they teach you that pearl of wisdom in shrink school? I’m telling you, we have a real problem if Lyle can give false information to Broots through Brigitte.”

Sydney looked thoughtful. “Perhaps we can find a way to use Broots’ relationship with Brigitte to our advantage.”

“What are you babbling about? Never mind; I don’t have time to waste one more second on Broots’ fantasy love life.” She pushed Sydney into the hall, following him and locking her office behind her. “I’m going to speak to my father and get the truth about what happened.”

“I’ll help Broots look for any sign of Jarod.”

As she watched Sydney walk away down the corridor, Miss Parker reflected that he really was a superb actor. Then she wondered uncomfortably how many times he’d used her acting skills on her.

While most Centre employees dreaded a summons to the Tower, Miss Parker enjoyed visiting the top level of the fortress, because her father’s office was located in a prime spot, signifying the power he – and she by extension – held within the organization. As was her custom, she swept past the stammering secretary who tried to impede her progress and flung open the double doors of her father’s opulent office.

“Nice entrance, sis, but you’re a bit late to the party.”

All of her attention had been on the white-haired gentleman seated at the desk, so the dry comment from the far right of the room caused her a slight jolt. But she recovered quickly. “Not much of a party, brother, if the guest of honor can’t be persuaded to make an appearance,” she countered smoothly.

Lyle looked as cool and collected in his corporate suit as he always did within the confines of the Centre, but Miss Parker had seen his true nature enough times outside these walls to know what kind of monster lurked beneath the businessman façade. “At least I found Jarod,” he retorted.

“And let him escape again,” Miss Parker pointed out.

A muscle twitched along his jawline. “I got a shot off and hit him. His blood was found at the scene.”

“Why the hell are you firing at Jarod without a clear shot? The Centre wants him alive.”

“Preferably,” Lyle added.

Hearing the same words she’d once thrown blithely at Sydney, Miss Parker was surprised to note the hollow feeling they gave her this time.

“A wounded Jarod should be easier to catch,” Lyle went on.

“Idiot! Don’t you know that wounded animals are the most dangerous?”

Lyle’s eyes flashed blue fire and Miss Parker was uncomfortably reminded of just how wildly dangerous he had been when wounded.

“Enough!” The gruff command drew the attention of the siblings. Mr. Parker had risen behind his desk and was glaring at the two of them. “If you children have finished exchanging barbs, perhaps we could return to the matter at hand – namely, finding and bringing Jarod back to the Centre once and for all!”

Lyle’s demeanor changed in an instant, as he replied smoothly, “Which is what I was doing yesterday when I laid a trap for our wayward Pretender. And I still say the fact that I injured him makes him vulnerable.”

Mr. Parker shook his head. “No, your sister’s right, Lyle. You can’t assume a wounded Jarod will be easier to catch. He may be a white knight on some misguided crusade to save the weak and abused, but he’s also capable of being ruthless and unpredictable. Remember, he kidnapped me to exchange for Major Charles. An unexpected and brilliant move.”

Miss Parker remembered all too well the day Jarod waltzed into the Centre lobby and announced he’d taken her father prisoner and would only return him – alive – if the Centre released his father. She had been shocked by the threat but believed he’d carry through on it; Jarod had been raised by the Centre, after all, and thus was capable of anything.

“A brilliant move that resulted in his father eventually escaping with the Gemini clone, yes,” Lyle allowed, “but Jarod himself was successfully captured and brought back to the Centre.”

“Briefly,” Miss Parker was quick to point out. “After I was shot saving our father from Raines’ attempt on his life and left to rot in some second-rate hospital, you wasted Jarod’s time here by torturing him for kicks.”

“He had to be taught a lesson,” Lyle snapped. “It was high time he learned who had the power here.”

“You wasted your short time in power!” Mr. Parker glared at his son. “Your sister’s right again, Lyle. You completely failed to use Jarod’s genius for any lucrative sims while he was back here. And he escaped – again – before his abilities could be utilized to the Centre’s benefit.”

Lyle looked like he was starting to sweat through his designer suit, Miss Parker noted with satisfaction. For the first time since she’d entered the room, he didn’t have a ready comeback.

“But your failure to capture Jarod has not gone unnoticed, either,” Mr. Parker said, frowning at his daughter. “You’re one of the Centre’s best operatives, yet you’ve consistently let Jarod slip through your fingers.”

It was Miss Parker’s turn to feel flustered, while out of the corner of her eye she could see Lyle smirking. “I knew nothing about this supposed “trap” Lyle laid for Jarod!” she protested. “We’re supposed to work together to bring Jarod in, yet Lyle didn’t even bother to inform me that he’d gotten a lead on him!”

“I left you a message; it’s not my fault if you didn’t get it,” Lyle said dismissively.

“Really? That’s your excuse? You’re actually going to blame your decision to go after Jarod alone on some mysterious breakdown in voice mail?”

“You two have to learn to work together!” Mr. Parker’s pronouncement carried all the weight of a judge delivering a sentence; to Miss Parker, his words certainly felt like that. She knew if her father had a gavel, he’s be banging it right now – probably on their heads. “That is the only way we are ever going to get Jarod back.”

Miss Parker had to bite back her reply, because her father went on, “If Jarod is injured, we might have a small window of opportunity to intercept him before he disappears again.”

“I already have Broots checking hospital and clinic records for gunshot victims matching Jarod’s description,” Miss Parker said.

“That’s a waste of time. There’s no way he’d let himself be put into a computer,” Lyle argued. “He’ll just steal the supplies he needs and treat himself.”

“Well, if you’re such a crack shot, maybe he’s too wounded to do that,” Miss Parker countered.

“I don’t care if he’s performing surgery on himself while walking a tightrope or bleeding in a ditch somewhere, I want Jarod found now!” Mr. Parker thundered.

Miss Parker knew when it was time to make a speedy retreat. The urge to boast that she could deliver Jarod right now had become unbearable. She nodded at her father and left his office.

Lyle was right on her heels. Before he could slink away, Miss Parker planted herself in his path. “What kind of game are you playing this time, Lyle? Why didn’t you tell me when you got a lead on Jarod? You know you would have had a much better chance of bringing him in if you’d included me in the plan.”

“Would I?” Lyle arched an eyebrow at her. “I suspect you would have been more of a hindrance than help.”

“What the hell are you talking about?” Miss Parker hissed.

“Our father’s right. You have a long string of attempted apprehensions of Jarod – all of them ending in failure. At least I wasn’t afraid to draw my weapon.”

Miss Parker automatically reached to the small of her back where she kept her gun tucked in her waistband. “Do you want to see me draw my weapon?” she asked in a low, lethal tone.

Lyle was unfazed. “Been there, done that, sis. Lucky for me you’re such a bad shot.” He took a deliberate step around her and walked away down the corridor.

Miss Parker watched him go, but what she saw was a pier at night, the arc of a glowing cigarette, and what she heard was the sound of her gun going off and the splash as Lyle’s body tumbled into the water. She blinked and was brought back to the present where – unfortunately- her psychotic brother was still breathing and walking around taking pot shots at Jarod.

Lucky for Jarod, you’re also a bad shot, brother, she thought.

She was just about to head down to the lower level to check in with Broots and Sydney when she heard a crash followed by a curse from inside her father’s office. She rushed in again without knocking but didn’t care this time about the effect of her entrance.

Her father was on his hands and knees next to his desk. “Daddy, are you okay?” Miss Parker hurried over to him.

“Put the damn glass down and missed the corner of the desk.” He sounded disgusted with himself but was probably a little embarrassed as well.

“Let me help you.” Miss Parker knelt beside him on the deep mahogany carpet and started to help him gather up shards of glass. She wondered exactly what had caused the crash she heard - the glass would not have made such a noise tumbling onto the thick rug – but she didn’t contradict her father’s explanation.

“Thank you, Angel.” He reached out and gently brushed a strand of her glossy dark hair away from her cheek. “So much like your mother,” he murmured.

It always made her feel good to be told how much she looked like her mother; she remembered the serene beauty of the woman who’d lovingly brushed her hair and made all the bad things of the world seem far away. Miss Parker’s lips curved into a rare, sweet smile.

But her father’s next words made that smile vanish in a flash. “So naïve, too trusting for your own good.”

What was he talking about? Naïve? Trusting? Was he seeing her or her mother? Miss Parker noticed that the hand touching her hair was shaking slightly; she reached out and captured both her hands in hers, giving a reassuring squeeze. “Daddy, are you okay?” she asked softly.

“You need to worry about yourself,” he said hoarsely, pulling free of her grip. “I meant what I said earlier. Your failure to capture Jarod has been noticed by those in power.”

“But Lyle -”

“No! No more excuses, no more playing the blame game.” He laid his hands on her shoulders and fixed her with a grave look. “The Parker name does not carry the weight it once did.”

His hands were gripping her tightly; she wanted to squirm away from his hold but the intensity of his gaze held her prisoner. “Daddy, what are you trying to say?”

“Jarod is the Centre’s greatest asset. Whoever brings him back will hold all the power.”

For a second she thought he had guessed her secret, and then she wondered why she didn’t just tell him the truth. She opened her mouth and –

The intercom on his desk buzzed. “Mr. Parker, line one is for you.”

“Not now, Margaret,” he barked.

“But sir, it’s long distance. . . from Africa.”

The Triumverate. Miss Parker saw the flicker of fear in her father’s eyes before his expression went neutral. “Fine, I’ll take it,” he said. He got stiffly to his feet, leaning heavily on his desk for support.

Miss Parker scooped up the rest of the glass fragments and tossed them in his silver waste can before heading for the door. She turned back to – what? Offer reassurance that she would be the one who brought Jarod in? How could she be such a hypocrite?

Her father settled himself heavily in his desk chair and reached for the phone.

Miss Parker closed the doors quietly behind her and headed down the corridor towards the elevator. She felt off balance, as if the world had suddenly tilted beneath her feet. In a way it had. Her world, the one where her father was comfortably in charge at the Centre, where he had the power, had abruptly changed.

Jarod is the Centre’s greatest asset. Whoever brings him back will hold all the power.

If Lyle somehow managed to capture Jarod, did that mean he would be the new Chairman? She shuddered at the thought. The brief time before when he’d held the reins at the Centre, he’d spent all his time torturing Jarod, with her locked away in some hospital, helpless to intervene. She couldn’t – wouldn’t – let that happen again.

Miss Parker knew what she had to do.

Chapter 2

Jarod came awake as he often did – abruptly, in a cold sweat, with an overwhelming urge to flee. But this time his nightmare followed him into the real world – in the form of one tall brunette with murky blue eyes, legs that went on forever, and a rare but bewitching smile. But the woman leaning over him was all business as she snapped a pair of cold, very real handcuffs onto his wrists.
Still fighting to surface through the fog of sleep, Jarod tried to spring up off the sofa. . . and collapsed back down again when a sharp pain sliced through his injured left side. He stifled a moan.

“Rise and shine, Jarod,” Miss Parker said. “Time to go home.” She aimed a gun at him.  “Don’t make me ask you twice.”

Jarod sighed and started to stand up, more carefully this time, but he couldn’t hide a slight wince as he felt another twinge from his side.

“Wait!” Miss Parker pushed him back down on the couch and lifted his black t-shirt; they could both see the blood seeping through his bandage. “Damn it. Don’t move,” she ordered and strode over to the table where Sydney had the medical supplies laid out as neatly as any exam room.

Jarod considered making a run for it but knew the odds were against him. Presumably, she hadn’t come alone, which meant Sweepers were waiting in the hall or downstairs or both places. There was always the fire escape, but Miss Parker stood between him and the window, the gun still in her one hand while she gathered items from the table with her other. And he wasn’t exactly in the best shape for moving quickly.

He’d barely had time to decide to stay put before she was back with bandage and tape. She looked down at him for a second, frowning, before putting her gun in the pocket of her trench coat. Then she knelt down beside the sofa.
He must look pretty bad if she felt comfortable enough to put her gun away. He wasn’t sure if he should feel relieved or offended.

“What are you doing?” he asked.

“What does it look like I’m doing?” she replied testily. “Can’t have you bleeding all over the leather seats in my car.”

Her car? Maybe she had come alone, and he’d just missed a chance to escape.
Hopefully there would be another. If his body would just cooperate…

Miss Parker peeled away the tape around the edges of the bandage, and Jarod’s stomach muscles spasmed. “Lie still!” she commanded.

Aware that her gun was still very much in reach and more than a little concerned about her other weapon – her long sharp fingernails – and her lack of nursing experience, Jarod complied. He took shallow breaths to remain as motionless as possible.

The only light was from a weak ceiling fixture, and Miss Parker’s shoulder-length hair threw additional shadows across his body. She pushed a stray lock away from her cheek in irritation, and Jarod stifled the urge to help by tucking the tendril behind her ear himself. Miss Parker bit her lower lip as she concentrated on the task at hand, and Jarod wondered who was more nervous at this particular moment. As she applied a clean piece of gauze and carefully
taped it into place, smoothing the edges with her fingers, Jarod was surprised by her gentle touch. He decided that the warm tingle he felt where her skin came into contact with his was the result of nerve damage from the bullet wound.

Miss Parker finally nodded grimly, apparently satisfied with her patch job. She rose and disposed of the blood-soaked bandage in the paper bag Sydney was using for trash.

Time was running out. “Why are you doing this?” he asked quietly.

She turned to him in exasperation then saw the serious look on his face and seemed to realize he wasn’t asking why she was playing nurse. She sighed. “It’s my job, Jarod,” she replied wearily. “You belong at the Centre.”

So she was sticking with the company line; why had he expected anything different? He couldn’t understand the profound disappointment he felt.

Jarod could see daylight leaking through the tears in the window’s venetian blinds. Yesterday Sydney had promised that he’d be back early this morning to check on him. He had probably figured Jarod would be long gone by then. Damn, if only he had been. But this injury was worse than he expected – which was the only reason Jarod had called Sydney for help in the first place. 

“Time to go,” Miss Parker said, pulling out her gun again.

Jarod struggled into a sitting position. With his hands cuffed, he had to rely mostly on his stomach muscles to make the move, and right now they were not exactly in the best shape.

To stall as well as to catch his breath before standing, Jarod tossed out casually, “I thought you didn’t want to see Lyle get the credit for catching me.”

Miss Parker’s gaze sharpened on his face as her own words were thrown back at her. “I knew you weren’t really asleep. You were pretending,” she accused him.

Despite the seriousness of the situation, Jarod’s lips twitched at her unintentional pun. But he sobered quickly, acknowledging the urgency of his current situation and wondering if what he’d overheard yesterday could help. When he’d first awakened and realized that Miss Parker was in the room talking to Sydney, a wave of despair had washed over him as he lay there, sure she was there to drag him back to the Centre. But as he continued to eavesdrop on their conversation, he came to the stunning realization that Miss Parker was there to help – had actually brought medical supplies – and was no imminent threat to him. Could he somehow tap into the sympathetic Miss Parker of yesterday?

“But don’t worry, Jarod,” Miss Parker was saying, “the only credit Lyle will be getting is for botching the job. I’m the one who’s successfully going to return you to the Centre.”

“I’m not there yet,” Jarod said with more bravado than he felt.

Miss Parker was unimpressed. “Stop stalling, Jarod. Let’s go.” She gestured with her gun.

Jarod rose stiffly to his feet, pressing his shacked wrists against his injured side for extra support (and making a bigger show of it than was entirely necessary). “Thanks for patching me up, but you shouldn’t have bothered. I’m sure I’ll be the worse for wear after Lyle has a few ‘sessions’ with me.” It took an effort to keep his voice light; his insides churned at the memory of the torture he’d endured the last time he was at the Centre.

Miss Parker looked away (how Jarod wished he had the strength to go for the gun!) but sounded determined when she said, “That’s not going to happen this time. Both my father and I are there to keep Lyle in check.”

“Your father doesn’t care what happens to me! As long as there’s no permanent damage, he’ll let his son do whatever he wants.”

This time she met his gaze. “That’s not true! Daddy’s gone against Lyle in the past; remember, he helped orchestrate Lyle’s falling-out with the Tanaka family that resulted in him losing his thumb.”

“That was before he knew he was Lyle’s ‘Daddy,” too,” Jarod pointed out. “Amazing how strong family ties are; you both know that Lyle is a psychotic killer, yet you work side by side with him every day.”

“Do you think I have a choice?” Her voice was bitter.

“Which means I’m right in assuming I can’t rely on you or your father to protect me from your brother.”

Her eyes flashed. “You will not be tortured, Jarod. You have my word.”

Sounded like she meant it. Did she really believe she could deliver on that promise? He wondered if the guilt angle might be the best approach. Maybe he could keep her talking until Sydney arrived and at best, made her see reason, or at worst, provide a distraction he could use to get her gun and escape.

“Just being trapped at the Centre is torture enough.” Jarod let some of his growing desperation show. “Now that I’ve been out in the world, I don’t think I could stand being in a cage again.”

“Oh, come on, Jarod. Just ‘pretend’ you’re on a beach somewhere enjoying an ice cream cone,” she smirked. “Now, get moving.” She reached out, grabbed hold of the cuffs and gave a yank.

Jarod stumbled forward a couple of steps but then stopped and tried again to appeal to her carefully-hidden sensitive side. “This isn’t just about me, Miss Parker! You know I’ve done some good these last few years.”

“Oh, so now you want me to feel sorry for all the victims you won’t be able to help if you’re back at the Centre?” Her voice was hard. “Sorry, Jarod, that’s not my job. I didn’t sign up for your rescue mission.”

And it came to him. The one surefire way he could distract her enough to possibly wrest the gun away from her. “Interesting choice of words, Miss Parker,” he said. “After all, it was your mother who tried to ‘rescue’ me from the Centre. I wonder how she’d feel about what you’re doing.” He paused, then, letting himself slip into the harsh accuser mode he’d used on so many pretends when he confronted the villains with their crimes, he added, his lip curling in an
unnatural sneer, “I bet she’d be so proud.”

“I’m not my mother!” Miss Parker shouted in his face. Jarod braced himself for the slap he was sure would follow.

But it never came. Miss Parker backed off a step, and Jarod saw that the hand holding the gun was shaking slightly. “I’m not my mother,” she repeated, and the tremor in her voice matched that in her body. “I’ll never be my mother.”

Her sad, wistful tone caught Jarod completely by surprise. Her next words were said so quietly, he had to strain to hear them. “But I don’t want to be my father.”

She was looking off to the side, almost like she had forgotten where she was, what she was doing. It was the perfect opportunity to go for her gun and add one more miraculous escape to his resume.

But he found he couldn’t move. The look on Miss Parker’s face transfixed him; a strange combination of yearning and disgust warred for dominance. She was paler than usual, her hair a ribbon of black satin pulled back from her face. Her neutral lipstick was almost invisible along the thin line of her tightly compressed lips. She seemed to be fighting to remain in control. Jarod wished he had a sketch pad so that he could capture the essence of the woman in front of
him as he’d once captured on paper the despair of a stricken little girl who’d just lost her mother. That child’s face had haunted him for years, and he sensed that what he was seeing now would also be with him for a long time.

Remembering the young Miss Parker at a happier time, Jarod moved slowly as in a dream towards the grown-up version. He touched her chin, turning her face to him. “To me, you’ll always be the little girl who gave me my first one of these,” he murmured and kissed her.

The kiss was gentle, tentative, much like the one he’d received so many years ago. He still felt a boy’s wonder at it, even as his adult self appreciated the softness of her lips, the scent of her perfume…

It was only a few seconds before Miss Parker pulled away. Jarod bowed his head in apology, his cuffed hands held up as if in supplication. He fully expected to feel the sting of her hand on his cheek this time. “Sorry,” he started.

He never had a chance to finish. Miss Parker’s free hand shot out, grabbed the back of his head, and pulled him to her. This kiss was just like her – hot, demanding, passionate, and totally on her own terms. Jarod reveled in the sensations coursing through his body as he did his best to return the kiss with just as much fervor.

It seemed longer this time, but Miss Parker was the one to pull away again. Jarod saw the turbulence in her deep blue eyes as she stared at him in shock, before she turned and ran out of the apartment.

His head swimming from the intensity of the last few moments and his side suddenly throbbing with reawakened pain, Jarod managed to make it to a chair at the table before his legs gave way.

Chapter 3

THAT’S where Sydney found him twenty minutes later.  He was surprised and pleased to see Jarod sitting up at the table.  Assuming that meant he was feeling better, Sydney approached with an optimistic bounce to his step and a cheerful greeting forming on his lips.

            Which died when he saw the cuffs.  Jarod’s hands were clasped in front of him, resting on the table, but Sydney hadn’t noticed the handcuffs until he got closer.  “Jarod, what happened?” he asked, his eyes darting to the door to the bathroom, expecting a Sweeper to burst out of hiding.  Had he just foolishly walked into a trap?  Had the Centre finally succeeded in ensnaring not only their wayward Pretender but also his chief ally?

            Jarod had been staring down at his manacled hands and took a few seconds to look up and respond to Sydney’s urgent question.  “Miss Parker,” he said, almost absent-mindedly.

            Damn.  He knew he’d been taking a big risk in revealing Jarod’s plight to his main pursuer, but he’d thought – he’d hoped – that she’d be compassionate when confronted with her injured prey.

            “She had a change of heart,” Jarod continued, “and then another change of… heart.”  The last word was said in a sort of wondering tone.

            Sydney was a trained observer, but he couldn’t decipher the look on Jarod’s face.  If Miss Parker had shown up earlier and managed to slap handcuffs on him, he should be agitated, at the very least.  The fact that she seemed to have inexplicably failed to take him back to the Centre should have Jarod feeling a huge sense of relief.  Yet here he sat, appearing to be in somewhat of a daze.  Was he in shock?  Had his fever returned?  Sydney had to fight a surprisingly parental urge to feel Jarod’s forehead.

            First things first.  Assess current risk level.  “Did Miss Parker bring a team of sweepers?”

            “No,” Jarod said.

            “She came alone?” Sydney asked sharply.

            “Yes.”

            Strange, but she must have figured Jarod was in no shape physically to put up much of a fight.  She must have surprised him if she’d managed to get those cuffs on him.  Next item of business – get those damn cuffs off him.  Sydney started searching his pockets.  “I don’t have a key for those handcuffs,” he said apologetically, “but maybe a pen…”

            “Oh!” Jarod seemed to notice the restraints for the first time.  “Never mind, I’ve got it.”  His fingers moved in a complicated pattern, and then he was free, the handcuffs clattering to the table.  As Sydney stared, Jarod added, “I was a magician once.”

            And an escape artist every day.  Well, at least he was starting to communicate in more than one word responses or cryptic comments.  Sydney tried to decide on a course of action. When Jarod the child would ask too many questions about his past or would withdraw inward in a genius version of a “pout,” Sydney would insist he work the sim and stay focused on the task at hand.  Here and now, maybe he could get him to relive the morning’s events and slowly lead him out of his fog.

            He took a seat across from Jarod.  “How did Miss Parker manage to get those cuffs on you in the first place?”

            “I was sleeping.”  Jarod drew in a breath, let it out in a long sigh.  “Normally I would have awakened as soon as someone entered the room, but this injury has really taken its toll on me, I guess.”

            “How is your wound?”

            “Better.  It was bleeding earlier, but…Miss Parker put a fresh bandage on it.”

            Sydney’s one eyebrow lifted in surprise.

            Jarod grunted.  “She said she didn’t want me bleeding all over her car.”

            Sydney nodded; that sounded more like their Miss Parker.  Yet he suspected her caustic comment had been her way of hiding her true concern for Jarod’s welfare.  “What happened next?”

            “Well, she wanted to drag me out of here right away, but I kept her talking for a little while.  I was hoping to stall her until you arrived.”

            Sydney was flattered that Jarod had pinned such high hopes on him.  “I appreciate your faith in me, Jarod, but I fear that I would not have been much help in getting Miss Parker to change her mind.”

            “Actually, I counted on your entrance to act as more of a distraction than anything else,” Jarod admitted, a bit sheepishly.  “I thought I might be able to get the gun away from her and make a fast exit.”  He paused, then added, “I’m glad it didn’t come to that.  I’m not quite up hasty retreats.”

            “So she just left?  Why would she do that?  What made her have the ‘change of heart’?”

            Again, that indecipherable look passed across Jarod’s face.  “I don’t know,” he said slowly.

            Sydney knew Jarod wasn’t telling him everything, but he’d learned long ago not to push for answers.  Any good psychiatrist knew that the patient had to be willing to open up.

            Jarod seemed to give himself a mental shake.  “Probably she figured she did need back-up, after all, which means I should get moving before she returns with a few Sweepers in tow.”  He stood up.

            Sydney stood also.  “Jarod, you’re in no condition to be on the run.”

            “Don’t have much choice, do I?” His tone was casual, but Sydney could see the bitterness lurking in the depths of his brown eyes.  Then he turned away and went to retrieve his meager belongings from behind the sofa.

            “Let me drive you somewhere,” Sydney insisted.  “There’s a cold front moving in, and it was starting to rain when I arrived.  You shouldn’t be out in weather like that with an infection.  Let me help you find another place where you can stay for awhile, heal from your injury.”

            Jarod came back to the table with his brown leather satchel and silver briefcase.  He moved easily enough, but Sydney observed a slight hitch to his gait as he favored his left side.  He deposited the items on a chair and picked up a bottle of water and a few bandages, which he tucked into his bag.

            “No, it’s too dangerous,” he said in response to Sydney’s offer.  “You’ve done more than enough; I won’t have you taking any more risks.”

            “I’m willing to take that chance-”

            “I know.” Jarod placed his hand on the older man’s shoulder.  “And I’m grateful.  But I don’t want anything to happen to you because of me.  Too many innocent lives have already been lost because of me.”

            “None of those were your fault, Jarod, and I’m far from innocent,” Sydney said softly.

            His former protégé stared at him for a long moment.  How many times had the boy Jarod looked at him with those big brown eyes sparkling with intellect as he confidently worked through a simulation?  And how many times had his gaze pleaded for answers that Sydney couldn’t – or wouldn’t – give?

            Now Sydney was the one who needed something that Jarod was not ready to bestow.  Forgiveness.  Maybe someday, but for now Sydney was content that this extraordinary man he’d helped to raise could look upon him without contempt.  He’d always been grateful that he’d never been greeted by the Pretender “mask” when he and Jarod came face to face; the level of trust between them was enough for that small pretense to be stripped away.

            It was enough for Sydney to know that Jarod was currently experiencing some sort of emotional turmoil, something he felt he couldn’t share, not even with his mentor whom he’d risked contacting so many times for advice.   His brown eyes beheld Sydney with their usual inexplicable mix of wariness and trust, but some new emotion was also there, flickering just beneath the surface. 

            “What’s wrong, Jarod?” Sydney gently prodded.

            The spell was broken.  Jarod shook his head.  “I wish I knew,” he said, and those were the last words Sydney heard before he felt sudden pressure on his neck and everything went black.

MISS PARKER kicked in the door, reveling in the feel of power and control it gave her, and rushed into the apartment.  She swept her gun from left to right but saw no one.  Realizing they were too late, she still jerked her head towards the bathroom door for Sam the Sweeper to check it out.  When he called out the all-clear a few seconds later, she already knew that Jarod was long gone.

            Then she heard a low moan from across the dimly-lit room and her heart skipped a beat.  Maybe he wasn’t gone. . .

            She made a cautious approach, gun held steady, balanced on the balls of her feet for some quick action if needed.  When she was close enough to see who it was, she relaxed and lowered her gun.  “Sydney!” she exclaimed, then added for Sam’s benefit, “I told you to meet us here, not come in without back-up!”

            Sydney pushed himself into a seated position, rubbing the back of his head and looking disoriented.  Come on, Syd, she thought, pull it together.  Don’t blow it now.

            “Miss Parker?” he murmured groggily, looking around.  “Jarod must have –”

            “Knocked you out and made his escape,” she finished for her colleague.  That much was obvious and true.  “I knew this lead would pan out.  I just wish you’d waited until Sam and I got here.  What made you think you could capture Jarod on your own?”  The exasperation in her voice was also not faked.

            Sydney was slowly catching on to the fact that they were not alone in the room.  “Sorry,” he muttered, as he shakily rose to his feet.  “I thought I could convince him to come back to the Centre with me.”

Miss Parker tucked the gun into her waistband under her coat and helped him into a chair.  She saw the discarded handcuffs on the scarred wood surface and quickly swept them into her coat pocket.  A second later the incriminating prescription bottle bearing her name joined the cuffs in hiding. 

By this time Sam had wandered over their way.  Miss Parker surveyed the remaining items on the table as if seeing them for the first time and pronounced: “Looks like Lyle did manage to shoot Jarod.”

“These bandages would support that conclusion,” Sydney supplied helpfully.

“Guess Jarod slipped into doctor mode and treated himself, huh?” Sam grunted.

She had to speak to Sydney alone now.  “Check the back alley,” she ordered her henchman.  “Maybe we’ll be lucky and Jarod’s blood loss made him keel over before he got very far.”

Sam nodded and left.  Miss Parker instantly planted her palms on the table and leaned across it, thrusting her face close to Sydney’s.  “Okay, Syd, just what the hell happened here?”

Sydney didn’t take offense at the invasion of his personal space.  “It was as you said, Miss Parker, Jarod must have knocked me out.”  He seemed distracted, gingerly massaging the side of his neck.  Then his face cleared.  “Ah, he must have applied careful but sustained pressure to my carotid arteries, which caused me to lose consciousness.”

Miss Parker blinked and straightened up.  “That bit of medical lingo clear the remaining cobwebs?  Nice to know Jarod can do the Vulcan neck pinch, but what I want to know is why he felt he needed to knock you out.  No offense, Syd, but you’re not much of a physical threat.”

“I’m not any kind of threat to Jarod,” Sydney was quick to point out.

“Watch who you say that to or you could end up locked in a Centre cell so fast your head really will spin,” Miss Parker warned.

Again, he seemed to be thinking of something else.  “Jarod and I were standing here by the table, and he was getting ready to leave, putting a few items in his bag…”

“And you were doing everything you could to talk him out of going while surreptitiously pocket dialing me on your cell to call for back-up,” Miss Parker interjected sarcastically.

Sydney ignored her.  “I was offering to drive him somewhere since he’s still in no condition to be running from Centre operatives.”

She groaned inwardly; a T-board was definitely in Sydney’s very near future if he kept talking about how he helped Jarod.  She had to bring him back to reality.  “You mean like you and me?  Remember, it’s our job to bring Jarod back to the Centre.”

That got his attention.  “I haven’t forgotten,” he said evenly.  “You and I just go about accomplishing our objective in different ways.”

“Damn right!  You coddle him while I bust my butt trying to capture him!”  She stalked over to the window and peered through a slit in the blinds.  She saw Sam in the alley, looking miserable in the rain.  As she watched, he carefully lifted the lid of the dumpster and cast a cautious glance inside, his gun drawn.  Then he jumped back, and Miss Parker snapped to attention, but it was just a rat he’d disturbed, now scurrying through puddles down the  alley.  She stifled a sigh.

“I didn’t notice you dragging him back to the Centre yesterday when he was lying here helpless,” Sydney said.

“I told you, I didn’t want Lyle to get any credit for catching him.”  And by the way, Syd, your poor injured boy was really lying awake and listening to our conversation the whole time.

“But today you… had a change of heart?”

Miss Parker looked at him suspiciously.  There was something strange in his tone just then.  “I decided Jarod had recovered enough to come home and face the music.”

“Then why didn’t you take him back to the Centre once you had the cuffs on him?”

He was gazing at her in that pleasant, non-threatening manner of most psychiatrists. But what he wanted was for her to spill our all her dark, deep emotions so he could shred them one by one.  God, she hated shrinks!

“What are you talking about?”  She looked at her watch and started to pace, as if concerned about Sam’s delay in returning, when she was really trying to figure a way to avoid Sydney’s probing questions.

“Jarod told me you paid him a visit earlier this morning.” Again, he stopped.

Damn, just how much had Jarod told him?  No way was she going to offer any extra details about their early morning encounter.  “Well, he was his usual uncooperative self, so I decided I needed to go get Sam.  I was hoping Jarod was still too weak to make a run for it, especially in handcuffs.”

“Mm.” Sydney nodded thoughtfully, one finger pressed to his lips.  “You could have called for back-up.  Then you wouldn’t have had to leave Jarod alone, thereby giving him a perfect window of opportunity to escape.”

She stopped pacing and glared at him.  “If you are seriously suggesting I let Jarod get away, you’re the one who needs a reality check.”

“Certainly not on a conscious level, but perhaps your subconscious took over and allowed your compassion for Jarod to dictate your actions.”

She thought she detected a hint of smugness in his tone.  “Forget it, Sigmund,” she said.  “I haven’t plugged into my sweeter side; I don’t have one! Just because I helped you play nurse yesterday doesn’t mean I’ve gone soft.  My number one priority for years has been to return Jarod to the Centre, and that hasn’t changed!”

“If you say so, Miss Parker,” Sydney said mildly.

The more upset she became, the calmer he appeared.  “Stop trying to analyze me,” she snapped.  “If you need to dissect someone’s screwy psyche, talk to Broots about those dreams he keeps having about me.”

Sydney quirked an eyebrow but said nothing.

The door to the apartment opened and Sam came in, looking dejected as he wiped rainwater from his forehead.  “Sorry, Miss Parker.  There’s no sign of him.”

That didn’t surprise her.  What was a surprise was the relief she felt.

            IT was almost an hour later before Miss Parker reached the sanctuary of her office.  She leaned against the black frosted surface of her double doors for a moment and shut her eyes.  After threatening Sam into keeping quiet about her latest failure to capture Jarod and forcing Sydney to go home and rest (so he wouldn’t cross paths with Lyle or Brigitte until he had time to gather himself sufficiently to keep lying effectively), she was exhausted.  Her day had started too early with her pre-dawn visit to Jarod’s hideout and had been going steadily downhill from there.  She’d botched her best chance to bring the genius back, Sydney had his shrink radar firmly centered on her, and she’d ruined her new designer shoes in the rain. 

            She needed a drink.

            Miss Parker quickly crossed to the liquor cabinet discreetly tucked into a lower shelf of the credenza in the corner of her office and poured herself a Scotch.  She downed half of it in one gulp, then took the glass and bottle over to her desk.  She collapsed in her chair and wondered how much she would have to drink before she could forget about this heinous day.  She didn’t like to get drunk, mainly because she always wanted – needed - to be in control, but sometimes there was no other way to deal with the crap life kept throwing her way.  And today she’d been totally unprepared for what had happened.

            And something big had happened.  Now that she was alone she could finally admit that to herself.

            That kiss.

            Correction: two kisses.

            The first one could be easily explained: Jarod, knowing he was in no shape to take her on in hand-to-hand combat, chose another method to distract her so he could go for her gun.  It was her own fault that he’d been able to get that close to her; she’d let him push her buttons with talk of her mother.  That was the one subject he knew would make her let down her defenses.  But she knew that was her main weakness, and she shouldn’t have been so easy to manipulate. 

            His method of attack - the kiss - well, that was a surprise.  Like the boy Jarod, it had been sweet and shy.  And more trouble than she needed.

            So why the hell had she made matters worse by kissing him back?

            Miss Parker finished her drink with another huge swig and immediately poured herself another. 

There’s been nothing shy about the kiss she’d planted on Jarod.  She didn’t know why she’d had the impulse, let alone acted on it, but it had been the most wildly exhilarating moment of her life.  What did that say about her, that a simple kiss could mean so much?

She’d been the one to pull away – both times – and after the second kiss, she’d rushed out of the apartment and headed straight to the Centre, not remembering anything about the drive.  She’d gone to the Security Section, collected Sam, and quickly returned to Jarod’s safe house, determined to bring him back with her this time.  She’d told herself that she needed the Sweeper for extra muscle, but now she wondered if she’d needed him more as a guard against another unexpected emotional response.

She’d left so quickly after the kiss she had no idea what Jarod’s reaction had been to her… bizarre behavior.  He certainly hadn’t resisted and he hadn’t taken advantage of the situation to try to wrestle her gun away from her.  Miss Parker’s lips curved into a satisfied smile.  Maybe she’d been the one to provide the more effective distraction. 

Could that have been the subconscious motivation for her desire to kiss him?  Or was it just plain desire?  As a boy, Jarod had been intriguing, and as a man, well…

Miss Parker took a slow swallow of her Scotch and leaned back in her swivel chair.  She wasn’t afraid to admit that she found him attractive – she wasn’t blind, after all – but it was more than his physical attributes that made him fascinating.  His genius, cleverness, bravery, touch of vulnerability, and just a hint of recklessness would make him irresistible to any woman on the planet.  To her, those traits made Jarod the perfect adversary – the prey that she was destined to capture.  She often grumbled about her assignment of catching Jarod, but secretly she was flattered by the Centre’s– and her father’s – faith in her abilities.  To catch a genius who could become anyone he wanted to be… well, that was a worthy task.

And one she intended to accomplish.  This latest episode was just an anomaly.  It was pure physical attraction and maybe a little healthy curiosity that had made her kiss Jarod.  And maybe a little of her rebellious nature taking over.  Why had she sought Jarod out when they were children together at the Centre?  Because a friendship with him was forbidden, and therefore, exciting.  Any kind of relationship with the man now was doubly forbidden, and she was too smart to go down that disastrous path.  But what harm could one kiss do?

She could imagine what Sydney would say: What were you feeling when you kissed Jarod?

Feeling?  Hell, feelings had nothing to do with it.  She had acted on impulse – a strictly physical impulse.

She lazily traced the rim of her glass with one perfectly-manicured finger.  Jarod had definitely responded to her kiss.  She closed her eyes remembered the feel of his lips, the warmth of his breath on her cheek, the sound of his heart beating in a feverish rhythm in time with her own… 

Hm.  She wondered again what Jarod had felt when she grabbed him and kissed him.  Probably shocked the hell out of him.  By now she was sure he’d calmed down and was getting ready to call her like he always did after they crossed paths.  Usually his calls annoyed her; no matter what he said, she always felt like he was gloating, smugly reminding her that she’d failed to catch him yet again.  But today she felt a sense of anticipation, almost eagerness, as she stared at the phone on her desk.

Then she shook her head, disgusted with herself.  What was she, some teenage girl waiting for a boy to call her?

Miss Parker drank some more Scotch – only a sip this time.  The alcohol was starting to relax her, a soothing warmth moving through her body.  She realized she was still wearing her leather trench coat. She stood up and moved to the gray sofa against the wall, setting her drink down on one of the glass oval end tables as she did so.  Then she slipped out of her coat and tossed it on the couch.

The pair of handcuffs fell out of the pocket.  Miss Parker sank down onto the sofa and picked them up, wondering idly how Jarod had freed himself.  Probably some damn trick he’d learned while pretending to be some kind of Houdini.  She’d have to add that tidbit to his file so future Sweeper teams knew a simple pair of cuffs could not reliably restrain him.  She leaned back with a sigh.

And nearly jumped out of her skin when she heard a thud directly above her head.  She leaped to her feet, her hand going to her gun, before she realized the sound had come from the air duct.  “Damn it, Angelo!” she snapped.  “You almost gave me a heart attack.”

“Miss Parker angry,” came the mild reproof from the depths of the duct.

She bit back a sarcastic reply.  Ever since she had briefly wondered if Angelo was her brother, she’d tried to be kinder to him.  It wasn’t his fault Raines had turned him into a freak.  And part of her wished he had been her brother; anyone was better than that psychotic Lyle.  “Miss Parker tired,” she replied wearily.  “Go back to your space, Angelo.”

She heard some scuffling as he obediently started to retreat.  “Wait!” she said, as the beginning of an idea occurred to her.  “Get down here!  I need your help.”  She climbed onto the sofa, ignoring the fact that her heels were leaving divots in the expensive leather upholstery.  She studied the ventilation grate, contemplating the need for a screwdriver, when suddenly it cracked open an inch.  She frowned, wondering how many times Angelo used this particular portal to enter her office when she wasn’t here, but then she lifted the hatch open the rest of the way and helped the strange little man climb down out of his tunnel.

Angelo squatted on the couch and looked around with that creepy half-grin on his face.  Miss Parker sat down beside him and thrust the handcuffs at him.  “Here.  What do you feel?”

Angelo took the cuffs and snapped them onto his wrists before she could stop him.  “No!  Damn it, Angelo!”  She didn’t have the keys; she purposely didn’t take any with her when she’d left early this morning to apprehend Jarod.

His smile had vanished.  His eyes slightly crossed, he hugged his manacled wrists to his chest.  “Jarod hurt,” he said in a mournful sing-song.

Yes!  She knew this would work!  With Angelo’s empathic abilities, he’d be able to tell her what Jarod had been feeling while he was in the cuffs.  She told herself she only wanted to know this so she get a clue as to where he was headed next.  “I know, he was shot,” she said dismissively.  “What else?”

Angelo’s forehead creased as he concentrated.  “Confused,” he said finally.  “Sad.”  His pale blue eyes focused on her.  “Miss Parker hurt, sad.”

She stifled a sigh.  “No, Angelo, what was Jarod feeling?”

His expression grew gentle as he leaned towards her.  For a second, she thought he was going to whisper some great revelation, but then she saw his lips pursing and his eyes going shut.  He was going to kiss her!  Repulsed, she jumped up, and Angelo fell flat on his face on the sofa.

“What a waste of time,” Miss Parker muttered.  She hauled the savant upright by the back of his collar and propelled him towards her office door.  “We’re going to the security office to get you out of those cuffs.  Don’t say anything!” she warned him.  “If you’re a good monkey boy and stay quiet, I’ll give you some Crackerjacks when we get you back to your room.  Understand?”

Angelo was nodding happily as Miss Parker pushed him into the hall and followed him out, her office door locking with a decisive click.

Inside her coat pocket, her cell phone began to ring.

Chapter 3

            THAT’S where Sydney found him twenty minutes later.  He was surprised and pleased to see Jarod sitting up at the table.  Assuming that meant he was feeling better, Sydney approached with an optimistic bounce to his step and a cheerful greeting forming on his lips.

            Which died when he saw the cuffs.  Jarod’s hands were clasped in front of him, resting on the table, but Sydney hadn’t noticed the handcuffs until he got closer.  “Jarod, what happened?” he asked, his eyes darting to the door to the bathroom, expecting a Sweeper to burst out of hiding.  Had he just foolishly walked into a trap?  Had the Centre finally succeeded in ensnaring not only their wayward Pretender but also his chief ally?

            Jarod had been staring down at his manacled hands and took a few seconds to look up and respond to Sydney’s urgent question.  “Miss Parker,” he said, almost absent-mindedly.

            Damn.  He knew he’d been taking a big risk in revealing Jarod’s plight to his main pursuer, but he’d thought – he’d hoped – that she’d be compassionate when confronted with her injured prey.

            “She had a change of heart,” Jarod continued, “and then another change of… heart.”  The last word was said in a sort of wondering tone.

            Sydney was a trained observer, but he couldn’t decipher the look on Jarod’s face.  If Miss Parker had shown up earlier and managed to slap handcuffs on him, he should be agitated, at the very least.  The fact that she seemed to have inexplicably failed to take him back to the Centre should have Jarod feeling a huge sense of relief.  Yet here he sat, appearing to be in somewhat of a daze.  Was he in shock?  Had his fever returned?  Sydney had to fight a surprisingly parental urge to feel Jarod’s forehead.

            First things first.  Assess current risk level.  “Did Miss Parker bring a team of sweepers?”

            “No,” Jarod said.

            “She came alone?” Sydney asked sharply.

            “Yes.”

            Strange, but she must have figured Jarod was in no shape physically to put up much of a fight.  She must have surprised him if she’d managed to get those cuffs on him.  Next item of business – get those damn cuffs off him.  Sydney started searching his pockets.  “I don’t have a key for those handcuffs,” he said apologetically, “but maybe a pen…”

            “Oh!” Jarod seemed to notice the restraints for the first time.  “Never mind, I’ve got it.”  His fingers moved in a complicated pattern, and then he was free, the handcuffs clattering to the table.  As Sydney stared, Jarod added, “I was a magician once.”

            And an escape artist every day.  Well, at least he was starting to communicate in more than one word responses or cryptic comments.  Sydney tried to decide on a course of action. When Jarod the child would ask too many questions about his past or would withdraw inward in a genius version of a “pout,” Sydney would insist he work the sim and stay focused on the task at hand.  Here and now, maybe he could get him to relive the morning’s events and slowly lead him out of his fog.

            He took a seat across from Jarod.  “How did Miss Parker manage to get those cuffs on you in the first place?”

            “I was sleeping.”  Jarod drew in a breath, let it out in a long sigh.  “Normally I would have awakened as soon as someone entered the room, but this injury has really taken its toll on me, I guess.”

            “How is your wound?”

            “Better.  It was bleeding earlier, but…Miss Parker put a fresh bandage on it.”

            Sydney’s one eyebrow lifted in surprise.

            Jarod grunted.  “She said she didn’t want me bleeding all over her car.”

            Sydney nodded; that sounded more like their Miss Parker.  Yet he suspected her caustic comment had been her way of hiding her true concern for Jarod’s welfare.  “What happened next?”

            “Well, she wanted to drag me out of here right away, but I kept her talking for a little while.  I was hoping to stall her until you arrived.”

            Sydney was flattered that Jarod had pinned such high hopes on him.  “I appreciate your faith in me, Jarod, but I fear that I would not have been much help in getting Miss Parker to change her mind.”

            “Actually, I counted on your entrance to act as more of a distraction than anything else,” Jarod admitted, a bit sheepishly.  “I thought I might be able to get the gun away from her and make a fast exit.”  He paused, then added, “I’m glad it didn’t come to that.  I’m not quite up hasty retreats.”

            “So she just left?  Why would she do that?  What made her have the ‘change of heart’?”

            Again, that indecipherable look passed across Jarod’s face.  “I don’t know,” he said slowly.

            Sydney knew Jarod wasn’t telling him everything, but he’d learned long ago not to push for answers.  Any good psychiatrist knew that the patient had to be willing to open up.

            Jarod seemed to give himself a mental shake.  “Probably she figured she did need back-up, after all, which means I should get moving before she returns with a few Sweepers in tow.”  He stood up.

            Sydney stood also.  “Jarod, you’re in no condition to be on the run.”

            “Don’t have much choice, do I?” His tone was casual, but Sydney could see the bitterness lurking in the depths of his brown eyes.  Then he turned away and went to retrieve his meager belongings from behind the sofa.

            “Let me drive you somewhere,” Sydney insisted.  “There’s a cold front moving in, and it was starting to rain when I arrived.  You shouldn’t be out in weather like that with an infection.  Let me help you find another place where you can stay for awhile, heal from your injury.”

            Jarod came back to the table with his brown leather satchel and silver briefcase.  He moved easily enough, but Sydney observed a slight hitch to his gait as he favored his left side.  He deposited the items on a chair and picked up a bottle of water and a few bandages, which he tucked into his bag.

            “No, it’s too dangerous,” he said in response to Sydney’s offer.  “You’ve done more than enough; I won’t have you taking any more risks.”

            “I’m willing to take that chance-”

            “I know.” Jarod placed his hand on the older man’s shoulder.  “And I’m grateful.  But I don’t want anything to happen to you because of me.  Too many innocent lives have already been lost because of me.”

            “None of those were your fault, Jarod, and I’m far from innocent,” Sydney said softly.

            His former protégé stared at him for a long moment.  How many times had the boy Jarod looked at him with those big brown eyes sparkling with intellect as he confidently worked through a simulation?  And how many times had his gaze pleaded for answers that Sydney couldn’t – or wouldn’t – give?

            Now Sydney was the one who needed something that Jarod was not ready to bestow.  Forgiveness.  Maybe someday, but for now Sydney was content that this extraordinary man he’d helped to raise could look upon him without contempt.  He’d always been grateful that he’d never been greeted by the Pretender “mask” when he and Jarod came face to face; the level of trust between them was enough for that small pretense to be stripped away.

            It was enough for Sydney to know that Jarod was currently experiencing some sort of emotional turmoil, something he felt he couldn’t share, not even with his mentor whom he’d risked contacting so many times for advice.   His brown eyes beheld Sydney with their usual inexplicable mix of wariness and trust, but some new emotion was also there, flickering just beneath the surface. 

            “What’s wrong, Jarod?” Sydney gently prodded.

            The spell was broken.  Jarod shook his head.  “I wish I knew,” he said, and those were the last words Sydney heard before he felt sudden pressure on his neck and everything went black.

MISS PARKER kicked in the door, reveling in the feel of power and control it gave her, and rushed into the apartment.  She swept her gun from left to right but saw no one.  Realizing they were too late, she still jerked her head towards the bathroom door for Sam the Sweeper to check it out.  When he called out the all-clear a few seconds later, she already knew that Jarod was long gone.

            Then she heard a low moan from across the dimly-lit room and her heart skipped a beat.  Maybe he wasn’t gone. . .

            She made a cautious approach, gun held steady, balanced on the balls of her feet for some quick action if needed.  When she was close enough to see who it was, she relaxed and lowered her gun.  “Sydney!” she exclaimed, then added for Sam’s benefit, “I told you to meet us here, not come in without back-up!”

            Sydney pushed himself into a seated position, rubbing the back of his head and looking disoriented.  Come on, Syd, she thought, pull it together.  Don’t blow it now.

            “Miss Parker?” he murmured groggily, looking around.  “Jarod must have –”

            “Knocked you out and made his escape,” she finished for her colleague.  That much was obvious and true.  “I knew this lead would pan out.  I just wish you’d waited until Sam and I got here.  What made you think you could capture Jarod on your own?”  The exasperation in her voice was also not faked.

            Sydney was slowly catching on to the fact that they were not alone in the room.  “Sorry,” he muttered, as he shakily rose to his feet.  “I thought I could convince him to come back to the Centre with me.”

Miss Parker tucked the gun into her waistband under her coat and helped him into a chair.  She saw the discarded handcuffs on the scarred wood surface and quickly swept them into her coat pocket.  A second later the incriminating prescription bottle bearing her name joined the cuffs in hiding. 

By this time Sam had wandered over their way.  Miss Parker surveyed the remaining items on the table as if seeing them for the first time and pronounced: “Looks like Lyle did manage to shoot Jarod.”

“These bandages would support that conclusion,” Sydney supplied helpfully.

“Guess Jarod slipped into doctor mode and treated himself, huh?” Sam grunted.

She had to speak to Sydney alone now.  “Check the back alley,” she ordered her henchman.  “Maybe we’ll be lucky and Jarod’s blood loss made him keel over before he got very far.”

Sam nodded and left.  Miss Parker instantly planted her palms on the table and leaned across it, thrusting her face close to Sydney’s.  “Okay, Syd, just what the hell happened here?”

Sydney didn’t take offense at the invasion of his personal space.  “It was as you said, Miss Parker, Jarod must have knocked me out.”  He seemed distracted, gingerly massaging the side of his neck.  Then his face cleared.  “Ah, he must have applied careful but sustained pressure to my carotid arteries, which caused me to lose consciousness.”

Miss Parker blinked and straightened up.  “That bit of medical lingo clear the remaining cobwebs?  Nice to know Jarod can do the Vulcan neck pinch, but what I want to know is why he felt he needed to knock you out.  No offense, Syd, but you’re not much of a physical threat.”

“I’m not any kind of threat to Jarod,” Sydney was quick to point out.

“Watch who you say that to or you could end up locked in a Centre cell so fast your head really will spin,” Miss Parker warned.

Again, he seemed to be thinking of something else.  “Jarod and I were standing here by the table, and he was getting ready to leave, putting a few items in his bag…”

“And you were doing everything you could to talk him out of going while surreptitiously pocket dialing me on your cell to call for back-up,” Miss Parker interjected sarcastically.

Sydney ignored her.  “I was offering to drive him somewhere since he’s still in no condition to be running from Centre operatives.”

She groaned inwardly; a T-board was definitely in Sydney’s very near future if he kept talking about how he helped Jarod.  She had to bring him back to reality.  “You mean like you and me?  Remember, it’s our job to bring Jarod back to the Centre.”

That got his attention.  “I haven’t forgotten,” he said evenly.  “You and I just go about accomplishing our objective in different ways.”

“Damn right!  You coddle him while I bust my butt trying to capture him!”  She stalked over to the window and peered through a slit in the blinds.  She saw Sam in the alley, looking miserable in the rain.  As she watched, he carefully lifted the lid of the dumpster and cast a cautious glance inside, his gun drawn.  Then he jumped back, and Miss Parker snapped to attention, but it was just a rat he’d disturbed, now scurrying through puddles down the  alley.  She stifled a sigh.

“I didn’t notice you dragging him back to the Centre yesterday when he was lying here helpless,” Sydney said.

“I told you, I didn’t want Lyle to get any credit for catching him.”  And by the way, Syd, your poor injured boy was really lying awake and listening to our conversation the whole time.

“But today you… had a change of heart?”

Miss Parker looked at him suspiciously.  There was something strange in his tone just then.  “I decided Jarod had recovered enough to come home and face the music.”

“Then why didn’t you take him back to the Centre once you had the cuffs on him?”

He was gazing at her in that pleasant, non-threatening manner of most psychiatrists. But what he wanted was for her to spill our all her dark, deep emotions so he could shred them one by one.  God, she hated shrinks!

“What are you talking about?”  She looked at her watch and started to pace, as if concerned about Sam’s delay in returning, when she was really trying to figure a way to avoid Sydney’s probing questions.

“Jarod told me you paid him a visit earlier this morning.” Again, he stopped.

Damn, just how much had Jarod told him?  No way was she going to offer any extra details about their early morning encounter.  “Well, he was his usual uncooperative self, so I decided I needed to go get Sam.  I was hoping Jarod was still too weak to make a run for it, especially in handcuffs.”

“Mm.” Sydney nodded thoughtfully, one finger pressed to his lips.  “You could have called for back-up.  Then you wouldn’t have had to leave Jarod alone, thereby giving him a perfect window of opportunity to escape.”

She stopped pacing and glared at him.  “If you are seriously suggesting I let Jarod get away, you’re the one who needs a reality check.”

“Certainly not on a conscious level, but perhaps your subconscious took over and allowed your compassion for Jarod to dictate your actions.”

She thought she detected a hint of smugness in his tone.  “Forget it, Sigmund,” she said.  “I haven’t plugged into my sweeter side; I don’t have one! Just because I helped you play nurse yesterday doesn’t mean I’ve gone soft.  My number one priority for years has been to return Jarod to the Centre, and that hasn’t changed!”

“If you say so, Miss Parker,” Sydney said mildly.

The more upset she became, the calmer he appeared.  “Stop trying to analyze me,” she snapped.  “If you need to dissect someone’s screwy psyche, talk to Broots about those dreams he keeps having about me.”

Sydney quirked an eyebrow but said nothing.

The door to the apartment opened and Sam came in, looking dejected as he wiped rainwater from his forehead.  “Sorry, Miss Parker.  There’s no sign of him.”

That didn’t surprise her.  What was a surprise was the relief she felt.

            IT was almost an hour later before Miss Parker reached the sanctuary of her office.  She leaned against the black frosted surface of her double doors for a moment and shut her eyes.  After threatening Sam into keeping quiet about her latest failure to capture Jarod and forcing Sydney to go home and rest (so he wouldn’t cross paths with Lyle or Brigitte until he had time to gather himself sufficiently to keep lying effectively), she was exhausted.  Her day had started too early with her pre-dawn visit to Jarod’s hideout and had been going steadily downhill from there.  She’d botched her best chance to bring the genius back, Sydney had his shrink radar firmly centered on her, and she’d ruined her new designer shoes in the rain. 

            She needed a drink.

            Miss Parker quickly crossed to the liquor cabinet discreetly tucked into a lower shelf of the credenza in the corner of her office and poured herself a Scotch.  She downed half of it in one gulp, then took the glass and bottle over to her desk.  She collapsed in her chair and wondered how much she would have to drink before she could forget about this heinous day.  She didn’t like to get drunk, mainly because she always wanted – needed - to be in control, but sometimes there was no other way to deal with the crap life kept throwing her way.  And today she’d been totally unprepared for what had happened.

            And something big had happened.  Now that she was alone she could finally admit that to herself.

            That kiss.

            Correction: two kisses.

            The first one could be easily explained: Jarod, knowing he was in no shape to take her on in hand-to-hand combat, chose another method to distract her so he could go for her gun.  It was her own fault that he’d been able to get that close to her; she’d let him push her buttons with talk of her mother.  That was the one subject he knew would make her let down her defenses.  But she knew that was her main weakness, and she shouldn’t have been so easy to manipulate. 

            His method of attack - the kiss - well, that was a surprise.  Like the boy Jarod, it had been sweet and shy.  And more trouble than she needed.

            So why the hell had she made matters worse by kissing him back?

            Miss Parker finished her drink with another huge swig and immediately poured herself another. 

There’s been nothing shy about the kiss she’d planted on Jarod.  She didn’t know why she’d had the impulse, let alone acted on it, but it had been the most wildly exhilarating moment of her life.  What did that say about her, that a simple kiss could mean so much?

She’d been the one to pull away – both times – and after the second kiss, she’d rushed out of the apartment and headed straight to the Centre, not remembering anything about the drive.  She’d gone to the Security Section, collected Sam, and quickly returned to Jarod’s safe house, determined to bring him back with her this time.  She’d told herself that she needed the Sweeper for extra muscle, but now she wondered if she’d needed him more as a guard against another unexpected emotional response.

She’d left so quickly after the kiss she had no idea what Jarod’s reaction had been to her… bizarre behavior.  He certainly hadn’t resisted and he hadn’t taken advantage of the situation to try to wrestle her gun away from her.  Miss Parker’s lips curved into a satisfied smile.  Maybe she’d been the one to provide the more effective distraction. 

Could that have been the subconscious motivation for her desire to kiss him?  Or was it just plain desire?  As a boy, Jarod had been intriguing, and as a man, well…

Miss Parker took a slow swallow of her Scotch and leaned back in her swivel chair.  She wasn’t afraid to admit that she found him attractive – she wasn’t blind, after all – but it was more than his physical attributes that made him fascinating.  His genius, cleverness, bravery, touch of vulnerability, and just a hint of recklessness would make him irresistible to any woman on the planet.  To her, those traits made Jarod the perfect adversary – the prey that she was destined to capture.  She often grumbled about her assignment of catching Jarod, but secretly she was flattered by the Centre’s– and her father’s – faith in her abilities.  To catch a genius who could become anyone he wanted to be… well, that was a worthy task.

And one she intended to accomplish.  This latest episode was just an anomaly.  It was pure physical attraction and maybe a little healthy curiosity that had made her kiss Jarod.  And maybe a little of her rebellious nature taking over.  Why had she sought Jarod out when they were children together at the Centre?  Because a friendship with him was forbidden, and therefore, exciting.  Any kind of relationship with the man now was doubly forbidden, and she was too smart to go down that disastrous path.  But what harm could one kiss do?

She could imagine what Sydney would say: What were you feeling when you kissed Jarod?

Feeling?  Hell, feelings had nothing to do with it.  She had acted on impulse – a strictly physical impulse.

She lazily traced the rim of her glass with one perfectly-manicured finger.  Jarod had definitely responded to her kiss.  She closed her eyes remembered the feel of his lips, the warmth of his breath on her cheek, the sound of his heart beating in a feverish rhythm in time with her own… 

Hm.  She wondered again what Jarod had felt when she grabbed him and kissed him.  Probably shocked the hell out of him.  By now she was sure he’d calmed down and was getting ready to call her like he always did after they crossed paths.  Usually his calls annoyed her; no matter what he said, she always felt like he was gloating, smugly reminding her that she’d failed to catch him yet again.  But today she felt a sense of anticipation, almost eagerness, as she stared at the phone on her desk.

Then she shook her head, disgusted with herself.  What was she, some teenage girl waiting for a boy to call her?

Miss Parker drank some more Scotch – only a sip this time.  The alcohol was starting to relax her, a soothing warmth moving through her body.  She realized she was still wearing her leather trench coat. She stood up and moved to the gray sofa against the wall, setting her drink down on one of the glass oval end tables as she did so.  Then she slipped out of her coat and tossed it on the couch.

The pair of handcuffs fell out of the pocket.  Miss Parker sank down onto the sofa and picked them up, wondering idly how Jarod had freed himself.  Probably some damn trick he’d learned while pretending to be some kind of Houdini.  She’d have to add that tidbit to his file so future Sweeper teams knew a simple pair of cuffs could not reliably restrain him.  She leaned back with a sigh.

And nearly jumped out of her skin when she heard a thud directly above her head.  She leaped to her feet, her hand going to her gun, before she realized the sound had come from the air duct.  “Damn it, Angelo!” she snapped.  “You almost gave me a heart attack.”

“Miss Parker angry,” came the mild reproof from the depths of the duct.

She bit back a sarcastic reply.  Ever since she had briefly wondered if Angelo was her brother, she’d tried to be kinder to him.  It wasn’t his fault Raines had turned him into a freak.  And part of her wished he had been her brother; anyone was better than that psychotic Lyle.  “Miss Parker tired,” she replied wearily.  “Go back to your space, Angelo.”

She heard some scuffling as he obediently started to retreat.  “Wait!” she said, as the beginning of an idea occurred to her.  “Get down here!  I need your help.”  She climbed onto the sofa, ignoring the fact that her heels were leaving divots in the expensive leather upholstery.  She studied the ventilation grate, contemplating the need for a screwdriver, when suddenly it cracked open an inch.  She frowned, wondering how many times Angelo used this particular portal to enter her office when she wasn’t here, but then she lifted the hatch open the rest of the way and helped the strange little man climb down out of his tunnel.

Angelo squatted on the couch and looked around with that creepy half-grin on his face.  Miss Parker sat down beside him and thrust the handcuffs at him.  “Here.  What do you feel?”

Angelo took the cuffs and snapped them onto his wrists before she could stop him.  “No!  Damn it, Angelo!”  She didn’t have the keys; she purposely didn’t take any with her when she’d left early this morning to apprehend Jarod.

His smile had vanished.  His eyes slightly crossed, he hugged his manacled wrists to his chest.  “Jarod hurt,” he said in a mournful sing-song.

Yes!  She knew this would work!  With Angelo’s empathic abilities, he’d be able to tell her what Jarod had been feeling while he was in the cuffs.  She told herself she only wanted to know this so she get a clue as to where he was headed next.  “I know, he was shot,” she said dismissively.  “What else?”

Angelo’s forehead creased as he concentrated.  “Confused,” he said finally.  “Sad.”  His pale blue eyes focused on her.  “Miss Parker hurt, sad.”

She stifled a sigh.  “No, Angelo, what was Jarod feeling?”

His expression grew gentle as he leaned towards her.  For a second, she thought he was going to whisper some great revelation, but then she saw his lips pursing and his eyes going shut.  He was going to kiss her!  Repulsed, she jumped up, and Angelo fell flat on his face on the sofa.

“What a waste of time,” Miss Parker muttered.  She hauled the savant upright by the back of his collar and propelled him towards her office door.  “We’re going to the security office to get you out of those cuffs.  Don’t say anything!” she warned him.  “If you’re a good monkey boy and stay quiet, I’ll give you some Crackerjacks when we get you back to your room.  Understand?”

Angelo was nodding happily as Miss Parker pushed him into the hall and followed him out, her office door locking with a decisive click.

Inside her coat pocket, her cell phone began to ring.

Chapter 4

Six months later…     

Miss Parker sat at her dressing table and slowly brushed her hair.  The act was soothing, especially when she could take her time and let her mind wander back to her childhood.  Back to those times her mother would brush her hair, and she’d gaze at their reflections in the mirror – mother and daughter – and wonder if she’d ever be as beautiful as the woman standing behind her.  Now, if she allowed those memories to take over, and if the light was just right, she could almost see her mother’s face again in the mirror.  Almost.

Jarod’s harsh – but completely true – words echoed in her mind, as they had so many times in the six months since he’d uttered them.  “It was your mother who tried to rescue me from the Centre.  I wonder how she’d feel about what you’re doing.  I bet she’d be so proud.”

And her response, equally true, and just as painful: “I’m not my mother.  I’ll never be my mother.”

            So no matter how much she yearned to see her mother, especially today, she knew the gentle yet strong and incredibly brave woman who’d been Catherine Parker no longer existed, except in memories.  Fragmented, twisted memories that kept changing every time another Centre secret was revealed.  Would she ever know the whole truth about her mother’s life?  Or about her death?

            Miss Parker put down the brush.  Time to get this day started. 

            The soaring orchestral strains of the theme song from Star Wars blared from her cell phone.  She winced inwardly.  A few weeks ago she and Broots had been following a lead on Jarod – another dead end, of course – and they’d had to do a stakeout in the car for hours.  With too much time on his hands, Broots had somehow gotten hold of her phone and programmed in different ring tones for different callers.  She hated the insipid tunes but had no idea how to change it back to a normal ring.  But there was no way in hell she was going to admit that to Broots.

            As she went to retrieve the phone from her bedside table, she found herself wondering for the hundredth time which character Broots identified with in this iconic science fiction drama.  Certainly not the young light saber-wielding rebel and definitely not the rakish outlaw-turned-hero.  She had only a vague memory of the movies, but she would classify Broots as the annoying golden droid.  And she imagined he fantasized of her as Princess Leia in that ridiculous bikini.

            She answered the call and blessedly cut off the music; the damn tune would probably play in her head the rest of the day anyway.  “What?” she snapped.

            “Miss Parker?  Are you in your office?  I- I need to talk to you.”  As usual, Broots was speaking in a low, semi-frantic tone.

            “Isn’t that what you’re doing right now?”

            “No!  I mean yes, but no, that’s not – I mean-“

            “Broots!”

            “I need to see you in person.  I think I found something.”

            “Well, I’m not at the Centre.  I’m not coming in today.”

            “Are you sick?”  He sounded concerned.

            “I’m fine.  I just have some personal business to attend to.”

            “What personal – well, it’s none of my business, I know, but – oh, today is the 13th.  Oh, so that’s what – oh.” He trailed off into an uncomfortable silence.

            Miss Parker sank down on the side of the bed and used her free hand to massage her forehead, hoping to soothe away the headache that was starting to throb behind her eyes.  “Yes, Broots, I’m going to the cemetery to visit my mother’s grave.  Can this mysterious something you think you found wait until tomorrow?”

            “Oh, sure!  I mean, I think so, I don’t know if it’s really important, it’s just that you told me to keep you informed about anything to do with– well, with you-know-who.”

            “Do you have a lead on Jarod?”

            “No, it’s about…”  There was a pause.  Miss Parker imagined Broots looking around to make sure no one was watching him.  Unfortunately, at the Centre, his paranoia was justified.  “It’s about your brother,” he whispered finally.

            That got her attention.  “Lyle?  What about him?”

            “Hold on a minute.”  It sounded like he put the phone down.  A few seconds later she heard a loud mechanical whirring noise, and he came back on the line.

            “What is that noise?” she demanded.

            “The paper shredder.  I thought it would be a good way to cover up what I’m saying.”  He sounded pleased with himself.

            She grudgingly had to admit that it was a good idea.  Of course, she wasn’t going to tell him that.  “So what’s my brother up to now?”

            “Well, I saw Cindy from accounting in the break room this morning.  She’s really stressed, what with taxes being due on Monday, and she was venting a little about the heap of paperwork waiting on her desk and explaining that was why she had to get her morning cup of coffee a little earlier than usual… You know, she’s a really nice lady, practically the only person at the Centre who talks to me, except for you and Sydney.  Do you think she likes me?” He paused.

            “I’ll make sure to pass her a note at recess to find out,” Miss Parker said sarcastically.  “Broots!  What about Lyle?”

            “Oh!  Sorry.  Anyway, Cindy mentioned that there were a ton of long distance calls to Africa in the last couple of weeks.”  He paused again then finished dramatically, “They were from Lyle’s extension.”

            Africa meant The Triumverate.  Why was her brother suddenly having chats with the Centre’s overlords?  More disturbing, why were they taking his calls?  What could he be saying that was of such interest to them?

            “Miss Parker?  Are you there?”

            Broots sounded even more agitated, if that was possible.  He needed someone to take control.  “Get me a copy of those phone records, Broots,” she ordered.  “I want to know how many calls, when they were made, and how long they lasted.”  She also wanted to know what was said during those conversations, but Lyle was as diligent as she about sweeping for listening devices, and she’d never been able to bug his phone or office.

            “Well, I should be able to hack into the Centre’s utility expense accounts, but I can’t do it right now.  I’m being sent to a satellite office in New Jersey to fix a computer glitch.  It’ll probably take the rest of the day.”

            “Right now?”

            “Apparently, their normal tech support guy is sick, and the powers-that-be need something off the mainframe ASAP.  It must be sensitive material, because they need someone with my clearance level.”

            Did he actually sound proud of that?  Miss Parker bit back a caustic reply.  “Then I’ll get your girlfriend Cindy to print me a hard copy,” she said, resorting to Plan B.

            “Oh, please don’t do that, Miss Parker!” Broots sounded like he was working himself into a full-fledged panic.  “She already regrets telling me as much as she did; she’ll get in trouble if you ask her for more.”

            Miss Parker closed her eyes but the headache persisted.  “Fine, Broots.  But I want those phone records in my hands first thing tomorrow.”

            There was another awkward pause.  When he finally spoke, he sounded miserable but determined.  “I’m sorry, Miss Parker, but tomorrow is Saturday, and Debbie’s home.”

            Geek he may be, but he was also a good father.  She wasn’t going to interfere with his family time.  “Fine, Broots,” she said again.  “We’ll deal with it first thing Monday morning.”

            His huge sigh of relief came clearly across the line.  “Thanks, Miss Parker.  I have to go now, but you have a good day.  Oh!  No, I mean, don’t have – what I meant to say was-”

            She hung up on him then just sat there on the side of the bed, suddenly exhausted.  With the only item on the day’s agenda being a trip to the cemetery, she didn’t know if she had the energy to get up.

            Her phone rang again, and she answered immediately.  “What now, you moron?”

            “Angel?  What’s wrong?”  There was more annoyance than concern in his voice.

            “Daddy!” Miss Parker got to her feet, unconsciously standing at attention.  “Sorry, I thought you were someone else.”

            “Well, I imagine that someone had it coming.” There was a brief chuckle from her father.  “I was just calling to see when you’d be ready to go.”

            “Go where?”

            “To the cemetery, of course!  You haven’t forgotten what today is?” 

            As if she could ever forget the anniversary of the day her mother was taken away from her.  She ignored the quick stab of pain his insensitive remark caused. “No, of course not, Daddy!  I was planning to go to the cemetery.  I just didn’t realize you… would be able to come along, too.”

            “I told you last year that this is something we should do together from now on.  I meant that.”

            Was that true hurt in his voice?  Or just righteous indignation that she’d ever doubt his word?  As usual when confronted by her father, Miss Parker felt like a little girl again, being chided for bad behavior.  “I know you did,” she said quickly, “I just thought that maybe your schedule wouldn’t allow it.”

            “I always have time for my girl,” he said, “especially for something this important.”

            “I’ll be glad for your company, Daddy” she said huskily around the sudden lump in her throat.

            “Good.  I’ll pick you up in an hour.”

            “I can meet you there-”

            “No, we should go together.  I have a driver.  See you soon.”

            “See you-”  She realized he’d already hung up.  Miss Parker pushed the end call button and sat for a moment, slightly dazed, as she often felt after a conversation with her father.  Then the tune that had played when her father called suddenly registered; it had been the Darth Vader theme from Star Wars.  She felt a fresh flash of irritation with Broots, and the emotion energized her.

            She tossed the phone on the bed and went back to her dressing table.  Suddenly feeling the need to look her best, she applied a fresh coat of lip gloss and swiped some more waterproof mascara on her already thickly-coated lashes. Picking up her brush again, she coaxed a few stubborn strands of hair behind her ears. 

She had to admit that she was surprised by her father’s offer to accompany her to the cemetery.  Last year she had been glad of his company, especially since she’d just thwarted an attempt on his life.  She’d been desperate to hold on to the only family she had left. 

But if she was truly honest with herself, today she felt slightly disappointed that she wouldn’t be able to visit her mother’s grave alone.  She’d become accustomed to making this annual pilgrimage by herself; it was almost soothing to sit by the headstone and let childhood memories – only the best ones - wash over her.

With her father by her side, she’d have to share some of those memories aloud.  Would he find them comforting or a painful reminder of better days?  Maybe she could get him to share a few of his own, ones he’d never heard.  But she knew that would take some doing and feel too much like work, the work she did every day ferreting our secrets at the Centre.

Miss Parker sighed.  Her relationship with her father had always been complicated.  The fact that he was making the effort to support her on this tragic anniversary was a good thing.  And she needed all the help she could get to make it through this terrible day.

She put down the brush and studied the end result.  Her reflection showed a beautiful woman, every shining hair in place, make-up expertly applied.  But when she thought of the day her mother had been murdered, there was a sadness in her eyes and weariness in the lines around her mouth.  In that instant, she truly looked like Catherine Parker, especially in those final, desperate days when the kind-hearted woman had been trying to rescue the children from the Centre.

But she wasn’t her mother.  Miss Parker blinked and the ghostly visage vanished.  Her own determined face, carefully devoid of emotion, stared back at her.  She turned away from the mirror and went to wait for her father.

She was a striking figure dressed in her customary black, but today the somber ensemble perfectly fit the occasion.  It was a warm spring day so she wore no coat.  Her simple black dress was a little too short and a little too tight, but the strand of pearls around her neck added just the right touch of elegance.  She was a stark silhouette in a field of color; most of the graves were still decorated with bright Easter flowers.  She weaved gracefully through the tombstones, moving easily across the grass despite the six-inch heels she wore.  He knew better than to think those shoes would slow her down in a chase; if she caught sight of him, he’d have a hell of a time getting away.

He didn’t intend to let her see him.  Last year Jarod had stood at this very spot, hidden among the trees on the hillside, and watched Miss Parker as she visited her mother’s grave.  He wasn’t sure why he felt compelled to come here on this day; perhaps he wanted to pay his respects to the woman who had died trying to save him.  Or perhaps he felt he should be near Miss Parker on a day that was pure torment for her just in case …

In case what?  What did he think would happen?  She’d break down at her mother’s grave, he’d materialize at her side, and she’d sob on his shoulder, seeking comfort in his embrace? 

Ridiculous.  Impossible.  And dangerous.

Jarod quirked an eyebrow as another person stepped up behind Miss Parker – her father.  He was surprised that he had accompanied his daughter here for the second year in a row.  Despite Miss Parker’s belief that her father loved her, Jarod had never seen much evidence of it.  In fact, he sometimes thought Mr. Parker was almost as much a threat to his own daughter as he was to Jarod – in some ways, more so, because her emotions made her vulnerable to his lies.

As Jarod watched, Miss Parker knelt by the headstone and laid a single white rose on the ground.  Her father placed a hand on her shoulder.

So intent was he on the scene in front of him, Jarod didn’t hear anything behind him until he sensed movement.  He spun around and found himself face to face with Brigitte.

She smiled and aimed a gun at him.  “Long time no see, luv,” she said.

He clearly remembered her straddling him as he lay chained (or so he pretended) to a bed in a dingy basement, sold out by the slightly deranged drifter Argyle.  His skin crawled with the memory.

Today she was wearing an electric blue blazer with the collar standing up, almost touching her extremely short blonde hair.  The matching skin-tight pants were made out of the same shiny material that looked like plastic.

Then he saw Willie approaching from his right, a short distance behind Brigitte, his gun also drawn and trained on Jarod.

His mind whirling with escape scenarios, Jarod carefully kept his voice calm as he said, “Not long enough.”

Brigitte put on a pretty pout.  “And I have such fond memories of our time together,” she said in a mock hurt tone.

“Oh, so you enjoy being handcuffed to a bed,” Jarod said, “do you, luv?”  He threw out the last bit in a British accent.

Brigitte’s smiled widened, seemingly not at all upset that he had left her trapped while he’d escaped again.  “If you’d stayed there with me, we could have had such fun,” she purred.  She took a step closer.  “Okay, lover boy, keep your hands where I can see them.  Let’s make this nice and easy.”

Jarod casually spread his hands out to the side.  “Go ahead, frisk me,” he invited with what he hoped was just the right touch of innuendo.  A plan was forming in his mind.  If Brigitte got close enough, her mind not completely focused on the job at hand, he may be able to surprise her and grab the gun.  Then he could use her as a human shield; he knew it was above Willie’s pay grade to make decisions about whether he should shoot at Jarod with Brigitte in the way.  Anyway, he didn’t really care if she took a bullet meant for him; Willie wouldn’t be shooting to kill in either case.

Brigitte’s smile turned downright predatory.  “Sometimes I love my job,” she murmured and took another step towards him.

Jarod tensed and –

A familiar voice spoke from directly behind him.  “Back off, Brigitte.  Better wait until the prey is safely in its cage before you play with it.”

Lyle.  Something like a small chunk of ice formed in the pit of his stomach.  Without turning around, Jarod knew there was a third gun aimed at his back.  “You’re not really going to shoot me again, are you, Lyle?” he said, using every ounce of control to keep his tone conversational.

“I’m not aiming at you,” Lyle countered smoothly.

That did make Jarod turn.  What he saw sent a chill through his whole body; Lyle had his gun pointed in Miss Parker’s direction.

“She’s your sister,” Jarod rasped, knowing the words would mean nothing to this man.  Figuring in distance, trajectory, ability and confidence of the shooter, he frantically tried to calculate the probability of Lyle being able to fatally shoot Miss Parker. 

“She’s expendable,” Lyle said dismissively.  “Especially once you’re back at the Centre.”     

Jarod hoped the panic he was feeling didn’t show on his face.  When Willie came up behind him and grabbed his arm, he started to struggle instinctively.

“Hold still, Jarod,” Lyle warned.   He glanced down at his sister and father, who still hovered over Catherine Parker’s grave, oblivious to the drama playing out a short distance away.  “Such a touching scene.  Be a shame if another tragedy would mar this day forever.”  His finger tightened on the trigger.

The odds were too great that Lyle would be able to make the shot.  After all, he’d been able to hit Jarod six months ago when he was running away; Miss Parker was a much easier, stationary target.  Jarod didn’t move as Willie roughly pulled his arms behind his back and snapped a pair of cuffs on him.

“Good boy.”  Lyle smiled coldly.  “Let’s leave father and daughter to their grief, shall we?”  He gestured to the Sweeper, who started pulling Jarod towards the black SUV he now saw parked on the gravel lane higher up the slope.

Jarod concentrated on keeping his breathing steady and his senses on high alert; he needed to take advantage of any opportunity to escape.  But propelled by Willie and flanked by Brigitte and Lyle, he doubted one would present itself.

He wasn’t a superstitious man, but he had to admit that on this Friday the Thirteenth, his luck had finally run out.

Chapter 5

           Miss Parker felt herself smiling as she carried the large bouquet of spring flowers across her office.  She set the glass vase carefully on the end table by her leather settee and took a step back to admire the way the yellow roses and tulips in the arrangement seemed to glow in the sunshine.  On nice days like this she was thankful for the daylight streaming through the tall windows behind her desk; she was glad her office wasn’t located on the sub-levels like those caves where Sydney and Broots had to work.

            Right on cue, she heard her door open followed by a breathless, “Miss Parker!  You’re here!”

            She didn’t bother to turn around.  “It’s Monday morning and this is my office, Broots.  Where else would I be?”  She adjusted the position of the vase so the purple blooms of hydrangea and hyacinth would be more noticeable when she was sitting at her desk.

            “I’ve been trying to call you all weekend!”

            He sounded as twitchy as ever when he visited her office – like a mole just venturing into the light.  “I was out of town,” she said.  When her father had first suggested the weekend getaway to one of the most exclusive spas in New York City, she hadn’t immediately embraced the idea.   She hadn’t taken a vacation in years and felt that any break from the pursuit of Jarod would be frowned upon by the Centre.  But her father had pointed out that a couple of days of rest and relaxation could help to rejuvenate her and give new energy to the search.  She finally agreed and accepted his generous gift, a small part of her hoping that this was his way of showing fatherly concern and trying to make up for his part in assigning her the thankless job of trying to catch a genius.

            But it had been her idea to turn off her cell phone while she was away.  She didn’t want any interruptions while she spent two glorious days being pampered by people who didn’t know her, didn’t know Jarod, and had never heard of the Centre.  She’d enjoyed the full spa treatment - massages, a facial, a manicure, a pedicure, and swims in the indoor heated pool.  She’d managed to sneak away from the healthy program for a few drinks in a bar Saturday night and a little harmless flirtation with some mildly attractive men.  She hadn’t left the city without shopping in the boutiques and had come to work this morning feeling and looking like a new woman; her new gray suit had a splash of color in the form of a pink silk blouse.  Between that and the bright floral arrangement, she hoped to disperse a few of the shadows that lurked around every corner of the Centre. 

            “Then you haven’t heard!”

            “Heard what?” She tried to stay focused on the cheerful bouquet.

            There was a short pause then: “He’s here.”

            “Who?”

            Another pause, longer this time.  Then Broots said, almost reverently, “Jarod.”

            Miss Parker spun around so fast the hem of her long gray blazer caught on the flower arrangement and sent the vase tumbling to the floor. 

            Broots started forward, looking in horror at the spilled vase behind her, but Miss Parker stopped him in his tracks with a jab to his chest with a perfectly-manicured fingernail. “Leave it!” she ordered.  “What do you mean Jarod’s here?  Where?  How do you know?  Did you see him on a surveillance camera?  Does anyone else know?”

            Broots blinked, as if needing time to process her rapid-fire questions.  “No!  I mean, yes, they know, I mean, no, I didn’t see him, he’s not...”

            Miss Parker had to refrain from throttling him.

            Broots must have seen the intent in her steely gaze, because he took a deep breath and said clearly, “Jarod’s not here on his own.  He was brought in last Friday.”

            “Brought in?” she gasped.  “Who caught him?”

            Broots looked as miserable as the day he’d brought her the news of her twin brother’s identity.  “Lyle,” he said.

            Miss Parker felt like someone had kicked her in the stomach.  Barely aware she was doing so, she staggered back a few steps and clutched the front edge of her glass-topped desk for support.  Her father’s words rang in her ears, as loud a pronouncement as if he was in the room with her: Jarod is the Centre’s greatest asset.  Whoever brings him back will hold all the power.

            “How?” she finally managed.

            “I – I don’t know.  I haven’t heard any details.”  Whatever Broots was seeing in her face now made him look more terrified than ever; she hoped he wasn’t reflecting her emotions.  “Miss Parker, are you okay?  Can I get you a glass of water?”

            She wanted a drink, a stiff one, but right now she had to keep a clear head to figure out what the hell was going on.  “Where is Jarod now?” she asked.

            “Well, I don’t know for sure, but a lot of security has been assigned to SL-14 around the infirmary, and they’ve been there all weekend.”

            “The infirmary?” Miss Parker straightened.  “Was Jarod injured?  Did Lyle shoot him again?”

            “Not that I know of.  Wait… again?  What are you talking about?  Do you mean last fall when Lyle claimed he wounded Jarod and almost caught him?”

            Careful, Parker.  She had to remind herself that Broots didn’t know about the safe house Sydney had set up for Jarod last year after he was shot.  Sydney!

            “Does Sydney know about this?” she asked sharply.

            “No, I haven’t been able to get in touch with him either!” 

            No wonder Broots looked like he was going to cry; the only two people he could trust had been unreachable while something of monumental importance had taken place.

            “Relax, Broots.  Syd  left me a message Thursday night that he was going out of town for a few days.  Something to do with his twin project.”  In the message, Sydney had sounded almost apologetic for being away on the anniversary of her mother’s death.  In truth, she’d been glad of his absence; she knew he meant well, but it always felt like he was analyzing how she was dealing with her mother’s death.  Having a shrink for a friend – colleague – was tricky.

            But why hadn’t Broots been able to get through to Sydney?  She was sure he wouldn’t have turned off his cell phone, especially if he felt she might have needed to “talk” about her mother.  “You couldn’t get him on his cell?” she asked.

            “No, and the voice mail doesn’t seem to be working either; it kept disconnecting when I tried to leave a message.”

            “Maybe he forgot to charge the phone’s battery.”  Sydney could be a bit addled at times, especially when he was distracted by one of his pet projects, like the studies on twin relationships. That area of study was second in importance only to the Pretender project.

            Still, she didn’t like the way this looked.  First, Sydney had to suddenly leave town, then Broots was ordered to a Centre satellite to fix a computer glitch, then she…  Then she went away for the weekend on a spur-of-the-moment trip supplied by her father.  Because he cared about her.  Because he worried about her well-being.

            Because he wanted her out of the way, along with the rest of her team. 

            Damn it!  Miss Parker headed for the door, issuing orders as she went.  “Broots, find out for sure where they’re keeping Jarod.  And keep trying to call Sydney; I have a feeling you’ll be able to reach him soon.”  She yanked open her door and looked back at the heap of flowers and water seeping into her carpet. “And clean up that mess, will you?”

            Broots nodded.  “Where are you going?” he asked.

            “To congratulate my brother,” she said grimly.

            Miss Parker flung the frosted glass doors open and paused in the doorway for dramatic effect.

            “Ah, Angel!  There you are.  How was your weekend?” 

            Her heart sank.  On her way up here in the elevator, she had allowed herself to wonder if maybe, just maybe, Broots was wrong about Jarod being caught.  But her father’s boisterous greeting meant he was in a very good mood.  And Lyle was relaxing in one of the black leather chairs facing her father’s desk, legs crossed, a drink in his right hand.  She noticed her father also had a drink.  They were definitely celebrating.  Damn.

            She took a step forward and closed the doors behind her.  “Not as exciting as the one around here, I gather,” she replied smoothly.  Taking great care to keep her true emotions hidden, she turned towards Lyle and bared her teeth in what she hoped passed for a pleasant smile.  “I hear congratulations are in order, brother.”

            Lyle bowed his head slightly in polite acknowledgment of the effort she was making, but the gleam in his blue eyes showed the fierce delight he felt as he said, “Yes, Jarod is finally back here at the Centre where he belongs.”

            How many years had she wanted to say those very words?  To see the pride in her father’s eyes when she brought Jarod back to the Centre?  To see the look, the very look, in fact, that he was now giving Lyle.

            “Your brother certainly deserves congratulations,” Mr. Parker said, lifting his glass in a toast to his son.  “His plan was perfect, from conception to execution.”

            “Oh, I can think of a slight flaw in his plan,” Miss Parker murmured.  “Mainly the fact that he never mentioned it to the team of people who have been working for years to catch Jarod.”

            “Now, Angel, don’t be like that,” her father chided, frowning.  “With Jarod back at the Centre, everyone benefits.”

            Not Jarod, she couldn’t help thinking, but she quickly pushed that thought away and kept pushing for an answer to why she was purposely excluded from the capture of Jarod.  “I just think it’s odd that Sydney, Broots, and myself were all out of town when Lyle’s ‘brilliant’ plan was put into action.”

            “That’s not quite true, sis,” Lyle corrected mildly.  “In fact, you were an integral part of the plan.  I couldn’t have done it without you when I caught Jarod at the cemetery on Friday.  Or without Brigitte and Willie’s help,” he tossed out, almost as an afterthought.

            “The cemetery?” Miss Parker’s sharp gaze slid quickly from Lyle to her father.  “You found Jarod at the cemetery?”

            Her father nodded, taking a sip of his drink, while Lyle responded, “Not just found him, Parker, I predicted that he would be there.  So I was ready and waiting to spring the trap.”  Now the smugness was evident in his voice.

            “How could you possibly guess that Jarod would be at the cemetery then?”

            “Because it was the anniversary of your – our – mother’s death, and he knows you go there every year.”

            “That still doesn’t explain why he’d-”

            “Because he likes to see you suffer!” her father burst out, slamming his glass down on his desk.  “I’ve told you for years, Angel, that Jarod is not to be trusted.  He fills your head with half-truths or outright lies and tries to manipulate you at every turn.  All because he wants revenge on the whole Parker family.  That’s why he was lurking in the bushes at the cemetery last Friday; he wanted to watch you grieve for your mother, gets some sick pleasure out of seeing you in pain.”

            Stunned, Miss Parker could only stare at her father after his rant.  Did he actually believe Jarod was capable of such cruelty?

            “He’s right, sis,” Lyle offered quietly, breaking the heavy silence that had descended onto the room.  He tossed back the rest of his drink, unfolded himself from the chair with casual elegance, and walked over to the liquor cabinet.  “Jarod is not the hero he ‘pretends’ to be.  He’s more of a vigilante roaming about the country and bringing so-called wrong-doers to justice.  What do you think he wants to do to those of us who work at the Centre?” He placed his empty glass on the counter but brought the bottle of Scotch over to top off his father’s drink.  Mr. Parker grunted, took a large swallow, and leaned back heavily in his chair, as if his outburst had drained him of all energy. 

            Lyle lifted the bottle and raised an eyebrow at Miss Parker.  She shook her head, still resisting the growing need for a drink.  With these outrageous accusations being flung about by her family, she needed to keep a clear head.  “So you guessed that Jarod would be at the cemetery on Friday when I was there and you decided to set a trap for him.  With me as bait!” she finished bitterly.

            Lyle smiled.  “I said you were an important part of Jarod’s capture.”

            “And you knew about this the whole time?” Miss Parker asked her father.  “That’s why you were so eager to go with me to the cemetery!”

            “That’s not the only reason,” Mr. Parker said, sounding as if her accusation offended him.  But the slight grimace he’d made before responding gave him away; she’d caught him and he knew it.  “I wanted to visit your mother’s grave with you, to pay my respects and support you in your grief.  But suspecting that Jarod would be there, watching and sneering from the shadows, just made me more determined than ever to be by your side.  To protect you!”

            Miss Parker suspected that his real reason for standing beside her was to keep her distracted while Lyle sprung his trap.  Lyle’s idea, no doubt,  so that he could be the one to get all the credit for catching Jarod.  She still found it hard to believe that this plan had actually worked.  How could Lyle’s team have corralled Jarod so easily?  Yes, she’d been focused on her mother and the painful memories that always surfaced on that anniversary, but how could she have been so oblivious to what was happening a short distance away in the cemetery?

            “Well, you did a good job, Daddy,” she said.  “I had no idea I was even in any danger from stalker Jarod.”  She ignored his scowl at her sarcasm and quickly turned to challenge Lyle: “How did you manage to make Jarod give up so easily, brother?”

            “It took a little persuasion,” Lyle admitted slowly, but the satisfied glint still shone in his eyes.

            “Is that why he’s in the infirmary?  Did your ‘persuasion’ take the form of a bullet?”

            That wiped the smirk off his face.  “I think I’ve underestimated Mr. Broots’ ability to ferret out information,” he grudgingly admitted.

            “It’s not hard to pinpoint Jarod’s location when half the security department is staked out on SL-14,” Miss Parker said.  “Is Jarod injured?  What did you do to him?” Her voice was even, but her heart was beating a little faster as she waited for Lyle’s answer.

            “Don’t worry; the golden boy is fine,” Lyle soothed.  “We’re just giving him a thorough physical.  After all these years on the run, who knows what kind of condition he’s in?  He needs to be in tip-top shape before he can start his sim work again.”

            And so he can withstand any torture you decide to inflict on him.  Miss Parker uncomfortably remembered her promise to Jarod six months ago when she gave her word that she wouldn’t let Lyle mistreat him.

            “Speaking of which,” Lyle went on, “I need to get back to work on that project we talked about earlier.”  He addressed their father.  “I’ll have a written proposal to you by the end of the day.”

            “Good, good,” Mr. Parker said briskly.  “The Triumverate is anxious to get started now that we have Jarod back.”

            Lyle placed the bottle of Scotch on the desk, nodded at Miss Parker, and left the office.  She was torn between her desire to follow her brother and try to wring more information out of him or stay and try to wheedle some further details out of her father.  At the pace he was drinking, her father might be the easier target.

            No, there was no way she was going to let Lyle get the last word.  She flung a quick but meaningful “We’ll talk later, Daddy” over her shoulder and hurried out of the room.

            She caught up to Lyle as he waited for the tower elevator.  “You have to run any project involving Jarod by me and Sydney before you implement it,” she demanded.

            Lyle arched an eyebrow.  “Do I?”  he drawled.  “Sydney was an important part of the original Pretender project, so I’m sure the Triumverate will approve of him still being involved in some capacity.  But you?”  He paused.  “Your job description was to catch Jarod.  Jarod has been caught.  Not by you, but no one can argue with your dedicated service to the Centre for all these years.”

            She cringed inside but kept glaring at her brother.

            “So maybe you should take an extended vacation.  Your weekend at the spa has done wonders for your complexion.  Or maybe it’s that new blouse really bringing out the color in your cheeks.” He reached out and lightly caressed the side of her face.

            Miss Parker flinched and pulled away.  Just then the elevator doors opened.  Lyle stepped inside and held the door for her.  “Going down?” he inquired pleasantly.

            Like hell she was getting in that elevator with him!  “Not yet,” she said through gritted teeth.

            Lyle shrugged, sketched a jaunty salute at her, and let the door close.

            Miss Parker let out a breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding and sagged against the wall.  Jarod was the one who had been caught, so why did it feel like a trap was closing around her?

Chapter 6

                He awoke in darkness.  Panic gripped him, but only briefly, as he quickly remembered where he was.  That’s when the hopeless dread set in.

            He was back at the Centre. 

Jarod clearly recalled being at the cemetery on Friday.  He could still see the stark black of Miss Parker’s dress and the bright yellow of the tulips clustered on gravesites.  He could still smell the sweet scent of freshly-cut grass.  He could even hear the birds that chirped high in the trees where he had hidden.

And he could also still see the electric blue of Brigitte’s blazer, the triumphant gleam in Lyle’s eyes, and the sunlight glinting off the gun he’d aimed at Miss Parker.

After that, things got a bit cloudy.  He remembered Willie roughly ushering him to the car, shoving him into the backseat.  Brigitte had gotten in next to him and leaned in close, the smell of her perfume overpowering… followed by a sharp prick of pain in his arm and then… nothing.

The next span of time – hours?  days? – contained only disjointed images that swam in and out of his consciousness.  He thought he’d been in the Centre infirmary, mainly because a woman in a white coat kept appearing in his mind’s eye.  She wore glasses and had short dark hair or long hair pulled back, and she wasn’t anyone he knew.  She’d spoken a few times, but the words had been muffled by the surgical mask she wore, and the drugs they’d given him prevented him from remembering anything she said.  He thought Lyle had been there once or twice and maybe Mr. Parker, but he didn’t recall seeing Sydney or Miss Parker.

As to what they might have done to him while he was in the infirmary, well, that was anyone’s guess.  He still broke out in a sweat when he remembered how Lyle had stopped his heart to test an experimental medication.  He didn’t think anything that drastic had been done to him this time, but he really had no way of knowing.

Although his limbs still felt too heavy to move, this was the first time in a long time that he seemed to be thinking clearly – albeit with a throbbing headache – so he decided to take stock of his situation.  His eyes had adjusted somewhat to the darkness, but he still couldn’t see where he was.  So he took a deep breath and allowed his eyes to close again, while he reached out with his other senses.  He lay on some sort of bed or cot, but the mattress felt too thin and lumpy to be in the infirmary.  He also didn’t hear any beeping of machines or murmurs of personnel, so he presumed he’d been moved during his last span of unconsciousness.  But to where?  Not his old quarters and not the cell where Lyle had kept him the last time he’d been a prisoner of the Centre.  Maybe the Renewal Wing?  But he didn’t hear anything, and important as he was, he couldn’t imagine they would have cleared out a whole section of the building for him.  Perhaps they’d stashed him in a corner of SL-27 that hadn’t been completely destroyed when Sydney set off the bomb a couple of years ago, but he didn’t notice any lingering smell of smoke so he doubted he was on Raines’ old stomping ground. 

But he was in some other forgotten black hole of the Centre, of that much he was certain.  Having spent a considerable amount of time in sensory deprivation chambers, he felt disappointed and a little embarrassed that he wasn’t able to benefit from that experience.  He wasn’t asking for a vision of his future; he just wanted a clue as to the here and now.

Time to get a little more aggressive.  He opened his eyes again, let them adjust to the darkness, and turned his head back and forth, being careful to make small movements so as not to make his headache worse.  He thought he noticed a tiny red light high up near where the ceiling presumably was, which meant there was a camera on him.  So he was being watched; what else was new at the Centre?  Surprisingly, he took comfort in this fact; at least he hadn’t been left to rot.  He knew the very idea was irrational, but when just waking up from a drug-induced state, logic was not in control. 

His body was starting to wake up now, too, and the empty feeling in his stomach told him that it had been a long time since he had any real food.  Time to move around a little, let whomever was monitoring the camera feed know that the prisoner was awake; maybe someone would bring him a meal.

He tried not to think about who that someone could be and what they might bring besides food, but the memory of Lyle and his jumper cables kept flashing through his mind.  Instead he focused on his body and tried to assess his ability to sit up.  He realized his hands were cuffed in front of him, but he wasn’t nearly agile enough yet to do his magician’s escape.  He slowly raised himself up off the mattress and swung his legs around.  A pressure around his ankles let him know that his feet also were shackled.  He stood up, and once he felt he had his balance, he took a cautious step forward in the darkness.  Maybe he could pace out the room and determine its size.  He had only taken three shuffling steps when he found he could move no farther; chains were attached to the manacles on his hands and feet. 

So much for exploring his prison.  He sank back down on the cot and stared into the blackness.  Until he had more information, trying to formulate an escape plan would be senseless.  Lyle had cut off his preferred route the last time he’d been here, so he’d have to map out a completely new path.  And he was probably going to need some inside help to do it.

With a sigh, Jarod lay down again and tried to get comfortable on the lumpy mattress.  He had a feeling he was in for a long stay this time.   Better get some rest before the real fun began.  He pushed away thoughts of the forced simulations and torture that awaited him in the days ahead.  After doing a few advanced algebraic equations in his head to take his mind off his dismal future, he finally fell into an exhausted sleep.

Sydney was growing desperate.  It had been almost a week since Jarod had been back at the Centre, and he still hadn’t been allowed to see him or even told his exact location in the giant complex.  He knew he’d been in the infirmary at first – a fact which just made him more concerned, no matter Lyle’s claims that Jarod was just undergoing a ‘thorough physical’ – but he’d been moved on Monday.  His pleas for access to Jarod fell on deaf ears when he’d approached both Lyle and Mr. Parker; they’d insisted that the orders for Jarod’s solitary confinement came directly from the Triumverate.  They had also assured Sydney that he’d be reunited with his star pupil at some point in the near future, but he knew irreparable damage could be done to Jarod – mentally, if not physically – in a short period of time at the Centre.  Jarod’s unique genius meant he was not susceptible to brainwashing, but he could be emotionally damaged.  Sydney’s greatest hope was that he could someday help heal the scars Jarod still carried from his childhood in captivity; his greatest regret was that he was partly responsible for inflicting those wounds.

After his latest futile attempt to get Lyle to tell him where Jarod was, Sydney had retreated to his subterranean office, hoping to do some work on the twin project – that damn project that had caused him to be out of town when Jarod was brought in.  After learning that both Miss Parker and Broots had been away from the Centre during the same period of time, he had agreed with Miss Parker’s theory that Lyle had carefully coordinated the absence of all three of them so he’d have freedom to spring his trap on Jarod.  It galled him to have been so easily lured away and to have one of his most precious areas of study used against him.

Which was why he should give it the attention it deserved while he still had time on his hands.  But he couldn’t concentrate, couldn’t do anything but imagine the personal hell Jarod must be in at this very minute.  So he found himself pacing the floor of his office and having the sudden thought that Jarod – wherever he was being held – was probably doing the same thing, as restless as a caged animal.

This was intolerable!  Sydney stopped pacing and slammed his palms down on the front of his desk.  He bent over the Newton’s cradle  – the set of tiny silver spheres – that rested on the corner of his desk and set the pendulum in motion, hoping that the hypnotic movement would serve to calm him.  The device was much more than a common executive desk toy to Sydney; it  had often helped him gather his thoughts  in times of stress.  Now he watched the shiny balls swing back and forth, back and forth, for only a minute before the desperate need to do something overwhelmed him again.  With a string of French curse words, Sydney swept the pendulum off his desk in one violent motion.

Miss Parker stepped into his office just in time to see the spheres arc through the air and land in a tinkling heap at her feet.  “Whoa, Syd,” she said.  “Let’s not lose control, okay?”

“Control?” Sydney let loose a derisive laugh.  “Do you actually believe you or I have any control?  Haven’t you heard?  The Triumverate – all the way from Africa – is in control of everything at the Centre.”

“Let’s just hope they stay in Africa and not decide to send a representative here.  Although I think Lyle is already filling that role quite nicely,” she added grimly, carefully stepping over the pendulum.  She walked behind his desk and pulled out the bottle of Cognac he kept stashed in his bottom drawer.  He wondered idly how she had known it was there.

He watched her pull out a brandy snifter, look deeper into the drawer, then glance around his office.   She sighed.  “Only one glass, Syd?”  Her pitying look said it all, clearly expressing her disapproval of his habit of drinking alone.

As she poured the drinks, using the coffee mug on his desk for the second one, he took advantage of the time to calm his breathing and was pleased that his voice was steady when he finally said, “I take it you had no luck with your father.”  He knew she had gone to lunch with Mr. Parker today, hoping that she’d be able to learn more about Jarod’s current status if she addressed the subject away from the forbidding confines and the prying electronic eyes of the Centre.  He noted that she was dressed in more conservative attire than usual – a navy blue dress with a hem line that actually reached her knees and a thin strand of pearls.  The outfit was probably picked to make her father feel more at ease, but Sydney wondered if Miss Parker was consciously or unconsciously trying to look more like her mother than ever.

She handed him the mug and took a hefty swallow of her own drink before answering.  “I got the same line we’ve been hearing all week: ‘Jarod is being kept in isolation during this time of readjustment.’ Whatever the hell that means.”

Sydney had a feeling that she knew as well as he did that ‘readjustment’ meant torture via whatever suited Lyle’s sick fancy.  He took a gulp of his own drink, hoping the smooth and mellow libation would soothe his nerves.

Which weren’t helped by the abrupt appearance of Broots, who immediately stumbled over the pendulum upon entering the office, sending it into a jangling tailspin across the floor.  “Oh, sorry!” he exclaimed, retrieving the device and setting it on the desk.

Looking like she’d developed a sudden headache, Miss Parker sank down into Sydney’s desk chair and closed her eyes.

“Sydney, Miss Parker, I’m glad you’re both here,” Broots said.

“You have something new to report?” Sydney asked with a glimmer of hope.

“Yes!  I mean no, I mean nothing really earth-shattering, but I thought it could be important, so-”

“Broots,” Miss Parker growled threateningly, still with her eyes shut, rubbing the bridge of her nose.

“Oh, right!  Sorry,” Broots said, nervously plucking at the hem of his crookedly-buttoned shirt.  He cast a furtive glance around the room.  “Is it safe to talk?”

“As safe as it can be at the Centre,” Sydney answered.  “I swept for listening devices this morning – all clear.  Just stay in here; the cameras are always on in the lab.” He indicated the cavernous “pit” in full view of his elevated, glass-fronted office.

“Oh, yeah, sure.” Broots took another nervous step farther into the room.

“Have you learned something new about Jarod’s whereabouts?” Sydney prompted, trying not to sound too impatient and failing miserably, he knew.

“No, sorry, I still can’t pinpoint his location.  I’ve tried hacking into the surveillance cameras, but wherever they’re keeping him, there’s no video of it.  At least not anything I can access.” Broots sounded disappointed, Sydney noted, like he couldn’t believe he had failed to unearth a secret held in the Centre’s mainframe.  “And there haven’t been big clusters of security anyplace like the first few days Jarod was here and they had him in the infirmary,” Broots added.

“Lyle’s not going to make that mistake again,” Miss Parker muttered.  She pensively swirled the golden amber liquid in her glass.

            “But my friend Cindy from accounting did have something interesting to tell me,” Broots went on hurriedly.

Miss Parker abruptly focused on him..  “She’s the one who told you last week about the calls Lyle’s been making to Africa?”

That was news to Sydney.  He leaned one hip against the corner of his desk and concentrated on Broots.

Who stood a little straighter now that he had the undivided attention of his colleagues.  “Right,” he confirmed.  “Well, she told me that the Centre has added a ton more security personnel to the payroll.”

“That’s not news.  You can’t walk fifty feet in any direction in this place without bumping into one of those rent-a-cops,” Miss Parker said.

“I know!  It took me forever to get in this morning, what with having to show my photo I.D. at the main gate and then again when I got off the elevator from the parking garage.  One of the new guards was there, that big woman with the curly black hair and the tattoo on her arm.  She acted real suspicious of me,” Broots said in wonder, as if he couldn’t imagine anyone seeing him as a threat but feeling a little proud that they did, Sydney guessed. “For a minute I thought she was going to frisk me!”

“Well, that must have jumpstarted your day,” Miss Parker commented dryly. 

“Yes, well…” Broots looked uncomfortable as he always did when Miss Parker teased him.

“Did Cindy tell you anything else?” Sydney interjected, hoping to steer the conversation back on track.

“Yes!  She said there were some recent invoices for electrical work, nothing specific, but all of the work orders were approved by Mr. Lyle.”

“They’re not renovating SL-27 again?” Miss Parker asked sharply.

Sydney shook his head.  “That’s one of the first places I looked after Broots told me Jarod had been caught.  Nothing’s changed down there.”  He’d been relieved to see it was still in charred shambles; he would never regret setting the bomb that had destroyed that hellish dungeon.  He took another sip of his drink, welcoming the warmth that the drink was starting to spread through his body.  Eyeing his mug, he mused that maybe a shot of Cognac in his morning coffee would be a good way to start each day at the Centre on an even keel.

Broots looked eager to continue his report.  “Cindy also told me about a large sum of money that has been paid to a woman by the name of Dr. Jane Archer.  I did an online search and discovered she’s an expert in nanotechnology.”

“Nanotechnology?  That only exists in sci-fi flicks,” Miss Parker scoffed.

“No, nanotechnology is being studied by a growing number of eminent scientists, doctors, physicists, and molecular biologists,” Sydney said absently, trying to figure out why the Centre would employ an expert in that field.

“It’s about manipulating matter on an atomic and molecular scale,” Broots explained to Miss Parker.  “Nanotechnology could be used in electronics, energy production, or even medicine.”

“Medicine?” Miss Parker leaned forward in her chair.  “Jarod was in the infirmary for three days.”

Broots nodded.  “I know, and this Dr. Archer received her payment last Friday, the day Jarod was brought in!”

“What does this mean, Syd?” Miss Parker asked, frowning. 

“I wish I knew.”  Whatever it meant, it couldn’t be good.

“Cindy also told me that because the check made out to Dr. Archer was so large, two senior-level employees of the Centre had to sign it.”  Broots paused.  “Lyle and Mr. Parker,” he finished quietly.

“Doesn’t surprise me,” Miss Parker said, but Sydney noticed her hand was shaking slightly as she lifted her glass to her lips.

Sydney had an uncomfortable thought.  “Broots, this friend of yours in accounting is sharing a lot of sensitive information with you.  Are you certain you have not been overheard?”

“Oh, no, we’ve been careful,” Broots assured him.  “Except for that first time last week in the break room, we haven’t talked about any of this at the Centre.  Cindy passed me a napkin with her phone number on it the other day.  The note also said she had more information for me.  So I called her back – from home on a cell phone I just bought,” he hastened to add, “and we made arrangements to meet at the movies.  That way it just looks like we were on a date and it would be hard for anyone to eavesdrop on us.”

“I’m impressed, Broots,” Miss Parker said grudgingly.

The techie shrugged.  “It was mostly Cindy’s idea.  She’s really into this cloak and dagger stuff.”

Sydney was concerned about the potential peril this informant might face.  “Broots, couldn’t you just hack into the Centre’s expense accounts?  Do you really need to involve someone else?”

“Oh, where’s the fun in that, Syd?  Broots here might be enjoying the fringe benefits of playing secret agent man,” Miss Parker suggested slyly.

As Broots flushed, Sydney said sharply to him, “This isn’t a game!  Does your new friend understand that she could be in danger if the Centre learns about the information she’s given you?”

Broots blinked rapidly.  “She, she knows that.  That’s why we, we’ve been so c-careful,” he stammered.

Sydney regretted his tone when he saw how he had caused his perpetually-nervous friend even more distress.  Of the three people in the room, he was the one expected to always project a calming influence.  That was the curse of being a psychiatrist, he thought ruefully; you always had to appear cool and composed. 

He started to lift his mug for another fortifying sip of brandy but then changed his mind.  He noticed Miss Parker had finished her drink and was reaching for the bottle for a refill.  “Miss Parker, did you and your father have drinks with lunch?” he inquired casually.

“Well, I had to try to loosen him up, didn’t I?” she replied, a trifle defensively.

“Hmm.”  Sydney stood, firmly set his mug down, and took the bottle of Cognac out of a shocked Miss Parker’s hands.  She stared at him as he came around behind the desk and returned the alcohol to his bottom drawer, which he closed with a decisive click.

“I think we should keep clear heads right now, don’t you?” he suggested mildly.

She opened her mouth then shut it again, her lips pressed together firmly.  She pushed back her chair – his chair – and stood up.  “Look at the three of us.  We’re pathetic,” she said in disgust.  “Jarod’s been caught and we’re still hunting for him.  We should be celebrating!  The all-consuming search for Jarod is over.  You, Syd, can spend more time experimenting on your twins, Broots and Chatty Cathy can hang out in the break room together…”

“Cindy,” Sydney heard Broots mutter under his breath.

“…and I can finally take a long overdue vacation far away from this place!”

Sydney knew there was a lot in that outburst that he should analyze, but right now he was using all his psychiatric skills to keep himself together and didn’t have the energy to work on anyone else’s problems.

As he opened his mouth to at least offer a placating platitude, a faint but distinctive scream sounded from somewhere in the vicinity.  It was short but terrifying, with echoes of it seeming to reverberate through the air. It was impossible to determine if it had come from a man or woman, but it definitely was a being in agony.

“What the hell was that?” Miss Parker looked around wildly, automatically reaching for her gun that was not there.

Broots looked like he might faint.  His face took on a greenish tint that wasn’t just from the garish light slanting through the wooden blinds behind the desk. 

Sydney had the crazy thought that the very bowels of the Centre were crying out in pain, the complex no longer able to contain the suffering endured within its walls.

And then he thought, eyeing his desk drawer, maybe one more drink won’t hurt.

Chapter 7

Author’s Note:  This story takes place about one year after “The World’s Changing” (the first episode of Season 4), but in this version Brigitte is not engaged to Mr. Parker at this point. 

            “Catching Jarod is one thing.  Keeping him is quite another.” 

            Lyle’s coat was off, his tie loosened, and the top two buttons of his shirt undone, but he was all business as he sat forward in his black leather desk chair and studied the Centre blueprints for what felt like the millionth time.  “Containment is the key,” he went on.  “You need to pinpoint likely escape routes and cut them off.” He’d successfully done that a couple of years ago when he’d thwarted Jarod’s effort to escape, but even he wasn’t so arrogant as to believe that he could do it again.  “But since it’s not exactly easy to predict what a genius will do, the best course of action is to eliminate all possible exits.  That means guards at every door, alarms on every window, and extra surveillance cameras, including ones at every elevator.”

 He peered closer at the diagram spread out across the obsidian surface of his desk.  “I even electrified the damn ducts.  By the way, Angelo’s expected to make a full recovery,” he added.  “He got a pretty decent shock, but he’ll only need to be in the infirmary for a couple of days.  Maybe that crazy monkey will think twice before he decides to play jungle gym in the Centre’s conduits again.  And maybe others with clearer heads on their shoulders won’t even attempt it now that they know the whole labyrinth is booby-trapped.” He smiled, feeling fortunate that he’d been on one of the sublevels yesterday afternoon and close enough to hear Angelo’s agonized shriek when the jolt of electricity had hit him.  He knew Miss Parker and her crew had heard it, too, which just made it even sweeter.

He rolled up the blueprints and set them aside.  He didn’t need to look at them any longer; he was starting to see the maze of tiny squares and rectangles in his sleep.  At this point, he could probably race Angelo through every back corridor, ventilation shaft, and even sewer pipe in the place – and win.

“But if Jarod still manages to slip through the inner perimeter, I have the ‘little’ surprise supplied by the lovely Dr. Archer which should stop him in his tracks.”  Lyle felt an anticipatory glee bubbling up inside him.  “I can’t wait to test it.”  Then he sighed.  “But the good doctor said to wait at least a week until the implanted device fully integrates into Jarod’s central nervous system.  Whatever the hell that means. So I’m waiting.”  Which was not something he was particularly good at.  He’d stayed away from Jarod all week, knowing that he couldn’t trust himself to be in close proximity with the prisoner and not try out his new toy.  He hoped Jarod appreciated the reprieve.

“So, now that Jarod is contained, the challenge is to get him to perform.  The Triumverate only approved the funds for all these extra security measures with the understanding that we get our money’s worth out of Jarod.  They want results and they want them fast.”  Lyle pulled a manila folder closer.  He didn’t open it, just tapped it thoughtfully with his gloved left hand.  “This first project is of the utmost importance.  Not only because of its profit potential, but also because it’s my chance to prove that I can control Jarod and make him perform any necessary simulations.  If I can do that – when I do that – I’ll be golden, untouchable.”

And I’ll be able to relocate, he thought, looking around at his dark brown walls decorated with assorted African and Japanese art.  His location in the Tower was nice, but one day soon he intended to occupy his father’s opulent office, which had its own private washroom complete with a Jacuzzi tub.

He returned to his musings.  “So, how does one motivate a person like Jarod?  You can’t bribe him; I’ve tried.”  He thought back to his first one-on-one meeting with the Pretender, when he’d tried to cut his thumb off, but not without first offering to work with him.  It was a shame how that episode had ended.  If Kyle hadn’t thrown himself between Jarod and a bullet, things might have been much different.  In retrospect, Kyle was the one who would have been a better choice as a partner in crime because of his willingness to use violence when necessary.  In the end, Lyle thought, Kyle really did decide who lived or died.

“You could offer to give him more clues about his dear Mommy and Daddy.”  Lyle paused then shook his head.  “No, I’ve played the “I know a secret about your family” card one too many times, I fear.”  His mind returned unwillingly to the time in Appalachia when Jarod threatened to shoot him – had him on his knees truly believing he was about to be executed.  In a desperate attempt to save himself, he’d told Jarod that only he knew vital information about his parents and that information would die with him.  To this day, he still wondered if that was what had kept Jarod from shooting him.  “Plus Jarod wouldn’t do something he found truly distasteful for a selfish reason like filling in more branches of his family tree.”

“Torture – while entertaining – would be ineffective.  Jarod’s high moral standards won’t let him hurt others just to put an end to his own suffering.”  Lyle’s lip curled in disgust; he’d never understand these strong and silent hero types.  Why allow yourself to get beaten to a pulp, sliced open (he remembered with a wince the knife skills of Kyle and then had another twinge of regret that he and the ‘little brother’ had never been on the same side), or shocked with jumper cables (that memory brought a smile to his face)?  To withstand torture out of some over-developed sense of duty, honor, pride, or principle seemed foolish to him.  Better to give in before you were too battered; thoughts of future revenge could wipe away any shame in doing so.

“And there’s the answer: Jarod’s highly-developed sense of morality.  What most people would consider one of his best features I know to be his greatest weakness.  One that I will use against him to get what I want.”  Lyle spoke with determination, but he knew this first task assigned by the Triumverate would require all of his skills of manipulation and coercion to get Jarod to complete it.  It was a stroke of luck that they’d been able to find Jarod’s latest hidey-hole near the cemetery and retrieve his collection of DSAs.  Viewing the record of the final simulation for the Centre – or more accurately, observing the method an operative named Damon had employed to gain Jarod’s cooperation – had been invaluable in planning his own way of approaching this newest project.  He still couldn’t believe Jarod had given in to the Centre’s demands in a futile attempt to save the life of some mentally-deficient nobody.

Lyle smiled grimly.  If normal methods of persuasion failed and Jarod ultimately refused to do the simulation, he knew exactly how to make him change his mind.  Or, more precisely, who would change his mind.

He must have stayed silent a beat too long, happily contemplating several scenarios where Jarod would be forced to do his bidding, because the hands that had been gently massaging his neck and shoulders throughout his musings suddenly stopped.  “Sounds like you have it all figured out,” a voice purred in his ear.  “Don’t you think it’s time to take a break?” 

Lyle leaned back in his chair and drank in the sight of Brigitte in her skin-tight black leather jumpsuit as she glided into his line of sight.  “I guess I do deserve one,” he agreed.

With a saucy grin, she slid between him and his desk, leaned forward and began to unbutton his shirt.  Lyle caressed her short blonde hair.  “Have you ever considered dyeing your hair brown?” he inquired idly, remembering fondly the good times he’d shared with his Asian mail-order brides years ago.

“I’ve been a brunette,” she said, “but it’s true what they say.  Blondes do have more fun.”  She started to pulled back but was stopped by the sudden pressure of his hand on the back of her neck.  The teasing glint in her brown eyes faded, replaced by a look of uncertainty tinged with fear..

What was she seeing in his face?  Forcing himself back to the present, Lyle abruptly released her.  “Never mind,” he said, making an effort to keep his tone casual.  She instantly relaxed and leaned provocatively against his desk.  He yearned to reach out and grab the tantalizing zipper that traveled from neck to navel, but first:  “I do have one more bit of business to discuss with you,” he said.

Brigitte looked disappointed, but she waited obediently to hear what he had to say.

 “I need your help to make my plan a success,” he went on, as he gave in to temptation and stretched both hands out to slowly trace the curves of her waist and hips.

“I’ll do anything,” she said throatily.

He had no doubt she would.  “I may need to get my father out of town for a little while, and I thought a cruise would be nice.”  He paused.  “He’d be more willing to take a vacation if he had a beautiful companion with him.”

She pouted prettily.  “He’s so old,” she complained.

“My father is currently the most powerful person at the Centre.  And I know you find power attractive.”  He pulled her into his lap.

“Yes, I do,” Brigitte simpered, snuggling close.  She nibbled on his ear then whispered, “Is the door locked?”

“Does it matter?” he replied, arching an eyebrow.

Brigitte gave a long, low chuckle.

It was Saturday afternoon, and Lyle doubted they’d be interrupted.  He felt vaguely disappointed.

The fluorescent lights blazed on with a painful brightness in a room that had been mostly pitch black for seven straight days.

At the same time, the door to his prison opened for the first time in a week and someone stepped inside.  Jarod blinked rapidly, trying to focus, but he didn’t need clear vision to know who it was as the person said cheerfully, “Rise and shine, Jarod.  It’s a new day.”

He stayed seated on the edge of his cot, giving his heartbeat a chance to return to its normal speed.  When he felt certain he could keep his voice steady, he said, “Oh?  Is the world changing…again?”

Now that Jarod’s eyes had adjusted, he could see that the smile on Lyle’s face wavered slightly at this reference to the arrogant catch phrase he’d used the last time they’d been together at the Centre.  “I’m flattered you remember your last time here so well,” he said.

“I remember everything,” Jarod responded in a low voice, making sure the implied threat of revenge was evident in his tone.

A muscle twitched along Lyle’s jaw but his steel blue eyes didn’t flinch from Jarod’s own intense gaze.

Uh-oh.  He’s feeling awfully sure of himself.  Jarod sincerely hoped Lyle was suffering from delusions of grandeur, as usual, but would be humiliated when his prisoner made an impossible escape, as usual.

Now he just needed to figure out how in the hell he was going to do that.

Lyle took another step into the room, leaving the door open behind him.  Jarod didn’t see any Sweepers in what little he could glimpse of the dimly lit corridor outside.  Lyle was obviously emboldened by the fact that Jarod was still cuffed and chained and unable to make a run for it.  He looked cool and collected in his businessman attire, his burgundy tie matching the leather glove he wore on his mutilated left hand.  He glanced at the cramped confines of the room and inquired pleasantly, “So, how do you like your quarters?  I prepared them especially for you.”

Jarod wished he’d been able to study the room more thoroughly over the past week, but being left in the dark for all that time had made it difficult to learn the details of his cell and impossible to search for a way out.  He’d figured out quickly that the necessities – stainless steel toilet and sink of the type found in most jail cells – were close by, within the range allowed by his chains.  Food had been provided twice a day through a narrow metal slot in the door; he’d received pouches of ready-to-eat military rations and bottles of water.  But no utensils that could possibly be used as tools or weapons.  There was a small window higher up on the door with a sliding partition that had so far remained shut most of the time.   A couple of days ago he’d tried the old trick of yelling that he was sick and needed help – mainly out of sheer boredom and to give his vocal cords some exercise - and was shocked when he got a response.  A face he didn’t know had suddenly appeared in the window opening of the door but had disappeared just as quickly, the partition sliding shut with a decisive snap.  He figured that must have been a new Sweeper who didn’t fully understand the directive Jarod imagined had been handed down by the Tower: no contact with the prisoner.  He wondered if the man still had a job.

To Lyle’s question about his “quarters,” Jarod replied, “Does it matter?  You’ll be shipping me off to Africa soon.”

“Ah, no, we’re not outsourcing your talents this time, Jarod.  We’re going to get the job done right here in the good old U.S. of A.”

He wasn’t being sent to Africa?  That was a surprise and slightly unwelcome news; he’d been counting on the trip as his best opportunity to escape.  Now he truly was going to have to figure a way out of this damn fortress.

“And just what is the job?” Jarod asked, striving to keep his tone unconcerned.

He wasn’t fooling Lyle for a minute.  Obviously aware that Jarod was nervous about what task the Centre would ask him to complete, his captor refused to satisfy his curiosity.  “We’ll worry about that later, shall we?” Lyle said smoothly.  “First, we need to deal with some unfinished business.”

Jarod didn’t let the sudden queasiness he felt show as he said, “Another session with the jumper cables?”

An unholy joy shone briefly on Lyle’s face before he adopted a neutral expression.  “I no longer use such crude implements to get what I want,” he said.

That was a bit of good news, although Jarod couldn’t help but wonder what more sophisticated forms of torture Lyle employed these days.  He had a feeling he wouldn’t have to wait long to find out.

“Allow me to point out a few other changes since your last stay here,” Lyle went on pleasantly, sounding like a bellhop discussing a hotel’s recent renovations.  “You probably don’t know this, since you’ve mostly been unconscious or tucked away down here since your arrival, but the Centre has tripled its number of security personnel.  You won’t be able to find one single door in the place that doesn’t have at least one guard posted at it.  And where there isn’t a living person, there are electronic eyes in the form of surveillance cameras.  Everything is being recorded.” He glanced up at the camera in the corner of the cell and gave a little wave.

“What else is new?” Jarod asked dryly, keeping the bored look on his face while his insides churned.  Lyle was in too good a mood.  That did not bode well for him, not at all.

“As you can see, there is only one door in or out of this room.”  Lyle looked down then and reacted with mock surprise.  “And… oh, too bad! No drain in the floor leading to a convenient escape route through the sewer pipes.” 

The way Lyle was pacing back and forth in front of the open door, gesturing to the various ‘amenities’ suddenly reminded Jarod of a fascinating television program he’d first seen soon after escaping from the Centre the first time.  He’d been a doctor then and had viewed this show on the television sets in many of the patient rooms at the hospital.  Contestants had to guess the correct prices of products to win prizes.  For some bizarre reason, Lyle reminded him of the models strutting the stage on that program, showing off the wonderful items to be won.  Jarod wondered gloomily if he could ever win his freedom and if he could, what would be the price?

“But look!” Lyle pointed to the far corner of the room.  “A grate leading to an air duct!  Always a favorite means of escape.  But I wouldn’t try it this time, if I were you.”  He lowered his voice to a conspiratorial whisper.  “Did you hear that scream the other day?  Poor Angelo was crawling around in the ventilation shafts again and I’m afraid he took quite a jolt from the new electric security grid I had installed.  He’s fine, though, already out of the infirmary and back in his space.”  He paused then shook his head in mock sadness.  “A shame the current didn’t fry his brain back to some semblance of normal.”

Jarod had heard a faint yell, but after days in a dark and silent cell, he had decided his mind was playing tricks on him. Comforting to know he wasn’t imagining things, but disturbing to realize his friend had been the source of that agonized cry.  And depressing to come to grips with the cold hard truth that he couldn’t expect a rescuer to pop through the vent in the wall.

“Let’s see if I have this straight,” Jarod said.  “All I have to do is take out the guards, disrupt the feed to the surveillance cameras, and shut off the current in the conduits.”

Lyle obligingly looked amused by the sarcastic summation.

“You forgot to mention these,” Jarod added, lifting his cuffed hands and rattling the chain for emphasis.  Being restrained for this long a period of time had left painful bruises on his wrists, but he refused to show Lyle his discomfort.

“Ah, yes, the shackles.  Have you tried to free yourself yet?”  Lyle paused as if waiting for Jarod to do just that.  “They’re not standard issue.  A note was put in your file last year about you being able to get out of regular handcuffs, so we decided to upgrade.  I guess someone realized you had past experience as a magician.”

Jarod highly doubted that Sydney would have alerted the Sweepers to his escape artist abilities, but he knew a certain long-legged brunette who would have no problem sharing that little tidbit of information with the Centre’s security personnel.  A few days ago he had made an attempt to wriggle out of the handcuffs, but he’d had no luck and decided he wouldn’t try again until a better opportunity for escape presented itself.

Even with guards in the hall, a camera on the wall, and tamper-proof cuffs, Lyle had still stayed close to the door throughout their entire conversation, Jarod noticed, just out of the reach allowed by the chains attached to his hands and feet.  For all his cockiness, Lyle was still a coward at heart.  Good to know.

“If you’re a very good boy, we might just let you out of those cuffs.  For short periods of time, that is.”  Lyle slipped his hands in his pockets and rocked back on his heels, obviously pleased with himself.  “Now, shall we get this new day started?  I think a shower is in order,” he said.

He hadn’t been given any soap, just some moist towelettes with his meals.  Still, he’d tried to keep himself clean, although the chore was further complicated by the restricted movement of his hands and feet.  He hadn’t tried too hard, however, because he’d hoped his need of a trip to the showers might provide a chance for escape.  Jarod figured it had to work better than the last time he’d been at the Centre; he vividly remembered his harrowing trip down through the drain and maze of ducts, only to drop into a cage in front of a smug Lyle.  It seemed there was no way out of his cell this time, so he had to make his jailers take him out.

“And a shave,” Lyle continued, looking critically at Jarod. 

He doubted they’d let him get his hands – even cuffed – on a razor.  Jarod wondered who would do the honors.  Willie?  Maybe Sam.

“Shall we go?”  Lyle eyed the chains.  “Let me get someone in here to take you off your leash.”  He turned and took a step towards the hall.

Jarod stood up, eager to get moving.  During this week of solitary confinement he’d done whatever exercises he could to keep his muscles as strong as possible in the event he’d have to act quickly.  Maybe he could find and exploit a weakness in the Sweeper team assigned to escort him to the showers.

“Oh, one more thing,” Lyle said, turning back around.

The pain was so sudden Jarod had no time to prepare for it.  The intensity of it made him cry out and fall to his knees.  Dazed and shaken, he stared up at Lyle, who slowly pulled his right hand out of his pocket and showed Jarod the tiny black box he held.

“How do you like my new toy, Jarod?  This security upgrade cost more than all the others put together, but I think it was worth it,” he said.  “If you try anything, all I have to do is push this button…”  He demonstrated.

Even with that slight warning this time, Jarod could barely stand the searing pain that shot through his body.  He clenched his teeth and just managed to keep from pitching forward and landing face-first at Lyle’s feet.  His eyes stayed riveted on the device in his tormentor’s hand; it seemed like an eternity before Lyle took his finger off the red button.  The agony subsided at once, but every nerve still tingled, and he was sweating as if he’d just run a marathon.

Lyle seemed to vibrate, too…with excitement.  He looked like a child who had just received the best present ever.  Blue eyes bright with undisguised glee, he said, “As I mentioned before, Jarod, it’s a new day.  Shall we begin?”

Still too rattled to think clearly, Jarod could only nod and hope that Lyle didn’t have any more new “toys.” 

Chapter 8

                Amazing how much could change in a week, Miss Parker reflected as she stepped off the elevator onto the bustling main concourse level of the Centre.  Last Monday she had come to work feeling refreshed and – dare she say it - happy.  Then Broots had broken the news that Lyle had caught Jarod, she’d learned that her father and brother had used her as bait for the trap, and she’d spent the next seven days banging her head against the wall trying to find out where they were keeping him.  It was getting harder and harder to come to the Centre each day, but she refused to take the vacation Lyle kept suggesting; she was not going to give him the satisfaction of slinking off in defeat while he gloated about being the one who had finally brought Jarod in.  It made her sick to watch him basking in the praise from their father, but she knew it was only a matter of time until he messed up, and she wanted to have a front-row seat to watch the mighty fall.

            She was surprised he’d managed to keep Jarod from escaping this long.  But she had to admit that Lyle had the ability to match Jarod’s genius with his own type of insane brilliance.  She may hate being left out of the loop, but by limiting the number of people who knew where Jarod was being held in the Centre, Lyle had successfully – so far - eliminated any contact between Jarod and potential allies who might help him escape.  Miss Parker knew she’d failed to capture Jarod on numerous occasions, but most of those weren’t her fault; she couldn’t shoot at the fleeing Pretender when Sydney jumped in front of her gun, could she?  The time she and Jarod had been held hostage at the bank?  She’d been focused on what Fenigor could tell her about her mother’s death, giving Jarod the chance to escape through the sewer system beneath the bank.  Then there was the time that Angelo gave up his last dose of serum to save that boy Davey from being permanently brain-damaged.  She’d been off her game due to the swirling emotions caused by the possibility of Angelo being her brother.  And last year when Jarod had been shot and she’d had him cuffed and helpless?  

            Okay, that time it had been her fault.  She shouldn’t have kissed Jarod and definitely not let it rattle her so much so that she failed to take him into custody.

            But no one knew about that.  Except Jarod.  And she highly doubted that he’d tell anyone.  He probably thought that kiss meant he could manipulate her in the future, possibly use their emotional connection to his advantage.  Well, he was wrong.  They had no emotional connection.  That kiss had been purely physical and a mistake she’d had six months to forget about.

            So why could she still remember every detail of that moment as if it had happened only yesterday? 

            Someone bumped into her shoulder.  “Watch it!” Miss Parker snarled, turning on the file-toting copy clerk who cast one frightened glance at her and scurried away.

            Miss Parker shook off her recent thoughts and crossed the busy hallway, her heels tapping a determined rhythm that made other passersby give her a wide berth.  But her steps slowed as she approached her office and saw both Broots and Sydney waiting for her, Broots looking distressed and Sydney grim.

            Just another typical morning at the Centre.  Stifling a sigh, she walked over to them.  “What?” she said, dreading to hear the latest bad news delivered in Broots’ halting manner.

            Amazingly, he came right to the point.  “Angelo is out of the infirmary and back in his quarters.”

            “He shouldn’t have any lasting effects from the electric shock,” Sydney added.

            “As if we could tell,” Miss Parker murmured, but she was inwardly relieved.  Ever since she’d once wondered if Angelo could be her brother, she’d softened towards the empath.  She had briefly seen him as the man he would have been had Raines not fried his brain in an attempt to create a Pretender.  His strange behavior still irritated her more often than not, but she felt sympathy where before she’d only felt revulsion.

            “Unfortunately, it’s too dangerous for Angelo to make any more forays into the Centre’s conduits,” Sydney went on.  “So we won’t be able to count on his help in finding Jarod.”

            He sounded despondent, and Miss Parker felt a flash of irritation.  How pathetic were they that they couldn’t even find Jarod when he was literally in their own back yard?  Had they really exhausted all avenues of investigation?  The only option left was to send their pet lab rat into every air duct in the Centre to see if he could sniff out Jarod?  Unacceptable!

            “Broots, please tell me we have some sort of lead – anything – that gets us closer to finding Jarod,” she said in a tone that dared him to answer in any way but the affirmative.

            He looked sick.  “Well, um…” he began, making her grit her teeth against the string of hems and haws she knew were coming. 

            Then his eyes widened.  “Yes!” he exclaimed before falling silent, as if astonished at his own outburst.

            Noticing that Sydney was also intently focused on something behind her, Miss Parker turned around.  She felt her own eyes grow wide with shock.

            Jarod was there, walking right down the center of the concourse.

            More like shuffling, she realized, as she noticed the shackles on Jarod’s hands and feet that caused his hobbling gait.  All that was needed was the orange jumpsuit to make him look exactly like a prisoner.

            Which was what he was, she thought suddenly.  Jarod was a prisoner of the Centre.  She couldn’t say why that realization made her uneasy when it should have made her… not happy, but at least content that everything was the way it should be.  Maybe she’d gotten used to the idea of Jarod being on the loose; she just needed time to adjust to this new – old- reality where he and his genius abilities were kept where they could do the most good.

            Or maybe she still couldn’t accept the fact that Lyle was the one who had caught him.  Her brother was swaggering down the hallway, well aware that everyone in the vicinity was watching him confidently lead the Centre’s most famous acquisition through their midst.  Willie and another Sweeper Miss Parker didn’t recognize followed menacingly on Jarod’s heels, and a smug Brigitte in bright pink patent leather brought up the rear of the procession.  It reminded her uncomfortably of a conquering hero returning to his homeland, triumphantly presenting the plunder from his victorious campaign – in this case, Jarod.

            Miss Parker grudgingly admitted that Lyle’s choice to march Jarod through the main concourse made sense for several reasons.  Other than stroking Lyle’s ego, this venue provided limited opportunities for escape.  Already severely hampered by the cuffs and flanked by four armed guards, Jarod had other obstacles to overcome in this location.  There were several Centre employees nearby, most too in awe of the Pretender to even think of apprehending him should he make a break for it, but there may be one or two foolhardy ones in the crowd who would welcome the chance to levitate several rungs up the corporate ladder by preventing Jarod from fleeing.  Those same innocent bystanders could also be caught in any crossfire, and Lyle knew Jarod would never take that risk.

            But Jarod seemed to be beyond caring what motivated Lyle’s decision.  Dressed in dark gray sweat pants and matching pull-over (not much better than prison orange, in her opinion), he stared at the floor, as if each lurching step took all of his concentration.  His hair was flat and greasy with not a trace of styling gel, and the dark stubble on his upper lip and chin contrasted sharply with the paleness of his face.  He looked terrible, even worse than when she’d seen him last – six months ago when he was recovering from an infected bullet wound.  She wondered just what hell Lyle had already put him through in the one short week he’d been back at the Centre.

            When tears sparked at the corners of her eyes, Miss Parker realized she hadn’t blinked in a long time.  She shifted her gaze for a second, in time to see Sydney step forward.  “Jarod,” he called.

            His former pupil made no sign that he’d heard.  He just kept his head down and obediently followed Lyle to the elevator that led to the sub-levels.  As if on cue, the elevator doors opened, and the group started to file inside.  

            No!  Cursing her momentary paralysis, Miss Parker started to cross the concourse, desperate to reach the elevator.  She was still a step or two behind Sydney, who was moving faster than she’d ever imagined he could.  They didn’t make it in time; the last thing Miss Parker saw as the elevator doors closed was the cocky grin on Lyle’s face.

            “Damn it!” She smacked the door with the heel of her palm then spun around and barked orders to a panting Broots who had just come up behind her.  “Check the surveillance cameras!  Find out which level they got off on.  Now!” she added as Broots just stared at her, slightly dazed.  He jerked his head in assent and hurried off.

            “Sydney, we need to…”  Looking around, she realized he was gone.

            But she was far from alone.  The same people who’d been intently focused on Jarod’s passage through the hallway a moment before were now watching her, silenced by her outburst. 

            “What!” Miss Parker growled to the world at large.  When the various employees scattered to go about their business, she stalked back across the corridor and straight to her office.

            Three hours later Miss Parker did something anyone rarely did in the Centre: she paused outside of an office instead of barging on in.  It was Lyle’s office, and she hesitated before entering, because she really didn’t want to face him.  More precisely, she didn’t want to act – and she meant act – in the manner she knew was needed if she was to be successful in getting him to reveal Jarod’s whereabouts.

            Broots had learned nothing useful from the surveillance camera footage; he hadn’t seen Jarod get off the elevator on any of the sub-levels.  When he’d reported this to her, Miss Parker had sarcastically asked if Jarod and his security detail had somehow peformed a disappearing trick.  Broots pointed out that he’d been unable to hack into the records from the newer cameras; they were password-protected and would take a lot longer to breach.

            Sydney had also been unsuccessful in his efforts to follow Jarod.  He’d taken the stairs to the level where the showers were located – a good idea, Miss Parker had had to admit – but had been barred from the area by a couple of guards.  That meant that Jarod was probably in the vicinity, but Sydney had loitered around a corner down the hall for a couple of hours and had never seen Jarod come out.  Miss Parker wondered about the existence of secret passageways – old and new - in the Centre but kept her suspicions to herself.  In Sydney’s current agitated state, he was likely to start knocking on every wall in the place looking for hollow sounds.  Or worse, expect her to do the same.

            Instead, she’d made a suggestion she was now regretting: she would talk to Lyle, “grudgingly” admit that he’d pulled off quite a feat with his capture of Jarod, and see if she could manipulate him into boasting about how he was keeping Jarod contained.  She’d had no luck with her repeated attempts to wheedle the information out of her father, leaving her to wonder if he knew himself where the Pretender was imprisoned.  It disturbed her to think Lyle was being trusted so completely with the Centre’s greatest asset.

            All the more reason to gain his confidence, in whatever way she could.  Miss Parker took a deep breath, straightened her shoulders, and pushed open the doors to her brother’s office.

            Lyle and Willie were standing in front of the desk.  “Are you sure we shouldn’t wait for Tony?” Willie was saying in a worried tone.

            Lyle glanced her way when she burst into the room but still took the time to answer the Sweeper.  “No, go ahead, Willie.  You’ll be fine.  I’ll join you shortly.”  He patted him on the shoulder.

            “Whatever you say, Mr. Lyle.”  With a nervous nod at Miss Parker, he strode from the room, pulling the doors shut behind him.

            A few days ago she’d tried to intimidate Willie into telling her where Jarod was, but he’d refused to talk, apparently more afraid of retribution from Lyle than from any implied threat from her.  Yes, her brother was a psychotic killer, but Miss Parker was still irked that he’d developed a more threatening persona than she.

            Well, he didn’t scare her.  She knew just how to deal with her brother.  “That was quite a parade this morning,” she said.

            Lyle smiled and gestured to one of the chairs facing his desk.  “Well, I figured it would be the best way to lay to rest the rumors that have been flying around this place for the past week,” he said, walking behind his desk and settling into his high-backed leather chair.

            Miss Parker took the seat he’d offered. “Yes, it made two things crystal clear: one, Jarod is indeed back in Centre custody and two, you are the person who caught him.”  She leaned back and crossed her legs, knowing that her brown leather mini skirt offered a good look at her long tanned legs (the result of her spa stay a week ago).  Yes, Lyle was her brother, but she knew he still found her attractive.  Even though that thought made her skin crawl, she’d use his slimy tendencies against him if it would help her get the information she needed.  “Nicely done,” she added, offering a saccharine smile.

            Lyle’s eyes gleamed as he took in the compliment . . . and the view of her legs.  Then he leaned back in his own chair, smoothing his crimson tie with his good right hand.  “It was a team effort,” he said with feigned modesty.

            Not her team.  Miss Parker kept the tight smile on her face as she commented, “Frankly, I can’t believe you’ve managed to keep Jarod here this long.”

            “Oh, he’s not going anywhere,” Lyle assured her.

            “Careful, brother.  I wouldn’t get cocky, if I were you.  Jarod has a way of turning any situation to his advantage.”

            “Not this time.”

            “He didn’t look like he was plotting anything this morning,” Miss Parker said slowly, as if loathe to give her brother any more credit.  “In fact, he didn’t look very good at all.  Are you sure his extensive physical in the infirmary didn’t turn up anything?”

            “No, all his tests came back fine.  He’s in good shape,” Lyle said.

            “At least he was.”  She let her smile drop.  “Exactly what have you been doing to Jarod this past week?”

            Lyle’s posture never changed.  He looked completely relaxed as he replied, “I haven’t laid a hand on him.  Jarod’s had the luxury of plenty of quiet time to meditate, go on a vision quest, or whatever else New Age crap he learned during his travels.”

            So he was being held in an isolated section of the Centre; no surprise there.  “And plenty of time to plan his escape,” she pointed out.

            “You just said he didn’t look like he was planning anything when you saw him on the main concourse this morning,” Lyle quickly responded.

            She frowned.  “Well, you had him on a pretty tight leash, I noticed.”

            “The shackles?  A necessary evil, I’m afraid.”  Lyle’s tone indicated regret, but that sentiment didn’t reach his eyes, which were fairly dancing with delight.  “Once Jarod’s proven he can be trusted, we’ll remove the restraints.”

            “Where are you getting your weather forecasts?  I haven’t heard anything about Hell freezing over.”

            Lyle didn’t react to her gibe.  “It may take some time,” he allowed, “but Jarod will eventually accept that he’s here to stay.”  He laced his nine fingers together over his stomach and swiveled his chair slightly from side to side, completely at ease.

            Why was he so damn sure of himself?  A queasy knot started to form in the pit of her stomach as she wondered if Lyle had a legitimate reason to be so smug.

            Just then a loud siren began to sound.  “What the hell is that?” Miss Parker leapt to her feet.

            Amazingly, Lyle maintained his cool demeanor.  “A new perimeter alarm I had installed recently,” he said, leaning front in his chair and tapping some keys on his laptop.

            She headed for the door, her hand automatically going to her back where her gun reassuringly rested in its holster.  When Lyle made no move to follow her, she stopped and turned back in confusion.  “Uh, brother?  Doesn’t that alarm mean your dog has slipped its leash?  Shouldn’t we do something about that?”  The urge to chase after Jarod was strong, but if Lyle would rather sit back and rely on all-brawn-no-brain Sweepers and rent-a-cops to corral the escapee, she wasn’t going to interfere.  Let him hang himself.

            “No need,” Lyle muttered, his eyes narrowing as he studied his computer screen.  The fingers of his gloved left hand beat a muffled staccato rhythm on the desk, the only indication that he wasn’t as relaxed as he tried to appear.  Then the lines in his face smoothed out and his fingers stilled.  “Crisis averted,” he proclaimed.

            Curious as to what could possibly be on his computer that could quell the rising panic he should be feeling, Miss Parker came quickly around the desk to see for herself.  Far from being annoyed, Lyle sat back so she could have an unobstructed view of the monitor.

            What she saw didn’t make sense.  It was feed from a security camera that covered one of the seldom-used side entrances to the building.  Lying on the sidewalk was Jarod, his body racked by what appeared to be convulsions.  “What’s wrong with him?” Miss Parker breathed.

            “As you said, he slipped his leash.”  Lyle smiled at the computer screen.  “He just didn’t know about the invisible one.”

            Miss Parker couldn’t tear her gaze away from the sight of Jarod, in obvious pain, writhing on the ground.  His hands and feet were still cuffed, and the way his back arched and curled spasmodically made him look like an inchworm having an epileptic seizure.  Her own hands balled into fists and her chest grew tight with suppressed fury.  Seemingly oblivious to her growing agitation, Lyle reached out and lazily tapped a button on the keyboard.  The camera zoomed in, giving a clear shot of the agonized expression on Jarod’s face.  His eyes were tightly closed, his lips peeled back from clenched teeth.  There was no sound on the video, but Miss Parker imagined she could hear his moans as he struggled to keep a scream contained.

            She finally had to look away.  She glanced at Lyle and found that sight even more disturbing than the one on the monitor.  Her brother was intently watching Jarod, the brightness of his cold blue eyes and the satisfied smile on his face clearly demonstrating the enjoyment he derived from his victim’s plight.  She felt a chill go through her. 

            Desperate to do something, Miss Parker headed for the door.  Lyle didn’t seem to notice her hasty retreat; he was too enthralled by the scene playing out on his laptop.

            She told herself that her abrupt departure from Lyle’s office was so she could do her job: pursue Jarod.  After all, she hadn’t seen a single Sweeper on that camera feed; presumably Jarod had somehow incapacitated his guards before leaving the building.  That’s why she was taking the stairs at a reckless pace; she needed to apprehend the prisoner before he came out of his strange fit and made good his escape. 

            She burst out of the stairwell just in time to see Jarod being half-dragged, half-carried onto the elevator by Willie, who was holding a bloody handkerchief to his nose with one hand, and one of the new Sweepers, who was limping.  Just before the doors shut, she saw that Jarod was alert and no longer convulsing, although he looked utterly exhausted, his clothes soaked with sweat.  She wasn’t sure if his dull gaze registered her presence as she froze in the hallway and watched the elevator whisk him away again.

Chapter 9

            Jarod was coming here?

            Sydney stared at his computer screen, hardly daring to believe the e-mail he’d just received.  It was from Lyle and it said to expect Jarod in the sim lab shortly so that they could brief him on his first assignment.

            An assignment on which Sydney himself had not yet been briefed.  He set aside that annoying detail for the moment and focused on the fact that he’d soon have a chance to see and actually talk to Jarod.  Other than the quick glimpse he’d had of him yesterday on the main concourse level, the only other time he’d seen him was on the disturbing surveillance recording that Miss Parker had Broots call up on his computer last night.   

Lyle seemed to have installed some sort of invisible fence, similar to the kind used to keep dogs in their yards.  Except this one was used to prevent Jarod from escaping the building.  Coupled with Broots’ news via his friend Cindy in accounting that the mysterious Dr. Archer had received another sizable payment just yesterday, the video suggested that Jarod had somehow been fitted with a device that delivered electric shocks when he crossed a certain line.  Since neither he, Broots, nor Miss Parker could see any kind of “collar” on Jarod when he went into convulsions, they assumed the receiver had been implanted in him, most likely by the doctor who was the expert in nanotechnology.  The money she’d received yesterday was probably payment after the device had worked as promised.

            Of course, even knowing that much, they were no closer to figuring out how to deactivate the device or even if that could safely be accomplished.  Seeing the pain it caused Jarod made Sydney want the infernal thing out of him as quickly as possible.

            But right now he needed to concentrate on what was within the realm of possibility.  Jarod was like a son to him, but a father’s love and sympathy wouldn’t help in this situation.  It would be difficult, but he had to remain objective and slip back into the role of mentor that he’d played when Jarod was a child.  Only that person, the one who’d helped a scared young boy adapt to living at the Centre, could aid Jarod now in accepting his new life back here. 

            Time to get pull yourself together, doctor, Sydney told himself firmly.  He quickly forwarded the e-mail from Lyle to Miss Parker and Broots.  They were both off-campus today, Broots dealing with a computer problem at a satellite office and Miss Parker trying to keep in her father’s good graces by spending time at the country club with him.  He suspected their absence had something to do with Lyle’s decision to bring Jarod to the sim lab today.

            Sydney stood and crossed quickly to the plexiglass front of his office.  As he waited for Jarod to arrive, he stared down at the cavernous room where so much of his protégé’s childhood had been spent.  He could still remember that very first day, see the innocent face, hear the plaintive question of “where’s my Mom and Dad?”  The innocence had long been erased, but the echoes of that unanswered query still hung in the air between them every time he saw Jarod.

            And then there he was.  Jarod, still in shackles and with a black cloth bag over his head, was being prodded down the steps by one of the new Sweepers, a large man with a buzz cut, probably ex-military.  Willie followed close behind, his gun drawn and trained on the prisoner.  He had a bandage taped to his nose, the result of the damage Jarod had inflicted yesterday in his failed attempt to escape.

            Sydney came out of his office but hesitated at the top of the steps when Willie held up a hand to forestall his approach.  Knowing the dreadful memories wearing a hood would dredge up in Jarod, Sydney had to take a few calming breaths to keep from rushing over and ripping it off his head.  He tried to gain control over his own swirling emotions as he watched Willie shove Jarod into a chair at a new table that he hadn’t noticed this morning when he arrived.  It looked like the kind found in police interrogation rooms, complete with circular metal bracket for restraining inmates.  Willie uncuffed Jarod’s left hand and attached the right to the metal loop.  Only then did he remove the bag.  Jarod blinked, focused on Willie’s nose and said, “Sorry about that.”  Willie’s only response was to yank on Jarod’s arm to make sure he was securely fastened.  Sydney saw Jarod wince slightly.

            Willie backed up a few steps and held his gun on Jarod while the other guard – Sydney thought his name was Tony - removed the manacles from his feet.  Then the two Sweepers retreated and settled into still but alert stances a short distance away.

            Sydney hurried down the steps and over to the table.  Mindful of the surveillance equipment recording everything they said or did in this room, he kept his question simple.  “Jarod, are you alright?”

            His former pupil gazed impassively at him.  “Nice to see you again, Sydney.”  His tone matched his expression, carefully devoid of emotion.

            Since Jarod obviously was not going to be forthcoming about his state of well-being, Sydney fell back on his medical experience and did a quick visual assessment of his “patient.”  Jarod was clean-shaven, his sideburns neatly trimmed and his hair brushed back from his forehead, although not in that slightly-spiked, gel-aided style he’d adopted since living on his own.  On the negative side, he looked thin and pale with circles under his eyes.  And now that Jarod’s left arm was free from the cuffs, Sydney could see the angry red welts encircling that wrist, which meant he’d been wearing the handcuffs for far too long.  He must have let his concern show, because Jarod self-consciously pulled his sleeve down to hide the damage.

            Okay, so they wouldn’t dwell on his physical state.  If only he could explore his emotional well-being, but he knew that would also be impossible in this fish-bowl environment.  Sydney sat down across from Jarod and leaned forward so he could speak quietly.  “Jarod, do you know where they’re keeping you?”

            Jarod shook his head.  “Somewhere deep.  When they first take me out of my cell, they have the hood on me.  We make a lot of turns, go up and down stairs, take different elevators.  They only remove the hood once we’re someplace in the Centre familiar to me.”  Again, he’d spoken in a flat tone, but Sydney thought he’d heard an apologetic note in the delivery, almost as if he felt like he’d failed somehow.

            Stepping into his familiar role of offering reassurance in an objective manner, Sydney said as calmly as he could, “Don’t worry, we’ll figure it out.”

            “Sydney.”  This time there was definite urgency in his voice.  “When I was in the infirmary, there was a woman there… in scrubs... I didn’t recognize her.”

            Sydney nodded and rapidly filled Jarod in on what they’d pieced together so far, security cameras be damned.  “Her name is Dr. Archer, an expert in nanotechnology.  The Centre has paid her a small fortune for unspecified services.  We believe she implanted a device inside you which caused you to experience an electric shock when you tried to escape yesterday.”

Jarod’s eyes widen slightly at the explanation, but he didn’t look too surprised.  “Check the back of my neck,” he murmured, lips barely moving.

            Sydney stood up immediately and walked behind Jarod.  He addressed the two Sweepers.  “Are these restraints really necessary?” he complained, gesturing to the cuffs.

“Orders from Mr. Lyle,” Tony grunted.

            “I’m not releasing him,” Willie said.  “Even with both hands and feet cuffed, he still managed to do this to me.”  He pointed to his broken nose and sent a fierce glare in Jarod’s direction.

Sydney sighed in resignation and leaned over Jarod under the pretense of getting a closer look at his manacled hand.  Instead, he took a quick glance at the red line that stood out sharply at the nape of his neck.  Into Jarod’s ear he reported, “There’s a scar from a surgical incision, approximately two inches in length, extending vertically over the C1-C3 vertebrae.”

“Dr. Archer does good work, wouldn’t you say, Sydney?”

Sydney’s head snapped up to find Lyle standing by the railing on the upper walkway.  “Don’t think it will leave a scar,” he continued, coming down the steps, “which is a shame, really.  I think a scar or two adds character.”  He pulled off his maroon glove and massaged the thickened skin on his left hand where his thumb once was.

Jarod stared coolly at Miss Parker’s brother as he approached, but Sydney had seen the spark of fear in his brown eyes at the first sound of Lyle’s voice. 

“I don’t believe any unnecessary surgery is a good thing,” Sydney said, straightening up and taking a few steps to position himself between his protégé and Lyle.

“Oh, this was necessary.” Lyle came to a stop on the other side of the table.  “That ingenious device Dr. Archer implanted in our genius here has made things so much easier.  And congratulations, Sydney, by the way,” he added, putting his glove back on, “to you and Mr. Broots, I imagine, for figuring out as much as you did.  But I don’t think you know everything this prototype can do.”  He smiled at the Pretender.  “What do you say, Jarod?  Should we give your mentor a full demonstration?”  He reached slowly into the pocket of his suit coat and pulled out a small black box.

Sydney saw Jarod stiffen, although the slightly defiant look on his face never wavered.

            He didn’t know what that little black box did, but he was certain it was nothing good.  “I say we get down to business, Lyle,” Sydney said harshly.  “You mentioned an ‘assignment’ in your e-mail?”

            “No?”  Lyle looked disappointed but he slowly returned the box to his pocket, never taking his eyes off Jarod.  “I suppose you’re right, Sydney.  Business before pleasure.  And the Triumverate is anxious to have this project completed.”  He reached inside his suit jacket again, this time producing a manila folder, which he tossed onto the table.

            Sydney picked up the file and opened it.   His heart sank as he perused the papers within, not just because of the dire situation that required intervention but also because he knew it would be very difficult to convince Jarod to perform this particular simulation.  Even as he digested the particulars of the project, his mind raced with possible arguments he could employ to persuade Jarod to use his unique talents in this instance.

            After a few minutes, Sydney became aware of the silence in the room; it felt like it was growing heavier by the second.  He looked up from his reading and saw that Lyle and Jarod still had intense gazes locked on each other in some bizarre staring contest.  Sydney slapped the folder down on the table to break the spell.

            Lyle glanced his way.  “So what do you think, Sydney?  Is this first assignment worthy of our genius’ abilities?”

            Sydney cleared his throat.  “It will certainly be difficult.”  He watched Jarod carefully as he went on, “It appears there’s been an outbreak of a mysterious virus in several villages in equatorial Africa.”

            Jarod looked at him.  “Let me guess.  No one’s been able to develop an antidote.  That’s where I come in.”  He spoke dryly, but Sydney could see the muscle along his jawline tighten with suppressed tension.

            “We have a fully-equipped science lab all set up for you,” Lyle interjected smoothly.  “I think we’ve anticipated your needs, but if you find something is missing, you have only to ask and –”

            “I won’t do it,” Jarod said flatly, turning his attention back to Lyle.

            Sydney let out a breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding.  Here we go, he thought.

            Lyle closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose as if assaulted by a sudden headache.  “Can’t you make this easy just once?” he lamented.  Then he sighed and opened his eyes.  “Look, Jarod,” he said, spreading his hands out in a conciliatory gesture, “I wanted your first assignment to be simpler so you could gradually get back in the rhythm of your work here at the Centre, but the Triumverate had other ideas.  Since this plague is literally happening right in their own back yard, they place top priority on this project.”

            “As you said, Lyle, perhaps it would be better if Jarod’s first simulation was not something so crucial,” Sydney suggested mildly.

            Lyle turned a withering look on him.  “Well, I’m sorry, but the Centre hasn’t been contracted to engineer a way for little old ladies to safely cross the street,” he said sarcastically.  “This is what the Triumverate needs done, so this is what we’re going to do.”

            “How do I know this virus is real?” Jarod asked.

            Lyle leaned over the table, pulled a few eight-by-ten glossies out of the manila folder, and slapped them down in front of him.  “Look at these pictures!  These aren’t photo-shopped, Jarod.  These are living and breathing men, women and children suffering from a dreadful illness.  Although if you don’t help, they won’t be living and breathing much longer,” he added casually.

            Sydney had glimpsed these images when he skimmed through the information in the folder, but he still felt a jolt when he saw them laid out on the table.  Real or not, they were disturbing to look at.  The photos showed people of all ages, but predominantly women and young children, in various stages of sickness – some conscious but with blank stares, some grimacing in obvious pain, and some beyond all help, their corpses lying in the dirt, dried blood trails from their noses and mouths.

            Jarod stared at the photos and said nothing.  Sydney knew that look; he’d seen it many times on the face of his young student when he was faced with a particularly difficult simulation, usually one that brought up moral issues that confused the boy.  Sydney had always done his best to teach Jarod right from wrong, but in a place like the Centre, usually “the lesser of two evils” principle was the best one to follow.  Still, he knew Jarod’s strict moral compass was what had prompted him to escape from the Centre the first time; in the years since he had continued on the path of righteousness, making sure criminals were brought to justice.  Sydney was certain Jarod would not do anything that had even the potential of hurting the innocent.  He remembered Jarod’s question soon after he escaped: “How many people have died because of what I thought up?”  Yes, people were dying now from this virus, but Jarod would wonder – and rightly so, no doubt – if even more would perish if he did what the Centre asked.

            Lyle suddenly sat in the chair next to Jarod – a surprising move, Sydney thought, since it gave away the physical advantage he’d had when standing.  What he did next was even more unexpected; he gently gathered the photos together and placed them carefully back inside the folder, which he closed almost reverently.  “I know how difficult this is for you, Jarod,” he said softly.  “I’m aware of the similarities between this assignment and the last official simulation you performed for the Centre.  And, thanks to the DSAs, I know exactly what happened during your final days here.”

            Both Jarod and Sydney looked sharply at Lyle.  “You have the DSAs?” Sydney asked.

            Lyle looked slightly annoyed by the interruption.  “Yes, luckily we found them in a motel near the cemetery after I… ran into Jarod there.”

            “Those DSAs are the only complete record of the Pretender project,” Sydney said, “and as such, they belong in my custody.”

            “Those DSAs are the property of the Centre and they will remain in my possession,” Lyle countered smoothly.  “But if you or Jarod feel nostalgic and want to watch some home movies, just let me know.  I’ll bring the popcorn.”

            “Lyle,” Sydney grumbled, ready to continue the argument.

            “As I was saying,” Lyle went on, sending a warning glare Sydney’s way, “I have watched the archived record of your last days at the Centre, and I know the concerns you had back then.  I also know how that fool Damon tried to manipulate you.  Frankly, Jarod,” he added, “I would have thought you were too smart to believe his promise of freedom.”

            “I’m smart enough to know that I can’t believe any antidote I create will be used only for good,” Jarod said evenly.  “I have to recreate the virus to find a cure, so what’s to stop the Triumverate from spreading more infection and then selling the antidote to the highest bidder?”

            “As I said before, this virus is killing people in the Triumverate’s own back yard, a region where they have many business and personal interests,” Lyle said.  “I sincerely doubt they would want to make the situation worse than it already is.”

            Sydney noticed he hadn’t outright denied the possibility of an antidote being used for nefarious purposes.  Lyle may not know precisely what the Triumverate intended to do with the cure, but at least he didn’t insult Jarod’s intelligence by dismissing his suspicions.

            Lyle looked at his watch and stood up.  “Well, I have a meeting to get to,” he said briskly.  “You can take that file back to your…quarters to study at your leisure.”  He nodded at Willie, who came over to retrieve the folder.      

            “I’m not going to change my mind,” Jarod said.

            “Why don’t you sleep on it?” Lyle suggested, placing a hand companionably on Jarod’s shoulder while Willie detached him from the table and fastened his hands together again.  Sydney could tell Jarod was resisting the urge to shrug him off.

            No doubt sensing the same thing, Lyle dropped his hand and backed off.  He headed for the steps leading out of the cavernous pit.  “Just don’t take too long to make your final decision, Jarod.  Remember, innocent people are dying while you weigh the pros and cons,” he tossed back cheerfully over his shoulder.  Then he was gone.

            Sydney watched helplessly as Tony shackled Jarod’s ankles again and pulled him roughly to his feet.  “A moment, please,” he implored in a raspy voice.

            After a beat, Willie nodded.  He gestured to Tony and the two Sweepers moved away a few paces.

            There was so much he wanted to say!  But he couldn’t forget their audience, both real and electronic.  So he stuck to the most pressing issue.  “I’ll have Broots look into this and make certain this outbreak is real,” he said.

            “Oh, I’m sure it’s real,” Jarod said wearily.  “It’s too easy to check.” Now that Lyle had left the room, his bravado seemed to have vanished and the exhaustion Sydney had observed earlier was even more pronounced. 

            “Well, if there is indeed a mysterious virus killing people in Africa, I’m sure the proper authorities have been notified.  Perhaps they’ll discover a cure soon.”

            “That would be a big help to those poor villagers.”  Then Jarod sighed and shook his head.  “But that doesn’t let me off the hook.  Even if a cure was found tomorrow, the Triumverate is still going to want their own personal stockpile of the antidote and virus so that they can use it against their enemies.  Or they could act as a broker and sell it on the black market to terrorists.” He paused, and a spark of defiance reignited in the depths of his brown eyes.  “I won’t help them do that.”

            “Jarod, please.”  Sydney put his hands on his shoulders and held his gaze.  It felt strange having to look up to meet his eyes, when he could still so clearly see the young boy who’d once looked to him for advice and comfort.  Now Sydney was the one who wanted reassurance.  “Those victims of the virus aren’t the only ones in danger right now,” he quietly pointed out.

            “Lyle won’t kill me.”  His smile was small and grim.  “I’m too valuable to the Centre.”

            “That value diminishes if you won’t do the simulations!”  Was Jarod just putting on a brave front?  Or did he truly not realize the risk he was taking in defying Lyle?

            “Don’t worry, Sydney.  I’m sure Lyle will find other ways to get his money’s worth out of me.  Remember he stopped my heart that one time when the Centre needed a test subject for an experimental drug?”  He shrugged fatalistically, dislodging Sydney’s hands.  “If nothing else, I’m a handy guinea pig.”

            “You’re far more than that.”  He needed to remind Jarod that there was still reason to hope.  “When you were still only a boy, you helped so many people through worthwhile projects spearheaded by the Centre.  Perhaps in the near future there will be more opportunities for you to use your genius for good.”

            “Time’s up,” Willie said, stepping forward and taking Jarod by the arm.  Instantly, the guarded look returned to the Pretender’s eyes.  He obediently shuffled away with the Sweepers closely following.

            Sydney called after him, “We’ll talk again soon, Jarod,” and hoped with all his heart that those words would turn out to be true.

            She caught up to him as he was waiting for the elevator that led to the Tower.  “Hey, little brother,” she said lightly, “I hear you’re having trouble getting your boy to do his assignment.”

            She wondered if the look of irritation that flashed across Lyle’s face had more to do with her pointing out his trouble with Jarod or her reminder that he was the twin born second.  “He’s Sydney’s boy,” he grumbled in response.

            Since Jarod was misbehaving, Lyle was blaming Sydney for being the bad “parent” who’d raised him wrong.  Typical.

            “Walk with me,” Miss Parker invited, giving him no choice by linking her arm through his and steering him away from the elevator.  Even though she hated being in such close contact with a psychotic murderer – she’d seen him commit cold-blooded murder at one of the Centre’s satellite offices, plus he’d pulled a gun on her more than once - she knew she needed to swallow her revulsion and play the part of the helpful big sister if she was going to get what she wanted from him.

            After they’d taken a few steps along the bustling main concourse level, Lyle asked, sounding slightly bemused, “Are we supposed to be projecting a united front?”

            Miss Parker bared her teeth in what she hoped passed for a pleasant smile.  “You’re not the only one who knows how to put on a show for the Centre underlings, brother.  But since everyone now knows that Jarod is here, the rumors have already started that the new Pretender project is an utter failure.  We need to remind these people that we Parkers are still in control.”  She cast a haughty glance around the busy hallway, like a queen acknowledging her subjects.

            “I have not lost control of anything,” Lyle hissed through teeth gritted in his own insincere smile.  “Jarod will come around; you’ll see.”

            “Oh?  From what I understand, there’s no time to waste with this particular project.  People are literally dying while waiting for a cure – and the Triumverate is not known for their patience.”

            “Jarod will complete the simulation,” Lyle insisted.  “It has two main components he won’t be able to resist: one, a degree of difficulty that will challenge him intellectually, and two, a humanitarian crisis that will satisfy his superior moral code.  Innocent women and children are suffering slow, agonizing deaths; how can he turn his back on them?”

            He had a point, but… “The project should appeal to him, yes, but maybe it’s the person giving the assignment that’s causing the trouble,” she suggested pointedly.

            Lyle gave her a scornful glance.  “That’s why I made sure Sydney was there to help me present the facts of this case.  I thought it might feel like old times to Jarod being there in the sim lab with his mentor, going over his newest assignment.”

            His reasoning was sound, but she wasn’t about to admit that to him.  “And he’d just slip back into his Pretender role out of what – nostalgia for the good old days?” she scoffed.  “Slight problem; he doesn’t remember anything good about his childhood.”

            “Who does?” Lyle countered.

            Another good point.  Miss Parker turned into a side corridor where they’d have a little more privacy.  The time had come to make her proposal.  She thankfully dropped her brother’s arm and turned to face him directly.  “You claim to have things under control, Lyle, but it’s obvious you need some help.  I’d be willing to talk to Jarod for you on one condition.”

            Lyle held up a hand to stop her.  “First of all, I haven’t asked for your help.  Secondly, what makes you think be of any?  If Sydney, the only person Jarod even halfway trusts at the Centre, can’t convince him to do the sim, you don’t have a chance in hell of doing so.  You’re not exactly one of his favorite people, sis.”

            “True.  But Jarod and I have a unique relationship.  We were children together here.”

            “That was a long time ago.”

            “Our childhood friendship may have been over long ago, but Jarod and I still have a connection.”  Miss Parker paused, not sure how to explain that connection or how much she wanted to reveal to Lyle.  “At least he thinks we do, which I used to my advantage these past few years.  He likes to think of me as a fellow victim of the Centre, so he kept trying to ‘help’ me by providing information about my – our mother.  Every time he called or sent a package with another damn clue to my past, I told myself that one day he’d slip up and that’s when I would catch him.”

            “That’s exactly what happened,” Lyle murmured. “Jarod’s sick fascination with our mother’s death – and your unending grief over it – made him get sloppy.  Going to the cemetery was a risk he should never have taken, and I made him pay for it.”

            Miss Parker nodded, realizing that Lyle had figured out the strange connection between her and Jarod long ago.  That was how he’d been able to predict that Jarod would show up at the cemetery on that day.  Damn it, why hadn’t she come to the same conclusion?  Then she could have been the one to spring the trap on Boy Wonder.

            Lyle’s eyes narrowed as he looked at his sister, as if seeing her in a new light.  “This ‘connection’ Jarod thinks the two of you have just might make him listen to you,” he allowed, “but why would you want to help me?”

            She let some of the bitterness she was just feeling seep into her voice.  “It’s no secret that I hate the fact that you were the one to successfully capture Jarod.  But now that he’s back, who caught him doesn’t matter.  The Triumverate expects results.  If they don’t get them – and soon – it will be all our heads on the chopping block.”

            As expected, Lyle seemed to accept that explanation.  She knew he’d understand self-preservation as a motive.

            “Now, as for that condition I mentioned… I want to talk to Jarod wherever you’re keeping him.”  Her tone brooked no argument.

            Lyle arched an eyebrow.  “Why?”

            Two Centre employees came around the corner, comfortably chatting, but when they spotted Miss Parker and Lyle in an intense huddle near the wall, they turned on their heels and went back the way they’d come.  Miss Parker wondered exactly what kind of vibes were coming off her and her brother.  She hoped the ones she was sending him made it clear she wouldn’t take no for an answer.

            Right now she hoped her answer to his question would satisfy his curiosity.  “Well, I assume you have Jarod stashed somewhere deep in the sub-levels, far away from any active areas.  And since he’s been there for almost two weeks, it seems the location is escape-proof. Privacy and a captive audience?  Perfect.”

            Unfortunately, he wasn’t buying it.  “Jarod’s room does lend itself perfectly to one-on-one conversations,” Lyle said agreeably, “but we both know that’s not the only reason you want to go there.  You and Sydney have been scrambling for over a week trying to find out where I’m keeping Jarod.  I don’t understand why you can’t just be content that he’s back within the confines of the Centre.”

            “I can’t speak for Sydney, but I imagine he wants to see Jarod’s quarters to make sure he’s being treated humanely, and not being kept caged like an animal.”  She saw the shift in Lyle’s eyes but chose to ignore it.  She needed to offer him another motive that he would understand.  “As for me, well… I wasted years chasing Jarod all over the country when I should have been rising to the top in Corporate.  So, no, I can’t just be content that he’s back… especially since I never got to see his face when he was finally caught.  I need to see him now that he’s well and truly trapped, and I need him to acknowledge that I won.” 

            Lyle nodded thoughtfully, his pale blue eyes reflecting the ruthless light she was trying to project from her own.  “You need to see him defeated,” he said, the corners of his mouth curving upwards in a cold smile.

            “Exactly.”  She said the word with merciless relish.  I know you understand that, dear brother, she thought.

            He studied her a moment longer before he finally said, “Alright.  You can go see Jarod in his hole.”  He paused then added, “But I have one condition of my own.”

Chapter 10

                A sudden commotion in the hallway outside his cell put Jarod on high alert.  He stayed reclining on his cot, but the relaxed pose he maintained was just a pretense.  He was ever vigilant, waiting for any opportunity to escape.  A tiny spark of hope ignited inside him as he wondered if the disturbance just outside his door could be a rescue attempt.

            That flare of optimism quickly faded when logic took over.  The only people in the Centre who could possibly want to save him – Sydney, Angelo, and, if coerced, Broots – were not exactly big, strapping heroes who could emerge victorious from hand-to-hand combat with a team of Sweepers.  No, a physical confrontation was not their style.

            But it was the style of the person who was suddenly thrust into his room.  When push came to shove (literally), she could definitely hold her own.  But she wasn’t here to rescue him; of that, he had no doubt.

            Tony the Sweeper, a hulking shadow in the doorway, intoned, “Mr. Lyle says you have ten minutes.”  Then the door slammed shut.

            “What the -?”  The rest of the exclamation was mercifully muffled by the hood she was wearing.

            Momentarily stunned by the appearance of the last person he’d expected to see, Jarod could only watch in silence as Miss Parker tore the black cloth bag off her head and flung it to the floor.  Then she spun towards the door and shouted, “Tell Mr. Lyle a time limit was not part of our deal!”  She slammed a fist against the door to punctuate her complaint.

            There was no response.  The guards outside had learned not to react to anything they heard coming from within this room.

With a heavy sigh, Miss Parker braced herself against the doorframe, head bowed, arms outstretched.  He could almost hear her furiously counting to ten in her head as she tried to regain control.

“Making deals with the devil, Miss Parker?” he inquired in that affected tone he often used.  “Just so you could see little old me?”

She turned back around but barely glanced his way before staring down at the discarded hood in disgust.  “Couldn’t see anything wearing this damn thing.”  She nudged it with the toe of her high-heeled boot.

Jarod didn’t try to hide his amusement as he asked, “Who had the honor of putting it on you?”

“That new Sweeper, Tony, tried, but I convinced him that I could do it myself.”  The glimmer of a satisfied smile played on her features.

Jarod could only imagine how she’d “convinced” Tony to back off, and he felt the corners of his own mouth curving upwards.

Then Miss Parker frowned.  “After being dragged through what seemed like every twisting corridor, stairwell, and elevator in this place, I’d finally had enough and decided it was time to remove the hood.  My ‘escorts’ objected.”  She paused then added smugly, “Good thing we had arrived at our destination or someone might have gotten hurt.”

Ah.  That explained the scuffle he’d heard coming from the hall.  Her tone implied that she would not have been the one injured if the struggle had continued.  He didn’t doubt it.

Miss Parker finally looked up from the offensive piece of cloth and seemed to really see him for the first time.  “Sorry if I disturbed your nap,” she said dryly.

He stayed in his reclining position, cuffed hands resting on his stomach.  “Forgive me for not getting up,” he said.  “As you can see,” he rattled his chains, “my movement is slightly limited.”

Something flickered in the depths of her dark blue eyes, but he was too far away to read the emotion.

“They did remove the leg shackles this morning, which was a nice surprise,” he went on with artificial cheer.  “Don’t know what I did to deserve that reprieve.”

“You’ve been chained hand and foot even when you’re in here?  All this time?” Miss Parker asked, a strange catch in her voice.  “Sydney will want to know,” she tacked on briskly.

Jarod sighed inwardly.  He didn’t want anyone’s pity.  “It’s alright,” he said.  “It gave me a chance to rest after all those years on the run.”

She’d told him once that she hated false bravado, so he was surprised when she didn’t make some snide remark about his pathetic attempt at levity.  Instead, impatiently pushing back a lock of hair that had fallen into her face when she’d yanked off the hood, she looked away from him and cast an appraising glance around the room.  When she noticed the camera in the corner to the left of the door, her gaze lingered for a few seconds before she turned her back on it and continued her critical survey of her surroundings.

Jarod supplied what he knew she was thinking. “It may not look like much but it does the job.”

“Mm, I guess that’s true since it’s kept you contained for almost two weeks,” Miss Parker begrudged.  Her searching glance swept towards the far right corner, and she moved that way, her attention suddenly focused high up on the wall.

“Don’t touch that!” Jarod was on his feet in an instant, ignoring the pain in his wrists when the chain attached to the handcuffs went taut.  As Miss Parker looked back at him, startled, he explained hurriedly, “Lyle’s electrified the ducts at random junctures.  I’m sure the one in here is wired.”

“I know,” she said, returning to her study of the metal grate but backing up a step.  “Angelo got zapped last week.  He’s recovered physically, but he’s too spooked to crawl around in the conduits again anytime soon.”

Seeing Miss Parker a safe distance away from the booby-trapped hatch, Jarod relaxed slightly and the chain went slack.  “I’m sorry he got hurt,” he said, absently wiggling his fingers to chase away the pins and needles.

She turned her attention back to him.  “It’s not your fault, Jarod.  Sure, Angelo may have been looking for you when he was crawling through the air vents, or he could have just been out for his daily ‘stroll’ through the ducts.  Don’t waste energy feeling guilty about it.”

She knew him better than he’d realized if she’d sensed that he was blaming himself.

“You need to worry about your own skin,” she continued.  “I know you’ve taken a few volts yourself.”

“How-?”

“I was in Lyle’s office when you tried to escape.  The alarms were going off, but he was cool as a cucumber as he pulled up the security camera feed on his laptop.”  She paused then added quietly. “I saw what happened when you went outside the building.”

“Hit me like a lightning bolt.”  Feeling slightly shaky at the memory, Jarod sank down onto the edge of his cot.  “When there was only Willie guarding me as we went past the east entrance, I saw my chance and had to take it.”

“Well, I think Lyle set you up.  He needed to test his invisible fence, so-”

“So he set a trap for me and I walked right into it,” Jarod finished glumly.

“Even if you’d sensed a trap, you still would have tried to escape.”

Was that a touch of admiration he heard in her voice?  He wished he could share the sentiment, but he just felt foolish.  Since he’d been back at the Centre, there’d always been at least two Sweepers guarding him.  To suddenly have only one escort should have been a red flag, but all he’d seen was an opportunity he couldn’t pass up.

While he’d been silently berating himself, Miss Parker had moved closer until she stood directly in front of him, her body angled slightly so her back was to the surveillance camera.  “Sydney told me about your implant,” she said in a low voice.

Jarod wondered why she was trying not to be overheard; Lyle didn’t care if she knew about his fancy new torture device.  On the contrary, he’d seemed proud that Sydney and the others had discovered the surgery Dr. Archer had been contracted to do.  “Yes, Lyle’s upgraded from jumper cables,” Jarod acknowledged in a cavalier tone.

Again, she didn’t take the bait and issue a caustic comeback.  Instead, she looked uncertain, like she was having some kind of internal debate.  After a long moment, she asked diffidently, “May I…?”

He instantly realized she wanted to look at the surgical site on the back of his neck.  Her hesitation confused him; he was used to people in this place pretty much doing what they wanted to him.  He nodded, silently giving his permission.

She stood to his side and leaned over his right shoulder.  As the faint fragrance of her perfume wafted over him, he felt the fingers of her other hand gently brush across his incision. Although the area was still partially numb from the surgery, her touch went directly to his core.  The tingling was nothing like the electric shocks he’d received in recent days; this feeling was warm and pleasant, similar to the sensation he’d experienced six months ago when she’d tended his wound.  Now, as then, he attributed the feeling to hyper-sensitive nerves.

He cleared his throat.  “I’m told Dr. Archer does excellent work, and there shouldn’t be a scar,” he said in as casual a tone as he could muster.  “I suppose that’s good news.”

“Mm, I suppose.”  Her mind was clearly elsewhere.  She straightened abruptly and backed away from the cot.  “Take my advice, Jarod.  No more walks outside.”

“Darn, it’s such a nice time of year.”

“Well, they’re predicting on and off rain for the next week, so you’re not missing anything.”

Were they actually discussing the weather?  Miss Parker was clearly distracted as she started to pace in front of the door.  Was she experiencing a touch of claustrophobia?  In her customary all-black ensemble – long-sleeved, low-cut dress that ended at mid-thigh, dark leggings, and shiny leather boots – she reminded him of a caged panther.  He’d always admired the way she moved – like a lethal ballet dancer – even when she was using her cat-like grace to chase him or do an arcing sweep of a room with her gun in her hand.

But today, her movements, though still fluid, had an undercurrent of agitation to them.  She cast a baleful glance at the surveillance camera and came to a sudden stop directly in front of him.  “Look, Jarod, the last thing you want to do is piss off Lyle.  So why don’t you just do the sim and make everyone happy?”

And there it was.  The real reason for her visit today.  He didn’t know why he felt disappointed; did he actually think she’d come here just for a chat?  Or to see if he was okay?  He gave himself a mental head shake to clear such foolish thoughts from his brain.  Miss Parker was, and always would be, a representative of the Centre.  He had to treat her as such.

“I can’t do the sim,” he told her, his voice hard.  “To find a cure, I have to make more of the virus.  There’s too much risk of it falling into the wrong hands.”

She met his unyielding gaze.  “Do you remember Faith?” she asked.

He blinked at the unexpected question.  “Of course,” he replied in confusion.  He’d never forgotten the little blonde girl that he, Miss Parker, and Angelo had discovered all those years ago deep in the bowels of the Centre.  She’d died from an incurable disease shortly after they’d met her, but he and Miss Parker both believed Faith’s spirit or ghost had visited them when they were near death a few years ago, he on top of a frigid mountain after a plane crash, she in a hospital bed after emergency surgery on a perforated ulcer.  But what Jarod remembered most about Faith was Miss Parker’s reaction to her death; she’d sobbed in his arms and let him comfort her.  It was one of his most precious childhood memories.

“Well, my father told me that he and my mother brought her to the Centre to hopefully find a cure for her illness,” Miss Parker went on.  “The doctors here couldn’t help her, but what they learned from treating her did save many others in the future.”

“Your father told you this?  And you believe him?”

Her face tightened, and Jarod instantly regretted his words.  Mr. Parker’s dysfunctional relationship with his daughter was a sore subject between them.  For years Jarod had been trying to get Miss Parker to realize she couldn’t trust her father, and for years, she’d been ignoring his advice.  Her father was the only family she had left (a psychotic twin brother didn’t count), and she desperately clung to any love or kindness he showed her, blind to his manipulations, no matter how many times Jarod pointed them out to her.

Right now she surprised him by not taking the bait and defending her father for the umpteenth time.  “The point is that the Centre has often undertaken altruistic projects,” she said firmly.  “You did a lot of good here, Jarod.  You certainly helped a hell of a lot more people here than since you’ve been on the run.”

He grunted.  “You sound like Sydney.”

She leaned forward and thrust her face close to his, her eyes the murky blue of storm-tossed seas.  “Then let me sound like myself and be perfectly clear,” she snapped.  “Time to stop pretending, Jarod, and face reality.  You’re not some damn superhero willing to risk everything to make sure his powers are used only for good.  You’re a genius, sure, but a genius with a job.  The Centre discovered you, the Centre raised you, and the Centre owns you!  So stop playing the martyr, do the sim, and save some lives!”  She jabbed a finger against his chest as final punctuation.

No pleasant tingles in that touch.  Caught off guard, Jarod started to topple backwards before quickly righting himself.

Miss Parker straightened and let out a frustrated sigh, raking both hands through hair that had fallen into her face again.   “You could certainly make everyone’s lives around here a lot easier if you’d just cooperate,” she concluded with a touch of weariness, as if her own outburst had tired her.

It had been an impressive speech, and he had no doubt she meant every word of it, but he wondered if the delivery would have been different if there wasn’t a camera recording the whole performance.  He almost felt like he should applaud, but he knew the seriousness of the situation demanded a serious response.  Unfortunately, the only one he could give was the one she didn’t want to hear.

The door to his cell swung open.  “Time’s up,” Tony announced in his deep baritone and stepped inside.  Willie remained in the doorway, his gun drawn but held down at his side. 

After Miss Parker made no move to pick up the discarded hood, Tony bent over and retrieved it himself.

She looked at the piece of cloth with disgust but snatched it from his hand and put it over her head.  “Let’s go, boys,” she said and marched straight out of the room, not needing anyone to guide her.  Willie had to dodge out of her way and Tony had to hurry to catch up.

As the door shut behind them, Jarod lay back down on his cot and turned on his side, facing away from the camera.  He had a lot to think about, and he didn’t need that lens aimed at his face while he did so.

Lyle leaned back in his chair, a satisfied smile stretching across his face.

Brigitte moved from her position behind him and took one of the seats facing his desk.  She pulled the red lollipop out of her mouth and said, “Don’t know why you look so happy.  I just watched the same surveillance footage you did.  Letting Miss Parker visit Jarod looked like a complete waste of time to me.”

“On the contrary, my dear Brigitte, that meeting accomplished exactly what I hoped it would.”

“Which was what?”

Lyle meditatively smoothed out his tie while he studied the petite blonde across from him.  She was a handy sounding board on the occasions when he needed a little reassurance that his plans were brilliant, but at this critical juncture, he needed to keep his next move a complete secret.  He had no intention of filling her in, but he let the silence stretch out between them as if he were considering confiding in her.  She was sucking on the lollipop again, watching him and waiting.  He wondered idly why she was always eating lollipops; did she have an unquenchable craving for sweets or did she know that the candy made her lips shiny and sticky and oh, so kissable.

Focus, Lyle!  Reluctantly, he dragged his thoughts away from the other kissable parts of Brigitte.  There’d be time for a pleasant diversion later – after the successful conclusion of his plan. 

Right now he averted his gaze from what Brigitte’s tongue was doing to the lollipop and said, “Don’t you have some packing to do?  I believe you and my father leave on your cruise tomorrow.”

She pulled the candy out of her mouth and pursed her juicy lips in a sexy pout.  “I’d rather stay here,” she said.

He stifled a sigh.  Really, her petulant child routine was getting old.  If she wasn’t so proficient in other areas, he would have broken ties with her long ago.  “This is a perfect time to get out of town.  You heard what my sister said; late April showers are in the forecast,” he said lightly, purposely ignoring what he knew her true complaint was.

The sensual slant to her mouth vanished, and her lips set in a thin, stubborn line.  “Two whole weeks,” she grumbled.

“Yes, two whole weeks of glorious Caribbean sunshine!”  Good grief, he sounded like a cheesy travel agent.

“With your father.”  She made it sound like a prison sentence.

She was decidedly unattractive when she was disagreeable.  He much preferred her playful persona.  “We’ve already talked about this, Brigitte.  I need you to distract my father for the next couple of weeks; that’s crucial to my plan.”

“A plan you won’t tell me about.”

His cheeks ached with the effort of keeping a pleasant smile on his face.  In his lap his right hand curled into a fist as he thought about what he wanted to do to stop her whining.  “Secrecy is also critical to the success of my plan.” 

She opened her mouth to continue the argument, but then, as if sensing his growing annoyance, she shut it again.  “Fine,” she muttered, getting up and heading for the door – slowly, with maximum wiggle to her leather-clad hips, no doubt as a reminder to him about what he’d be missing for the next two weeks.  She pulled open the double doors but paused before exiting.  “I’ll expect a full report on the tremendous success of your top-secret plan when I get back from my vacation,” she tossed over her shoulder.  Then she sashayed out, closing the doors behind her.

“Oh, you’ll get one,” Lyle murmured, already envisioning how he would celebrate his success with the energetic blonde.

Like Brigitte, he had no doubt that his plan would be successful.  What he’d seen today confirmed that his next step, while risky, was the correct choice.  He tapped a few keys on his laptop and pulled up the surveillance footage from Miss Parker’s visit to Jarod’s cell.  Thankful that he’d abandoned his earlier distrust of computers and gotten one of the Centre’s IT guys to give him a crash course in using the latest technology, he hit a few more keys and paused the video at the one moment that had most interested him.

Not even a moment, more like a few seconds, but a few seconds loaded with significance.  Miss Parker was leaning over Jarod, looking at the surgical site on the back of his neck.  Her hair fell forward and hid her face, but the camera clearly caught Jarod’s expression.  Even if Lyle hadn’t seen Miss Parker’s hand reaching out, he’d still have known the precise moment she’d touched Jarod from the look on his face.  Jarod’s reaction to her touch was evident and probably much more than he’d ever wanted captured on film.  He’d covered quickly with that stupid comment about the surgery not leaving a scar, but Lyle had seen enough to know that his planned course of action was the right one.

“Gotcha,” Lyle said.

“Did we get it, Broots?”

Sydney heard the agitation in his own voice and silently cursed his inability to keep his emotions in check.  He was a psychiatrist with years’ experience of maintaining an even keel, yet he’d struggled to find that calm in recent days.  He’d worried when Jarod was on the run - not knowing where he was and whether he was safe had weighed heavily on his mind.  But since Jarod had been back at the Centre, Sydney felt even worse – he knew he wasn’t safe but so far had been powerless to do anything to help.

That’s why what Broots was doing right now was so important; if successful, it could provide a way for him to assist Jarod in some small measure.  They were in Sydney’s office, Broots at the desk working on his own laptop he’d brought from home so that his actions couldn’t be detected through the Centre’s network.  Sydney’s job was to be the “look-out” and alert Broots if any uninvited visitors approached.  He’d stationed himself by the glass-front wall of his office where he could keep an eye on the sim lab below and the catwalk across the way; he’d be able to supply ample warning if anyone emerged from the shadowy corridor. 

He’d stayed quiet, letting Broots work.  But almost thirty minutes had passed, and Sydney thought that the time had come for an update.

Broots didn’t reply to his question at once.  He tapped a few keys on the computer, frowned slightly, then said, “Well, um, that depends on what you mean by ‘it.’”

“I mean Jarod’s location, of course!”  To hell with it, he needed to know if their plan had worked.  Not caring if he was crowding his colleague, Sydney quickly crossed his office and moved to stand behind his desk where he could look at the computer screen over Broots’ shoulder.

The techie gave him a quick glance then returned his attention to his laptop.  “Well, the tracking device appears to be working perfectly.”

“We’re fortunate Willie and Tony didn’t suspect Miss Parker had it on her,” Sydney murmured, staring intently at the computer display, trying to decipher the strange grid he was seeing.

“I don’t think they would have found it where she, um, hid it,” Broots said uncomfortably, one hand moving to nervously rub the back of his reddening neck.

Sydney could well imagine.  Since he’d been privy to Broots’ feverish fantasies about Miss Parker, he thought it prudent to get his friend’s mind back on the matter at hand as quickly as possible. “Broots, what are we looking at here?” he asked sharply, indicating the computer screen.

“Oh!  Well, this is the signal from the GPS tracker overlaid by blueprints of the Centre.  See this?” He pointed to a flashing green dot.  “That’s Miss Parker.  Looks like she’s on the main concourse level, probably heading back to her office.”

“But where did she come from?  Where is Jarod?”

“Um, well, that’s sort of hard to say.”

“Broots, you just told me that the tracking device worked perfectly, and Miss Parker’s location is clearly indicated on your screen right now.  So didn’t that flashing dot lead to and return from a specific place within the Centre?”

“Well…yes and no,” Broots said slowly.  He tapped some keys on his laptop and the images on the screen began to change rapidly.  “Like Jarod told you, the Sweepers take a very circuitous route to his cell.  First, they took Miss Parker down in the elevator to SL-15, then they took the stairs up to SL-8, then they walked all the way to the other end of that level and took a different elevator to SL-17, then they went down another stairwell and came out on SL-20.  After that, they walked back and forth, going in and out of some rooms – this is the level with a lot of storage rooms – before getting back in the elevator…”

“Broots!”  Sydney felt as disoriented as if he had been the one led through the maze; he didn’t know how Miss Parker had put up with it.  Staring at the shifting images on the computer screen as Broots offered his explanation was also giving him a headache, so he retreated to his sentry post overlooking the sim lab.  “Did Miss Parker ever reach her destination?”

“Yes, her signal stopped and remained stationary for approximately ten minutes on SL-22.”

Finally a straight answer.  “So Jarod must be on that level.”

“Not according to the Centre blueprints.”  Broots frowned at his computer.

“What do you mean?”

“According to the GPS, Miss Parker walked through a wall to get to Jarod’s location.”

“Excuse me?”

“The corridor ended before her blip stopped moving.  There shouldn’t be anything there.  It doesn’t make sense!”  Broots looked stricken, as if feeling betrayed by his technology.

“So…what?  A secret room?”

Sydney could practically see the light bulb go off above Broots’ head.  “Yes!”  He did some furious typing.  “But more like a secret wing.  She traveled a good distance off the grid, as it were, before she came to a stop.”  He glanced up from his laptop and stared across at Sydney.  “Could Lyle have built a whole new section without anyone knowing?”  His voice was hushed by the enormity of what he was saying.

“Well, Raines did it with SL-27.” Sydney felt suddenly weary.  How many more secrets did this infernal complex hold?

Broots still looked awed.  “But the amount of workers and equipment...”

“Night shifts when there’d be less chance of anyone noticing,” Sydney surmised.

“It must have taken months to complete!  He had to have started construction long before he ever caught Jarod,” Broots pointed out.  “How could he know he’d need this new wing?”

“Lyle’s always been overconfident,” Sydney said dryly.   Unfortunately for Jarod, this time Lyle’s best-laid plans had actually come to fruition.

“And the expense!  I mean, Cindy showed me some of the receipts for the extra security measures and Dr. Archer’s fee, but to build a whole new underground section… That’s, that’s a lot of Centre funds,” he finished weakly as the enormity of the finances involved seemed to suddenly hit him.

“Which means Lyle will be in a lot of trouble if Jarod refuses to do the sim.”  Sydney dreaded to think what measures the psychotic Parker would take to ensure Jarod’s compliance.

“Do you think Miss Parker managed to convince him to create an antidote for the virus?”  Broots was aware of the stated reason for her visit to Jarod’s cell.

“I think it highly unlikely,” Sydney responded truthfully.  Jarod was adamant about not doing anything that could hurt innocent people; he doubted Miss Parker could offer any argument that would change his moral convictions.  And, despite the danger those convictions put Jarod in, Sydney had to admire his protégé for sticking to them.

“Oh.”  It was a mournful sound.  Broots often had a nervous look on his face, but his current anxious expression was more than justified.  He knew what Lyle was capable of, so he knew what hell could be unleashed in the next few days if Jarod didn’t cooperate.  “So…what, what do we do now?” he asked.

“We take the information we learned today and figure out how to use it to our advantage,” Sydney said briskly.  “There may come a time when I need to talk to Jarod without our conversation being recorded.  Your job, Broots, is to figure out a more direct route to his cell and a way to neutralize the surveillance camera in there, as well as the ones along the way.”

“Oh, is that all?  Sure, no problem,” Broots said weakly with a sound halfway between a laugh and a cough.

“Well, I plan on asking Miss Parker to solve the problem of the guards.”

“Do you really think she’d do that?”

“I believe so.  She’ll do it for the same reason she helped us today find out where Jarod’s being kept: she can’t stand Lyle knowing something she doesn’t.  She’ll welcome any opportunity to mess with his plans.”

“I suppose that’s true,” Broots allowed.  Then he shut his laptop and stood up abruptly, tucking the computer under his arm.  “Speaking of Miss Parker, I’d better get up to her office and retrieve the tracking device from her.”

Sydney nodded and started to cross back to his desk, no longer needing to stand watch.  Passing him on the way to the door, Broots suddenly stopped.  He looked worried, of course, but there was another emotion playing across his features that Sydney couldn’t quite identify.

“What is it, Broots?” he prompted.

“Well, Sydney, I, I understand your need to talk to Jarod alone, but-” He leaned close and lowered his voice.  “You’re not thinking of helping him to escape, are you?”  His last words came out in a rush.

Ah, guilt.  He felt bad for doubting his friend.  Sydney sought to set his mind at ease when he said, “While I don’t want to see Jarod harmed, I still believe his unique abilities can be put to the best use here at the Centre.  This is where he belongs.” 

Broots looked relieved.  “Right.  That’s, that’s what I thought.”  He nodded in farewell and left.

Sydney remained standing in the middle of his office, his automatic reply to Broots’ question echoing in his head.  It was an answer he’d given many times before – to Miss Parker, to Mr. Raines, to the T-Board, to anyone who’d questioned his dedication to catching Jarod.  But this time – for the first time – he found himself questioning the veracity of his own words.

Chapter 11

Miss Parker flung open the doors to her father's office. "Daddy, I need to speak to you," she said as she strode into the room.

The high-backed leather chair swiveled around to reveal Lyle behind the desk.

She'd never let on how much it unnerved her to see him sitting in that spot. "Where's my father?" she demanded.

"Our father is on a much-deserved vacation." Lyle lazily checked his watch. "He and Brigitte should be setting sail on their cruise right about now."

Miss Parker actually felt herself do the classic double-take. "Bridget? That bitch tried to kill him!"

"Yes, well… Brigitte has a way of making you forgive her for when she's been naughty." Lyle smiled.

The look on his face made her slightly queasy, but what really turned her stomach was the thought of her father and that bleached-blonde tramp together. She threw the image out of her head as soon as it popped in there and concentrated on the different, but no less disturbing, sight right in front of her eyes. "That doesn't explain why you're here," she challenged.

"Come now, sis. Haven't you ever sat in 'Daddy's' chair?"

She vividly remembered the one time she had sat behind that desk. When her father discovered her there, he hadn't been angry; instead, he'd expressed pride and an eagerness to see her take that position of power at the Centre one day. She wondered what he'd say if he saw Lyle sitting there, and she realized she didn't want to know the answer.

Her brother shifted in his seat, but not uncomfortably; it was more like he was settling himself more firmly. "Anyway, I have every right to be here. Since he's going to be away for two weeks, our father asked me to run things in his absence, and it's just easier to do some of the work from his office."

He casually tossed out that nugget of information, but from the glint in his eyes, Miss Parker knew he was watching to see how she'd react to the news. Well, she wasn't going to give him the satisfaction. "Good luck with that," she muttered and turned to go.

"Interesting approach you took with Jarod yesterday," he commented.

She closed the doors she was about to go through and turned back around. He didn't appear to be trying to goad her; he had that benign look on his face that she always suspected was a mask, and he was leaning back in the chair, his hands laced comfortably across his stomach. "Figured you were watching," she said.

His pale blue eyes narrowed slightly. "Oh? So was that all just a show for the camera? Or did you really mean what you said?"

"I always mean what I say." She moved behind one of the black leather chairs facing the desk. Not wanting to prolong their chat, she didn't sit, but chose instead to remain standing.

"You were a bit harsh with him, weren't you?"

This from the man who kept Jarod chained like an animal? She gripped the back of the chair and managed to keep her voice even when she said, "Which is just what you wanted, brother, or you wouldn't have let me see him. Sympathy from Sydney hadn't worked, so you thought a different approach might."

Lyle bowed his head slightly in admission.

"Well, maybe my 'tough love' won't change his mind, either," Miss Parker went on, "but I thought it was time he faced reality. I think Jarod has a bit of a God complex, and the fact that his first assignment has literally life or death consequences doesn't help."

"I didn't choose this project," Lyle said mildly. "It came straight from The Triumverate."

"Oh, because they're so concerned with saving the lives of some poor African villagers in their back yard," Miss Parker said.

Her brother took no offense at her sarcasm; in fact, he looked almost proud that she had the nerve to voice aloud the Centre's true motives for assigning Jarod to develop a cure for the virus. Of course, Jarod had figured it out, too, but it didn't take a genius to know that The Triumverate never did anything for purely selfless reasons.

"Jarod's not going to do it, you know." She stated the obvious just to see if she could get Lyle to reveal his next move.

"I truly hope you're wrong," he said soberly. "It would be a real shame for innocent lives to be lost."

A superb performance, but she wondered why he bothered. Lying with ease was a Parker family trait, so he came by it honestly (ironically enough), but Lyle's motives were always tinged with a malevolence that separated him from the rest of the family. Meeting his unflinching gaze, seeing actual compassion there, and knowing it was fake made her insides squirm. She'd had enough.

Miss Parker headed for the door again, throwing her parting words back over her shoulder, "I'm sure you'll figure out a way to make Jarod cooperate, Lyle. After all, you're in charge."

She went straight to her office, glad that the halls were mostly deserted this late on a Friday afternoon. She was fuming inside at this turn of events, and she could only imagine the expression on her face. She wouldn't be held responsible if some hapless Centre employee tried to speak to her at this moment.

The first thing she saw upon entering her office was the bottle of Scotch on her desk with the red bow on it. She approached it hesitantly then recognized her father's hasty scrawl on the envelope propped against the bottle. She ripped it open and read the enclosed note:

Sorry for leaving without saying goodbye, Angel. When Brigitte came up with the idea of the cruise, I couldn't say no. You may think me an old fool, but it's flattering to have the attention of a beautiful young woman.

"Oh, Daddy," Miss Parker sighed.

But I haven't completely lost it. I'm certain she's got some ulterior motive, so I'm being careful. But no reason why I can't have a little fun at the same time.

Miss Parker rolled her eyes.

Now, about your brother… I know you're probably mad as hell that I left him in charge. Couldn't be avoided, what with The Triumverate relying on him for the Pretender project. But I need you to keep an eye on him, Angel, and make sure he behaves himself.

She groaned under her breath.

Just try not to kill each other before I get back.

"Funny, Daddy," she muttered. She crumpled up the note and tossed it in the trash. "At least you knew I'd need a drink right about now," she added, her eyebrows raising when she saw the label on the bottle. "Nice of you to spring for the good stuff."

She poured herself a glass and downed most of it in one gulp. The warm liquid started to soothe away the edges of her irritation, but she knew there wasn't enough Scotch in the world to make her forget the problem named Lyle.

A few hours later the doors to Miss Parker's office opened very slowly and very quietly. He slipped inside the room and closed the doors behind him, quickly but just as quietly.

The only light came from the silver swing-arm lamp which cast a soft glow onto the glass surface of the desk, but he could clearly see she was right where he expected her to be, passed out on the leather settee.

He crossed directly to her. He only wasted a few seconds staring down at her, just to make sure she was truly unconscious, before he got to work. He set the hefty black leather attaché case on the floor and carefully retrieved the red thermos-shaped canister from its depths. His latex-gloved hands swiftly broke the seal and unscrewed the cap. He withdrew a syringe from the canister, rolled up the left sleeve of Miss Parker's burgundy silk blouse and smoothly injected the contents of the hypodermic needle into a vein.

The now-empty syringe was deposited back into the canister, which was returned to the leather case. He allowed a quick sigh of relief now that the trickiest part of this mission was over. Then he rolled her sleeve back down and spared a few more seconds to study her as she rested in peaceful ignorance. He preferred her fierce beauty when she was angry, but he could also appreciate the serene elegance to her face in repose that he recognized from photos of Catherine Parker.

Then he jerked his head slightly, as if to dislodge any lingering sentiment, and proceeded to his next task. He went over to the desk and picked up the bottle of Scotch. One eyebrow arched in surprise as he noted the level of alcohol she'd managed to consume before the drug took effect.

He put the opened bottle in his black bag and pulled out a brand new one of the same expensive label. With a slight wince of regret, he opened it and emptied some of the high-quality Scotch into the potted tree in the corner; he couldn't drink that much and keep a level head, and this was the quickest way to dispose of the excess alcohol.

He placed the bottle on the desk then took one last look around the room. The empty whiskey glass on the end table by the couch caught his eye. Pulling a handkerchief from inside his suit coat, he went over to the glass and wiped the inside clean, making sure no residue of the powerful sedative remained. He tucked the handkerchief away again, picked up the attaché case, and headed for the door.

A quick glance at his watch confirmed he had completed his mission in under ten minutes. He smiled grimly. "If you want something done right…" he murmured.

Lyle stole out of the room as silently as he'd entered, leaving his sister in peaceful slumber.

It would be the last she'd enjoy for quite a while.

Another Monday morning, another day Miss Parker wished she were anywhere but here. As she crossed the main concourse, she felt like she was moving in slow motion, swimming against a tide of bright-eyed, earnest Centre employees, fresh from their relaxing weekends.

Her weekend had been anything but relaxing. It had started badly with that unexpected sleepover Friday night in her office. She still couldn't believe she'd drunk enough to pass out on her couch; the good Scotch from her father must be much more potent than the stuff she usually drank. All she knew was that she'd awakened in the pre-dawn hours, disoriented and groggy, with a crick in her neck and a headache. Then she'd spent all day Saturday nursing what felt like a hangover, but the usual remedies had failed. Consequently, she had stayed at home all weekend, not feeling up to dodging the on and off rain showers that had moved into the area just as predicted.

By yesterday she'd decided she had caught some sort of bug and had gone into recovery mode. She'd tried for cozy, curling up on her couch with a good book, huddling under a fleece throw in front of a blazing fire in her stone fireplace. But the chill from outside still seemed to work its way into her bones. Then she ended up feeling flushed from sitting too close to the fire, the soft blanket got too heavy for her aching joints, and reading only aggravated her headache.

This morning she'd felt no better, but she'd dragged herself to the Centre, mindful of her father's wish that she keep an eye on Lyle. Now she'd finally reached her office. Her hands shook slightly as she unlocked the door, but then she was inside and closing the doors firmly to shut out the irritating hum of humanity in the hall. She leaned back against the frosted glass of her double doors for a moment, feeling the need to catch her breath. But then she suddenly felt unbearably hot in her clammy trench coat, so she quickly deposited her dripping umbrella in the corner and slipped out of her coat, flinging it over the back of a chair. She tucked a few wet strands of hair behind her ears; the wind-driven rain had sprayed her face a few times between the parking lot and the main entrance. She should have parked in the underground garage, but she'd foolishly thought some fresh air after two days of being inside might invigorate her. Instead, she felt sweaty from the coat and chilled from the rain on her cheeks. And under it all, the persistent headache still throbbed.

She'd just settled in her desk chair with a sigh when her doors opened and Broots scurried into her office. "What?" she asked wearily.

Broots had been studying an open file in his hands, but he looked up in response to her lackluster greeting. His normal expression of vague uneasiness sharpened into obvious concern. "Miss Parker, are you alright? You, you don't look well."

"I think-" Her voice sounded too weak, so she cleared her throat and tried again. "I think I have the flu." That was better; her annoyance with her current state of health came through loud and clear.

"Well, why aren't you at home? You should be resting."

"I rested all weekend; it didn't help. Besides, with my father away, someone's got to keep an eye on Lyle." She indicated the folder he was carrying. "What do you have for me?"

Broots hesitated but then laid the folder on her desk. "I finished going over the data from the GPS tracker, and I think I've got Jarod's location pinpointed exactly." He opened the file and spread out some sheets of paper. "I also mapped out a more direct route to his cell in case, um, anyone wants to visit him. I tried to avoid areas where guards or cameras are posted, but with all the extra security Lyle has at the Centre these days, it was impossible to devise a way that would be completely undetected."

As Broots droned on about ways he could fool the surveillance cameras, Miss Parker tried to focus on the computer-generated blueprints in front of her, but the maze of tiny squares and rectangles all started to blur together. She winced as the headache delivered a sharp stab behind her eyes and put a trembling hand to her forehead.

Broots noticed. "Miss Parker, I really think you need to rest," he began.

"What I need is an aspirin," she snapped. "Go get me one."

He blinked rapidly. "I, uh, I don't think you should take aspirin with your history of ulcers," he said uncomfortably.

"So what do you suggest, doctor?"

He paused then offered tentatively, "Maybe a cup of herbal tea?"

"Oh, for God's sake! I'll find my own aspirin." She pushed back her chair and stood up. And had to grab the edge of the desk when the room started to spin.

"Miss Parker!" Broots started towards her.

She quickly put up a hand to stop him; her arm felt like it weighed a ton. "I'm fine, just a little dizzy. I'll be better when I can get rid of this damn headache." Moving carefully, she headed for the door, fighting to stay upright on a floor that seemed to be swaying.

"No, no, you stay here, I'll get you some ibuprofen or something. Why don't you sit down?" He gestured to the sofa.

She was grateful for the suggestion but tried to sound nonchalant as she said, "Okay, I'll wait here. Just don't take all day." Her voice sounded loud in her ears. An overwhelming need to collapse on the couch made her try to move too quickly, and the room spun crazily. She felt a hand on her arm and heard faintly, through the sudden roaring in her ears, "It's, it's okay, Miss Parker, I've got you, I've got you."'

Then everything went black.

Chapter 12

            Jarod spotted several means of escape within the first minute of entering the room.  It was a well-equipped laboratory, complete with various chemicals that when combined could distract or incapacitate the Sweepers standing guard inside and outside the door.  An unexpected bonus was the fact that his leg shackles and handcuffs had been removed.  Lyle must really want him to be unencumbered when working on the antidote for the African virus.

            Of course, he had no intention of doing any such thing.  Jarod absently massaged the tender skin on his wrists as he considered his options.  While it would be simple enough to whip up something – a smokescreen or tear gas – to get him out of this room, successfully escaping the confines of the Centre itself was decidedly more difficult.  He had yet to solve the problem of the “invisible fence” that shocked him when he set foot outside.  Until he could figure out how to neutralize his implant, there was no point in making a break for it.

            He gazed with regret at the myriad of chemicals arrayed on the shelves within the glass-fronted cabinets.  There had to be a way he could still use what was available to him; he just had to figure out what would benefit him most.  Perhaps he could smuggle a small vial of a mace-like substance out of the lab and hide it somewhere in his cell to be used at a more opportune time in the future.  He wondered if the Sweepers would search him when he left this room.

He settled on the stool next to the long stainless steel laboratory table.  Maybe he should “pretend” to work on a cure for the virus but ultimately “fail” to find one.  At least he’d be able to spend some time in a more pleasant environment than his cell.  The added benefit of supposedly working with hazardous materials was that his guards would be leery about getting too close to him, which meant he might just be able to slip a small vial of something in his pocket and have no one find it.  He just had to make sure the ever-vigilant surveillance camera didn’t catch him doing it.

Jarod felt the guilt of his decision not to seek an antidote weigh fresh upon his conscience as he considered faking a search for a cure.  He tried to tell himself that the lives of those innocent men, women, and children half a world away were not his responsibility, that he wasn’t belittling their plight by the sham he was contemplating.  He hoped with all his heart that real virologists with the proper world health agencies would find an antidote soon, an antidote that wouldn’t be sold to the higher bidder as it would be if he were to come up with one.  Ever since Lyle had shown him photos of the victims of the virus he’d seen their faces in his nightmares, heard them calling out to him in his restless slumber.  Jarod knew his decision was the right one, the one that would cause the least deaths in the long run, but he still agonized over it.

The door to the hallway opened.  Jarod glanced up to see Lyle standing there, looking entirely too pleased with himself.  “Ah, good, I see you’re settling in.  What do you think of this new laboratory, Jarod?  The Centre’s research facilities needed updating, and we spared no expense in creating this work space especially for you.”  Lyle sounded as cheerful as he appeared.

Jarod slid off the stool and took a step back from the counter; if Lyle got the urge to zap him, he didn’t want to inadvertently knock over any bottles of chemicals that could cause a toxic reaction if spilled.

“What, no comment?  Doesn’t the lab meet with your approval?” Lyle put on a frown and looked around the room, as if searching for flaws.  Then understanding seemed to dawn.  “You’re right, there is something missing.”  Lyle took a step to the side and called, “Tony!”

The burly Sweeper entered the room, carefully carrying a cylindrical canister with large red warning labels on the side.  His beefy hands shaking slightly, he gently placed the container on the lab table and quickly retreated to the hall.

Lyle gestured grandly at the canister as if he was offering a treasure.  “There you go.  Just what you need to really get started on this project.”

“What’s in there?” Jarod asked in a low voice, fearing he already knew the answer.

“Blood samples from the latest victim of the virus.”

Jarod winced inwardly, knowing that this tangible evidence of the illness would make it all the more difficult for him to refuse to help.  But then he noticed something.  “Are these from Africa?”  The container should have been in a cooler or some sort of refrigerated unit if it had traveled such a distance.

“No, the most recent victim is right here in the United States.”

“The virus has spread?” Jarod asked in alarm.

“Just one case.  And the patient is right here at the Centre where we can keep her isolated from the general population.”

If Lyle had seemed in a good mood when he first entered the lab, by now his demeanor was positively screaming “the cat who swallowed the canary.”  Tiny warning bells started going off inside Jarod’s head.

Lyle looked out in the hall again, this time calling for Willie, who briskly strode into the room with a laptop computer under his arm.  He put it on the lab table, a short distance away from the canister, and took up position in the doorway.  Lyle flipped open the computer, tapped a few keys, and moved out of the way as an image came up on the monitor.

Jarod could see it was the isolation ward in the Centre infirmary.  A cold knot of dread formed in the pit of his stomach as he stepped closer to see the patient who lay in the bed.

It was Miss Parker.

“What have you done?” Jarod cried, rounding furiously on Lyle.

Willie started to step forward, drawing his gun, but Lyle put up a hand to forestall the Sweeper and answered Jarod, “What I had to do to give you the incentive to complete your assignment.”  There was no joy in his voice.

            The knot had become a tightness in his chest, making it hard to breathe and impossible to speak.  He could only stare in disbelief at Lyle, who met his gaze unflinchingly, a cold triumph shining out of his pale blue eyes.

Jarod turned back to the computer and gripped the edges of the screen.  He studied the image of Miss Parker lying motionless in the hospital bed, noticing how her long dark hair stood out in stark contrast to the white linens and her pale, pale face.  “I need to see her,” he managed hoarsely, then quickly added, “to assess her condition.”

“Here are her latest vital statistics.” Lyle placed a file on the lab counter.  “You’ll be given regular updates, but you need to stay here.  Your place is in the lab.”

Jarod felt his jaw clench as he bit back a curse.  “I’m not a virologist,” he said.

“But you can be.” Lyle sounded unconcerned.

The difficulty of the task and the very real possibility that he could fail washed over him, leaving him feeling swamped by hopelessness.  “There’s no guarantee that I’ll be able to find a cure,” he said desperately.  “Experts in medical research can spend years trying to find a viable treatment for diseases.”

“Then you’d better get started, hadn’t you?  We’ll leave you to it.  Willie?”

The Sweeper stepped up to the lab table and wrested the computer from Jarod’s white-knuckled grasp.  He snapped the lid closed and backed away, keeping a wary eye on the Pretender.

Jarod couldn’t have made a sudden move if he wanted to.  He felt numb.  His eyes fell upon the canister holding the infected blood samples.  Her blood.  This was real.  If he didn’t find an antidote, Miss Parker would die.

He’d known Lyle was a killer, but he’d never expected this.  He whirled to face the psychopath.  “Damn it, Lyle,” Jarod rasped.  “she’s your sister!”

Lyle paused in the doorway to look back.  “It doesn’t matter what she is to me,” he said coolly.  “What’s important is what she is to you.”

Everything.

That one word blazed through his mind like a comet and rocketed straight to his heart.  Jarod had to grab the edge of the lab table to steady himself, but he knew his world had just shifted forever.

This was all wrong.

She should have been striding into the tech lab and demanding that he perform some complicated computer search that would take forever but that she wanted done instantly, which of course, he’d manage by some small miracle to accomplish.  She should have been cornering him in the hallway and coercing him to risk life and limb by breaking into someone’s office, which, again, he’d somehow manage to do successfully.  Or she should have been mercilessly teasing him about being too timid, too nerdy, too bald.

She should not be lying in a bed in the Centre infirmary, in isolation where only medical personnel could get to her.  She should not be hooked up to bags of medicine and monitors that beeped with every beat of her heart.  She should not be… dying.

No!  No, no, she wasn’t dying, she couldn’t be dying.  She was strong, she was fearless, she was a force of nature, she was… well, she was…Miss Parker.  And she had to survive.  She just had to!

She was going to be fine, everything was going to be fine, because… well, because… Jarod!  Jarod would find an antidote and save the day and save Miss Parker and everything would be okay again.  He would save her, right?  He was a genius, if anyone could find a cure, it would be Jarod.  He’d find a cure, he would, he would, he had to, right?  He had to!

“Don’t worry, Broots, Jarod will discover an antidote.”

Sydney’s response startled him, not only because he wasn’t aware he’d voiced his fears aloud (or had the astute psychiatrist read his mind?) but also because he’d almost forgotten he wasn’t alone in the observation gallery overlooking the isolation ward of the infirmary.  Both of them had been standing in silence for some time, lost in their own thoughts as they stared down at their co-worker and friend.

Friend.  He wanted her to be more than just a friend, but he knew Miss Parker didn’t feel that way about him, and who could blame her?  He tried to console himself with the fact that workplace romances rarely succeeded.

Whatever their relationship, she was an important part of his life, and he couldn’t stand the thought of losing her.  Did Sydney truly believe his calm assertion that Jarod would come up with a cure?  Psychiatrists were trained to maintain a serene demeanor, especially around their patients, so Broots wondered if his cool and collected façade was just for his benefit.  Well, he didn’t want to be coddled.  This was too important.  He needed to know the truth.

Broots cleared his throat.  “Well, um, Jarod’s been in the research lab for two straight days now.”

“Mm, yes.”  Sydney nodded thoughtfully, still gazing down at Miss Parker.  “These things take time, Broots.”

“Oh, I know, I mean, of course they do, if it was easy to find cures, there’d be no disease, right?”  He laughed weakly.  “But, um, it’s just that Miss Parker keeps getting worse, and I know some of those poor people in Africa have already died, and we don’t know exactly how long Miss Parker has had the virus so we can’t know how long she has left, so-”

Sydney turned to look at him.  “Breathe, Broots, breathe.”

“Oh!  Yeah, okay.”  He took a shuddering breath and let it out slowly, trying to remember the anti-anxiety techniques Sydney had taught him.  Breathe in through your nose, hold it, then let it out slowly through your mouth.  The part about holding it was very important; otherwise, he could breathe in and out too fast and hyperventilate.  Been there, done that, didn’t want to do it again.

After he had done the breathing sequence three times, he felt slightly more calm.  Enough so to ask, as coherently as possible, “What if Jarod can’t find an antidote in time to save Miss Parker?” He wasn’t sure if he wanted an honest answer or one meant to make him feel better.

Sydney studied him for a moment, as if uncertain himself which answer to give.  Finally, he said, “Let’s not think about that right now, Broots.  Let’s try to focus on the positive, shall we?”

So, he wasn’t going to give him an answer.  Instead, he was pulling a typical evasive maneuver favored by shrinks – answering a question with a question, like when a patient asks “how should I feel about this?” and the response they get is “how do you feel?”  Broots was a little disappointed that Sydney would resort to tricks of the trade at this time, but he figured he’d cut him some slack since he cared about Miss Parker, too, and was also probably having a hard time coming to terms with her illness.

Okay, focus on the positive.  The positive, the positive.  Broots thought for what seemed like an eternity before he was positive he couldn’t think of one good thing about this situation.  He must have looked stricken, because Sydney took pity on him and supplied, “First, Miss Parker is young and healthy and a fighter – all things that work in her favor in battling this virus.”

An image of Miss Parker clad in black leather armor with a sword in her hand flashed through Broots’ mind.  If the disease had been a person, he knew she would have kicked its butt by now.

“Second,” Sydney continued, “she’s receiving the best care possible here at the Centre.”

Broots fidgeted, tugging at the collar of his regrettably pink shirt that was the end result of his daughter Debbie’s first attempt to do the laundry (how he wished Miss Parker was here to make some acerbic remark about his attire), and tried in vain to squelch the feeling of guilt welling up inside him. 

Sydney noticed.  “What is it, Broots?”

“Well, um, I wonder if, that is, if I made the right decision in bringing Miss Parker here, to the Centre infirmary, and not taking her to a regular hospital,” he said miserably.  When she’d collapsed in her office on Monday morning, he’d panicked – of course – and yelled for help.  Sam had shown up and carried her to the infirmary.  How he wished he’d called 9-1-1 instead and gotten real paramedics involved.  He knew the cardinal rule of keeping Centre business internal, but this was Miss Parker’s life! 

“No, you did the right thing, Broots.  We can’t risk infecting the general population with this virus.  It’s much easier to contain it here.”

Broots cast a furtive glance around the room, which amazingly had no security cameras in it, before leaning close to Sydney and saying quietly, “And easier to contain the fact that Lyle was the one who brought the virus here from Africa.  He infected his own sister!”  He was still speaking in low tones, but he couldn’t keep the hysterical edge from his voice.

“We don’t know that for certain,” Sydney soothed.

“How else could she have gotten it?”  Broots found himself shaking with impotent fury, wishing he had the guts to confront Lyle with what he’d done.   Breathe in, hold, breathe out.

“Lyle is a very disturbed individual,” Sydney acknowledged.

Disturbed?  Disturbed?  What about insane, psychotic, evil?  Sydney’s understated, analytical manner was really starting to tick him off.  This was Miss Parker they were talking about!  Couldn’t Sydney at least show a little emotion?

Again, Sydney seemed to sense what Broots was feeling.  “I know it’s very upsetting to think that Lyle is capable of doing something so heinous to his own sister, but dwelling on his actions will do nothing to help Miss Parker.  What’s done is done.  We need to focus all our energy on helping her get better.”

He knew what Sydney said made sense, but it just made Broots feel more inadequate than ever.  “But how can I help her?” he moaned.  “I’m not a doctor or a scientist.”

“You’re her friend,” Sydney pointed out kindly.  “She’ll need a true friend during her recovery.”

“If she recovers,” Broots murmured and instantly hated himself for voicing his fears aloud, as if just putting that thought out in the universe would give it power. 

Just then an alarm sounded in the room below them.  No!  I didn’t mean it, I didn’t mean it, Broots thought frantically as he stepped close to the glass window to get a better view of what was happening.  He saw a nurse hurry into the isolation area and go over to Miss Parker’s bed.  She fiddled with something on her patient’s hand, and the obnoxious beeping returned to its monotonous pattern. 

Broots felt his own heart slowly return to its normal rhythm.  Breathe in, hold, breathe out. He heard a loud exhale near his ear and realized that Sydney had joined him by the window.  “Her pulse-ox monitor must have slipped off her finger,” the older man said quietly.  The slight tremor in his voice revealed his relief.  Broots felt oddly comforted that even Sydney couldn’t completely cover up his emotions at this moment.

As he watched, the nurse checked Miss Parker’s IV bag then left the room.  Broots wanted to call her back, ask her to stay with her patient a little while longer.  “I wish they’d let us in to see her,” he said.  “She shouldn’t be alone right now.  No one should be alone at a time like this.”  The feeling of déjà vu came from a real memory; those were the exact words he’d said a few years ago when Miss Parker had been recovering from emergency surgery for a perforated ulcer.  He’d been thankful then that he’d had the chance to sit with her and tell her how much she meant to him, even though she’d been unconscious and never heard a word he said (which is probably why he’d had the courage to reveal his feelings).

But right now he’d muster that courage again if only she would wake up and look at him with those deep blue eyes.  He’d tell her how important she was to him, how much he needed her in his life – and he wouldn’t care if she laughed in his face.  He just wanted his Miss Parker back.

“What can we do, Syd?” he whispered helplessly, reaching out to lightly touch the window and wishing she could somehow sense that he was there watching over her.  Then he let his hand fall back to his side as he realized the futility of it all.

He felt Sydney’s hand on his shoulder.  “There is something you can do, Broots,” he said.  “I need to talk to Jarod in private, and I could use someone with your technical expertise to make that happen.  Can you help me?”

Broots stood a little straighter as ways to fool the security cameras started to form in his brain.  He busily sorted through the possibilities until one clicked.  “I can do that,” he breathed.

Sydney checked his watch as he hurried towards the sim lab.  For Broots’ plan to work, he had to be in place at exactly the right moment.  As he neared the cavernous room, he was glad to see that Jarod was already there.  He wasn’t happy to see that his former pupil was pacing back and forth in a highly agitated state.

Sydney quickened his pace as he descended the metal stairs from the elevated walkway.

Jarod rounded on him instantly.  “Why have you brought me here?” he shouted.  “I should be in the research lab!”

Sydney came to a sudden halt as if he’d run into a wall.  Sam started towards Jarod, his hand going to his gun.

He waved him back.  “Jarod, you’ve been in that lab for forty-eight hours straight.  You need a break,” he said in as reasonable a tone as he could muster, hoping to defuse the powder keg that was getting ready to blow right in front of him.

Jarod lowered his voice, but it still shook with intensity as he replied, “I don’t get a break.  Miss Parker is running out of time!”

It was just as he’d feared.  Jarod’s emotions were out of control.  Sydney knew he needed to get him back on an even keel – and fast – or he wouldn’t have a clear enough head to create an antidote for the lethal virus.

“When was the last time you ate?  Or slept?” he added, observing the shadows lurking under Jarod’s eyes and the dark stubble covering the lower half of his face.

“I’m fine,” Jarod said dismissively, but he seemed to be holding himself upright through sheer force of will.  With his hands cuffed as usual, maintaining his balance must have been even more difficult.

“You need rest,” Sydney insisted.

Jarod shook his head.  “I need to get back to the lab.”

“Not until we’ve had a chance to talk.  Sit down, Jarod.”  He gestured to a chair at the table.  When Jarod didn’t move, Sydney added reluctantly, “Should I ask Sam to help you sit?”

Jarod’s eyes widened slightly at this unexpected betrayal, but the implied threat had the desired effect; he stiffly, but obediently, sat down.  His clenched, cuffed hands on the table showed that he hadn’t relaxed.  “So, are you going to tell me why you felt it necessary to pull me away from my critical research?” he asked sullenly.

Sydney pulled a piece of paper from the inside pocket of his gray tweed blazer and placed it in front of Jarod.  “Miss Parker’s latest vitals,” he said, then took a seat across the table and checked his watch one more time.  Good, they were in place right when they needed to be.

Jarod had eagerly perused the sheet of paper, and now he looked up, his brow creased in confusion – no doubt by what he’d read: BROOTS IS LOOPING THE CAMERA FEED. WE HAVE FIVE MINUTES TO SPEAK WITHOUT BEING RECORDED.

“Starting now,” Sydney confirmed quietly with a nod.

Jarod studied the note thoughtfully.  “I wondered why I only had one guard, and it’s not Willie.”

“Sam is loyal to Miss Parker, and he wants what’s best for her.”

“Really?  And how is having a private chat with you going to help Miss Parker?”

Sydney was jolted by the cynicism in Jarod’s voice, but he kept his own tone mild as he replied, “I’m here to help you, Jarod.”

“Oh?  Unless you can magically produce another piece of paper with a cure for the virus neatly outlined on it, I don’t see how you can be any help to me.”

“I’m not a virologist.”

“Neither am I!” Jarod responded with another flare of emotion, crumpling the paper in front of him into a tiny ball.

“But you can be.”  Sydney recalled a “pretend” from Jarod’s first year out in the world and added, “In fact, you have been.”

“But I wasn’t at that infectious disease lab to do any actual research. The only discovery I made was that the missing virologist had been killed by his colleague.  I certainly never made a scientific breakthrough, just found another example of what man is capable of doing to his fellow man.”  There was an infinite weariness in his voice.

“But you are capable of doing good, Jarod, in so many ways.  Medical research is just one of your talents.  After all, you were the one who developed the treatment for my brother Jacob that helped bring him out of his coma.”

Looking off into the middle distance, Jarod didn’t respond.

Sydney was growing more concerned.  Yes, he’d hoped that turning off the cameras for a few minutes would encourage Jarod to let down his guard a bit, but these swings of emotion he was seeing were disturbing.  He had to help Jarod regain control.

He thought back to the times many years ago when he had to coax a brooding, teenage Jarod out of a funk so that he could complete an assignment.  Would the same method work?

“Jarod, do you remember what I used to tell you as a boy when you felt overwhelmed?”

The adult Jarod shifted his eyes slightly to give him a dull stare.

“Work the sim, Jarod, work the sim,” Sydney said with intensity.

That got a reaction.  “This isn’t a simulation, Sydney!  This is real!”  He looked down at the table and added, almost to himself, “As real as it gets.”

“And why is that a problem?  I once believed you were never meant for the outside world, but I was wrong.  You’ve been out in the real world for several years now, working “without a net,” as it were.  And you’ve made a positive difference in the lives of many people.”

“This is different!”

“How?” Sydney pressed.

“Those people weren’t – I didn’t know them like – They were just names, faces, stories in the newspaper.”

“Something about their stories made you care enough to want to help them.  On some level, you got emotionally involved.”

“But not like this!  This – this is Miss Parker!”  Jarod made an inarticulate sound of frustration and stood up.

Just say it, Jarod, Sydney silently urged.  Tell me how you really feel about her.

Jarod began to pace back and forth.  Sydney had to struggle to maintain a clinical calmness in the presence of so much desperation.  “Would it have been better if Lyle had never told you that was Miss Parker’s blood sample?” he asked.  “If he’d let you believe it was from one of those African villagers?”

“No!”  Jarod stopped pacing and turned a horrified gaze on his former teacher.  “Then I wouldn’t have even tried.  I was planning to “pretend” to search for a vaccine but eventually fail to find one.”  He let out a sound halfway between a laugh and a sob.  “How’s that for irony?  Now I could really fail to discover a cure.  Only it won’t just be some nameless strangers half a world away who die, it will also be Miss Parker, right here in the Centre infirmary where I can watch it happen in excruciating detail.”  He swallowed hard as his gaze seemed to turn inward.

 “Jarod!” Sydney spoke sharply to snap his protégé out of it.  “Thinking like that is not productive.”

Jarod came back to the here and now, but he was obviously not in a better place as he cried, “Nothing I’m doing is productive!  As you said, I’ve been in that lab for forty-eight hours straight and I haven’t come up with anything that will work to stop or even slow down this virus!  I don’t know if I can do this, Sydney!”  The look in his eyes was wild and desperate.

Sydney quickly stood and placed his hands on Jarod’s shoulders in a clumsy attempt to comfort him.  “Jarod, try to calm down,” he said in as soothing a tone as he could muster.  It was not easy.  His own nerves were jangling just from being in such close proximity to such extreme emotions – nothing new for a psychiatrist, but the source of these emotions was surprising.  Jarod usually could contain his feelings. 

But not right now.  In a broken voice he said, “Sydney, I also remember what you told me to do as a boy when a simulation became too frightening…” He swallowed hard.  “You said all I had to do was use the code word ‘refuge’ and you’d make it stop.”  He paused again then said in a tone so low it was barely audible, “But there is no refuge for me this time, is there?”

Sydney couldn’t speak past the lump in his throat.  He took a deep breath and let it out in a long, shuddering sigh, trying to regain his composure.

He had to say something.  “You need to remain objective while you’re looking for the cure,” he finally suggested.  “Stay focused on the task at hand and try not to think about Miss Parker and the other people infected with the virus.  You know that doctors need to maintain an emotional distance from their patients to be effective…”  His voice trailed off as he saw that he was not getting through to Jarod.  His former pupil still looked lost, a mute plea for help in his brown eyes. 

And he suddenly morphed into young Jarod, the innocent boy who would willingly look to his teacher for advice.  The ghosts of the past hovered near the surface in this room where so much pain – simulated and real – had been expressed – or more often suppressed - over the years.  Now, as then, Sydney felt ill-equipped to offer comfort to this incredible person he’d had the honor to raise. 

While briefly a prisoner of the Centre, Major Charles – Jarod’s father – had thanked Sydney for helping Jarod become the man he was.  But Sydney was amazed by the capacity Jarod had to show compassion.  He’d tried to teach young Jarod right from wrong, but he’d been careful to remain detached from his student, offering lessons in place of love.  Yet somehow, even without the nurturing care of a family in his formative years, Jarod had grown into a caring, thoughtful man who devoted his life to helping people.  Sydney knew he couldn’t take credit for that. 

And here he was, trying to get Jarod to suppress those very emotions that made him the extraordinary man he was today.  Sydney suddenly realized how very wrong that was.  Yes, doctors needed to stay detached, but the best physicians were the ones who cared about their patients and treated them with compassion and respect.  The trick was in keeping the balance.  If anyone could do that, Jarod could.  In fact, he’d been doing something similar for years – helping people but remaining distant so that he could quickly move on (a necessity while on the run from the Centre).  His feelings weren’t a hindrance; they were an integral part of what made Jarod so effective at what he did.

Unless he allowed himself to be overwhelmed by them.  Sydney knew that every day of his life on the run was a strain on Jarod’s psyche, and the last few weeks had been especially traumatic.  To be captured, thrown into solitary confinement, physically restrained for days on end, then given an impossible assignment that would cause a tremendous amount of guilt no matter what he did – all of these factors had coalesced to create Jarod’s current precarious emotional state.  And then to be put into the position of having to save Miss Parker, a woman who he – well, a woman about whom he had unresolved feelings…

Sydney could feel Jarod’s muscles tightening under his hands as if he was preparing to pull away.  “Jarod, forget what I just said,” he declared, earning a startled look from the younger man.  He’d surprised himself, as well, and continued, certain he was on the right track with this new way of thinking.

“You can’t shut off your emotions, and I shouldn’t ask you to.  Your feelings fuel everything you do – from helping complete strangers to continuing your quest to find your family.”  He paused.  “You’ve even helped those of us at the Centre who don’t deserve your compassion.  You saved Broots’ life, you helped my brother Jacob and saved my son Nicholas, and you even helped Miss Parker save her father when Brigitte was ordered to kill him.  And it’s all because you care!”

Jarod wouldn’t meet his eyes.  “Compassion won’t find help me find a cure for this virus,” he said bitterly, his lip curling in disgust.

“Your emotions are not a weakness, Jarod,” Sydney insisted.  “As long as you don’t let them overwhelm you, you use them to give you purpose, energize you.”  He felt some of the tension leave Jarod’s shoulders and knew he was finally getting through to him.  “You are a genius, yes, but the strength of your heart matches that of your mind and makes you capable of accomplishing anything!”  Sydney gave Jarod a little shake for final emphasis then dropped his hands, feeling suddenly drained after the intensity of the last few moments.

The last few moments!  Sydney checked his watch and saw their window was about to close.  He took his seat at the table and urged, “Jarod, sit down.  The cameras are about to go live again and we need to be in the same positions we were before.”

Thankfully, Jarod complied immediately and even smoothed out the crumpled note so that it wouldn’t appear different.  Sydney was glad to see him thinking clearly enough to remember that detail.

As the final seconds ticked away, Jarod said, “Please thank Broots for giving us this chance to talk off camera.  It feels good knowing that not everything I say and do will be analyzed.”  Then a small smile twitched at the corners of his mouth.  “Except by the shrink I’m talking to.”

Sydney felt a tremendous sense of relief that Jarod seemed to have regained his equilibrium.  He looked at his watch once more.  “Time’s up,” he reported quietly.

And hoped with all his heart that Jarod would now be able to somehow find a way to prevent that from being true for Miss Parker.

Chapter 13

Jarod raced into the infirmary.  “I’ve got it!” he exclaimed.

Of the group gathered around the bed, Lyle was the first to turn and face him.  “You’re too late,” he said grimly.  His maroon shirt and matching tie appeared a deep blood red under the fluorescent lights.

“But I have the antidote,” Jarod said.  “It’s right here, see?”  He held up a syringe.

Broots was standing at the foot of the bed.  He turned around now, slowly, his face ashen.  “I thought you could do anything, Jarod.  How could you let her down?” he moaned, wringing his hands.

“What are you talking about?” Jarod sought out Sydney, as he usually did when he was scared and confused.  He spotted him sitting in the corner, reading the newspaper.  “What’s happened, Sydney?”

“Quite a legacy you’ve left, Jarod,” Sydney commented casually from behind the paper.  The headlines screamed: MYSTERIOUS VIRUS SPREADS, KILLS HUNDREDS.

“No,” Jarod said.  “I found the cure.  I can save those people.  I can save Miss Parker!”

Lyle turned back to the bed.  “Poor sis,” he said, shaking his head.  “She believed in you.  Guess you’re not the genius we all thought you were.  The Triumverate will be so disappointed.”

 “Why aren’t you listening to me?” Jarod shouted desperately, waving the syringe in the air.  “Here’s the antidote!  Let me give it to her!”

Broots shuffled out of the way, allowing Jarod a clear view of the bed and the form completely covered in a white sheet.

            Jarod approached the bed on trembling legs.  “No,” he whispered, “she’s not, she’s not…”

            “Dead?” The shrouded figure sat straight up in bed, the sheet falling away to reveal Miss Parker, her eyes huge and sunken in, her mouth an angry red slash in her pale, pale face.  “Yes, I am, Boy Wonder, and it’s all your fault.  You just couldn’t do the assignment when Lyle first asked you to, could you?  You and your damn moral code!” she sneered.

            “It’s not my fault,” Jarod protested, trying to get to her side but being restrained by Willie and Tony.  He struggled in vain.  “Let me go!  I can save her!”

            As he watched helplessly, Miss Parker’s eyes shut and she fell slowly back in the bed.  Lyle covered her face with the sheet.  “Too late, Jarod,” he intoned, turning a cold smile his way.  “You’re too late.”

            “NO!”

            Jarod awoke in a cold sweat, choking on the scream from his nightmare.  He forced himself to lie still while his racing heart slowed.  As usual, he was lying on his side, his back to the camera; he didn’t want recordings of his facial expressions when his nightly demons visited him in his sleep.

            He wondered what time it was.  His cell was still dark, except for the faint illumination that shone through the viewing slot in the door (left open overnight to provide enough light for the camera to clearly pick up his movements and to make him wonder if the guards in the hall spied on him while he slept) which meant it was not yet morning.  The fluorescent lights in his cell came on every day at 6 a.m. without fail.  Fine with him, since he’d never enjoyed too much time spent in the dark.

            It felt like the middle of the night.  He was amazed he’d been able to fall asleep at all, but the exhaustion of working four days straight in the lab must have finally caught up with him.  He’d had a breakthrough late yesterday morning and had checked and re-checked the results before he sent the medicine to the infirmary.  He’d wanted to administer it to Miss Parker himself, but of course, his request had been denied.  Instead, he’d been brought back to his cell and left to wonder.  Thankfully, his restraints had been left off, so he’d been able to work off some of the nervous energy by pacing, doing push-ups, sit-ups, yoga, and any other exercises that would help purge the body and clear the mind.

            It hadn’t worked.  His body may finally have succumbed to sleep, but his fears had followed him into his dreams.  He was 99 percent sure that the drug he’d developed would work to eradicate the virus from its victims’ systems, but it was that one percent of uncertainty that plagued him.  It had to work, it had to!

            She couldn’t die.  Not now, not when he’d finally realized just how much she meant to him.

            He couldn’t lie still a second longer.  Keeping his expression neutral, he rolled over and sat up, swinging his legs over the side of the cot.  He still felt muzzy from interrupted sleep, so he went over to his small sink and started to splash cold water on his face.

            The fluorescent lights hummed to life and the door to his cell opened.

            Jarod turned quickly, water dripping from his chin, to find Lyle standing in the doorway.  Even at this hour, he was impeccably dressed in a coat and tie – his usual maroon to match the glove on his deformed left hand – and looked like the embodiment of corporate America.  “Trouble sleeping, Jarod?” he inquired pleasantly.

            Jarod swiped his wet bangs out of his eyes.  “I notice you’re not home in bed.”

            “I was awakened by an urgent call from the infirmary, telling me I was needed there at once.”

            Jarod’s mouth went dry.  “Miss Parker?” he managed to get out.  “The doctors gave her the antidote?”

            “Yes,” Lyle replied then said no more.  He stared at Jarod, his boyish face a smooth mask giving nothing away.

            The bastard was going to make him ask.  Even through the overpowering worry for Miss Parker, Jarod felt the familiar stirring of disgust and hatred for the man who stood before him.  It took all of his self-control to keep the anger out of his voice as he said, “And?  How is she?”  He wondered if his foe could hear the thudding of his heart as he waited for an answer.

            Lyle surely knew exactly how he felt, which was probably why he waited an agonizing beat longer before he finally said, “She’s better.  The drug you developed worked.  The doctors expect her to make a full recovery.”

            It worked.  Jarod had to lean back against the sink as his legs threatened to give way.

            “Congratulations, Jarod,” Lyle went on grudgingly.  “The Triumverate is pleased.  You’ve been given a short reprieve before your next assignment.  I suggest you get some rest.”  He turned to go then looked back, a tight smile on his face.  “I knew you could do it.  Given the proper motivation, that is.”  He sauntered into the hall and closed the door heavily behind him.

            Jarod let out a breath he felt like he’d been holding for five days - half-sigh and half-sob – and sank down on the edge of the cot, suddenly woozy from the intense feeling of relief that washed over him.  He buried his face in his hands and didn’t care that the camera was capturing his reaction.  All that mattered was that Miss Parker was going to be alright.

            The first thing she heard was a loud beeping that increased in speed as she came fully awake.  Miss Parker opened her eyes then immediately shut them against the glare of the overhead lights.

            “Miss Parker!  Miss Parker?  Sydney, I think she’s awake, I saw her open her eyes.”

            “Miss Parker, can you hear me?” Sydney’s calm, cultured tone was usually preferable to Broots’ nervous jabber, but even the voice of her distinguished colleague echoed uncomfortably in her throbbing head today.

            She groaned and forced her eyes open again.  Blinking rapidly to clear away the bleariness, she looked to her left and slowly brought Sydney’s face into focus.  Broots was hovering right behind him, wearing a matching look of concern.

            “Where -?” she started and stopped when barely a croak came out of a throat that suddenly felt like it was on fire.

            “You’re in the Centre infirmary,” Sydney supplied helpfully.  “Your throat is sore, because the doctors had to intubate when you had difficulty breathing.”

            She swallowed to ease the sandpaper roughness.  “How long have I been here?” she managed in a slightly stronger voice.

            “Six days,” Sydney said.  “You’ve been very ill, Miss Parker.”

            He didn’t need to tell her that.  Although she couldn’t remember the last few days, her body was sending her all sorts of signals that it had been through the wringer.  Wait, maybe she did remember something.  “I had the flu?” she asked.

            “You didn’t have the flu,” Sydney said but seemed reluctant to explain further.

            Well, that was sort of good news.  She didn’t like to think she’d totally collapse from something as mundane as the flu.  She was made of tougher stuff.  The only things that landed her in the hospital were getting shot and… “I didn’t get another ulcer, did I?” 

            “Uh, no,” Broots said.  He and Sydney exchanged cryptic glances.

            “What?” she demanded.  Or tried to; it came out sounding like a petulant squawk.

            Sydney pulled a chair close to her bed and sat down.  He looked at her with his psychiatrist face and seemed to take a moment to choose his words.

            Oh, this couldn’t be good.  “Just tell me, Sydney,” she said as forcefully as she could.  “What’s wrong with me?”

            “You contracted the African virus,” he said.

            Her mind was blank.  As she tried to figure out what he was talking about, Broots put in quickly, “But the good news is that Jarod developed an antidote which the doctors gave you yesterday and you’re already much better, so they said you’re going to be just fine!”

            She knew the desperate cheer with which he’d delivered that information was supposed to comfort her, but she was still stuck on the cause for her present condition.  Jarod, he’d mentioned Jarod.  She focused on Sydney’s face.  “The African virus,” she repeated slowly, as understanding dawned.  “The project assigned to Jarod.”

            Sydney nodded.

            But that didn’t make any sense, because… “But Jarod refused to do that assignment,” she said.  “He was afraid the Triumverate would take his work and use it to hurt innocent people.”  She coughed then winced from the stab of pain in her throat.

            “I’ll get you some water,” Broots said and hurried from the room.

            Miss Parker kept her eyes locked on Sydney’s.  “Broots said Jarod created an antidote.  Why would Jarod give the Centre what they wanted?”

            “To save you,” Sydney said simply.

            She still felt foggy, so she wasn’t sure she’d heard correctly.

            Her doubt must have shown on her face, because Sydney leaned closer and continued, “As soon as Jarod learned you had been infected with the virus, he began to search for a cure.  He worked tirelessly in the lab until he succeeded.  Thank God, it was in time.”  He gently squeezed her hand.  “Parker, he wasn’t going to let you die,” he added quietly.

            She wasn’t sure what she should feel about that.  She looked away, not willing to let her friend the shrink read something in her eyes she’d rather not share. 

But what would be in her eyes other than gratitude to Jarod for being … well, Jarod?  It wasn’t like he hadn’t saved her life before.  There’d been that time in Florida with the creep in the hurricane.  Then a couple of years ago when Raines’ sniper had shot her by accident, Jarod had sacrificed his chance to escape with his father and clone so he could get her to a hospital (instead he’d been captured and brought back to the Centre).  It was what he did.  He always had to be the hero – albeit the anonymous superhero most of the time – no matter the risk or cost to himself.  Not that she’d consider herself one of the “weak and abused” he liked to help, but Jarod was stuck on the notion that she’d been as much a prisoner of the Centre as a child as he’d been.   

            She shouldn’t be feeling anything other than the usual mixture of appreciation for his help and annoyance that she’d been in need of his help in the first place.  So why did this time seem different?  Sydney holding her hand while he told her how hard Jarod had worked to save her just added a level of intensity that wasn’t warranted.  Why was he trying to make this more than it was?

            Miss Parker pulled her hand away.  Sydney looked slightly startled but sat back in his chair without comment. 

            Broots came back into the room.  “The nurse said you could only have ice chips,” he said, sounding apologetic, “but I think they should feel good on your throat.”  He came up to the head of the bed on her right side and stood there uncertainly, a styrofoam cup with a spoon in it in his hand.

            Miss Parker had the horrifying thought that he might actually be contemplating feeding her.  “Give me that!”  She snatched the cup from his hand and immediately wished she hadn’t.  The sight of her own too pale and too thin arm had shocked her, as had the fact that it felt like she was lifting a ton of weights just to reach out and take a paper cup.  She forced herself to put a spoonful of ice chips into her mouth as if nothing was wrong.  “Thank you,” she said belatedly, grateful for the soothing coolness on her raw throat.

            Broots nodded and retrieved the cup from her hand (which she hoped wasn’t shaking from exertion), which he placed on the swivel table  inconveniently placed out of reach at the foot of her bed.  That was fine; she didn’t think she had the strength to feed herself any more ice right now.  All she wanted to do was close her eyes and drift into a dreamless sleep where she didn’t have to think about deadly viruses or why she’d been saved or how she’d gotten infected in the first place…

            Suddenly wide awake, she asked, “How the hell did I get this damn virus anyway?”

            Sydney and Broots exchanged looks over her bed, making her want to scream.  She chose to give her throat a break and settled for shooting a silent glare at, first, Sydney then Broots.  The techie wouldn’t meet her eyes, so she gave Sydney the full brunt of her annoyance.

            He sighed but then leaned closer.  “We’re not certain,” he said quietly, “but we think Lyle…”

            “I’m glad to see you’re finally awake, sis!”

            Sydney scraped his chair back from the bed and stood up, Broots looked like he wanted to bolt, and Miss Parker’s headache started throbbing anew as Lyle strode into the room.  He walked straight up to the bed and gave her an awkward, brotherly peck on the cheek.  “The doctors told me yesterday that you were out of the woods, but I wouldn’t believe it until I saw those big blue eyes of yours glaring up at me,” he said.

            Miss Parker narrowed her blue eyes at him, seething from the kiss he’d dared to give her.  Why the need for the show of brotherly support; everyone in the room knew they couldn’t stand each other.

            “It looked pretty grim there for a few days,” Lyle went on, “but I always knew you’d pull through.  After all, you have the Parker fighting spirit.”

            God, he sounded like her… “Where’s my father?” she asked suddenly.

            “Our father is still on his cruise,” Lyle answered.  “I tried to reach him on his cell, but he didn’t pick up and he hasn’t returned my messages.  Maybe the batteries are dead or he’s just having too good of a time to check his phone.”

            “Since this was a family emergency, I’m certain the cruise line would have put you in contact with ship personnel to pass word to Mr. Parker,” Sydney said.

            Lyle didn’t turn around.  He sighed and looked slightly annoyed as he said, “I’m certain they would have, Sydney, but I confess I wasn’t in a hurry to give my father bad news.  I wanted to be able to give him a more definite prognosis when I finally got in touch with him. But now that Parker here is going to make a full recovery,” he smiled down at his sister, “I don’t think there’s any need for him to rush home, do you?  Let him enjoy the rest of his vacation.”

            Much as she hated to admit it, Lyle was probably right.  She was too tired to deal with one more person hovering by her bedside.

            He seemed to read her mind.  “Well, you need your rest, and this room is a little crowded.”  He sent a pointed look at Broots and then headed for the door.  “I’ll just get out of your way…”

            “Wait!”  Her hoarse command stopped Lyle in his tracks.  He stopped at the foot of her bed and looked back expectantly.

            She had to know.  “How did I get infected with this virus?”

            She heard Broots’ sharp intake of breath and saw Sydney raise an eyebrow in mute admiration of her direct approach.

            Lyle didn’t flinch.  “It was all my fault,” he said.

            Miss Parker felt her eyes widen, and the monitor announced the quickening of her heartbeat.  Was her brother actually confessing to exposing her to a deadly virus?

            Lyle stepped closer but still stayed out of reach, she noted.  “It was Friday a week ago when you stopped by our father’s office.  You didn’t realize he’d gone on vacation and left me in charge.  You weren’t too pleased to find me at his desk, but you were interested in the shipment I’d just received from Africa.  It was blood samples from some of the virus’ victims.  I had just unpacked the canister when I was called out of the room by my secretary.”  He paused and looked down at the floor, shaking his head.  “I don’t exactly know what happened.  Maybe you wanted to inspect the contents for yourself.  The seal on one of the vials must have been broken.  The virus isn’t airborne, so maybe you had a cut on your hand and somehow the infected blood mixed with yours.  I just don’t know.” 

He looked up again and spread his hands in apology.  “I’m truly sorry, sis.  I didn’t even know you’d been infected until Monday when Broots took you to the infirmary after you collapsed.  When the doctors confirmed the presence of the virus in your system, I was horrified. Because of my carelessness, your life was put in jeopardy.”

Miss Parker stared at him.  Everything about his demeanor screamed sincere remorse: the sorrowful look in his pale blue eyes, the dejected slump of his shoulders, his serious tone.  Yet she didn’t for one minute believe a word that he’d said.  The virus may have robbed her of any clear memories of the past week, but she knew – as he did – that she’d never be stupid enough to handle potentially hazardous substances.  For whose benefit had he created this tale?  His story was lame, but she could tell he intended to stick to it.

He seemed to be waiting for some response from her – absolution?  Forget it.  “Good thing our resident genius discovered a cure,” she said.

Relief flooded Lyle’s face – probably because she hadn’t challenged his version of events.  “Yes,” he breathed, “Jarod came through in the nick of time.”

A nurse came into the room.  “I know we’re all glad to see Miss Parker awake, but there are too many people in here,” she said briskly, stepping over to the I.V. pole and checking the level of fluid in the bag.  “The patient needs her rest, so I want this room cleared in five minutes.”  She turned on her heel and left.

Miss Parker didn’t know the woman but she admired her efficient and authoritative manner.  It helped that she was exhausted enough to agree with the order that had been issued.

Lyle seemed delighted that his earlier excuse for cutting his visit short had been backed up by medical personnel.  He said, “Listen to your doctors, sis,” nodded at Sydney and Broots, and was out the door in a flash.

Broots looked ready to follow him just as quickly, but Miss Parker called him to her side and beckoned for him to lean in close.  “Yes?” he said, bending stiffly over the bed.

She spoke in a low voice to avoid detection by any listening devices.  “Broots, find me proof that my dear brother did this to me.”

Broots blinked rapidly, but his voice was steady as he replied, “I’ll do my best, Miss Parker.”  Then he exited, a purposeful stride in his step.

Sydney approached the left side of the bed.  “I’m sorry I didn’t try to contact your father myself, Parker,” he said.

She sighed and shook her head, then winced as the slight movement sent a new stab of pain through her head.

“Shall I tell the nurse on my way out that you need something for the pain?” Sydney asked.

“No, I’m okay,” she assured him, noticing how her voice was starting to sound slurred.  She certainly didn’t need any more drugs.  “And don’t worry about not calling my father, Sydney.  No point in having him sitting by my bedside while I was unconscious all week.”

“Still, I’m sure your father would have wanted to be here with you.  And now that you’re awake, it would help to have family around.”

“Yes, well… I have you.  And Broots.” 

Sydney smiled and leaned towards her.  For a moment, she thought he was going to kiss her cheek, but instead he whispered close to her ear, “And you have Sam right outside your room.  As long as you’re here in the infirmary, he, Broots or I will always be nearby.  We’ll make sure you’re safe.” 

Miss Parker felt the pricking of tears behind her eyes and blinked rapidly to dissolve them.  Damn, she was more tired than she realized.  “Thanks, Sydney, but I think I’ll be fine.  Jarod created an antidote.  Lyle got exactly what he wanted.”

Sydney was still leaning over her, so she could clearly see the real concern in his eyes as he murmured, “For now.”

Gee, thanks, Syd, that’s comforting.  She hoped he was being melodramatic so that she would think twice before dismissing her bodyguard.  He needn’t have worried about that.  The way she felt right now, she knew there was no way she could defend herself from any enemy – known or unknown.  So she’d accept whatever protection he felt necessary.

Sydney straightened.  “Get some rest,” he said softly and gently squeezed her hand before moving away.  He checked the monitor, as if to reassure the doctor in him that she was stable, before leaving the room.

Miss Parker closed her eyes.  All of the recent revelations formed a dizzy swirl in her mind – she’d been infected with the African virus, Jarod had developed a cure and saved her, Lyle was probably responsible, Sydney was still worried about her safety – but instead of trying to make sense of the confusion, she followed the whirlpool down into dreamless slumber.

For the hundredth time, Miss Parker wished there were hand rails in this elevator, something physical to grab onto, to help brace herself against the emotional turmoil she always experienced here, especially when she was alone.  She tucked herself into one of the back corners of the elevator and concentrated on keeping a stoic expression on her face, loathe to let the new security camera within the car pick up on her inner distress.  She knew Lyle – and probably a good number of Centre employees – were aware of the tragedy surrounding this elevator, and she didn’t want to add grist to the gossip mill by showing weakness on tape.

It was a source of pride for her that she’d never avoided riding in this elevator all the years she’d been working at the Centre.  She saw it as a daily challenge, a fear to be conquered – to be able to face the memory of that horrible day so long ago, a memory of a gunshot and hands holding her back as she cried out for her mother…

As always, she carefully avoided looking at the bullet hole in the elevator wall.  The Centre had left it there all these years, trying to send a message.  Exactly what that message was depended on the person receiving it.  Her father would say that this gruesome reminder of his wife’s suicide served as a lesson that there was no place for weakness at the Centre.  Miss Parker believed it to be a warning against defying Centre directives.

The demons of that day still haunted her, especially since she’d never been able to disprove the official story that her mother committed suicide.  Over the years she’d pieced together enough bits and pieces of the puzzle to be certain that her mother was getting ready to escape from the Centre – but not by taking her own life.  Catherine Parker’s intention was to “rescue” the children, including Jarod and her own daughter.  Instead, she’d been murdered before she could steal the Centre’s most prized possession away.  Jarod loved to throw that fact in her face, mistakenly believing he could garner her sympathy (“your mother wanted to save me, so you should, too”).  But as she’d pointed out to him on more than one occasion, she was not her mother and never would be.  Alike in appearance, yes, but they were completely different in temperament; she knew she could never have half the compassion of Catherine Parker.

In fact, her untimely death guaranteed that her daughter would never grow up to be just like her.  The one thing that horrible day had taught Miss Parker was that weakness could be fatal, a lesson her father reinforced, telling her time and again to be strong in the face of tragedy, to carry on, to never let down her defenses.  She took that advice to heart, especially whenever she set foot in this elevator.

Over the years the sadness and confusion surrounding her mother’s death had turned to anger – anger at the still-unknown killer, anger at her father for not keeping his wife safe, anger at Jarod for being the unwitting cause of her mother’s murder, anger at herself for not being able to bring her mother’s killer to justice.  She imagined Sydney would have a field day with that tangled mess of emotions if she ever chose to confide in the psychiatrist.  But she knew he’d want her to let go of the anger, and she couldn’t do that; it was what kept her strong, what got her through every ride in this elevator.

A few years ago she’d almost met the same fate as her mother when Brigitte tried to kill her.  Shot in the arm and hurtling downwards in a runaway elevator, she had only survived because Broots managed to hot-wire the controls and slow the car’s descent.  Miss Parker wasn’t sure what upset her more – the fact that she’d let that blonde bitch get the drop on her or that a twitchy, bald nerd had to come to her rescue.

She leaned more heavily against the back wall of the elevator and tried to stop this disturbing train of thought.  It had only been a few days since she’d been released from the infirmary.  She should still be resting at home, but with her father finally returning from his vacation tomorrow, she wanted to be ready to greet him properly – with proof that Lyle had infected her with a deadly virus.  So she’d come to the Centre today in the hopes that Broots had managed to find some sort of evidence.  She was heading down to the tech lab now.

The elevator came to a stop.  Before the doors even opened, Miss Parker started forward, eager to be free of the confined space.  But the sight of the person waiting to board stopped her in her tracks. 

It was Jarod.

His eyes widened at the sight of her.  Then he sprang into action.

He whirled around, his cuffed fists slamming into the stomach of Willie, making him double over.  Then Jarod brought his hands up sharply under the Sweeper’s chin, snapping his head back and making him stumble.  Tony had just drawn his gun when Jarod sent the weapon clattering to the floor with a sideways slice of his arms, which he followed with a kick to the burly guard’s shin.  Tony fell to one knee and Jarod brought him down the rest of the way with a double-handed karate chop to the back of his beefy neck.  He thrust an elbow into Willie’s face and threw himself onto the elevator, immediately punching the button that closed the doors.  As the car continued its descent into the sublevels of the Centre, Jarod leaped up and ripped the security camera from its mount.  Then he pulled the emergency stop button, and the elevator shuddered to a halt.

Jarod spun to face Miss Parker, who’d stumbled back into the corner when the elevator lurched to a stop.  “Are you alright?” he asked.

He seemed barely winded, but she felt exhausted just from watching that impressive display.  “Jarod,” she breathed, “what the hell…?”

That was all she got out before he’d crossed the short distance between them and kissed her.

He took her completely by surprise, just as he had last fall in that dingy apartment.  But where that kiss had been tender and tentative, this one was reckless and without apology.  His mouth was crushing hers, yet she could feel the desperation behind the power and knew the roughness was unintended.  Even as her mind reeled from the implications of this moment, her body responded enthusiastically to the kiss.

It was Jarod who pulled away a few seconds – an eternity! – later.  But he didn’t break contact completely; his hands still clung to the collar of her gray silk blouse as if to steady himself.  “I thought I’d lost you,” he said brokenly, not meeting her eyes.  “It was all my fault that you got sick.  If I hadn’t refused to do the project when Lyle first assigned it to me, he would never have infected you with the virus.”  He paused, and his fingers curled and uncurled nervously against the edge of her shirt.  “He told me last Friday that the antidote had worked, but he wouldn’t let me see you, so I wasn’t sure…”  He stopped and swallowed hard.

 The Centre and its damn mind games.  Now she understood why Jarod was holding on to her so tightly, as if he needed to reassure himself that she was real.  If Lyle was his only source for information about her condition, it was no wonder he had worried; you couldn’t trust a word her brother said, and Jarod knew that better than anyone.  He’d probably been in torment for over a week, first in a frantic attempt to find a cure and then agonizing over whether it had truly worked.

She needed to end his nightmare now.  “Jarod, look at me,” she said firmly, cupping his face in her hands and tilting his gaze upwards.  “I’m fine.  You saved me.”

The fear and pain were still there in his dark brown eyes, the pain she’d pretended not to see when they were children together at the Centre.  But now guilt also lurked there in the mirrors to his soul.  She knew her words would not be enough to convince him.  She needed to show him that she was very much alive.

So she kissed him.  Gently at first, but then with growing intensity.  She could feel Jarod begin to relax and respond to her.  As she ran her fingers through his hair, she realized she was starting to relax, too.  Jarod was an excellent kisser, so why not enjoy herself?  She’d wanted to take his mind off the events of the past week, have him stop dwelling on her near-death experience.  Well, maybe she needed to do the same thing, and what better way to embrace life than an impromptu make-out session?  And what better place than in this elevator, where a good memory would be a welcome addition?

She suddenly wished she could have a true embrace, feel Jarod’s strong arms around her.  She pulled away with regret.  “I wish I had a paperclip, so you could pretend to be MacGyver and get out of those damn cuffs,” she muttered.

“Who?” he asked.

She laughed shakily.  “Never mind.” Before she could reconsider, she lifted his hands high and ducked under and into the circle of his arms.  Pressed tightly against him, she could feel the rapid beating of his heart, matching the excited rhythm of her own.  She was surprised that she didn’t feel trapped or uncomfortable at all; she couldn’t remember the last time she’d felt this safe.

“Much better,” she murmured into his neck, her arms sliding around his neck.

This time when they came together the kiss was instantly deep and demanding, both of them pouring all of their passion into it.  Miss Parker didn’t worry about consequences and just let herself feel, blissfully riding the current of sensations washing over her body.  Despite being restrained by cuffs, Jarod’s hands were delightfully busy, threading through her hair, caressing her shoulders, stroking her back, and slowly sliding lower and lower until…

The sudden flush of heat she felt did not come from pleasure but from anxiety as she realized Jarod’s fingers had landed on the gun tucked into her waistband.  Cursing her own stupidity, she instantly stiffened and pulled back.  Jarod lifted his arms at once, freeing her from their embrace, and retreated to the far corner of the elevator.

His hands were empty, and she still felt the reassuring weight of the gun at the small of her back, but Miss Parker was unnerved by the fact that Jarod could have easily grabbed her weapon.

He eyed her warily, as if expecting her to draw that weapon on him.  “I wasn’t going for your gun,” he said.

“I know,” she answered and felt the same surprise that showed on his face.  He’d gotten the better of her so many times in the past, so why was she so certain that he wasn’t playing her now?

Because those kisses had felt real.  Her logical side – the one trying to ignore the tingles she still felt from where he’d touched her or the leftover warmth from his lips on hers – told her she was being a fool, that he was a Pretender who could become anyone he wanted to be, including the man of her dreams.  Their emotional connection from when they were children just made it easier for him to seduce her now that they were adults – two lonely adults.

While she was warring with herself, Jarod broke the awkward silence.  “Why are you here anyway?  Less than a week ago you were lying unconscious in a bed in the infirmary.  You should be at home resting.”

She heard the concern in his voice, saw it in his eyes, and she didn’t want to worry about whether that emotion was real or not.  “My father gets back in town tomorrow, and I need to talk to him right away, tell him what Lyle did.”  She sighed and ran her hands through her hair, trying not to wish that it was Jarod doing that.  “If I can find some proof.  He gave me some crazy story about accidental contamination, but I know he must have infected me on purpose.  I just can’t remember when or how he did it.”

“He all but admitted he infected you when he first brought me your blood samples and again when he came to tell me the antidote worked,” Jarod said.  “Have Broots check the surveillance recordings from the research lab and my cell.  I can give you the dates and times-”

She shook her head.  “Won’t do any good.  Broots has already discovered that access to the security feeds from those particular cameras is password-protected.  He hasn’t been able to crack it yet; we think Lyle changes it often.”

As usual when faced with a challenge, Jarod looked determined, not defeated.  “Well, I can probably come up with some educated guesses, especially if Lyle is using words that mean something to him personally.”

“That might be helpful for the future, but it’s not going to do me much good right now.  I’m sure Lyle’s already deleted anything incriminating that was recorded.  But, just in case he missed something, I was heading down to the tech lab to see if Broots has had any luck.”

“Well, if there’s anything to find, Broots will find it,” Jarod said.  He paused then added, “Although I’m not sure any amount of proof will make your father take your side against Lyle.”

This was an old argument between them; Jarod was always trying to convince her that she couldn’t trust her father.  “It doesn’t help that Lyle’s got the support of the Triumverate now that you’ve successfully completed your first assignment,” Miss Parker pointed out.  “Even my father won’t go against the Centre’s African overseers.”

“If Lyle’s truly got that much power now, you’re not safe here, Miss Parker.”

“Who is?” she said.

Jarod’s gaze intensified.  “You don’t understand.  This isn’t the first time Lyle used you to get to me.”

She didn’t like the sound of that.  “What are you talking about?” she demanded.

“That day at the cemetery, when you and your father visited your mother’s grave…”

“The day you were caught?”

He nodded.  “Lyle pointed a gun at you.  I couldn’t risk that he was bluffing, so I came willingly.”

That bastard.  He’d said she was “an important part of Jarod’s capture.”  She’d wondered how he’d gotten Jarod to come without a fight.  Now she knew.

While she seethed inwardly, Jarod went on, “Given what I know now – that he actually infected you with a deadly virus with no known cure – I’m glad I didn’t call his bluff at the cemetery.  You’d still be recovering from a gunshot wound.”

“Been there, done that,” she muttered.

Jarod crossed to her and took her hands.  “Miss Parker, listen to me,” he said urgently.  “I can’t protect you from Lyle.”

She pulled out of his grasp.  “I can take care of myself,” she said testily.  Then, realizing how lame that sounded given the events of the past week, she added, “Now that I know how far he’ll go, I’ll be extra careful.”

Jarod shook his head.  “That’s not enough.  You need to leave the Centre.”

“Run away?  Like hell I will!” 

Just then the elevator hummed to life to started moving upwards.

Jarod rushed over to the control panel and pounded his cuffed hands against the wall in frustration.  “They’ve overridden the controls,” he said.  He automatically sent a desperate glance around the elevator as if searching for an escape route, but they both knew there was no way out.

The elevator came to a stop and the doors slid open.

Lyle stood there, flanked by Willie and Tony.  He looked irritated and slightly flushed, as if the last few minutes had been frantic.  Miss Parker imagined he’d spent the time envisioning Jarod pulling off some fantastic escape with him having to explain to the Triumverate how that had happened again.

With fresh blood seeping through the nose bandage he still wore from the last time Jarod had tried to escape, Willie took a step forward and reached inside the elevator to depress and hold the button that kept the doors from closing.  Aiming a murderous glare at the Pretender, he kept the gun in his right hand carefully trained on him.

Lyle produced a small black box from the pocket of his tan suit coat. “You’ve been a bad boy, Jarod,” he said and pushed the red button on the box.

Jarod jerked like he’d been poked with an electric cattle prod.  He quickly went rigid and pressed his back against the wall of the elevator.  As spasms rippled through his body, he somehow managed to stay on his feet.

Miss Parker instantly knew what was happening, but she was still taken by surprise.  Obviously, Jarod was receiving an electric shock through the implant in his neck, but she’d assumed that only happened when he went outside the building.  The fact that Lyle had a device that could deliver the shocks whenever he wanted was an unsettling development.  She wondered how many times he’d already used this form of torture on Jarod.

Enough times that he obviously wasn’t getting the reaction he’d expected.  Lyle frowned and looked like he pressed harder on the button.  Jarod remained standing even as his tremors increased.

“Lyle, stop this!” Miss Parker snapped.

Her brother ignored her, his gaze locked on Jarod.  The hatred between the two men charged the air more than the electric current being transmitted. Then Jarod let out a groan - more out of frustration than pain - and fell to his knees. 

Now maybe this horrifying game of chicken could end.  “Enough!” she said.  “What’s the point of this?”

“He needs to learn a lesson,” Lyle said, coldly staring down at Jarod. 

“What lesson? That you’re a sadistic freak? Everyone already knows that,” she said, using sarcasm to hide her growing desperation with the current situation. Still on his knees, Jarod was leaning his right side heavily against the elevator wall. He was sweating as his body shook as if in the throes of a high fever.

“Jarod can stop this anytime he wants,” Lyle said.  “All he has to do is say the magic word.”

His face contorted with pain, the defiance still shone through clearly as Jarod grated through clenched teeth, “Go. To. Hell.” 

Miss Parker respected his resolve, but that declaration had cost Jared dearly. His reserves of strength depleted, he slowly toppled over onto the floor.  He lay there, sweating, his body wracked by convulsions.  Lyle smiled in satisfaction at this result, but he didn’t let go of the button.  His fingers were white from clutching the device so tightly.

“Don’t be a fool, Lyle,” hissed Miss Parker.  “You’ll kill him!”  She made a grab for the box, but Tony quickly stepped between her and Lyle.

“Restrain her,” said Lyle dismissively.

“Really? Bring it on, big boy,” Miss Parker said, feeling adrenaline surge through her as she instinctively brought her fists up into a defensive pose.  But Tony must have had enough of hand-to-hand combat, because he brought his gun to bear on her instead.  Her eyes widened in surprise at the Sweeper’s audacity.  She tensed and prepared to make a move for her own gun…

“Stop!” rasped Jarod, drawing the attention of all the elevator’s occupants.  He’d somehow managed to lift his head a few inches.  His eyes were wide and filled with pain as he pleaded, “Lyle, stop.  Please.”

Lyle stared at him a few seconds longer, triumph gleaming in his pale blue eyes.  Then he let go of the button.

Jarod let out a low moan.  His forehead hit the floor with a soft thud.

Lyle returned the black box to his coat pocket and glanced sourly at the security camera dangling uselessly in the corner. “Hope your little private chat was worth it,” he said to the inert form at his feet. “Bring him,” he instructed the Sweepers before turning on his heel and walking away.

Tony stepped forward and roughly prodded Jarod with his foot. “Get up,” he said.  Jarod struggled to rise but failed.  Tony and Willie grabbed him under the armpits and dragged him out of the elevator.

Now that the crisis was over, Miss Parker was feeling a bit shaky herself as her extra adrenaline suddenly had nowhere to go.  As the doors started to close, she darted through, wondering if she’d ever be able to set foot on that cursed elevator again.

Chapter 14

As he watched the scene in the elevator play out on Broots’ computer screen, Sydney felt a chill go through him as he recognized the device in Lyle’s hands.  That was the same box he’d pulled out in the sim lab a couple of weeks ago and asked Jarod if he should demonstrate what it did; at the time, Sydney had sensed any such demonstration would be bad for Jarod.  Now, seeing that he’d been right, his hands balled into fists, and he was thankful they were hidden in the pockets of his tweed blazer.  He needed to project an aura of calm on the room right now, and it was taking all of his psychiatric skills to keep his emotions from showing on his face.

            Miss Parker had arrived in the tech lab a short while ago in a highly agitated state, which, after she’d filled them in on what Lyle had just done to Jarod, was completely understandable.  She’d paced the cramped confines of Broots’ office while he’d pulled up the security footage from a camera directly across from the elevator.  Once he started playing the recording, however, she’d sat down in a chair in a corner of the computer lab, like she wanted to be as far away as possible from the replay of what she’d just witnessed first-hand.  Even though he couldn’t tear his eyes away from the disturbing images on the monitor, Sydney could sense an unnatural stillness from her side of the room; he worried she might be going into shock.  Not a reaction he’d normally expect from her, but with what she’d been through in the last week, it was completely normal. Which was just one more reason that he needed to put on his doctor demeanor right now.

            Beside him, Broots was making no attempt to hide his own distress from viewing the events that had recently unfolded.  He squirmed in his desk chair as Jarod spasmed from the electric shocks and actually let out a small gasp when the hulking Sweeper Tony aimed his gun at Miss Parker.  After Jarod had been dragged off-camera, Broots paused the recording and sat in stunned silence for a few seconds before saying, “Well, um, I, I…” He cleared his throat and tried again.  “I, I can’t believe Tony actually pointed his, his gun at you, Miss Parker.”

            Miss Parker didn’t respond.  Sydney wondered if she’d even heard the comment; she was staring into space, perhaps reliving the terrible scene in the elevator.

            He straightened and felt his back twinge in protest.  Yes, he was getting old, but he thought the pain was more from the tension he’d felt as he viewed the camera footage more than from the half-bent position he’d been in while watching it.  “Several factors undoubtedly led to Tony’s seemingly brash action,” Sydney said in response to Broots’ statement.  “First, he was ordered to restrain Miss Parker, and his job is to follow orders.  As the gun was already in his hand, it’s only logical that he would aim it at her when she made a move indicating she was ready to resist.  Second, as we saw earlier on the recording, he’d just been in an unexpected physical altercation with Jarod and had come out on the losing end; he was probably feeling the need to impress upon his boss that he was still an effective security guard.  And third, he was witnessing his superior – Lyle – put on an impressive display of dominance over Jarod, who is somewhat of a legend here at the Centre; seeing Lyle literally bring Jarod to his knees further emboldened Tony into believing he could also subdue a formidable opponent.”

            Miss Parker snorted and said, “Which is just fancy shrink talk for ‘the big lug is too dumb to realize he shouldn’t mess with me.’”

            Sydney felt a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.  It was good to see Miss Parker acting like herself again, and he actually felt better after spouting all that psycho-babble; shop talk always soothed him.

            “Tony may not be all that smart,” Broots said, “but he’s good at his job.  That guy’s built like a tank!  I certainly wouldn’t want to fight him.  And I’m glad you didn’t have to, Miss Parker.  Um, not that you couldn’t,” he added quickly as her blue eyes turned steely, “but it’s just that you shouldn’t.  Right now, I mean.  Later, after you’re stronger, then sure, you could fight him…and win!  Not that I hope you do… have to fight him, I mean.  Um…”

            “Broots is right, Miss Parker,” Sydney interjected before she hauled off and hit Broots just to prove how strong she was right now, “That virus took a tremendous toll on your body.  You need more time to recover fully.”  He paused.  “I’m just glad Jarod chose to end the confrontation when he did or you might have found yourself in some serious trouble.”

            He didn’t flinch from her sharpened gaze.  He’d meant exactly what he’d said; Jarod had chosen to “give in” to Lyle.  And it wasn’t a coincidence that he did it precisely when Miss Parker was about to get into a losing battle with Tony.

            He could tell she’d figured that out, too, whether or not she was willing to admit it out loud.  She abruptly stood up and stalked over to Broots’ desk.  “So, what are we going to do about Lyle’s little black box?” she asked briskly.

            Broots blinked.  “Do?”

            “We can’t let him zap Jarod whenever the hell he wants to,” she said.

            Sydney silently applauded that sentiment, but Broots still looked confused.             Miss Parker noticed his hesitation and, as usual, was not pleased by it.  “What?” she prompted impatiently.

            “Well, it’s just that… um, you don’t usually interfere with Centre policy when it comes to Jarod.  I mean, you’ve willingly hunted him for years to bring him back here.”

            “Not to be tortured by Lyle!  What he’s doing to Jarod is for his own sick pleasure and has nothing to do with Centre policy.  I’m not going to let my brother get away with it.”  She jabbed a long red fingernail at Broots.  “And you’re going to help me figure out a way to stop him.”

            Ah, yes, everything she did was to thwart the evil Lyle’s plans.  Sydney was proud that she was willing to do the right thing but disappointed that she still couldn’t bring herself to openly acknowledge the true reason for her actions: she didn’t want Jarod to get hurt because she cared about him.

            The door to the tech lab slid open and Lyle strode into the room.  “Good, you’re all here,” he said cheerfully.      

            Sydney immediately stepped forward.  “Is Jarod alright?  Where is he?  I want to see him.”

            Some of Lyle’s good humor evaporated.  He rolled his eyes.  “Sydney, Sydney, don’t you ever get tired of that same old refrain?”  He sighed then went on with a slight sing-song tone, “Jarod is fine, he’s resting comfortably in his cell.  And no, you can’t see him.  No one can.  Orders of the Triumverate.  Jarod is to be placed in solitary confinement for a period of time as standard punishment for whenever he acts up.”

            “Acts up?” Miss Parker echoed.

            Lyle focused on her.  “Well, what do you call hijacking the elevator and trying to escape?  Although I’m not sure what he thought he was going to do.  Climb through the shaft and hide in the conduits for the forseeable future?  He can’t leave the building without getting shocked.”  He shrugged.  “Anyway, sis, good thing you distracted him long enough for us to get the doors open and regain control of the situation.  I was surprised you hadn’t even drawn your gun.”

            “I don’t need to use my gun on Jarod,” Miss Parker said.

            “No, I suppose not,” Lyle said slowly, a smile playing across his lips.  “You have other weapons at your disposal to use against Jarod.”  He gave his sister a long, appreciative look from head to toe.

            Sydney saw Miss Parker’s eyes flash blue fire.  “What do you want, Lyle?” he asked sharply.

            Lyle returned his attention to Sydney.  “To do you – all of you – a favor.  I imagine you’ve huddled together to discuss this wondrous little device here.”  He pulled the black box out of his pocket and held it up.  Sydney sensed the heightened awareness of both Miss Parker and Broots and wondered if they all had the same idea of wresting that damn box out of Lyle’s hands.

            Lyle didn’t seem concerned, but Sydney noticed he’d stayed near the door, out of reach of any of the room’s other occupants. “I thought I’d save you some time and trouble and give you a rundown of some of the custom features of this marvel of technology,” he said pleasantly.  “First of all, should anyone try to tamper with the device, its safeties will automatically be overridden and a high-voltage shock will be delivered to Jarod.  A potentially lethal shock.”

            “Just making the transmitter disappear,” Lyle went on, looking pointedly at Broots, “won’t work either.  You see, a special code must be entered every day to keep the device operating within the safety parameters.”

            “A code that only I know,” Lyle’s cool gaze fell upon Miss Parker again, “so if I should disappear, the result will be disastrous for poor Jarod.”

            “If Jarod dies,” Miss Parker said, her voice low and menacing, “how many more breaths do you think you’ll take, dear brother?”

            “Oh, I’m sure several heads will roll here at the Centre, but Jarod will still be dead.  None of us want that, do we?”

            Sydney could not believe how casually Lyle said that.  The man truly had no conscience.

            “Oh, and Sydney?” Lyle turned back to him.  “I wouldn’t play doctor and attempt to remove Jarod’s implant all by yourself.  One wrong move and your boy’s a vegetable.”

            Sydney hoped the murderous thoughts he was having did not show on his face.

            Lyle put the black box back in his pocket. “There,” he said, sounding satisfied.  “I trust we all understand each other?”  He didn’t wait for a response, just turned and left the lab.

            Sydney hurried after him.  “Lyle, wait!”

            Lyle came to a reluctant halt and turned around.  Now that he’d delivered his message, he was obviously impatient to be on his way.  “What is it, Sydney?”

            He told himself that past events had made Lyle into the monster he was today.  He needed help.  “You’re a sick man, you know that?”

            “So I’ve been told,” Lyle commented dryly.  “By you, in fact.  And your point is…?”

            “I can give you the names of some highly reputable therapists.”

            The look of surprise that came across Lyle’s face was almost comical.  “You’re suggesting I see a shrink?” he said.

            “I believe it would help you to get some counseling, yes.  At the very least, you should consider taking anger management classes.”

            “I think I manage my anger just fine, thank you.”

            Sydney kept trying.  “Lyle, with your traumatic childhood–”

            Lyle was suddenly right in his face, as quick as a striking snake.  “And just what do you think you know about my childhood, Sydney?” he said, his eyes feverishly bright.  “I can tell you all about it, if that’s what you really want.  What do you say?  Would you like to be my doctor?”

            Sydney refused to back away.  “I don’t think that would be in your best interest,” he said evenly.

            Lyle stared at him a beat longer then stepped back himself.  “You’re probably right.  Didn’t you have a session with my mother just before she killed herself?  At least that’s the story, right?”  He flashed a quick, hard smile before turning and walking away.

            Sydney watched him go and told himself that at least he’d made the attempt.  If Lyle refused professional help, well… the man deserved whatever it took to stop him.

            Back in the computer lab, Miss Parker was still hounding poor Broots to work technological miracles.  Far from dissuading her, Lyle’s visit seemed to have made her more determined than ever to find a way to disable his electric shock transmitter.  She was leaning over the desk, her palms flat on the surface, her face only inches from Broots’.

            “Lyle was right when he told us he was saving us time and trouble,” she was saying as Sydney re-entered the room.  “Now that you know what won’t work, you’re ahead of the game.  So it should be easier to figure out a method that will be successful.”

            Broots looked unconvinced.  Seemingly unable to look away from Miss Parker’s intense gaze, he tugged uncomfortably at the collar of his undershirt.  Sydney surmised he was in torment over the invasion of his personal space, especially by a woman to whom he was not-so-secretly attracted.

            Sydney cleared his throat to draw attention away from Broots.

            Miss Parker spared him a sideways glance but remained in her hovering pose.  “You didn’t shoot him, did you, Syd?” she asked.

            She never let him forget the time he’d shot Raines’ oxygen tank to save Jarod, a fact that had both stunned and, he suspected, impressed her.  Her faintly wistful tone indicated that she half-hoped he’d answer in the affirmative.

            “I suggested he see a psychiatrist,” he responded.

            That got her full attention.  She straightened and turned to face him.  “I bet that went over well,” she said.

            “Mm.  As you’d expect.”  Sydney noticed Broots slump slightly in his chair, as if relieved.

            “Do you really think therapy could help him?”

            Something in her voice made him study her more closely.  She wasn’t being sarcastic.  Her thoughtful expression made him realize she was asking a serious question, perhaps wondering for the first time if her psychotic brother could somehow change.

            “As a psychiatrist, I believe most people could benefit from some form of counseling, but in Lyle’s case…”  Sydney sighed.  “The damage that was inflicted on him as a child by his foster parents may be too great to repair.  Torture leaves a deep imprint on the human psyche, and the fact that he was subjected to such treatment during his formative years means that those experiences greatly influenced the man he grew up to be.”

            “A man who now tortures others.  And worse.”  Her eyes widened briefly and she looked close to tears, but then she shook her head vigorously, as if brushing away whatever emotion had momentarily seized her.  “Look, I know Lyle’s foster father locked him in a wood shed when he was a child, but the things my brother has done since… Don’t you dare tell me, Syd, that I’m supposed to feel sorry for him.”

            “No,” Sydney said softly.  “Lyle’s past suffering does not absolve him of the crimes he’s committed.”

            He felt vaguely disloyal to his profession in saying that, because he knew the insanity plea often had merit.  However, he also recognized he could never be objective in this case; Lyle had hurt people he cared about, including the woman who stood in front of him with the relief she felt at his answer showing clearly on her face.  Not many things in her world were black and white, so if he could help her label Lyle as an irredeemable psychopath, then that’s what he would do.

            “Um, speaking of the crimes Lyle has committed…  I may have found something that supports our theory that he infected you with the African virus, Miss Parker.”

            Her gaze swung sharply to Broots.  “You have proof?”

            “Well, um, not exactly.  I mean, I think it’s enough to strongly suggest he did it, but I’m not sure everyone would see it that way.  I mean, I guess that doesn’t matter, it’s not like we have to present it as evidence to a jury, which is a shame because I think Lyle should have to answer for his crimes.  Especially for this!  I mean, he could have killed you!”

            Sydney could tell that Miss Parker was about to explode, so he quickly said, “Broots, just tell us what you found.” 

            The techie had been looking down at his computer while he rambled, but now one quick glance at Miss Parker’s face seemed to convince him to get to the point sooner rather than later.  “Okay.”  He squared his shoulders and sat up straighter, seeming to gather his thoughts.  “Lyle told us that Miss Parker somehow contaminated herself when she was in his office – I mean, Mr. Parker’s office – on Friday afternoon.  We know he’s lying,” he added hastily, apologetically, “but since she can’t remember anything from the days leading up to her collapse, I had to use that as a place to start.  There’s only one camera that I know about in the Tower – aimed at the elevator – but it’s password protected, so I couldn’t access that footage.  I do have a record of Miss Parker getting off the Tower elevator on the Main Concourse level late Friday afternoon.  One hour later the same camera shows Lyle getting off on this level, as well.  Then there’s the footage from the new camera Lyle had installed right outside Miss Parker’s office.”

            To spy on their frequent conversations outside her door, Sydney knew.

            Broots went on, “That camera shows Lyle going into Miss Parker’s office – without knocking first – about an hour after she did.”

            “Lyle was in my office?” Miss Parker shook her head, and Sydney could feel her frustration with the gaps in her memory.

            Broots nodded.  “For about ten minutes.  What’s interesting is what he was wearing when he came out of your office.  Gloves!” 

            “So?  He always wears a glove on his left hand.”

            “Not a glove, gloves plural.  White latex gloves, like the kind worn by medical personnel.”

            “Let me see.”  Miss Parker went around behind his desk, and Sydney looked over her shoulder.

            Broots tapped a few keys and up came the video recording of Lyle leaving Miss Parker’s office and walking down the hall.  Broots paused the image and they could all clearly see the white plastic gloves covering both of Lyle’s hands.

            “I’ll be damned,” Sydney said. 

            “No, Lyle will be,” Miss Parker said grimly.

            Sydney noticed something else in the photo.  “He’s carrying a briefcase.”

            “Yeah, I wondered about that, too,” Broots said thoughtfully, staring at the screen.  “He doesn’t usually carry one, and a syringe and gloves would have fit in his pockets.  So why the briefcase?  And a pretty large one at that.”

“Large enough to hold a bottle of Scotch?” Miss Parker asked slowly.

            Sydney looked at her.  “Are you remembering something?”

            She stared off into the middle distance, her brow creased in concentration.  “I’m not sure.  Nothing from that afternoon, but the next morning… I think I woke up in my office and felt like I had a hangover.  I was surprised that I’d had enough to drink the night before to pass out on my couch.  I like a drink now and then, but I rarely let myself get drunk.”

            “Perhaps Lyle drugged your Scotch,” Sydney suggested.  “Then he waited until he knew the sedatives would have taken effect, came to your office, injected you with the virus, and left with the tainted bottle in his briefcase.”

            “Oh,” Broots breathed, looking horrified and impressed at the same time.  “He really had this planned out.”

            “Broots, make me a copy of that recording,” Miss Parker ordered then added absently, “Good job.”

            She strode away from the desk quickly, so she never saw the pathetically pleased expression on Broots’ face; he looked like a puppy that had been given an unexpected treat by its master.  Sydney saw it and sighed inwardly; he’d thought that Broots had gotten over his infatuation with Miss Parker.  She’d made it clear that nothing was going to happen between them, and now with Jarod back in close proximity… Well, Sydney had a feeling that more than ever, Broots didn’t stand a chance.

            She leaned her back against the wall and wearily ran her fingers through her hair.  A strange look crossed her face, and she abruptly let her arms fall to her sides.  Sydney went over to her and said quietly, “Parker, I really think you should go home and get some-”

            “…rest.  I know,” she said resignedly.  “I will.  I want to be at my best tomorrow when I talk to my father.”

            “What are you going to tell him?”

            “What Lyle did to me!  What Lyle did to Jarod.”  Her mouth was set in a thin, hard line.  “Daddy needs to realize just how dangerous Lyle has become.”

            “And then what?”

            Miss Parker blinked.  “Well…then we stop him.”

            “How?  It won’t be easy.  Lyle currently has the support of The Triumverate.”

            “’Currently’ being the key word.  He used to be in favor with the Yakuza clan, too, back when he still had both thumbs.”  Miss Parker smiled grimly.  “Until my father and I decided he was a threat.  When Daddy and I team up, we’re unstoppable.”

            “That was before your father knew that Lyle was his son,” Sydney pointed out.  “Don’t get your hopes up, Parker.  It’s highly unlikely that he’s going to side with you against Lyle this time.”

            “You sound like Jarod,” she said sourly.

            Sydney moved closer and asked quietly, “What happened between you and Jarod in the elevator before Lyle showed up?”

            She shrugged.  “Not much.  It was as Lyle said.  I think Jarod had some crazy idea about shimmying up the elevator shaft, but he got distracted when he saw me.  Thank goodness.  I don’t think he thought this plan all the way through.  I mean, he can’t set foot outside the building without being shocked.  He would have been stuck crawling around the ventilation shafts until God knows when.  The last thing we need is another Angelo.”

            Miss Parker was acting way too nonchalant and talking too fast; she was definitely keeping something from him.  He’d let it go…for the moment.  “Hm.  Perhaps Jarod just wanted to hide within the Centre until he could figure a way past the ‘invisible fence.’  At least he’d be away from Lyle’s little black box.”

            “We’re going to take care of that problem for him,” she said with determination.  “Jarod saved my life.  It’s the least I can do.  Broots!”

            “Huh?” Broots’ head snapped up as Miss Parker strode back to his desk.  “Oh, um, I’ve got that copy of the security footage you wanted right here.” He held up a mini flash drive.  “All you have to do is plug it into the USB drive on your computer and-”

            “I know how to do it.”  She snatched the drive from his hand.  “Get to work on deactivating Lyle’s shock transmitter.”  She turned on her heel and left the computer lab.

            “Sure, no problem,” Broots muttered.  He leaned his chin on his fist and stared meditatively at his computer screen.

            Sydney moved to the side of the desk.  “What is it, Broots?” he asked, sensing his colleague was beset by more than just his usual worries about finishing a task to Miss Parker’s satisfaction.

            Broots gestured to the monitor, which still showed the video from the elevator.  “It’s just that, well, we’ve known for a while what kind of sick freak Lyle is, but to actually see him get such pleasure out of torturing Jarod… I just can’t believe he and Miss Parker are brother and sister!  Sure, she’s tough as nails and will do what’s necessary, but she’d never be so cruel.”

            Sydney folded his arms across his chest and rocked back slightly on his heels.  “It’s the old nature versus nurture argument, Broots,” he mused.  “They were born of the same mother, but only Miss Parker received the benefit of that mother’s love.  Even though their relationship was tragically cut short, Miss Parker still learned a great deal from her mother.  Catherine Parker was a kind, compassionate woman.  The horrible circumstances surrounding her death may have made Miss Parker into the hardened woman we know today, but she still has the memories of a loving mother to temper her harsher tendencies.  Lyle does not have such a moral compass to direct him.”

            “Well, like Miss Parker said, just don’t expect me to feel sorry for him,” Broots grouched.  “That man is evil.  I may not be as strong as Jarod or as brave as Miss Parker to stand up to him face to face, but well, I’m pretty good at technology, and there’s no way I’m going to let that little black box of his stump me.”

            Sydney laid a hand on his shoulder.  “You’re more than pretty good at what you do, Broots.  I have no doubt you will figure out a way to deactivate that device.”

            The words of encouragement had the desired effect; Sydney watched as Broots sat a little straighter, squared his shoulders, and started typing.  Even the sound of his fingers on the keyboard sounded determined.  “I want to get down everything Lyle told us about that box before I forget it,” he said.  “Miss Parker is right; having that information will make it easier to solve this problem.”

            “I’ll leave you to your work,” Sydney said, satisfied that Broots would find a way to shut down that wretched torture device.

            Now if only he could figure out a way to keep Jarod permanently safe.

            Miss Parker opened her eyes and stared blearily at the digital clock on her bedside table.  She had to blink a few times to believe what she was seeing: 9:30?

            She groaned and rolled over on her back.  How the hell could she have slept so late and still feel so rotten?

            Of course, “sleep” may not be the right word to describe what she’d done last night.  She’d tossed and turned for hours, and when she had managed to drift off for short intervals, she’d been plagued by dreams and nightmares in which Jarod and Lyle figured prominently.  She couldn’t remember details, which she thought was just as well.  After yesterday’s real life dream-turned-nightmare in the elevator, she had enough memories of those two to disturb her slumber for many nights to come.  Unfortunately, the pleasant memories of those surprising moments spent with Jarod were ruined by the distressing moments spent with Lyle.  Damn her brother.  He even intruded on her dreams.

            Miss Parker dragged herself back to the present and out of bed, so she could get on with the problem of the day that awaited her, namely the meeting with her father.  She came out of the bathroom a few minutes later, feeling slightly more awake after brushing her teeth and splashing some cold water on her face but still not ready to face the difficult conversation that awaited her.

            She just wasn’t sure exactly what to say to him.  How do you tell a father that his son tried to kill his daughter?  And how do you convince him of it, when the only proof you have is shaky at best? 

            Putting off her shower until she took one more look at the “evidence” Broots had found, Miss Parker padded barefoot in her silk pajamas into the living room and headed right to her desk.  The mini flash drive lay next to her sleek black laptop, which she’d brought home from the office yesterday.  It was so nice to not always have to lug around those bulky silver cases that played the DSAs of Jarod’s simulations; she needed to talk to Broots about transferring those archives to modern discs – after he’d finished his current project of disabling Lyle’s electric shock device.

            She took a seat at the desk, flipped open her laptop, plugged the drive into the USB port, and pushed the power button.  As she waited for the computer to start up, she admitted to herself that she didn’t need another look at the video of a gloved Lyle leaving her office; she was stalling.  She was reluctant to go to the office and see her father.

            It was Jarod and Sydney’s fault.  They’d gotten inside her head, made her doubt the outcome of this meeting.  She’d gotten used to Jarod trying to undermine her relationship with her father, but Sydney usually supported her attempts to get closer to her father.  And now he was telling her not to get her hopes up? 

The problem was she wasn’t sure what she was hoping for.  For Daddy to disown Lyle and banish him from the Centre?  She knew that would never happen, especially not now when the Triumverate was solidly on her brother’s side.  Maybe she just wanted her father to agree with her that Lyle was dangerous and say that he wished he had the power to do something about it.  But she couldn’t imagine her father admitting that, even if they both realized his options were limited by the Centre’s overseers; he was too proud to appear weak in front of his daughter. 

She was surprised to suddenly see two files come up on the screen as the drive’s contents were revealed.  One was labeled “Main Concourse April 27,” which she knew was the day that Lyle had infected her with the virus, but the other file was called “Elevator May 4.”  She realized Broots had supplied her with the recording of Lyle torturing Jarod, perhaps as extra ammunition to help convince her father of her brother’s sadistic nature. 

Her fingers hovered indecisively over the keyboard.  Yesterday when Sydney and Broots had viewed the video, she’d been unable to watch, had instead retreated to a dark corner of the tech lab.  She still wasn’t sure why she’d been so shaken.  She’d known for a long time what Lyle was capable of, torture actually being one of his lesser crimes.  She was well aware of the fact that he’d both physically and emotionally tormented Jarod the last time he’d been a prisoner of the Centre.  Maybe it was the fact that this time she’d seen her psychotic brother in action up close and personal.  And she’d been powerless to stop him.

That was what upset her the most.  Of course, she didn’t like seeing Jarod hurt for no reason, but she had a feeling his most painful moment was when he’d said “please” to Lyle.  She agreed with Sydney that he’d done that for her sake, to protect her from a physical altercation with Tony.  She sighed.  She wished he’d stop doing that, especially when she’d been such a failure at repaying the favor.  She’d promised him last fall that he wouldn’t be tortured once he was back at the Centre, proclaiming that she and her father would protect him from Lyle.  He hadn’t believed her then, and he’d been right, damn it.  She was ashamed of her inability to stop her brother, mortified that her weakness had been caught on film.  That was the real reason she didn’t want to watch the video. 

But if she was truly honest with herself, she had to admit that the most disturbing moments in that elevator happened off camera before Lyle and his little black box ever appeared on the scene.  Wildly exciting moments, when she and Jarod had let passion overtake them.  She didn’t regret the kisses, she’d rather enjoyed the kisses, and she had only to remember those kisses to have a small thrilling tingle go through her body. 

It was what he’d said to her that had her so unnerved: I thought I’d lost you.  Why did those words scare her so much?  Was it that fact that they showed how much he cared for her?  Or the fact that she’d liked the way it made her feel to know he cared that much?  Or that she was starting to care just as much about him?

She could feel a headache starting to build behind her eyes.  Everything about Jarod was so confusing.  Was he the lonely boy whom she’d befriended when they’d been children together at the Centre?  Was he the clever prey who’d eluded capture for years?  Was he the stingy keeper of the Parker family secrets, dishing them out one at a time whenever he needed to distract her?  Was he a tormented soul endlessly searching for the family that he’d never known?  Or was he just a man who was a damn good kisser?

The only thing she knew for certain was that he was a Pretender, a genius with the ability to become anyone he wanted.  One question rose above all the rest: who did she want him to be?

And would he be that person for her?

There was a knock on her door.  Grateful for the interruption to her jumbled thoughts, Miss Parker swiftly rose and went to answer it.  When she looked through the peephole, she couldn’t contain a small gasp.  She quickly unlocked the door and undid the chain.  “Daddy!” she exclaimed, opening the door wide.

Her father stepped over the threshold and enveloped her in a tight hug.  “Oh, Angel, my Angel!  Are you alright?”

Surprised by this rare physical display of affection, she stood stiffly in his arms, but only for a few seconds.  Then she relaxed into his embrace, closing her eyes and breathing in the comforting scent of his cologne.  “I’m fine, Daddy,” she murmured against his neck.  “Better now that you’re here.”

Too soon he pulled away and looked her over with a critical eye. “Are you sure you shouldn’t still be in the infirmary?” he asked.

Suddenly aware she was still only wearing her pajamas, she felt more vulnerable than usual when in her father’s presence.  “I’m fine,” she assured him, grabbing a fleece throw from the back of the sofa and wrapping it around her shoulders as an attempt to cover up a bit.  He looked well, with a healthy tan contrasting nicely with his neatly trimmed white mustache.  Two weeks spent in the sunshine and sea air had done him a world of good, she could tell.  She didn’t want to think about what he’d done with Brigitte that could also have contributed to his invigorated appearance.

“Angel, you need to take it easy.  You almost died, for God’s sake!”

She moved to close the front door.  “Who told you?” she asked, turning back around to face him.

 “Your brother.  He met me at the airport when my plane got in late last night.  I wanted to come over right away, but I figured you needed your rest.”  He shook his head and added with a scowl, “I can’t believe what happened while I was away.  And no one could get in touch with me.  Damn cell phone batteries died.”

“But I lived,” Miss Parker said.

Her attempt at levity fell flat.  Her father reached out and gently brushed a strand of hair away from her cheek.  “I should have been here,” he said in a low, gruff voice.

She felt tears pricking her eyes and she stepped past him, so her back would be turned while she regained her composure.  It looked like the time had come to tell him.  “Daddy, I was going to come to the office today to talk to you about Lyle,” she said, keeping her voice firm and steady.  “You need to know what he did.”

“I know all about it.  He told me last night about how you got contaminated with that deadly virus because of his carelessness!”

Miss Parker closed her eyes as her heart sank and her headache suddenly intensified.  That bastard.  Now that he’d already told their father his version of events, her theory was going to be even harder to sell.

“Of course, he feels just terrible about it, and he should!” Mr. Parker went on.  “There’s no excuse for him to be handling something so dangerous; the shipment of the samples from Africa should have gone directly to the infirmary.”

She took a deep breath and spun around.  “Daddy, Lyle knew exactly what he was doing when he –”

“No, he only thought he did!  He likes to be a little too hands-on with these projects sometimes – promising the Triumverate that he’ll take care of every detail personally – and this time it almost cost you your life!  That is unacceptable.”

She saw the steel in his gaze and heard it in his voice and thought she still might have a chance of convincing him of Lyle’s treachery.  “Daddy, the way I got infected –”

His look softened.  “Don’t blame yourself, Angel.  You had no way of knowing the seal on that container was faulty.  Of course, you took the opportunity to look inside it; you wanted to know more about the project your brother was working on.  Nothing wrong with a little sibling rivalry.”  He sounded almost proud.

Oh, sure.  Nothing unusual about a brother putting his sister’s life in jeopardy in order to score points with his boss.

“I’m just thankful it all worked out for the best,” Mr. Parker said.  “Jarod discovered an antidote, you recovered, and the Triumverate is satisfied with Lyle’s efficient handling of this assignment.”

What happened to “careless” Lyle being too “hands-on” and risking her life?  Her father was obviously pleased with his son’s performance during this first crucial project after Jarod’s recapture.  She knew her chance to tell him about Lyle injecting her with the virus had just slipped away; he’d never believe her because he wouldn’t want to believe her.

Or maybe he would believe her but not care, a tiny voice inside said.  Maybe he’d be proud of Lyle for having the guts to take such a huge risk to reap huge rewards.

No!  She wouldn’t believe that her father would ever condone putting her life in danger just to appease the Centre’s overseers.  Moreover, Lyle didn’t believe that, either, or he wouldn’t have timed her illness to occur when Daddy was conveniently out of town.

Okay, time for Plan B.  Maybe she could use that elevator video Broots had supplied.  “Jarod deserves most of the credit,” she said.

“Eh?  What’s that?”  Her father looked confused.

“Jarod is the one who worked day and night in the lab to develop a cure for this virus to save my life.  And the lives of many African villagers.”

“Well, yes, that was what he was supposed to do.  It’s his job.”

“So shouldn’t he be rewarded for a job well done?”

“Rewarded?  What are you talking about?”  He was starting to sound annoyed.

“Well, he should at least be treated better.  Let me show you something.”  She walked over to her desk.  After her father had reluctantly stepped to her side, she pressed the play button on the recording from the elevator.

This time she forced herself to watch.  A day after the fact, and seen at a distance through the impersonal lens of the camera, the scene seemed much tamer.  She had no problem keeping her expression neutral while viewing the footage, but she watched her father’s reaction out of the corner of her eye.  His eyes narrowed slightly when Lyle ordered Tony to “restrain” her, but he didn’t appear at all disturbed by the torture Jarod was undergoing.  As soon as the Sweepers dragged Jarod out of camera range, Mr. Parker turned away from the computer and took a step towards the door.

He couldn’t leave yet!  “Well?” Miss Parker demanded.

He gave her that slightly blank, slightly befuddled look she knew so well and hated so much.

“Daddy, Lyle was shocking Jarod for no reason!”

“No reason?  I had a security briefing this morning, including a full report about this incident.  From what I understand, Jarod attacked his guards and hijacked the elevator… with you inside it!  He didn’t hurt you, did he?”  His face darkened.

“No, of course not!  Jarod would never hurt me,” she said.

Her father grunted.  “Maybe not physically,” he allowed, “but he takes an emotional jab every now and then.  He’s been feeding you lies about our family for years.”

“Well, our family’s darkest secret is pretty much out, I’d say, if Lyle is now comfortable torturing people in public!”

“The sub-level elevator is not open to the public, and Lyle had every right to discipline Jarod.  He had to remind him who’s boss.”

“Gee, Daddy, I thought that was you,” Miss Parker said with just a touch of saccharine sweetness.

Her father glared at her.  “The Triumverate has put Lyle in charge of the Pretender project as a reward for catching him.  I told you that whoever brought him back to the Centre would have all the power.  Maybe if you’d paid more attention to the hunt instead of constantly being sidetracked by Jarod’s tidbits about our family, you would have been able to capture him yourself,” he snapped.

Since she’d made that dig about who was boss, she bit back an angry response to his last comment. “So Lyle can just do whatever he wants?” she persisted.  “He doesn’t have to answer to anyone?”

“As long as Jarod keeps producing results, the Triumverate will be happy with the status quo.”

“But will you be happy with it, Daddy?  You’ve been the director here for a long time.  How can you just give that up?”

“I haven’t given anything up.  I’m still in charge of the Centre’s operations, but Lyle has the final say in all things concerning Jarod.”

“Even if that means he can torture him whenever he wants?”  She heard the pleading note in her voice and hated it.

“Don’t worry, Angel, your brother is too smart to do any permanent damage to Jarod.  He knows not to risk the Centre’s biggest asset.”

“Because it would be his ass if anything happened to Jarod,” she muttered under her breath.

“But I do agree with you that he did go too far at one point in the elevator,” her father added.

Her heart leapt.  Maybe he’d finally admit that Lyle’s form of “discipline” was barbaric.

“He should never have ordered that Sweeper to restrain you!  Good thing you didn’t have to fight him.”

She stifled a sigh and prepared herself for another lecture on how she was too fragile to be brawling in the elevator.

“Otherwise, I’d be spending my first day back trying to calm some ruffled feathers in the security department after my daughter beat up one of their guys.”  He winked at her.

A warm feeling stole through her.  Her father actually recognized her strength and was acknowledging it, not like Sydney and Broots who were grateful that Jarod had put aside his pride in the elevator to rescue her from a physical confrontation with Tony.  It felt good to know someone still believed in her ability to take care of herself.

“Well, I need to get back to the office,” her father said briskly.  “I have a lot of work to catch up on.”  He bent down slightly to brush a light kiss on her forehead.  As he straightened, he glanced over her shoulder and his face paled.

“What is it, Daddy?” she asked with concern.

 “Nothing.  It’s just that…that image on the computer…for a second, I thought it was your mother.  To see Catherine… stepping out of that elevator…Well, that would be a sight, wouldn’t it?”  He cleared his throat.  “Get some rest, Angel,” he said in farewell and quickly left.

Miss Parker glanced at her laptop.  The video was frozen on the final frame of the recording, the moment when she had exited the elevator.  She remembered how desperate she’d been to get out of that claustrophobic box, and that sentiment was clearly visible on her face.  No wonder her father had been rattled.  He was used to his daughter’s surface resemblance to his wife, but to suddenly see her with that same fear that had too often lurked in the eyes of Catherine Parker… She felt a chill go through her as she stared down at the computer screen and pulled the blanket more tightly around her shoulders.

No!  She slammed down the lid of her laptop.  She had often said she was not her mother and never would be, and she meant it.  She’d gotten in a bad habit of letting Jarod “save” her, but no more.  She was done being the pawn or victim.  She would get some rest like everyone suggested, take some time to heal.

But not here.  She would go away, far away from the Centre and all its doom and gloom.  It was Spring, and right now she wanted to let some sunshine into her life.  She’d certainly earned it.

Chapter 15

Here, among the plants of Biodome 28, Sydney felt more at peace than anywhere else within the Centre.  Surrounded by the flourishing flora that he’d grown, he had a pure sense of accomplishment.  His horticultural experiments certainly weren’t groundbreaking work – well, except literally - but at least no one got hurt unless they pricked their finger on a thorn.  And the intense focus needed to perform such tasks as pruning Bonsai served as a kind of therapy for him, taking his mind off his worries.  Since Jarod had been on the run, Sydney had experienced many sleepless nights, wondering if his protégé was safe.  Now that Jarod was back at the Centre it was even worse; with Lyle in control and out of control, Sydney had reason to fear for the Pretender’s safety.  So he tried to visit this sanctuary as much as possible to keep himself on an even keel.

Today he hoped that this would be a secure location to meet with Jarod.  There was a security camera aimed at the entrance to the biodome but none within the structure itself.  A quick electronics sweep had proven that the only bugs in the vicinity were of the natural variety.  Sydney had arranged this meeting for a Sunday when both Willie and Tony were off duty, and the Sweepers taking their place were fairly new to the Centre.  Their personnel files – courtesy of a friend of Broots’ in that department - revealed that one of them had severe allergies, which meant he would be content to stand guard outside the dome.

Sydney needed their conversation to be private.  What he planned to propose had to remain a secret.

“Sydney?”

He was relieved to hear Jarod’s voice but kept his own calm and detached, all business, as he said, “Ah, Jarod.  Good.  I could use your opinion here.”  Sydney purposely didn’t turn from the gardening bench where he was working; it was located at the opposite end of the biodome, as far from the surveillance equipment as possible, and he wanted Jarod to come to him.

He heard the approach of slow, cautious footsteps.  Only one set of footsteps, thank goodness.  Then Jarod, much closer this time: “How can I help?”

Sydney continued to study the notes laid out on the table in front of him.  “I’ve gotten some surprising results from the seedlings of a hybrid I developed.  I wanted to get your take on it.”

“Sure.”  Jarod stepped up next to him.  “Nice place you’ve got here, by the way.”

“I thought you might appreciate a taste of nature –even simulated – after your recent stint in solitary.  And I’ve always found this environment rather soothing.” 

Jarod let out a small sigh.  “It is rather pleasant.  How’d you convince the powers-that-be to allow me this unexpected break from my sub-level existence?”

“I told Mr. Parker that you would not be able to perform efficiently if your health suffers, which it surely would if you’re constantly kept in tiny rooms underground.  It didn’t take much to convince him; you haven’t looked particularly well since you’ve been back at the Centre.” Sydney glanced over at him and was horrified to see how true that statement was; Jarod was sporting a black eye and a swollen lip.  “My God, Jarod, what happened?”

His former student shrugged, and even that slight movement was made stiffly, Sydney observed with dismay.  “The guards were getting bored while I was confined to my cell, so Lyle gave them a chance to use me as a punching bag to boost morale.”

“Do you need medical attention?” 

Jarod shook his head.  “No, it’s nothing serious.  A black eye, some facial lacerations, and a few bruised ribs.”  He paused then added wryly, “I guess I deserved it; I did break Willie’s nose twice in three weeks.”

Sydney winced inwardly but didn’t express his feeling aloud.  He knew this clinical recitation of injuries and attempt at self-deprecating humor were Jarod’s way of coping with the pain and helplessness he’d surely felt when cornered by the Sweepers in his cell.

To keep up with the charade, Sydney placed a potted flower in front of Jarod.  “This is one of the seedlings I mentioned.  What do you think?”

Jarod gently touched the purple petals with the pale pink swirls.  “Beautiful,” he breathed and seemed to truly mean it.  Pitching his voice louder for the guards’ benefit, he said, “I see what you mean about surprising results.  I’ve never seen a flower like this.  What hybrids created it?”

“A new species of African Violet.  Here are my notes.”  Sydney pushed a few papers his way.

Jarod bent over the pages and asked quietly, out of the corner of his mouth, “How is Miss Parker?”

“I’m not sure.  She’s been away for a week.  She went to Maine.”

Jarod looked surprised but faintly pleased.  “That should be good for her.”

Sydney knew that Jarod was well aware of Ben, Catherine Parker’s former lover who lived in Maine.  He was an important link to Miss Parker’s mother, the one person who had known the carefree dancer before she’d married Mr. Parker.  Time spent with Ben would surely help Miss Parker.

Jarod’s attention had returned to the exotic-looking flower.  He swiveled the pot slowly to examine it from every angle.  “I wish she’d stay away,” he said.  “I told her it’s too dangerous here at the Centre now, especially since Lyle has used her twice to get to me.”

“Twice?” Sydney said sharply.

Jarod kept his head bent over the amethyst blooms but swiveled his gaze to his former teacher.  “She didn’t tell you?  Not surprising.  I doubt she wants to admit that her brother has successfully endangered her life twice in recent weeks.”  His jaw tightened.  “She’s too stubborn for her own good.”

“Jarod, when was the first time Lyle threatened Miss Parker?”

Jarod straightened up with a sigh and looked at him fully.  “The day I was captured at the cemetery.  Lyle had a gun on her.  I couldn’t take the chance that he was bluffing, so I let him bring me in.  Looking back, that was probably a big mistake.”

“Jarod, he infected his own sister with a deadly virus that had no known antidote at the time,” Sydney said in a low, insistent tone.  “He would have had no qualms about putting a bullet in her.  You made the right choice that day.”

“Did I?” Jarod looked back down at the horticultural notes and rubbed his forehead tiredly.  “His capture of me has given him a great deal of power.  He’s more dangerous now than ever.”

Sydney was silent.  Jarod’s grim assessment of the situation was correct, and he had no words of comfort to offer. 

Jarod asked abruptly, “Did Miss Parker ever speak to her father about Lyle?”

“She mentioned that he’d come to the house to see her the day he returned from his cruise, but I don’t know what was said between them.  She left for Maine the next day.”

Jarod’s shoulders slumped in defeat.  “She didn’t tell him.”

“Probably not.  Mr. Parker certainly has not made any attempt to restrict Lyle’s behavior.” He gestured at the bruises on Jarod’s face.  “He’s still operating with impunity.”

“I can handle whatever Lyle does to me.  It’s wondering what he’ll do next to Miss Parker that has me worried.”

Sydney could clearly hear the agitation in his voice and see it in the way he tightly gripped the pen as he pretended to make a notation about the flower he was examining.  He wondered if he should press Jarod to voice his true feelings about Miss Parker.  This was as close as they’d come to being alone in the Centre; now would be the best time.

Sydney leaned over another specimen of exotic flower as if breathing in its scent.  “You care for her,” he observed quietly, tilting his head slightly to catch Jarod’s expression.

The Pretender never looked up from the “notes” he was jotting down, but the pen did still for a second or two.  His answer was barely audible: “I don’t want her to be hurt because of me.”

Well, no breakthrough there.  Sometimes, like now, Sydney had a very unprofessional urge to grab Jarod by the shoulders and shake him until he admitted the depth of his feelings for Miss Parker!  Instead, he took out his frustration on the seedling, crushing one of its delicate petals between his fingers.  He saw the startled look this action elicited from Jarod, but he offered no explanation.  As he regained his composure, he made a few “notes” of his own about the flower he’d just damaged.

After a moment, Jarod whispered urgently, “Sydney, you need to convince Miss Parker to leave the Centre and never return.  We need to get her out of harm’s way.”

Sydney shook his head.  “No.”

“No?”  He sounded stunned.

“That won’t solve the problem.”  Sydney straightened and took off his suit coat, finding the humidity within the greenhouse suddenly oppressive.  “Jarod, no doubt your feelings for Miss Parker are different than those you have for me, yet I am fairly certain you would capitulate to Lyle’s demands were he to hold a gun to my head.  And you would do the same for Broots.  In fact, you would do whatever you could to save some innocent stranger pulled in off the street.  That’s your nature, and Lyle knows it.”  He paused, drew in a deep breath, and finally gave voice to the crazy idea that had been running around in his head for quite some time.  “We need to remove you from the equation.  You need to escape.”

If the subject matter hadn’t been so serious, Sydney would have found Jarod’s look of astonishment comical.  He’d rarely seen the Pretender allow his true emotions to show on his face.

After a moment of shocked silence, Jarod finally managed, “Do you know what you’re saying, Sydney?  You’d willingly help me to escape?  After years of trying to get me back?”

Sydney risked a glance towards the far end of the dome and was relieved to see that the coast was still clear.  “I admire all the good you’ve been able to do on your own out there in the world, Jarod, but I still believe your talents would be put to best use by an organization with the resources of the Centre.  Many years ago, before you were even born, the Centre was a much different place, one that took on various altruistic projects.”  He sighed.  “Unfortunately, that benevolent agency no longer exists.  Until there’s a change in leadership here, your skills will continue to be misused, your principles compromised.  There’s no longer any reason for you to stay.”

Jarod stared at him for a long moment.  “Well, thanks for finally admitting that, Sydney, but unless we can figure out a way to deactivate my implant, all talk of escape will remain just talk.”

Buoyed somewhat by the grain of respect he thought he’d seen in Jarod’s eyes, Sydney persisted with his positive thinking.  “Broots is working on that problem right now.  I imagine he’s been slowed somewhat by his current workload – Lyle’s had him running from one satellite office to another all week running computer diagnostics – but I’m certain he’ll come up with an answer soon.  He’s a technological wiz, you know, and when Miss Parker gives him an assignment, he always completes it.”

“Miss Parker asked him to work on this?” Jarod asked in surprise.

“Yes, right after the incident in the elevator.  She was very upset when Lyle pulled out that little black box and showed what it could do.”  Sydney paused then added gently, “She may talk tough, Jarod, but she truly doesn’t want to see you hurt.”

Jarod averted his gaze, studying the potted flower with renewed intensity.  “Maybe,” he finally said grudgingly, “but she certainly won’t want to help me escape.”

“Leave Miss Parker to me,” Sydney said, trying to put confidence he didn’t feel into his words.  “Your job right now is to go along, as best you can, with whatever Lyle wants.  Don’t give him any reason to throw you back into solitary or use that damn device on you.”

“I’ll do my best,” Jarod said drily.  “I may be able to withstand torture, but it’s not an experience I care to repeat too often.”

It was Sydney’s turn to busy himself with his notes as he tried to ignore the sudden lump in his throat.

“At least the new project I start tomorrow shouldn’t cause any crisis of conscience,” Jarod went on in a lighter voice.  “I’m supposed to help a private company figure out the best way to mine asteroids for valuable minerals.  I may be helping a greedy corporation make a ton of money, but I can live with that.”

“Dr. Green, are you finished with him yet?” One of the Sweepers had entered the greenhouse.  “We need to get him back to his cell.”

“Of course,” Sydney replied and then, in the same louder voice, “Thank you for your help, Jarod.”

Jarod inclined his head.  “Thank you for yours,” he murmured.  He added for the benefit of the guards: “Botany is definitely your forte, Sydney.  You’ve achieved some beautiful results here.”  He gave one last, sincerely admiring glance at the purple blossoms then turned and walked to his waiting escort.

Sydney watched them leave.  I hope I deserve your thanks one day soon, Jarod, he thought.  A twinge of anxiety flared within him, and he turned back to his plants to lose himself in their serene beauty.

When Miss Parker looked through the peephole of her front door Monday night and saw Broots and Sydney standing on her porch, she felt her stomach plummet.  Yanking open the door, she demanded, “What’s wrong?  Is Jarod okay?”

The startled look on Broots’ face and the appraising one on Sydney’s made her realize – too late – that she’d just revealed who had been uppermost in her thoughts recently.

“Jarod’s fine,” Broots said.  “I mean, as fine as he can be as a prisoner of the Centre.  I mean, he’s no worse off than he was the last time you saw him.  Actually, I guess he’s better, since I don’t think Lyle’s shocked him lately…although, I don’t know that for certain, since Jarod’s been in solitary confinement all last week, and I wasn’t around much either…”

Oh, God, Broots babble.  She hadn’t missed that this last week.  Being in Maine with her mother’s friend Ben had been a refreshing change.  He had a gentle voice but was best at listening; she saw why her mother had gone to visit him every year. 

Sydney must have sensed her growing irritation with Broots, for he interrupted the techie’s nervous chatter to say smoothly, “I’m sorry for the intrusion, Miss Parker, but this conversation needed to take place away from the omnipresent eyes and ears of the Centre.”  He pushed past Broots to enter the house.

Broots closed his mouth and followed meekly behind his colleague.

Stifling a sigh, Miss Parker closed the door then turned to face the men.  “So, why does this conversation have to be held in private?” she asked.

“It’s about that special project you asked me to work on,” Broots said.

“You can speak freely here, Broots,” Sydney reminded him.

“Oh!  Right.  Okay.  Um…” 

Sydney moved around to the front of the sofa and sat down.  He arched a look at Miss Parker, silently encouraging her to follow suit.

She reluctantly joined him on the couch, taking a seat at the opposite end and hoping she wasn’t giving Broots tacit permission to prattle on forever. 

As if suddenly noticing he had an audience, Broots hurriedly took up position in front of the living room’s stone fireplace but then seemed at a loss for words; he couldn’t even manage to stutter.

“Is this about that device Lyle used to shock Jarod?” Miss Parker prompted to snap him out of his “stage fright.”

“Yes!  You asked me to find a way to neutralize it.  Well, I was bouncing around the tri-state area all week running computer diagnostics at Centre satellite offices, so I didn’t really have much time to work on the problem.”

“Busy work supplied by Lyle,” Sydney commented.

Miss Parker cast him a sidelong glance.  “Really?  Hm, I thought my brother was sure we wouldn’t be able to defeat his little black box.  Guess he had second thoughts when he remembered what a tech genius Broots is.”

The “genius” flushed at her compliment, a nervous smile twitching at the corners of his mouth, and Miss Parker felt like kicking herself.  “You have figured out a way to deactivate the device, haven’t you, Broots?” she pressed in her normal, no-nonsense tone.

“Oh, yes, I have!  I mean, I know what I need to do.  I have to jam the frequency that triggers the receiver in Jarod’s implant, but first I have to isolate the frequency it operates on.”

“And how do you do that?” she asked.

Broots opened his mouth and then shut it again.  “It’s pretty technical,” he said uncertainly.

As if sensing she was about to leap off the sofa and launch herself at Broots, Sydney laid a hand on her arm.  “Just give us the basics,” he suggested mildly.

“Well, I can use my computer to find the correct frequency.  I just need to be in close proximity to Lyle the next time he uses the device to shock Jarod.”

She didn’t like the sound of that.  Just thinking of Lyle torturing Jarod in that way again made her feel a little queasy.  “What if Jarod sets off the invisible fence outside?” she proposed.  “Couldn’t you get the data you need from that?”

Broots shook his head.  “That won’t work.  I need a sustained transmission to get the best results.  The safeties on the fence might shut off the current before I can get an exact reading.  Or Sweepers might drag him away too soon.”

“How long does the transmission have to last?” she asked, the sick feeling in her stomach growing.

“I’m not sure exactly, but the longer the better,” Broots said, starting to look miserable.

Miss Parker turned to Sydney.  “Wouldn’t a sustained shock be harmful to Jarod?”

“Well, electric shocks are a popular method of torture precisely because they can be delivered in a controlled way that causes maximum pain but no lasting physical harm to the victim.  A sustained shock at a high enough current can lead to ventricular fibrillation, but I believe the safety on Lyle’s device won’t allow that.  Of course, repeated shocks can cause neuropathy.”

Miss Parker wasn’t exactly sure what all of that meant, other than that Sydney was using the fancy terminology to cover up the fact that he was upset.  Since Jarod was like a son to him, the thought of him having to undergo more torture was disturbing.  Even she didn’t like the idea of Jarod being shocked again, but not because he meant anything to her.  It was just common decency to be bothered by torture.

“Most likely a prolonged shock will not cause permanent damage to Jarod,” Sydney went on quietly, “but the pain will be excruciating.”

She heard Broots gulp.  “That’s okay.  Jarod can take it,” she said.  “He knows how to endure torture.  He’s… he’s had enough practice.”

She wasn’t aware she was clutching one of the heavy throw pillows on the couch and  spastically kneading the braided cord along its edge until she noticed Sydney observing this action with a shrink’s clinical eye.  She quickly tossed the pillow aside and stood up, moving behind the sofa and out of her colleague’s line of sight.

“What if Jarod refuses to do this?” Broots asked.  “I wouldn’t blame him.”

“Jarod will do it,” Miss Parker said with conviction.  “especially if he knows it means you’ll be able to disable the shock transmitter, preventing Lyle from torturing him that way again.”

“Why don’t we give Jarod even more motivation?” Sydney said.  “Once Broots can jam the frequency he’ll be able to punch a hole through the invisible fence around the building.”  He rose to his feet and turned to look directly at Miss Parker.  “Then Jarod can escape.”

Had she heard him correctly?  Had he just outright suggested that they help Jarod to escape?  “You’re serious,” she said, needing confirmation.

“Yes,” he said, his gaze never leaving her face.

Sydney’s voice was as calm as ever, with that European accent that made him seem somehow more cultured than the rest of them.  He wore his usual suit, the tie slightly askew after a long day at the office, and his usual unreadable expression, the one perfected by psychiatrists everywhere.

But the statement he had just made meant everything had changed.  There was a time not long ago when he would have been afraid to voice any escape plan for Jarod in front of her, because she would have instantly reported his treason to her father.  Lucky for him, she wasn’t even considering telling her father about this conversation.

She was considering helping with the escape plan.

What in the hell was wrong with her?

While Miss Parker silently struggled with herself, Broots stammered, “B-but w-we’ve been trying to catch Jarod for years!  You really want to help him escape?”

“Why now?” Miss Parker asked Sydney.

“Because Lyle is out of control, and it’s not just Jarod I’m worried about.  You’re in danger, too.”

She let her irritation show.  “You’ve been talking to Jarod.”  I thought I’d lost you…

“Yes, and he agreed the best thing is for him to escape as soon as possible.”

“Oh, I just bet he did,” she said, hoping sarcasm would drive Jarod’s voice and the memory of his mouth on hers out of her mind.

Broots had started to pace back and forth in front of the fireplace, muttering all the while, “All that work we did, all those searches, those false leads, the computer programs I developed to help catch him…”

“Jarod knows he can’t stay here, especially now that his presence is putting others at risk.  I have no doubt that Lyle would also use me or Broots to make him capitulate, although your relationship with Jarod makes you his favorite target.”

“What relationship?” she challenged, cursing inwardly as her mind instantly went to those kisses shared in the elevator.  As she felt her cheeks grow hot, she scowled to hopefully mask any other emotion that might have worked its way onto her face.

Sydney moved behind the couch to come stand beside her.  “Your childhood friendship, your shared loss of family.  Jarod connects with you on an emotional level.”

His gentle voice was almost hypnotic.  Miss Parker shook her head to clear it.  “No, no, you’re the one with the emotional ties to Jarod.  If anyone at the Centre has a relationship with him, it’s you.  You’re like a father to him, Sydney.”

“As I said, I’m sure Lyle would also use me to get to Jarod.  He’s gone from the carrot to the stick method.  He’s no longer offering promises of clues to Jarod’s missing family to coerce him; instead, he’s threatening the loved ones who are currently present in his life.”

Miss Parker blinked.  “I think your analysis is a bit flawed there, Sigmund; I doubt Jarod considers you or me his ‘loved ones’.”

“We’re still the closest thing he has to a family, dysfunctional as it is.  He truly doesn’t want to see any one of us hurt.  And Lyle will use that to his advantage whenever he has to.  That’s why we need to get Jarod out of here now!”

“B-but won’t we all be in even more danger if we help him to escape?”  Broots asked.  “I’d rather not end up in that wood shed Lyle has in the secret room in his apartment.”

“Don’t worry, Broots, you’re not a woman or Asian,” Miss Parker said, “so you’re safe.”

“None of us are safe,” Sydney said.  “Lyle knows he can use even Broots to get to Jarod.  He’s seen the report on Damian’s death; he knows that Jarod killed – something he’d never done before - to save a person who’d been trying to capture him for years, because he knew it was the right thing to do.”

“Oh, I’m not comfortable with this,” Broots said miserably.

“What else is new?” Miss Parker snapped.

“Jarod saved your life, Broots,” Sydney said.  “You owe him.”

Broots sank down on the edge of the coffee table and put his head in his hands.

“As long as no one figures out we helped him to escape, we’ll all actually be safer with Jarod on the loose again,” Miss Parker said.  She was looking at Broots but she could sense Sydney go on full alert at her words.  “Hypothetically speaking,” she added to make sure her co-workers understood she had not agreed to go along with this wild idea, “if Jarod escapes again, the Centre will need the three of us to bring him back.  Broots’ technical skills, Sydney’s unique understanding of Jarod’s psyche, and my ruthless tracking ability make us the best team to capture him.  They’ll need us.”

“Not to mention that Lyle will lose favor with the Triumverate if he lets Jarod escape for a second time on his watch,” Sydney pointed out.  “A less powerful Lyle is better for everyone.”

Miss Parker cast a sidelong look at Sydney, who was watching her intently.  She knew when she was being manipulated.  Sydney was well aware that she would do almost anything to get the better of her brother, even if it meant helping her long-hunted prey to escape.

“This doesn’t make any sense,” Broots’ voice was muffled by his hands.  “We’re going to help Jarod escape and then try to catch him again?”

“Once Lyle is neutralized, the Centre will be a safer environment for Jarod,” Sydney said.  “It’s my hope that the Centre will use his extraordinary abilities for good.  And if Miss Parker is the one who brings him back, she’ll be the one with the power to oversee the Pretender project and have more say in what assignments he’s given.”

Jarod is the Centre’s greatest asset.  Whoever brings him back will hold all the power.  Her father’s words came back to her with renewed urgency.  This could be her best chance to gain influence with the Triumverate and guarantee that she and her father would be the Parkers who remained in control of the Centre.  “So you won’t fight me on bringing Jarod back when the time is right?” she asked Sydney slowly.

“You know Jarod is like a son to me.  I want him close by.”

Sydney spoke simply but sincerely, and Miss Parker knew he was telling the truth.

“So we’re agreed?  We’ll help Jarod escape?” Sydney went on quietly.

Though her heart was pounding, Miss Parker’s voice was steady as she replied,“Agreed.”

“I think we’re all crazy,” Broots lamented.

Despite the gravity of the moment, she felt her lips twitch.  She didn’t take her eyes off Sydney as she said, “Side effect of working at the Centre, Broots.  Maybe our resident shrink will offer you some free sessions.”

He didn’t crack a smile, but she couldn’t miss the satisfied gleam in his dark eyes.

He should be feeling a bit pleased with himself, she thought sourly.  He just got me to agree to go against the Centre.

Broots is right; I must be crazy.

Chapter 16

            She hated everything about this plan.

            First of all, it relied heavily on Broots being able to accomplish what he set out to do.  She had faith in his technical skills, but it was his ability to perform under pressure that had her worried.  Since he was the only one of their team who could do the computer calculations necessary, she knew he had to be feeling an enormous sense of responsibility; they were all depending on him.  Especially Jarod, who, if the scenario played out the way they imagined, would be especially eager for Broots to isolate the frequency as quickly as possible.

            But there was no guarantee anything would go as planned.              They needed Lyle to use the shock transmitter while Broots was in close proximity with his computer.  Once they’d decided the best place and time to do this, they’d had to figure out a way to communicate those pertinent details to Jarod.  Reluctant to use his trick of looping security camera feed too often, Broots had come up with another method.  With the help of his friend Gummy (a man who was missing most of his teeth) in janitorial services, Broots had scrawled an encoded message on a roll of toilet paper and sent it with other supplies for Jarod’s cell.  Miss Parker didn’t want to even think about the moment Jarod discovered this cryptic memo; she just hoped he deciphered it correctly and showed up when and where he was expected.

            Probably the worst part of this plan was the fact that she was little more than an observer.  Plus the only way she could observe was from hiding, which meant she had to hunker down below the windows of Sydney’s office, being careful to stay out of sight of the sim lab.  Worse, she had to stay in this undignified position with Broots and his laptop right next to her.  She’d made sure to wear a conservative pants suit and not her usual short skirt; Broots needed to concentrate on the task at hand.

            Right now Miss Parker was standing just inside the open doors of Sydney’s office, waiting for the key players to arrive upon the scene.  Broots was already settled beneath the windows, sitting cross-legged, his back to the wall, his laptop open upon his knees.  She glanced at her watch.  Jarod and company should be arriving at any minute now…

            She heard the clatter of their feet on the grated catwalk and quickly dropped into a crouch next to Broots.  Risking a peek, she saw Lyle leading the way down the steps, followed by Jarod and his usual Sweeper duo of Willie and Tony.

            Lyle glanced around the cavernous space.  “Sydney?” he called.  He started to head their way.

            Miss Parker ducked her head.  Damn it, Syd!  Her eyes darted around the room, wondering if she and Broots would both fit under the desk…

            She heard a cell phone ring.  Lyle answered, “Yes?”  It sounded like he had gotten as far as the steps leading to the office.

            Broots had already started to crawl for cover.  Miss Parker grabbed the back hem of his green polo shirt to stop him.

            “Well, we’re here for the meeting you requested.  Where are you?”  The annoyance in Lyle’s voice was evident.  There was silence for a few seconds.  “Fine, we’ll wait.  But not for long.”  He shut his phone with an angry snap.

            “Sydney’s been delayed.  Some problem with one of his twin subjects.  He’ll be here shortly.”

            Lyle’s voice was getting fainter, so Miss Parker figured he was heading back to the center of the sim lab.  She gave a tug on Broots’ shirt, and he carefully returned to his earlier position.

            “Do you have someplace else you need to be?”  Jarod sounded sullen and slightly bored; it was the voice he often used around Centre personnel.  Miss Parker could tell the difference now, because she knew what it sounded like when the real Jarod was speaking.  I thought I’d lost you…

            “Well, it is a holiday weekend, so I thought I’d try to get out of here a little earlier today,” Lyle said.  “Maybe spend some time at my cabin in the woods.  I feel the need for some… rejuvenation.”

            Broots slowly turned a horrified gaze on Miss Parker.  She suspected her own expression mirrored his.  During Lyle’s last weekend in the woods, they’d discovered his hidden torture chamber, a dirt-caked shovel, and a report of a missing Asian waitress, giving them a pretty good idea of what he did to “rejuvenate.”

            Miss Parker knew that Jarod was well aware of Lyle’s weekend activities, so she was again impressed by how he could hide his emotions when she heard his casual tone: “Holiday or not, I’m surprised you can get away.  I just finished that space mining project, so I figure you’ve got another assignment for me.  Isn’t that what this meeting’s about?”

            “No, you finished the work for Final Frontier, Inc. so quickly, you’ve earned a mini vacation.”

            “Oh?  Then why don’t you turn off that invisible fence outside and let me have a picnic on the Centre grounds to celebrate Memorial Day?”

            Miss Parker shifted from her current squat to a more comfortable kneeling position; no telling how long this “banter” would go on.

            “Sorry, Jarod, you’ll have to be content with spending a quiet three days down in your hole.”

            “Not much of a vacation.”

            “Tell you what.  Maybe I can get the kitchen staff to make you a corn dog.  Would you like that?” Lyle asked with false joviality.

            There was a pause, then: “So, if I’m not getting a new project yet, what’s this meeting about?”

            “I don’t know, it was Sydney’s idea.”  Lyle’s impatience was clear.

            “You let Sydney call a meeting without knowing what he wants to discuss?  I thought you were in charge around here, Lyle.”

            Miss Parker sat up straighter – metaphorically – as she noticed that the small-talk tone to Jarod’s voice had suddenly vanished.

            “My father’s the one in the Director’s office.  So if he wants to humor Sydney’s need to have periodic access to you, I have no choice but to go along with it.” 

            Miss Parker smiled to herself.  Good to know Daddy could still boss her brother around when he felt like it.  If only he felt like it more often!

            “So even though the Triumverate has put you in charge of my… work here, Mr. Parker still does have the final say about what happens at the Centre.”

            There was a long pause, while Miss Parker imagined her brother fidgeting and trying to find a way to save face.  Finally, he replied slowly, “Technically, that’s true.”

            Her smile turned to a frown.  What the hell did that mean?

            Jarod put forth his own theory.  “Meaning you try to get away with what you can whenever possible.  Is that why Miss Parker mysteriously became infected with the African virus while your father was conveniently away on vacation?  You didn’t want him to know what you were going to do to make me cooperate?”

            Wanting to observe Lyle’s reaction, she carefully raised her head slightly so she could peer over the windowsill.  The men were standing in the center of the cavernous space known as the sim lab, but Lyle’s back was to her so she couldn’t see his face.  But she could see Jarod’s.  The intensity of the gaze he fixed on Lyle was truly impressive; she imagined many a criminal had been treated to that look when Jarod confronted them with evidence of their evil deeds.

            Lyle didn’t turn away from the accusing stare, nor did he confirm Jarod’s suspicions.

            “Or maybe your father knew exactly what you were going to do and went on that cruise so he’d have deniability with his daughter?”

            That was meant for her ears.   Miss Parker felt a flash of irritation.  Jarod knew that she and Broots were watching from Sydney’s office, unable to make their presence known.  When she’d had the chance to tell her father about her belief that Lyle infected her, she hadn’t done so, but Jarod was not wasting his opportunity to once again try to drive a wedge between her and her father.  Even though she was hiding in a dark room, she felt like Jarod was looking right at her.  She held her breath while she waited for Lyle’s reply.

            “My father knows what he needs to know,” he said.

            Typical non-answer of the kind she’d learned to expect at the Centre.  She stifled a sigh and ducked her head down again, trying to ignore the tiny part of her that was relieved not to know the truth.

            “What about the Triumverate?  Does it know how you convinced me to find the antidote for the virus?” Jarod pressed.

            “The Triumverate knows that I get results, and that’s all that matters,” Lyle responded smoothly.

            “Really?  Does the Triumverate know that you’re only getting those results because of the way you’re using Miss Parker?  That I wouldn’t even be back at the Centre if you hadn’t threatened to shoot your own sister at the cemetery?”

            “Do you have a point, Jarod?” Lyle sounded bored.

            He wasn’t confirming or denying anything, she noticed.  Listening to her brother calmly discuss the hideous actions taken against her made her slightly sick to her stomach.  If Sydney were here, he’d call Lyle a sociopath; she called him a monster.

            “My point is that Miss Parker is now aware of what you’ve been doing,” Jarod said, “and she won’t be an easy target the next time.”

            She appreciated the vote of confidence but doubted he was saying it for her benefit.

            “I have other ways to get what I want out of you, Jarod.”

            The dangerous edge to Lyle’s voice made Miss Parker risk another glance out the window.  The men were still standing in the center of the room, next to the table, but with the current level of tension simmering around them, it was obvious neither one was going to sit down.  Even Willie and Tony, posted a few feet away on either side of Jarod, were started to shift their weight a little, as if sensing something about to happen.

            Jarod didn’t look or sound particularly concerned.  “Oh?  You mean that little box you carry around?”

            Lyle’s right hand stole inside his coat.  “Yes,” he said.

            Jarod suddenly jerked, and next to her, Broots jumped slightly.  “I got a blip,” he breathed, his fingers dancing across the keyboard.  “But it’s already gone,” he added, his shoulders slumping.

            Miss Parker knew that much from Jarod’s body language; she could see him relax.  Lyle had just given him a quick jolt.  She watched him remove the tiny transmitter from his pocket; sure enough, his finger was not on the button…yet.

            “Get ready, Broots.  My brother’s just getting started,” she said grimly.

            This was the part of the plan she hated the most.  She knew Jarod had to goad Lyle into shocking him and then resist succumbing to the pain for as long as possible so that Broots could get the best reading of the frequency Lyle’s device was using.  All of that made sense to the rational part of her mind; it was the emotional side that still hadn’t gotten over seeing Jarod collapse in the elevator while she was helpless to ease his suffering.  She didn’t want to go through that again, didn’t want Jarod to ever have to go through that again.  Sensing her discomfort as only he could, Sydney yesterday had suggested gently that she didn’t need to be present for this part of the plan.  But she had insisted, making some flip remark about having to make sure Broots kept a cool head.

So, here she was.  There was no turning back now.  She – and Jarod – just needed to get through the next few minutes.

            As planned, Jarod wasn’t backing down.  “Haven’t you learned by now that torture doesn’t work on me?” 

            Oh, that superior tone!  She braced herself as she waited for the response from Lyle.

            Studying the device in his hand, her brother said, almost absent-mindedly, “Oh, yes.  That technique you told me you learned as a child.  You go somewhere in your mind to block out the pain?  I’ve been meaning to ask you…”  He looked up at Jarod and pushed the button.  “Does that really work?”  His voice was razor sharp.

            Jarod’s whole body tensed but he stood his ground.  “It works well enough,” he managed through clenched teeth.

            “Broots!” Miss Parker said.

            His fingers were already busy on the keyboard.  “I know, I know,” he said.

            “But I’m curious,” Lyle said in a conversational tone.  “You claim you learned to use this technique when you were a child here at the Centre, presumably when you had to do simulations that caused you pain.  But where could you possibly escape to in your mind?  It’s not like you had any pleasant memories of times spent with your family.”

            Jarod was starting to shake more, his cuffed hands balled into fists, his knuckles white.  But he kept a glare focused on his tormentor.

            “You still don’t have those, though, do you?  No memories of Mommy and Daddy to sustain you during your darkest hours.  And the short time you spent with your brother Kyle can hardly be described as happy.   Just when you thought you had a chance of undoing the damage Raines had done to him, a chance of actually making him an upstanding citizen and maybe even recruiting him to your do-gooder crusade, what happened?  Kyle took a bullet meant for you and died in your arms.  I doubt that’s a moment you’d want to relive.  Although I imagine you do, time and time again in your nightmares.  What’s it feel like, Jarod, knowing that your brother’s dead because of you?”

            After that long monologue delivered in a sickeningly cheerful tone, Miss Parker itched to attack Lyle herself, so she was only slightly surprised when Jarod lost his cool and lunged at him.  Lyle sidestepped easily, and the effort cost Jarod some of his physical control; he fell to his knees with a groan, the tremors coursing wildly through his body.  Somehow he still managed to keep his head up, defiant brown eyes stubbornly trained on the man standing over him.

            Unable to look away, Miss Parker urged, “Hurry up, Broots!”

            “I’m trying, I’m trying,” he said desperately.

            Lyle had started to slowly circle Jarod, like a predator closing in for the kill.  “I suppose your imagination got you through your toughest times as a child,” he said.  “But now that you’ve been out in the world for a few years, you must have one or two nice memories you can draw upon.  Perhaps time spent with a woman you met during your travels?”

            Jarod was past the point of being able to respond, even if he’d wanted to.  He tried to brace himself against the table, but the convulsions wracking his body made the side of his head bang roughly against the edge of the table in a sickening rhythm.  Thud, thud, thud.  Miss Parker could feel her heart pounding in time with the horrible sound.

            “Or do you still prefer to use your imagination?  Maybe you fantasize about someone in particular?  Someone like my sister?” Lyle was facing her way at the moment, so Miss Parker could see his loathsome smile.  “Hell, I can understand that.  Half the guys at the Centre would like to get her in bed, even the hapless ones like her geeky sidekick.”

            Miss Parker didn’t need to look at her “sidekick” to know that he was stuck in the throes of embarrassment by what Lyle had just said.  “Focus, Broots!” she ordered and was relieved when she heard his fingers resume their crazy tap dance across the keyboard.  Her own fingers were clenching the sill so tightly she thought she felt splinters digging under her nails.

            Jarod made a Herculean effort to stand, but his shaking legs wouldn’t support him, and he fell again, this time his forehead pressed awkwardly against his cuffed wrists stretched out in front of him; he looked like he was praying.  Knowing that Broots was Jarod’s only current hope of salvation, Miss Parker thought, God help us all.

            Lyle stopped circling.  “How’s that survival technique of yours working now, Jarod?  Looks like it’s not blocking out all of the pain.”  He leaned over and spoke close to Jarod’s ear, barely loud enough for Miss Parker to hear.  “Or are you just… pretending?”

            Miss Parker knew Jarod’s agony was real; she could almost feel waves of pain rolling off of him.  He was sweating profusely and his breathing had become ragged gasps; she didn’t know how he was managing to stay conscious. Miss Parker was starting to have trouble breathing herself; her chest had grown tight, her hands clammy, her fingers prickly.

            She couldn’t watch anymore.  She ducked her head down again and sagged against the wall, forcing herself to take slow, even breaths.

            Broots slid a concerned glance her way.  “How much longer?” she asked him.

            “Almost done,” he said, returning his attention to the screen.  He was sweating, too, she noticed.

            Lyle was still talking, but she couldn’t make out what he was saying.  All she could hear was Jarod’s labored breathing, interspersed with low moans.  Fighting the childish urge to cover her ears with her hands, she pressed her back against the wall and hugged her knees to her chest, holding on for dear life.  Would this nightmare never end?  “Broots,” she pleaded, her voice a thin wisp of a wail.

            Amazingly, he replied almost immediately, “I’ve got it!”

            “What?  Are you sure?”

            “Yes!”

            Miss Parker had her cell phone out in an instant.  She flipped it open and jabbed the speed dial button.

            He answered after the first ring.  “This is Syd-”       

            “We’ve got it.  Go!” she said.

            Sydney must have been right down the corridor, because almost instantly she heard clattering footsteps on the metal catwalk.  Then a shout: “Lyle, what are you doing?  Stop!”

            Jarod let out an agonized cry.

            Then there was silence.

            Miss Parker reluctantly raised her eyes over the sill once more.  Jarod was lying on the floor, his eyes closed, a few tremors still rippling through his inert form.

            Lyle took his finger off the button.

            Sydney rushed down the stairs and knelt beside Jarod.  “He’s unconscious,” he said, looking angrily up at Lyle.

            Her brother gestured to the Sweepers.  “Take him back to his cell.”  He returned the transmitter to the inside pocket of his suit coat.

            “He needs to go to the infirmary,” Sydney insisted.  “How long did you shock him?  You could have caused permanent damage.”

            “He’ll be fine, Sydney.  I’m giving him three whole days off for the holiday – plenty of time to recuperate.”  When Sydney continued to glare at him, Lyle sighed.  “Okay, have it your way.  Willie, Tony, take Jarod to the infirmary and stand guard in his cubicle.  As soon as the doctors release him, I want him put back in his cell.  Understand?”

            “Yes, sir, Mr. Lyle,” Tony rumbled.  He grabbed Jarod under the arms, Willie took his legs, and they carried him up the steps and out of sight. 

            Sydney stood up.  “Your father will hear about this,” he declared.

            Lyle shrugged.  “I’m sure he will,” he said.  “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have some work to finish before I leave for a weekend of rest and rejuvenation.” He stared critically at the older man.  “You should really take some time off yourself, Sydney.  You look terrible.”  Then he left the sim lab, a jaunty bounce to his stride. 

            Sydney stood alone in the middle of the room a moment longer, staring down at the spot where Jarod had lain.  Then he seemed to come out of his stupor and hurried up the steps and in the direction the Sweepers had taken Jarod.

            Miss Parker slumped below the window again, her body trembling.  She closed her eyes but could still see Jarod’s pale face, his head hanging limply, as the Sweepers dragged him away.  She had a feeling that image would be with her for a long time to come.

            “M-miss Parker, are you alright?” Broots laid a tentative hand on her arm.

            Her eyes snapped open.  “Fine,” she said shortly and started to get up.

            “Wait!”  Broots tightened his grip on her arm.  “I need to loop the camera footage so we can leave undetected.”  With his other hand, he was already typing commands into his laptop.

            She shook free of his hold but stayed on the floor, secretly grateful for the extra time to gather herself.  She wasn’t sure her legs would have supported her if she’d risen too fast.

            Get a grip, Parker.  You still have work to do.

            Sydney would take care of Jarod.  She had the chance to save someone else.

“I knew torture would never work on Jarod as a motivational tool; his code of ethics is too strong.  But I really wanted to use it as a form of punishment for when he misbehaves.”  Lyle took a sip of his drink.  “That’s why I was pleased when I found a way to make torturing Jarod beneficial to the Centre.”  It’s always good if you can take pleasure in your work, he thought contentedly.

            “Dr. Archer’s services were expensive, but I believe they will prove to be a good investment.  That implant she invented is on the cutting edge of technology, and I think it’s just what our client needs.  Even though we’re not interrogating him, I think Jarod is the perfect test subject.  He can withstand torture as well as – or better than – any enemy combatant, terrorist or espionage agent operating today.”  Lyle didn’t mind offering the compliment.  The fact that Jarod was tough to break meant he got to try more times to do just that – a win-win.

            Lyle put his glass down on the desk and opened his laptop.  “I tried a new approach in our latest… session.”  He tapped a few keys and brought up the surveillance recording from the sim lab.  He kept the sound turned off; he wanted to more closely study Jarod’s reactions and didn’t need the distraction of his own words.  “While I attacked him physically with the electric shocks, I also tried to assault him on an emotional level.”  God, he was starting to sound like Sydney. 

            “This was done to sidetrack him, keep him from going to that special place in his mind that he told me he uses to block out most of the physical pain of torture,” Lyle went on.  “This was the first time I’ve tried this approach, but I think it worked well.”

            “You think so?”  Mr. Parker stepped away from the window behind Lyle’s desk where he’d been quietly sipping his Scotch.  “I think Jarod held out for a damn long time before he finally collapsed.”

            “You’ve already seen the footage?”

            “I watched the live feed from the security office,” Mr. Parker said.

            Lyle hid his irritation.  Another reason he had the video muted right now was because he had wanted to do a little editing before his father saw it.

            He fast-forwarded the recording to the part where Jarod fell to his knees.  “You see how my mention of his brother’s death affected him,” Lyle said, pointing to the screen.  “He lost some of his physical control and couldn’t maintain his balance.”

            “Your reference to Kyle was a good idea,” Mr. Parker said grudgingly as he moved around to the front of the desk.  Then he set his drink down heavily and fixed a scowl on his son.  “But I do not approve of the way you spoke about your sister!”

            With an effort, Lyle kept his voice calm.  “Well, the whole point of today’s session was to go after Jarod on a gut level, and like it or not, he does have feelings for her.”

            Mr. Parker looked thoughtful.  “I’m not so sure of that,” he said.

            “What?”  He pushed the pause button on the video.

            “That he has true feelings for her!  He could just be pretending in the hopes of getting her on his side.  He’s convinced she knows things about his family, or that she can get that information out of me.  He’s been trying to uncover all the Centre’s secrets for years!”

            “He’s done a pretty good job of it, too,” Lyle muttered.  “He doesn’t need my sister to help him.  I’m convinced he has another source inside the Centre.”  He shook his head; save that mystery for another day.  “Granted, he’s a master Pretender, but I think his feelings for her are genuine.  Have you watched the old DSAs?  You can tell he had a crush on her when they were kids.  Those puppy dog eyes he turned on her every time they were in a room together?” He made a sound of disgust.  “Of course, he was desperate for a friend.  And who can blame him with only Sydney to talk to?”  He paused.  “Why did you let the two of them meet back then?”

            “Ah, Sydney insisted that Jarod needed interaction with children his own age,” Mr. Parker said crossly.  “And Catherine felt sorry for him, thought he should have a friend.” 

            “Well, that friendship forged so many years ago is paying off now.  I’ve been able to use it to our advantage.”

            Mr. Parker narrowed his eyes at him.  “Exactly what did Jarod mean when he mentioned the African virus and me having deniability because I was away on a cruise?”

            Lyle again cursed the fact that he hadn’t been able to delete portions of his latest torture session with Jarod before his father saw it.  “Oh, Jarod has some crazy notion that I infected my sister on purpose to give him the motivation to find an antidote,” he said casually.  “I already told you how she was accidentally exposed to the virus.  I’m not ashamed to admit that I used her illness to get Jarod to complete the assignment.  Although it was terrible that she had to suffer, everything did work out for the best.”

            Mr. Parker stared at him for a long moment.  Lyle didn’t look away, maintaining what he hoped was a mostly neutral but slightly contrite expression.  He’d told Jarod that his father knew what he needed to know; the problem was the old man was craftier than he looked and might know a lot more than he let on.  Lyle let the tense silence stretch out between them, and finally, the clouds of suspicion cleared from his father’s face.  “Well, we’re just lucky Jarod was his usual brilliant self in coming up with the cure,” he grunted.

            “Of course,” Lyle murmured graciously.

            “Despite your carelessness with the blood samples from Africa, I have been pleased with your overall handling of the Pretender project so far,” Mr. Parker said.  “Just don’t get carried away with your torture of Jarod, alright?”

            “I checked with the infirmary.  He’s doing fine and has already been released.”

            “Good.  We can’t jeopardize his health.  This government contract we’ve garnered is quite a coup, but the Centre needs Jarod alive and well for a multitude of other ventures.”

            “I’m well aware of that.”  Of course, Jarod wouldn’t be in any real danger if he wasn’t so stubborn about resisting the effects of the electric shocks.  But then, it wouldn’t be as much fun…

            “I hope so,” Mr. Parker said sternly.  “Your position here at the Centre depends on you getting results from Jarod.  The Triumverate is happy with your work so far, but all of that could change.  You don’t want to get on their bad side.”

            “I know,” Lyle said, massaging his thumbless left hand.  He’d already been punished by one powerful crime organization and wasn’t eager to experience anything like that again.  He didn’t know exactly what had been done to his father in Africa a little over a year ago, but his erratic behavior and crazy look in his eyes when he’d first returned to the States hinted at horrific treatment.  Even now, a slightly haunted expression darkened the older man’s features.    

            Lyle sought to reassure him.  “Don’t worry, I know what I’m doing.”

            Mr. Parker grunted again, picked up his drink, drained the glass, and set it down again.  “Did I hear you tell Jarod you’re heading out to your cabin this weekend?”

            After dinner tonight at that new Chinese restaurant across town where he hoped to get some delicious take-out.  “Yes.  I think I need to get away for a few days.”

            “Well, have a good time.  You’ve earned it, son.”  He stepped away from the desk and turned to leave.

            The doors to his office were flung open and Miss Parker swept into the room.  Lyle rolled his eyes in feigned annoyance as usual, but he secretly enjoyed watching her dramatic entrances.  Today, though, the effect was slightly less striking, since she was wearing a conservative pantsuit instead of her normal provocative attire.  He was vaguely disappointed.  With those legs of hers, it was a crime to keep them covered.

            She seemed surprised to see their father there.  “Daddy!  Good, you’re here.  I wanted to talk to both of you,” she said.

            She’d no doubt already heard about his latest “punishment” of Jarod; Sydney probably couldn’t wait to tell her, hoping she’d run straight to her father, sparing him the task.  That geek Broots might have already gotten the recording and shown it to her, too.  Lyle braced himself for a barrage of verbal abuse; she’d call him a sick bastard who enjoyed hurting people who should never have been put in a position of power at the Centre, blah, blah, blah.

            His father also seemed to expect trouble.  “What is it, Angel?” he asked warily.

            “I was wondering if you had plans for the weekend,” she said. “There’s a concert in the park tomorrow night.  I thought you might like to go.”

            “A concert?  Yes, that sounds like a fine idea.”

            “Good.”  She turned to Lyle, the smile she’d bestowed on their father still on her face.  Surprisingly, it stayed there, only tightening a bit around the edges as she said, “You’re invited, too, Lyle.  I thought it would be nice for us all to spend some time together… as a family.”

            He regarded her in silence for a few beats, trying to read the intentions behind the invitation.  She barely acknowledged him as her brother and now she wanted to spend some “family” time together?  Why?  Her big blue eyes stared innocently into his own, giving nothing away.  He felt like she was daring him to… what?  Say no?

            Or say yes?

            “I agree,” he said, painting a pleasant smile on his face to match hers.  “Count me in, sis.”

            Was that a faint gleam of triumph in her eyes?  “Good,” she said.

            “Sweetheart, would you mind walking your old man to his car?”

            “Of course, Daddy.”  She took his arm.

            “See you tomorrow, son,” Mr. Parker said over his shoulder, giving him a “what-can-you-do” grimace.

            Lyle let the smile slide off his face as the door closed behind his father and sister.  Damn.  There went his plans for the weekend.  He really needed the whole three days if he wanted to truly savor his time in the woods.  He’d have to do it another time.  Lyle picked up his glass and gulped down the rest of his drink.

            The security video was still frozen on his computer screen.  Lyle’s pulse quickened as he realized the best part was coming up.  He clicked the play icon (and left the sound on this time) right before Jarod finally gave in to the pain, letting out an anguished scream and collapsing in a heap on the floor.  Lyle pushed rewind and watched that moment again.  And again.  And again.

            Sometimes he really loved his job.

Chapter 17

            The rough-hewn stone steps of Hyrbid Biotract 42 were warm where the sun hit them.  Sitting in one of these patches of sunshine, Sydney took off his suit jacket and slung it over his shoulder.  It was a shame that not many people saw this area of the Centre, but that just made the location all the better for a clandestine meeting; he was glad Miss Parker had suggested it.  The profusion of pink and white azaleas lining the path below him were a pleasant change from the drab, cavern-like walls that were his normal view from his office windows.  A slight breeze touched his face and Sydney closed his eyes, reveling in the feel of fresh air in the middle of a work day.

            “Late night, Syd?”

            Sydney opened his eyes, feeling a twinge of unease upon seeing Miss Parker standing at the base of the steps.  He should be more careful; he hadn’t heard her approach.  Of course, she could move with cat-like stealth when necessary and always had a smooth, graceful gait – perhaps inherited from her mother who had been a dancer in her youth.  Miss Parker’s outfit today – a leopard-print V-neck and brown leather mini skirt – served to accentuate her similarity to a jungle cat.

            “Just thinking,” he said, as she seemed to float up the stairs in her high-heeled boots and settled next to him.  “Jarod would love it out here.  He once told me that after he first escaped from the Centre five years ago, he would spend hours outside, just to experience the smell of fresh air and the feel of the sun on his skin.”

            “Well, he was raised in a dungeon, so who can blame him?  Hopefully, he’ll soon be able to experience the joys of the great outdoors all over again.”

            Sydney decided to answer what she hadn’t asked.  “I haven’t seen Jarod since Friday, but I checked with the infirmary, and they gave him a clean bill of health.  No lasting effects from the electric shocks.”

            “Good.” 

            He knew her well enough to sense that she was still troubled by what had taken place in the sim lab last Friday.  “What about you?” he asked gently.  “Are you alright?”

            She looked at him, surprised.  “Me?  I wasn’t the one getting shocked.”

            “Not physically, no.”

            She let out an exasperated sigh.  “Look, Sydney, I appreciate your concern, but I don’t have time for a session right now.  Why don’t we concentrate on making what Jarod went through last Friday worth it and work on the plan to get him the hell out of here?”

            “I agree,” he said.  He really hadn’t expected her to open up about her feelings, but he would never stop giving her the opportunity to do so.  “Jarod is doing his part and not making trouble.  I understand he started working on a new assignment yesterday for the CDC.”

            “The CDC?” Miss Parker echoed with some alarm.  “Not another virus?”

            Her reaction told him she still hadn’t dealt with the trauma of almost dying from the African virus, not to mention the shock of discovering her own brother had infected her.  “No, it’s nothing to do with disease,” Sydney quickly assured her.  “The CDC is upgrading its security systems.  The firm they hired has subcontracted the Centre to look for any vulnerabilities.  That’s what Jarod is doing.”

            “Well, if anyone can find a weak spot in a security system, it’s Jarod.”

            “Hm, yes.  He surely would have found a way to escape from the Centre again by now if it weren’t for his implant.”

            “My brother may be certifiable, but he’s not stupid,” Miss Parker said grimly.  Then a fierce smile slowly spread across her face.  “Which will make it all the more satisfying when we beat him.”

            They both heard a series of short, spastic sneezes, and Broots appeared at the bottom of the wide staircase.  “Sorry,” he said, sniffing.  “I must be allergic to something out here, which is strange because I don’t usually have this reaction.”

            “The warm winter coupled with the rainy spring has produced uncommonly high pollen counts,” Sydney explained.  “Many people are experiencing allergies this year when they never had problems before.”

            As if in confirmation, Broots let loose another sequence of sneezes, startling a peacock into motion on the shady hillside above them.

            “Thanks for the forecast, Syd,” Miss Parker said, “but what I really need is your expertise on all these plants.  With Sneezy here, we’re sure to attract some unwanted attention while we’re having our meeting.  So if we run into someone, be ready to act like you’re showing us some exotic species of flower, okay?”  She stood up abruptly.  “Come on, let’s walk and talk.”  She quickly descended the steps.

            Sydney rose to his feet and hurried to catch up.  As Miss Parker struck out on one of the meandering paths, he and Broots fell in step on either side of her, just like they often did in the hallways of the Centre.  On the off chance that they encountered a Centre employee out here in the Biotract, Sydney hoped that the three of them with their heads together was such a familiar sight, it would not arouse suspicion.

            “Okay, Broots,” Miss Parker said, keeping her voice low.  “You’ve got the frequency that triggers Jarod’s implant.  Now, exactly how do we use that to help him escape?”

            “Well, I won’t go into all the technical details, but basically, I just have to jam the signal at a point along the invisible fence, which will create a hole that Jarod should be able to walk through without getting shocked.”

            He made it sound so simple, and Sydney didn’t doubt that Broots would be able to execute the technical part of the plan with ease.  It was the other details – like how Jarod would get away from his usual pair of guards and then elude numerous Sweepers on the other side of the invisible fence - that would be a little more complicated.  But Sydney tried not to let those worries show on his face.  With his coat still draped over one shoulder and his hand in his pocket, he wanted it to appear like he was out for a casual stroll.

            “Where along the invisible fence?” Miss Parker asked.

            “As far as the frequency goes, I can shut down any part of the fence,” Broots answered, “but I thought it should be in an area where Jarod would have the greatest chance for escape.  I think the little-used service entrance on the northeast corner of the main building would be the best spot.  I’ve been going over camera footage and I noticed that Jarod’s security detail often uses the corridor just inside that door when they’re bringing him back from the showers.”

            Not one stutter in that report, Sydney noted, which meant that Broots was feeling fairly confident.  At least as confident as Broots ever felt about anything.

            “Sounds good,” Miss Parker said.  “I think we should plan the escape for a weekend when there will be less personnel around.  Also, it would be best if Lyle was not at the Centre when all this goes down.  We don’t want him entering some doomsday code into that damn transmitter that’ll zap Jarod with a lethal shock.”

            “Perhaps we missed an opportunity this last weekend,” Sydney said thoughtfully.  “Lyle had planned to be away for three days.”

            “No,” Miss Parker said.  “We all have a pretty good idea what Lyle likes to do at his cabin in the woods.  Jarod would never have wanted his escape to be at the expense of a young woman’s life.  No,” she said again, more firmly, “I did the right thing when I spoiled his plans by inviting him to a family outing.”

            “I agree,” Sydney murmured.

            “And before you ask, Syd, no, I did not find the Parker family get-together at all emotionally cathartic.  Daddy almost fell asleep during the concert and Lyle was sulking when he wasn’t busy watching me watch him.”

            “I’m sorry you had such an unpleasant time,” Sydney said.  Forget the casual stroll; he had to quicken his steps to keep up with Miss Parker’s long-legged stride that had accelerated as she discussed a subject she’d rather avoid.  Next to him, Broots was practically jogging to keep up.

            “I didn’t expect to have fun,” Miss Parker said.  “But remembering how May Lin, that poor waitress who went missing right around the time Lyle went for one of his ‘rejuvenating’ retreats, I knew I had to stop him before another innocent woman became his latest victim.”

            “I think you succeeded,” Broots said.  “I checked online this morning and found no missing person reports in the area for the last couple of weeks.” 

            “Then it was worth it,” Miss Parker said, her pace slowing somewhat when given this welcome news, “even if means we’ll have to find another way to lure Lyle away from the Centre.”

            “That won’t be easy,” Sydney observed.  “Lyle knows that Jarod is the key to him remaining in power at the Centre.  He’s being very hands-on with everything to do with the Pretender project.”

            “Especially hands-on with that little black box of his,” Miss Parker muttered.  “We’d have to pry it out of his cold, dead hands to get it away from him, an idea not without merit…”

            When Sydney started to object, she went on, “I know, I know, if anything happens to Lyle, he won’t be able to enter his top-secret code and Jarod will get a killer shock.  So my brother’s safe… for now.”

            He hoped she had more reasons than that to prevent her from killing her own brother, but he decided to let it go… for now.

            “So how do we get Lyle away from the Centre?” Broots asked and sniffed.   A slight breeze had sent a few seed pods wafting down from a nearby oak tree.  Sydney passed him his handkerchief, which Broots gratefully accepted.

            “We give him reason to believe that his ability to contain Jarod is in jeopardy,” Miss Parker said.  “Lyle already knows we want to stop the electric shocks, so it shouldn’t be hard to convince him that we’ve finally found a way to do it.”

            “We’re not going to tell him that I isolated the frequency?” Broots exclaimed, his outburst somewhat muffled by the handkerchief pressed to his face.

            Sydney could see Miss Parker’s shoulders bunch with tension. “No, you moron, we’re going to make him think we found someone who can help us disable Jarod’s implant.”

            “But I’ve already searched for Dr. Archer,” Broots protested.  “Lyle must have her stashed in some safe house, because I can’t find any trace of her.”

            “That’s why we’re going to find another scientist who is an expert in this field,” Miss Parker said.  “At least we’re going to pretend we located someone like that.  Then I’m going to arrange a trip out of town to secretly meet with this ‘expert.’  When Lyle learns what I’m doing, he’ll be on the next plane after me.”

            Sydney nodded thoughtfully.  “That could work,” he said.  “Lyle is desperate to maintain his control over Jarod through that implant.  If he thinks you’ll be able to wrest that control away from him, he’ll be willing to take the risk of going after you himself.”

            “Won’t that put you in danger?” Broots asked worriedly.

            “I can handle my brother,” Miss Parker said, “but I’m not really going to get on a plane to meet with some fictional super geek.  I need to stay here anyway to make sure Jarod gets away safely.”

            Sydney detected the determination in her tone and knew it came from more than just a desire to see her plan succeed.

            Miss Parker went on, “Lyle just needs to believe I left town.  You can create a false trail, right, Broots?”

            “Um, sure, flight tickets bought online, maybe a fake e-mail or two between you and the mystery scientist, but, well, um… how is Lyle going to find out about all of this?”

            “Through the weak link of our little group.” Miss Parker stopped walking and turned around to face them.  “You, Broots.”

            Her sudden stop had caused Broots to come to an abrupt halt, and now her statement made him stammer, “M-me?  B-but I w-would never...”

            “Relax, Broots,” she said.  “Sydney and I know that you would never betray our trust.  But Lyle doesn’t.  Loyalty in his world is bought, coerced, or downright faked to achieve an ulterior motive.”

            “B-but I did betray you that one time,” Broots said miserably.  “Remember when Mr. Raines threatened to torture me with a blowtorch?  I told him right away that Sydney and you were in White Cloud.”

            “That’s okay, this time we want you to leak some information to Lyle.”  Then, when Broots gulped and looked like he was starting to hyperventilate, she added, “Don’t soil your shorts, you’re not going to be tortured.  At least you won’t consider it torture.  Is Bridget still following you around?”

            Broots’ breathing was returning to normal, but Miss Parker’s comments had him looking confused.  “Well, I pass her in the halls sometimes.  But I do my best to avoid her!”

            “Good boy,” Miss Parker said.  “Keep doing that, only more so.”

            “Huh?”

            “You know, act awkward and nervous whenever you see her.  Just be yourself.”

            Now Sydney was as perplexed as Broots.  “And what will this acccomplish, Miss Parker?”

            She turned to him.  “I actually got the idea from you, Sydney.  Remember last year when I was worried about Broots being fed false information by Bridget?  You said something about using their relationship to our advantage.  I know how we can do just that.”

            Sydney spotted a Sweeper approaching – he didn’t recognize the man, so it must be one of the newer hires – and quickly squatted next to an azalea bush with large, bright red blossoms.  “This type of azalea is called the Ruby Princess,” he said, fingering one of the wavy-edged flowers.

            Although her back was to the advancing guard, Miss Parker instantly caught on to what Sydney was doing.  “Love the color,” she murmured, bending over for a better view – and providing the Centre employee a nice view of her shapely bottom and legs as he passed by.  Sydney noticed that Broots was slow to shift his focus to the bush.

            “It’s slightly past its peak now but is still an impressive specimen of this variety,” Sydney went on in case the guard was still within earshot.

            Once the man was out of sight, Miss Parker straightened and stepped off the path, beckoning to her companions.  Sydney and Broots obediently followed her into the shade of a tall oak tree.

            “It’s our turn to feed Lyle some false information, and we’re going to use Broots and Bridget to do it,” Miss Parker said.

            Sydney eyed her thoughtfully as she waited for his response.  To give himself more time to ponder her suggestion, he slowly put his suit coat back on and carefully adjusted the lapels.  Broots was also watching him, wanting – what?  Reassurance that this plan was feasible?  This whole scheme was fraught with potential pitfalls, but they had to do everything they could to increase Jarod’s chances of success.

            “It could work,” he finally allowed.

            Broots’ shoulders slumped, but Miss Parker’s eyes flashed with triumph.  “Okay, Broots,” she said briskly, “the next time that bleached blonde with no fashion sense slithers up to you –”

            “I-I don’t know about this,” Broots interrupted, shaking his head and wandering a few steps away from the group.

            “What’s the problem?  All you have to do is ‘let slip’ a few key pieces of misinformation.  I’ll tell you exactly what we want Bridget to pass on to Lyle.  As long as you can remember that when she’s cozying up to you…oh.”  She frowned suddenly.

            “What is it?” Sydney asked.

            “I think Broots here might be afraid he won’t be able to keep his wits about him when Miss Lollipop’s around.”

            Broots looked even more deflated, so Sydney knew that Miss Parker had correctly surmised the reason for his current discomfort.

            Her hands on her hips, she studied her crestfallen colleague for a moment in silence then took a step towards him.  Something in her face must have unnerved him, because he tried to retreat, but Miss Parker kept going at him, until his back was up against the tree trunk.  Then she placed one hand on his chest, long fingers splayed out across the faded peace symbol on his brown t-shirt, the other reaching up to stroke his jawline.  “Why so jumpy, luv?” she crooned close to his ear in a husky English accent.

            Broots blinked rapidly.  “I, I, I’m not…”  His voice trailed off into a nervous titter.

            “This isn’t a joke, Parker,” Sydney said sharply.

            “Who’s laughing, Syd?” she returned with annoyance, keeping eye contact with a blushing Broots.  “We can’t have him acting like a gawky adolescent as soon as he’s touched by a woman.”

            It’s just women who use their sexuality in an aggressive manner who produce that result in him, particularly you, Miss Parker.  As Broots’ therapist, Sydney couldn’t tell her that.  As Broots’ friend, he wouldn’t tell her that and make an already awkward situation worse.

            “He’ll be fine when the time comes,” Sydney said firmly.

            Miss Parker released Broots from her clutches and swung to face Sydney.  “He’d better be,” she said, “or the whole plan could be shot to hell!”

            He didn’t back away from her ire.  “Relax, Parker,” he said.  “This is Jarod we’re talking about.  Even if the plan has a few kinks, all he needs is a fighting chance and he’ll make it work.  If Broots can punch a hole in that invisible fence, Jarod will find a way to get through it.”

            Broots cleared his throat and stepped towards them, using the handkerchief to dab at beads of sweat on his forehead.  It was actually quite cool in the shade of the towering oak, but Sydney knew Broots’ condition had nothing to do with the real temperature.  “I found something out earlier today that I think will also increase Jarod’s odds,” he offered hesitantly.  “I was talking to my friend Manny in Human Resources about some personal days I hope I can take later this summer.  Debbie wants to go to the zoo,” he hurriedly added before Miss Parker came down on him for daring to ask for time off.  “Anyway, I also mentioned that Jarod’s regular guards don’t seem to get any time off, and she said–”

            “She?  Manny’s a woman?” Miss Parker said.

            Sydney said, “Don’t ask,” hoping Broots would skip the explanation about Manny’s unfortunate amount of facial hair.  Thankfully, Miss Parker just rolled her eyes but took his advice and didn’t pursue it.

            Broots went on, “Manny told me that Willie is actually taking a few days off next month, June 14th to 17th , to be precise.  So that means Jarod will have at least one substitute Sweeper during that time, and the 16th is a Saturday.”  He paused.  “School ends on June 6th, and Debbie leaves for camp the following week, so she’ll be gone then, too.”  He paused again then said quietly, “If the Centre figures out we planned Jarod’s escape, I really would rather my daughter is safely far away so that she can’t be used against me.”

            Miss Parker’s expression softened, yet there was steel in her voice when she said, “Don’t worry, Broots.  I won’t let anything happen to Debbie.  I promise.”

            Sydney knew she was as good as her word.  When Broots had been erroneously branded a traitor by the Centre and been forced to go on the run, Miss Parker had taken Debbie into her own home and kept her safe.

 “I believe you,” Broots said.  “I just – I would just feel better if she’s not around when all this happens.”

            “Of course,” Sydney said.  They’d all do whatever was in their power to keep the child safe, but what they weren’t saying out loud was that if they were discovered helping Jarod to escape, it was likely none of them would be in a position to protect anyone.

            Miss Parker took a deep breath.  “It’s settled then.  We do this on June 16th.”

            Her voice was firm, her gaze clear and direct as she looked at her co-conspirators.  Yet Sydney knew the inner turmoil she must have overcome to make this conscious decision to actively work against the Centre and her father.  This was a turning point in her life. 

            “Agreed,” Sydney said.  He hoped she could read in his expression how proud he was of her at this moment.

            But she was already turning away.  “We’d better get back inside.  You go first, Broots.  Start working on that false electronic trail we’re going to leave for Bridget and Lyle to follow.”

            Broots nodded and hurried away. 

            “Is there anything specific you need me to do in the next week?” Sydney asked.

            “Just try to keep Jarod on an even keel.  We’ll figure out a way to get him the pertinent details about the escape plan.  If he knows he’ll have a chance to get out of here soon, he should stay on his best behavior.”  She ran her fingers through her hair.  “I just hope this whole thing doesn’t blow up in our faces.”

            He kept his voice as calm as possible.  “It will all work out; you’ll see.”

            As usual, she paid little attention to him when he was in “shrink” mode.  “Right now you can stay out here a little longer,” she instructed.  “I don’t want us seen entering the building together.”  She started to walk off but called back over her shoulder, “Take time to smell the roses or something.”

            There were no roses blooming yet, but Sydney appreciated the sentiment, even if it was cliché and been offered only as an afterthought.  But he found he couldn’t enjoy the natural beauty surrounding him as he wandered back the way they’d come.  He was too preoccupied wondering where the dangerous path they’d chosen would lead them.

            “Working late?”

            “What else is new?” Broots muttered then felt a surge of adrenaline as he belatedly recognized the voice – or more precisely, the accent, phony or not – of the person who had just entered his office.  “Brigitte!” he exclaimed and made a big show of hastily tapping a key to clear his computer screen.  His leg started nervously jigging under the desk.  Finally, he thought.  It had been over a week since he’d agreed to feed Brigitte false information, but he’d hardly seen her in all that time.  He’d been starting to think that all the times he’d run in the opposite direction had actually convinced her to leave him alone.  Thank goodness she’d shown up now.  He wanted to prove to Miss Parker that he could be a valuable member of their little band of rebels, that he wasn’t just the go-to guy for tech troubles.  Here was his chance.  Don’t blow it, Broots, he told himself.

            “What brings you down here?” he asked in what he hoped was his normally tentative yet friendly tone.

            “Our shared guilty pleasure,” she said with a saucy smile.

            Broots had to blink rapidly for his eyes to adjust to the approaching vision in hot pink. Gone was her usual black Cat Woman outfit, replaced by a low-cut leather mini dress that was somehow held up by two skinny spaghetti straps.  It was just as shiny and just as tight as her normal attire but much brighter, perhaps in recognition of the summer season.

“I snagged you the last bag of Funions from the vending machine outside the break room,” she said, tossing the snack to him.

            “Oh!  Thanks,” Broots said, tearing his eyes away from her curve-hugging ensemble to awkwardly catch the bag.  He started to open it then thought that might not be such a good idea.  Miss Parker had instructed him to let Brigitte get close, and onion breath right now could be a bit of a turn-off.  “I’ll save it for later,” he added, stowing the junk food in his upper right desk drawer.

            “Are you going to be here much longer?” she asked.

            He let himself sag slightly in his chair.  “Unfortunately.  With all the time I’ve been spending at the Centre’s satellite offices lately, I’ve been neglecting my duties back here.  I still have some things I need to finish before leaving for the weekend.”

            “Such a dedicated employee,” she murmured, producing a lollipop from out of nowhere – her skintight dress had no pockets he could see, but he would have been happy to make a closer inspection – and unwrapping it.  It looked to be cherry, a perfect match for her outfit.

            “Yeah, well, like I have much of a choice.”  Then, as if he was afraid of sounding ungrateful, he quickly added, “But I’m not complaining!  If orders come from the Tower that I need to run computer diagnostics on all the satellite offices in the tri-state area, then that’s what I do.  I mean, at least I’ve got job security, right?”

            Brigitte sucked on her lollipop thoughtfully.  “Surely you’re not the only one who can run these diagnostics?”

            “Oh, no!  The Centre’s got a whole staff of IT guys.  It’s just that I’m, well, sort of their supervisor, so I’m required to make on-site inspections when they’re working on a job, and I guess it’s a good thing I do that, because they always seem to mess something up, which means I’d have to fix it later, and it’s just easier if I’m there at the beginning to make sure everything gets done right the first time.”  He stopped to take a breath.  So far, so good.  He hadn’t even had to lie yet.

            “So, because you’ve been away from the Centre, the computers back here have developed a glitch now?”

            “What?  Oh!  No, no, the computers here are working fine, I just have some work for Miss Parker to finish up.”

            That piqued her interest.  Broots acted like he didn’t notice, wondering if he had an appropriately oblivious look on his face.  Of course you do, Broots, it’s your normal look, he imagined Miss Parker saying.

            Brigitte said, “What could you possibly have to do for her?  Last time I checked, Jarod was caught and Lyle was in charge of the Pretender project, leaving Miss Parker with nothing to do.”

            “Oh, that’s not true, she’s very busy.”

            “Doing what?  Trying to make trouble for her brother?”  Her brown eyes narrowed.

            Broots didn’t answer.  He bit his lower lip and tried to look like he was trying not to look like he was keeping a secret.

            “She doesn’t appreciate you, Mr. Broots,” Brigitte said, moving closer.

            The scent of her perfume and the sweet smell of her lollipop enveloped him.  The combined effect of that with the brightness of her outfit made him a little woozy.  “Oh, no… I mean, yes, yes, she does.  It’s just that… well, she’s been through such a rough time lately, what with almost dying from that terrible virus!  I’m glad she’s finally going to take some time off.”

            As expected, that piece of information definitely got her attention.  “Miss Parker’s going away?” she asked.

            “Oh.  Well, yes, but… I don’t know if I should have said… I mean, I don’t think she wants anyone to know.”  Then he attempted to look like he realized he’d just made a major blunder.

            “Why not?  I agree with you, she deserves a break.  Hopefully, she’ll come back from her vacation a little more relaxed.  That woman is so uptight.”  Brigitte paused to study him critically.  “Speaking of uptight…”  She placed her lollipop on the corner of his desk then moved around behind his chair and started to massage his neck and shoulders.  “Ooh, so tense,” she murmured.

He wondered if he should pull away.  But Miss Parker had said to let her get close to him, right?  But she’d also said he should act like himself, and his natural inclination was to retreat when aggressive women made advances.  Not like he had much experience with women like that even looking at him twice.  Only Brigitte, and her motives were suspect, so his instinct to avoid her was a good one.  But…what if she really wasn’t all that bad?  Sure, she hung out with Lyle, an evil psychopath, but maybe she just did that because she was afraid of him. 

            She tried to kill me and my father, you moron! 

            But she was just following orders, and Mr. Parker had forgiven her or he wouldn’t have gone on that cruise with her…

Broots!

He wished Miss Parker would get out of his head.  He was already second-guessing himself; he didn’t need another voice adding to the confusion.  Oh, no.  He was hearing voices.  What did that mean?  What would Sydney say about that?  Wait, he didn’t want to know.  That would just be another voice.

            “Someone else needs to learn to relax,” Brigitte crooned in his ear. 

            Oh, she was so right.  As she continued to gently but firmly knead his taut muscles, he felt some of the tightness dissolve.  What harm could it do if he acted like he was enjoying the massage?  He was supposed to be susceptible to her charms.  It was all part of the plan.  “That feels good,” he admitted, letting his eyes drift shut.

            Focus, Broots!

            His eyes snapped open and he sat up straight.  “What’s the matter, luv?” Brigitte asked.

            He shrugged off her hands.  “N-nothing, I just…I really should get back to work.”

            “Well, if you must.” She sounded disappointed.  “But first…” She spun his chair around and kissed him.

            She kissed him!  Broots was too stunned to even consider pulling away.  He was completely caught up in this unexpected move, savoring the feel of her body pressed against his, the sweet succulence of her lips that tasted of wild cherry, the sound of his own runaway heartbeat thudding in his ears…

            When they finally broke apart, Broots panted, “What…what was that for?” 

            Brigitte smiled.  “Just wanted to let you know how much I appreciate you, Mr. Broots.”  She lightly ran a finger from his chin down to his chest, sending a whole new set of pleasant sensations through his body.  “Well, I’ll let you get back to work,” she said and drifted away.

            After she was gone, Broots sat in a daze at his desk, staring blindly at his computer.  Then he realized something.  He hadn’t touched the keyboard since she’d come into his office, which meant his screensaver of squiggly confetti should have been crawling across the screen.  Instead, it showed the boring blue desktop with all its icons neatly aligned on the left side.  That meant someone had “woken up” his computer in the last few minutes.

            Brigitte.  While she’d distracted him with that amazing kiss, had she reached over his shoulder and accessed the file he’d strategically left minimized at the bottom of the screen?  He opened that file now and glanced at the purchase confirmation of a plane ticket for Miss Parker, which noted the date, flight number, and cities of departure and destination.  No doubt that information would soon find its way to Lyle, who would wonder why his sister was going on “vacation” to some run-of-the-mill locale that had nothing to offer the average tourist.  He would eventually find the e-mails Broots had fabricated between Miss Parker and the mysterious scientist who promised to tell her all about Jarod’s implant for a price; the e-mails had been deleted but carelessly left in the electronic trash can where they could still be retrieved.  That would be enough to get Lyle on a plane himself so that he could personally thwart his sister’s plans.  Only she’d still be back here at the Centre, making sure the real plan went off without a hitch.

            This could actually work!

            He noticed Brigitte’s red lollipop was still stuck to the corner of his desk.  He decided to leave it there a little longer as a souvenir of his successful mission.  Broots leaned back in his chair and folded his hands behind his head.  Sometimes, just sometimes, he really liked this job.

            Wipe that idiotic grin off your face!

            He didn’t listen.

Chapter 18

            He couldn’t see it but he knew it was there.

            Jarod skidded to a halt just outside the door.  He cast a frantic look back over his shoulder, somewhat relieved to see his guards were still down for the count but knowing that he’d have another contingent of Sweepers on his tail before long.  He had to move now!

            But his feet stubbornly refused to obey.  Even as his mind screamed RUN, his body balked in anticipation of electric shocks coursing through his system.  He knew Broots must be hidden somewhere nearby, generating the jamming frequency that would allow him to pass through the invisible fence unscathed, but he’d feel so much better if he knew for sure that the juice had been shut off.

            Alarms began to sound and he knew it was now or never.  Taking a deep breath, Jarod forced himself forward and…

            Nothing happened.  With his adrenaline kicking into high gear, Jarod sped down the sidewalk and careened around the corner of the building…

            Only to come face to face with Lyle.  “And where do you think you’re going?” he asked. 

            NO!  Jarod lunged at the man, but before he could even touch him, he felt the painful jolt of electricity shoot through his body.  He jerked and…

            …woke up to find Miss Parker bending over him.  “It’s okay, Jarod, you’re just dreaming,” she was saying.

            Disoriented and struggling to break free from the tendrils of the dream, Jarod still automatically glanced at the camera in the corner of his cell.

             Miss Parker said quietly, “Don’t worry.  Broots is looping the security feed.  We have fifteen minutes.”  She paused.  “You alright?”

            He imagined he looked like hell.  As always when waking from a nightmare, he was covered in a cold sweat and felt shaky and slightly nauseous.  “Fine,” he said, surprised to hear the raspiness in his voice.  Had he been screaming in his sleep?  He suddenly realized Miss Parker’s hand was resting on his shoulder.  Had she shaken him awake?  Unnerving to know he’d been so deeply mired in his nightmare that he hadn’t heard her enter his cell.  And embarrassing to have her see him like this.

            Which was just stupid.  She’d already seen him at his most vulnerable when he’d been tortured by Lyle in the elevator and again in the sim lab (since he was certain she’d been hiding in Sydney’s office), so why did he mind her finding him in the throes of a nightmare?  The security camera had certainly recorded him thrashing about in his sleep before, so any number of strangers had seen him being tormented by his nocturnal demons.  So why did it bother him so much when Miss Parker was the one to see him like this?

            Lying here analyzing his feelings was not helping.  He cleared his throat.  As if that was a signal, Miss Parker hastily removed her hand and straightened up.  Jarod quickly got to his feet, trying not to mind the fact that she instinctively backed away from his sudden move.  He stepped to the sink and splashed some cold water on his face.

            “What time is it?” he asked.

            “Early, around five-thirty,” she said. 

            Yet she looked as crisp as ever in her dove gray blazer and matching pencil skirt.  A tantalizing bit of black lace filled in the V-neckline of the jacket.  Jarod had been a fashion photographer once, and since then, he’d come to appreciate the feminine touches of Miss Parker’s wardrobe; today her color and texture choices were softer than her normal leather but gave away none of her professional panache.  His matching ensemble of baggy gray sweatpants and oversized gray tee shirt, along with the two days’ worth of stubble he sported (he was only given a shave a few times each week) made him feel positively grungy next to her.  He dried his face on the sleeve of his tee and wondered dully why he gave a damn about his appearance. 

            “Your guards in the hall couldn’t even stay awake through their whole shift,” Miss Parker went on, “thanks to a little something in their coffee besides cream, courtesy of Broots’ friend Sarge in Food Services.  And before you ask, Sarge is a woman who has never been in the military.  According to Broots, her nickname came about from her extremely short haircut and her tendency to bark orders at her co-workers.”  She sighed.  “I figure between the guy with the facial tic, the bearded lady, and the toothless wonder, Broots has his own private army here at the Centre.  Or his own circus.”

            Jarod had to agree with her about Broots’ oddly but aptly named acquaintances, but he found it hard to believe that she was wasting part of their precious 15-minute window to talk about this.  Despite her polished appearance, she was acting somewhat rattled.  If he didn’t know her better, he’d say she was babbling.

            Was she nervous about something?  What?  They hadn’t been alone like this since their brief time in the elevator.  The first part of that chance encounter had been very pleasant – for both of them, he knew that much.  Was she worried that something like that might happen again now that they were off-camera?  Did she want something to happen between them? 

            Was this what teenagers felt like when they first started dating?  He had no such experiences from that time in his life, so he wasn’t sure how he should be acting.  But he and Miss Parker were adults, old enough to be able to exchange a few kisses and not be overwhelmed by awkwardness the next time they saw each other.

            Or was it the words he’d said in that elevator that made her so uncomfortable?  I thought I’d lost you…  So relieved to see her alive and well, he’d blurted out what he was thinking and unintentionally revealed the depth of his feelings for her.  Feelings that had lain buried for years, only rising to the surface in times of crisis, like when she’d taken a bullet meant for her father or been infected with a deadly virus by her crazy brother.  Feelings that he’d finally had time to explore in the long, lonely hours in his cell.  He wasn’t afraid anymore to admit to himself just how important Miss Parker was to him.

            But what were her feelings towards him?

            Priorities, Jarod!  He was a prisoner of the Centre, forced to live hidden away from the world, and subject to torture at any moment.  He needed to focus on getting out of here, because that was the best way to keep those dear to him safe.  Miss Parker certainly hadn’t orchestrated this elaborate pre-dawn visit just to steal a few more kisses.  Her reluctance to get to the point probably had nothing to do with their personal feelings.  Whatever she had to tell him, she didn’t want to… 

            Jarod swallowed hard.  “Have the plans changed for Saturday?” he asked.

            “No, we’re still on track for then… I take it you got the message from Broots?”

            Ah, so that was the reason for her visit this morning; she was making sure he knew about the escape plan.  “Yes.  I could use a few more details, though; the way the message was delivered, it could only cover the basics.”

            She looked slightly pained.  “I’m afraid to ask,” she muttered.

“I found a few coded lines scrawled inside my Styrofoam coffee cup Monday morning.  Probably written there by another of Broots’ pals in the kitchen.”  He paused.  “Good thing it was indelible ink; I didn’t discover the writing until I’d drunk most of the coffee.”

            Miss Parker rolled her eyes.  “I think Broots is getting a little too caught up in the cloak and dagger game.”

            “Well, he’s the one who came up with a way to get me out of here, so it’s fine with me if he wants to use clever ways to pass notes to me.  What I gathered from his latest message is that I’m supposed to leave through the northeast service entrance on Saturday, because that’s where Broots is going to deactivate the invisible fence.”

            She nodded.  “It’s up to you to get your guards to walk you past that door.  You’ll be able to break free of them, right?”

            “Shouldn’t be a problem, especially with that new Sweeper.  He hasn’t seen my moves yet.”

            She smiled slightly.  “That’s one of the reasons we planned your escape for the week Willie’s on vacation.”

            “That’s good.  I really didn’t want to have to break his nose a third time.”

            “Well, I don’t have any more details, but I did bring you a couple of things I thought you might need,” Miss Parker said briskly, pulling a small manila envelope from the pocket of her blazer.  “Once you get past the invisible fence, you’re going to need to move fast, so I figured the key to your handcuffs would come in handy.”

            “I appreciate that,” he said dryly, thinking how she owed him as much, since she was the one who told the Centre what kind of cuffs would hold him.

            She said, “I’m glad to see you’re free of your shackles in here at least.”

            “I’ve been following Sydney’s advice, staying on my best behavior.  I don’t want to give Lyle any excuse to put me back into solitary.  Or to zap me again.”

            He said it lightly, but he sensed Miss Parker’s discomfort on his behalf.  She looked down at the envelope she held as she said, “Once you’re free of this place, I imagine your first priority will be getting that implant removed.  Broots put all of his research on Dr. Archer and other experts in her field onto a mini flash drive for you.  Hopefully you’ll be able to find someone who can safely do the surgery.”

            That was the number one item on his to-do list after he’d escaped.  “That information will be a big help.  Please thank Broots for me,” he said.

            “I will.”  She fingered the envelope thoughtfully.  “There’s something else in here.  From Angelo.  A going-away present, I suppose.”

            “From Angelo?”  He wondered what it could be.  Whatever else he was, the enigmatic empath had been someone Jarod could trust to always supply him with whatever he needed most.

            “I guess Angelo found where Lyle’s been keeping your belongings.  He left this on my desk yesterday – with a few Cracker Jacks as his calling card.”  She held out the envelope.  “I’m sure he knew you’d want this back.”

            With sudden anticipation of what this mystery item could be, Jarod accepted the envelope with trembling fingers.  He fumbled with the clasp but finally opened it and reached inside to pull out… the photo of his mother.

            Staring down at her sweet ageless smile, he realized how much he’d missed having this with him.  All those years on the run, he’d kept this laminated wallet-size version close at hand.  On the days when he felt particularly adrift in a world of strangers, he would look at this picture and find strength and renewed purpose in knowing that someone was out there who would never stop looking for him as he would never give up the search for her.  Now, as he’d done many times before, he clutched the photo tightly in his hand, closed his eyes, and silently vowed that someday he would be reunited with his family.

            He opened his eyes to find Miss Parker watching him, a myriad of emotions flickering across her face.  She suddenly reached out and took his hands in hers.  “You’ll find her, Jarod,” she said softly.  “I know you will.”

            He had trouble speaking past the sudden lump in his throat.  “I hope so,” he managed thickly.  He looked down at their clasped hands and wondered at how right it felt.

            Miss Parker must not have shared this sentiment, because she quickly released him and backed away. 

Jarod carefully tucked the photo back inside the envelope with the key and flash drive, re-fastened it, and automatically headed straight for the old hiding place both he and his brother Kyle had used when growing up at the Centre: the crevice between the sink and the wall. 

Miss Parker cleared her throat.  “Well, before you can find anyone, you have to get out of here.  What do you think of the plan for Saturday?”

Her tone was all business, helping to cut through the heavy emotions permeating the air.  Jarod answered in kind:  “I think it just may work.  If Broots can successfully jam the frequency the invisible fence uses –”

“He will,” she said firmly.

Jarod hid a smile.  If she’d just show Broots the confidence she had in him instead of constantly belittling him… But he knew Broots was completely secure in his computer skills and didn’t need Miss Parker’s approval in that area.

“Well, then, with a little luck, I should be able to pull off yet another amazing escape from this fortress.”

“I’ve taken extra steps to stack the odds in our favor,” Miss Parker said.  “With Broots’ help, I’m making sure Lyle will be well out of the way on Saturday.  You don’t have to worry about him showing up with his little black box.”

Jarod was startled.  It was almost like she could see into his dreams.  “What have you done?” he asked.

“Forged a false trail for him to follow.  Broots dropped a few tantalizing crumbs for Brigitte to scoop up and feed to Lyle, which she did.  Lyle now believes that I have a secret meeting on Saturday with an expert in nanotechnology.  According to Broots’ girlfriend Cindy in Accounting, he’s already used his Centre charge card to book a flight to follow me out of town.”  She looked very pleased with herself.  “You’re not the only one, Jarod, who knows how to send others on wild goose chases.”

He felt a twinge of unease at her habit of underestimating her brother.  Lyle had become a smarter and more dangerous opponent as of late.  “What happens when he realizes you’ve led him to a dead end?”

“Don’t worry, I won’t be anywhere nearby.  I have no intention of leaving town; I’m staying right here to make sure your escape goes as planned.  Lyle will have a nice long flight home to cool off before he sees me.”

“Or a nice long flight to simmer until he’s reached the boiling point just when he arrives back in Blue Cove!”

“But by then you’ll be on the loose again, and Lyle will have his hands full trying to get you back before the Triumverate can punish him.  He’ll need me to help him do that.”

The memory of Lyle pointing a gun at Miss Parker in the cemetery flashed before Jarod’s eyes.  “You’re right about that,” he said sourly.  “He’ll use you to get to me.  You’ll be in danger.”

“Damn it, Jarod, will you make up your mind?”  She stalked to the far corner of the cell, raking her fingers through her glossy brown hair in frustration.  “I thought you agreed with Sydney that none of us are safe as long as you’re here at the Centre.”

“I know Sydney can be very persuasive, but he’s better than I thought if that’s the argument he used to convince you to go along with this escape plan.”

She turned back to face him, a stubborn slant to her jaw.  “No one had to convince me that Lyle’s out of control.  He’s gotten too powerful.  You escape on his watch again, and his stock with the powers-that-be will plummet.”

“So that’s why you’re helping me?  Because it’s your best chance to bring Lyle down?  No other reason?” 

“What do you want from me, Jarod?”  Now she sounded slightly weary.

He was tired, too, tired of things unspoken, feelings kept hidden.  “The truth!” he demanded, taking a step towards her.

The fire was back in her voice as she replied, “The truth?  The truth is that by helping you to escape I’m making all those years of trying to catch you count for nothing!  I’m throwing my career in the toilet by defying the Centre!  And if my father finds out what I’ve done, I’ll have ruined our relationship forever!”

“So why are you doing this?”

“I don’t know why!” she cried.

“Don’t you?” he asked softly, slowly moving towards her.  She backed away from him until she ended up in the corner directly beneath the camera.  He stopped his relentless approach when their faces were mere inches apart.

“Jarod, I –” she began.

But the time for words was past.  He wanted to feel her answer, so he cut off her reply by covering her mouth with his.

At first she was unresponsive in his embrace, and his heart sank.  But then, she grabbed the front of his shirt, tugging him closer until his body was pressed against hers.  She hungrily returned the kiss, deepening it, until his head swam and his heart pounded in his ears.

As much as he enjoyed the kiss, Jarod took greater pleasure in the fact that this was the first time his hands were free when they were alone together.  He took full advantage, running his fingers through her silky hair, then letting his hands roam down her back all the way to her hips and slowly back up again. He slipped the blazer off her left shoulder, exposing the thin black strap of her lace camisole.  He hooked a finger under that strap…

She tore her mouth free.  “Jarod, we can’t…”

He was undeterred, transferring his lips to the side of her neck before trailing a line of kisses to the warm bare skin of her shoulder.  A low moan escaped her lips.

But it quickly turned into a groan of frustration.  “No, Jarod, stop.  This isn’t real,” she said.

He wouldn’t let her go.  He cupped her face in his hands, forced her to look at him as he insisted, “I’m not pretending.  Not with you.”  Believe me, he thought.  Please believe me.

A myriad of emotions warred for dominance in the roiling depths of her dark blue eyes.  “I know you’re not trying to deceive me,” she said finally, “but we can’t trust these feelings we’re having.”

She started to pull away again, and this time he released her.  Adjusting her clothing, she took a few quick steps to put some distance between them and went on, talking rapidly, “There’s a physical attraction between us, I won’t deny that.  Okay, maybe even an emotional one.  After all, when we were children we were each other’s only friends.”  She stopped to take a breath.  When she spoke again, her voice was steady and a touch resigned.  “But now we’re just two lonely adults, looking for some grown-up comfort.”

He leaned his forehead against the wall, thinking how nice some “grown-up comfort” would be right now.  But no, his feelings for Miss Parker went beyond physical desire, and he really wished she wouldn’t be so quick to dismiss them.  “You need to give us a chance,” he said quietly.

“There is no ‘us!’  If all goes well, you’ll be leaving the day after tomorrow.”

He straightened.  “Then come with me!”

She turned slowly.  “What did you say?”

So he had uttered those words out loud.  He looked at her, feeling as shocked as she looked.  But he wasn’t sorry he’d let his heart speak for him.  “I said you could come with me,” he repeated, not backing down.

She stared at him a moment longer, but he could read nothing from her expression.  She finally said, “And do what?  Be your sidekick while you continue your crusade to defend the weak and abused?”

Sarcastic humor.  Miss Parker’s favorite method of avoidance.  He wasn’t going to let her off that easy.  “I’m being serious,” he said.

“So am I, Jarod.  Life on the run is not for me.”

Oh, and I just love it so much?  He bit back the caustic reply.  He’d blindsided them both with the question; if she wasn’t ready to give him a straight answer, could he really blame her?  And he understood that she couldn’t just go along for the ride; she needed a purpose.

“But I need you,” he said.

She regarded him warily.  “Jarod, what-”

            “With your skills at finding people, you could help me locate my family!”  The idea had just come to him, but it made perfect sense: he and Miss Parker working together to find his mother, father, and sister. 

            “And leave mine behind?”

            “Some family.  An evil twin brother and a deceitful, self-centered father.”

            As soon as the words were out, he regretted them, especially when he saw Miss Parker’s face tighten.  “I’m sorry,” he began.

            She shrugged off his apology.  “Forget it.  You’re right about my brother.  Which is why I have to stay here and personally see to it that Lyle is neutralized.”

            He was almost afraid to ask.  “How?”

            “I’m hoping the Triumverate will take him to Africa and re-wire his brain.  Maybe give him religion like they did Raines.”

            “You believe Raines’ born-again routine?”

            “Who knows?” She sounded tired.  “How can you tell, anyway?  All these modern-day preachers seem phony to me.  At least it got Raines out of our hair; last I heard he was off in some third-world country doing missionary work.”

            “Hm.”  Jarod hoped that whatever game Raines was playing, he’d do it far away.  There were only so many threats he could deal with at a time.  And Lyle was his number one priority.  No matter what arrangements Miss Parker made to deal with her brother, Jarod intended to make his own plans for the psychopath.

            Miss Parker had moved towards the door of his cell, and he feared their time was coming to an end.  The mood had shifted enough so that he knew he couldn’t hope for a goodbye kiss, but he needed some sort of resolution.  “So…what now?” he ventured.  “I escape, and we just go back to the same old routine?  I run, you chase?”

            Her back was to him.  “I don’t think we have any other choice,” she said.

            Yes, we have a choice!  You could run away with me.  We’d be in danger, but at least we’d be together, and I could protect you from Lyle, and we’d somehow find a way to be happy, and…

            And he knew it was all just a dream that he’d probably never even be able to enjoy in his sleep.

            “No,” Miss Parker said suddenly, “we can’t just go back to the way things were.”

            His heart leapt.  What was she saying?

            She turned to look at him, determination clearly written on her face.  “After you escape this time, Jarod, I want you to truly break free of this place.  Don’t call or e-mail with cryptic clues about my family’s history or some other horrible revelation about the Centre.  I know you do that to distract us from hunting you, but it’s also keeping you from finding your own family.  You need to focus all your energy on the search for your parents and sister.  Forget about helping needy strangers; you don’t need to atone for past crimes the Centre forced you to commit.” 

She paused.  “Of course, you’ll still have to keep on your toes to avoid Centre Sweepers, but I’m sure you can handle that, especially if you’re not distracted by an elaborate Pretend.  I’ll do my best to keep Lyle off your tail, but I can’t badly botch too many attempts to capture you without arousing suspicion.  Although,” she added wryly, “failing to catch you does pass for normal.”  Then she sobered again.  “Jarod, listen to me.  Find your family and then relocate to some remote village or uninhabited island and live your life in peace.  Forget about this hellhole and be happy!”

            He was slightly stunned.  What she said made sense; his divided attention over the past few years had kept him from successfully locating his family.  He was surprised she knew him so well.  Except for one thing: he could never truly be happy if he had to forget about her.  He wasn’t just feeding her clues to her past to distract her; he wanted her to know the whole sordid Parker history so she’d finally be willing to walk away from her family and this place once and for all.  Even if her path didn’t lead to him, he wanted her free of the Centre.

            He realized she was watching him, waiting for… what?  What kind of response could he possibly give her?  He couldn’t make any promises, at least not the ones she wanted to hear.

            Her disappointment was plain to see, although she tried to cover quickly with her all-business face.  “Good luck, Jarod,” she said and turned to go.

            “Wait!” he said, sending a quick glance back at the camera.  “Our time’s not up yet, is it?”

            She paused, the door half-open.  “It will be soon enough,” she replied quietly.  Then she stepped into the hall, closing the door firmly behind her. 

            He slowly returned to his cot, knowing he had to appear to still be asleep when the camera started recording again.  But he had no intention of returning to his latest nightmare.  Instead, he’d try a visualization technique and imagine himself pulling off a flawless escape on Saturday.

            Then maybe – just maybe – it would come true.

            He never looked back.

            Miss Parker stood behind her desk, intently watching the live camera feed that Broots had shown her how to access on her computer.  She saw Jarod come out of the northeast service door.  He appeared flushed but none the worse for wear after a presumably fierce battle with his guards.  As he stepped away from the building, she held her breath, hoping that Broots had done his job and deactivated the invisible fence.  Jarod writhing on the ground was a sight she never wanted to see again.

Jarod moved forward and… nothing happened.  He increased speed and was running as he rounded the corner and disappeared from sight.

She let out her breath and wondered at the anticlimactic feeling she was having.  What had she expected?  For Jarod to pause and sketch a jaunty salute at the camera?  Or shake his fist in defiance at the Centre? 

Or for him to stare directly into the lens and try to send her a secret message with the intensity of his soulful gaze?

Ridiculous.

            The alarms sounded.  Miss Parker shook off her foolish thoughts and reluctantly went to join the hunt.

Chapter 19

 As Miss Parker left her office on Monday morning and headed for the Tower elevator, she could feel the undercurrent of excitement all around her as Centre employees spread the news of Jarod’s latest daring escape.   She could also sense a smidgen of dread, as everyone wondered who would be blamed for it.

Her head held high, she crossed the main concourse, refusing to acknowledge the whispers and furtive looks directed her way.  Let them gossip.  She had no intention of taking the fall for this fiasco.  Her father’s secretary had just called to say her presence was requested upstairs.  She’d felt a twinge of unease at the summons but quickly decided that this was the perfect opportunity to start Lyle’s fall from grace; she was ready to point the finger directly at her brother when her father needed a scapegoat.

She had just arrived at the elevator when a voice spoke in her ear:  “Any news on Jarod?”

Miss Parker jumped slightly.  Sydney had come up behind her with, of course, Broots on her other side.  “No,” she said then raised her voice and added an edge of irritation for the benefit of any personnel within earshot.  “Looks like he made a clean getaway…again.”

“Rumor has it that he got help from someone on the inside.”

Broots had also elevated his voice.  Thank goodness his nervous inflection was normal for him, or someone might get suspicious.  “Where’d you hear that?” she asked.  “Winky?  Manny?”

“Actually, Rags from Maintenance mentioned it.  He was cleaning a clogged toilet in the men’s room on SL-5 this morning and-”

Miss Parker held up a hand to silence him and led the way to a side corridor where they could talk more freely.  Once they’d rounded the corner she turned to face the two men.  “I doubt anyone will take that rumor seriously.  Jarod’s never needed any help to escape before.”

“And he certainly didn’t look like he needed help this time,” Broots said.  “Did you see the security footage from Saturday?  The way he took down his guards?  It was, like, unbelievable!  Bam!  Kapow!  I heard the new Sweeper’s arm was dislocated, and Tony is still in the infirmary with a broken jaw.  Man, Jarod has amazing moves!”  Broots’ eyes were wide with childlike awe.

“He’s not Batman, Broots,” Miss Parker admonished.  But secretly, she was also impressed by how fit he kept his body, even during his recent captivity.  She’d seen Saturday’s recording and had witnessed first-hand how an unarmed and cuffed Jarod had fought free of his guards that day he jumped on the elevator with her.  She could personally attest to his physique since she’d felt his strong, muscular arms around her on more than one occasion.

 “Jarod’s done several Pretends as a member of the military or law enforcement, so it’s no wonder he’s an expert in hand-to-hand combat,” Sydney said.

Miss Parker noticed that this dry explanation did nothing to diminish the light of hero worship shining in Broots’ eyes. 

“But his physical prowess would have proved futile if he hadn’t had the help of a technological expert,” Sydney went on.

True, Broots really had come through this time.  He deserved a lot of credit, and she was in a good enough mood to give it.  “That’s right, Broots,” Miss Parker added in a low voice so she wouldn’t be overheard.  “All of Jarod’s fancy moves would have gotten him nowhere if you hadn’t deactivated the invisible fence.  He would have been laid flat the minute he stepped away from the building if you hadn’t shut it down.”

Broots colored slightly from their praise, but she could tell he was pleased by the recognition. 

Sydney glanced around the hallway.  “Perhaps we should adjourn this meeting,” he suggested.  “It may not be wise right now for the three of us to be seen with our heads together.”

“I’m due in the Tower anyway,” Miss Parker said.  “My father wants to see me.”  In answer to Sydney’s inquisitive look, she added, “I’m sure he just wants a status report on the renewed search for Jarod.” 

“Will Lyle be in this meeting with your father?” Sydney asked.

“Probably.”  She kept her voice light but couldn’t ignore the slight uneasiness she felt at the idea of seeing her brother for the first time since he’d gotten back from the wild goose chase she’d sent him on.

“He got back into town late Saturday night,” Broots said.  “My friend Red from the Motor Pool drove him home from the airport.  He told me Lyle was not in a good mood.”

Her stomach was definitely queasy.  She tried to focus on something else.  “Red?  Let me guess; he has red hair.”

“No, actually he’s called that because he always looks like he’s blushing.  Some skin disease, I forget what it’s called…”

“Broots!  Don’t you know anyone with normal names like John or Nancy?”

“Well, at least they’re called something,” Broots said, not meeting her eyes.  “I don’t have to go by just their last name.”

Sydney rocked back on his heels and aimed a small smile at the floor.

Miss Parker glared at both men, but she really didn’t mind their momentary frivolity.  All three of them were still feeling some leftover exhilaration that the escape plan had actually worked.  Still, time to get back to business.  “Weren’t you saying something, Sydney, about us not being seen together?  So get going, already.”

“As you wish.”  He sobered.  “Just watch yourself, Parker.  Lyle’s unpredictable on a good day.  After the unexpected events of the last forty-eight hours, there’s no telling what he’ll do if provoked.”

“He won’t try anything in front of my – our – father,” Miss Parker said with more confidence than she felt.

Sydney arched an eyebrow and walked away down the corridor.

Miss Parker headed back the way they’d come.  “While I’m upstairs, Broots, check to see if Jarod has accessed any of the Centre’s financial accounts,” she said, glancing back over her shoulder to make sure he was following her.  “He’s going to need money-”

            Someone bumped into her shoulder.  “Watch it!” Miss Parker snarled, turning to scowl at the offending passerby.  Her anger only increased when she saw it was Brigitte.

            She almost didn’t recognize her.  Instead of her normal flashy attire, the petite blonde was wearing a neutral wheat-colored dress, white shrug, and… sunglasses?  Ah, that explained it.  She was probably nursing a hangover and avoiding any bright colors that would aggravate a headache.

            “Late night, Bridget?” she asked, yanking the glasses off the woman’s face.

            She heard Broots gasp beside her.  Brigitte’s right eye was badly bruised, surrounded by an ugly purplish blotch.  “What the hell happened to you?” Miss Parker breathed. “And don’t you dare say you ran into a wall.”

            Brigitte smiled grimly but said nothing.

            “Did Lyle do this to you?” Miss Parker asked quietly, the sick feeling in the pit of her stomach returning with a vengeance.

            “Well, he was understandably upset after he learned that Jarod had escaped again.”  Her voice was flat with only a slight trace of her ‘accent.’  “Plus, his business trip didn’t go as planned.  He wasn’t at all happy that I had brought him faulty information.”  With slightly shaking hands, Brigitte replaced the sunglasses, covering up the evidence of the punishment Lyle had given her.  “Well played, Mr. Broots,” she added, with a touch of her usual cockiness.

“B-Brigitte, I’m so s-sorry,” he began.

            Miss Parker silenced him with an elbow to the ribs and ignored the wounded puppy look he gave her.  She studied the woman in front of her, unable to reconcile this meek abuse victim with the fierce fighter she’d once battled on the helipad of the Centre.  She couldn’t believe that feisty Brigitte had let Lyle hit her.  She must have let her guard down, gotten careless.

            Or Lyle was more out of control than ever.

            Miss Parker felt a chill go through her.  She still vividly remembered the night when she was a little girl and had seen her mother’s bruised and battered face, and that memory made her feel a twinge of sympathy for the woman who stood before her now.  “Maybe you should take the day off,” she suggested awkwardly.  Being kind to her nemesis did not come naturally.

            Brigitte laughed harshly.  “Are you kidding?  With Jarod on the loose again, it’s all hands on deck.  And I intend to be the first one to find him.” With that pronouncement, she turned on her heel and hurried away, joining the crowd of employees on Monday morning business.

            “Like hell you will,” Miss Parker muttered.  Then she turned to Broots, who was rubbing his side where she’d elbowed him and soberly gazing after Brigitte.

            “It’s my fault she got in trouble with Lyle,” he said softly.

            She stifled a sigh.  “Don’t give it another thought, Broots.  She knew who – or what – Lyle was when she decided to team up with him.  You need to concentrate on the search for Jarod.”  She strode to the elevator and jabbed the call button.

            Broots trailed her uncertainly and leaned close to ask, “Am I really supposed to look for him?”

            “Yes!”  Miss Parker went on in a lower voice but with just as much intensity, “We can’t let anyone else find him first.  If he gets re-captured before Lyle’s been neutralized, we’ll be right back where we started.”  The elevator arrived.  “Get to work, Broots!” she ordered and darted aboard before the doors had even opened all the way. 

            Sensing that this wasn’t the right time for a grand entrance, Miss Parker opened only one of the frosted glass doors of her father’s office before poking her head inside.  “Daddy?”

            Her father rose from behind his desk.  “Come in, come in,” he said impatiently.  “What’s the latest on the search for Jarod?”

            No Good to see you, Angel, she noted.  She stepped into the room and closed the door behind her.  Lyle was already there, standing in front of the desk.  He glanced her way as she approached.  She tried to gauge his current mood, but his bland businessman’s mask was in place, so she couldn’t read anything in his expression.  She reluctantly took up position next to him and addressed her father, “We’ve explored all the usual avenues Jarod could have taken to leave the city but have come up empty.”

            “I need details!” Mr. Parker barked.

            Miss Parker’s chin came up, and she felt herself snap to attention.  She didn’t take offense at her father’s tone; he had every right to be upset by Jarod’s latest escape.  She just hoped he never learned that what he now considered failure on her part was actually outright betrayal.

            “My team checked all of the local airports, commercial and private, as well as train stations, bus depots, and car rental agencies,” she said briskly.  “Sam and I personally showed Jarod’s photo at several of these locations.  We even checked with limousine services.”

            Mr. Parker raised his eyebrows at the last one, but then grunted.  “It would be just like Jarod to ride out of town in style,” he said.

            “He does enjoy thumbing his nose at us,” Lyle muttered.

            Miss Parker continued her report: “On the off chance that Jarod is still in the area, I’m also checking hotels, motels, bed and breakfast inns, and even homeless shelters.” 

            Lyle nodded thoughtfully.  “Jarod can be a bum as easily as a billionaire.”

            “But it’s not as much fun,” Mr. Parker said.  “Still, don’t just hit the shelters; make sure you send a few Sweepers to the places around town where the homeless are known to camp out.”

            Miss Parker saw the shadow that crossed his face and wondered if he was remembering the time he had spent among the dregs of society when he was forced to hide from the Triumverate.

            “Jarod may have no choice but to live on the streets,” Lyle pointed out.  “He can’t get far without some traveling money.”

            “I have Broots checking for any unauthorized access of the Centre’s financial accounts,” Miss Parker said quickly.

            Mr. Parker’s mustache bristled.  “I thought we had safeguards in place to prevent Jarod from stealing any more money from us!”

            “We do, but Broots told me that he may be able to detect even an attempt to withdraw funds.  And if Jarod does succeed in siphoning off funds, we might be able to trace the electronic transfer to a specific bank.  Jarod’s going to want to use cash as much as possible.”

            “Which he could just as easily win in a poker game,” Lyle said sourly.

            “Good idea. Check the casinos,” Mr. Parker said.  “Jarod certainly has the ability to work the system so that he comes up a winner.”

            “Yes, but he doesn’t want to draw attention to himself,” Miss Parker countered.  “But, he did do a Pretend as head of casino security once, so he’d know how to avoid detection.”  She frowned as she wondered if he’d risk it.

            “Why are we assuming he’ll pull off some elaborate scheme to get money?” Lyle asked in exasperation.  “He could just mug somebody to get cash.”

            “Jarod is not a criminal,” Miss Parker said, amazed that her brother still knew so little about his prey.

            “Desperate times…” Lyle said with a shrug.

            “Then maybe he just hitch-hiked out of town,” she countered flippantly.

            “Hell, this is Jarod; he could have fashioned a pair of wings and flown away for all we know,” Mr. Parker said, settling heavily into his leather desk chair with a sigh.  “What’s our next step?  And we’d better have a new approach,” he added sternly, “because we all know what a failure our old methods have been.”

            Even though her father had sat down, Miss Parker remained standing, knowing that nothing had become more relaxed about this meeting.

            “That’s because we could never predict what he would do next,” Lyle said, also staying on his feet.  “His acts of kindness have been rather random.  But this time, we know one thing that will be at the top of his to-do list.”

            He paused.  Miss Parker hoped he wasn’t going to suggest that they redouble their efforts to locate Jarod’s family, because that was exactly what she wanted Jarod to do himself.

            “His implant could be the key to finding him,” Lyle went on.  “He’s going to want to get that thing removed as soon as possible.  All we have to do is keep an eye on hospitals or universities with highly advanced neuroscience departments.”

            “Dr. Archer?” Mr. Parker asked.

            Miss Parker looked at him sharply.  She’d heard a trace of alarm in his voice.

            Lyle didn’t sound concerned as he replied, “She’s safely tucked away, but as you said, this is Jarod, and we can’t rule out any possibility.  I’ve already notified the appropriate authorities about the security risk.”

            “Good,” Mr. Parker said with an approving nod.

            Safely tucked away?  Appropriate authorities?  Miss Parker thought Lyle had contracted the good doctor to do just the one job of surgically fitting Jarod with the implant, but from the way her father and brother were talking, it sounded like the woman remained of importance to the Centre.  Why?  She didn’t bother to ask, sensing that the answers she sought would not be readily offered.

            “Of course there are other experts in the field that Jarod might find,” Lyle went on.  “We should compile our own list and check to see if he’s contacted any of them.”  He looked askance at Miss Parker.  “Perhaps a job best suited to Mr. Broots?”

            She carefully avoided his glance.  “I’ll have him look into it,” she said.

            “That damn implant wasn’t worth the price anyway,” Mr. Parker said.  “I thought that thing guaranteed Jarod wouldn’t be able to escape.”

            Lyle fidgeted next to her.  “He shouldn’t have been able to get past the invisible fence.”

            She managed to keep the smile off her face, but there was a slight smugness to her tone when she said, “But he did.  We all saw the security footage.  He just walked right through your fancy perimeter fence with not even a twitch.”

            While her father’s scowl deepened, Lyle muttered, “I don’t understand it.  The implant works fine.  I’ve proved that on more than one occasion.”

            The memory of Jarod writhing on the ground when he first encountered the invisible fence flashed through Miss Parker’s mind and added an extra bite to her words:  “Maybe you zapped Jarod too often and desensitized him to the electric shocks.”

            “Impossible!  That fence is set to deliver the maximum non-lethal voltage; there’s no way he could withstand it.”  Lyle was starting a slow burn; she didn’t need to look at him to feel his frustration and anger growing.

            “Forget about how Jarod managed to escape again.”  Their father fixed a stern look on each of his children in turn.  “There will be an investigation, but for right now, your focus needs to be on getting him back!  I want a written report on everything you’ve done already and everything to plan to do in the coming days of the search.  I’ll need to submit that to the Triumverate.  Hopefully, they’ll be less harsh in their judgment of this latest setback if they realize we’re doing all we can to recapture Jarod as soon as possible.”

            “Of course,” Miss Parker said.  “I’ll see you get that report by the end of the day.” 

            Lyle murmured a similar agreement.

            Sensing their meeting was almost over, Miss Parker decided the time had come to start her campaign to unseat Lyle from power.  “Daddy?”  She allowed a trace of fear into her voice.  “If the Triumverate decides someone here at the Centre is to blame for Jarod’s latest escape, what do you think they’ll do?”

            Out of the corner of her eye, she could see Lyle stiffen.

            “With that crazy Zulu Mutombo in charge?  They could do anything.”

            “Would it help if I also submitted in writing my recommendation that Lyle should not be held solely accountable?”

            She didn’t need to look at her brother to feel his glare burning into the side of her neck.

            Her father seemed caught off-guard by her offer.  “Eh, what’s that?”

            “I know Lyle is in charge of the Pretender project, but I don’t think he should be held entirely responsible for Jarod’s escape,” she said smoothly.  “I mean, he wasn’t even here when it happened.”

            “But you were,” Lyle was quick to point out.  “Yet you couldn’t stop him from getting away.”

            This time she did look at him.  “I trusted your foolproof security system to keep him contained and didn’t react as quickly as I should have,” she said.  “My mistake.”

            His mask of professionalism was slipping; she could see the anger sparking in his pale blue eyes.  “Oh, you made a mistake alright,” he said evenly.

            “Enough!”  Their father was on his feet, slapping his palms down against the gleaming wood surface of his desk.  “Blaming each other for this fiasco is not going to solve anything. If you two could just find a way to work together, Jarod would have a hell of a time eluding a united Parker team!”

            Lyle reluctantly broke eye contact with her, nodded at his father, and headed for the exit.

            “I want daily status reports,” Mr. Parker called after him.  Then he focused on her.  “From both of you.”

            “Yes, Daddy,” Miss Parker said and turned to go.  Not wanting to follow too closely on Lyle’s heels, she lingered in the doorway and looked back. 

            Her father was slumped in his chair, swiveled sideways facing away from the door, so he didn’t realize she was still there.  As she watched, he winced slightly and raised a trembling hand to his forehead as if plagued by a sudden migraine.

            She had to ignore her instinct to make her presence known and offer comfort.  She’d choke on the hypocrisy of the gesture, knowing that her actions were contributing to the pressure her father felt now.  No matter that her reasons for helping Jarod to escape – namely, eliminating the threat Lyle posed to them all – would be worth it in the long run; right now her father would see only the betrayal.

            She turned away and closed the door quietly behind her.

            Lyle was just getting on the elevator when she got there.  She quickly veered right and headed into the stairwell.

            She’d just started down the first flight when she heard the heavy fire door she’d just come through open and shut.  “You can’t avoid me that easily, sis.”

            Damn.  She stopped her descent, turned, and looked up into his smirking face.  No way was she going to have a confrontation with him standing over her.  She slowly returned to the landing.  “What do you want, Lyle?  I have work to do.”

            “We.  We have work to do,” he corrected her.  “You heard our father.  We need to learn how to be a team.”  He paused.  “Although, after recent events, I’m not sure if I can trust you.”

            He couldn’t trust her? This, from the man who’d tried to kill her on more than one occasion, even after he knew she was his sister?

            “What the hell are you talking about?”  She wasn’t admitting to a thing.

            “Drop the act, sis.  It’s just you and me here.”  He gestured at the ceiling.  “Not even a camera to record our conversation.”

            Her own upward glance confirmed it.  Of course, she was alone with her psychotic brother in one of the few places within the Centre where Big Brother was not watching. 

Miss Parker tried not to let her sudden uneasiness show.  She’d thought she was making a smart decision when she chose not to get on the elevator with Lyle, but it looked like she’d gotten herself into a worse situation. 

            Cursing her own stupidity, Miss Parker rapidly assessed her situation.  Lyle stood between her and the exit door.  If she had to flee down the steps, she didn’t like her odds; yes, she could run in her heels, but he still had the advantage.  She decided not to turn her back on him; one push could send her tumbling down the stairs…

            Get a grip, Parker.  All those warnings from Jarod and Sydney about her brother were making her paranoid.  Yes, Lyle was angry with her, and yes, she’d seen the result of that anger on Brigitte’s battered face, but she couldn’t believe he’d choose to attack her for mere revenge.  He was too smart and calculating for that.  He only put her life in jeopardy if doing so would further his agenda.  Right now, there was nothing to be gained by hurting her.  He still needed her to bring Jarod back.

            Since she subscribed to the theory that the best defense was a good offense, Miss Parker declared, “So, speak freely then, brother.  If you want to accuse me of something, go right ahead.”

            He pulled a face, as if disappointed in her unwillingness to confess.  “Fine,” he said.  “We both know what you did.  It’s the reason you did it that intrigues me.  When I realized that the mysterious scientist you were supposedly meeting didn’t exist, I couldn’t figure out why you’d go to such lengths to get me out of town.”  He paused.  “Then I learned that Jarod had escaped.”         

            Miss Parker was careful to maintain her normal expression when around Lyle – impassive with a trace of contempt.

            He didn’t seem to mind her non-reaction to his insinuation.  He went on: “So, did your pet geek figure out a way to shut down the invisible fence so that Jarod could just stroll out of here?”

            She had to say something or risk her continued silence being interpreted as confirmation of his theory.  “I’ve known for a while now that you’re insane, Lyle,” she said lightly, “but you’ve completely lost your mind if you actually believe I would ever help Jarod to escape.”

            Her brother took his turn at remaining silent.

            “Why would I do that?” she continued.  “Because I’ve had so much fun these last few years chasing him all over the country?  Oh, yeah, it’s been a blast, especially since you joined the hunt.”

            Her sarcasm drew a tight smile from him.  “I’m not exactly certain of your motive,” Lyle admitted, “but means and opportunity are enough to put in my report.  The one I’ll be submitting to the Triumverate to help them in their investigation.”

            “You have no proof.”

            Lyle shrugged, unconcerned.  “Let them find it.  All they need is a suspect.  And I’ll give them a couple.  I’m sure Sydney was involved somehow, but for now, you and Mr. Broots will suffice.”

            A feeling of dread came over her.  She didn’t mind taking the heat, but she couldn’t have the spotlight turned on Broots.  He undoubtedly had covered his tracks when planting the false trail that lured Lyle away from the Centre and had been extremely careful not to be detected when he jammed the fence’s frequency, but she couldn’t risk his part in the escape being uncovered.  She and Sydney had convinced him to participate in this treason; she had to protect him now.

            As much as she hated to do it, the time had come to play her trump card. “Maybe I should submit my own report about how you poisoned me with that African virus,” she said.

            “You have no proof of that,” Lyle said dismissively, “or you would have already run to Daddy with it.”

            “On the contrary, thanks to my ‘pet geek’ I have a security camera recording that shows you leaving my office the night before I got sick.  What’s interesting is that you’re wearing latex gloves as if you’d been handling something…nasty.  Maybe something like a deadly virus?”

            A muscle twitched in his jaw, but Lyle still sounded nonchalant when he replied, “Even if you give this so-called ‘proof’ to the Triumverate, they won’t care.  They wanted Jarod to develop an antidote for the virus; I got him to do that.  The Triumverate is only concerned with the end results.”

            “I never said I was submitting the report to the Triumverate,” Miss Parker said.  “I’m giving it to our father.”

            That got the reaction she wanted; Lyle visibly stiffened and looked worried for the first time since their conversation had begun.

            She pasted a saccharine smile on her face.  “So, brother, shall we proofread each other’s reports before we hand them in to make sure all the details are just right?”

            He gave her a sour look, clearly not in the mood for her sarcasm.

            Miss Parker made the offer she knew he wouldn’t be able to refuse.  “Or should we just agree to keep our suspicions to ourselves?”

            Lyle was silent for a long moment.  She could almost hear the wheels turning in his mind as he desperately searched for a way to come out on top in this particular sparring match.  She waited him out, bracing herself as she wondered if he was too far gone to accept a stalemate.

            Then his face relaxed into a pleasantly bland smile, and his persona seemed to change completely.  “Our father’s right,” he said.  “We should work together to find Jarod.  That’s the most important thing right now.  Agreed?”  He stuck out his hand.

            His sudden shift of mood alarmed her more than if he’d taken a swing at her.  She reluctantly shook his hand.  “I’ll work with you,” she said slowly then leaned in close and dug her fingernails into his palm, “but if you ever again use me – or anyone else – as a bargaining tool against Jarod, I’ll personally see to it that a part of your anatomy that you prize more than your thumb is cut off.”

            Lyle’s smile hardened around the edges, and she saw the flash of fury in his eyes like an errant bolt of lightning in a pale blue sky.  But his face rapidly resumed a neutral expression, and he nodded stiffly.

            Satisfied that she’d made her point, Miss Parker relaxed slightly.  Which was a mistake, she realized at once, when Lyle wouldn’t let go of her hand.  Annoyed, she yanked free of his grasp and felt herself teetering at the stop of the stairs. 

Lyle quickly reached out and pulled her away from the edge.  “Careful, sis,” he breathed in her ear, “you almost took a nasty tumble.”

Miss Parker pulled away again but this time made sure to keep both feet firmly on the landing.  She glared at him, trying to ignore the tendrils of fear his softly uttered words had sent through her. 

Obviously pleased to have gotten the last word, Lyle slanted a quick grin at her and sauntered out of the stairwell.

After  the door had closed behind him, she leaned back against the wall, recognizing that she needed a moment to collect herself.  She took deep, even breaths and reflected on the events of the day so far.  Orders issued, lies exposed, threats exchanged.

Just another Monday morning at the Centre.

Chapter 20

            “Miss Parker, you’re here!”

            She turned from the window as Broots burst into her office.  This time, his surprise was understandable.  She wasn’t supposed to be here.  She was supposed to be on a plane halfway to Las Vegas by now.  “My flight was cancelled due to mechanical problems,” she said.  “A decision made after we sat on the runway for an hour.  Guess I’ll have to take the Centre jet, after all.”

            She normally would never have flown commercial – too unreliable - but she’d been hoping to check out this lead on Jarod – the first promising one in the month since he’d escaped – without Lyle tagging along.  Yes, she’d agreed to work with her brother on the search for Jarod, but that was mainly to appease her father.  Her true agenda was to keep Lyle as far from Jarod as possible, while she worked on ways to discredit her twin with the Triumverate.  So far, she’d managed the former – mainly because Jarod had not made even a blip on their radar for weeks – but failed miserably at the latter.  The Triumverate was being unusually patient; they hadn’t blamed anyone for Jarod’s escape and they seemed content to give them all another chance to bring the wayward Pretender back. 

            Knowing that Jarod would need money, and finding no evidence that he had recently siphoned funds from Centre accounts, they had been focusing their search on casinos.  Jarod could easily win at the tables, and Las Vegas also offered countless poor saps down on their luck who could benefit from a stranger’s kindness.  When Broots triumphantly showed her that Jarod had been caught on one of the many cameras in the swankiest casino in town, Miss Parker had wondered (not for the first time) why Jarod never changed his appearance when he was on the run.  How hard would it be for him to bleach his hair or grow a beard?  Or even have plastic surgery to drastically alter his features?  Not that she wanted him to do that; she thought he looked fine – very fine – just the way he was.  He’d never needed an external disguise to become anyone he wanted to be, and in all the years they’d been chasing him, the fact that he kept his own face hadn’t made him any easier to find.

            Until now.  Miss Parker had found it odd that Broots had so easily stumbled upon Jarod’s image on the casino’s security footage.  She’d suspected it was a red herring or bait to lure his pursuers into a trap.  He’d fooled them many times before.  But then she’d received that e-mail last night.

            The subject line had read What happens in…  With the Vegas lead on her mind, she’d been intrigued enough to open the e-mail instead of trashing it.  The rest of the message had been simple: … the elevator, stays in the elevator.  Like the code word “refuge” he and Sydney used when they wanted to speak privately, this sentence had particular meaning for her and Jarod.  What happens in the elevator stays in the elevator. She took it to mean that he would actually be in Las Vegas if she followed up on that lead.  And that he wanted to see her alone.  She had no idea why, but she figured she owed him the chance to explain.

            Which was why she hadn’t requested use of the company jet.  She’d hoped to sneak out of town on a regular plane, something Lyle would never expect her to do, but that wish had been shot to hell.  Jarod, if he was still waiting for her in Vegas, would just have to deal with a whole contingent of hunters bearing down on him.  He’d done it before, and she had no doubt he could elude them all with ease.  She just regretted that whatever he’d wanted to communicate to her in person would have to wait for another time and place.

            “I’ve been trying to reach you, but your phone keeps going directly to voice mail!”  Broots sounded aggrieved.

            “Oh, I had to turn it off on the plane,” she said, retrieving it from her blazer pocket.  “I must have forgotten to turn it back on.”  She did so now and discovered several missed calls, all from Broots.  “What’s so urgent?”

            “Jarod’s been spotted here in Blue Cove!”

            “What?  That doesn’t make any sense, especially after he –”  She stopped, remembering that Broots didn’t know anything about the e-mail she’d received; she’d made sure to delete it and empty the trash right after reading it.  “Especially after he showed up on camera at that Vegas casino yesterday afternoon,” she finished.

            Broots looked thoughtful.  “Maybe that was just to throw us off track.  He wanted to send us far away while he did something right here in our back yard.”

            “What could he possibly want to do here?  I told him –”  Again, she stopped.  Broots was not aware of that last conversation she’d had with Jarod when she’d suggested he concentrate solely on finding his family and stay far away from the Centre.  Advice he’d clearly ignored.

            She stifled her irritation and asked, “Exactly where was he seen?”

“The old warehouse district.”

Blocks and blocks of crumbling brick buildings perfect for hiding out.  And regularly used by the dregs of the city for just that purpose.  Why would Jarod choose to hang out with the homeless crowd instead of the high rollers?  Another misguided mission of mercy?  Or just a convenient base of operations while he hatched a plot against the Centre?

Broots went on:  “Sweepers were doing one of their regular searches in town – because Jarod does have a tendency to hide right under our noses, you know – and three different people recognized him from his photo and said they’d seen him recently.”

“Are you kidding me?  They actually held up his picture and asked ‘have you seen this man?’  And that’s how we got this lead?”  If so, Jarod really needed to reconsider using some sort of disguise.

Broots looked embarrassed by this crude method of detection that had trumped his high-tech techniques.  “Yeah, I know.  Real old school, huh?”

Knowing what kinds of people frequented that area of town, Miss Parker asked, “Just how reliable are these witnesses?”

He looked down at the floor, picking at the collar of his tee shirt.  “Well… two of them are local residents…”

“You mean the drunks and drug users who camp out in those abandoned warehouses?”  The Centre had really gotten desperate if it was now taking the word of those people.  “I doubt those bottom-feeders can barely see straight!  You really think they could recognize Jarod from his photo?”

“Well, um, the manager of the small convenience store in that area also identified Jarod,” Broots said.  “He said he’d been in the store yesterday afternoon buying supplies.  Um…”  He consulted a small spiral notebook he pulled out of his pants pocket.  “He said Jarod purchased a bottle of water, a flashlight, a can of Spam, and a pack of Twinkies.  He remembered because usually people from that part of town just buy cigarettes.”

“Yesterday afternoon?  The same time Jarod was caught on the camera at that Las Vegas casino?  Unless he has a double – and I don’t mean his Gemini clone who’s much younger – even Jarod can’t be in two places at the same time.”

“I know!  I mean, it’s impossible, right?  Personally, I would trust the camera recording more than the local eyewitnesses,” Broots said, showing his true techie colors, “but your father thinks the Blue Cove lead warrants serious attention.  He dispatched Lyle and a team of Sweepers to go down to the warehouse district and look around.”

A sense of urgency gripped her.  “How long ago?” she asked as she moved over to the couch where she’d deposited her overnight bag.  Not that she’d planned to stay that long in Vegas, but she’d had to check her gun in an approved container in her luggage.  Another reason she never flew commercial.

“Um, half an hour or so.”

Miss Parker retrieved her weapon then dug deeper into the bag for the ammunition, which was required to be stowed separately from the firearm.  “Where’s Sydney?” she asked.

“Down in the sim lab.  He’s having some sort of anomalous results with one of his twin studies and doesn’t want to be disturbed.”

She paused in her hunt for the ammo to look at Broots.  “This is Jarod we’re talking about.”

“Oh, well, yeah, I mean, of course Sydney would want to know any leads on his whereabouts, especially ones that point to him being right here in town.”  Broots cleared his throat.  “I was planning to head down to his office to tell him personally.”

“Then get going.”  She bent her head over her luggage again.  But then she imagined the car ride with Sydney, having to endure his questions about her decision to fly commercial to Las Vegas.  “No, wait!”  She glanced up to see Broots, already at the door, stop and spin back around to face her.  “Don’t bother Sydney with this.  Let me check it out first.”

“Are you sure?” 

She knew Broots hated being asked by one member of their team to keep something from the other.  But she wasn’t about to admit that she dreaded a mini-session with Sigmund Syd, who would somehow know she was holding something back about the Las Vegas lead on Jarod.

There was another reason she could offer for temporarily keeping Sydney out of the loop, a pretty good one, in fact, and one that would appeal to the wannabe hero in Broots.  Her hand closed around the box of ammunition, and she straightened. 

“Look, Broots, something doesn’t feel right about this,” she said.  “If I’m walking into a trap, I want to make sure you and Sydney are safe back here and able to come to my rescue.”

Broots stood a little taller.  “Of course,” he said.  “You can count on me.”

She moved to her desk to load her gun.  “The last thing I want is to end up locked in a shipping container with Lyle again,” she muttered.  “If that happens, there’s no chance in hell of us both surviving.”

Broots nodded solemnly.  “I understand,” he said.  “Knowing what we know about your brother now, I’d be afraid to be stuck in an enclosed space with him, too.”

“I’m not afraid, I’m prepared.”  She slid the ammo clip into her Smith and Wesson with a satisfying snap.  “Lyle’s the one who won’t live to see another day.” 

“Oh!  Right.”  Broots laughed nervously then coughed to cover it up. 

Miss Parker holstered her gun and tucked it into her back waistband.  “Relax, Broots, I doubt it’ll come to that.”  Jarod may like to play games, she reflected, but she knew he’d never purposefully place her in danger, especially not in a situation involving Lyle.  “No,” she added, “I don’t think I’ll be lucky enough to be handed an excuse to kill my brother.”  At Broots’ slightly horrified look, she hastened to assure him, “Just joking.”

He attempted a laugh and failed miserably.

Miss Parker headed for the door.  “I’m sure we’ll all be back soon, empty-handed as usual, but if you don’t hear from me in an hour, send reinforcements to the warehouse district, alright?”

He nodded.  “Got it.”

“In the meantime, double check that casino lead and see if Jarod could have faked that recording somehow.  This doesn’t make sense,” she murmured, half to herself, thinking again of the e-mail he’d sent her.  If he wanted to meet her in Vegas, why would he be here in Blue Cove?

“I’m on it,” Boots said.  Then: “Miss Parker?”

She reluctantly paused in the doorway. “What?”

His usual air of anxiety surrounded him, but this time when he spoke the jitteriness did not jumble his words.  He said slowly and clearly:  “I agree with you that something doesn’t feel right about this.  So, please… be careful.”

Although she was impatient to be away, she took a moment to acknowledge the concern of her friend.  “I will, Broots,” she promised.

 Then she hurried out into the hall, hoping she wasn’t too late while a small part of her wondered, too late for what? To help capture Jarod?  Or to help him escape again?

The old warehouse section of town spanned several blocks, but Miss Parker had no trouble determining exactly where the search for Jarod was focused.  As she drove farther into the dilapidated district, she started seeing Centre-issue vehicles everywhere she looked: pulled over on both sides of the rough macadam street, poking out of alleys, or diagonally parked right in front of the faded brick buildings.  She sighed.  So much for a sneak attack.  Her father had obviously decided this lead called for a whole contingent of Centre personnel to brazenly invade the area.  Or was this show of force Lyle’s idea?

Either way, she doubted Jarod was still in the vicinity.  He would have left at the first sight of a Sweeper.  Unless he was luring them all here for some reason.  The possibility of a trap seemed more and more likely, and Miss Parker was glad she’d left reinforcements – such as they were - back at the Centre.

She parked her own car at the end of the block in a small vacant lot with weeds growing through the cement and hoped it would be in one piece when she returned.  With her gun drawn – as a deterrent to the locals more than a precaution against Jarod - she continued on foot to the nearest warehouse, a two-story brick structure with graffiti covering most of the lower half.  She entered through a dark green door with a broken padlock.  The smell of cat urine and worse assaulted her the moment she set foot in the cavernous room that stretched the length of the building.  Despite the heat and humidity of the mid-July day, the dimly lit interior of the old building was surprisingly cool.  Enough daylight filtered through the small grimy windows near the top of the brick wall to her right to let her quickly ascertain that other than a few battered boxes, crates, and dusty tarps, the room was empty.  She could tell this space had been used by squatters at some point not too long ago, but no one was here now.

But she had better check out the whole place.  She headed for the narrow staircase to her left.  As she carefully side-stepped her way up to the second floor, she reflected that it was lucky she was wearing pants and sensible heels.  Intended for comfort on her long flight to Las Vegas, the outfit now made it easier to safely and quietly navigate the minefield of debris – broken bottles, dented cans, empty cigarette cartons, discarded fast food bags, and other items that she preferred not to inspect too closely – that littered the warped wooden stair treads.  Lyle and his gang may not mind being seen a mile away, but she didn’t want to announce her presence prematurely.

Then she heard a shout from above.  The response made her heart seem to skip a beat as she recognized Jarod’s voice.  He was actually here?

Abandoning any attempt at stealth, Miss Parker ran the rest of the way up the stairs and darted through the open doorway on her left.  Upon entering the room, she stopped and automatically swept her gun in a graceful 180-degree arc from left to right, but she had no trouble spotting the room’s inhabitants.  Standing in the center of the spacious loft was Lyle, his gun drawn and trained on Jarod, who appeared to have been caught in the act of trying to escape through one of the tall arched windows that lined the exterior wall at regular intervals.  He was perched on the low sill, his customary all-black outfit making him a stark silhouette against the afternoon sun blazing through the glass behind him.  He also had a gun out and aimed at Lyle. 

So intent on each other, neither man had reacted to Miss Parker’s entrance.  She could feel the electricity in the air, like the atmosphere before a storm.  She knew she needed to defuse this situation at once.

Hurrying forward, she called out, “Jarod!”

He turned towards her, his dark eyes widening in shock.

She noticed his gun had also come to bear on her.  She came to a halt and tightened her grip on her own weapon.

A shot rang out, and she flinched, but it was Jarod’s body that was flung backwards by the impact of Lyle’s bullet.  He smashed through the window and fell from sight.

Miss Parker’s brain had trouble processing what her eyes had just seen.  The event seemed to replay itself – the sound of the gunshot, Jarod hurtling back through the window amid shattering glass and disappearing – one, two, three times as if trying to make her mind accept what she had just witnessed.

In real time, Lyle strode to the window, looked outside, cursed, and rushed from the room, brushing past her without any sort of acknowledgment.

As she went to take a look for herself, she knew what she’d see: Jarod running away down an alleyway, pulling off yet another superhuman escape.

The soles of her ankle boots crunched on broken glass as she peered through the jagged remnants of the window.

She saw the alley.  She saw Jarod.

He wasn’t running away.  He was lying flat on his back in a garbage-filled dumpster, and he wasn’t moving.

Again, her brain felt a bit sluggish as it tried to understand what her eyes were reporting.  She stared down at Jarod, wondering why he was so still.  Probably just had the wind knocked out of him, she thought.  Any second now he’d leap up and make a dash for freedom.

Any second now.

He remained motionless.

She heard shouts from below and saw Willie and Brigitte approaching from the far end of the alley.  She opened her own mouth and then closed it again as she realized she didn’t know who she had been about to warn.

She turned and raced from the room, this time taking the stairs at a breakneck pace and somehow managing not to trip over the detritus on the steps.  She burst from the building and careened around the corner into the alley.

Again, the scene that met her eyes made no sense.  She’d expected the usual frantic pursuit of Jarod with a collection of Sweepers, led by the fleet-footed Willie, desperately running, suit coats flapping, after a fleeing figure in black.

Instead, she saw Tony and Sam loitering beside the dark green dumpster, while Brigitte paced in front of them, her gaze directed down at the broken asphalt in the alley. Willie was nowhere in sight.  Lyle was standing off to the side a short distance away, bent almost double with his lower back pressed against the brick wall of the warehouse.  He looked incredibly pale, like he was going to be sick.  Was he so out of shape that a sprint in this heat and humidity had completely done him in?

The atmosphere in the alley was oppressive but it seemed more like it was emanating from the people standing around, rather than from the humidity in the air.  Miss Parker couldn’t quite identify the feeling but if she had to label it, she’d call it dreadful anticipation. 

 “Where’s Jarod?” she demanded.  “Did he get away?”

Brigitte looked up.  “No,” she said flatly.

She didn’t understand.  Then why wasn’t he standing in front of her in handcuffs?  Why wasn’t Lyle strutting around with a smirk on his face?

When no one else seemed willing to volunteer any more clarification, Miss Parker moved forward, pushing past Tony and Sam to check out the dumpster.  She grimly contemplated the rusty metal receptacle and wondered if anyone had bothered to check to see if Jarod was hiding beneath heaps of trash?

Before she could hoist herself up to look over the edge of the container, slight sounds just beyond the dumpster drew her attention, and she went to investigate. 

She was completely unprepared for the sight that met her eyes.  Willie was kneeling on the ground, his dark face bathed in sweat while he methodically performed chest compressions on Jarod.

A wave of dizziness threatened to knock Miss Parker off her feet, and she clutched Willie’s shoulder for support.  “What are you doing?” she managed to get out past the invisible vise around her throat.  “He’s not… he’s not…”

Sam stepped up behind her and touched her arm.  “Give Willie room to work, Miss Parker,” he said in a voice that was raspier than usual.

She was about to argue, to insist that Jarod was faking, when she suddenly noticed the blood.  His left shoulder was soaked with it, and the Sweeper’s hands on Jarod’s chest were covered in it. 

She holstered her gun and fumbled in her blazer pocket for her cell phone.  She finally managed to pull it out, only to have Brigitte snatch it out of her hand.  “What the hell–?” she snarled, turning on the impertinent blonde.

“What do you think you’re doing, Miss Parker?”

“Calling 9-1-1.”

“You know better than to involve the authorities with Centre business,” Brigitte said.

“Jarod needs an ambulance!”

“We’re pulling a car around,” the petite woman said briskly.  “As soon as he’s stabilized, we’ll get him to the infirmary.” 

Willie’s tired voice cut clearly through the heavy air:  “It’s too late.  He’s gone.”

Miss Parker whirled back around to face the Sweeper but felt like she was moving in slow motion.  The Sweeper was leaning back on his haunches, his arms hanging limply at his sides, the picture of defeat.

No!  She shoved him out of the way and threw herself to her knees beside Jarod.  Leaning over him, she tilted her head as if listening for breath and whispered fiercely in his ear, “Stop pretending, Jarod, or I swear to God I’ll kill you myself!”

There was no response.  She searched for a pulse at his neck.  Her own heart seemed like it was beating out of her chest, but she felt not even a flutter under her fingertips.  She could sense a scream rising from somewhere deep within her, and it took every ounce of willpower she had to force it back down.

She had to do something!  Recalling her own CPR training from years ago, she started giving mouth-to-mouth resuscitation alternating with chest compressions.  Two slow breaths, then fifteen compressions, then check his pulse, then two more breaths, and so on.  She worked mechanically, focusing only on the count and concentrating on keeping the breaths slow, the compressions smooth and even. 

“Damn it, Jarod, breathe,” she said through gritted teeth at one point.

Eventually she had to stop.  Her arms felt like lead, and her head was spinning.  As she struggled to get her breath back, she stared down at Jarod’s still white face.  Is this how it ends? she wondered numbly.

She felt a hand on her shoulder.  As if from far away, she heard Sam’s voice:  “Miss Parker, the car’s here.  We need to move the… we need to move him now.”

She nodded and slowly rose to her feet.  Keep it together, Parker.  She watched Sam and Tony pick up Jarod, noticed the care they took when handling the… the body.  Quite a change from their habit of dragging him around.  Should she be grateful that they were finally showing him some respect, even though it was too little, too late?

There was tightness in her chest that made it difficult to breathe.  The heat rose from the sun-baked macadam in shimmering waves; the surreal procession towards the car appeared almost like a mirage.  If only this was an illusion…

Someone laughed.

For one horrifying second, she wondered if she was making that slightly hysterical sound. Then she realized it was coming from Brigitte.  “This is bloody marvelous, this is,” the blonde said in her phony British accent, gesturing to Jarod’s body as it was loaded into the back of the black SUV.  “The Centre’s precious Pretender is dead!  Any bets on which one of us will be next once the Triumverate hears of this?” 

A surge of anger propelled Miss Parker forward, right into Brigitte’s face.  She said evenly, “My money’s on you…” Her gaze slid sideways, and she raised her voice, “brother.”

Lyle detached himself from the wall and came over to them on slightly unsteady legs.  His color had improved, but the flush on his cheeks was no healthy glow.  “Do you think I meant for this to happen?” he hissed.  “I had no choice.  He had a gun on you!”

“He wouldn’t have shot me!”

“How can you be so sure?” 

Because I know he would never hurt me, because he cares too much about me.  Cared too much about me.

Feeling like she was about to choke on words she could never say, Miss Parker grabbed her phone back from Brigitte then quickly climbed into the front seat of the SUV.  She slammed the door behind her and ordered, “Drive, Sam!”

As the Sweeper rapidly reversed out of the alley, she realized she should probably call…someone.  She looked down at the cell phone she was clutching and saw Jarod’s blood all over her hands.

Her stomach lurched.  She hastily directed the vents so that the car’s air conditioning hit her full blast in the face.  The nausea abated somewhat.  Leaning back in her seat, she closed her eyes. 

And hoped that when she opened them again she’d discover that this had all been just a nightmare.

Chapter 21

            Miss Parker still wasn’t answering her cell.

            Sydney tossed his own phone onto the desk and told himself to remain calm.  Not an easy task with all the damn rumors currently flying around this place.

            After spending half the day in the lab trying to determine why his current twin experiment was producing some unexpected results, Sydney had finally needed to take a break.  Not in the mood for vending machine fare, he’d made a rare trip to the cafeteria.

            He’d found the dining hall more crowded than usual for this time of the day.  He’d noticed, though, as he’d carried his coffee and oat bran muffin to a table, that most of the Centre employees in the vicinity were not eating.  They were gathered in small groups around the room, talking in low voices, but with an intensity that created an uncomfortable undercurrent all around him.  Used to the gossip that naturally ran rampant in a fortress of secrets, Sydney had not paid much attention to the murmurings.

            Until he’d heard Jarod’s name.  A woman had passed behind him, excitedly whispering to her companion that Jarod had been spotted “right here in Blue Cove!”  “Thought he was smarter than that,” had been the reply from the young man with her.

            Agreeing with the woman’s friend, Sydney had dismissed that bit of news.  But then more snatches of co-worker conversations had reached his ears, and a disturbing pattern had emerged.  The general consensus seemed to be that Jarod was indeed in town and Lyle and a whole army of Sweepers had been dispatched to hunt him down and bring him back.

            Then he’d become aware of some furtive glances his way from people who were no doubt wondering why he, who was so closely connected to the Pretender project, was sitting here eating a muffin while half the Centre was out trying to apprehend Jarod.  He’d found himself wondering the same thing.  Last he’d heard, Miss Parker was headed out of town to check out a lead on Jarod, one that didn’t look too promising, she’d told him, so it didn’t require the presence of the whole team.  Sydney had been fine with that; it gave him time to iron out the wrinkles in his current twin study.  But if there was reason to believe that Jarod was in Blue Cove, he should have been informed.

              Suddenly anxious to learn exactly why he’d been kept out of the loop, Sydney had drained the last of his coffee and stood up to leave.  As he did so, various ringtones had sounded throughout the cafeteria.  A hush had descended over the room as several people answered their cells or checked their text messages.  Then he’d heard a few gasps and exclamations of disbelief, which only increased his level of dread.  He’d hurriedly headed for the exit, eager to find Broots and get some answers.  As he’d stepped into the corridor, a young woman he vaguely recognized as one the secretaries from the Tower almost ran into him since she was distracted by the phone in her hand.  Startled, she’d looked up and blurted out, “Oh, Dr. Green!  Is it true?  Is Jarod really dead?”

            Her words had felt like an ice pick to his gut.  Reeling, he’d snapped, “Of course not!” and rushed away.

            Broots had received the same dire news of Jarod’s demise but had been unable to confirm or deny the dreadful rumor.  Other than confessing that he’d known Miss Parker had belatedly joined the search of the warehouse district after her flight to Las Vegas was cancelled, he couldn’t supply any helpful information.  He had not been able to reach her by phone to get a firsthand account of what had happened.  Both men had agreed to keep trying to get in touch with Miss Parker and to inform each other of anything concrete they learned.  Then Sydney had returned to his office.

            Where he now sat in this current wretched state of limbo.  He refused to believe Jarod was dead, and that wasn’t only an emotional reaction.  There were several reasons on which to base that optimistic opinion.  One, Jarod was far too clever to let himself get killed during a routine skirmish with Sweepers.  Two, the Centre was desperate to get Jarod back… alive.  Three, Jarod had plenty of experience of surviving close calls.  And four, Broots’ friend from the infirmary had said only that he heard the medical staff preparing for the arrival of a V.I.P. (a very important patient); it could be Lyle or Brigitte.

Or Miss Parker.

This train of thought was not helping.  He reached for his phone again and heard:

“Sydney.”

And he knew.  One look at the woman in his doorway confirmed it.  The adult Miss Parker stood before him, but it was the girl he saw, the girl as she’d appeared right after her mother had died, the girl with the unspeakable pain screaming soundlessly from her big blue eyes.

“Mon Dieu,” Sydney breathed.  “It’s true.”

Miss Parker spoke haltingly, as if every word was an effort.  “I’m sorry, Sydney, I wanted…to get here…to tell you in person as soon as I could, but…I had to stay with the…with Jarod until they…until they pronounced him…”  She stopped on an intake of breath, her eyes growing impossibly large at the memory.

He sat in stunned silence, barely able to draw breath past the knot of anguish that had formed in his chest.  After a long moment, he finally managed one word:  “How?”

“He was shot and fell out a window.  Willie and I both tried CPR, but…”  Her voice was a monotone, her gaze still focused on the recent past.

For the first time he noticed the smears of blood on her white silk blouse. 

Hugging her bare arms, she frowned and asked vaguely, “Is the air conditioning on high in here?  I couldn’t bear the heat in that horrible alley, but now I’m a little too cold…”

Sydney recognized the symptoms of emotional shock when he saw them, and he knew he couldn’t let himself slip into the same state of distress.  Not yet, not now, when Miss Parker needed him to be strong for her.

Somehow he managed to stand on legs that felt like jelly.  He retrieved his suit coat from the back of his desk chair and carried it over to her.  “Miss Parker, come sit down,” he said gently.

The fact that she seemed to barely notice him guiding her to the couch made him realize just how much in a daze she was.  “There was blood on my blazer, so I took it off,” she murmured as he draped his coat around her shoulders.  “I had to wash my hands, too.”  She stared down at them.

Sydney noticed her fingers were reddish and puckered, as if from prolonged scrubbing.  He sat beside her on the sofa.  “Can you tell me what happened?” he asked quietly.

She didn’t answer, just continued to look at her hands, a lost expression on her face.

He could feel her pain, and the last thing he wanted to do was make it worse by asking her to relive the traumatic events of the last few hours.  But he needed answers!  He needed to know how this could have happened, how Jarod, despite all the logical reasons why it couldn’t be so – how Jarod could actually be dead.

“Broots told me you went to the warehouse district,” he prompted.

Her chin came up, and she blinked, as if bringing the memory into sharper focus.  “It was the last building on the block,” she said.  “I found Jarod and Lyle upstairs.”

“Lyle shot Jarod?” Sydney asked sharply.

Miss Parker nodded, but there was no anger in her voice, no emotion at all, as she said, “And then Jarod fell out of the window.  He landed in a dumpster.  I thought he’d get up and run away, but he just… he just lay there.  By the time I got to the alley, Willie was trying to revive him.”

Sydney felt his hands clench into fists.  “Why would Lyle shoot him?”

She frowned slightly.  “He said Jarod had a gun pointed at me, but… I don’t remember…”  She suddenly turned to face him.  “Jarod would never hurt me, Sydney,” she added urgently.

The little girl was back, huddled inside his jacket, looking to him for reassurance.  “No, of course not,” he agreed softly.

That seemed to calm her – for a second, before a fresh onslaught of grief flashed across her features.

Trying to keep her focused on facts, Sydney quickly asked, “What was the cause of death?  The gunshot?  Or a head injury from the fall?”

“I…I don’t know,” she said slowly.  “I didn’t wait around the infirmary to find out.  I needed to get to you.  Oh, Sydney.”  For the first time, he saw the glint of unshed tears in her eyes.  “I’m so sorry…” 

She reached out, as if to lay her hand on his arm, but he abruptly stood up.  He couldn’t be touched, not now, not if he wanted to keep his composure, such as it was.  He still had too many questions.

“We need answers,” he said.  “Let’s go find some, shall we?”

Sydney threw open the doors to Mr. Parker’s office and marched inside, followed closely by Miss Parker.

“Why weren’t we allowed to see Jarod’s body?” he demanded.

“They told us down in the infirmary that we had to talk to you,” added Miss Parker.  “What the hell is going on, Daddy?”

Sydney was glad to see that their frustrating experience at the infirmary had managed to produce one positive result: Miss Parker was acting like herself again.  The color had returned to her cheeks and the steel to her voice.  Although at times abrasive, this Miss Parker was preferable to the shell that had shown up in his office earlier.  Unfortunately, he knew this flare of anger would burn out soon enough, and the cold heaviness of grief would descend upon her once more.

Mr. Parker winced slightly, as if his daughter’s tone was aggravating an already-intense headache.  “Now, calm down, Angel,” he said.

“Calm down?”  She stalked right up to his desk and slammed her hands down on its gleaming mahogany surface.  “Jarod is dead!”

“I am well aware of that fact!”  Her father shot back.  “Perhaps you are not aware of the scope of this disaster!”  Then he seemed to take a closer look at her, observing the blood-stained cuffs of her blazer that she’d retrieved from the ladies’ room near the infirmary.  He went on in a softer voice: “I understand you did everything you could at the scene to revive Jarod.”

Miss Parker straightened and shook her head, as if to brush aside the memory of those frantic moments.  “Why can’t Sydney see Jarod’s body?” she asked.  “He has every right-”

“Well, of course he does,” Mr. Parker said brusquely, turning his attention to Sydney.  “Unfortunately, that won’t be possible.  The body’s no longer here.”

“What?”  Sydney couldn’t hide his confusion.  The Centre would never have moved Jarod to a hospital morgue, and they would certainly have taken the time to do an autopsy before relinquishing his remains to a funeral home.  “Where is he?”

“Jarod’s body has been transported to our cryonics facility in New Jersey.”

Cryonics facility?  “My God,” Sydney murmured.  Through his own shock, he dimly heard Miss Parker asking, “Cryonics?  Is that what I think it is?  You’re going to freeze Jarod?”

“We have no choice,” her father said.  “Jarod’s death is a tremendous loss to the Centre.  We must use all the means at our disposal to fix this.”

As Miss Parker sat down heavily in one of the black leather chairs facing her father’s desk, Sydney ventured, “I wasn’t aware the Centre had a cryonics facility.”

“It was an acquisition we made a few years ago.  Due to the ongoing ethical debate about this particular area of science, we don’t publicize the Centre’s involvement in it.”

Sydney thought tiredly that the same could be said about most of the Centre’s projects.

Mr. Parker went on: “Lazarus Ltd. was having some financial difficulties and was in danger of having to close its doors – thus putting its preserved patients at risk – so the Centre stepped in with a reasonable offer and took ownership.  It’s a great opportunity to explore this exciting new field of medical research.  We’ve managed to keep the place up and running and have even added a few wealthy clients who have paid a handsome sum to assure that they will be preserved in perpetuity.”

“Or until you develop the technology to revive them,” Sydney pointed out.

“Yes, of course.  That is the sole purpose of the facility.”

Fleecing rich people with a fear of death – and likely no families to inherit - of their life’s savings would probably be a more apt mission statement of Lazarus Ltd. (a name he suspected did not sit well with those with religious objections to cryonics), Sydney thought, but he kept his opinion to himself.  The doctor in him wanted all cutting-edge areas of medical technology to be given a chance, and now he had a vested interest in hoping that the Centre could actually make cryonics work.

“Do you really think you can bring Jarod back?”  Miss Parker asked.

Her tone was neutral, and Sydney surmised that she was keeping a tight rein on her emotions.  He was doing the same.  Neither of them had barely had time to process the fact that Jarod was dead, and now to be told of this insane possibility of him coming back to life…

Madness!  Such seesawing between hope and despair was greatly damaging to the psyche.  Stay detached, he told himself.

Mr. Parker sighed.  “It’s a long shot, I know,” he said wearily, “but we have to make the effort, show that we haven’t given up on Jarod.  That might make a difference in how the Triumverate reacts.”  With a trembling hand, he lifted the glass of Scotch at his elbow and took a fortifying sip.

Ah, the ominous elephant in the room.  Next to the stark reality of Jarod’s demise, what the Triumverate would do next was not a topic that Sydney cared to contemplate.  But he knew that Mr. Parker was very worried about what kind of punishment the Centre’s African overseers would mete out for this unmitigated disaster.

“The good news is that the cryonics facility has a new director, a bright young fellow who took over operations just a few months ago,” Mr. Parker said, brightening somewhat.  “He’s highly qualified and very enthusiastic about the whole process.  And now that he has such a high priority patient like Jarod, he’ll be pushed harder than ever to produce results.”

“Do you know anything about how the process works?” Sydney inquired.  He knew precious little himself.

“All I know is that time is of the essence at the start of the procedure,” Mr. Parker replied, “which is why Jarod’s body had to be moved into storage as soon as possible.”

Sydney cringed inwardly at the use of the word “storage.”  He made it sound like Jarod was just a thing to be shelved in some warehouse!  He noticed how Miss Parker’s lips tightened at her father’s words, as well.

As if finally sensing the distress of the other two occupants of the room, Mr. Parker added with a touch of compassion, “I’m sorry that you didn’t get a chance to see him, Sydney.  I know how much Jarod meant to you.”

Unable to speak past the sudden lump in his throat, Sydney merely nodded in response. 

Miss Parker abruptly stood and crossed to the liquor cabinet.  She poured herself a drink and downed half of it in one swallow.

“The next few days will be very difficult around here,” Mr. Parker said, staring down into his own glass. “There’s no predicting what the fallout may be.”  He looked up at his daughter and cleared his throat.   “I’ll need a written report from you, Angel, as soon as possible.  The Triumverate wants to know exactly what happened today.  Your brother is already working on his account while the details are still fresh in his mind.”

“Oh, really?”  Miss Parker crossed back to her chair and sat down again.  “Has he shared any of those details with you?”

Her tone was casual, but Sydney saw how her knuckles were white from tightly grasping her glass as she waited for her father’s reply.

“Of course, he came to see me a short while ago.  He was understandably upset about what happened.”

Sydney imagined Lyle was also terrified of being blamed for Jarod’s death and anxious to tell his version of events before Mr. Parker heard it from anyone else.

“Despite how everything turned out, you’re lucky your brother was there,” Mr. Parker went on.  “He said Jarod pulled a gun on you.  No telling what he might have done if Lyle hadn’t gotten a shot off first!”

Sydney saw the flash of anger in Miss Parker’s eyes, and he quickly stepped up behind her to place a restraining hand on her shoulder.  He could feel how tightly bunched her muscles were, like a cat preparing to pounce.

“It sounds like it was a very tense situation,” Sydney said in as calm a voice as he could manage. 

“Hm.  Of course, Lyle was only trying to wound Jarod,” Mr. Parker said.  “It was damn rotten luck that he fell out that window.”

“What was the official cause of death?” Sydney asked.

“We don’t know for sure.  They couldn’t do an autopsy.  The body had to be kept as intact as possible for the cryonics procedure.”

“It doesn’t matter if the gunshot or the fall killed him,” Miss Parker declared.  “Lyle’s still to blame!”

“Then put that in your report, if that’s what you believe.”

“It’s a fact!  I was there, I saw exactly what happened.”

Remembering how shock had made her fuzzy on the details down in his office and eyeing her glass of Scotch, Sydney hoped she’d be sober and in a clearer frame of mind when she did write her report.  As much as he’d love to have Lyle take the fall for Jarod’s death, he didn’t want to mistakenly condemn the man.  He worried that Miss Parker might have already reached the anger stage of grief and was eager to assign guilt to someone, anyone, for this terrible tragedy.

Mr. Parker scowled at his daughter.  “Just don’t let your hatred of your brother influence your memory of events.”

That was a valid point, but Sydney expected Miss Parker to protest.  Instead, she said in a low voice, “Daddy, why won’t you believe me?”

Mr. Parker just stared at her, narrowing his eyes slightly as if trying to see a hidden trap in her words.

Damn the man, Sydney thought tiredly.  Why did he always make matters worse?  He knew the Parker father-daughter relationship was strained, but he was also certain of their love for each other.  Miss Parker had risked her life on more than one occasion to save her father, and Mr. Parker had shown true concern when his daughter almost died from a bleeding ulcer and when she’d taken a bullet meant for him.  But why did there have to be a crisis for them to express their true feelings?

Except this was a crisis.  Miss Parker was the walking wounded; did the blood on her shirt have to be her own for her father to recognize that she needed his support?

Sydney gave her shoulder a reassuring squeeze, and she looked up at him.  Her eyes were starting to go dull again.  As he’d feared, her earlier anger-fueled energy had drained away, and the horror of the day was starting to sink in.

He knew he should convince her to go home, but he just had one more piece of business to conclude with her father.

“If it’s alright with you, sir, I’ll start planning the service,” he said.

Mr. Parker squinted at him in confusion.  “Eh, what’s that?”

“The memorial service for Jarod.”

“Ah, we don’t need to bother with anything like that,” Mr. Parker said dismissively.

His callous words were like a slap in the face.  Sydney knew that Mr. Parker only considered Jarod an entry at the top of the assets column in the Centre’s ledger, but common decency demanded that some sort of ceremony be held to mark the end of an extraordinary life.

Sydney moved away from Miss Parker’s chair and took a step closer to the desk.  “I think it is very important that we have some kind of gathering,” he said with quiet intensity.

“I know all you shrinks are big on closure,” Mr. Parker said, “but I remember the ‘gathering’ we had after Catherine’s death.  It didn’t make me feel one damn bit better.  I’ve always said that after you lose someone you love, the best thing to do is get on with the business of living.”

Out of the corner of his eye, Sydney noticed Miss Parker shift uncomfortably in her seat and take another big swallow of her Scotch.

“Besides, who would come to a service for Jarod?” Mr. Parker continued.  “As far as the world’s concerned, he never existed.”  Then he looked thoughtful.  “Unless this might be a good way to bring Jarod’s family out of hiding, maybe get our hands on the Gemini clone.  Finding that boy is now our top priority, you know.”

Swallowing his anger was leaving an increasingly bitter taste in his mouth, and Sydney didn’t know how much longer he could keep his feelings contained.

“Jarod’s family is too smart to walk into a trap,” Miss Parker said.  “If they didn’t come to rescue him from the Centre when he was still alive, they’re certainly not going to show up now that he’s dead.”  She drained the rest of her drink and set the glass heavily on her father’s desk.

“Good point, Angel.  Best forget about it, Sydney,” Mr. Parker ordered. 

“You’re right,” Sydney said, earning a surprised arch of an eyebrow from Mr. Parker, who clearly had expected more of an argument. “Having a memorial service for Jarod is a terrible idea.  You’re right that no one would come, no one except the very people who made his life a living hell.  Such a gathering would do nothing to honor his memory.  Having the likes of Lyle, Brigitte and you pretend to mourn – when all you’d really be doing is worrying about how his loss will affect the Centre and yourselves – would be like spitting on his grave.  Except he has no grave, does he, because you can’t even let him rest in peace!  You want to bring him back to life so that you can torment him some more!”

He stopped and took a ragged breath, amazed by the torrent he’d just let loose but not regretting one word of it. 

Mr. Parker slowly rose to his feet behind his desk.  “Because you are obviously upset and not thinking clearly,” he said stiffly, “I will choose to overlook this outburst of yours.  But you would be wise, Sydney,” he added ominously, his eyes bright with anger, “to remember to whom you are speaking when in this office.”

Sydney’s heart was pounding, but it was from adrenaline, not alarm.  He knew exactly who he was looking at.  Mr. Parker was a man rocked to his core.  He was a man standing at the epicenter of a seismic event that would send shock waves through the Centre for a long time to come.  He was hanging on to power by his fingertips, and his grip was slipping.  Jarod’s death would have repercussions for every member of the Pretender project. 

Mr. Parker was no fool.  He knew the ground had just shifted under his feet.  Sydney looked at the old man in the impeccable suit trying to appear an imposing figure behind his grand executive desk and felt not a bit of fear.  He had many more things he wanted to say to the Centre’s Director.  But out of consideration for Miss Parker, who was staring at the two men in stunned silence, Sydney decided not to pursue the discussion...at this time.

Instead, he turned and left without another word, yanking open the double doors with a satisfying violence on his way out.

Back in his office, Sydney went directly to the desk drawer where he kept the Cognac, but his hands were shaking too badly to pour himself a glass.  He sank into his chair and stared unseeingly at the bottle.

Now that he’d started to feel the pain, the idea of numbing it with alcohol was appealing.  But the doctor in him knew that by doing so he’d only be postponing the inevitable, and it would be best to deal with his feelings sooner rather than later.

Besides, part of him welcomed the pain, needed to feel all the excruciating agony.  He wasn’t being masochistic.  It was a fitting penance for all the misery he’d heaped on Jarod while he was alive.  Only right that he be made to suffer now from Jarod’s death.

His gaze fell on the model of the Empire State Building in the corner of his office.  That replica, the very first task that Jarod had completed for the Centre, had always been a reminder to Sydney of the limitless potential of one small boy given into his care.  The intricate structure comprised of brightly-colored Legos had served for years as a beacon of hope, demonstrating the power of the mind to produce concrete results.

This one has only been with us for thirty-six hours and he’s already demonstrating more talent than any of our others.

His words to the camera, after viewing the replica that Jarod had built in less than two hours.  At the time, he couldn’t know that there would be no others, that no one would ever match Jarod’s genius abilities.  Or the compassion he felt for others, even after receiving none in his formative years.

How many people died because of what I thought up?

That question, posed by Jarod soon after he first escaped, had haunted both men for years.  Sydney knew that the reason behind much of Jarod’s good works out there in the world was to atone for the sins he felt he’d committed while doing the Centre’s bidding.

 Sydney now asked the question: how many people were helped by Jarod’s genius?  And how many more will never benefit from the kindness of a remarkably gifted stranger?

Hi, Jarod.  I’m Sydney.  I’ll be taking care of you for a while.

And what had he done?  Exactly what the Centre had asked of him.  He’d taken that innocent young boy’s immeasurable talent and twisted it to meet his superiors’ demands.  He’d raised a child and never shown him any affection.

And now he’d never have the chance to tell Jarod how honored he’d been to serve as his father figure, how he’d always thought of him as a son.  How much he loved him.

Damn it all to Hell!  He picked up the liquor bottle and hurled it at the Empire State Building.  The bottle broke and left a trail of dark amber liquid dripping down the sides of the edifice, giving the strange impression that the building was bleeding.  Yet the model remained intact.  He should have been comforted by the fact that this structure, built by Jarod’s hands, endured, but instead it seemed to mock him.  This thing, this inanimate object that was the start of Jarod’s servitude to the Centre, still existed, while its maker was gone.

Jarod was dead.  Dead.

With an inarticulate cry, Sydney lurched to his feet.  He grabbed the swing-arm lamp from his desk and used it as a weapon to batter and smash the sculpture until the replica was finally reduced to a pile of rubble.  Then, panting from physical and emotional exertion, Sydney fell to his knees among the wreckage and wept.

Chapter 22

            Miss Parker wondered if she should have cried by now.

            It had been almost a week since Jarod’s death, and she hadn’t shed a tear.  Was that normal?  There were certain stages of grief, she knew, so maybe she was stuck in one of those.  It wasn’t denial, though.  She knew Jarod was dead.  She’d seen him get shot and fall from the window.  She’d felt no pulse, even after performing CPR on him.  She knew Jarod was dead.

            At least her mind knew it.  But her heart?  Well, her heart hadn’t known what to feel about Jarod for a long time, so why should now be any different?

            She took a sip of Scotch from the glass that was close at hand, as it had been for several days.  Sydney could probably explain the whole grieving process, but from what she heard, he was in need of some counseling himself right now.  Broots had told her about his meltdown that had resulted in the destruction of the Empire State Building model in his office.  According to Broots’ friend Rags from Maintenance, Sydney still hadn’t allowed anyone to pick up the pieces.  He’d been stepping around those damn Lego bits for days, probably brooding over them, she thought, leaving the mess there as some maudlin metaphor.

            Not that what she was doing was much better.  Holed up in her house all week, she’d spent the time watching the old sim archives, the Centre’s twisted version of home movies.  Broots had transferred most of them to DVDs, and she been viewing them over and over, especially the recordings of those brief encounters she’d had with Jarod when they were children. 

            Strange.  She remembered those times clearly, but she didn’t think she’d ever watched the official footage of their meetings.  The impersonal lens of the Centre camera provided quite a different point of view.  For instance, the scene playing on her computer screen right now – the day she’d kissed Jarod – had a completely different feel to it when viewed as a third party.  At the time, she’d been too preoccupied with the feeling of power she’d experienced by doing this unexpected thing to really pay attention to the boy she was kissing.  But now she could see his reaction, the look of surprise and wonder that came over his face, and she ached for those innocent children.

            Miss Parker took another swallow of her drink.  She still couldn’t believe she’d had the audacity to kiss him.  Even then, she’d had trouble following the rules, and anything forbidden just fascinated her more.  Sydney had wanted to collect data on how Jarod interacted with the opposite sex, and her mother had wanted Jarod to have a friend, but what had motivated her to go along with the adults’ wishes was her own curiosity about this strange boy who was so vital to her father’s work.  Maybe she’d been a little jealous at first and had wanted to see what made this boy so special, so important to her father.  But then she’d gotten to know Jarod better, to see beyond his freakish intelligence to the sweet boy who actually wanted to spend time with her.  His face literally lit up when she would enter the room; she could see that clearly on the recordings.  Yes, she’d been used as part of the Pretender project, but she’d gained something invaluable in the process – a true friend.

            Whom she’d betrayed when she’d agreed to catch and return him to the Centre.

            No, that wasn’t entirely true.  She and Jarod had stopped being friends long before he escaped from the Centre.  There was no dramatic end; they had just grown apart, as people do.  She went off to school, and he… well, he stayed right where he was.  Only natural that their friendship would not survive the separation.

            No.  If she was completely honest, it was more than just physical distance that had made her pull away from Jarod.  And it was she who had pulled away, because she had always been free to visit him; she had chosen not to do so.  As they grew older, the immorality of what was being done to Jarod had become apparent to both of them.  Knowing she was powerless to change anything about his situation, Miss Parker had decided to ignore his plight, best accomplished if she didn’t have to watch what was being done to him.  By the time she was an adult, she’d bought into the company line that only the Centre could effectively direct Jarod’s genius abilities; she’d even believed that all the projects he did were for the greater good.

            She’d wanted to believe it.  It made her decision to distance herself from him easier.  If he was doing important work at the Centre, it was best that she stay away and allow him to concentrate on his job.  Satisfied that Jarod was fulfilling his purpose in life, Miss Parker had moved on with college and new friends and new possibilities.

            But always eager to please her father, she’d come back after graduation and taken a job with the company.  She’d never imagined that someday that job would require her to hunt down an old friend and force him back to a life he detested.  Until Jarod escaped and began asking hard questions of her and Sydney, revealing the lies that had been fed to all of them for years, she’d had no idea the scope of the Centre’s duplicity. 

            So, why did she continue to lead the search for Jarod, knowing that her connection to him was being used to draw him out, just like she’d been used as a child when that connection had first been encouraged?  Partly to make her father proud, to prove to him that she was capable of one day taking his place at the helm.  But also partly to use the tidbits Jarod fed her to gain as much information about the Centre’s secrets as she could to ensure her future rise to power.  That motivation would make Daddy proud, too.

            She’d never imagined that one day she’d discard all her carefully-laid plans and actually help Jarod to escape.  How could she have known that those long ago feelings of friendship would resurface?

            Friendship… and more. 

            Damn it!  She slammed the lid of her laptop shut.  Those innocent children were long gone, so why take this ghastly trip down memory lane?  Was this a normal part of the grieving process?  Who needed Sydney?  She was doing fine at self-analysis.  It wasn’t that hard, just painful.

            The doorbell rang.

            Saved by the bell?

            It rang again, almost immediately, followed by a knock, and a voice, nervously calling, “Miss Parker?  Miss Parker, are you in there?”

            Broots.  Not wanting to talk to anyone, especially someone whose frenetic personality tended to tire her out, she’d been ignoring his phone calls all week.  Now it seemed that tactic had backfired; her continued silence had driven him to pay her a personal visit.  It would be even more exhausting to have to deal with him face to face.  She reached for her drink for some liquid support.

            More knocking, louder this time.  “Please, Miss Parker, it’s Broots!”

            She sighed and slowly got to her feet, dragging her hands through her hair.  She glanced down at herself to make sure she’d remembered to get dressed today; if Broots beheld her in her robe or silk pajamas, he’d become even more of a blithering idiot than usual.  Thankfully, she had on a silk tank top and linen trousers; that’s right, this morning she’d had the vague idea that it might be good to make an appearance at the office.  She just hadn’t managed to follow through on that notion.

            When she opened the door, the heat and humidity hit her like a furnace blast.  She squinted against the glare of the summer sunshine and asked wearily, “What, Broots?”

            His face was pinched with worry.  “You haven’t returned any of my calls,” he said, a tad reproachfully.

            She hadn’t paid much attention to the rambling messages he’d left her, but she didn’t recall anything of urgency in them.  Of course, what she and Broots considered urgent were usually very different.  Still, if he’d felt it necessary to come speak to her in person…

            “Is my father okay?” she asked sharply. 

            Broots blinked, as if the question took him by surprise.  “Yes, I mean, no, I mean, well… he’s as okay as he can be, I guess, what with everything that’s going on… you know, Jarod’s death and the threat of retaliation from the Triumverate.  Your father must be under a lot of stress, I certainly don’t envy him, but I guess he’s doing as well as can be expected…”

            “And Sydney?”

            “Well, he hasn’t had another… meltdown, I guess you’d call it, not that I blame him, he was so close to Jarod... He’s still coming into work, but he just sits in his office – with those Lego pieces still all over the floor - watching the old DSAs of Jarod’s sims.”

            She was glad that she’d closed her laptop before Broots arrived.  She didn’t need him to know she was doing the same thing.  “So, what’s so important?” she asked.

            “You,” Broots said.  “I wanted to make sure you were okay.”

            This simple expression of concern brought her closer to tears than she’d been all week.  Or probably it was just the sun in her eyes.  She was starting to feel strangely feverish, with the chill of the air conditioning on the back of her neck, and the midsummer heat creating an uncomfortable flush on her face.  “I’m fine,” she said shortly, turning and retreating into the cool interior of her living room.

            Broots followed, closing the heavy oak door behind him.  “Well, when I didn’t hear back from you, I was worried,” he said.

            When wasn’t he worried?  But, knowing he was speaking as a true friend, Miss Parker kept the ungracious thought to herself.  She wandered over to the coffee table and picked up a half-empty bottle of Scotch.  “Care to join me?” she invited, topping off the glass that she still had clutched in her hand.

            “Um,” Broots said.  “Isn’t it a bit early?”

            Normally she would have blasted him for daring to question her drinking habits, but again, she let the comment pass because of the spirit in which it was offered.  Besides, if she was honest with herself, she had to admit she’d been hitting the bottle pretty hard since Jarod’s death. 

            Broots didn’t know she had decided to go easy on him.  “Why don’t I make us some coffee?” he suggested over brightly.  Without waiting for permission, he made good his escape and quickly headed to the kitchen.

            “Make yourself at home,” Miss Parker muttered.  She put the bottle of Scotch back on the coffee table and – after a few seconds’ hesitation – her freshly refilled glass with it.  Then she settled on the couch with a sigh, tucking her legs under her – glad she hadn’t gotten around to donning her high heels yet today – and leaning her head back. 

A cup of coffee might be a good idea, she reflected.  Even with all the alcohol in her system, she hadn’t been sleeping well.  She’d toss and turn for hours before finally falling asleep, only to jerk awake a short time later, her heart racing, her mind a muddle of fragmented images that stayed stubbornly out of focus.  She’d gotten to the point that every time she closed her eyes she saw Jarod’s face as it had appeared in that moment before Lyle had shot him.  She’d called out his name, he’d turned towards her, and his dark eyes had widened in surprise…

Miss Parker pulled one of the oversized throw pillows onto her lap to ward off the sudden chill that came over her.  She must have the air conditioning set too high; she should check the thermostat.

Why had he looked so surprised to see her?  She’d made it clear before she helped him to escape that she still had to make it appear that she was continuing to search for him.  There was no way he could expect to stroll right into the Centre’s back yard without a Sweeper team learning of his presence.  And where the Sweepers went, she went.

Except she was supposed to be in Las Vegas.  That’s where she would have been if her flight hadn’t been cancelled due to mechanical difficulties.  Jarod had sent her a cryptic e-mail to get her to Vegas, so that’s where he thought she’d be.  While he was here in Blue Cove.

Why?

That look on his face.  Was it as intense as she remembered, like he wanted to tell her something, or was her memory heightening that moment because of what happened next?

The smell of coffee brought her back to the present.  She realized that Broots was standing in front of her, holding out a steaming mug.  Disturbed that she hadn’t even noticed him enter the room and hoping he hadn’t been standing there too long, she took the coffee and tried to cover her embarrassment by saying, “Aren’t you having any?”  She’d noticed he only had one cup in his hands.

“Oh, no, I’m pretty much maxed out on caffeine,” he said.  He took a seat at the opposite end of the sofa but then jumped up and perched on the edge of the coffee table instead.  “With all the uncertainty at the Centre right now, I’m trying to stay as alert as possible.”

Miss Parker doubted Broots needed artificial stimulants; he lived his life on high alert.

“Besides, spending a lot of time in the break room is a good way to find out what’s going on in that place,” he went on.

So that’s how he heard things from those freakish friends of his.  She’d always wondered where he got his information.

“Yesterday I learned that one of the doctors in the infirmary has disappeared without a trace.”  Broots leaned forward and lowered his voice.  “It was the doctor who treated Jarod when you brought him in last Friday.”

Miss Parker vaguely remembered the young man who looked like he was the one in need of oxygen when he saw who his emergency patient was.

“And now he’s gone?  Courtesy of Mutumbo and his African goon squad?” she asked.

“Well, if they’re here, they haven’t made their presence known yet, but I’m sure the Triumverate is not happy with the doctor who couldn’t revive Jarod.”

“Then Willie and I are in trouble, since we were the ones who tried CPR on Jarod in that alley.”  Abruptly, she felt like she was back there, her nostrils clogged by the smell of hot asphalt and rotting garbage, her head ready to explode from the relentless sun beating down on it while she bent over Jarod, doggedly focusing on his pale, pale face while shadows crept into the corners of her vision as she struggled to stay conscious…

            Strange that she should feel cold while lost in the memory of that sweltering alley.  She tightened her grip on the coffee mug to transfer some of its warmth of her icy fingers.

            “Miss Parker, are you okay?”

            Broots’ voice seemed to come from far away.  She took a quick swallow of coffee and welcomed the bitter taste that snapped her out of the hellish memory.  “Since Lyle was the one who shot Jarod, he should be the next one to disappear,” she said.  “Unless he already has?  Has my dear brother made a run for it?”

            Broots shook his head.  “No, he’s still around, sticking close to your father.”

            “He’s using Daddy as a shield,” Miss Parker said with disgust.

            “Well, your father certainly has a lot of power as the Director of the Centre,” Broots said, “but I doubt even he could save Lyle if the Triumverate comes for him.”

            “Good,” she said grimly.  She took another sip of coffee.  It was too strong and tasted terrible, but the fire the hot liquid lit in her belly felt good.  She indulged herself by envisioning Lyle being dragged off to Africa in chains.  She hoped they used torture methods on him similar to the ones he’d inflicted on Jarod.

            “Um,” Broots said.

            Miss Parker blinked, cursing her lapses of concentration.  She really had to get some sleep, but right now she needed the coffee to kick in and enable her to pay attention to any important tidbits of information she could pull out of her co-worker.

            He was stalling, she could see that, now that she focused more carefully on his face.  “What aren’t you telling me, Broots?”

            “Um, well, it’s just that… well, people have also noticed your absence,” he said, picking nervously at the collar of his green polo shirt.

            “So?” 

            “So, it’s um, well, pretty unusual for you not to be at the office.  People were wondering if maybe you, um, disappeared, too.  Not that anyone thought you ran away,” he added hastily, “they just didn’t, um, know what to think, especially when you haven’t been answering your phone or returning calls.  But of course, you’re entitled to your privacy, and I understand if, um, you felt you needed to be alone at a time like this.  It’s just that, um, I want you to know you don’t have to be alone if you don’t want to.  There are people who you can talk to… I mean, even if Sydney isn’t available, um… I don’t mean another shrink!  I guess what I’m saying is, um…”  He finally had to stop for a breath.  His next words were strong and steady.  “If you need a friend to talk to, I’m here.”

            Miss Parker looked at the fidgety little man in front of her and marveled at the fact that he probably was her one true friend.  “I know, Broots,” she said quietly, but then the emotions of the moment threatened to overcome her and she couldn’t say another word.

            Despite his offer of a shoulder to cry on, Broots seemed terrified that she might just take him up on that, which made her determined not to break down in front of him.  She drank some more coffee to dissolve the lump in her throat then said briskly, “Okay, so other than everyone waiting for the Triumverate’s executioner’s axe to fall, has it been business as usual at the Centre?  What have you been working on?”

            She noticed his shoulders straighten, and he seemed more at ease now that she’d adopted a businesslike tone.  “Well, I’ve been catching up on some things that I never seemed to have time to do while we were chasing Ja- Just ordinary computer maintenance like running diagnostics, installing new anti-virus software, freeing up space on the hard drive, things like that.”

            She nodded and forced down some more of the strong brew, knowing she’d need as much caffeine in her system as possible if she hoped to stay interested in this tech talk.

            Then Broots said, “I did manage to do a little research on cryonics.”

            That got her attention.  “And?” she prompted.

            Encouraged by her reaction, he stood up and began pacing in front of her fireplace as he delivered his findings.  “I always thought it was called cryogenics, but do you know that is really just the study of the production of very low temperatures and the behavior of materials at those temperatures?  Cryonics – which comes from a Greek word meaning ‘icy cold’ – is the low-temperature preservation of humans and animals who can no longer be sustained by contemporary medicine, with the hope that healing and resuscitation may be possible in the future using highly advanced technology.”  He paused then added, “Or what is commonly known as freezing dead people so they can be brought back to life.”

            “There’s nothing common about this,” Miss Parker said.  “The only thing I know about cryo-whatever is that Walt Disney was frozen.”

            Broots stopped pacing and spun to face her.  “I thought so, too!  But as it turns out, that’s just an urban legend.  Walt Disney was actually cremated.  A man named James Bedford was the first person whose body was cryonically preserved.  In fact, the anniversary of that day is known as ‘Bedford Day’ and is celebrated by those in the cryonics community.”

            A disturbing image of bespectacled guys wearing pocket protectors and eating popisicles while surrounded by streamer-draped stainless steel pods flashed through her mind.  She really needed to get some sleep.

            “Is this for real, Broots?” she asked wearily.

            “Oh, it’s a real field of research,” Broots said eagerly, “just still mostly theoretical.  But I discovered that there are about 62 current scientists who support the theory.  And there are several cryonics facilities in the world; the largest one in the United States maintains over a hundred human patients.”

            She cringed inwardly at the idea of Jarod being “maintained” in a vast freezer somewhere.  “I only care about one number,” she said.  “How many people have been thawed out successfully?”

            Broots seemed to deflate.  “Well, none,” he said slowly.  Then he brightened.  “That we know of!”

            “I think a person being brought back to life would be big news,” she said drily.

            “Not necessarily.  I mean, the Centre created a human clone and didn’t tell anyone,” he pointed out.  “There was a time when everyone thought cloning only existed in the realm of science fiction, and now genetic copies of several types of animals are openly being created. Maybe the same will be true with cryonics.  It may not be that long before a preserved human is successfully resuscitated.  Who’s to say it won’t be Jarod?  With the Centre running the Lazarus facility, anything’s possible.”

            She knew he meant well.  He’d researched cryonics and presented her with what he’d learned as his way of helping her deal with Jarod’s death.  He wanted to give her hope.

            After you lose someone you love, the best thing to do is get on with the business of living.

            Her father was right.  She couldn’t get on with her life if she was clinging to some crazy hope that one day the technology would exist to revive Jarod.  No, she needed to deal with the here and now.  And right now she wanted to make sure Lyle paid for killing Jarod.

            The easiest way to do that was to wait for the Triumverate to pass judgment and mete out punishment.  She could pin her hopes on that happening someday soon.

            But that still left loose ends.  Why had Jarod come to Blue Cove?  And why had he wanted her in Las Vegas?  Until she answered those questions, she knew she wouldn’t be able to get on with the business of living.

            “Broots, did you figure out if that security recording of Jarod in Las Vegas was a fake?”

            He looked blank.  “Um, you mean what you asked me to do last Friday before you went to look for, for J-Jarod?”

            “Yes, did you do it?” she asked impatiently.

            He seemed confused by the turn the conversation had taken but replied, “Well, I took a closer look at that footage and couldn’t see any obvious signs of editing.  So then I spoke to the security guy at the casino who was on duty on Thursday at the time when Jarod showed up on camera.  He checked his records and saw no sign of Jarod.”

            “How did you get the tape with Jarod on it?”

            “Well, you know we put out feelers to the whole Vegas strip with the story that we were trying to find a con man who’d been counting cards in Atlantic City.  It was another member of the security staff at this casino who e-mailed me the video of Jarod.”

            Miss Parker sighed.  “Let me guess.  This other employee doesn’t exist.”

            “No, she exists,” Broots said.  “The guy I spoke to last week said she was working on Thursday, but she left early Friday for a two-week vacation out of the country.”

            “Putting Jarod’s accomplice conveniently out of touch.”

            Broots nodded.  “I also checked with the registration desk at the hotel attached to the casino.  They confirmed that a Jarod Otis did stay there last week.  But he checked out on Wednesday, which would have given him plenty of time to get back here to Blue Cove.”

            “And I never got there to find any red notebook or other cryptic messages he might have left in his room.” 

            “We could check with the maid service to see if they found anything,” Broots said doubtfully, “but I’m pretty sure they would have thrown away he left unless it was valuable.”

            “The things Jarod left behind were never valuable to anyone but us,” Miss Parker said, thinking that any of his possessions would be priceless to her now.

            Broots was silent for a moment.  Then he cleared his throat.  “Miss Parker?  Why do you want to know what he left in Las Vegas?  That doesn’t matter now, does it?  It’s not like we’re missing a clue that will lead us to his next location.”

            He sounded truly miserable having to make the point, and she didn’t resent him for doing so.  He couldn’t understand her need to know why Jarod had tried to lure her across the country.  That e-mail with the reference to the intimate time they’d spent together in the elevator had led her to believe that whatever awaited her in Las Vegas would be worth the trip on a personal level.  She’d hoped to find Jarod there but now knew he’d never intended a clandestine meeting.  Had he even left her a message?  Or had he just wanted her out of the way while he completed a vital task here in Blue Cove?  What could have been so important?

            She certainly wasn’t going to tell Broots about her desire for a secret rendezvous with Jarod in Sin City, but she needed to give him a reason for her curiosity about what might have been left for her there.  “It does matter,” she said.  “If the Triumverate questions me, I need to have a damn good reason why I wasn’t part of the Sweeper team with Lyle when they realized Jarod was right here in town.”

            “They can’t blame you for following another lead!”

            “That’s why we need to prove it was a lead worth following.  Although I don’t think they’ll approve of my decision to leave Lyle behind,” Miss Parker added grimly.

            “Well, it’s a good thing you did, or he wouldn’t have been here to find Jarod.  N-not that it was good that he did find Jarod, I mean, not with what happened, that was terrible, of course, just awful!  I mean, it’s j-just that Jarod has led us on w-wild goose chases before, so maybe you could use that as your reason for dividing the search team?”

            Despite the air conditioning, Broots had broken out in a sweat as he tried to extricate his foot from his mouth.  Miss Parker knew he was as upset as she over Jarod’s death, although in a different way, so she didn’t take offense at his careless comments.

            “I’ll check with the hotel today to make sure nothing unusual was found in Jarod’s room,” Broots went on anxiously.  “Don’t worry, Miss Parker, the Triumverate is not going to blame you for Jarod’s death!”

            “But it is partly my fault,” she murmured.  “If I hadn’t entered that warehouse loft when I did and distracted Jarod… he could have gotten away.  Instead, Lyle shot him.  Which was probably my brother’s intention all along, but I have no doubt he meant to only wound Jarod.  As much as he hated him, he’s too much of a coward to risk the Triumverate’s displeasure by killing him.”

            Broots said, “Well, at least now Lyle will have to face the consequences of his actions.”

            “If the powers-that-be don’t buy his lame excuse that he only pulled the trigger because Jarod turned his gun on me.”  Her last words seemed to echo in her head, and she frowned. 

            Broots misread her distress.  “I’m sure Jarod wasn’t going to shoot you,” he said hastily.  

            “No, I know that, of course not.”  Miss Parker waved a hand at him, like shooing away a fly, as she tried to grab onto the thought that was trying to form.  “Jarod had a gun,” she said slowly.  “Why did he have a gun?”

            “For protection,” Broots said simply.

            “No, no.  Think, Broots!  Out of all the times we’ve chased Jarod and gotten close enough to have him in our sights, has he ever pulled a gun on any of us?  Has he ever even fired a warning shot at the Sweepers?  No.  Because he doesn’t carry a gun.  The only time he’s been armed is when he’s pretending to be a cop, FBI agent, member of the military, or maybe a criminal, and it’s just a prop for his disguise.”  She remembered Jarod’s dark silhouette against the window.  “He wasn’t wearing any kind of uniform last week.  So why did he have a gun?”

            “He could have been undercover,” Broots suggested.

            “Do we have the gun?”

            “It should have been collected with anything else of Jarod’s at the scene.”

            “Okay, good.  We need to find out if that gun was issued to someone in law enforcement.”  When Broots hesitated, she snapped her fingers at him.  “Now, Broots!”

            “Oh!  Right!”  He hurried towards the door but stopped when he got there. “No, wait,” he said, turning back and pulling out his cell phone.  “I’ll call one of the other computer techs at the Centre – my friend Steve – and he’ll get the information we need.  He’s helped me with some of our searches for Jarod; we can trust him.” 

            Miss Parker took another sip of coffee, grimacing at the taste of the lukewarm sludge.  At least it had done its job; she felt more energized than she had all week.  She tossed her lap cushion aside, set the mug down on the coffee table, and stood up.  She was the one who felt the need to pace now.

            Broots was talking rapidly into his phone, but she didn’t pay attention to what he was saying.  As she stalked back and forth in front of her majestic stone fireplace, her mind raced with the implications of her new line of thinking.  Jarod never carried a gun, yet he’d had one – pointed at Lyle – when she’d found him in that warehouse.  Of course, Broots could be right, and he’d brought the weapon for added protection, knowing he was going to be so close to the Centre.

            But that still didn’t explain why he’d come back to Blue Cove.  Unless… what if the gun wasn’t just a prop or an added measure of protection?  What if the gun was an essential part of what he’d come to do?

            Broots was off the phone.  “Steve traced the serial number of the gun Jarod had with him.  It’s not registered to any law enforcement agency.  The last known owner was a pawn shop here in Blue Cove, right near the old warehouse district.”

            Miss Parker stopped pacing and put voice to her theory.  “So Jarod bought the gun and then made sure Lyle and the Sweeper team would be able to trace him to that part of town.”

            “He wanted them to find him?  But why?”  Broots’ confusion was understandable.

            But it had all become clear to her now.  “Jarod came here for one reason,” she said.  “To kill Lyle.”

            Broots’ mouth dropped open, the shock too great for him to even stutter a response.

            “It all makes sense now,” Miss Parker went on.  “That’s why Jarod tried to lure me out of town.  He didn’t want me there for the confrontation.  He didn’t want there to be any chance that I’d be implicated in Lyle’s death!”

            “Jarod’s not a killer,” Broots said uncertainly.

            “No, but Jarod always does - did - what he had to do.  You should know that better than anyone, Broots, given what happened with Damon.”

            Broots flinched at the memory.  “I know, you’re right,” he said.  “When that psycho had a gun to my head, Jarod didn’t hesitate.  He shot to kill.  I’ll never forget the look in his eyes when he pulled the trigger.”  He shivered slightly.

            Had there been the look of a killer in Jarod’s eyes in that moment that haunted her?  No, she’d only seen surprise and… regret?    

            Broots’ phone rang, and he turned away to answer it.

            She’d walked in at exactly the wrong moment, ruining his plans.  And worse… costing him his life.

            “That was Steve again,” Broots said, pocketing his phone.  “He e-mailed the pawn shop owner a photo of Jarod.  She identified him as the man who purchased the gun last Friday, July 13th.”

            “It’s true,” Miss Parker breathed, feeling a chill sweep over her.  “Jarod was going to kill Lyle.  But I got in the way, and he… he died instead.”  Her knees grew weak and she sank down onto the coffee table, reaching out blindly to grip its edge and knocking the bottle of Scotch onto the floor.

            “No, no, Miss Parker, don’t, don’t blame yourself.”  Broots started towards her.

            Her chest was tight as she struggled to contain the emotions threatening to burst forth, but she could feel the tears beginning to prick at the back of her eyes, and she knew she was seconds away from losing it.

            Then something Broots had said suddenly registered.  “The pawn shop owner said Jarod bought the gun on the thirteenth?” she asked sharply.  “Friday the thirteenth?”

            “Y-yes.”  Broots stopped in his tracks, stunned at the implication of that date.

            Amazingly, she wasn’t that surprised.  She’d never been superstitious, but it made a hideous kind of sense that Jarod should die on an infamously unlucky day.  Even with all his genius abilities, he couldn’t control fate.  It was almost funny, in a sick sort of way.

            Miss Parker laughed.

Chapter 23

The light leaking through the half-closed blinds of her office confimed the rumors that Miss Parker had actually shown up for work today. 

He paused outside her door, struck by the thought that this could be the last time he ever paid her a visit here.  He smiled grimly.  Well, he intended to make it a memorable one.  At least for him.

He grabbed hold of the door handle then thought what the hell and knocked.  A faint “go away” sounded from within, and he took that as his cue to enter.

Miss Parker was sitting on the couch.  She turned a startled gaze his way.

“I’m surprised to see you here, sis,” Lyle said.

From the way she looked, he was amazed she’d made it in at all.  Her face was pale and drawn with dark circles under her eyes.  She wore her customary office attire – a tailored blazer over a silk blouse with a matching skirt that was just a little too short and a little too tight to be considered completely appropriate – but today the outfit somehow seemed…wrong on her.  She sat with her legs crossed and a drink in her hand, but she didn’t project an image of a woman relaxing with a drink after work.  She seemed more like someone who had been brooding over her Scotch.  Obviously, the rumors about her turning to the bottle in recent days were true.  Well, good.  That should make his plans for the evening a bit easier.

But he still felt a flash of irritation that she would let Jarod’s death affect her in this way.  Yes, the guy had had many traits that women found attractive – good looks, excellent physique, superior intellect – but despite his genius ability to change personas every day, Lyle had found him somewhat boring.  He’d been so incredibly predictable, always working to help the weak and abused.  How could his sister have been interested in someone like that?  She was a Parker – strong, capable, ambitious, and a little devious – so she should have been drawn to a man with similar characteristics, someone who would pose a challenge, get her juices flowing.  Although he supposed the quest to capture Jarod had given her just that.

“I’m surprised to see you, brother.  Why are you still here?  I thought you would have scurried off by now, looking for the nearest rock to hide under.”  Her words held their usual bite, but with an underlying fatigue.

Lyle closed the door behind him, resisting the urge to lock it.  Better to not raise her suspicions.  “The thought did cross my mind,” he admitted, “but the Triumverate has far-reaching arms and I would never be able to feel truly safe, no matter where I went.  And life on the run is not for me.  Too hard on the wardrobe,” he added, adjusting the cuffs of his suit.  “I’m not a black tee shirt and jeans kind of guy.”

Her eyes flashed at his reference to Jarod’s usual get-up.  He made note of her quick reaction, realizing she wasn’t as sloshed as he’d hoped.  Oh, well, he’d come prepared for that, he thought, his right hand slipping into his pocket and fingering the tiny pill he’d stashed there.

“Well, if Mutumbo hasn’t sent anyone after you yet, maybe you’re in the clear.”

If the words were meant to offer hope, her tone told a different story; she was clearly disappointed that he hadn’t been dragged off to Africa yet.  “I doubt it,” Lyle said.  “The Triumverate wants to make sure they have all the facts – or at least make it appear that way – before they pass judgment.  Letting me sweat it out in the meantime is just a mild taste of the kind of treatment I can expect once I’m actually in their custody.”

“Maybe,” Miss Parker said neutrally, but he could see from the new light in her eyes that she liked the idea.

“No, I have no illusions that I’ll be let off the hook,” Lyle said, moving farther into the room.  He eyed the open bottle of Scotch and considered asking for a drink but decided that might set off alarm bells.  “Especially after what you wrote in your report.”

“You read that?”  She didn’t seem surprised.

“Yes, I wanted to make sure our accounts of what happened matched.”

“What happened is you shot and killed Jarod.”

Lyle took a seat in one of the curved-backed guest chairs in front of her desk, after turning it to face her on the couch.  He crossed his legs in an attempt to look casual.  “We both know I was only trying to wound him.  Yet your written report makes it sound like I couldn’t wait to shoot him, when in fact, I only pulled the trigger because he turned his gun on you.”

“Still sticking with that excuse?  Come on, Lyle; we both know that Jarod would never have shot me,” she said.  She maintained her own seemingly relaxed pose, but her one foot started to jig nervously and her knuckles were white from tightly clutching her tumbler of Scotch.

No, Jarod would not have shot to kill her.  But in a moment of desperation, he might have chosen to wing her, give her a flesh wound to stop, or at least slow, her pursuit of him.

He studied his sister in silence for a moment, noting with interest how she grew more agitated with each passing second.  Finally he said mildly, “Believe what you want, but I say you were damn lucky that I was there.”

“I was armed and certainly didn’t need you to defend me!”

Like most brothers, Lyle enjoyed irritating his sister every now and then, but as he watched twin spots of color blossom on her porcelain cheeks, some decidedly unbrotherly feelings stirred within him.  He knew he was taking a huge risk with his plans for this evening, but after living for a week under the threat of imminent deportation to Africa, where brainwashing, torture or worse awaited him, he felt like he had nothing left to lose.  And he wanted to make one last delicious memory to see him through the nightmarish days that lay ahead.

“Besides, when I walked in, Jarod was aiming his gun at you, brother.”

Reluctantly, Lyle shifted his attention from the vibrant red of Miss Parker’s luscious lips to the words that were coming out of her mouth.  “Are you saying that I was in danger?”

She took a swallow of Scotch and didn’t answer, averting her eyes from his probing gaze.

Lyle frowned slightly as he considered his own question.  Would Jarod have shot him? Seemed highly unlikely, given that he’d never done so in the past when he’d had the opportunity. 

Well, what did it matter now?  “If Jarod was going to shoot me, I’m glad you arrived when you did, Parker,” he said.  “Your entrance provided the perfect distraction.”

Staring down into her drink, she muttered, “I know.”  She started to raise the glass to her lips then changed her mind and set it on the end table next to the bottle of Scotch.

Lyle was not surprised at her obvious dismay that she might have inadvertently saved him from injury or worse; her hatred of him was nothing new.  He decided not to comment on it; he was far more interested in the fact that she had finally put down her drink.  Now he just needed to draw her attention away from it…

Hm, perhaps a comment on their strained relationship was called for.  “You know, sometimes I can’t help but wonder how different things might have been if Raines had never taken me as a baby and given me to that crazy couple,” he said.

Miss Parker looked confused by the sudden philosophical turn the conversation had taken.

Good.  Keep her off balance.  He stood up and casually stepped over to the desk.  “My biggest regret is that I never got to know our mother,” he said, in as soft a tone as he could muster.  He picked up the silver-framed photo that was one of his sister’s prized possessions and stared down at the image of mother and child.  Everyone commented on the uncanny resemblance between Catherine Parker and her daughter, but their personalities made them as different as night and day.  Lyle much preferred the feistiness of his twin and the fierce light that came into her eyes when she was angry.  Time to see if he could strike a spark now.

Studying the picture, he mused, “Who knows?  If I hadn’t been stolen at birth, I might have been the baby she’s holding in this photo.”

Even he was unprepared for the volatile reaction he got.  “Give me that!”  Miss Parker fairly flew across the room to snatch the photo from his hands.  In doing so, she cut herself on the edge of the frame.  As a droplet of blood appeared on her finger, she uttered a mild oath and pushed him aside to retrieve a tissue from the box on the far corner of her desk.

Lyle quickly but quietly sidestepped over to the end table and deposited the little white pill into his sister’s drink.  She was still tending to her wound when he moved back to his former position.  “I’m sorry,” he said.  “I didn’t mean to upset you.  I know how much you still miss her.  It’s just that I… I recently realized that I miss her, too, even though I never had the chance to know her.”  He paused then added, with what he hoped was just the right touch of sadness, “Strange, but that almost makes me miss her more.”

            His sister remained silent, staring down at the precious photograph she still held. 

            Time to move things along.  Lyle cleared his throat and headed towards the open bottle of Scotch, this time making no attempt to hide his movements.  “Mind if I join you?” he asked.  “I think I could use a drink.”

            That snapped her out of her reverie.  She was at his side in an instant, her hand closing on the bottle before he could touch it.  “Fine,” she said sourly, “but I’ll pour.”

            Don’t trust me, sis?  Good for you.  Hiding a smile, Lyle went and got a glass for himself.  He brought it back to the desk, behind which Miss Parker now stood.  She gave him a generous shot of whiskey then topped her own drink off, as well.

            Lyle raised his glass.  “To what might have been if we’d had the chance to grow up together as brother and sister,” he said.

            She took a gulp of her Scotch.  “There’s a cheery thought,” she mumbled, settling tiredly into her luxurious leather executive chair.

            Lyle sat back down in one of the chairs before her desk.  “Oh, I’m sure we would have been very close,” he said.  “The twin bond is quite strong, you know.”  He let out a low, mirthless chuckle.  “Sydney might even have included us in one of his studies.”

            Miss Parker eyed him balefully.  “I doubt that,” she said.  “I don’t think our results would have supported his theories.”

            Now that she was seated in her rightful place behind the desk, she seemed more like her normal dominant self.  “Now, we have a lot more in common than you care to admit, sis,” Lyle said.  “We’re both smart, attractive, ambitious, resourceful, ruthless when necessary –”

            “I’m not psychotic,” Miss Parker said.

            Lyle felt his face muscles tighten, but he managed to maintain his pleasant expression, mainly because he knew the entertainment portion of the evening was approaching.  And sooner rather than later, he thought as he watched his sister take another sip of her drink.

            “Such a harsh label,” he scolded mildly.  “I’ll admit I’ve made a few mistakes in the past–”

            “That’s what you call kidnapping, torture, and murder – mistakes?”

            “If you’re referring to actions I took on behalf of the Centre –”

            She interrupted yet again.  “I’m talking about what you did when you were still a teenager, Bobby,” she spat.  “And your extra-curricular activities since then.  All those missing women…”  Her voice trailed off and she looked slightly queasy.

            Lyle wondered if she was sickened by what she imagined he did to his female victims or if the drug he’d added to her Scotch was starting to take effect.  “Yet, for all my supposed crimes, here I am before you – a free man.”

            “A condemned man,” she said quickly with a touch of satisfaction.

            Ah, yes.  Of course she was thrilled by the thought of him in the unforgiving clutches of the Triumverate.  Well, fine.  If thinking about the horrors that might be inflicted upon him in the near future kept her from noticing the unusual symptoms her body was about to experience, then he would indulge her.

            He spoke quietly, letting a hint of the fear he’d been fighting all week come through in his voice.  “What do you think the Triumverate will do to me?”

            She stared at him thoughtfully, considering.  “Well, I doubt they’ll turn you into a born-again Bible thumper like they did Raines.  I see you more as an insurance salesman.”

            “I can only hope that all they’ll do is brainwash me and send me back.”  Lyle paused to take a swallow of his drink, making sure his hand trembled slightly as he raised the glass to his lips.  “I doubt I’ll be that lucky, though.”

            Miss Parker sat back with a sigh.  “What do you want from me, Lyle?  You don’t expect your big sister to tell you everything’s going to be okay, do you?”  Her words were harsh, as usual, but spoken in a weary tone. 

            Lyle said bitterly, “I don’t expect anything from you.”  Then, realizing he’d mistakenly let his true feelings show, he tensed, expecting his sister to eye him with renewed suspicion.

            But she appeared distracted.  Her face was flushed.  “What’s with the air conditioning in this place?” she grumbled quietly, slipping out of her blazer.

            Now he was the one distracted – by the sight of her in a black lace-edged camisole.  He swallowed and tried to steady his quickening pulse.  Patience, Lyle, he told himself.  He couldn’t make his move until he was sure the drug was working.

            “Oh, didn’t our father tell you?  With the record-breaking heat this summer, the Centre’s trying to save a little money by setting the temperature a little higher on weekends.”  He glanced at his watch.  “What’s keeping you here so late on a Friday, sis?” 

            She blinked at him. “What?”

            She was definitely feeling the effects now.  Lyle spoke a little louder.  “You really shouldn’t drink so much.  It’s not healthy.”

            She stared at the glass in front of her then turned an unfocused gaze on him.  “Wha- what did you do?”  She spoke slowly, her voice slightly slurred, but he could sense the rising panic behind the question.

            He leaned forward and deposited his own glass on the desk.  “I just added a little something to your Scotch to help you relax,” he said casually.  “You’ve been through a lot this week.  Too much stress can kill you, you know.”

            She made a fumbling attempt to grab the phone, but Lyle stood quickly, unplugged the receiver from her desk line, and swept her cell onto the floor and out of her reach.

            She tried to make a run for it.  Lyle watched in mild amusement as she lurched and swayed across the room in slow motion, for once her high heels impeding her forward progress.  Just before she reached the door, he hurried over to her and grabbed her from behind.

            “Lemme go,” she mumbled, struggling to break free from his grasp.

            Even with the mixture of alcohol and sedative in her system, she was still surprisingly strong.  Lyle had to tighten his grip – one arm hugged around her waist, the other clamped around her neck – to keep her from escaping.  “Calm down, sis,” he said close to her ear.  “What kind of brother would I be if I let you leave in this condition?”  The scent of her perfume was intoxicating.

            “Come on, you should lie down,” he said, dragging her towards the sofa. 

            “No,” she moaned, but her attempts to pull away grew weaker and weaker until she was almost completely limp by the time he lowered her to the couch. 

            Lyle stared down at Miss Parker, slightly disappointed that the drug had already dulled her reactions.  He’d always found her the most beautiful when she was angry.  But the big blue eyes looking up at him now held only a glazed expression. 

            He leaned over her.  “I’ve often wondered how things might have been if we weren’t brother and sister,” he murmured, reaching out to caress the soft pink skin of her cheek.

            She flinched slightly and managed to slur, “Don’t…” before her eyelids fluttered closed.

            “Shh, just relax,” Lyle soothed.  “You might even enjoy yourself.”  He smiled and ran his fingers through her silky hair, reveling in the feeling of power he had over her at this moment.  “I know I will.”

Chapter 24

            Broots hesitated outside Miss Parker’s door.  From numerous sources he’d heard that she’d come to work today, but he had not heard from her directly.  That was strange.  She usually called him several times a day either to order him to do something or to berate him for not doing something or for doing something wrong.  But today?  Nothing.

            When he’d heard this morning that she’d actually been seen arriving at the Centre, he’d been momentarily encouraged by the thought that his visit to her house yesterday might have motivated her to snap out of her depression.  But as the hours had gone by and he’d had no direct contact with her or heard any reports of her being seen even leaving her office, he’d reluctantly concluded that she’d just replaced one brooding ground with another.  She’d probably only come to work to prevent him from turning up on her doorstep again.

            Well, too bad.  Like it or not, he was going to keep showing up wherever and whenever he thought she needed him.  He’d been bogged down with a particularly stubborn computer virus all day or he would have checked on her sooner.  He looked around the deserted corridor.  Most of the Centre’s regular employees had already left for the weekend, but Broots knew he couldn’t go home until he’d made sure Miss Parker was alright.

            He eyed her door nervously.  He knew she wasn’t alright, of course she wasn’t alright, she hadn’t been alright since Jarod died.  If she was in there drinking, like he suspected, what was he going to do?  Walk her to her car in the parking garage?  Offer to drive her home if she was too drunk to get behind the wheel?

            He grimaced.  He didn’t relish the idea of trying to take her keys away from her.  Maybe he should go get a cup of coffee from the break room and take it to her.  Then he could stay with her while she sobered up.  His visit to her house yesterday hadn’t gone badly; there’d even been a moment or two when he’d thought she’d actually seemed grateful for his company. 

            So maybe he shouldn’t push his luck.  Maybe he should respect her obvious wish to be alone.  If she drank so much that she passed out on her couch, it might be best to just let her sleep it off.

            Broots started to walk away but stopped after he’d taken only a few steps.  What kind of friend was he?  He couldn’t just leave her alone in there with a bottle of Scotch as her only comfort, could he? 

            He wished he could ask Sydney for advice, but he was struggling with his own grief.  Even though Sydney had never admitted it, Broots knew that Jarod had been like a son to him.  It would take him a long time to work through the feelings of loss and guilt he was no doubt experiencing.

            Broots could not claim to have had any close relationship with Jarod, but he still felt the loss of the Pretender and also had his share of regret.  Yes, there had been times when the challenge of pitting his own intelligence against the intellect of a genius had been a thrill, but he’d never wanted to see Jarod hurt.  He’d never really believed that Jarod would be caught, had assumed he was invincible like… well, like a superhero.  Jarod was a legend at the Centre, but it was his selfless actions he’d taken in the outside world that had made him a true hero in Broots’ eyes.  Jarod had been the perfect Superman with Lyle as a convincing Lex Luthor, but Broots didn’t like to think of himself as one of the bad guy’s minions.  It was a role he’d been forced to play.  At least Sydney had managed to help Jarod on several occasions, in covert defiance of the Centre’s wishes, and even before recent events, Miss Parker had looked the other way more than once to allow Jarod to escape.  She’d often declared her belief that Jarod lived to torment her, but she also had a soft spot when it came to her old childhood friend. 

            And many unresolved feelings about the man that boy had become.  Broots didn’t need Sydney’s observational skills to know that Miss Parker had cared more deeply about Jarod than she’d ever let on, maybe even to herself.  Her current state of despair was proof of just how much he’d meant to her.

            As usual, Broots shied away from the thought of Miss Parker and Jarod in a relationship then instantly felt ashamed.  Was he actually jealous of a dead man?   

            Well…yes.  Yes, he was.  Miss Parker had told him once in no uncertain terms that the two of them would never be more than friends, but Broots couldn’t make himself stop wishing that one day she’d feel something more for him.  He’d known that dream was impossible with a man like Jarod as competition, but now with him gone for good…

            Broots realized he was pacing in front of Miss Parker’s door.  If she came out now and found him loitering outside her office, something she hated…

            He should just go home.

            No.  No, he was her friend, and right now she needed him.  He couldn’t leave her alone.

            Broots squared his shoulders, pushed open her office door, and poked his head inside.  “Miss Parker?”

            She wasn’t at her desk.

            She also wasn’t alone.

            Broots heard a noise from the left side of the room and looked that way just in time to see Lyle turn towards him, an angry flush on his face.  “She’s drunk,” he said disgustedly.  “You deal with her.”  He strode quickly from the room, brushing roughly past Broots who still hovered indecisively in the doorway.

            Until he saw Miss Parker lying on the sofa, a sight which sent him hurrying to her side.  “Miss Parker!” 

            There was no response.  Her eyes were closed, long dark lashes a stark contrast to her pale cheeks.  As he stared down at her still form, he felt an icy fist of dread clench around his heart.  “Miss Parker, can you hear me?”  His fingers fumbled for her wrist to – oh, God, please – feel for a pulse.

            When he touched her she stirred slightly and let out a quiet groan.  “Miss Parker,” he breathed in relief.  “Are you alright?” 

            She didn’t answer but slowly opened her eyes, as if it required a great effort.  Her unfocused gaze went past him, directed vaguely at the ceiling.

            Broots squeezed her hand, fresh alarm gripping him as he felt the clamminess of her skin.  “Don’t worry, Miss Parker, everything’s going to be okay,” he said.  He let go to pull out his cell phone but didn’t leave her side as he called for help.

            “This is Sydney.”

            “Sydney!  Where are you?”

            “At home, Broots.  Is something the matter?”

            Broots ignored Sydney’s slightly skeptical tone.  “It’s Miss Parker!  I don’t know if you know she came to work today, but she stayed in her office the whole time, so I thought I’d better check on her before I went home even if she didn’t want to see anyone.  I mean, I had a feeling she was drinking again, and sure enough, she’d in bad shape…”  He stopped to gulp air.

            Sydney said wearily, “Unfortunately, some people choose to numb their pain with alcohol.  If that’s the way Miss Parker deals with her grief, there’s not much we can do.  She has to move through the process in her own way and in her own time.”

            Broots let some of his impatience show.  “I know she’s trying to drown her sorrows, Sydney, that’s not the problem!  She’s really out of it, and I’m afraid it’s not just the Scotch making her this way.  When I came into her office, Lyle was here!”

            “Lyle?”  Now Sydney sounded worried.  “What was he doing there?”

            “I don’t know!  Miss Parker is lying on the couch, and I think Lyle was leaning over her.  When he saw me, he said something about her being drunk then ran out of here!”

            “How is Miss Parker?”

            “Well, she’s awake...sort of.  At first, she was unconscious, and for a minute I thought…”  Broots swallowed hard.  “But then she sort of moaned and opened her eyes.  She’s not focusing on anything, though.  Oh, Sydney, what if Lyle injected her with another virus?  Without Jarod to find an antidote…”

            “Listen to me, Broots,” Sydney said sharply.  “I want you to take Miss Parker to the hospital right now.”

            “B-but what about the infirmary?  She might need help right away.”

            “What she needs is to have some tests run at a facility independent from the Centre where Lyle can’t tamper with the results!  Take her to Mercy Hospital.  I’ll meet you there.”

            “Well, if you’re sure…”

            “Go, Broots!”  Sydney hung up.

            Broots pocketed his cell and stared down at Miss Parker, using a few precious seconds to take a deep breath and try to quell his rising panic.  He hated seeing her like this, so vulnerable, so… in need of a hero.

            And he was all she had.

            You can do this, Broots, he told himself firmly.  Miss Parker needs you.  Don’t let her down!

            Two hours later he feared he’d done just that.

            He was seriously regretting the decision to take her to the hospital.  The Centre infirmary was not a nice place, but at least there she would be given VIP treatment.  Here, in the hospital emergency room on a Friday night, Miss Parker was just another nameless patient.  After spending an interminable amount of time in a crowded waiting room where the air conditioning was no match for a mass of sweating bodies in distress, Broots had found himself thinking fondly of the shadowy and pleasantly cool corridors of the Centre.  He’d vainly attempted to keep Miss Parker awake by prattling on and on about the computer virus he’d been battling all day (which probably just drove her deeper into a stupor), but by the time she’d been finally called back, she was barely conscious and needed a wheelchair.  Broots had insisted that Miss Parker was not just drunk and needed to be tested for unknown toxins, but he could tell that his message was not getting across.  When the doctor had finally come in, he’d repeated the need for a full blood panel, but he’d been kicked out so that Miss Parker could be examined.

            After being assured by the nurse that someone would come get him as soon as his friend was ready for visitors again, Broots had reluctantly returned to the main waiting area.  He would rather have stayed back in the relatively quiet and marginally cooler inner sanctum, but he needed to keep an eye out for Sydney.

            Who still had not arrived an hour later.  Broots checked his watch for the umpteenth time (there was no clock on the wall, probably so the miserable patients were not reminded of how long they were being kept waiting) and fretted over his colleague’s continued absence.  Repeated attempts to reach Sydney on his cell had failed; all calls went directly to voice mail.  Where was he?  Sydney lived on the far side of town, but he should have been here by now.  Unless he’d been in an accident.  What if he’d been drinking when Broots had called him and should not have gotten behind the wheel but did so out of concern for Miss Parker? 

            Stop.  Breathe.

            Broots had lost count of the number of times he’d issued these commands to himself in the last hour.  All he knew was that it was getting harder and harder to take calming breaths in a stifling room crowded with miserable people.  Without Miss Parker at his side as a distraction, Broots had become all too aware of the sights and sounds of the summertime mishaps surrounding him.  By this time he felt like he knew the sad tale of every person in this cramped room.

            There was the teenage boy with the head laceration who slumped in his chair, sulking while his mother went on and on about she couldn’t understand his decision to dive into a shallow pond when they had a perfectly wonderful pool right in their own back yard.  Just because his friends thought it was cool to swim in some murky water back in the woods didn’t mean he had to do it!

            A little girl with skinned knees and elbows was huddled in the hard plastic chair between her parents who were arguing about whose responsibility it had been to make sure she wore her helmet when riding her bike.  Dad kept insisting she was fine and this trip to the hospital was a waste of time (Broots bet he was the one who’d forgotten to make her wear the helmet), while Mom declared she wasn’t leaving until her daughter had been examined to check for a head injury.  The child looked on the verge of tears but Broots noted with admiration that she hadn’t shed a single one.

            An older man in the far corner tried to doze, but his anxious wife kept waking him up to yell at him for being such a fool and mowing the grass in this heat!  Broots thought the poor man looked a little flushed but doubted he was suffering from actual heat stroke.

            The most recent addition to this gloomy gathering was a hefty boy who was clutching a basin.  He hadn’t actually vomited since he’d arrived fifteen minutes ago, but his face was turning a sickly green color as his mother berated him for eating all that junk food at the carnival.  As she listed each and every fatty or sugary item he’d ingested, Broots started to feel a little queasy, too.

            A couple of walk-ins – a boy with numerous bee stings and an elderly woman who’d been bleeding profusely from a cut to her hand – had been taken back immediately, and Broots couldn’t decide if they were the lucky ones.

            He felt a tug on his pants leg.  “Hey, mithter.”  A small boy with his two front teeth missing – not from any injury Broots could see - was trying to get his attention.  “Whath wrong with you?”

            “N-nothing.”  Broots picked nervously at the collar of his tee shirt.  “I’m just waiting for someone.”

            The child studied him doubtfully, and Broots wondered if being in such close proximity with the sick and injured made him look like he needed medical attention, too.  He did feel flushed but figured that was due to the woefully inadequate air conditioning and not the early symptoms of some fast-acting virus.  A woman in the row of seats across from Broots said sharply, “Tommy!” and the boy wandered back to her and a teenage girl with a bad sunburn who hadn’t stopped texting on her cell phone since the trio had come in about thirty minutes ago.

            Broots surreptitiously took his pulse.  Slightly elevated, which was normal for him.  He tried his breathing exercises again but the little boy’s innocent question had him feeling more wretched than ever.  Which made him worry about how Miss Parker was doing.  What if Lyle had infected her again with some mysterious illness?  Broots hoped that the doctor had listened to him and ordered a full battery of blood tests to check for anything out of the ordinary.  Again he found himself wishing he’d taken Miss Parker to the Centre infirmary.  At least there he could hack into the medical records and find out what was wrong with her.  He could do the same thing here, if only he had his laptop… 

He eyed the nurses he could see bustling around on the other side of the glass partition of the reception desk.  Why hadn’t anyone come to get him?  He didn’t like the idea of Miss Parker being alone back there, trapped in an uncomfortable bed behind a faded, neutral-colored curtain.  He wished he had the guts to go up to the desk and ask if he could join her, but he had a feeling he’d get a better response if he had back-up in the form of the distinguished Dr. Sydney Green.  Even then, they might be denied access to Miss Parker because they weren’t family.

            Should he call her father?  No, Sydney thought it was better not to involve the Centre.  Informing Mr. Parker that his daughter was in the hospital would definitely get the Centre involved.  And that might bring Lyle, and who knew what further trouble he might cause?

            But what if Miss Parker’s condition was serious?  What if she…?

            Broots felt a fresh wave of panic wash over him as he refused to finish that thought. Maybe he should wait for Sydney outside.  He’d hoped that paying attention to the problems of other people might take his mind off his own predicament, but the misery all around him was making his own thoughts take a morbid turn.  He needed to get out of this room.

            Broots stood up and headed for the exit.  He was almost at the door when he heard “Broots!”

            He spun around, surprised to see Sydney approaching him from the interior of the emergency department.  “Sydney!  W-where did –?”

            “I came in through the main entrance of the hospital.”  Sydney took him by the arm.  “Come on, we need to talk.”

            Oh, that didn’t sound good.  As eager as he was to leave this waiting room, Broots’ feet dragged as he followed his colleague back to the inner sanctum; something in Sydney’s voice filled him with dread.  “I- I don’t know what’s going on with Miss Parker,” he said, feeling the need to speak first.  “It’s been a whole hour since I saw her, so-”

            “She’s being kept overnight for observation,” Sydney said.  “They’re just waiting for a bed to be ready before they move her upstairs.”

            Observation?  Broots started to relax.  That sounded like just a precaution, which had to mean Miss Parker was going to be okay.  Right?

            So why was Sydney pulling him to the side of the hallway and looking so serious?

            “The head E.R. nurse here runs a free clinic where I volunteer from time to time,” Sydney said.  “I told her Miss Parker was my patient and she filled me in on her condition.”

            He hadn’t known about any pro bono work Sydney did outside the Centre, but Broots filed that interesting fact away for the future; right now the only thing that mattered was how Sydney used his connections at this hospital to help Miss Parker.  “Oh, good,” he said weakly.  “Um.  What is her condition?  What did the tests show?”

            “Well, no mysterious toxin or exotic pathogen.”

            Broots let out the breath he’d been holding.  So Lyle hadn’t injected her with another virus.  

            “The blood tests did, however, come back positive for something that shouldn’t be in her system.”  Sydney looked at him gravely.  “Rohypnol.”

Broots wasn’t sure he’d heard Sydney correctly.  With all the beeping of machines and call buttons, as well as the ringing of telephones and the moaning of a patient on a stretcher a short distance away… “Rohypnol?” he repeated.  “But that…that’s the…”

            Sydney nodded.  “More commonly known as the ‘date rape drug’.”

            That didn’t make any sense.  “But if Lyle gave that to her, that means that he… he… But, but he’s her brother!”

            Sydney folded his arms in what seemed to be his attempt to maintain his professional demeanor.  “And a much more disturbed individual than we ever realized,” he said grimly.

            Broots felt like he was going to be sick.  He slumped sideways against the wall.

            Sydney reached out an arm to steady him.  “Take it easy, Broots,” he said.  “Slow, even breaths.”

            Broots dutifully concentrated on breathing in through his nose and out through his mouth.  When he felt like he was standing on steady ground again, he swallowed hard before managing to ask, “D-did, did Lyle…?”

            “A physical examination showed no signs of assault,” Sydney said.

            The feeling of relief was overwhelming.  Broots’ legs gave way and he slid down the wall, his bottom hitting the cold tile floor.  He pulled his knees up to his chest.  “Thank God,” he breathed.

            Sydney squatted beside him, waving away a passing nurse who had veered in their direction.  “Listen to me, Broots,” he said.  “You must have interrupted Lyle before he could do whatever he was planning. It’s thanks to you,” he added with intensity, “that Miss Parker is safe.”

            Broots appreciated the compliment but didn’t feel particularly heroic collapsed in a quivering heap here on the floor of the hospital.  He could imagine what Miss Parker would have said if she’d seen his unmanly swoon.  “Miss Parker!” he exclaimed.  “She shouldn’t be alone right now, not after hearing what Lyle did.”  He struggled to rise.

            Sydney helped him to his feet but stopped him from heading for her cubicle.  “She doesn’t know yet, Broots.  She was already unconscious by the time the test results came back.  She’ll probably be asleep for several more hours until the drug wears off.  They’re giving her I.V. fluids to keep her hydrated and hopefully flush the Rohypnol out of her system faster.  They should release her in the morning but not until they’re sure she’s free of the drug’s effects.”

            “Oh.  Good.”  Then Broots had an uncomfortable thought.  “Sydney, are the police going to have to be notified about this?  I know the Centre frowns on involving the authorities in its business, but in this case… I mean, maybe it would be best if Lyle’s actions were reported.”  He gave in to a flare of anger.  “He’s gotten away with far too much for far too long!”

            “I agree, Broots, but we have no proof that he drugged Miss Parker,” Sydney said wearily.  “Hopefully, the Triumverate will soon take care of Lyle once and for all.”

            Broots knew it was wrong to hope for someone to be abducted, dragged to a foreign country, and tortured, but when that someone was Lyle… well, his conscience was clear.  Then he had another uncomfortable thought.  “Um, Sydney?  What if the hospital already called the police when Miss Parker tested positive for Rohypnol?  I wasn’t totally…um, truthful when I brought her in.  She didn’t have any identification on her, and since I don’t even know her first name, I made one up.  Missy.  Original, huh?  Anyway, I said I ran into her outside a local bar – um, I said we were co-workers but not real close or anything – and since she was acting strangely, I thought I should bring her here.”  He paused for breath and realized how suspicious his story sounded.  Maybe that was the reason the nurses hadn’t let him return to Miss Parker’s side; they didn’t trust him!  “W-what if they think I gave M-miss Parker the Rohypnol?”  He looked around wildly, half-expecting to see a contingent of cops bearing down on him.

“Relax, Broots,” Sydney said.  “I told you that I’m acquainted with the head nurse here.  I explained to her that Miss Parker is my patient in treatment for alcohol and drug abuse.  She believes that the Rohypnol was self-administered.”

            “Oh… okay.  Good, good, that’s good.”  Broots realized he was nodding repeatedly and stopped.  He tucked his hands under his armpits and tried to literally get ahold of himself.  “So, um… Miss Parker is going to be okay?”

            “She’ll be just fine.  She likely won’t have any memory of tonight’s events, but once she’s slept for a few hours, she’ll wake up feeling much better.  Maybe with a bit of a hangover, but unfortunately, she’s probably used to those by now.”

            “Well, I’m going to stay here tonight,” Broots declared.  “I don’t care if they try to kick me out, I’m not going anywhere.”

            “Are you sure?  That’s really not necessary.  Miss Parker should be safe here.”

            “I’m sure.  Debbie’s sleeping over at a friend’s house tonight, so I don’t need to be at home.  And it is necessary,” he added firmly.  “Miss Parker shouldn’t be alone, especially not when she wakes up.” He paused.  “She doesn’t need to hear what happened from a total stranger.”

            “I know.  I’m planning to tell her myself,” Sydney said.

            “Oh.  Good.  I’ll be here when you do.” Broots could imagine her reaction.  It was not going to be pretty.  “She’s not going to be… um, happy about this, you know.  You might need some back-up.” 

            Sydney smiled slightly.  “You’re a good friend, Broots.  Miss Parker is lucky to have you in her life.”

            Broots wondered when she’d realize that.

Chapter 25

            Miss Parker stared into the mirror of her dressing table and saw a stranger looking back at her.

            Who was this woman who needed a drink – or several – to get through each and every day?  This woman who got so drunk she didn’t even realize her psychotic brother had drugged her… again?  Who needed to be rescued by Broots?

            Not any woman she wanted to be.

            Her eyes slid, somewhat guiltily, towards the glass of Scotch on her dressing table.  She’d automatically poured it this morning before she’d started getting ready for work, but the thought of what had almost happened the last time she’d had a drink had stopped her from taking even one sip.  She’d left the glass there while she’d applied her make-up as a kind of test.  She needed to stay sharp.  Until Lyle was gone, she couldn’t make it easy for him by setting herself up to be his victim.

            Her cell phone rang.  When she saw it was her father calling, she felt a twinge of uneasiness.  Had he somehow found out about her trip to the hospital?  She’d made Sydney and Broots promise not to tell him, mainly because yet again she had no proof that Lyle had done anything wrong.  She had no memory of her brother even being in her office on Friday.  If Broots hadn’t stopped by, Lyle would have drugged her – and probably done far worse – without her ever knowing.  Part of her desperately wanted to tell her father every despicable thing Lyle had ever done to her, but her cynical side wouldn’t let her risk the heartache she’d feel if her father refused to believe her, or worse, took Lyle’s side.

            Refusing to give in to paranoia, Miss Parker answered in her normal way: “What?”

            “Angel, where are you?”

            He had his usual brusque and impatient tone to his voice, so he probably wasn’t calling to inquire after her health.  “I’m at home, Daddy,” she said.  “I’ll be at the office soon… I’m just getting a late start this morning.”

            “Well, I’m glad I caught you.  I wanted to be the one to tell you about your brother.”

            Even though she’d been waiting for this, she still felt a slight jolt now that she was finally going to learn Lyle’s fate.  She imagined her father’s next words: “The Triumverate has taken him to Africa.”  What would be an appropriate response?  A whoop of triumph might be a bit extreme – and insensitive, given that her father had firsthand experience being Mutumbo’s “guest” in Africa.  She’d need to tone down her reaction.

            “Good news!” her father was saying.  “The Triumverate has given Lyle a reprieve.”

            She couldn’t have heard him correctly.  “What did you say?”

            “I said they’ve decided to give your brother a chance to redeem himself.”

            She felt like someone had punched her in the gut.  “That’s… a surprise,” she managed.

            Her father grunted.  “Yes, well, the Triumverate occasionally does the unexpected.  Helps keep their enemies guessing.”  He paused.  “At least they made a wise decision this time.  They’re putting Lyle – and you – in charge of the search for Gemini.  Finding Jarod’s clone has become top priority.”

            Her reflection showed that her face had gone pale and her knuckles white from clenching the phone so tightly.  The thought of actually having to work with Lyle again, knowing what he’d tried to do to her…

            She was glad when her father started speaking again, because she couldn’t trust her own voice.  “So get here as soon as you can, Angel.  There’s a lot of work to be done.”

            She was relieved when her father abruptly hung up.  She put down the phone and picked up her drink.  Only when the rim of the glass touched her lips did she stop.

            No!  She would not be a victim again!

            She knew what she had to do. 

            She set the glass down and took another look at the face in the mirror.  And there she was, her jaw set with determination, her eyes blazing with renewed purpose.  Only…

She leaned closer to the glass.  She could use a little more blush and a more vibrant shade of lip gloss.

She wanted to look her best when she saw her brother.

She watched him walk across the parking garage, marveling at the ease with which he played the role he’d chosen for himself.  From his well-tailored suit to his perfectly-coiffed hair to his charming smile and air of easy confidence, Lyle appeared every bit the successful businessman.  There was no hint of the monster beneath the mask.

There was a jaunty spring to his step, his briefcase swinging lightly from his right hand.  And why shouldn’t he be in a good mood?  He’d been unexpectedly spared from certain torture and possible death, he’d been trusted with a crucial assignment, and his actions of last Friday had provoked no response.  Knowing that Lyle would be wondering how much she’d remembered or what Broots might have told her, Miss Parker had purposely said nothing about the incident.   Instead she’d kept a tight lid on her feelings as she’d spent an excruciating day of meetings with Lyle to plan their strategy for finding the Gemini clone.  By making no indication that she even knew Lyle had been in her office on Friday, Miss Parker hoped he’d assume she’d slept off the drug and awakened the next morning with her familiar hangover.  As the day progressed, she’d noticed he’d become more relaxed, so her strategy seemed to have worked.

Now Miss Parker waited until he’d reached his car before she stepped out from behind the concrete pillar and headed his way.  The sound of her high heels striking the cement floor alerted him to her presence, but she wasn’t trying to sneak up on him. 

“Hey, sis,” he greeted her over his shoulder as he pressed the unlock button on his key ring.  “Heading home?”

“Not yet.  I have some work to finish.”  She kept her tone light, casual, matching his. Good to see he was still feeling at ease around her.  “But I’m glad I caught you.  I wanted to speak to you in private.”

“Oh?”  He still didn’t sound concerned as he opened his car door and tossed his briefcase onto the passenger seat.

She forced herself to smile.  “I realized that I never congratulated you on your reprieve from the Triumverate.”

He turned to face her.  “Yes, well, I’m not under any illusion that I’ve achieved a lasting peace with our African overseers,” he said soberly, despite the slight gleam of triumph she saw in his eyes.  “That Mutumbo is one crazy Zulu; he could change his mind at any minute and send his goon squad after me.  If we don’t find Jarod’s clone soon, I’m a goner.”

Sooner rather than later, brother.

Aloud she said, “I wouldn’t worry about it, Lyle.  You know what our father says: ‘can’t kill a Parker.’”  Her hand stole to the small of her back.  “But I wonder if that would hold true if it’s another Parker making the attempt?”

Now he looked wary.  She maintained her pleasant tone as she went on, “Oh, but what am I saying?  We’ve both already been there done that.  I shot you that night on the docks, you sent me into a building that was supposed to blow up.”  She neatly pulled her gun from its holster and pointed it at him.  “I think it’s time one of us got it right, don’t you?”

“What the hell…?”  Lyle instinctively backed up and Miss Parker used the opportunity to insert herself between him and the car, slamming the door shut with her body and cutting off his best means of escape.

“Get on your knees,” she ordered.

He just stared at her, his hands half-raised in a placating or warding-off gesture.

“On your knees now!”  She kicked him in the shin.  As he bent to instinctively grab his leg, she hit him on the back of the neck with the butt of her gun hard enough to force him down to the floor but not hard enough to knock him out.  She wanted him conscious for this.

His right hand clutching the back of his neck, Lyle used his left hand to steady himself so he wouldn’t pitch face-first into the garage’s scarred cement floor.   With some difficulty, he raised his eyes – wide and filled with pain and fear – to hers.  “Are you insane?” he cried.

That was funny, coming from him, but she had no urge to laugh.  “You’re one to talk, brother,” she said.

“Yes, that’s right, that’s right!  I’m your brother!” he babbled desperately.  “You can’t kill me!”

“Really?  You’re really going to play the sibling card right now?  Where was your brotherly love when you injected me with a deadly virus?  And you certainly didn’t care that I’m your sister when you drugged me last Friday!”

He blinked.  “What are you talking about?”

“Don’t bother to deny it,” she said through gritted teeth.  “Broots took me to the hospital where they discovered the Rohypnol in my system.  Were you actually going to rape your own sister, you sick bastard?”  She raised her gun to strike him again but stopped herself and steadied her weapon.  Don’t lose control, Parker.

Expecting the blow, Lyle cowered, his hands protecting his face.  “No, no, I would never…”  When he realized she wasn’t going to hit him, he lowered his hands.  “Rape you?” he went on in an aggrieved tone.  “How can you think I’d do such a thing?”

Miss Parker kept the gun aimed squarely at her target and said coldly, “Because I know you, Lyle.  The real you.  I know the disgusting pleasure you take in torturing and killing Asian women.  I know all about that hideous shed you have stashed away in your apartment.  I know you for the psychopath you truly are.” 

Lyle was still breathing heavily from her attack, but his hands were now down at his sides, and the panic had left his eyes.  “You can’t prove anything,” he said slowly.

Miss Parker gave a harsh laugh.  “Do you think I care?  Don’t you get it, Lyle?  You’re not getting your day in court.  I am your only judge, jury, and… executioner.”  She tightened her grip on the gun.

Lyle’s face paled.  “You’re not going to kill me.”

She was surprised by the confidence she heard in his voice.  Did he really believe that he could talk his way out of this situation?  Did she appear that weak to him?  Clearly, she’d allowed herself to be his victim too many times; that ended here and now. 

Even as she felt her resolve harden, the decision must have been reflected in her face, for Lyle’s demeanor abruptly changed.  He began to grovel again.  “Do you want me to beg, is that it?  Please, please don’t…”

“I just want you to die,” she hissed.  “To finally… die.”

“No, no…”

“Listen to me, Lyle,” she snapped.  “You think I’m beautiful when I’m angry?”  She leaned forward slightly.  “Well, take a good look, because this is the last thing you’ll ever see.”

And he did look.  As he gazed up at her, his fear seemed to melt away, and a kind of awe shone forth from his clear blue eyes.

Time for her to find her own peace.

Miss Parker pulled the trigger.

“Parker, no!”

His shout was covered by the sound of the gun going off, shockingly loud in the underground garage.  With his heart hammering in time to the fading echoes of the shot, Sydney raced to Miss Parker’s side.  “What have you done?” he panted.

She remained in her firing stance.  “Is he dead?” she demanded, wide eyes locked on the still form at her feet.

Sydney quickly knelt beside Lyle and felt for a pulse at both wrist and neck.  He found none.  “Yes,” he said heavily.

“Good.”

Sydney glanced up at her sharply.  His heart sank when he saw the look of grim triumph on her face.  Could she really be happy she’d just killed her own brother?

Sydney stood slowly.  “Miss Parker, give me the gun,” he said.  She didn’t resist when he carefully reached out and gently tugged the weapon from her grasp.  He noted that her hands were cold despite the sweltering heat of the garage. 

There was the sound of rapidly approaching footsteps, and Sydney quickly deposited the gun in his coat pocket. 

Broots appeared and skidded to a halt in front of them.  “I heard a shot when I got off the elevator!  What-?”  He stared in horror at Lyle’s body.  “Oh, my God!  Is he…?”

 “Dead?  Yes,” Miss Parker said.  “I killed him.”

Her flat tone was disquieting.  Also troubling was the fact that she had just confessed to murder without blinking an eye.  Sydney pulled Broots aside and said with quiet urgency, “Broots, I want you to get Miss Parker out of here.”

The techie cast a wild glance around the garage.  “B-but the security cameras… they recorded the whole thing… shouldn’t I try to do something…?”

“It’s too late for that,” Sydney said, inwardly cursing Miss Parker’s decision to commit this crime right out in the open.  “What’s done is done.  I’ll try to delay the consequences, but in the meantime, you need to get her away from here!  Take her home.  She may be going into shock, so keep a close eye on her.”

“But what do I do if –?”

“I’ll call you as soon as I can.  Go!”

Broots nodded and took a step towards his colleague.  “Um, Miss Parker?”  He put a tentative hand on her elbow.  “Why don’t I drive you home?”

Sydney braced himself for an argument but felt no relief as he watched a silent Miss Parker allow Broots to lead her away from the scene.  She was definitely in shock, but he hoped more permanent damage had not been done to her psyche here today.  In killing her brother, had the sister just been lost forever, as well?

Sydney had just gotten back to his office when his phone rang.  Expecting a call from the infirmary, he was surprised to realize it was his cell ringing and not the inter-office line. 

Probably Broots wanting an update, he thought.  Or help dealing with Miss Parker.  As he retrieved his phone from the inner pocket of his suit coat, he realized he had no idea what he was going to tell him.

“This is Sydney,” he answered.

“Refuge.”

Sydney felt like he’d been hit by a bolt of lightning.  The world shifted violently beneath his feet, and he sank into his desk chair, struggling to draw breath into suddenly-constricted lungs.  That voice…

“Jarod?” he gasped.

“Yes, Sydney, it’s me.”

“My God!  They actually brought you back to life!”

“Not exactly.  Look, I’ll explain everything but not over the phone.  Can we meet somewhere?”

Sydney wanted nothing more than to see with his own eyes that Jarod - his Jarod – was truly alive and well.  He was filled with a desperate yearning to rush out of the building and race to whatever rendezvous spot Jarod chose.

But recent events took precedence, and Sydney realized this miracle could provide a solution to his immediate problem.  He reluctantly set aside his own selfish needs and said, “There’s no time, Jarod.  You need to get to Miss Parker.  She just shot Lyle.”

He heard a quick intake of breath.  “He’s dead?”

“Yes.”  Sydney hesitated then went on quickly, knowing Jarod needed to know more.  “Lyle put Rohypnol in her drink last Friday.”

“The date rape drug?” Jarod asked sharply.

“That’s right.”  In the pause that followed, Sydney could feel the man’s anguish as he tried to gather the courage to ask the next obvious question, so he offered quickly to spare him, “Luckily, Broots interrupted Lyle before he could do anything beyond put the sedative in her Scotch.  We got her to a hospital without anyone at the Centre knowing.  Miss Parker had no memory of what happened, so she was understandably upset when she found out what her brother had done.”  Sydney sighed.  “Still, I had no idea she would take such drastic action.  If I had known what she was planning…”

“You wouldn’t have been able to talk her out of it,” Jarod said.

“Probably not, but… the way she did it, Jarod… she just shot him in the middle of the parking garage in plain view of the security cameras!”

“That doesn’t sound like Miss Parker,” Jarod murmured.

“She hasn’t been herself since your – well, since your death.  Drinking too much, staying cooped up at home, isolating herself from those who would help her.”  Not that he’d been in any condition to offer support, he thought guiltily.  “She’s been in a dangerous downward spiral.  I just never imagined it would end like this.”

“What do you need me to do?”

Jarod sounded calm and in control now, and Sydney tried to respond in a similar manner.  “Get her out of town.  I’m not sure what the fallout from Lyle’s death will be, but I think it would be best if she’s far away for the time being.  I had Broots take her home.  I’ll call to let him know you’re coming.”  Sydney could well imagine how his perpetually-nervous friend would react if Jarod strolled in there unannounced.

“I’m on my way.”

“Jarod, wait!”

“Yes?”

How could he put into words what he wanted, what he needed, to say?  There was no time.  “It’s so good to hear your voice,” he finally managed.

Jarod answered with genuine warmth, “You, too, Sydney.”  Then he hung up.

Sydney disconnected on his end and realized he was still sprawled half-reclining in his desk chair, staring at the ceiling.  He let out a breath and felt some of the tightness ease from his chest.

Jarod was alive.  Suddenly, the world didn’t seem such a hopeless place.

Sydney straightened in his chair.  He had work to do.  First on the agenda: call Broots to tell him that Jarod was on his way to save the day.

Chapter 26

            Jarod quietly entered through the back door of Miss Parker’s house and surprised Broots, who was nervously pacing in the living room. 

            “Oh!” he exclaimed upon seeing Jarod.  “Y-you…you’re…”

            “Didn’t Sydney call you?”

            “Yes, but, but to actually s-see you standing right here in front of me!  This is amazing!  The cryonics actually worked!” 

            “Broots, that’s not-”

            “Do you know what this means?  If people can be brought back from the dead?”  Broots was quickly warming to the subject.  “When the Centre successfully cloned you, I thought that was incredible, but this… this is like no other scientific breakthrough!  This will change life – and death – as we know it!  Of course, the Centre will probably keep this accomplishment under wraps like they did with Gemini, but just the fact that the cryonics process has finally worked means that some reputable scientist will also figure it out sooner or later.  I mean, wow!”

            It had been a while since he’d been subject to Broots’ babbling, but he was already wondering how Sydney and Miss Parker put up with it day after day.  Right now he didn’t have time for it.  “Broots, stop!  The cryonics didn’t work, because I was never really dead.”

            Disappointment and confusion clouded Broots’ features.  “But then how…?”

            “It’s a long story.  For another time,” Jarod added quickly.  “Where’s Miss Parker?”

            “In the kitchen.  She was really quiet on the drive over here.  Sydney thinks she might be in shock.”  Broots paused.  “Seeing you won’t help.”

            “I know, but we have no choice.  She needs to get out of town.  It’s a good bet the Centre will have surveillance on you and Sydney, but they won’t be expecting a dead man to be her traveling companion.”

            “That’s true,” Broots said reluctantly.  “They never suspected that you and I had teamed up that time I had to go on the run from the Centre.  Heck, I never would have expected we’d do something like that.”  He gave a nervous laugh that became a cough.  “But I think we worked well together, don’t you?”

            Jarod sighed inwardly at Broots’ clumsy attempt to verify his identity.  He understood the need to do so, but he really didn’t have time for this right now.  He quickly offered what Broots was looking for.  “Yes, because of our mutual respect for each other.  That’s why I helped you and you didn’t turn me in to the Centre after Damian shot me.”

            As much as he ever could, Broots appeared to relax.

            “I need your help now, Broots,” Jarod went on.  “I have to get Miss Parker out of here before any Sweepers show up, but I have a feeling she’s going to need some convincing.  While I’m talking to her, can you do me a favor and pack a bag for her?  Just a couple changes of clothing; we can pick up anything else she might need on the road.”

            “Oh, sure, sure, I, I can do that.”  But Broots looked hesitant.  “I guess I’ll have to go in her bedroom.  She’s not going to like me going through her things.”

            “We can’t worry about that right now,” Jarod said impatiently.  “We need to keep her safe.  Get moving!”

            Not waiting to see if Broots followed instructions, Jarod headed for the kitchen but had his own moment of doubt on the threshold of the room.  Not knowing exactly how Miss Parker would react to seeing him alive but suspecting it was not going to go smoothly, he took a deep breath before stepping through the doorway.

            She stood by the island in the center of the spacious kitchen, her back to him.  Without turning around, she set her glass of Scotch down on the granite countertop surface and said wearily, “Broots, I don’t care what Sydney says, I don’t need a babysitter.”

            Then she turned to face him.

            At first glance, she looked the same as ever – dressed in her usual provocative business suit of blazer, mini skirt, and high heels – but when he looked closer, he could see the fatigue in the shadows under her eyes that her make-up couldn’t quite hide. 

            Jarod felt like he was back in that stifling warehouse loft.  Only this time Miss Parker was the one whose eyes widened in shock as someone who wasn’t supposed to be there appeared right in front of her.  He still regretted her arrival that day; that hadn’t been part of the plan.  She’d been the last person he’d wanted to see then.  He just hoped she didn’t feel the same way now.

            Miss Parker finally broke eye contact to fling an accusing glance at her drink, as if blaming the alcohol for the anomaly she was seeing.

            “You’re not hallucinating,” Jarod said.

            She flinched at the sound of his voice.  Hands fisted against the edge of the island in front of her, and without looking at him, she said tightly, “No, you’re not Jarod.  Jarod is dead.  I saw him die.”

            “I know,” he said quietly, feeling a stab of guilt.  “I promise I’ll explain everything, but we don’t have time right now.  You need to leave before the Centre sends a Sweeper team after you.”

            “The Centre!”  She swung a wild look his way.  “That’s it!  They did this!  They made another clone.  You’re just an earlier version or maybe one with an accelerated growth rate or something…  Broots.  Broots would know.”  She took a step forward.

            Jarod automatically moved to block her exit from the kitchen.  Eyes flashing, she reached for her gun but came up with only an empty holster.  She stared down at it in confusion for a moment then said slowly, “Sydney took my gun.  Damn it!”  She flung the leather holster onto the island.

            Jarod kept his voice as calm as possible.  “I thought we’d gotten past the point when you felt the need to draw your gun on me.”

            Again, she wouldn’t look at him as she replied, “I wouldn’t pull my gun on Jarod.  But you’re not Jarod.  I don’t know who – or what – you are.”

            It was taking all of his willpower not to pull her into his arms and show her that he was the same man who’d kissed her in the elevator, the same man who’d suggested she run away with him.  But there was no time!

            “Please, Miss Parker.  You’re in danger if you stay here.”

            She gave him a cynical look.  “So you’re here to rescue me?  No thanks.”  Her voice was edged with bitterness.

            As she turned away once more and reached for her drink, Jarod made a decision.  He had to get her out of here!  He quickly stepped up behind her and placed his hand on the side of her neck, applying just enough pressure at just the right spot.  She slumped in his arms and he carefully lowered her unconscious body to the hardwood floor.

            “Whoa!”

            Jarod looked up to find Broots watching in shock from the doorway.  “What did you do?” the techie asked as he hurried into the kitchen.

            “What I had to,” Jarod said grimly.  “She wasn’t going to come with me willingly.  Don’t worry, she’ll be fine,” he added.

            Broots looked somewhat relieved and slightly awed.  “Was that the Vulcan neck pinch?” he asked eagerly.

            “The what?”  Jarod shook his head.  “Never mind.  Are those Miss Parker’s things?” he asked, gesturing to the tote bag in Broots’ hands.

            “Yes, I wasn’t sure what to pack…”

            “I’m sure that will be fine.”  Jarod fished Miss Parker’s cell phone out of the pocket of her blazer and deposited it up on the island.  He doubted the Centre had a tracking device installed on her personal phone, but there was no reason to take any chances.

            “Time to get going.”  He took the bag from Broots then carefully gathered Miss Parker into his arms and stood up slowly.

            Broots followed him to the back door and held it open for him.  As Jarod stepped outside, he said, “You take care of her, okay?”

            Surprised by the fierceness he heard in his voice, Jarod looked back.  Broots met his gaze unflinchingly, all trace of nerves gone from his face.

            “I will,” Jarod solemnly promised.

            She was in a moving vehicle.

            Miss Parker could tell that much without having to open her eyes.  The feel of the seat belt across her chest and the whine of the tires on the roadway were two big clues.  The fact that they were moving at a rapid speed in a straight line suggested they were on the highway.

            She could also tell that she hadn’t been blindfolded, so there was no need to piece together clues to determine where she was; all she had to do was open her eyes.

            So why did the thought of doing so fill her with dread?

            Because she was afraid of what she’d see, or more precisely, whom she’d see.

            But Miss Parker was not going to start being a coward now.  She cracked her left eye open and stole a sidelong glance at the driver.

            It was Jarod.

            So it hadn’t been a dream.  Shutting both eyes tightly again, she wished she was still asleep.  The real world was making no sense.  Jarod was alive, Lyle was dead, and she was on the run from the Centre.  With all three life-changing events taking place in the space of a few hours, was it no wonder she felt so disoriented?

            Despite the stream of air conditioning aimed at her, she suddenly felt flushed and queasy.  “Stop the car,” she said.

            “Miss Parker, we have to keep going,” Jarod said.  He didn’t sound at all surprised that she was awake; so much for her pretending skills.

            “Stop the car!” she said, adding with greater urgency as her stomach heaved, “I’m going to be sick!”

            Jarod immediately pulled over onto the narrow shoulder of the highway.  Miss Parker threw open her door and stumbled out of the vehicle.  She staggered a few feet before sinking to her knees and retching into the sun-seared scrub grass growing on the hillside.  It was only dry heaves, and she dimly realized she hadn’t eaten anything all day.

            Jarod squatted a short distance away.  “Are you alright?” he asked quietly.

            Miss Parker sat back on her haunches and shoved a few sticky strands of hair out of her face.  “Alright?” she echoed sourly.  “I was just knocked out and abducted by a thawed-out zombie, I have no idea where I am, and oh, yes, before that I shot and killed my own brother.”

            Jarod said nothing, just handed her a bottle of water.  She took a sip and, when her stomach didn’t rebel, followed that up with a more generous swallow.  She knew he wasn’t amused by the way she’d recapped the day’s events, but she didn’t care.  Sarcasm had always served her well when she was trying to hide her true feelings.  Right now she felt dangerously close to tears, but she refused to break down in front of this man, original Jarod or not.

            He finally said, “I’m sorry I had to knock you out, but I didn’t have time to convince you to come with me.” 

            Her hand strayed to the side of her neck.  “What the hell did you do to me anyway?” 

            “Pressure point.  I was a massage therapist once.”

            Of course he was.  She had to admit it was a pretty painless way of being rendered unconscious; she wondered if she could get him to teach her that trick.  After another sip of water, she asked, “Where are we going?”

            “Some place safe.”

            Miss Parker stifled a sigh.  “That’s the Jarod I know,” she muttered, “typically cryptic.”

            “So you no longer believe I’m a ghost or a clone?”

            He spoke lightly, but she could tell he wanted more than a flip response.  The problem was she didn’t know how to answer.  She’d realized that he wasn’t a figment of her imagination or some warped copy created in a secret Centre lab, but she wasn’t sure she was ready to admit that out loud.  She didn’t want Jarod to read some deeper meaning into her acceptance of him.

            He was watching and waiting for her reply.

            A tractor trailer barreled past them on the highway, so close she could feel the vibrations in the ground.

            The moment past, Jarod said, “We should get back on the road.  I think we’ll stop at the first motel we come across.  You need some food and a good night’s sleep.”  He stood up.

            “A good night’s sleep?  Can’t remember the last time I had one of those.”

            She could see the sympathy in his brown eyes as he helped her get to her feet.  A flash of irritation made her climb back into the jeep a little quicker than was wise.  As Jarod went around to the driver’s side, she took another swig of water then leaned her head back against the seat to calm a sudden wave of dizziness.

            After he’d smoothly maneuvered them back into traffic, Jarod said, “No fancy four-star hotel for us.  You need to stay at a place you normally wouldn’t.  Doing the unexpected will keep you one step ahead of your pursuers.”

            Despite how rotten she felt, Miss Parker let out a dry chuckle.  “A Fugitive 101 lesson from Professor Jarod?”

            “Sorry,” he said, having the decency to sound a bit sheepish.  “I guess you know better than anyone how the Centre Sweepers operate.”

            “Well, they won’t do anything without a directive from the Tower, which means it will have to come from my father, which means he might find a way to delay sending a team after me to give me a chance to get away.”

            Jarod said nothing, but she saw his jaw clench and his hands tighten on the steering wheel.  He didn’t need to say a word.  She knew he would never trust her father – and granted, he had reason – but he had no right to expect her to feel the same.  It was an old argument between them and one she didn’t have the strength to continue right now.

            She closed her eyes to discourage any further conversation.  Maybe she’d be lucky enough to fall asleep.  She could use a break from the crises of the real world.

            Jarod had heard of the phenomenon of falling asleep as soon as your head hit the pillow, but he had certainly never experienced it himself and thought it highly unlikely that anyone could slip into true slumber that fast without pharmaceutical aid. 

Yet he’d just witnessed Miss Parker do it.

She’d claimed she was going to lie down for just a minute.  That had been an hour ago.  She’d gone silent so quickly, he’d been relieved to hear her deep, even breathing that confirmed she was just sleeping.  He hoped she’d stay that way for the rest of the night; the fact that she’d gone out so quickly meant her exhaustion must be deeper than he’d realized.

He doubted he’d get much sleep tonight.  The arm chair that was serving as his bed afforded little comfort, but it was his worry about Miss Parker that was keeping him awake. 

Her brief flashes of sarcasm on the road had indicated she was coming out of her shock, or so he’d thought.  The hard edges of her personality served as a shield to protect her true feelings.  Jarod knew those edges could soften at times, but right now he feared she was too brittle and would break if she let her guard down.  So he’d been relieved when her acerbic wit had surfaced.

But when they’d arrived at the motel, she’d seemed to slip back into a kind of stupor.  She’d made no derogatory comment about their dingy room with the stained carpet and tacky furniture nor objected to the fact that they were sharing the small quarters.  She’d eaten most of the overcooked burger and greasy fries that had constituted dinner without one word of complaint.  And she hadn’t yet pressed him for an explanation about his miraculous return from the dead.

Of course, he shouldn’t expect her to overcome her shock so quickly.  The events of the past twenty-four hours had taken their toll.

What worried Jarod most was what Miss Parker had done to Lyle.  Not the fact that she’d killed him – she had plenty of motive for that.  It was the way she’d done it that disturbed him.  To shoot her brother out in the open with no apparent plan for escape was not something the Miss Parker he knew would ever do.   Sydney had mentioned her drinking and isolation in recent weeks.  He felt a fresh pang of guilt.  He’d never meant for his “death” to affect her so deeply; the last thing he’d wanted to do was hurt her.

Miss Parker made a small sound in her sleep, and Jarod quickly glanced over at her.  Her face, which had been so peaceful in repose, now contorted slightly in distress.  He held his breath, hoping that the bad dream would pass.

No such luck.  She started to whimper, a sound he had never heard her make.  He felt slightly embarrassed to be witness to this vulnerable side of her, knowing that she’d hate for him to see her like this. 

“No, no, don’t,” she cried softly, and Jarod tensed, wondering if he should wake her up.  Her eyes still closed, she began thrashing from side to side.  “No, please, please stop,” she groaned.  Then, in a high, shrill tone: “Lyle!”

Jarod was at her side in an instant.  He reached out and gently touched her arm.  “Miss Parker…”

She sat bolt upright, eyes open but unseeing.  “Lyle, don’t!” she screamed.

He eased himself onto the bed next to her and gathered her into his arms.  “It’s alright, he’s gone, you’re safe now,” he soothed.  “I’m here.”

She clung to him, burying her face in his neck, even as she moaned, “No, no, you’re not real…”

Jarod knew well the sense of disorientation Miss Parker was currently experiencing, that uncomfortable twilight zone between tormented dream state and total wakefulness.  He couldn’t count the number of times he’d awakened in a similar fashion.  But he was usually alone, with no one nearby to help tug him from the grip of the nightmare.

Miss Parker pulled back and he could see her eyes grow impossibly wide with panic.  “Why can’t I wake up?” she gasped.

He cupped her face in his hands.  “Miss Parker, look at me,” he said gently but firmly.  “You are awake.  And you’re not alone.  I am really here, and I’m not going anywhere.”  Thinking only of the need to comfort, he kissed her.

She returned the kiss with desperate hunger, her hands sliding around his neck.  When he felt his body responding in ways he hadn’t intended, he reluctantly pulled away, backing off the bed and standing up.

“Jarod?”

He felt as confused as she looked.  They obviously both wanted this, so what was the problem?

Timing.  Her emotions were all over the place right now, and he wouldn’t take advantage of her.  He raked a hand through his hair.  “It’s a little warm in here,” he said awkwardly, glancing at the laboring air conditioning unit on the wall beneath the window as if to confirm his statement.  “Why don’t I get us something to drink?  There’s a vending machine down the hall.  Be back in a minute.” 

He fled from the room before she had a chance to respond.  In the hallway, he leaned back against the wall with a sigh.  It was going to be a long night.

Chapter 27

            After a shower and a change of clothes, Miss Parker almost felt like herself again.

            The change of scenery helped, too, she thought as she stepped out onto the welcoming front porch of the farmhouse.  Hanging baskets filled with bright red geraniums were perfectly placed between the thick white columns spaced along the railing.  An unseen wind chime trilled a few cheery notes as a light breeze touched her face.

            Miss Parker took a deep breath of fresh air, glad to be free of the humidity of the city.  And it was such a relief to be out of that dingy motel room.  She thought last night would never end.  Even if she hadn’t been reluctant to go back to sleep after her nightmare, the kiss she and Jarod had shared had also contributed to her restlessness.  That kiss had reawakened feelings she’d thought she’s successfully suppressed and left her too physically aware of Jarod’s close proximity to just casually go back to sleep.  At first she’d been disappointed then annoyed that Jarod had pulled away, but as she tossed and turned the rest of the night, she’d finally come to realize that it had been a smart decision on his part.  Well, he was the genius, right?

            She started when she heard the sound of a foot crunching on gravel but relaxed when she saw it was only Jarod approaching on the circular drive.  Then she wondered at this new reaction; since when did she relax at the sight of Jarod?

            He quickly climbed the rough-hewn steps in the two low stone walls built into the hillside in front of the house but stopped when he reached the base of the wooden stairs leading to the porch.  She noticed his slight double take when he spotted her.

            “What?” she asked with a bit of irritation, suspecting what had prompted his reaction.

            He took no offense at her tone.  “I’m just not used to seeing you in anything but your usual… business attire,” he said.

            And she certainly wasn’t accustomed to wearing a plain white tank top and jeans.  Miss Parker glared down at him.  “I didn’t have much choice.  This is all someone packed for me.”

            Jarod’s lips twitched.  “That someone would be Mr. Broots,” he said mildly.

            Of course it would.  That explained the selection of bras and panties plus the black lace negligee she’d discovered in the bag.  It all made horrifying sense now; Broots had gotten so distracted going through her underwear drawer he hadn’t had time to make it past her dresser and get to the closet where she kept her usual outfits.  She hid her mortification, determined not to divulge exactly what items Broots had packed for her.

            Jarod tilted his head slightly and gave her an appraising look.  “I think he made a good choice,” he pronounced.  “Broots knew we’d be on the road and wanted to make sure your clothing was comfortable and provided ease of movement.  That wouldn’t be the case if you were wearing your usual short skirts and high heels.”

            Of course, he looked as comfortable and fit as ever in his black t-shirt and matching jeans.  “I did just fine chasing you all over the country in those short skirts and high heels,” she reminded him.

            Jarod stared up at her for a moment, a faraway look in his dark eyes.  She got the feeling he was remembering a few of those chases, and she was surprised by the slight smile she saw on his face.  “True,” he conceded finally.

            Although she wouldn’t admit it aloud, Miss Parker had to agree that her current attire was a good fit for their present surroundings.  Something about this place tugged at her memory…  “This is Harriet Tashman’s farm, isn’t it?” she said, suddenly recalling the time years ago when she’d first learned of the existence of Kyle, Jarod’s brother and Raines’ Pretender.  The Centre had identified the Tashman woman as a person who might lead them to Kyle.

            “It was,” Jarod said, climbing the last few steps to join her on the porch.  “I bought it from her about a year ago.”

            That was a surprise.  She’d never imagined Jarod as a property owner.

            “It’s beautiful here,” she said and meant it.  She preferred the city but also recognized the appeal of the country life.

            “Yes.”  Jarod moved to the end of the porch and gazed over the railing towards the barn.  “Ever since Harriet told me my parents and baby sister hid here for a couple of years, I’ve felt… drawn to this farm.  If they could feel that safe here, I thought… well, maybe I… maybe someday… this might be a place I could call… home.”

            The wistful note in his voice brought a lump to her throat as she realized how important this property was to him.  She felt strangely…what?  Perhaps grateful, even honored, that he should choose to bring her here.   

            Jarod cleared his own throat and went on, “Anyway, I thought this would be a safe place for us to stay for a while.  The Centre has no reason to connect you to this property, and I’m…”

            “Dead,” Miss Parker finished for him. 

            He turned a sharp glance her way in response to her accusing tone.  And just like that, the mood changed, darkened.  She wasn’t sorry; it was time for that explanation he kept promising.  She was ready to demand some answers, even if he wasn’t ready to give them.

            He met her determined gaze.  “I was never really dead.  I faked my death so that the Centre would finally stop chasing me.  It was the only way I could truly be free.”

            The truth of what he said was right there in front of her – he wasn’t a ghost or some scientific breakthrough – but she could not wrap her mind around what he’d just said.  She said slowly, “What do you mean you were ‘never really dead?’  I saw Lyle shoot you.”  The gunshot had been incredibly loud in that dusty warehouse loft.  “I saw you fall out the window.”  The glass had seemed to shatter in slow motion, his body falling almost gracefully from view.  “I saw you die, Jarod!”  He’d been so pale, so still in that hellish alley…

            She could see the horror of what she was reliving reflected in his pained expression.  “I’m sorry,” he said quietly.  “You weren’t supposed to be there.  You were supposed to be in Las Vegas.  Why weren’t you?”  The desperation in his voice made her realize he’d been tortured by this question for a long time.

            “Mechanical problems with the plane,” she murmured.  “I was bumped to a later flight.”

            “You were flying commercial?  Why didn’t you take the Centre jet?”

            “After that e-mail you sent me” – the one referring to their intimate moments in the elevator – “I didn’t want Lyle tagging along when I went to Vegas.  I thought you might actually be there” – Why had she thought that?  Had she really believed he had arranged a romantic tryst in Sin City? “and I didn’t want to take the chance of you getting captured.”

            Jarod looked slightly stunned.  “Mechanical problems,” he repeated, as if he couldn’t believe something so mundane had ruined his complex plan.

            She suddenly knew the answer to a question that had tormented her.  “That’s why you were so surprised to see me at the warehouse,” she said.  His eyes had widened in shock…  “You had this all planned, and you didn’t want me there when you… died?”

            “You were never meant to see that.”

            She barely registered the sympathy in his voice as another piece of the puzzle fell into place.  “I thought you had lured Lyle there to kill him, but...your plan was to have him kill you!”

            “You thought I’d come to Blue Cove to kill Lyle?” He sounded disturbed by the idea.

            No, she wasn’t going to talk about that.  She needed more details about Jarod’s “death.”  How in the hell had he pulled it off?  “Jarod, Lyle did shoot you.  You were bleeding!”

            “Yeah, well, that wasn’t part of the plan,” he said ruefully.  “Lyle was supposed to miss.  Unfortunately, when you called my name, I turned and wasn’t positioned correctly for when he fired.  Luckily, the bullet went straight through.”  He rotated his left shoulder slowly with a slight wince.  “I guess the blood made it more convincing, at least.”

            There’s been so much blood, soaking his shirt, staining her hands, warm and sticky…She could still smell it.  Unprepared for the vivid flash of memory, she had to put a hand on the porch railing to steady herself. 

            “Miss Parker?”  He started towards her.

            She held out her other hand to ward off his approach.  “I’m fine,” she said sharply.  “Go on.”

            He didn’t look convinced but reluctantly continued with his explanation.  “Well, the plan was for Lyle to shoot and for me to fall, hitting my head in such a way that it would cause a hematoma resulting in my death.  I’ve been a stuntman so I knew I could handle a fall from that height, but I put a mattress in the dumpster earlier and removed any sharp objects so I could be sure of a soft landing.”

            Okay, so that explained the blood and the handy dumpster.  “But… you had no pulse.”  Even knowing he was very much alive, it was still hard to say the words.

            “Remember the time when Raines and Lyle stopped my heart so they could try out an experimental resuscitation drug?  I came across that same drug during one of my Pretends.  Since then, I’ve had a chance to perfect it.  I used another medicine to put me in a coma-like state that makes it impossible to detect a pulse without the proper equipment”

            “But the doctor back at the infirmary… surely, he would have known…”  Then she realized.  “He was in on it, wasn’t he?  When he disappeared, Broots and I thought the Triumverate snatched him as punishment for failing to save you.  But he was just getting away before his part in your plan was discovered.”

Jarod nodded.  “He’s someone I met during my…travels.  He owed me a favor, so he agreed to my somewhat crazy – and dangerous – plan.  I gave him a false identity and credentials I knew would land him a position at the Centre.  He had to make sure he was on call on that Friday, so he’d be the one to pronounce me dead.  Then he administered the drug to revive me and shipped me off to the cryonics institute.  The antidote takes some time to work, so I had to rely on another associate – someone who works in a morgue - to switch my body with that of a homeless man’s and get me safely out of the facility.”

            Miss Parker imagined he had a whole network of grateful acquaintances who would happily assist him, but she was amazed at the speed in which he’d put his plan in motion.  He’d only had a few weeks between the day he’d escaped and the day he’d “died.”  And even with all of his planning, he’d still had to make some pretty good guesses for it all to work out.  “How did you know the Centre would choose to freeze your body?”

            “Well, I knew they owned Lazarus Ltd., so it made sense.”  Jarod managed a small, grim smile.  “I figured the Centre wouldn’t let go of me, even in death.”

            Miss Parker didn’t bother to ask how Jarod knew about the cryonics facility when she had not been aware of it; he always seemed to know more secrets than she did, a fact that she found annoying, but one which had literally saved his life this time.

            “Well, I suppose congratulations are in order, Jarod,” she said.  “You pulled off your greatest Pretend yet.  We all truly believed you were dead.”

            There was no triumph in his expression.  “I don’t regret what I did,” he said, “but I do regret the way I had to do it.  I want you to know that when you walked into that warehouse loft, I would have called the whole thing off if I could have.  But I’d already taken the drug that would put me in the coma, so I had no choice but to go forward with the plan.”

            She felt a flash of irritation.  “Why wouldn’t you go forward with it?”

            “I told you, I didn’t want you to see…”

            “Oh, that’s right, you didn’t want me to suffer the anguish of watching you die,” she interrupted harshly, even angrier now because damn it, he was right; she wished with all her heart that she hadn’t had to experience those dreadful moments in that hellish alley.  But she refused to let him know how those memories still haunted her.  “Don’t get me wrong, I would have preferred to have skipped that whole dramatic scene in the alley.  I mean, I broke a nail doing CPR on you and ruined an expensive silk blouse by getting your blood all over it.”

            Her sarcasm only seemed to increase his concern for her.  “Miss Parker, I’m so sorry,” he said, reaching out for her.

            She backed away so quickly she almost tripped over the small welcome mat at the door.  “What do want from me, Jarod?” she asked in exasperation.  “Forgiveness?  Well, if it’s absolution you seek, try a priest.  Oh, hell, you’ve probably been one, so why don’t you just forgive yourself?” 

            Horrified to realize she was dangerously close to tears, she turned and escaped into the house, letting the screen door bang shut behind her, and praying that he wouldn’t follow her.

            The late afternoon sunlight cast a golden sheen across the smooth surface of the pond.  Jarod gazed at the still water and wished he could find an inner peace to match his surroundings.

            He’d just finished a long phone conversation with Sydney, and after going through the whole explanation of how he’d faked his own death for the second time in one day, he was feeling a bit on edge.  He supposed the reactions of Miss Parker and Sydney had affected him more than he’d expected.

            Or perhaps it was their non-reactions that disturbed him.  He would have preferred speaking to Sydney in person, but circumstances made that impossible, so he’d had to rely on audible clues to guess his mentor’s state of mind.  Not an easy task, since Sydney barely spoke a word all through Jarod’s account.  Then he’d asked several questions about the heart resuscitation drug.  He’d sounded sincerely intrigued by this medical breakthrough, but Jarod knew it was an evasion technique.  In the same way Miss Parker used sarcasm to avoid expressing her true feelings, Sydney relied on dry scientific jargon to hide his emotions.

            And when Jarod had run out of answers (or, rather, limited his answers because he didn’t want to risk information about this dangerous drug reaching the wrong people at the Centre), Sydney had deftly changed the subject to Miss Parker and how she was dealing with recent events.  Again, Jarod had no doubt Sydney’s concern about Miss Parker was genuine, but asking about her was also a handy way to avoid talking about how he himself was coping with Jarod’s sudden return from the dead.

            But Jarod had been unable to supply any definitive answers about Miss Parker’s frame of mind, other than that she’d seemed more like her old self today.  Jarod had finally hung up, suspecting that both he and his former teacher had found the conversation less than satisfying.

            He wished Sydney were here to provide the calm perspective of a therapist, although Miss Parker would likely have spurned any “professional” help from her colleague.  Jarod had been a psychiatrist and could easily identify the conflicting emotions she was experiencing right now, but he couldn’t maintain a clinical detachment when dealing with her.  Besides being the main cause for her current state of upheaval, he cared too deeply about her to ever be objective.

            It had taken all of his willpower to not go after her earlier today when she’d run into the farmhouse.  She may have seemed in control with her parting shots, but the pointed barbs she’d flung at him before beating a hasty retreat came across as more of a desperate defense and not an aggressive attack.  He knew she needed time to absorb what he’d told her, so he’d avoided the house all afternoon, giving her solitude to clear her head or maybe even take a nap.  Miss Parker was the strongest person he knew, but anyone would be close to exhaustion after the traumatic events of the past few weeks, especially the past twenty-four hours.  She’d always had hard edges, which she used as a shield against feelings she believed made her weak, but right now he was afraid those edges were too brittle to withstand the onslaught of powerful emotions she had to be experiencing.  What if she broke?  He had to find a way to help her release the anger, fear, grief – whatever she was struggling to contain.  But how?

            A slight sound behind him caused him to whirl around, instantly on alert.  When he saw it was just Miss Parker approaching with her natural cat-like stealth, his fight or flight response shut down.  As he felt his body relax, he welcomed this strange new reaction to his former pursuer; it was nice to not feel the urge to run at the sight of her.

            And what a glorious sight it was.  He’d made light of her casual appearance before, but what he hadn’t told her was that he found her just as beautiful in jeans as in any of her form-fitting ensembles.  As she walked slowly across the grass towards him, the late day sun bathed her make-up-free face in a soft glow.  Her loveliness took his breath away.  He thought how the surroundings suited her; this was where she belonged, gliding across a sun-dappled lawn, not stalking the winding windowless corridors of some stark fortress.

            He remained silent as she drew near.  He would let her speak first, so he could assess her mood. 

            She came to a stop a few feet away and regarded him with the uncertainty he was feeling.  “I have a question,” she said finally, “and I’d like an honest answer.”

            He owed her that much.  “Alright,” he said.

            “Why?”

            The question surprised him, since he’d already told her the reason for faking his death.  But if hearing the explanation again would help her to accept what he’d done, he was happy to comply.  “Like I told you earlier,” he said, “I realized this was the only way I could make the Centre stop chasing me.”

            “No,” she said with a slight frown, “I understand why you pretended to be dead.  What I want to know is why you came back.  You were finally free, Jarod.  Why risk everything by revealing you were still alive?”

            Jarod had been wondering how to make her open up to him, but it was her question that would force him to reveal his true feelings.  He’d promised her the truth; would she be able to handle it?

            His eyes met hers.  “For you,” he said simply.

            She looked confused.  “But when you called Sydney, you didn’t know about… about what happened… that I’d need help…”

            “No, I didn’t know about Lyle.  Before I decided to fake my own death, I already knew I’d come back for you.”

            Even though the day was still warm, she rubbed one arm as if feeling a sudden chill.  “What… what do you mean?”

            “Remember my last night at the Centre?  I asked you to come with me.”

            “And I told you to forget about me and concentrate on finding your family!”  A slight breeze sent a lock of hair into her face and she brushed it away impatiently.  “Jarod, now is your chance to live your life the way you want to!”

“I don’t want a life without you in it,” he said quietly.

            “Since when do we get what we want?” 

            The bitter resignation in her voice tore at his heart.  He took the few steps separating them and captured her hand in his.  “Since now!” he said urgently.  “We just have to want it badly enough.”

            She stared down at his hand holding hers.  All was silent, save for the sounds of nature around them: the gruff croaking of a frog, the effortless trill of a bird in a nearby tree, the rustling of cattails along the pond’s edge.

            He squeezed her hand.  Please, Miss Parker, he thought, please want this, too.

            Abruptly, she pulled free and took off running for the house.

            No!  This time he ran after her.  He knew she was fast in heels, but in the low-soled canvas shoes Broots had packed for her, she moved like a gazelle.  Jarod didn’t catch up to her until she’d reached the porch.  He barely managed to grab her arm before she could escape inside.

            “Let me go!”  She spun to face him.

            “No!”  Jarod pressed her back against the wall of the house.  “You have to stop running away!”

            “I’m not the one who runs,” she declared.

            “You’re running from us,” he insisted, tightening his grip on her shoulders.  “You’re running from your own feelings!”

            “You don’t know what I’m feeling, Jarod.”

            “Don’t I?”  He pressed his body close to hers, their faces mere inches apart.  “Right now you’re feeling your heart beat so fast and so loud you’re sure I can hear it.”  He couldn’t, not over the hammering of his own heart.

            With one finger he lightly traced the curve of her cheek.  “Now you’re feeling light-headed, almost dizzy,” he went on softly, as his own head swam with the scent of her.

Then he brushed his thumb gently over her bottom lip, feeling a jolt of his own as her mouth opened slightly on a sharp intake of breath.  “And now you’re thinking that if I don’t kiss you right this second…”

            His mouth claimed hers.  Afraid she would pull away, he poured all of his longing and need for her into the kiss, holding nothing back…

            Miss Parker was surprised by Jarod’s passion, but she wasn’t complaining.  Heart beating wildly and head spinning, she returned the kiss with equal hunger.  Expecting him to back off at any second like he had last night, she clung to him, determined to get maximum pleasure from this moment.  She threaded her fingers through his hair and delighted in the feel of his hands roaming wildly over her body.

            Still locked in their frantic embrace, they somehow stumbled into the house, up the stairs, and into the bedroom.  They tumbled onto the bed, and Miss Parker tugged Jarod’s shirt from his jeans, desperate to lay her hands on the warm bare skin of his chest.

            Even though she’d anticipated it, she still felt a pang of disappointment when Jarod pulled away.  She bit back a groan of frustration as he propped himself up on his elbows and looked down at her.

            He had the strangest expression on his face.  Was that embarrassment?  “I know I’m this genius who can become anyone he wants to be,” he said slowly, awkwardly, “but right here, right now, with you, I’m just… Jarod.”

            Did he think she expected Casanova?  She took his face tenderly between her hands and answered the mute plea in his soulful brown eyes.  “Good,” she said, “because right now Jarod is exactly who I want.”

            His relieved smile was a sight to behold.  Then his eyes darkened with renewed desire and he eagerly returned to her welcoming embrace.

Chapter 28

            The next morning Miss Parker found Jarod in the kitchen.  He was standing at the counter, his back to her, looking in one of the upper cabinets.  She hesitated in the doorway, content to just watch him for a moment.  While she was clad only in his black tee shirt from the day before, she noticed that he was fully dressed, sporting a shirt identical to the one she wore with his usual matching tight pair of jeans.  She knew life on the run necessitated a sparse wardrobe and thought it was a good thing you could never go wrong with basic black, especially when you wore it as well as he did.

            Deciding she’d enjoyed the view long enough, she padded into the sun-splashed kitchen, the tile floor cool against her bare feet.  Jarod glanced over his shoulder, his face lighting up at the sight of her.  His expression reminded her of when they were children and he’d always looked happy to see her; she’d secretly enjoyed the special way that had made her feel back then.  But last night she’d gotten to know Jarod the man and much preferred the way he had made her feel.

            “Good morning,” he said.  “Would you like some breakfast?”

            His casual tone put her at ease.  “Glad we’re not going to have any of that ‘morning after’ awkwardness,” she said.

            He looked slightly puzzled.  “Morning after?”

            Oh, dear God.  “Jarod, you weren’t a… I mean, this wasn’t your first…?”  Miss Parker realized she was the one sounding like a bumbling teenager.  “You’ve had experience, right?” she finally managed to get out.  Even as she asked the question, she thought, of course, he has, there was that Argentinian woman…

            “Experience?  Ohh… yes, yes, I’ve had experience.”  He suddenly looked flushed and quickly turned back to the open cabinet to busily sort through the contents.  But a few seconds later he asked in a small voice: “Why?  Wasn’t I…?  Did I do something wrong?”

            Now he sounded like that little boy she’d known so long ago.  Damn, she was creating the awkwardness she’d hoped to avoid.  Miss Parker crossed to Jarod in a few quick strides and slid her arms around his waist.  Without the benefit of shoes, she had to rise slightly up on her toes to rest her chin on his shoulder.  “You were great,” she murmured in his ear.  Actually, he’d been damn near fantastic, but she wasn’t going to tell him that and swell his ego even more.

            She could feel some of the tension leave his back.  He turned within the circle of her arms and tenderly brushed a tendril of hair from her face.  “We were great together,” he said and kissed her lightly.

            Then he stepped out of her embrace and reached again into the cupboard, this time selecting a specific item.  “So, how about some breakfast?   Are you hungry?”

            Oh, she was hungry… but not for food.  Even that gentle kiss from him had sent pleasant tingles all the way down to her toes.  She tried to focus on the box he was holding up.  “Are those… Pop-Tarts?”

            “Yes.  They have eleven essential vitamins and minerals.  Plus they’re delicious.”  He pulled a packet out and and walked over to the toaster.

            “No, thanks,” she said.  “I usually just have coffee in the morning.”  Although she did have more of an appetite this morning, frozen pastries didn’t quite appeal to her.

            Jarod set the Pop-Tart aside.  “I’ll make you some,” he said and walked over to the stove to retrieve the blue kettle that matched the color of the flowered wallpaper and the curtains over the sink.

            Miss Parker suddenly felt uncomfortable by the domestic nature of this scene.  “No, no, you go ahead and enjoy your breakfast,” she said hurriedly.  “I’ll get some coffee later.  Right now I think I’ll take a shower.”  She started to leave the room but paused in the doorway and looked back at him, struck by an irresistible notion.  “Care to join me?”

            He looked thoughtful.  “That’s a good idea,” he said.  “During the current drought, it makes sense to conserve water.”

            How could someone with the skills he’d demonstrated last night also be so clueless?  “Showering with a friend can also be a lot of fun,” she said with a smile she hoped Jarod would recognize as seductive.

            Realization dawned, and he blushed again, a surprising trait that she found endearing.  “Ohhh.”  He smiled back.  “I believe I could use a shower.”  He headed her way.

            Miss Parker liked the thought of being able to teach Jarod something new.  She grabbed his hand and tugged him upstairs, eager for the lesson to begin.

            Neither one of them got any breakfast.  After a long shower that did nothing to conserve water (not that Jarod seemed to mind), Miss Parker had gone back to bed and immediately fallen into a dreamless sleep.  She awoke much later feeling more rested than she had in a long time.

            And famished.  It was lunchtime, and just coffee wouldn’t do.  A note on the bedside table in Jarod’s handwriting proved that he was ready to meet another one of her needs: Please join me outside for a picnic.

            A picnic?  How quaint.  She hadn’t paid much attention to the weather today – being occupied with pleasant indoor activities – but a quick glance out the window showed a cloudless sky.  A light breeze stirred the curtains.  Lunch outdoors suddenly seemed like a good idea.  When in the country…

            She dressed quickly, having to admit that the tank tops and jeans were more comfortable than silk blouses and tight leather skirts.  And, as an unexpected bonus, the casual attire hadn’t made her any less attractive to Jarod.

            Outside, she instantly spotted the red blanket spread out under a large tree down by the pond, so she headed that way.  Seeing the man in black reclining on the ground seemed strange; she couldn’t get used to a relaxed Jarod.

            The welcoming smile he turned on her as she approached was also something new.  He got to his feet and gestured to the set-up with an almost apologetic air.  “I hope you don’t mind all this,” he said.  “I’ve just always wanted to go on a picnic.”

            There was the wistful little boy again.  Miss Parker certainly wasn’t going to deny him this simple pleasure.  “Fine with me,” she said.  “It’s a beautiful day for eating outside.”  She just hoped he wasn’t expecting a lesson in picnic etiquette; she could demonstrate the benefits of showering with a friend but knowing the proper way to eat fried chicken without getting grease on your clothes or being attacked by ants was beyond her scope of expertise.  She was no girl scout.

            It didn’t look like Jarod needed any help in setting the scene.  A traditional picnic basket complete with wood handles and braided wood sides anchored one corner of the red-checkered blanket.  He’d probably approached the whole experience as a simulation, she guessed, so every detail would have to be perfect.  She wouldn’t be surprised if the birds in the trees serenaded them as if on cue.

As she settled herself on the blanket, she was struck by a memory from her childhood.  It had been on a summer day much like this, under a very similar tree, that she and her mother had enjoyed a picnic.  Miss Parker remembered feeling special, safe and loved, as she always had when with her mother.  On that particular afternoon, as mother and daughter had indulged in their usual girl talk, she’d asked, “Mama, will I ever find someone to love?”  Her mother had said something along the lines of she thought she would one day, and as Jarod took a seat next to her on the blanket, Miss Parker wondered if that day had finally arrived.

Then she put a silly girl’s dreams out of her mind and concentrated on more practical matters like filling her empty stomach.  She cast a quick glance over the food attractively displayed on the blanket.  “Where did you get all this?” she asked.  She knew Jarod wouldn’t have left her alone to go shopping, and she doubted there was a restaurant in this small town that delivered anything but pizza.

            “I called the caretaker on our drive up here and asked him to buy some supplies.”  He paused then added, “I also told him to take some time off, so we’re completely alone here.”

            She was certain he had only been thinking of her safety when he sent his employee on vacation, but she appreciated the privacy for a totally different reason now.  When she and Jarod had finally let their passion overtake them, they hadn’t been exactly quiet about it; good to know there’d been no one within earshot.

            Just thinking about last night (and this morning) made her yearn for something that wasn’t laid out on the picnic blanket (unless she counted the attractive man sitting to her right), but no matter how isolated they were on this farm, she wasn’t about to satisfy those urges out here in the open.  She concentrated on her stomach and its cravings.

            “Well, I’m starving,” she said, taking a paper plate and fork and reaching for a piece of pinkish meat carved in a rectangular shape.  “What kind of meat is this?

            “Spam.”

            She quickly let the slab slide off her fork and back onto the serving plate.

            Jarod frowned.  “You don’t like Spam?”

            “I’ve never had it,” she admitted.  And she wasn’t going to try it now.

            “Oh, it’s delicious.”  Jarod helped himself to a slice.

            “I’ll take your word for it.”  She chose something a little safer: a cracker spread with cheese.  The sharp taste was pleasant, but she didn’t think she’d ever had this variety before.  “Hm.  What kind of cheese is this?  Some type of cheddar?”

            Jarod swallowed a bite of Spam before replying, “I’m not sure.  Let me check.”  He reached into the picnic basket and pulled out a can.  He started to study the ingredients printed on the side.

            Cheese from a can?  Miss Parker thought she might choke.  She swallowed quickly and said, “Never mind.”

            “Do you want something to drink?”  He offered her a Dr. Pepper soda.

            “Water’s fine, thanks.”  She grabbed one of the bottles of spring water and took a sip then eyed the rest of the buffet with trepidation.  So that bowl of red liquid was probably not some sort of exotic chilled soup but…

            “Jell-O,” Jarod said when he saw her looking at it.  “There’s also ice cream in the kitchen freezer if you prefer or my personal favorite…”  He held out a platter of éclair-shaped pastries.  “Twinkies!”

            O-kay.  Say hello to Jarod the junk food aficionado.  How she wished this was just another one of his Pretends, but she had the sinking feeling that this was his true self. 

            He set the plate of Twinkies down.  “You don’t like it,” he said, disappointed.

            She hadn’t intended to hurt his feelings.  “It’s just not what I’m used to,” she said.  She thought longingly of softened Brie on stone wheat crackers and strawberries with whipped cream… and then thought she was acting like a snob.  She took another cracker to prove to Jarod and herself that she wasn’t.  “Do you eat… food like this all the time?”

            “Yes.”

            She had to ask.  “How do you stay in such good shape?”  She knew from recent close observation that he didn’t have an ounce of extra fat anywhere on his body.  “You must work out, right?”

            He shook his head.  “Only when I’ve been a personal trainer or fitness instructor.”  Then he gave her a sly grin.  “I guess trying to stay one step ahead of you and the Centre Sweepers has kept me pretty fit.”

            “Oh, really?”  She leaned towards him and, placing one hand on his chest, gave a slight shove that easily toppled him onto his back.  “What will happen now that I’ve caught you?” she murmured, bending over him and playing with locks of his dark hair which she found irresistible now that he’d let it grow longer.  “Maybe you’ll become fat, dumb, and happy,” she added in a teasing tone.

            Jarod certainly looked perfectly content as he slid his arms around her waist and drew her even closer.  “I’d gladly accept being overweight and having a low IQ,” he said, “if it means I’d be happy.  Which I will be, as long as I have you by my side.”

            He spoke lightly, but Miss Parker caught the serious undertone.  She didn’t want to be serious, not right now.  She wanted to have one day when she could just enjoy herself and forget about everything else.

            “But I like you just the way you are,” she said huskily, “so I guess we’ll have to figure out another way for you to burn some calories.”  She slid her hands slowly over his broad shoulders, savoring the feel of his hard muscles under the fabric of his shirt.

            Jarod showed dimples she never knew he had and said, “Just what do you have in mind, Miss Parker?” Then he added thoughtfully, “Maybe I shouldn’t call you that anymore.  How about…” He whispered her detested first name in her ear.

            What had possessed her to share that secret with him when they were children?  She gave him a mock glare and playfully swatted his arm.  “Don’t you dare!”

            His brown eyes dancing with delight, he framed her face with his warm, gentle hands and said, “You’re so beautiful.”

            When you’re angry.

            It was Lyle’s voice she heard.  And suddenly, it was Lyle’s pale blue eyes she saw, staring up at her then staring at nothing after she pulled the trigger…

            Miss Parker instinctively recoiled from the nightmarish vision, tearing free of Jarod’s embrace and scrambling to her feet.

            Alarmed by her reaction, he was also on his feet in an instant.  “What’s wrong?” he asked, his eyes scanning the area for threats.

            Damn it, where the hell had that come from?  “Nothing,” she said quickly, hating the tremor in her voice.  “There… there was a bee on your shoulder, but it’s gone now.” 

            His brow furrowed.  “Are you allergic?”

            She couldn’t believe the nonsense she was babbling and knew Jarod wasn’t buying it for a minute, but she couldn’t seem to stop the words from coming out of her mouth.  “No.  No, I had a bad experience as a child, that’s all.  Sorry.”  She forced a self-deprecating laugh.  “Why don’t I get us some ice cream?  I’ll be right back.”  She hurried away before he could demand to know what had really spooked her.

            Miss Parker stared at her reflection in the bathroom mirror and wished Broots had grabbed a few items from her dressing table when he’d done his surreptitious packing.  The fresh-faced country look certainly hadn’t turned Jarod off, but tonight she really wanted to turn him on.

            The “bee” incident had effectively ruined the playful mood they’d both been in at the start of their picnic.  She’d enjoyed their easy banter – something she’d never dreamed she’d experience with Jarod – and had been sorry for it to end.  If only she hadn’t had that damn hallucination or memory or whatever the hell it was…

            No, she was not going to think about that right now.  She was determined to finish this day the way it had begun – in an extremely satisfying way.  Hopefully this black negligee that Broots had inexplicably packed for her would help accomplish her goal.  Without some spicy red lipstick, smoky eye shadow or dramatic lashes to complete the look, she needed Jarod’s attention to be drawn to her body and not her face.  If this sexy little number she was wearing couldn’t do that, nothing could.

            She’d felt an unexpected stab of disappointment when Jarod had said goodnight a short while ago and gone to a room different from the bedroom they’d shared last night.  She couldn’t blame him, though; he was no doubt confused by the mixed signals she was sending him.  After she’d flipped out during their picnic, she’d kept her distance from him the rest of the day.  She hadn’t wanted him around in case she had another disturbing vision, hadn’t wanted him to start asking questions she couldn’t answer.  But he might have assumed she was avoiding him because she regretted their night together.

When, in fact, she wanted nothing more than to spend another night in his arms.  She had never felt so safe…

            She frowned at a sudden disturbing thought.  Did she only want to be with Jarod because he helped ward off the nightmares?

            No, it was more than that.  Last night had been incredible.  She had never felt like that with any man, and she wanted to feel that way again.

            She went out in the hall and was relieved to see a light under Jarod’s door.  Good, he was still awake.  She knocked softly, rewarded almost instantly by a low “come in.”

            She’d planned to pause in the doorway to give Jarod time to take in her outfit, but it was the sight of him reclining on the bed – bare-chested and wearing only pajama bottoms – that stopped her in her tracks.  She had to concentrate on her breathing to calm her suddenly racing heart.    

            God, she was acting like a lovesick teenager!  Steady, Parker, she told herself.  You’re supposed to seduce him, remember?  She did her best to casually deliver the line she’d prepared, “I guess Broots packed this so I’d have something to wear if I wanted to ‘slip into something a little more comfortable’.”  She gave a light laugh but wondered if Jarod was familiar with that cliché and would get her bad joke.

            There were those dimples again.  “I’ll have to thank Mr. Broots,” Jarod said, as his gaze traveled slowly over her body.

            Taking that as an invitation, Miss Parker hurried across the room and into Jarod’s waiting arms.

Chapter 29

            Sydney stared down at his notes.  Broots had explained the whole process twice and even offered to make the connection for him, but Sydney wanted privacy for this call.

            Checking his handwritten instructions one more time, he carefully typed the phone number into what he hoped was the correct window.  Then he clicked on the green telephone icon to initiate the call.  As he waited for it to go through, Sydney positioned himself in front of the computer screen so he’d be at the proper distance from the built-in microphone and also centered in the webcam’s frame. 

            Then suddenly, there he was… Jarod.  Sydney felt his breath catch in his throat as he finally laid eyes on the man he’d thought he’d never see again.  Overcome by emotion, he found himself unable to speak.

So Jarod spoke first.  “Hello, Sydney,” he said.  “It’s good to see you.”

            “You, too, Jarod,” Sydney finally managed hoarsely, glad he was sitting down for this face-to-face, as he felt decidedly weak in the knees.  He hid his trembling hands in his lap.

            Jarod nodded, perhaps unable to trust his own voice at this moment.  Then he asked briskly, “Is this connection secure?”

            “I’m using Broots’ daughter’s computer.  We figured the Centre wouldn’t think to check her…” He glanced at his notes again.  “…Skype account.  I’m actually making the call from Debbie’s bedroom while she’s still at a friend’s house from a sleepover last night.”

            Jarod smiled slightly.  “That explains the posters.  I didn’t think you were a fan of boy bands.”

            Sydney went blank for a second then cast a quick look over his shoulder at the various posters of the latest teen singing sensations.  “Yes… well, Broots thought this would be the last place the Centre would expect to find me.”  He returned his attention to the computer screen and tried to see what was behind Jarod – was that a large expanse of green grass through a picture window?  “Looks like you have a slightly better setting than I,” he added.

            Jarod shifted his body slightly as if to hide the view.  “What’s important is that it’s safe here,” he said.

            “Yes.”  As always, Jarod was quick to get down to business – from years of keeping conversations short to foil any attempts to trace the call.  Sydney wished they could just talk for once, but he dutifully went on, “Unfortunately, as we feared, Lyle’s death was declared a Schedule 7 incident.  Teams have been dispatched to find Miss Parker.”

            Not surprised, Jarod acknowledged the news with a sober nod.

“I believe the order came directly from the Triumverate,” Sydney continued.  “With the Centre still reeling from your death, losing Lyle just made matters worse.  The word is that Mutumbo is on his way here to personally take control.”

Again, Jarod did not look surprised, and this time there was a note of grim satisfaction in his voice when he asked, “And what is Mr. Parker doing about all this?”

Jarod’s animosity towards the Centre’s Director was understandable, but in this instance, Sydney felt the need to say something in Mr. Parker’s defense.  “The man is in shock, Jarod.  He just lost his son, a tragedy compounded by the hideous reality that his daughter is the one who pulled the trigger.  No matter how justified, Miss Parker’s actions will be difficult for her father to accept.” 

Jarod only grunted.

Sydney said, “A memorial service for Lyle was held yesterday at the Centre.  A somber affair, well-attended.”

“Mandatory for Centre employees, I presume?” Jarod said drily.

Sydney didn’t dispute that assumption, but he did comment thoughtfully, “Brigitte seemed truly disturbed by Lyle’s death.  Her relationship with him must have been more serious than any of us knew.”  He shook off the thought and added, “There was a private graveside service for family only.  I believe Lyle was cremated.”

Jarod raised an eyebrow.  “What, Lyle didn’t rank a berth at the Centre’s cryonics facility?”

“The Parker name does not carry the weight it once did, Jarod, especially in light of recent catastrophic events.  If Mutumbo really is on his way here, I foresee some major changes in the chain of command.”

“Are you and Broots safe?”

“Well, we’ve already been questioned.”  At Jarod’s look of alarm, Sydney hastened to add, “Just questions; no enhanced interrogation methods were used.  But we remain under surveillance.  Hence the unusual venue for this early morning call.  Broots made sure to mention to several people yesterday that his car is in the shop, so I’m technically here to drive him to work.”

Jarod was shaking his head.  “You take too many risks, Sydney.”

“It was worth it to finally see you.”  Feeling another surge of emotion, he had to pause before being able to go on in a normal tone, “You’re looking well.  How’s Miss Parker?”

“Better.  I think the fresh air agrees with-” 

When Jarod abruptly left the sentence unfinished, Sydney took no offense.  No connection was completely secure, so it was wise of Jarod to avoid offering any clues as to his and Miss Parker’s current location. 

“The first couple of days were a little rough,” Jarod went on, “but she’s starting to act like her old self again.”  He sighed.  “Which means she’s probably not going to want to hide out for much longer.”

Sydney offered a sympathetic smile.  “Miss Parker has never been very good at sitting still.  I hope you can find a way to occupy her time.”

An unexpected expression flickered across Jarod’s face and was gone before Sydney could identify it, but he thought it looked like… embarrassment?

Jarod was also getting a fidgety look about him which meant the call was coming to an end.  Sydney still had one piece of business that needed to be addressed.  “Has Miss Parker spoken about Lyle?” he asked.

“No.”

Not what he wanted to hear.  “Jarod-”

“Sydney, I know what you’re going to say.  She needs to talk about what happened.  It’s not healthy for her to keep it inside.  I know that, but I… I didn’t want to push her before she was ready and possibly do more harm than good.” 

Sydney wished he could cross his arms or pace like he usually did when on the phone with Jarod, but he had to stay within the frame of the internet camera.  He tried to project the calm assurance of a psychiatrist as he said, “If she won’t bring him up, Jarod, you’ll have to initiate the discussion.”

“Maybe you can talk to her.  We could set up another video chat if you think that-”

Sydney shook his head.  “As much as I am her friend, Miss Parker still thinks of me as a therapist.  If I try to talk to her about Lyle, she’ll resent what she sees as an attempt to psychoanalyze her.  Nothing will be accomplished.”

Jarod looked at a loss.  “What can I do?”

“Just talk to her, Jarod.  I believe you may be the only person she trusts enough to confide in.”

Now he looked surprised.  “I don’t know about that…”

“You two have always had a special bond,” Sydney persisted.  “I’m glad you’re together now.”

Again, something unreadable flickered in Jarod’s eyes before he glanced away.  “I have to go,” he said.

“Okay.”  Sydney straightened.  “Be safe, Jarod.”

“You, too, Sydney.”  His image disappeared from the computer screen.

If they’d been having that conversation in person, Sydney knew he wouldn’t have let Jarod leave without a hug.  But he was still satisfied with this sign-off, so much better than the usual dial tone when Jarod abruptly hung up.

And he’d had the chance to see that his boy was alive and well.

Sydney knew he would do everything in his power to make sure Jarod stayed that way.

Jarod was still staring at the blank computer screen when Miss Parker walked into the kitchen.

“Good morning,” he said.  “Water’s hot.”

“Thanks,” she said and headed straight for the stove, as he’d known she would.

In the few mornings they’d spent together at the farmhouse, he’d learned that she’d meant it when she’d said she only had coffee for breakfast.  As he deftly detached the web cam and closed the lid of his laptop as quietly as possible, he hoped her pre-caffeine grogginess would keep her from noticing.

As she poured from the kettle into the mug he’d left on the counter for her, she asked, “Were you just Skyping with Broots?”

Her casual tone didn’t fool him; he knew she was anxious to know what was going on back at the Centre.  So far he’d been able to keep his daily conversations with Sydney private, but he had a feeling that was about to change.  And maybe it should.  With Miss Parker acting more like herself, she was strong enough to know the truth.  And hopefully tell him the truth about how she was feeling.

“Not Broots,” he said.  “Sydney.”

“Really?”  She turned to face him.  He imagined he’d looked that surprised when Sydney had first suggested this method of communication.  “Sydney actually did a video chat?”

“That’s right.  I think he needed to see me to truly believe I was alive.”

“I’m sure you would have had a real reunion with him by now if you hadn’t gotten sidetracked rescuing me.”

As usual, there was a slightly sarcastic edge to her words, but Jarod knew what she wasn’t saying: she hated the fact that she’d needed rescuing, and she was sorry that he hadn’t been able to meet face-to-face with Sydney yet.

Miss Parker carried her steaming mug over to the round oak table and sat down across from him.  “So, how are things at the Centre?”

Another casual question that was anything but.  Now that she’d come right out and asked him, he wasn’t going to lie to her.  “They had a memorial service for Lyle yesterday,” he said, trying to observe her reaction without appearing to do so.  “And Sydney told me the Triumverate has classified his death as a Schedule 7 incident and sent Sweeper teams out to look for you.”

She avoided his eyes, making it hard for him to read her expression, but he saw her mouth tighten as she kept her gaze directed down at her mug.  “Mutumbo should give me a raise for getting rid of that psycho for them,” she said bitterly.  “Lyle was a liability.”

True, but if that was the main reason she was willing to give for killing him, Jarod realized with a sinking heart that he had his work cut out for him if he was going to get her to open up about Lyle.

Miss Parker grimaced as she took a too-large swallow of hot coffee.  She cleared her throat and asked, “Is my father okay?”

There was genuine concern in her voice, which was no surprise.  She’d never been shy about her feelings for her father, even when he totally disagreed with them.  “He’s fine so far,” Jarod said.  “I’m more worried about Sydney and Broots.  They’re under constant surveillance.”

“But they don’t know where we are.”

“What the Triumverate knows is that they are two of your closest allies at the Centre.  They may try to force information out of them.”

“They’ll be fine,” Miss Parker said.  “I’ve been through some tense situations with those two before.  Sydney may seem like the absent-minded professor, but he knows how to survive.  And Broots’ techno skills are too important to the Centre for them to dispose of him.”

She spoke briskly, like she was giving a report at a business meeting, but Jarod saw the way she tightly gripped her coffee mug and noticed that she still wasn’t quite meeting his gaze.  She couldn’t hide how much she cared for the two colleagues they’d left behind.

“I hope you’re right,” he said quietly, having his own difficulty downplaying the danger he knew the men were facing.  Then he went on, determined to do what his mentor had asked of him, “Sydney wanted to know how you’re doing.”

He wasn’t going to let her get away with that “who, me?” look she was giving him, so he spelled it all out for her.  “A week ago you were at the Centre, I was dead, and Lyle was alive,” he said.  “Now Lyle’s dead, I’m alive, and you’re a fugitive.  Your world’s been turned upside-down.”

Now she did look at him, with surprising honesty, as she reached out to take his hand.  “Maybe that’s not such a bad thing,” she said softly.

He had to agree.  As much as he hated the crisis that had finally brought them together, he didn’t regret the last few days.  He relished the new level their relationship had reached, at times thoroughly enjoying the physicality of it.

But this was not one of those times.  Jarod reluctantly withdrew his hand from hers.  “Miss Parker, we need to talk about this,” he said.

“Miss Parker?  So formal,” she chided teasingly, her lips curving into a seductive smile.  “I thought we were past that.” 

He maintained his serious tone.  “We can’t avoid this discussion forever.”

“What is there to discuss?  You told me how and why you faked your death, and I told you I understand.” 

He wasn’t sure that was entirely true, but right now they needed to address the bigger elephant in the room.  “We haven’t talked about Lyle,” he said.

Her eyes flashed blue fire.  “I shot and killed the bastard and now he can’t hurt any of us anymore.  There’s nothing else to say.”

“Then why are you having nightmares?”

He’d said it as gently as possible, but she still reacted as if she’d been slapped.  But the hurt was quickly replaced by anger.  “Really?  You really want to discuss our bad dreams, Jarod?  Somehow I think you have a lot more to talk about than I do.”

He couldn’t help but feel the intended sting of her words, but he knew she was just lashing out, trying to focus the conversation on his trauma instead of hers.  “I’ve had years to learn how to deal with my nightmares on my own,” he countered evenly, “but you don’t have to.  You can talk to me.”

“Oh, you want me to talk to you, Dr. Jarod?  You want to analyze my dreams so you can report back to Sydney?  Just make sure you tell him how you’ve managed to be right there in case I wake up screaming in the night.  Some new kind of sex therapy?”  Her mouth curled into an ugly sneer.

Jarod told himself she was only saying these hurtful things to distract him from the topic of Lyle, but he could feel his face tightening into that stoic mask he wore when on his Pretends, a mask he’d never wanted to wear around her.  “Please, don’t,” he said, stretching his hand out to her across the table.

This time she was the one who pulled out of reach, standing up so fast she sent her chair toppling.  She didn’t seem to notice the crash it made as it hit the tile floor.  “But you don’t have anything to tell Sydney, do you, because when I’m with you, I don’t have bad dreams!”  There was a hitch in her voice, and she had to pause for a shuddering breath.

Jarod got to his feet but stayed on his side of the table, unsure how she’d react if he tried to approach her.

She must have sensed what he was considering, because her next words cut even deeper and were clearly meant to keep him at a distance.  “No nightmares – that’s an unexpected benefit of sleeping with you, Jarod,” she said with a smirk.  “Maybe that’s the real reason I’ve been so eager to jump into bed with you!”

No!  He couldn’t let this continue, couldn’t allow her to turn their most precious, most intimate moments into something cheap and ugly.  He crossed to her and pulled her into his arms, holding on tight as she struggled.  “Stop, please stop,” he pleaded.  “Talk to me.  Let me help.”

“I don’t need your help!” she cried, still trying to break free of his hold.

He wouldn’t let go.  Aware that he was gripping her bare arms hard enough to leave marks, he doggedly held on, telling himself that a few temporary bruises were better than inner scars that might never heal if she didn’t confront her demons now.  After what seemed an eternity, she stopped fighting him and buried her face in his neck.  Her body was still shaking, but he felt not a single tear fall on his skin.  He let go with one hand and smoothed it over her long silky hair.  Slowly, her trembles subsided.

“I don’t need your help,” she said again, her voice muffled against the curve of his collarbone.  “I shouldn’t need your help.  All I did was what needed to be done.”

What he should have done, Jarod thought, what he’d had several opportunities to do.  With an effort, he pushed the guilt aside, knowing it would do nothing to help Miss Parker now.

“I did what had to be done,” she repeated, as if trying to convince herself.

“Yes, you did,” he soothed.  “It was self-defense.”

She lifted her head.  “No, it wasn’t.  Lyle was unarmed.”

She sounded defiant, but he could see the uncertainty clouding her blue eyes, so he tried to make it clearer for her conscience.  “You were completely justified in what you did,” he said firmly.  “After what Lyle did to you…”

She pulled back, and he let her go.  “He didn’t rape me,” she said in a monotone.  “Sydney told you that, right?  They examined me at the hospital and found no evidence of sexual assault.”

That fact still sent a shockwave of relief through his system, only a fraction of what she must have felt when she’d learned Lyle hadn’t violated her in that way.   “I know, but…”  He hated what he was about to say, but he needed her to accept that she’d done the right thing when she’d killed Lyle.  “But he could have.  If Broots hadn’t stopped by your office when he did…”

The haunted look in her eyes told him that she’d had that thought many times.  “I know,” she said.

“And he could have killed you when he injected you with that virus.”  Which was his fault.  Jarod again suppressed unproductive feelings of remorse.

“I know.”

Jarod pressed harder.  “And who knows how many innocent women he tortured and killed?”

“I know!”  She raked her fingers through her hair.  “Lyle was an evil man, and he deserved to die.”  Her gaze slid sideways.  “So why the hell do I feel guilty?”

Because you’re human.  But he knew such a simple answer would never be able to calm her inner turmoil.  “It’s only natural that you’d feel -” he started.

“Don’t!”  She jabbed a warning finger in the air between them.  “Don’t spout soothing platitudes you learned from some how-to-be-a-shrink book!”

“Then how about I tell you what I learned from my own experience?”  He took a breath.  “Do you remember Damon?”

“Well, it’s hard to keep all of the Centre’s psychotic operatives straight, but I do know he’s one we no longer have to worry about, thanks to you.”

“Yes, I killed him.  And I was justified in doing so.”

“Of course you were,” she said impatiently.  “He had a gun to Broots’ head!”

“I know, but still…”  I never pulled the trigger before.  He remembered how hard it had been to say those words to Sydney, how confused and miserable he’d felt as he’d huddled in a phone booth in the rain.

Good thing he hadn’t called Miss Parker that night; if the look she was currently giving him was any indication, she clearly thought he was crazy for regretting his actions.  “Jarod,” she said.  “Don’t tell me you actually feel guilty about killing that monster?”

“Not guilty, exactly, but right after it happened, I felt… wrong.  I knew I had acted to save Broots’ life, but a part of me also wanted revenge on Damon for killing my friend Kenny years before.  Sydney helped me to understand the conflict I was feeling was the impetus of my guilt.”

“Look, Jarod, if you needed to hear Sydney’s psycho-babble to feel better, I’m glad he could help you.  But I think what you did was pretty clear-cut, no different from what any cop would have done when faced with an armed and dangerous criminal.”  She paused.  “My situation is not so simple.”

“Just because Lyle wasn’t armed when you shot him doesn’t mean he wasn’t dangerous,” Jarod insisted.

            “No, that’s not what I mean, I…” 

            Her distress was palpable.  “Then what?” he urged.

            “Lyle was my brother!”  She seemed startled by her own words, tightly compressing her lips as if guarding against any more outbursts.

            Killing one’s own brother, even if it was necessary, would be enough to cause extreme emotional conflict in anyone.  But Miss Parker wasn’t just anyone, and the Parker family was far from normal.  She’d hated to even acknowledge that Lyle was related to her, so he doubted their familial tie could be the sole reason for her current distress.

“He was never a brother to you,” Jarod said.

            “He didn’t have much of a chance,” she muttered.

            “You gave him every chance!  Once you learned he was your brother, you decided to overlook his earlier transgressions, you welcomed him into the family business, and you even worked side by side with him to… find me.”

            “Not willingly.”

            “You still made the effort, which was more than he deserved.”

            She seemed to grow tired of this back-and-forth.  She moved past him to go stand by the kitchen’s bay window where she hugged herself, as if seeking warmth from the early morning sunshine streaming in through the glass. 

            After a moment she said, “If only my aim had been better that night on the pier years ago.  Mr. Lyle would have been gone for good, and none of us would ever have known he was a Parker.”

            None of us?  He remembered Sydney’s words: The man is in shock, Jarod.  He just lost his son…his daughter is the one who pulled the trigger.  Jarod had a sudden inkling that Miss Parker’s guilt stemmed partly from how her actions had affected her father.

            “You know I went there with the intention to kill him,” she continued, still talking about that long-ago night.  “I’d been ordered by my… by the Centre to get rid of Mr. Lyle.  I’ve often wondered if I would have pulled the trigger if Lyle hadn’t drawn his weapon.”  She paused and when she finally spoke again, the words were barely audible.  “Well, I don’t have to wonder anymore…because I’ve done it.  I went to that parking garage with the intention to kill my brother.  I made him kneel, made him beg for his life.  But I still shot him.  I executed him.”

            With his talent for simulations, her words put him right there in the garage when she’d pulled the trigger.  He winced as he imagined the echoes the gunshot must have made as Lyle slowly toppled over, almost in slow motion…

            Miss Parker wasn’t quite finished.  “And in that moment I became more like him than ever before,” she said.

Her weary, despairing tone tore at his heart.  “You are nothing like him,” Jarod said through gritted teeth, suddenly angry – at her, at Lyle, at the whole hellish situation.

            She spun around, her face pale despite the summer rays that had been upon her.  “But I am!  We weren’t just brother and sister, Jarod.  We were twins!  That means we share a hell of a lot of DNA.  We’re genetically predisposed to be similar.  Now I’ve become a killer just like him.”

            “Not like him!  Lyle got a sick pleasure out of killing.  I doubt you were even thinking clearly when you shot him.”

            She gave a short, bitter laugh.  “Great, that just proves I’m as crazy as he was.”

            “You may share some DNA but nothing else.  You and Lyle were raised in completely different environments.”

            “Don’t give me that ‘nature versus nurture’ nonsense.”

            “That argument has merit.  When Lyle was growing up, his only adult role models were an abusive adoptive father, a mentally unstable adoptive mother, and… Raines.  He never had a chance.”

            “Most people would say the same thing about you, Jarod.  Look at the hellhole where you spent your childhood.  You should have grown up to be a master criminal, yet you turned out to be one of the good guys!  You had to have inherited that sense of decency from your parents.”

            “Maybe, but I also had Sydney to teach me right from wrong,” Jarod said quietly.  He crossed to Miss Parker and captured her hands in his; her fingers were cold despite the summer sunshine.  “Like you had your mother.  Lyle never had the chance to know her, but you did.  Not nearly long enough but long enough to learn core values from her.”

            “Oh, yeah, I bet she’d be so proud of me,” Miss Parker said.

            “Yes, she would be very proud of the woman you’ve become…”

            She was shaking her head, the shimmer of unshed tears in her eyes.  “Jarod, I’ve told you before that I’m not my mother,” she said, her voice heavy with the continuing disappointment of that fact.

            “No, you’re not,” he agreed.  “You’re much stronger than she was.”  He tenderly brushed the back of his fingers across her cheek.  “You’re the strongest person I know.”

            “Then why do I feel like this?” she whispered.

            “If you didn’t – if you’d shot your brother and felt nothing – then you truly would be his evil twin.”  He tried a smile.  “So it’s a good thing you feel this way.”

            “Yippee,” she said sourly.

            Jarod pulled her close and murmured into her hair, “It will get better.”

            Even as he uttered the platitude, he fully expected a rebuke from her for offering more shrink-like advice.  At this point, he agreed that he’d done nothing to help her resolve her emotional conflict.  Unfortunately, he knew that was something that only she could do.  He resolved to stay by her side while she worked through this crisis of conscience, even if she tried to push him away. 

He was surprised when he felt her relax into his embrace, her arms sliding around him in an even tighter hug.  “Jarod?”  She sounded like the little girl he’d known so long ago.  “Would you hold me for just a minute?”

That he could do.  Forever, if she wanted him to.

If only.

Chapter 30

Miss Parker studied herself in the bathroom mirror and reflected that this was the first Monday morning in a long time that she didn't feel a knot of dread in the pit of her stomach.

Because she didn't have to go to the Centre. She didn't have to brace herself for another day of fighting through frustrations, ferreting out secrets, and fending off threats. No wonder she'd gotten an ulcer working at that place.

Her biggest concern at the moment was if she was appropriately dressed for another day in the country, a decision she happily had to make because she'd finally convinced Jarod to take her into town yesterday to do some shopping. As expected, she didn't find any high fashion boutiques, and the big discount store had only had a limited supply of summer clothes left in stock. Somehow she had managed to purchase a few items that let her put together an outfit slightly more stylish than the plain tank tops and old pair of jeans she'd been forced to wear all week.

The navy tank with matching lace trim at the neck and hem was a definite improvement, she decided. The white shorts were appropriate for the season, and the faux leather sandals with two-inch heels felt better on her feet than the flats she'd been wearing. The cosmetics she'd bought helped to complete the look. Never one to use a heavy hand with the blush brush, she discovered a week outside in the sun had given her cheeks a rosy glow that made even a light dusting unnecessary. But she did apply some eye shadow and do a quick swipe of mascara, and it felt divine to have a choice of lip gloss colors this morning.

With everything that had happened in her life recently, it seemed slightly surreal to be so concerned about her appearance; especially since the only person who'd see her would be Jarod. She noticed the smile that came over her face at the thought and realized it felt good to finally have someone to dress for.

But it had been only one week ago when she'd tried to look her "best" for her confrontation with Lyle. Her smile faded, her eyes widening slightly at the unpleasant memory. Damn it, how long would she ambushed by these thoughts of her wretched brother?

She took a deep breath and let it out slowly. She was not going to let bad memories ruin her first hopeful Monday in ages or waste her first halfway decent outfit in a week. She gave herself one more appraising glance, liked what she saw, and hurried downstairs to get Jarod's reaction to her new outfit.

He wasn't in the kitchen, but she took the time to have a quick cup of coffee before she went looking for him. For some strange reason, her morning dose of caffeine worked wonders at calming the post-traumatic jitters, perhaps because it was a part of her normal routine and therefore comforting.

She found Jarod sitting on the top porch step, his back to her. She tried to silently come up behind him, but the screen door squeaked as she opened it. Still, Jarod didn't even glance her way. Trying to ignore the niggling of unease his lack of response generated, she bent over him, sliding her arms around his neck and giving him a kiss on the cheek. Strange to realize how natural the gesture seemed, how only a week ago she would never have casually touched him in this way.

Especially on the back of his neck. Their first night together they'd enjoyed exploring every part of each other's bodies, but she'd shied away from the scar just beneath his hairline, sickened by the reason for that mark. Then Jarod had told her that he'd had the implant removed by a skilled neurosurgeon he knew; he would never have been able to put his plan into motion and face Lyle if that device had still been inside him. Miss Parker had felt an almost giddy relief upon hearing that and had thrown herself into their love-making with a renewed passionate zeal.

Now she had no qualms about touching the small red welt on his neck, caressing this badge of courage gently as she leaned into him. "Good morning," she murmured.

Then she felt the stubble on his face and the tension in his shoulders and knew, even before his lackluster return greeting, that something was definitely wrong. "What is it, Jarod?" She noticed the computer in his lap and quickly straightened. "Were you speaking to Sydney again? Has something happened at the Centre? Is my father okay?" She moved around him and down the steps so she could see his face when he answered, trying to keep her own skittering emotions from showing.

He swung a bleary gaze her way. "As far as I know, everything's fine… well, everything's the same as always, at the Centre." His voice was weary. "The bad news comes from the real world."

He paused, and she waited in silence, wondering what disaster could upset him so much.

His eyes dropped to his laptop. "I found a report on the internet about a new deadly virus in Africa."

"A virus?" she echoed faintly.

"Several villages have been affected, hundreds are sick, and there are confirmed reports of fatalities." His voice was controlled, like he was giving a news report, but she could still feel his pain behind each word.

She knew the reason. "Are you sure this is the same virus that Lyle…?"

Jarod nodded. "The outbreak is in a region near the Triumverate's base of operations, an area where the local leaders have been resistant to Mutumbo's control." He slammed the lid of his computer shut and thrust it away from him, letting it land with a thud onto the porch floor next to him. "I shouldn't be surprised," he went on bitterly. "This isn't the first time one of my sims was used to hurt innocent people. It's not even the first time a virus I created was used to kill. I don't know why I expected any different…" He stared, unseeing, out across the lawn and down at the pond where morning mist hovered wraithlike over the water's surface.

This is exactly what Jarod had feared would happen if he developed an antidote for the virus, the reason he refused to do it. Until Lyle injected me with the virus, Miss Parker thought. She had to lean back against the wood railing as a wave of guilt pressed down upon her. "I'm sorry, Jarod," she whispered.

He abruptly focused on her. "Don't apologize," he said sharply. "I have no regrets about what I had to do to save your life."

Of course he'd say that, and she believed he meant it, but that didn't lessen the pain he was feeling now that his good work had been used for evil purposes. Again.

She wished she knew what to say to make him feel better. She felt at a loss, suddenly keenly aware of her lack of experience in this area. She'd never had a close friend who would come to her for advice, and she certainly didn't have a degree in psychology and couldn't pretend she did.

"Maybe you should call Sydney," she ventured.

Jarod shook his head. "With the amount of scrutiny he'd under, it's best to limit our contact. Besides, he wouldn't be able to do anything to help in this situation."

How many people could help in a situation involving the outbreak of a deadly virus half a world away? Only Jarod…

Which made her think of something. "Jarod, if this is the same virus Lyle brought to the Centre, then you've already discovered the cure," she said. Then she frowned. "That was only a few months ago. Wouldn't the doctors in Africa still have that information? How could this new epidemic even happen?"

"This must be a new strain, one that the Triumverate engineered with the molecular details I provided, details that Lyle passed on to them. I'm sure they already have an antidote for this virus, one that they will make available for the right price." He looked sick at the thought.

And angry, Miss Parker noted. Good. She didn't know how to comfort a defeated, despairing Jarod, but if he was starting to get mad, she could work with that. Like her, when faced with a problem, he preferred to take action. She just needed to suggest a course of action that would appeal to him.

"Then you need to get the antidote to the proper authorities first," she said firmly, "before Mutumbo's organization has a chance to do so."

His eyes lit with interest. "Well, the CDC should be sending a team to Africa," he said thoughtfully. "I could fake some credentials and go with them." He reached for his computer. "If the new virus isn't too different, I should be able to steer the other virologists to an antidote fairly quickly. Of course, I'll have to be careful not to arouse suspicion. The last thing I want to do is distract the bona fide health officials from their work. Let's see…" His fingers flew over the keyboard.

Miss Parker realized she had never witnessed Jarod in the process of planning one of his Pretends. Most people would label what he'd just said as delusional, but she knew he was capable of pulling off such a plan. And he knew it, too. She could feel his confidence.

Mentally patting herself on the back for successfully pulling him out of his doldrums, she murmured, "You can do this, Jarod," before thinking how lame that sounded, like a silly cheerleader. Seeing the way he was focused on his computer screen, she knew he didn't need any more encouragement.

But then his fingers stilled on the keys. "No, I can't," he said, slowly closing the lid of his laptop.

Did he really need another nudge to do the right thing? "What do you mean?" she said with a touch of exasperation. "This is what you do best, Jarod. You insert yourself into the lives of total strangers, save the day, and then move on to your next mission of mercy."

"Not this time. Right now I'm needed here by the people I know and l-" He shook his head. "Those strangers will just have to fend for themselves."

"You can't be serious."

"Sydney told me once that I can't save everyone." He sighed and ran agitated hands through his hair. "He's right."

"These aren't just some random victims! These poor people are sick because of what you- what the Centre did!" She knew her words were hurting him, but he'd be lost in a world of pain if he didn't do something about this virus. "You have a moral responsibility to try to fix this!"

He grabbed his laptop, and she thought she'd gotten through to him, but he just tucked it under his arm, stood up, and stomped down the few steps to her level. "I'm not leaving you," he said, a stubborn set to his jaw.

Oh, no you don't. She would not be used as an excuse, only to be resented later when he regretted his decision. "What if I promise to be a good girl and stay here in hiding until you get back?"

He winced slightly at her sarcastic tone. "I'm not Superman!" he exclaimed. "I can't just fly halfway around the world, solve a crisis over there, and still get back in time to help you if you suddenly need me here!"

"Well, I'm not Lois Lane," she snapped, glaring at him. "I don't pretend to be tough but secretly yearn for a hero to rescue me! I can take care of myself!"

Jarod opened his mouth then shut it again. His brown eyes turned hard, and his face morphed into that cold mask she detested. "I need to take a walk," he said and struck out across the lawn.

Well, that could have gone better. As Miss Parker watched Jarod stalk away, she reflected sourly that she'd been right; she made a terrible therapist and an even worse friend.

The morning mist had congealed into a sticky summer haze a few hours later when Miss Parker left the house in search of Jarod. She told herself it was the oppressive humidity that made her steps drag as she crossed the drive and headed for the barn. She wasn't afraid to face Jarod after their earlier argument; she was seeking him out, wasn't she?

Once inside the interior of the white clapboard building, she paused at the bottom of the narrow staircase that led to the loft. She was certain Jarod was up there, in the place where his family had hidden from the Centre all those years ago. The place he'd visited several times this week, while she had watched from a farmhouse window.

Her reluctance to follow him in here stemmed from the twinge of guilt she felt every time she thought of his family being torn apart. Of course, she'd had nothing to do with the original kidnapping, but she did regret her determined pursuit of him that had severely hampered his attempts to reunite with his loved ones. She was less than eager to stand in the very place where two terrified and heartbroken parents had struggled to go on without their sons. She wasn't sure what scared her more: finding Jarod overcome with raw emotion or finding herself blindsided by sentiment.

Taking a deep breath, she slowly ascended the dusty stairs. What she felt as the living quarters of Jarod's parents came into view was… surprise. She'd known they'd stayed here for many years, but she hadn't expected the place to look so…homey. No doubt originally used a storage area, the loft held the typical mish-mash of furniture – a gaudy floral-patterned couch, metal bunk beds, old warped chests of drawers, and a few mismatched lamps – but it was the personal touches that gave the space a cozy, lived-in feeling, even all these years after it had been vacated by its inhabitants.

The walls were the exposed boards of the barn, daylight seeping through cracks between the distressed wood planks or shining here and there through knotholes. But the hard edges of the loft had been softened with a child's drawing tacked to one wall, a quilt hung above the head of the double bed and a neatly folded comforter at the foot, and brightly painted toy airplanes dangling from the rafters.

Jarod sat at a small wood desk in the middle of the loft, staring down at a half-finished plane in his hands. As she climbed the last step, he glanced up at her, and she hesitated on the threshold.

"Am I disturbing you?" she asked quietly.

"No, come in."

His tone was inviting, so she moved farther into the room. "Is everything just as they left it?"

He looked around as if seeing the place in a new light. "Yes," he said, sounding slightly embarrassed. "Do you think it's strange that I kept it this way?"

"No," she said. She understood. Standing here among his parents' belongings, she could almost feel their presence. With his simulation skills, Jarod could probably imagine complete scenarios of his mother and father's life in this place. She knew he'd never get rid of anything that helped forge a connection to his long-lost family.

Jarod's gaze returned to the toy – his father's creation - he held. "I feel close to them here," he said softly.

"I know." Miss Parker crossed to him and put a hand on his shoulder. His eyes lifted to hers, and she saw the warm spark of gratitude in their depths.

She didn't deserve his thanks. The few sympathetic words she uttered now did nothing to make up for the years she'd helped the Centre thwart his efforts to find his family.

He sensed her sudden discomfort. "What is it?" he asked.

She moved away, went to stand next to the sofa where she absently touched a brightly striped lampshade that was probably homemade; her fingers came away covered in dust. Yes, Jarod's family had left a definite imprint here, but he shouldn't be content with mere fossils. The real thing was out there somewhere, just waiting to be found. Given his skills and contacts, she had no doubt that he could be successful if he gave the search the attention it deserved.

Casting an intentionally dismissive glance around the room, she said, "This shrine is nice, Jarod, but don't you think it's time to get moving? You're free now. The Centre thinks you're dead, so this is your chance to devote all your time and energy into looking for your family! What's holding you back?"

Jarod set the toy airplane on the desk among the woodworking tools once used by his father and stared down at the swirls of sawdust as if studying tea leaves for inspiration. He finally looked over at her. "You," he said.

Not this again. Until recently, they'd only seen each other a handful of times over the span of years, yet now he was basing major life decisions on her? She felt the same flare of anger she'd experienced earlier. "Damn it, Jarod, don't use me as an excuse! If you really want to find your family-"

He was on his feet in an instant. "You know I do!"

"Then you know you need to get as far away from me as possible!" She crossed to the window and looked out, hating her fugitive status. "I'm a liability. With the Centre looking for me, you're in danger of being discovered and having everything you went through to escape, everything you did to fake your own death, be all for nothing!" She didn't even need to close her eyes to once again see him convulsing on the floor of the sim lab while Lyle shocked him or toppling backwards out of the warehouse window after Lyle shot him. "Why take that risk?" she asked.

"You needed me…"

"Needed. Past tense." She could hear how crabby she sounded, and she stopped to take a breath before continuing in a calmer tone. "I'll admit that a week ago I wasn't myself and it's a good thing you showed up when you did. But I'm better now, stronger, and… and I will not be the reason you lose your best chance to finally locate your family!"

"I would never blame you."

She didn't turn to look at him. She didn't want to see his soulful brown eyes gazing at her with a tenderness she could hear in his voice. She rested her forehead against the window and thought tiredly how it had been much easier to stay angry with Jarod when he was always getting away from her and flaunting that fact. Now that she'd seen his kinder, gentler side on a regular basis, she felt like she was kicking a puppy whenever she said a harsh word to him. How would she ever win an argument?

He joined her by the window. "You may not need me right now, but I need you in my life, now and always," he said quietly. "Yes, by being with you, I may be jeopardizing my best chance of finally finding my parents, but I also know that this is our best chance of finally being together. I want us to be together." He paused. "I thought that maybe… after how close we've gotten this past week… maybe you'd want that, too?"

She couldn't look at him, didn't want to see the yearning that she knew would be written all over his face. "We've already had this discussion, Jarod," she said. "We're not meant to get what we want. And I'm nobody's sidekick."

"Well, I'm not some comic book character, either, so can we drop the damn metaphors?"

His outburst drew a startled glance from her. Jarod took the opportunity to capture her hands in his and force her to maintain eye contact. "Why does everything in our lives have to be so dramatic?" he insisted. "I didn't ask to be born with my… ability, and I certainly didn't ask to be kidnapped and treated like a lab rat by some sinister think tank. If I choose to help people using the only skills I know, that doesn't make me a super hero. If I help you when you need it, I'm not a knight riding to your rescue. If we haven't been able to get what we want yet, that doesn't mean it's written in the stars that we are fated to always be miserable!" He sighed. "Why can't we just be two people who want to be there for each other when they're needed? That's what people do when they're in love, right?"

Miss Parker felt a jolt straight to her core. "What did you say?" she whispered, finding it suddenly difficult to draw air into her lungs.

Amazingly, Jarod looked and sounded perfectly calm as he replied softly, "What I should have said a long time ago." He touched her face. "I love you."

He dipped his head to give her a gentle but lingering kiss. When they finally drew apart, Miss Parker found herself more breathless than usual, still reeling from his declaration of love. She wondered dimly if he was waiting for her to respond in kind, but he seemed content, currently nuzzling her neck. She didn't know what to say anyway. Did she love him? How could she be sure? Deciding those were questions that could wait, she closed her eyes and savored the sensations his touch always produced in her.

His hands were getting busy. Even as her body began to respond, her mind urged her to put on the brakes, under some bizarre impression that they were about to be caught making out in his parents' living room. Suddenly, the heat they were generating seemed too much in the stuffy loft. She needed to slow things down and maybe lighten the mood, if that was possible after his stunning revelation.

She said, "Jarod, I hate to tell you this…" She felt him tense in her arms. "…but we'll never be an ordinary couple."

His surprised chuckle was muffled against her throat. "Oh, really?" he murmured.

"That's right. Ordinary couples don't argue about whether it's better to fly halfway around the world to search for a cure for a deadly virus or stay in hiding from a crazed African warlord."

He lifted his head to study her face, a slight frown furrowing his brow. She smiled slightly so he'd know she was trying for some levity. "So what do normal couples argue about?" he asked.

Relieved that he was willing to play along, she tossed out, "Oh, things like one of them not even commenting on the other one's new outfit."

Jarod proceeded to hold her at arm's length and make a big show of surveying her from head to toe. "I like it," he pronounced finally. "Not your usual classic black or power red, but the blue looks nice on you. Brings out the color of your eyes."

"Let me guess; you were a fashion designer once."

"A photographer, but that's not who's speaking. A man in love knows what looks good on his woman."

Feeling an unfamiliar thrill at his use of the "l" word again, she decided to forgive his slightly chauvinistic reference to her as "his woman."

"I especially like the shorts," he went on, his eyes traveling downwards. "I've missed seeing those incredible legs of yours."

Miss Parker arched a brow. "Since when?"

"Well, I suspected you wore those short skirts while chasing me in an attempt to distract me." He shrugged and showed his dimples. "So I pretended not to notice."

She swatted him on the arm, and Jarod pulled her in tight for another kiss. This time Miss Parker answered the demands of her body and surrendered to the passion that always ignited so easily between them.

Later, Jarod lay awake, staring at the woman who was snuggled against him. The corners of his mouth twitched upwards in a wry smile. Even with his powerful imagination, he'd never once dreamed that this extraordinary woman – she of the sharp tongue and even sharper stiletto heels – would ever willingly cuddle with any man, let alone him. He still found it hard to believe that the last week had really happened.

He didn't regret any of it, especially not his decision to finally tell her that he loved her. It didn't even bother him that she hadn't expressed a similar sentiment. Watching her lie in peaceful slumber here next to him told him more than words how much she trusted him. Could love be far behind?

Miss Parker stirred. Her eyes opened, and he saw them cloud with confusion as she tried to identify her surroundings. When realization set in, she appeared more distressed, sitting up quickly, clutching the flowered sheet to her chest.

He reached out to caress her bare shoulder. "What is it?" he asked.

"Jarod, doesn't it bother you that we just… did what we did in your parents' old apartment? In their bed?" She glanced with a kind of horror at the quaint quilt hanging on the wall above their heads, as if his mother herself had been there to witness their debauchery.

"No, why should it?" Seeing she still felt uncomfortable, he tried to explain what he felt. "This loft is full of memories, but only imagined ones. It feels right to make a memory of my own here. A very nice one," he added, his fingers sliding down her arm to give her hand a comforting squeeze.

She smiled in relief and leaned forward to give him a quick kiss.

Jarod felt the now-familiar stirring of his body asking for more, but he needed to deny its appetites for the moment. He had to do something first.

He reluctantly drew away and reached over the edge of the bed to find his pants. He pulled his cell phone out of the pocket and handed it to a surprised Miss Parker.

"What's this for?" she asked.

He took a deep breath. "I know you don't like the idea of going on the road with me," he began, waving away any polite protestations before she could voice them. "I understand it's a big step," he went on, determined to get this next part out before he changed his mind. "I realize it's unfair of me to ask you to help find my family when you still have unfinished business with your own." He nodded at the phone in her hand. "That's a burner phone, untraceable. You should call your father and settle things with him."

She looked almost as stunned as when he'd told her he loved her. In both cases, he hoped he'd made the right decision.

Chapter 31

Miss Parker refused to feel guilty. 

After all, Jarod had asked her to call her father, had even given her his cell phone to do so.  That gesture of trust just proved to her how much he wanted her by his side when he continued the search for his family.  He’d never understood her relationship with her father, but at least he understood her need to resolve things before she could start a new life.

So he’d have to understand that some conversations had to be done in person.

From her hiding place among the copse of trees on the hillside, Miss Parker had a good view of the cemetery and would be able know as soon as her father arrived.  When she’d spoken to him on the phone yesterday, of course he’d insisted on seeing her and had agreed – if somewhat reluctantly – that it would be safest to meet away from the Centre.  He’d also assured her he could get here without being tailed but had taken no offense when she’d offered some suggestions on how he could achieve that.  Still, knowing how the best laid plans… she wasn’t taking any chances.  She’d made sure she was settled in this strategic position well before the appointed time; she wanted to see for herself that her father showed up alone.

These precautions she was taking would have to appease Jarod somewhat.  Again, Miss Parker told herself that she was not going to feel guilty about what she had done.  She felt slightly ashamed about the way she’d done it – sneaking out in the middle of the night, stealing the jeep, and leaving a misleading note that she hoped would slow down Jarod’s pursuit of her – but she had no choice.  She knew he would have tried to stop her, but she hoped he’d accept that the risk she was taking was necessary.  If she could successfully achieve her goal – a clean break from the Centre – Jarod would surely forgive her methods.  He’d wanted her freedom from the Centre almost as much as he’d wanted his own.  If all the freedom cost was one final, face-to-face meeting with her father so she could say a proper goodbye, Jarod couldn’t possibly begrudge her that.

She checked her watch.  Her father should be here any minute now.  She glanced uneasily at the sky, which even at this early hour of the morning was a threatening shade of gray.  The oppressive humidity and the eerie green light reflecting off the grass confirmed that the conditions were ripe for a storm.  She just hoped the rain would hold off until after she and her father had had a chance to talk.  Nothing about this conversation was going to be easy, and she didn’t need the added worry of dodging raindrops or lightning bolts.

Although the approaching storm would provide the perfect backdrop for what she was sure would be a turbulent discussion.  At the best of times, her father was not an easy man to talk to, and this upcoming conversation promised to be the most difficult one she’d ever had with him.  He’d sounded relieved to hear her voice when she’d reached him on his cell last night, expressing appropriate fatherly concern for her well-being.  But he’d also been Lyle’s father, and she knew it would be no easy task to explain why she’d killed her own brother.

Especially since she still hadn’t satisfactorily explained it to herself.  Jarod had helped her realize she hadn’t become her evil twin when she’d ended Lyle’s life, but it also wasn’t her father’s “angel” who had pulled that trigger.  Miss Parker didn’t expect her father to forgive her; the best she could hope for was a measure of understanding once she told him everything Lyle had done to her.  Still, she knew he’d never look at her the same way again. 

Maybe the realization of that fact was the reason why her decision to leave him behind had been easier than she thought.  When Jarod had first handed her his phone, she’d felt surprise followed almost immediately by a brief flare of resentment at what she perceived to be an ultimatum: say goodbye to her father or say goodbye to him.  While she’d never made any secret of her desire to go back to the corporate division of the Centre, the job transfer didn’t mean she’d have to cut her father out of her life completely.  But that’s exactly what she had to do if she wanted to go on the road with Jarod.  Miss Parker was still not sure what her role would be, but she realized she did want to be by his side.  Now that she’d torn her own family apart, maybe helping to put Jarod’s back together would serve as a sort of penance.

And maybe they could be truly happy together.  She wanted to believe that.

Miss Parker went on alert when she saw a taxi pull onto the cemetery’s circular drive; she relaxed slightly when she saw her father get out of the car.  Looked like he’d followed the plan they’d formulated together: exit his house via the back door, walk to the nearest bus stop, and then call a cab to bring him to the cemetery.  They’d arranged this early morning meeting so that no one watching her father’s house would expect him to leave for work for another hour or so.  The appointed time had also allowed her to slip out in the middle of the night and get here (hopefully) before Jarod ever woke up.  Thankfully he’d been sleeping more soundly lately; they both seemed to sleep better when they shared a bed.

Brushing away the image of a peacefully sleeping Jarod as she’d last seen him a few hours ago – a memory that brought with it a renewed sense of guilt - Miss Parker concentrated on the scene before her.  The taxi was departing, and her father had set out among the tombstones, walking slowly.  She felt strange, as if viewing him from this distance she was seeing him in a whole new light.  He appeared to be an old man carefully making his way across uneven ground, not at all the imposing figure who so often intimidated her.  She felt a twinge of concern.  Had this morning’s walk in the punishing heat and humidity been too much for him?  Or was his dragging pace a sign of the dread he felt about their imminent encounter?

The thought of it made her uneasy, as well, but she also felt an impatience for their talk to be over.  Still, she made herself wait a full five minutes, scanning the area to make sure no one had managed to follow her father here.  Finally satisfied that they were alone, Miss Parker emerged from her hiding place and headed down the grassy slope towards the semi-secluded section of the cemetery where her mother was buried.

It was a lovely spot, bordered by a lush flowering hedge on one side, an ornate wrought iron fence on another.  Despite the tragic reason for her regular visits here, she always felt more at peace when she left.  She only hoped that would be the case today.

Her father was staring down at the large black headstone as she approached.  Wearing his usual suit and tie, he offered a powerful profile as she drew closer, and she felt the usual stirring of insecurity when in his presence.  Her casual attire - white cotton pants, blue lace-trimmed tank top, and wedge sandals – also left her feeling underdressed, but she hadn’t been able to risk going home for a more appropriate outfit.  Her stride slowed briefly, but then she took a deep breath and quickened her pace, renewed determination in each step.

She stopped just short of the gravesite topped by the impressive granite slab with PARKER inscribed in bold white letters across its shiny surface.  Somewhat surprised that her father had not yet acknowledged her, Miss Parker reluctantly swung her gaze to the words filling one half of the headstone - “Catherine – Loving Mother” – and felt the familiar sorrow settle over her heart.

Then the sight of a new marker just to the left of the Parker monument had her gasping in shock, “What’s this?”

“I wasn’t sure where to spread his ashes, so I thought I’d place his remains here,” her father said in a distracted tone, almost as if he was still unsure about his decision.

The small gray stone simply said “Lyle” with the dates of his/their birthday and the day she’d killed him listed underneath his name.  “But… right next to Mama?”  It came out more a wail than a question.

“He was a Parker and deserved to be buried in the family plot” was his stoic reply. 

“He didn’t even deserve to be a member of our family!”

She now had his full attention.  “Your brother had barely come into this world before he was ripped away from your mother,” he said coldly.  “Now that he’s been taken from this world, it is fitting that he should finally rest beside her.  She would have wanted it that way.”

“No, no, she never knew him,” Miss Parker said, shaking her head.  “She never saw what he became.”

“I just thank God your mother never saw what you’ve become.”

The semi-private setting suddenly felt too isolated, enveloping them with an ominous stillness.  “And what is that, Daddy?” she asked quietly.

His pale blue eyes were fiercely intense, scarily similar to those of her late brother.  “A murderer,” he said flatly.

The words were like a knife in her gut, all the more painful because they were true.  “I had no choice-” she started.

“Don’t you dare!  Don’t even try to claim self-defense!  I saw the surveillance footage.  I know Lyle was unarmed.”

“Daddy, you don’t know what he did to me!” she protested.

“I know what you did!  You made your brother kneel down in that filthy garage and you, you executed him!”  His scowl was darker than the clouds gathering overhead, and a vein was throbbing on the side of his neck just above his collar.

She moved towards him, hands out in supplication, desperate for him to hear her, for him to understand.  “Please, let me explain,” she begged.

“Silence!” he thundered and struck her hard across the face.

The force of the blow knocked her to the ground, and she ended up half-sprawled against the hard cold Parker family headstone, her hand to her cheek.  Her mind reeled from the shock, more than the pain, of what had just happened. 

Her father turned away, his broad shoulders hunched as if from sudden exhaustion.  “The day you killed your brother, I lost both of my children,” he said heavily.

She started to get up and felt hands grab her from behind and haul her roughly to her feet.  As she struggled to see who had hold of her, Mutumbo, head of the Triumverate, stepped into view and went to stand beside her father.  “Perhaps we will be able to bring your daughter back to you, Mr. Parker,” he said smoothly.

Still somewhat dazed, Miss Parker managed to suppress her fear as she demanded, “Daddy, what’s going on?”

The African warlord’s obsidian eyes held an ounce of grudging respect for her reaction, but her father’s expression was sad as he looked at her.  “I can only assume temporary insanity caused you to do what you did,” he said.  “Mutumbo here has ways to treat the mind and may be able to help you.”

As the full weight of his betrayal sank in, she relied on her usual sarcasm to hide her rising panic.  “By turning me into a Bible-toting Born-Again like Raines?  Or worse?” she spat, straining against the grip of the two goons behind her.  Damn, they were stronger than the Centre’s Sweepers.

Mutumbo smiled thinly.  “Don’t worry, Miss Parker.  When we’re done with you, you will be more than ready, willing and able to serve the Centre again.”  He nodded to his men, who began dragging her away.

She thrashed and kicked but couldn’t break free from her captors.  “Daddy, please don’t let them do this,” she cried, painfully twisting to send a desperate glance back over her shoulder.  “Daddy!”

But her father had already redirected his gaze to the grave markers, and she realized she was truly as dead to him as the loved ones beneath his feet.

Jarod told himself not to worry.

He’d awakened a short time ago to find the other side of the bed empty and had been amazed by the sense of loneliness that had immediately washed over him.  After years of being alone, how could one week of waking up beside her make him so dependent on her presence first thing in the morning?

Disbelief that he hadn’t heard her get up followed this revelation, then a sense of uneasiness.  Quickly climbing out of bed to go looking for her, he almost missed seeing the folded note propped on the small bedside table.  The current from his sudden movement actually blew the piece of paper onto the floor.  He picked it up and read:

Gone for some real food for breakfast.  Worked up quite an appetite last night.  Be back soon. – M

As the rush of concern receded, he sank back down onto the side of the bed.  He could feel himself blushing as he remembered their overnight activities.  Both of them had been even more… enthusiastic than usual, and they hadn’t gone to sleep until the wee hours of the morning.  Pleasantly immersed in a deep, dreamless sleep, it was no wonder he hadn’t heard her leave.

Actually, it was surprising that he hadn’t woken up.  After years on the run and a whole lifetime before that of never knowing when someone would pull him out of his cell for a sim or to run some ghastly experiment on him, being a light sleeper was a handy ingrained trait.  Even though the Centre now believed him to be dead, he couldn’t let his guard down.  Miss Parker was right; if she stayed with him, he’d be at risk right along with her.

Of course, that didn’t change his desire – his need – for her to be by his side.  He smiled wryly.  All the time he’d kept in contact with her, feeding her clues about her murky past to distract her from the search for him, he’d had no idea how dependent he was becoming on her presence – even if only over the phone – in his life.  Now she was the distraction; he couldn’t concentrate on finding his family if he didn’t have her with him.  She’d said she wanted him to reunite with his parents; surely she would agree to help him do just that by agreeing to go with him.

Jarod stood and went to the window to confirm that she’d taken the jeep.  As he stared down at the empty driveway where he’d left it parked yesterday, he felt a twinge of unease.  He knew her absence this morning had nothing to do with an unusual appetite for breakfast; she was seeking space to think about what he’d told her, what he’d asked of her.  He hoped she was using this time to call her father and achieve some kind of resolution.  He didn’t trust the man and hated the way he treated his daughter, but he respected the fact that Miss Parker loved him and needed to say goodbye. 

Jarod decided to take a quick shower.  Maybe by the time he was done she’d be back with breakfast and an appetite to start their new life together.

When he saw Broots waiting for him in the sim lab, Sydney almost turned around and beat a hasty retreat along the catwalk.  Even from this distance, the man’s highly agitated state was obvious; he was pacing and running his hands over his head in a nervous habit that Sydney had no doubt contributed to his receding hairline.  He could actually feel his colleague’s distress coming at him in waves.  Hoping that what was upsetting Broots wasn’t something truly dire, Sydney took a deep breath and descended into the lab and whatever fresh hell awaited him.

Broots looked pathetically relieved to see him.  “Sydney!  Can I talk to you for a minute?  In private?”

There was no guaranteed privacy here at the Centre, but Sydney said, “Of course,” and obediently led the way up the short flight of stairs to his office.

Broots followed on his heels and quickly closed the door behind them.  But he still hesitated to speak, casting a wary glance around the room.

Sydney crossed to the radio on one of his bookshelves and turned it on, tuning it to the classical music station to provide cover against any hidden listening devices.  Unfortunately, “The Flight of the Bumblebee” was playing; its frantic pace would only intensify the mood in the room.

 “What is it, Broots?” Sydney prompted.  He heard the weariness in his voice and hoped his friend would not take offense; he just hated starting the day with a crisis, which was too common an occurrence here.

“I just heard that Mutumbo has captured Miss Parker!”

Sydney stared at him in dismay.  He didn’t waste time asking if the information was reliable; Broots had an impressive network of sources within this complex.  “Where?’ he asked, wondering how the Triumverate’s representatives had succeeded in tracking her down.

“She was at the cemetery with her father when they grabbed her.”

“Here?  In Blue Cove?”  Sydney wondered why the hell Miss Parker had come back to town and how Jarod had allowed her to take that risk.

Of course, he hadn’t, Sydney realized; Miss Parker didn’t let anyone dictate her actions.  “Where is she now?” he asked sharply.

“I don’t know.  I haven’t been able to spot her on any of the security cameras, and no one’s seen her enter the building.”  Broots looked close to tears, completely distraught by this failure in his intelligence-gathering.  “I only know that they’re getting ready to send her to Africa!”

Where certain torture and all kinds of insidious mind-control experiments awaited her.  Sydney couldn’t let that happen.  If he could speak to her father, he might have a way to stop this madness.  “Where’s Mr. Parker?” he asked.

Broots looked surprised by the question.  “I – I can find out,” he said, already heading for the door, as if eager to do something – anything – to help.

 Sydney’s cell phone rang.  He pulled it from his coat pocket and answered, “This is Sydney.”

“Is she there?” Jarod demanded.

His question and tone left little doubt that Miss Parker had indeed not cleared her travel plans with him first.  “I haven’t seen her, but the word is that she’s been apprehended by Mutumbo’s men,” Sydney replied as calmly as possible, moving closer to the radio.

Jarod said a word he’d never heard him use before.

“Apparently she was meeting her father at the cemetery when they seized her,” Sydney went on, nodding in response to a wide-eyed Broots’ mouthed Jarod?

“Of course she had to do it in person,” Jarod muttered.

“What’s that?”

“Where is Miss Parker now?”

Again, Sydney forced himself to keep his voice steady so as not to add to the rising panic all around him, including his own.  “All we know is that Mutumbo plans to take her to Africa as soon as possible.  I’m going to speak to Mr. Parker,” he added quickly.

“Don’t waste your breath,” Jarod said.  “He was probably responsible for the trap that was sprung on her.”

Sydney lowered his voice.  “Jarod, he’s her father.  No matter what his current emotional state, I highly doubt he would do anything to cause her harm.”

“Listen, Sydney, just do whatever you can to keep Miss Parker in the country.  I’ll take care of this.”

Sydney felt a renewed sense of urgency.  “Jarod, what are you planning?  Don’t do anything–” 

He heard the familiar click of Jarod hanging up on him.  “…rash,” he finished grimly.

Chapter 32

            As the Centre jet taxied down the runway towards him, Jarod wished he’d had a chance to fine-tune this plan.  He’d been focused solely on getting here before Miss Parker could be taken out of the country and hadn’t done his usual prep work with careful attention to details.  Thankfully, a thunderstorm had delayed the plane’s departure and allowed him to arrive in time.

            Now, as he stared at the rapidly approaching airplane, the roar of its engines covering the frantic thudding of his heart, he was reminded of another desperate standoff on another runway.  That time he’s wanted the plane to take off, as it was the only means of escape for his father and Gemini clone.  Using a wounded Miss Parker’s gun, he’d pumped a whole clip of ammo at the helicopter that was blocking the way, forcing it to retreat and giving his father the chance to get away.

            This time Jarod had no weapon.  He hoped that just the sight of him would be enough to stop the airplane.

            It was almost on top of him.  Jarod’s muscles tensed and he was wondering if he was about to lose this game of chicken when the jet suddenly veered to the right.  It was slowing as he trotted after it, determined to get Miss Parker off that plane. 

As the aircraft came to a complete stop, Jarod heard the squeal of tires behind him.  Whirling, he saw a black Lincoln town car come speeding from the direction of the hangar.  The car screeched to a halt a short distance away.  Instantly, Willie and Tony got out of the front seat, their guns drawn, while Mr. Parker slowly climbed out of the back.

            With the Sweepers flanking him, he moved a couple of steps closer to Jarod, his face slack with disbelief.  “My God,” he uttered.  “You!  But you’re… you’re…”

            “Alive,” Jarod supplied then quickly added, “I’m not a ghost, not a clone, and not recently revived at the cryonics facility.  I faked my death so that you people would finally leave me alone.”

            “Which begs the question, why have you decided to reveal yourself to us now?”

            The distinctive accent identified the speaker even before Jarod turned to see Mutumbo striding towards them across the tarmac, which was still slightly steaming from the rainstorm.  Two of his men were right behind him, weapons at the ready.

            Jarod had never met the Centre’s African overseer.  The tall, broad-shouldered man was impeccably dressed in a suit and tie and looked like any other CEO, except for the decorative sash trailing down over one shoulder that displayed his tribal colors.  But Jarod knew that this man was no ordinary businessman.  Like Mr. Parker and Lyle, he played that role perfectly, but a sinister nature lurked just beneath the smooth façade. 

            Mutumbo went to stand beside Mr. Parker, who seemed to pull himself together, as if being in the mere presence of his superior gave him confidence.  Or made it imperative that he at least act composed.

            Jarod made sure to project his own air of confidence as he spelled out his proposal. “I’m here for Miss Parker,” he said.  “A simple trade.  Let her go, and you get me.”

            “It seems we already have you,” Mutumbo said smoothly.

            Jarod was aware that the four goons had quietly spread out, forming a loose semi-circle around him.  Out of the corner of his eye, he saw another man in the hatchway of the plane with a high-powered rifle trained on him.  Mutumbo himself carried a silver-topped ebony walking stick that would serve as an effective weapon in any hand-to-hand combat.  Jarod knew he wasn’t going to be able to fight his way out of here.

            Good thing he hadn’t planned on doing that.  He’d come here to do exactly what he’d just said: trade himself for Miss Parker.

            “Why should we release Miss Parker?” Mutumbo asked.

            Even though he didn’t intend to make any sudden moves, Jarod made sure to stand perfectly still and keep his gaze locked on the African; he didn’t need a trigger-happy bodyguard taking a shot at him.  He knew they wouldn’t shoot to kill, but any bullet wound would severely limit his future options.

            “Because you only want to punish her for killing Lyle,” he said.  “Revenge is nice, but it doesn’t have long-lasting benefits.  Sure, you can make an example out of Miss Parker, demonstrate what would happen to other Centre employees who thought of defying their… masters.”  He thought he detected a ghost of a smile on the African’s face at that description; Mr. Parker also found it accurate, as indicated by the uncomfortable look on his face.  “But I’d be a much more valuable captive,” Jarod went on. “Just think how impressed everyone would be to know you’d captured me.”  He paused.  “Of course, then you’ll have to deal with the shame when I escape.”

            Mutumbo quickly extinguished the flare of anger that lit his dark eyes, but that brief loss of control confirmed Jarod’s belief that this man could be manipulated.

            The Triumverate’s representative studied Jarod for a long moment before finally saying in a conversational tone, “You don’t know how pleased I am to finally have the chance to meet you, Jarod.  I was truly saddened to learn of your demise.  And to think you’d been killed by something as pedestrian as a simple gunshot?  Such a disappointment.  Glad to see I was mistaken.  I look forward to hearing exactly how you planned and executed such a magnificent Pretend.”

            Jarod remained defiant.  “What makes you think I’ll tell you?”

            “Oh, you’ll tell me that and many other things.  We have some new techniques that I cannot wait to try on you.”

            Jarod knew he could withstand torture and Sydney had always maintained that brainwashing wouldn’t work on him.  But it still took an effort to respond with confidence.  “I look forward to the challenge,” he said evenly.  “After you release Miss Parker.”

            When Mutumbo raised an eyebrow at this impertinence but said nothing, Jarod started to worry in earnest.  Time to try something else.  “Surely you don’t want to upset your greatest ally here in the States,” he said.  “I’m certain Mr. Parker would prefer that his daughter be returned to him unharmed.”  He shifted his gaze to the Centre’s Director, who squinted vaguely in his direction.

            Mutumbo stroked his beard thoughtfully.  “Very well,” he finally declared.  “I do not believe she would satisfactorily suit our purposes anyway.  Miss Parker has already proven she has a penchant for violence by killing her own brother.”  Jarod saw Mr. Parker wince. 

“No, we need a test subject who is inherently good,” Mutumbo concluded.

            Jarod was glad of the slight breeze ushered in by the recent storm; he didn’t want these men to see him sweat.  “We’ll see,” he said tightly.

            Mutumbo accepted the challenge with a slight nod then gestured towards the plane.  Jarod looked that way.  It seemed like an eternity, but in what was probably less than a minute, a guard appeared in the hatchway and began to carry an unconscious Miss Parker down the set of stairs.

            “What have you done to her?” Jarod asked in alarm.  His agitation put the goons around him on instant alert, so he forced himself to remain still.

            “We just gave her something to make the flight more comfortable for her,” Mutumbo said dismissively.  “Don’t worry, we’ll extend you the same courtesy.” 

            Jarod was so intent on watching Miss Parker, he almost missed the signal the African warlord gave to one of his men.  Too late, he realized the danger and had no time to react before he felt the sting of a needle in the side of his neck.  “No,” he gasped, fighting the drug, but his arms and legs were already growing heavy as he vainly struggled against the arms that tightly gripped him.

            As he was slowly dragged towards the plane, he heard Mr. Parker say with grim satisfaction, “Bon Voyage, Jarod.”

            Sydney walked quickly through the halls of the Renewal Wing.  He had never liked this section of the Centre, which had little to do with rebirth or restoration.  A handy place to stash anyone from outright enemies to disgruntled employees, this secured area was more a prison ward than a place to get a new lease on life.  Ever since Sydney himself had been a “guest” here after he’d set off the bomb on SL-27 and temporarily lost his sight, he’d tried to avoid this part of the complex.  Too many bad memories.

            But nothing was going to keep him from visiting the Renewal Wing today.

            The guard at the door let him pass without comment, and Sydney felt a sense of relief that he didn’t need to sneak in here.  To the contrary, he wanted this visit to be on the record.

            Miss Parker was sitting sideways on the cot in the corner of the small room, her back against the wall, her knees pulled up to her chest, her head resting on her folded arms.  For a second, Sydney thought she was sleeping, but she looked up quickly when he entered.  When she saw who it was, she relaxed – slightly – but still scrambled to her feet.

            “Sydney, what the hell is going on?” she asked.

            “How are you, Miss Parker?” he inquired mildly, closing the door behind him and coming farther into the room. He could instantly tell that a calm demeanor was going to be necessary for this conversation.  Since he felt like a bundle of nerves himself, he was going to have to rely on all his psychiatric skill to stay on an even keel.

            “Confused,” she answered, dragging her hands through her hair which looked unusually limp and greasy.  Sydney wondered how bad he’d looked when he’d been confined to the Renewal Wing; his temporary blindness had spared him the added indignity of viewing his reflection when he’d finally been released.

            Miss Parker started pacing.  “After one of Mutumbo’s goons gave me a shot of something that knocked me out, I thought for sure I’d wake up in Africa.”

            “You almost did.  There was a last-minute change of plans.”

            She stopped and turned to give him a searching look.  “Do I have you to thank for that?”

            “No.  Miss Parker, I need to tell you something that will come as a shock to you.”  He motioned for her to sit down again.  Once she’d reluctantly perched on the edge of the cot, Sydney positioned himself between her and the surveillance camera.  “Jarod is alive,” he said.

            Her reaction was one of shock, her eyes growing wide at his pronouncement, and he knew this was in response to him revealing the secret to the invisible watchers at the Centre.  As she started to wonder why he had done that, he saw a shadow of dread come across her face.  “That… that can’t be true,” she said slowly.  “I was there, Sydney.  I saw him die.”

            Silently applauding her ability to play along, Sydney squatted in front of her and took one of her hands – ice cold, he noted – in his.  He knew the camera would now have a clear view of her face, but he felt she needed the physical contact right now.  When she didn’t pull away, like he’d half-expected her to, he knew his instincts had been right.  “I don’t know the details,” he said, “but apparently Jarod figured out a way to fake his death.”

            “But… how do you know this?”  Her voice trembled slightly.

            “Because he showed up at the airport yesterday and traded himself for you.”

            He’d spoken as gently as he could, but she still winced as if he’d slapped her.  She closed her eyes briefly, and he could see the sheen of unshed tears when she opened them again.  “Why would he do that?” she asked in a small voice.

            Was she afraid he’d announce to anyone listening the true depth of Jarod’s feelings for her?  Or was she afraid of accepting that those feelings meant Jarod would always be willing to risk his life for hers?

            Well, their love – and he was certain they loved each other – was not a topic he would discuss on camera.  “You and Jarod were friends as children, and you still have a special relationship,” Sydney said, declining to spell out just how far he suspected they’d recently taken that relationship, “so is it so hard to believe he’d want to help you?”

            Miss Parker angrily swiped at her eyes with the back of her hand.  “Yes, Jarod is a chronic do-gooder, but after all the years I spent chasing him for the Centre, I should be the last person he’d want to save.”

            Sydney had to smile, if somewhat sadly, at her apt description of Jarod.

            “Well, the last time they tried to ship him off to Africa, he managed to escape,” she went on with a sniff and a defiant glance up at the camera.

            “Not this time,” Sydney said quietly.  “It’s been confirmed that Jarod has arrived in Africa and is locked up in the Triumverate’s facility.”

Miss Parker paled.  “Are you sure?” she whispered.

“Yes.  Mutumbo called your father just a short while ago to tell him.”

The hopeless look that came over her face made his heart ache.  He squeezed her hand.  “You should try to get some rest,” he suggested softly.

            She managed a weak, scornful laugh.  “You’ve been in this joint, Sydney.  You know the accommodations are less than ideal for a good night’s sleep.”

            “Then go home.”

            Miss Parker blinked.  “What?”

            He released her hand and stood up, a bit stiff from crouching for so long.  “You’re free to go.  Orders from the Triumverate.  Your father told me before I came down here.”

            He knew it was a cliché, but Sydney could have sworn he felt the sting of daggers shooting from her eyes.  She stood more quickly than he thought advisable after the shock she’d just had and strode to the door.  Finding it unlocked, she paused only long enough to send one final glare back at him before making a hasty exit.

            Sydney finally caught up to her after she’d turned the first corner in the hall.  “Miss Parker, we need to talk,” he insisted.

            She whirled to face him.  “I think we’ve said plenty,” she hissed.  “If you feel the need to analyze our little heart-to-heart, just watch the recording.”

            Sydney knew this stretch of hallway didn’t have any cameras, but he still moved close to her and spoke in a low, intense tone.  “You know I had to do that, and you know why.”

            “I don’t give a damn about plausible deniability!  Everyone now knows that Jarod is alive.  Who the hell cares who knew when?”

            “Jarod cares,” Sydney said evenly.  “He gave up his freedom to save you.  Don’t you think you owe it to him to at least try to stay out of trouble?”

            Her eyes flashing blue fire, she looked like she was about to make an angry retort, but she said nothing, and after a minute, she said quietly, “I can’t bear to think of what they’re doing to him.”

            He felt the same way, but he forced himself to stay in shrink mode and say what would give her – give both of them – some comfort.  “Jarod’s strong, and his brain is like nothing the Triumverate has ever seen before.  I’m confident he can resist whatever mind-control techniques they try on him.”

            She suddenly looked incredibly weary.  “I hope you’re right, Syd.  I don’t know.  I just want to go home, take a long bath, and change my clothes.”  She looked down at her disheveled outfit with distaste.

            Eyeing her casual tank top and wrinkled cotton pants, Sydney surmised that she would feel better once she was wearing one of her normal power suits.  Although, he reflected, the week she’d just spent far away from her comfort zone had probably been the best thing that could have happened to her at this time.  Hopefully, she wouldn’t be left with only memories of that rare respite from her normally dangerous world.  Damn it, they had to get Jarod back!

            She seemed to read his mind, because she said, with a spark of her usual determination, “And then we’ll figure out what to do next.”

            Sydney liked her attitude, but he had no idea what their next step should be.

Chapter 33

She had to go find him.

Normally, she’d take the fact that Broots wasn’t hovering outside her office on a Monday morning as a good sign.  No Broots meant no looming crisis to start the work week.  But today she’d been hoping to find him waiting for her, eager to give her a progress report on their efforts to free Jarod.

More like lack of progress, she thought grumpily, which explained why Broots was nowhere to be seen, the coward.  It had been almost a month since Jarod had been taken to Africa, and they still had no idea how to bring him back.  It was a well-known fact by everyone at the Centre that the Triumverate had a secret research facility in Africa.  Unfortunately, no one knew exactly where this compound was located.  They thought it was in equatorial Africa, but that area included several countries.  Ones with unstable governments where warlords like Mutumbo could operate with impunity were the likeliest spots for the Triumverate’s base of operations, but that only slightly narrowed the list of possible countries.  The recent virus outbreak had been in the Congo, so they’d been focusing their search on that nation.  Broots had been searching through any Centre files that dealt with the Triumverate – a slow process since those records were all encrypted - but so far he’d come up with nothing that would pinpoint where Jarod was being held. 

Broots was definitely avoiding her.  Which meant she had to go looking for him. 

Miss Parker strode across the Main Concourse, ignoring the now-familiar furtive glances from Centre employees.  She’d never been one to make idle small talk with fellow employees in the halls, but ever since she’d been targeted by the Triumverate, it was like she moved with an invisible force field around her; no one wanted to be seen being friendly with someone who had angered the Centre’s overseers.

She jabbed the down button to call the elevator and folded her arms, letting her irritation show, hoping it would create an aura unpleasant enough to back off anyone who wanted to use the elevator right now.  When the doors opened and she saw that no one was inside, she breathed a sigh of relief.  She didn’t need company on the ride.

She got aboard quickly and stabbed the button for the sub-level where Broots’ office was located.  Time to see if his recent efforts had produced anything useful.

The irony of this whole situation wasn’t lost on her.  Now that Jarod had finally been caught, she was still hunting for him.  Only this time she didn’t have the Centre’s permission, so the search had to be done in secret when time allowed.  Since she didn’t have an actual assignment at the moment, her cover was that she was helping Sydney and Broots put the files on all of Jarod’s Pretends in order, updating and adding to her reports on all of their failed attempts to capture him. 

Miss Parker had been doing most of this work at home so she could avoid any chance meetings with her father.  He’d made a few half-hearted attempts to apologize and try to explain his actions – he’d had no choice, the Triumverate had ordered him to turn her over, he would never have let them actually take her to Africa, blah, blah, blah.  She’d thrown away the flowers he’d sent and deleted the messages he’d left in her voice mail.  He hadn’t actually shown up at her door, and she figured he was too much of a coward to do that.  She preferred to put off any confrontation – hopefully forever.  His betrayal was like an open wound that wouldn’t heal, and she didn’t really want it to.  The constant, nagging pain served as a reminder of how wrong she’d been about her father, how Jarod had been right about him all along. 

The fact that she couldn’t do anything but wait around while Broots sifted through computer files looking for a clue grated on her nerves.  At least when she was pursuing Jarod on the Centre’s orders, she was kept busy traveling around the country to his various hide-outs.  She desperately wanted to hop on a plane to Africa, but the lack of a specific location kept her here.  She’d even had the crazy idea to do something else to piss off the Triumverate, but she knew that getting herself thrown into the same prison as Jarod would not help matters and would make his sacrifice for nothing.  She tried to use the “WWJD” code of behavior – What Would Jarod Do – to guide her actions.  His most successful Pretends were those in which he planned and executed detailed schemes.  When he’d deviated from his normal behavior and let emotions rule his actions, look where it had gotten him – some dungeon in Africa.  As hard as it was, she had to stay calm and wait for the right opportunity to act.

She hated waiting.  As the days, then weeks, had gone by, she’d grown more and more agitated, spending her days in quiet desperation and her nights in restless slumber filled with dark and troubling dreams.  At least she’d successfully fought against the temptation to have a drink.  Alcohol had been largely responsible for her insane decision to murder her brother, and she wasn’t going to let it take control of her life again.

The elevator finally came to a halt.  Miss Parker strode swiftly down the corridor to the tech lab, her high heels beating a staccato rhythm on the tile floor.  As the door of the lab whooshed open, she caught the end of what Broots was saying to Sydney:  “…not going to like this.”

“What am I not going to like?” she demanded as both men looked up quickly, startled by her sudden entrance.  “The fact that you still haven’t located the Triumverate’s research facility?”

Broots started his usual string of stammering.  “No, I m-mean, yes, I mean, n-no, I haven’t found the Triumverate’s base of operations, but I do know where Jarod is!”

Miss Parker couldn’t believe he paused after dropping that bomb.  “Where?” she asked, her heart pounding.

“He’s here, Miss Parker,” Sydney said, coming around in front of Broots’ desk.

She needed clarification.  “Here, as in here in the country or here at the Centre?”

“Right here at the Centre,” Broots said, “back in his old room or cell or whatever you’d call it.”

“They must have brought him in over the weekend when there was only a skeleton crew on duty,” Sydney said.

Miss Parker looked at both men and wondered why they didn’t seem more excited by the fact that Jarod had made it safely back from Africa.  “What aren’t you telling me?” she asked slowly.  Then she remembered they’d been studying the computer when she’d come in.  “What aren’t you showing me?” she amended, quickly pushing past Sydney to join Broots behind his computer.  She was disappointed to see nothing but a stupid spaceship screen saver on the monitor.  “What were you watching a minute ago?”

Broots squirmed in his seat.  “Miss Parker, I really don’t think you want to see–”

She fought the urge to throttle him.  “How many times have you said that to me, Broots?  How many recordings have I seen of Jarod being tortured?  I’ve seen him tortured right in front of me.  Hell, I even saw him die!  I can certainly handle whatever it was you and Sydney were looking at just now.”

Sydney nodded solemnly at Broots, and with a small sigh and a defeated slump to his shoulders, the techie pulled up a file and opened it. 

As he pushed the Play arrow, Miss Parker braced herself.  Would she see Jarod chained to the wall, bruised and battered from torture?  Had he been permanently disfigured?

What she saw was darkness; the lights were off in Jarod’s cell.  But she heard a voice say, “Long time no see, luv.”

That simpering, fake accent set her teeth on edge.  Bridget.

The lights came on and she could see Jarod lying on his back on his cot, looking relaxed.  His ankles were loosely crossed, and his hands were clasped behind his head.  She couldn’t see any cuffs or shackles.  “Brigitte,” he said.  “To what do I owe this pleasure?”

He was speaking in his casual, lofty manner that was anything but genuine; Miss Parker hated it when he used that tone with her. 

His visitor didn’t seem to mind.  “I’m the welcoming committee,” she crooned, coming into view of the camera.  She was wearing one of her usual too tight and too shiny strapless mini dresses.  She approached the bed.  “How does it feel to be home, Jarod?”

He didn’t change position as he gave the room a dismissive glance.  “I thought I’d have better accommodations this time around.”

“Well, this has to be better than where you just came from,” Brigitte said.

The camera was too far away to see Jarod’s face.  After a long moment, he said, “True.”

Miss Parker could read all the suffering he’d experienced over the last month in that one word.  She felt her hands clench down at her sides.

Brigitte settled herself on the edge of the cot.  “They say you’re a new man.”

“Do they?” 

Was that a trace of amusement in his voice?

“I’m not sure how I feel about that,” Brigitte confided, resting her left hand on his thigh and slowly walking the fingers of her right hand up the front of his drab Centre-issue t-shirt.  “I rather liked the old Jarod.”

Miss Parker couldn’t believe he could just lie there and let that skank touch him like that.  His skin must have been crawling. 

She could see the slight smile on his face.  “I’m still that man,” he said, “just more… open to all of the possibilities for someone with my genius.  I’m now ready to grasp all manner of opportunities that present themselves.”

Brigitte was caressing his stubbled cheek.  “Oh?” She draped her body over his.  “And what about opportunities you ignored before?”

“Especially those,” he said and grabbed her by the hair.

Miss Parker thought he was going to thrust the bitch away from him, but instead he yanked her even closer and kissed her…hard.

Passionate wasn’t the word to describe their embrace.  Miss Parker knew how a passionate Jarod acted, and what she was witnessing now wasn’t it.  The man and woman in that cell were locked in a fierce clinch, all hungry mouths and frantically roaming hands.  She felt slightly queasy watching the disgusting display and finally had to look away.  She lifted her eyes from the screen and met Sydney’s scrutinizing gaze.

Damn.  Not sure she wanted him to see whatever was showing on her face, she quickly turned her back to him and took a few unsteady steps away from the computer.  She pressed the palms of her hands against the back of her neck to try to stave off the headache she felt forming at the base of her skull.

“Broots,” Sydney said.

“What?  Oh, oh, yeah, sorry.”  He tapped a key and the soft sounds of pleasure emanating from the surveillance video mercifully ceased.

            “Um, Willie and Tony came in a minute later and took Brigitte out of there before… um, before anything further could happen,” Broots offered.

            It helped to know that… but not much.  The stupid blue squares decorating the back wall of the tech lab began to waver in front of Miss Parker’s eyes as her head swam with questions.  Why would Jarod act like that?  As far as she could tell, he hadn’t been restrained in any way.  How could he let that woman touch him?  How could he be the one to kiss her? 

            Now the silence in the computer lab was becoming oppressive.  Miss Parker knew that the men were waiting for her reaction to that recording.  She didn’t want to turn around to see the dread on Broots’ face and the concern on Sydney’s.

            Time for some handy sarcasm. “They bring Jarod all the way back from Africa and the first thing they do is sic that tramp on him?  Talk about cruel and unusual punishment.”

            “I believe they sent Brigitte in as a test to see how Jarod would react to her advances,” Sydney said.

            “Well, he acted like any red-blooded male would,” Broots murmured.

            Now Miss Parker did turn to give him a dirty look.  “Well, obviously Jarod was fak- pretending,” she said.  Next she appealed to Sydney.   “Haven’t you always said that Jarod couldn’t be brainwashed?”

            “That’s true,” he admitted slowly, “but the Triumverate may have brand new methods of mind control at their disposal.  I’ve heard reports of some experimental drugs that have the potential to affect the pre-frontal cortex in an unusual way.”

            “What does that mean?” she asked.  “Jarod’s become like his brother Kyle was?”

“Perhaps.  It appears that his memory is intact, but his personality has changed,” Sydney said heavily.

            “He’s Bizarro Jarod,” Broots muttered.

            She refused to believe it.  “But he was only gone for a month!” she protested.  “I don’t care what Mutumbo and his gang did to Jarod, there’s no way they could undo a lifetime of good behavior and create a monster in that short amount of time.  It’s far more likely that Jarod is just pretending to have changed.  He was putting on a show for the camera.  As hard as it would be to… to act like he’s attracted to that tramp Bridget, he could pull it off.”  A bit too convincingly for her taste, she added to herself, trying to stifle the twinge of jealousy she felt.

            Sydney folded his arms and looked thoughtful.  “I agree there’s a definite possibility that Jarod is pretending to be who the Triumverate wants him to be.  But-”

            “Exactly!” Miss Parker said.  “Pretending that the Triumverate’s brainwashing worked would be the fastest way for Jarod to get the hell out of Africa and back here where he has a better chance of escaping.” 

            “But Mutumbo would expect Jarod to try something like that,” Broots put in uncertainly.  “I mean, it’s a no-brainer that he’d try to fool them in that way.”

            “That’s why they’re testing him,” Miss Parker said. 

            “Well, I intend to meet with him once I get clearance from the Tower,” Sydney said.  “As a psychiatrist and his former teacher, they can’t deny that my assessment of his ‘new’ personality would be invaluable.  I should be able to determine if he has truly changed.”

            “You’re a good shrink, Syd,” she said, “but Jarod is an expert at becoming his chosen persona.  If he sees an ink blot as a snake instead of a butterfly, what can that really tell you?”

            Sydney made a face at her comment, but his tone was mild when he responded, “I won’t be making my analysis solely from a psychiatric point of view.  He’s like a – I raised him, and I can use that personal connection to more accurately read his behavior.”

            “Well, he’s not going to drop his Mr. Hyde personality as long as the cameras are on him,” Miss Parker pointed out.  “Broots needs to work his magic and loop the feed or scramble the video or whatever he does to shut off the recording.  I shouldn’t have a problem getting permission from my fa- from the powers-that-be to visit Jarod.  They’ll want to see how he reacts to me, the woman he gave up his freedom for.”

            “Miss Parker, whether Jarod has been brainwashed or not, you’re probably not going to like what he has to say when you meet with him,” Sydney warned.

            “I may not be a Pretender, but I can certainly put on a convincing act for the camera.  Then, once Broots has tampered with the surveillance equipment, I’ll be able to talk to Jarod in private.  He’ll tell me the truth.”

            Broots looked like he wanted to say something but stayed silent when she sent a sharp glance his way, daring him to contradict her plan.

            Sydney, on the other hand, had no qualms about pointing out a potential problem.  “What if the truth isn’t what you want to hear?” he asked quietly.

            She met his sober gaze for a few defiant seconds before she had to look away.  She realized she wasn’t prepared to answer that question.  Hopefully, she’d never have to.

Work his magic.

            Broots was flattered by Miss Parker’s description of his skills, but any halfway decent hacker could manipulate the image being fed to a security camera.  The real trick was doing it successfully and not getting caught in the process.  With electronic eyes and ears everywhere at the Centre, that was no easy task.

            When he’d taken the position here as an IT specialist, he’d assumed his days would be spent helping stuffy executives retrieve reports they thought they’d deleted, getting rid of pesky internet viruses, or (hopefully) showing attractive, computer-illiterate secretaries how to hook up new hardware to the network.  He’d never imagined how dangerous his job would become.  Forbidden forays down onto SL-27, breaking into Raines’ office, being grilled by a T-Board while clad only in pajamas, being forced to go on the run and then almost shot by a psychopath, helping Jarod escape, posing as Miss Parker’s husband at a class reunion… 

            Broots reluctantly stepped onto the elevator and pressed the button for the Main Concourse level.  As the doors shut, he could feel himself start to sweat.  He tried to take the stairs whenever possible, but he knew Miss Parker was waiting for him in her office, so he had to take the quickest route. 

            He still had nightmares about the time he and Miss Parker had almost died in this elevator.  Managing to regain control of the car’s fried circuits before they plummeted to their deaths – now that had been a bit of magic.  He didn’t think Miss Parker had ever thanked him for saving her life.  At the time she’d been a bit distracted by a bullet wound courtesy of Brigitte and her frantic rush to rescue her father from a bomb planted on go off when his helicopter came in for a landing.  He could understand that.

            Although it would have been nice if, after it was all over, she had sought him out to personally express her gratitude.  Exhausted but victorious from her rooftop battle with Brigitte, she would have found him back in the tech lab.  He would have praised her for the tremendous strength and bravery she’d shown that day, all the while noticing (but not saying) how incredibly beautiful she looked despite the ordeal she’d just gone through.  He’d never forget the sight of her setting off on the 26-story climb through the boiler; in a black lace camisole top and tight leather pants, she’d been a Xena-like vision.  The only thing that could have topped that would have been if Miss Parker had told him how he was the true hero, how impressed she’d been by his amazing ability to perform under pressure, how she couldn’t believe he’d stopped that elevator from its free fall.  Maybe she would have gifted him with a rare sincere smile, one that could light up the darkest corner of the Centre’s sublevels.  Perhaps she would have even allowed him to take her in his arms…

Broots shook off the recurring fantasy.  How many times did he have to remind himself that he had no chance with her?  Miss Parker had made it clear to him that they would never be more than friends, and depending on her mood on any given day, even that classification of their relationship could be considered optimistic.  Besides, she had someone else in her life now – Jarod.

And no one could compete with Jarod.  He had looks, brains, brawn, and the classic tragic hero backstory.  What woman could resist that?  Heck, even he sometimes felt like he had a man crush on the guy.

Broots fidgeted and wondered why the elevator’s ascent seemed so slow.  It had only been a few hours since Miss Parker had announced her plan to speak privately with Jarod, but he knew she’d already want an update on how he was going to make that possible.  Actually, she wouldn’t want to know how exactly since techno speak made those big blue eyes of hers glaze over; he knew what she really wanted was assurance that it could be done.  Fine, he could give her that, but he wouldn’t guarantee that she’d get the results she wanted from a few minutes of alone time with Jarod.  He didn’t know the details of what had been done to the Pretender in Africa, but no one had ever come back the same after a stay at the Triumverate’s secret facility.  Look at Raines; he’d gone from a freakin’ mad doctor to a benevolent evangelist.  Even Mr. Parker had been a little balmy upon his return, spending weeks hiding out in homeless camps. 

Broots couldn’t believe that man had turned his own daughter over to Mutumbo, especially after having had first-hand experience of the treatment she could expect in Africa.  He knew that betrayal must be eating her up inside, but she hadn’t said a thing to him.  He supposed she could have spoken to Sydney about it and made him keep it confidential in a doctor-patient capacity, but he doubted it since she’d always distrusted Sydney’s shrink side.  Broots had been on his esteemed colleague’s couch a few times – usually to talk about his futile romantic feelings for Miss Parker – so he knew how hard it was to expose your inner demons.  And he knew Miss Parker had a whole horde of those.

Which was why she and Jarod would be so good together.  Even through the green haze of jealousy, he could see that those two were meant for each other.  They had a bond forged by similar painful childhoods when they’d been each other’s only friend.  The fact that they had spent most of their adult lives as enemies didn’t matter; he’d never believed that Miss Parker hated Jarod as much as she proclaimed.  Her breakdown after his “death” just proved how much he meant to her.  When he’d let Jarod take her away on the day she’d killed Lyle, Broots had suspected that the two of them would finally admit their feelings for each other once they were alone on the run together.  Obviously, Jarod cared very deeply for her, or he wouldn’t have turned himself over to Mutumbo in exchange for her freedom. 

But Miss Parker was still here, and Jarod was back but not the Jarod she wanted, not the Jarod anyone wanted except the Triumverate who probably had a whole bunch of evil deeds lined up for their new Pretender to do, and everything was a mess and as usual, he was right in the middle of it with Miss Parker expecting him to circumvent the security cameras without getting caught, and he was really getting tired of putting his life on the line without receiving even the tiniest bit of gratitude when he pulled off the impossible, the least she could do was treat him better, would that be so much to ask? 

Broots let out a frustrated sigh.  Okay, so he’d never be Miss Parker’s hero.  He could live with being her friend.  And as her friend, he just wanted her to be happy.  So, he hoped she was right about Jarod pretending to be bad.  Their love story deserved a happy ending. 

But this was the Centre.  Even as the elevator rose, Broots couldn’t shake the sinking feeling that things would not work out the way they should.

The car came to a stop, and the doors opened on the Main Concourse level.  And there was Brigitte.  Broots felt his face grow hot as he remembered how he’d last seen her in that amorous clinch with Jarod.

Accustomed to this reaction from him, Brigitte greeted him with a flirtatious grin.  “Well, hello, Mr. Broots.  I haven’t seen you in a while.  Been keeping yourself busy?”

“Well, yeah, you know, no rest for the weary.”  He gave a nervous laugh that dissolved into a small cough.  As he tried to move past her, she held the doors open with one hand and  reached out to straighten the collar of his green polo shirt with the other, her fingers lingering, warm against the skin of his neck.

“No one appreciates all the hard work you do,” she murmured.

Was she reading his mind?  Broots could feel his heartbeat quicken, and he wasn’t sure if it was from nervousness or excitement.  He didn’t really care which.

“Take your filthy paws off him, Bridget.”

The teasing glint left the blonde’s brown eyes in a flash.  She released him and swung around.  “Miss Parker, what a surprise.  I didn’t think you still worked here.  Now that Jarod’s safely back where he belongs, I would think there’s no longer any need for your services.”

Miss Parker bared her teeth and responded with equal saccharine.  “And just what services are you offering to keep your job?”

Brigitte took a step towards her, and Broots ducked through the doors just before they closed.  Then he wondered if maybe he should have gone back down to his office; he could tell a nasty confrontation was brewing.

“Mutumbo personally assigned me to work closely with Jarod on his next project,” Brigitte said, sounding proud of that fact.

As his guide to the dark side?  Broots wondered but wisely kept that thought to himself.

“Oh, I saw exactly how close you’d like to get to Jarod,” Miss Parker said and took a threatening step towards her nemesis.

Unconcerned, Brigitte glanced at Broots.  “So Mr. Broots used his considerable hacking skills to already download a bootleg copy of the surveillance video from Jarod’s cell?”  Her eyes locked again with Miss Parker’s.  “I haven’t had the pleasure of seeing it yet.  How did we look together?  I imagine Jarod and I make a lovely couple.”

“In your dreams,” Miss Parker growled.

Broots took a careful step away from the women.

Brigitte smiled.  “I don’t have to dream about him anymore.  Today I had a taste of the reality, and it was even better than the fantasy.”

“Jarod wouldn’t give you a second glance if he was in his right mind.”

“What’s the matter, Miss Parker?  Don’t like seeing someone else play with your boy toy?  Didn’t your Mummy teach you how to share?”

Even though he’d been expecting trouble, Broots was still shocked when Miss Parker hauled off and hit Brigitte.  It was a solid punch to the jaw, and it sent the blonde staggering backwards.  Miss Parker followed up by slamming her against the closed elevator doors, bracing her forearm under Brigitte’s chin to hold her in place.

“Broots!” she ordered, jerking her head towards the call button on the wall.

He darted forward and pushed the button.

The elevator doors slid open almost immediately, and Miss Parker simply let go, allowing Brigitte to tumble to the floor of the car.  “Going down, luv?” she mocked before the doors closed on her furious opponent struggling to get to her feet.

She snapped her fingers at Broots.  “My office.  Now!”  Then she swiveled on her six-inch heels and struck out across the Main Concourse.

Broots meekly followed in Miss Parker’s wake, keeping his head down as an example to the sea of curious onlookers that had gathered.  He hoped no one would meet her eyes right now; in her present mood, she might take it as a challenge and lash out – verbally or physically – at some poor secretary or accounting clerk.  He knew the meeting in her office was not going to be pleasant, but he was used to her abuse.

At least his downward-directed gaze gave him a nice view of Miss Parker’s long legs as she set a fast pace through the crowded corridor. 

His job did have some perks.

Chapter 34

            “Good to see you again, Miss Parker.”

            She’d expected him to act differently but was unprepared for the sharp pang she felt when he greeted her like the cold and remote Jarod from his early days on the run.  She hadn’t realized until this moment just how accustomed she’d become to the warm and genuine man she’d gotten to know this summer.  She told herself it was best he’d addressed her in this annoying manner; it helped her to keep her distance, which was absolutely necessary for a few minutes until Broots did his trick with the camera.

            Jarod was sitting cross-legged on his cot, arms resting lightly, palms up, on his knees.  Perhaps he’d been meditating before she’d arrived?  He cocked his head slightly to one side.  “Although after all we’ve been through together, perhaps I should call you by your first name?  Would you like that, Mi-” He paused, a small smile touching his lips.  “No, I suppose you’re still entitled to a few secrets.”

            Thrown off guard by this petty threat, she had to collect herself before coolly replying, “And exactly who I am I speaking to?”  She stepped away from the door and squarely into the line of the surveillance camera’s sight.  Show time.

            He didn’t move from his relaxed posture, and the smile didn’t leave his face, but she thought she detected a stiffening of his body before he answered.  “Contrary to popular opinion, I didn’t come back from Africa as an entirely different person.  I’m still Jarod… just a new and improved version.”

            “Oh?  How so?”

            “I realized I need to stop being afraid to use my unique ability.”

            That surprised her.  “Afraid?  You’ve been using your Pretender skills almost your whole life, most recently to help people.”

            “By wandering around the country, randomly selecting some poor saps who’ve been victimized?” he said scornfully.  He unfolded his body and stood up.  “It’s a big world, Miss Parker, and if I use my genius correctly, I could affect real change.”

            He didn’t miss the skeptical look she gave him; nor would the camera.  “No, I’m not having delusions of grandeur,” he went on.  “In fact, I’m humbled by the scope of the problems around the globe.  But I know now that I have to do what I can to make a difference.”

            “And you think the Centre can help you do that?”

            He seemed to take no offense at her cynical tone.  “The Centre has the resources and power to make the most of my genius.  After all, it raised me and helped me to develop my special talent.”

            “Raised you?” she choked out.  “The Centre stole you from your parents, experimented on you, threatened your loved ones, tortured you… why in the hell would you trust them now?”

            His face and voice remained stubbornly impassive.  “I can’t deny my special ability any longer.  I have a responsibility to use it.”

            “To do what’s right,” she prompted, trying to make it seem like she was trying to reach the real Jarod.  He was playing the role of reprogrammed Centre drone so well – too well – that she had no trouble arguing with this “new and improved” version.

            “To do what’s necessary,” he said.

            “So it was necessary for the Triumverate to kill people with the virus you were forced to create?”  She regretted her words instantly; she hadn’t planned to bring up such a painful subject.

            But he didn’t even flinch, and his tone was slightly patronizing as he said, “You don’t know the situation in Africa, Miss Parker.  Mutumbo’s trying to operate in the middle of a war zone.  At times he is forced to take drastic measures to neutralize his enemies.”

            The callousness of his response drew a heated reply from her.  “Innocent people died, Jarod!  You’re telling me that you’re fine with that?  Children dying because of what you thought up?”

            For the first time since she’d entered his cell, he seemed unsure of himself, looking away as he said quietly, “Of course not.  But… but I understand that sometimes sacrifices have to be made.”

            “Why?  For the greater good?  What ‘good” did the Triumverate achieve by killing those innocent villagers?”

            Now he met her fierce gaze, calm again in the face of her anger.  “You don’t understand,” he said.  “The Triumverate needs to do whatever is necessary to hold on to its power.  Then they can continue to fund all sorts of projects that benefit people, far more people than I could ever help by blundering around on my own.”

            She couldn’t take much more of this.  Jarod was too convincing as a loyal Centre operative; she was starting to feel sick to her stomach.  She checked her watch to see if it was time for Broots to manipulate the camera feed.

            “Is there some place you need to be?” Jarod asked.

            “Anywhere is preferable to here if I have to listen to you regurgitate Centre dogma that you were force-fed in Africa.  Hope you enjoy being their puppet; that’s something you’ve never done before.”  She turned and left in a huff, hoping her exit would look dramatic on camera.

            She swept past Tony, the Sweeper on guard duty, but stopped halfway down the narrow corridor and turned back.  “That’s not Jarod,” she muttered, as if to herself.

            Tony took a peek through the small opening in the door.  “Looks like Jarod to me,” he said with a shrug.

            Refraining from checking her watch out here in the hall, she hoped enough time had passed by now for Broots to have captured the image of whatever Jarod was doing in there (hopefully standing or sitting still) and started playing it on a feedback loop.  Time for her to get back in there and have a real conversation.

            She made it appear that she’d just come to a decision.  “I can’t leave things like this,” she declared and strode back to the door.  When Tony seemed like he was going to refuse to unlock it, she gave him her most imperious look, and he opened the door without argument.

            Jarod was still standing where she’d left him.  He looked surprised to see her re-enter.

            Before he could say anything, she rushed to explain.  “Look, Jarod, we don’t have much time.  Broots is looping the security feed, but he can only give us ten minutes.”

            Seemingly unaffected by her urgency, Jarod flicked a lazy glance at the camera in the corner then quirked a half-smile at her.  “Good old Mr. Broots,” he drawled.  “He’s the most nervous man I know, but he’s always willing to risk his neck to do your bidding.  When will the poor guy finally accept the fact that he has no chance with you?”

            Miss Parker squirmed a bit at this crass but accurate assessment of her relationship with her co-worker.  “Are we really going to waste time talking about Broots?” she snapped.

            “You’re right; we have better things to do.”

            The kiss took her by surprise, but even as her mind tried to warn her that it was neither the time nor the place for this, Miss Parker’s body eagerly responded to Jarod.  It felt so good to be in his arms again, to feel his lips on hers, his warm hands against her skin… A cascade of delicious sensations swept through her body, and she realized how much she’d been craving his touch.

            When they finally came up for air, however, she reluctantly groaned, “Jarod, stop, we can’t…”

            “What’s wrong?” he murmured, nuzzling her neck.  “Do you want to wait until the camera’s back on?  Give the guys in security a show?”

            The uncharacteristically crude suggestion made her pull back, but instead of questioning his comment, she found herself blurting out, “Like you and Bridget did the other day?”

            “You saw that.”

            He didn’t sound surprised.  Or ashamed, but she responded as if he’d offered the apology she’d expected.  “It’s okay, Jarod, I understand you had to react that way to her advances to keep in character.  You obviously passed their tests in Africa, or they wouldn’t have sent you back here, but Sydney said they still want to see how you’ll interact with people you know.  So, of course, you had to do… what you did with Bridget.”  She stopped, aware she’d been talking too fast.

            Jarod had a bemused expression on his face.  “Let me get this straight,” he said.  “A beautiful woman threw herself at me, and because I responded like most men would, I’ve proven myself to be…what?  A bad guy?”

            Why was he acting like this was all a joke?  “No, just not the Jarod I know,” she said.  “That tramp’s not your type.”

            “Really?  Brigitte is a smart, strong, sexy woman with killer legs that she likes to show off…”

            Miss Parker ignored his appreciative glance at her brown leather mini skirt.  “She’s also been working for the Centre for years to catch you.”

            Jarod merely arched an eyebrow.

“She tried to kill my father!  She tried to kill me!”

            “You killed your own brother.”

            She felt like she’d been punched in the stomach and found herself taking a step back as if she’d actually been physically assaulted.  The Jarod she knew would never have brought up such a painful subject just to score a point in a meaningless argument.

            So maybe this really wasn’t the Jarod she knew.

            She had a sick feeling as, for the first time, she let herself believe that the man standing in front of her could be a stranger.  “The clock’s ticking,” she said, annoyed to hear the slight tremor in her voice.  She took a breath and went on briskly, “If you have a plan to escape, you’d better let me know about it now while the camera’s off.”

            He cocked his head slightly, a move reminiscent of his early days on the run when confronted by something new.  “Why would I have an escape plan?”

            She tamped down the surge of unease his question produced.  “Because that’s what you do, Jarod.  Besides helping strangers, devising ingenious ways to get out of here is what you do best.”

            He was shaking his head.  “No, I-”

            She didn’t let him finish.  “That’s okay, I’ll work on it with Sydney and Broots.  We’ll figure out something.” 

            “No, you don’t understand.  I don’t want to escape.”

            The bottom fell out of her churning gut.  “What are you talking about?  After everything the Centre’s done to you, after everything they’ve made you do…”  Her voice was rising.  She paused to take another calming breath, pull back from the edge of hysteria.  “The Jarod I know would do anything to be free of this place.  You even faked your own death!”

            Was that uncertainty she saw flicker in his eyes?  “I wasn’t thinking clearly,” he said slowly.  “There was something wrong with my brain… I told you that.  In Africa they… they fixed the problem.”

            “How?  Torture?”

            “Nothing so crude.”

            She remembered what Sydney suspected.  “Drugs, then?”

            Jarod nodded.  “Yes, they used a special drug protocol formulated specifically for me,” he said.  “In conjunction with a minor procedure.”

            “Brain surgery?” She couldn’t keep the alarm from her voice, although the fact that she didn’t see any evidence of an operation – no scar, no shaved area on his head – did slightly allay her fears.  She tried not to think about Lyle’s tiny torture device that had been implanted at the base of his skull, barely leaving a mark; who knew what Mutumbo could do in his state-of-the-art facility?

            “No, nothing invasive like that.  They performed electrical stimulation of a targeted area of my brain.”

            It took her a few seconds to interpret what he’d just described. “They gave you electroshock therapy?” she gasped.  So, no fancy implant; Mutumbo had just zapped Jarod the old-fashioned way.

            “It can be a very effective treatment.”

            His matter-of-fact tone as he told her about the “procedures” he’d recently endured was really starting to get on her nerves.  And scare her.  “But there was nothing wrong with you!”

            “You don’t understand-”

            “I understand that Mutumbo is feared by everyone here at the Centre, including my father!  I understand that the Triumverate’s base of operations in Africa is the last place anyone wants to go!”  She was starting to shake and had to struggle to keep her voice steady when she said, “What I don’t understand is how you can come back from Africa and claim Mutumbo and his minions actually ‘fixed’ you.  Looks to me like they experimented on you and created their own Frankenstein!”

            “So now I’m a monster?” Jarod spoke quietly, but she could hear the underlying anger, see the tightening of his jaw.  “Exactly what have I done to make you think that?”

            “It’s what you will do that scares me,” she responded just as quietly, and with equal intensity.  “Jarod, I know what you’re capable of.  If Mutumbo has managed to turn your ethical switch off, then you’ll be willing to do anything the Centre asks of you.”  She paused then added bitterly, “It’s too bad Raines isn’t here.  He’d be so proud to see you’ve finally become the Pretender he always wanted.”

            Jarod grabbed her arm.  “Don’t say that!  Raines is the one who’s the monster!  He destroyed my brother’s life!  He was so jealous that Sydney had been given control over the Pretender project – over me – that he was desperate to create his own Pretender first.  So he took shortcuts, used crude techniques, and left Kyle dark and twisted, a broken human being.  If I could just get my hands on Raines…”

            Miss Parker shared his sentiments, but right now the only thing within Jarod’s reach was her, and his grip on her arm had steadily tightened throughout his outburst.  She tried to pull free, but his hand was clamped like a vise above her left wrist.

            She felt the first stirrings of panic.  “Jarod, let go,” she said sharply.

            He didn’t seem to hear her, his gaze focused inwards on some grim vision, eyes dark with fury.  Perhaps he was imagining his hands around Raines’ throat.  The problem was that she had become the stand-in victim in the current simulation.

As the pressure continued to increase on her arm, she had to bite her lip to keep from crying out in pain.  “Jarod, you’re hurting me,” she said quietly, hoping a calm voice would disrupt his violent fantasy.

            He blinked, and the dark cloud started to clear from his face.  Looking down, he released his hold on her at once, and Miss Parker quickly backed up a step, instinctively cradling her throbbing wrist against her stomach. 

Looking slightly shaken, Jarod retreated to his cot, where he sank down on the edge and bowed his head.

He was utterly still as he stared at the floor, but she could feel the intensity of his roiling emotions.  Wanting to go to him and take him in her arms, instead she forced herself to make the most of this opportunity.  “Look, Jarod, you know I agree with you about Raines.  Don’t forget; I was one of the first people to recognize what an evil bastard he is.  It makes me sick knowing that he’s still out there somewhere.  How the hell could Mutumbo just let him go?  He ‘fixed’ Raines by helping him find Jesus and then sending him on his merry missionary way?”

Jarod continued to look down as he said heavily, “Perhaps the Triumverate believed that was a fitting way for Raines to atone for his sins.”

“So he got religion and you got electroshock therapy?  How is that fitting?”

He still wouldn’t look at her.  “The treatment was necessary to fix a defect in my brain.”

Damn it, they were just going in circles.  They didn’t have time for this!

Miss Parker quickly crossed to Jarod and dropped into a crouch in front of him so she could look him in the eyes and read his first (and hopefully unguarded) reaction to what she was about to say.  “Jarod, listen to me, you can fight this,” she said with intensity.  “Maybe Sydney could hypnotize you or something, find a way to undo whatever the hell they did to you in Africa.  Trust me on this, Jarod.  You’ll never forgive yourself if you start hurting people on the Centre’s orders.” 

He was listening, but she could tell that he wasn’t taking her seriously.  Which might be a good thing, she reflected, since she really didn’t want him to report their conversation to the powers-that-be.  But that was a risk she’d have to take; she needed to know she’d done everything she could to reach him.  What would work?  No fairy tale kiss; their earlier embrace proved he still was attracted to her, but she needed find a way to go beyond the physical, determine if they were still connected on an emotional level.

“I can help you, Jarod, but only if you let me.”  Miss Parker took a deep breath.  “Do you remember what you said to me on our last afternoon together in New York?”

The question took him by surprise.  She watched him search for the memory, saw how his eyes softened when he found it.  “I told you I loved you,” he said slowly.

Hope surged through her.  Maybe her Jarod was still reachable…

“I remember you didn’t say it back,” he added, his voice and eyes gone hard and flat.

The accusation stung like a slap.  Just like a couple of months ago, she didn’t know what to say.  If she hadn’t been able to return the sentiment then, there was no way she could bare her soul to the man in front of her now.

“Instead you ran away,” Jarod went on mercilessly, “and I had to come rescue you.”

The blows just kept coming.  She instinctively felt a spark of anger, but it was quickly smothered by guilt, the guilt that had been building inside her for weeks.  How many times had she wished she could apologize?  But now that her chance had finally come, she felt a flush of uncertainty.  How would this Jarod react?

 Now she was the one unable to face him.  Miss Parker abruptly rose and retreated to the other side of the room.  She had to try to explain, if only for her own peace of mind.  With her back to him, she began, “I had to see my father…”

“Who betrayed you.”

Harsh but true.  No need to add the “I told you so;” she imagined she could hear the echo of those words hanging heavily in the silence between them.  “I’m sorry,” she tried again.

“Don’t be.  What happened was for the best.”

Confused, she turned to look at him.  “You’re not serious,” she said.

“This is where I belong, Miss Parker.  I was a fool to ever think otherwise,” he said, looking and sounding as earnest as he had in some of their most intimate moments.

Well, this meeting had certainly not turned out like she’d hoped it would.  She envisioned future futile encounters in this windowless, subterranean cell and felt queasy at the thought.

“Oh, Jarod,” she groaned.  “Why couldn’t you be pretending?”

He tilted his head, a simple gesture of curiosity and nothing more.  “You really do love him, don’t you?”

His use of the third person was final confirmation that this Jarod was someone she didn’t know.

“It doesn’t matter,” she said wearily.  “He doesn’t exist anymore.”

Miss Parker headed for the exit on shaky legs, not bothering to check her watch.  She knew their time was up.

Chapter 35

            “You’re leaving?”

            Sydney couldn’t keep the surprise from his voice.  When Miss Parker had asked to meet him at Hybrid Biotract 42 he certainly hadn’t anticipated a simple stroll through the gardens, but what she’d just told him was the last thing he’d expected to hear.  He’d hoped her choice of this secluded location meant she was ready to share more details about her encounter with Jarod the other day; it was rare when she confided in him, but it did happen, and right now he knew she desperately needed to talk to someone.  When she’d told him and Broots that she was convinced Jarod had returned from Africa a changed man – and not for the better – Sydney could sense the despair behind the carefully-delivered words.  True, he could have been projecting some of his own profound disappointment in that moment, but it didn’t take a degree in psychology to know she was hurting.  Buoyed by the hope that she was willing to talk now, he’d arrived at this afternoon’s clandestine meeting with the intention to help her sort through her feelings and deal with the situation by finding a positive way to move forward.

            Although it seemed Miss Parker had already chosen her path.  He’d barely joined her on the stone steps at the far end of the biotract when she’d announced that she was leaving the Centre for good.  Caught off guard by this news, Sydney didn’t even think about phrasing his next question in a gently persuasive manner like any good psychiatrist would.  He simply said, “Why?”

            She didn’t respond immediately.  Sitting next to him on the steps, she kept her gaze on the gardens below.  The lush blooms of late spring were long gone, and the brilliant fall foliage wouldn’t appear for another month.  Still, the biotract boasted a diverse enough array of flora for something to be at its peak no matter what the season.  From his current vantage point near the top of the flight of steps, Sydney spotted several varieties of ferns and some flourishing species of ornamental grasses topped with delicate white plumes swaying in the slight breeze.  But he doubted Miss Parker was seeing the beautiful scene below her; her mind’s eye was focused, no doubt, on the many tumultuous events that had transpired since the last time she’d sat here with him.

            She’d helped Jarod pull off a daring escape only to watch him “die” later.  She’d been driven to shoot her own brother.  She’d gone on the run from the Centre and been reunited briefly with Jarod.  Then she’d been betrayed by her father and almost shipped off to Africa.  Jarod had rescued her at the expense of his own freedom and, it now seemed, his own true self. 

            Just thinking about these events left Sydney weary to his core.  He knew what a terrible toll this summer had taken on Miss Parker.  Her physical, mental and emotional reserves must be depleted.  He couldn’t fault her for wanting to get away.  But what kind of friend – or psychiatrist – would he be if he just let her go without at least trying to determine if she was thinking clearly enough to make such a life-altering decision?

            The silence stretched out between them.  Just when he thought she wasn’t going to respond, Miss Parker stirred and said, still looking away from him, “Why am I leaving?  My job here is done.  Jarod is back and ready, willing and able to do whatever dastardly deeds the Centre deems necessary.  I more than fulfilled the terms of my contract with my father, so it’s time for me to get the hell outta here.”

            “All valid points,” Sydney acknowledged drily, “but you might want to tweak the language a bit before you write your official letter of resignation.”

            “Oh, don’t worry; my language will be different when I personally deliver that letter to my father.”

            Again, she’d surprised him.  He knew she’d been avoiding her father since he’d turned her over to Mutumbo.  This was a positive sign that she felt ready to initiate contact, although he still had to ask, “Are you certain you’re ready for that?”

            Now she met his concerned gaze.  “I’m sure you’d agree that closure is a good thing.  The last time I tried that it didn’t quite work out the way I’d hoped…” She took a breath and continued, “This time will be different.  I have a few things I need to say to my father before I leave.”  The steel in her voice was reflected in the fierce blue glint in her eyes.

            Sydney was relieved to see the Miss Parker he knew, the fighter who wasn’t afraid to meet obstacles head-on.  He’d been worried that recent events may have caused her to slip back into the depression that had gripped her this summer after Jarod’s “death.”

            Then he felt a twinge of uneasiness as he remembered the drastic action she’d taken to fight back before.  She wasn’t planning to shoot her father as she had Lyle, was she?  Sydney realized he needed to talk to her a little more, try to get a feel for her current state of mind, before she had any confrontation with Mr. Parker.

            “I think it’s a good idea to talk things over with your father,” he said carefully, hoping the subtle stress he placed on the word “talk” would give her a subliminal nudge away from any violent plans.  “I know you’ve had trouble being honest with him about your feelings.”  He paused then tried to sound casual as he added, “So why don’t you practice with me first and tell me the real reason you’re leaving.”

            Her gaze shifted away.  “Damn it, Sydney.”

            But he could tell it was a half-hearted protest, a reflex after years of resisting what she thought of as his shrink-like tendency to ask probing questions.  She could have told him her news over the phone, or in an e-mail, or even in passing in the hall; her choice of this secluded meeting spot hinted that she was expecting a more in-depth conversation… and that she wasn’t totally adverse to it.

            So he waited.  The late afternoon sun and fresh air felt good; he always welcomed the chance to get out of his airless, underground office.

            Miss Parker finally spoke.  “I meant what I said earlier, you know.  I did do my job; I brought Jarod back to the Centre.  Even if that wasn’t my intention,” she added bitterly.  “I was foolish enough to get caught in a trap, and Jarod had to come to my rescue.”

            “You couldn’t have known your father would betray you like that,” Sydney murmured, glad for the shrink-like tendency ingrained in him to maintain a calm demeanor; otherwise, he might have allowed his own anger at Mr. Parker’s unforgivable behavior to show, and that would just add fuel to the fire he’s seen in Miss Parker’s eyes a moment ago.  Not a good idea to encourage any rash behavior on her part.

“Jarod knew,” she said.  “At least he knew I couldn’t trust my father.  He’s been telling me that for years, but I never wanted to hear it.  And now he’s the one paying for my stubbornness.” 

“Feelings of guilt – although I believe them to be unwarranted in this case - are understandable.  The key is to not allow them to paralyze you.”

“Paralyze me?  What the hell can I do anyway?  It was damn near impossible to break Jarod out the last time, and that was when he was desperate to escape.  Now that he actually wants to stay here…”  She sighed.  “I can’t do this anymore, Sydney.  I’m just so… tired.”  She paused.  “Do you think I’m a terrible person for leaving?”

She still wasn’t looking at him, but from the stiff way she held herself as she awaited his reply, he knew that question had not been an easy one to ask.  So the simple answer – “of course not” – would not suffice.  Most people would prefer a quick and comforting response, but Miss Parker was not like most people.  With a mother who’d been kind but mentally unstable, a brother who’d been a psychotic killer, and a father who excelled at treachery, she had reason to worry about unsavory traits surfacing in her own personality.  Perhaps she believed he’d be the first one to recognize the warning signs if she started to behave like the members of her family.

So was she asking for his professional opinion?  Or for advice from a friend?  She rarely sought either from him.  The fact that she was doing so now seemed to indicate that she hadn’t one hundred percent made up her mind about leaving, which he felt was a healthy sign; when making such a life-altering decision, she should welcome input from those closest to her.

Although relieved that she was reaching out to him, Sydney did not know how to respond.  If this was strictly a doctor-patient conversation, he’d say something like: “Only you can decide if leaving is the right thing to do.”  But he knew that reply would serve to solidify all her pre-conceived notions about shrinks who never gave straight answers, eroding whatever level of trust they’d manage to build over the years.  She deserved more than a textbook response.

But was he willing to give one?  If truth be told, Sydney sometimes was grateful for Miss Parker’s policy of never letting anyone get too close.  As coordinator of the Pretender project all those years ago, he’d had to stay detached – to a certain degree - or he would never have been able to put young Jarod through all those difficult simulations.  He’d maintained that same detachment from Miss Parker ever since she was a child, offering her emotional support only when absolutely necessary, like when her mother died and her father was too grief-stricken to be there for his little girl.  Once she was an adult, it had made sense to continue to be no more than cordial colleagues.  Sydney found it easier to do his job if he kept his own emotions out of the work place.

So he was usually content to refrain from giving Miss Parker any unsolicited advice.  But at this moment, he felt he had to offer his honest opinion about her decision to leave the Centre.  If he could figure out precisely what that opinion was.  Part of him was glad she had finally worked up the courage to break away from this hellhole, but another part of him – a very small part – felt slightly betrayed that she would choose to leave now, when there was still a chance that Jarod – their Jarod – could be brought back.  But he certainly wasn’t going to be so selfish as to reveal those feelings to her and put a damper on what he truly believed could be the start of a whole new happy life for her.

Sensing Miss Parker’s growing discomfort at his silence, Sydney feared he’d hesitated too long.  Somewhere nearby a woodpecker drilled into a tree, as if providing a drumroll.

“Do I think you’re a terrible person for wanting to leave the Centre?  No, of course not, but it doesn’t matter what I think.  You need to believe you’re doing what’s right for you.  I’m sorry if that sounds like something a shrink would say, but it’s the truth.”  Then, before she tuned him out completely, he decided to give more direct advice.  “You said there was nothing more you could do here.  So, maybe the best way to help Jarod is to move on with your life, try to find happiness elsewhere.  Wouldn’t Jarod want you to do that?”

Miss Parker threw an accusing glance his way.  “You make it sound like he’s dead, Sydney!”

He met her angry gaze.  “In a way he is,” he said, again thankful for his psychiatric training that enabled him to keep his voice steady and calm when discussing something that tore at his soul.  “Our Jarod is gone, perhaps forever.  We need to deal with that loss, come to terms with our grief.”

“Been there, done that, made a complete mess of things.”  Her tone was flippant but he saw the haunted look in her eyes.  Sydney knew he’d never forget the sight of Miss Parker standing over Lyle’s body in the parking garage; he was certain she was plagued by similar memories.  

A slight breeze made the treetops sway and sent a cascade of shadows rippling across Miss Parker’s face.  For a second, Sydney thought he glimpsed a trace of the young girl she’d once been or perhaps the ghost of her mother, and he knew he was seeing her vulnerable side, the fragile part of herself that she kept fiercely hidden away.

Forget maintaining a professional distance!  He needed to comfort her.  Sydney reached out to take Miss Parker’s hand.

He was disappointed but not surprised when she pulled away.  What he didn’t expect was the slight wince he noticed accompanying the movement.  “Is your wrist still bothering you?” he asked, remembering what she’d told him about Jarod grabbing her arm.

“It’s just bruised,” she said dismissively, yet she frowned down at her left hand for a beat before adding, “I still can’t figure out why Jarod reacted like that when I mentioned Raines.”

“I’ve been thinking about that,” Sydney said, lacing his fingers over his knees and leaning forward slightly to relieve the pressure on his tailbone from sitting on the rough stone steps.  “We both know that Jarod would have fought the brainwashing process with everything he had, so I believe Mutumbo’s team needed a focal point for his rage.  Raines was the logical choice.  Remember, Raines himself used a similar technique to condition Jarod’s brother Kyle to hate your mother.”

Miss Parker brushed a strand of hair out of her eyes.  “Well, if Jarod kills Raines the next time he sees him, at least something good will have come out of him being brainwashed.”

Sydney knew she wasn’t being facetious when she said that.  “I doubt Mutumbo will allow Jarod anywhere near Raines.  I imagine he’s become a valuable asset in the poorest parts of Africa, where his role of missionary can garner lots of grateful recruits for the Triumverate.”

“I wonder what they’ll have Jarod do.  With his moral compass out of whack, the Centre has a whole new skill set to exploit.  The new Jarod is just as willing to be an assassin as a cop.”

“I won’t stop trying to figure out exactly what they did in Africa to turn him,” Sydney said quietly.  “I’ve already begun researching ways to undo mind control.  I promise you I won’t give up.”

“I know you won’t, Sydney.  It makes it easier for me to leave knowing that Jarod will still have someone here looking out for him.”

“Always,” Sydney said, having difficulty pushing that one word past the sudden lump in his throat.

A lump which seemed to grow larger when Miss Parker unexpectedly reached out and laid her hand on his.  “Don’t let your own guilt blind you to all the ways you’ve helped Jarod over the years,” she said.  “He’s lucky to have had you in his life.  As have I,” she added, her voice thick with emotion.

Her rare display of affection made him realize the importance of this moment; Miss Parker was truly leaving the Centre forever.  He had to clear his throat before he could ask, “Are you certain you want to do this?”

She sighed.  “I’m not certain about anything these days, but I do think it’s the best way to keep my –” She seemed to catch herself, abruptly let go of his hand, and returned her attention to the gardens below.  “To keep my sanity,” she muttered.

Sydney felt like she was still keeping something from him, but he decided not to press the issue.

 “Where will you go?” he asked.

“I’m not sure yet.  I’ll contact you once I’m settled somewhere, but don’t expect me to be in touch on a regular basis.  I’d prefer to keep my whereabouts a secret from the Centre.”

“Is that possible?”

“I’ve learned a thing or two about lying low from Jarod.  Besides, the Centre doesn’t need me anymore to force him to comply.  And once I’ve settled things with my father… Speaking of which,” she added, getting to her feet, “I know he likes to leave early on Fridays so I’d better go now if I want to catch him still in his office.”

Sydney stood also and descended the steps behind her.  They’d just reached the bottom when Broots came hurrying along the path.

“I’m not late, am I?” he asked, slightly out of breath.

“No, you’re right on time,” Miss Parker assured him, which was final confirmation for Sydney that she had wanted to spend some time alone with him for a private goodbye.

“Oh, good.”  Broots sent a nervous glance back over his shoulder before asking in a low voice,” So, what’s the plan?  Are we helping Jarod to escape again?”

“Not this time, Broots,” Miss Parker said.  “I’m the one who’s getting away.”

“Oh!  Well, a vacation from this place is always a good idea.”

“Miss Parker is leaving the Centre for good,” Sydney said.

Broots looked confused.  “C-can you do that?”

Miss Parker’s eyes flashed.  “I’d like to see someone try to stop me.” 

Sydney thought uneasily of being careful what you wished for.

Broots was visibly upset, and Miss Parker added in a teasing tone, “Just think, Broots, how much easier your life will be without me around ordering you to spy on your superiors or sneak down to secret sub-levels or come up with solutions to impossible problems.  You can go back to just doing tech support.”

“You’re right,” Broots said, “I guess I’m not exactly cut out for that cloak and dagger stuff.”

But Sydney noticed that he didn’t seem exactly thrilled about returning to a life spent mainly in the computer lab, confirming what he’d suspected for some time: Broots actually liked the dangerous adventures that had become part of his job.

 “You did okay,” Miss Parker said.  “Better than okay.  You never let me down, no matter what I asked of you.  Hell, you even saved my life on more than one occasion.  Did I ever thank you for that?”

Broots shrugged, looking more and more uncomfortable with the serious turn this conversation was taking.

“Well, I should have.  And for being my friend.  That was probably your hardest job of all, wasn’t it?”  She leaned forward and hugged him, murmuring over his shoulder, “I’m going to miss you.”  Sydney saw her eyes widen in surprise at her own statement, although he wasn’t certain if it was because she had just realized how she felt or because she had actually voiced the sentiment aloud.

Then she did the most startling thing of all: gave him a quick kiss on the cheek before pulling away.

Broots blushed and was completely speechless, too flustered to even stammer a response. 

“I’ve told Sydney not to expect regular updates from me,” Miss Parker said briskly, “but I will be keeping tabs on you, so don’t let me hear that you’ve done anything to hamper Debbie’s budding fashion sense, alright?”

Broots laughed weakly, and Sydney suspected he was remembering the time his young daughter and Miss Parker had dressed in matching black leather outfits.

“Well, I’d better be going,” she said and turned to leave.

“Take care of yourself, Parker,” Sydney said.

Her eyes reflected the warmth of the clear blue sky when she glanced back.  “You, too, Sydney.”  Then she walked away.

“I can’t believe this,” Broots moaned.  “Jarod’s gone over to the Dark Side, and now Miss Parker’s abandoning us.  What are we going to do, Sydney?”

Even with his psychiatric training, Sydney didn’t trust himself to give a safely neutral answer, so he chose to say nothing at all.  He just watched Miss Parker go, her red silk blouse the only bright spot in the landscape. 

Chapter 36

Miss Parker did something she’d never done before; she hesitated at the threshold of her father’s office.  She was glad his secretary had already left for the day.  She didn’t need a witness to this sudden moment of indecision.

She could see her fingers trembling on the door handle.  Damn it, what was wrong with her?  Just a short while ago she’d told Sydney she was ready to march in here armed with her letter of resignation and a few choice words to finally get the closure she needed.  She’d waited too long for this day to have any second thoughts now.

Maybe that was the problem.  Because she’d imagined this scene so many times, she felt extra pressure for it to play out as she hoped.  The unexpectedly emotional goodbyes she’d just exchanged with Sydney and Broots didn’t help; she needed to be in complete control when she walked into her father’s office.

Miss Parker took a deep breath and a firmer grip on the door handle.  Shaking off the last vestiges of “stage fright,” she thrust open the doors.

She’d dressed more conservatively than usual for this meeting.  Her black pencil skirt was tight but a modest length, and her heels were high but not boots.  In fact, she was not wearing any leather, but her blood-red silk blouse still gave her a feeling of power.  She paused in the doorway as she normally did; she knew she made a striking figure.  Plus it gave her a few extra seconds to gauge her father’s mood, always a good idea when entering his office, but especially today.

Mr. Parker glanced up from his desk.  “Angel!” His surprise was quickly replaced by a guarded expression, understandable given the outcome of their last face-to-face.  “Working late?” he added somewhat stiffly.

She closed the doors behind her and crossed the room in a few quick strides.  “Just needed to drop this off,” she said and placed her resignation on the desk in front of him.  Then she took a step back, folded her hands, and waited.

“What’s this?” he asked, frowning down at the envelope.

“My resignation.”

“What?” This time the quick look of surprise gave way to one of annoyance.  “You can’t be serious.”

“We had a deal, Daddy.  Jarod’s back, so my services are no longer needed here.” 

He glared up at her, so it was her turn to be surprised when after a beat he merely grunted and said, “Well, Corporate will be glad to have you back.”

“I’m not going back to Corporate.  I’m leaving the Centre altogether.”  She was proud of the neutral tone she was maintaining, even as she braced herself for what she was certain would be a decidedly more negative reaction once he realized the full extent of her defection.

“Eh, what are you talking about?”  Mr. Parker finally opened the envelope.  She noticed his hands were shaking slightly as he read the letter.  “I don’t understand,” he said slowly.

“I’m quitting.”  She heard the satisfaction in her voice at finally being able to say those words.

Her father must have heard it, too, and it caused his temper to flare.  “This isn’t just some nine-to-five job you can walk away from, jot down on your resume, and move on to something better!”

“You’re mostly right,” she said.  “It’s not an ordinary job, and I could never include this on my resume.  No one would believe me.  Or they’d throw me in jail or a mental institution.”  She paused.  “But I’m sure I could find something better.  Practically anything would do.  Maybe I could get a job cleaning out sewers; I have experience dealing with rats who scurry around in underground tunnels.”

“This is not a joke!” her father snapped.

“Who’s laughing?” she countered sourly.

“The Centre is not an ordinary company.  It takes more than hard work and dedication to move up the corporate ladder here.  I have spent years laying the groundwork so that you could take over for me one day.  And now you just want to throw it all away!”  He crumpled up her letter and tossed it down on the desk in disgust.

“What do you care?  I thought I was dead to you.  That’s what you said, right?  The moment I shot Lyle you ‘lost both of your children’?”

Her father’s eyes widened and he sat back heavily in his chair, as if pressed there by the force of his own terrible words she’d just flung back at him.

No doubt he was shocked she’d finally broached the subject of that terrible day in the cemetery.  She had spent weeks avoiding it – and him – so he may have hoped she’d moved on.  But there was no way she could move on until he’d looked her in the eye and explained how he could have betrayed her like that.

Right now he was doing anything but meeting her demanding gaze.  He squinted uncomfortably in her general direction.  “I was upset, I wasn’t thinking clearly…”

“I got all your messages, I’ve heard your excuses.  What I want now is the truth!”  No longer content to maintain the somewhat docile pose in front of his desk, she moved to stand behind one of the guest chairs and gripped the back of it.  “You certainly were thinking clearly enough when you and Mutumbo planned to ambush me!  How could you do that to me, Daddy?  Especially after you were once a prisoner in Africa yourself.  You knew what kind of hell was waiting for me.”

“I survived,” Mr. Parker said gruffly.  “I knew you would, too.  What doesn’t kill you makes you stronger, right?”

She stared at him, finding it hard to believe that he was spouting clichés and still trying to avoid giving her an honest answer.  “Were you stronger when you came back, Daddy?” she pressed.  “You certainly acted crazy, running around town and hiding out in homeless camps.”

“I admit the shock of what happened in Africa took a while to wear off,” he said a bit stiffly, “but I came out the other side.  And the Triumverate respects me for that,” he added, leaning forward and jabbing a finger at her.  “That was their way of testing me, making sure I was still fit for this job.  That experience could have been your trial by fire, a good way to prove that you could handle the position of Director.”

Despite the fact that she no longer wanted the damn job, it still irked her that anyone would question her qualifications.  “Are you actually saying you were willing to have me go through torture as some kind of sadistic job interview?  I think I’ve already proven myself, Daddy, especially the time I took a bullet meant for you!”

“Oh, Angel, of course I know how strong you are.  Which is why I knew you could withstand anything Mutumbo threw at you.”  Having gotten over his initial shock, her father had adopted his most persuasive tone.  “Letting them take you to Africa would have accomplished two goals: appeasing the Triumverate’s need to punish you for Lyle’s death and demonstrating to the powers-that-be that you have what it takes to run the Centre one day.”

Not only did he expect her to forgive him for turning her over to Mutumbo and his goons, he actually seemed to think she should take it as a compliment!

Miss Parker clenched the back of the leather chair more tightly.  “Well, I don’t think you need to worry about that day any time soon,” she said.  “With Jarod back and finally willing to do the Centre’s bidding, I think the Triumverate is satisfied with how you’re handling business here.  You’re quite safe in your position.”

“I still need to plan for the future, which is why it’s so important to make sure you’re prepared to take over for me.”  He frowned slightly.  “I thought that’s what you wanted, too.”

“I did… a long time ago.”  It seemed like a lifetime ago when she’d been a brash young woman fresh out of college and eager to start her career with the family business.  “At least I thought I did, but now I realize I was just doing what I thought would make you proud of me.  I can’t do that anymore.  I need to live my life for me, do something that will make me happy.”

The frown became a full-fledged scowl.  “Well, like it or not, you have a responsibility here.  The Centre must stay under Parker control!  Since you killed your brother, you’re the only one left to take the reins.”

She chose to ignore his accusing tone and tried to sound casual as she asked, “Just out of curiosity, Daddy, if Lyle were still alive, which one of your children would you want sitting in your chair?”

The question caught him off guard, and he took a long moment to consider his reply, during which Miss Parker wondered wearily why she’d even asked him in the first place.  If he said Lyle would have been his first choice as successor, what did she care?  She wasn’t going to be jealous of her dead freak of a brother.

“I always imagined you behind this desk one day,” he finally said, lovingly caressing the edge of the gleaming wood surface.  “But once I knew Lyle was my son, I’d hoped the two of you would run this place together.  I always thought you’d make a great team,” he went on earnestly, as if eager to make his point before she protested.  “You were both smart and ambitious, but you also both had your own strengths that would have balanced you perfectly to create a force to be reckoned with!”

She was already a force to be reckoned with.  Lyle’s greatest “strength” had been his ability to torture and kill without blinking an eye, not a skill set normally needed by a CEO but one that the Triumverate no doubt admired.  But she couldn’t believe her father also believed that his late son’s penchant for violence had been an ability that would have nicely balanced her more traditional leadership qualities. 

“If you thought Lyle and I should run the Centre together, then why didn’t you arrange for him to be sent to Africa when we all thought he’d caused Jarod’s death?  Wouldn’t his own ‘trial by fire’ have been a good way for him to prove his worthiness to the Triumverate?” 

Mr. Parker shook his head.  “No, he’d already gone through so much in his life that showed he could handle adversity, like the way he escaped from his abusive adoptive parents.”

“He faked his death and framed his father for it!”

Her father’s eyes flashed.  “Lyle did what he had to do to survive, like a true Parker!”  He took a breath.  “Unfortunately, the damage had been done by the time he found us, his real family.  I wish I’d had longer with him.”  Seeing her tense, he went on quickly, “Now, I’m not blaming you, Angel.  I understand that you only did what you thought you had to do to protect yourself.”

“Like a true Parker,” she muttered.

“Exactly.  You can be ruthless when necessary, which is another reason I know you’d make a good Director.”  He gestured to her crumpled letter of resignation.  “So, please, don’t let this be your final decision.  Take some time to think about it.”

“Daddy, I’m not going to change my –” 

“You don’t know that!”  She heard the note of desperation in his voice, saw the slightly wild look come into his eyes.  “Look, I know it’s been a rough year for you.  You just need some time to relax, clear your head… Why don’t you take a leave of absence?  You could travel, stay at our place in Mexico, allow yourself to be pampered.  You deserve it.  And you’ll see, when you come back, you’ll have a whole new perspective on things.” 

She shook her head.  “Getting away is a good idea, but–”

“Excellent!”  Mr. Parker abruptly stood, as if eager to end their meeting on a satisfactory note.  “I’ll call the staff at our villa and have them prepare for your arrival.”

She held up a hand.  “No, Daddy, wait.  You need to know that I’m not just leaving the Centre; I’m also leaving Blue Cove…for good.”

He paled and laid a hand on the corner of his desk as if to steady himself.  “Why?” he finally managed.

“I need a new start, a whole new life.”

“So you’re just going to walk away from the only home you’ve ever known?  Away from your only family?”  He swallowed hard.  “From me?”

She unflinchingly met his gaze, telling herself he couldn’t hear the hammering of her heart.  “Yes.”

“But… what, what will I do without you?”

“It’s not like you’ve ever done that much with me.”  She let her bitterness show.  “Other than Centre business, the most time we’ve spent together in years has been at the cemetery.  I wouldn’t exactly call those happy father-daughter outings.”

He drew himself up to his full height, angry blotches of color returning to his cheeks.  “Don’t you dare make light of those moments we shared at your mother’s grave!”

He wasn’t going to intimidate her.  “I cherished those moments!” she shot back.  “You’re the one who’s ruined that place forever by what you did there!”  She could still feel the sting of his slap.

He blinked rapidly, having the decency to look uncomfortable with the memory.  “We will always share the sorrow over your mother’s death,” he said quietly.  “It breaks my heart to think what she’d say about us being separated.”

“She’d be happy that I’m leaving,” Miss Parker said.  “Remember, right before she died she was planning to escape from the Centre with me and the other children.”

A look of disgust crossed his face.  “Your mother was weak.”

“I’m not my mother.”  For the first time ever, she felt not an ounce of regret as she said those words.

She saw the approving gleam come into her father’s eyes and she mercilessly tried to quench it.  “And I’m not you either, Daddy.”

So she was surprised when he said gruffly, “No, you’re the best of both of us.  And I’m damn proud of you.”

She felt more than heard her quick intake of breath and hoped the sentimental twinge that tugged at her gut did not show on her face.  No!  She would not let one kind word from him soften her resolve.  Not this time.

“I’m my own person,” she said firmly and started backing towards the door, needing to end this before her emotions betrayed her.  “It’s time for me to go find out exactly who that is.”

“But I need you, Angel!”

She didn’t doubt he meant it… in this moment.  The problem was that these moments – ones she’d craved for years – were too few and far between.  “No, you don’t, Daddy,” she replied calmly.  “You think of me as your guardian angel, but I’m no longer that little girl who kept you from falling off the ladder.  If you take a wrong step now, you’ll just have to deal with the consequences.”

Suddenly desperate to get out of there, she whirled and swept out of her father’s office, leaving him standing beside his empty chair.

Jarod lay on his back on his cot, trying to will his heart rate to return to normal.  He’d just clawed free of the suffocating grip of his latest bad dream and knew it would be a while before he could safely shut his eyes again.

Since he’d been plagued by nightmares for as long as he could remember, sleep was not something he enjoyed.  He got the bare minimum of hours his body required but spent a good portion of most nights awake.  Even using relaxation techniques or employing his highly-developed visualization skills, it always took a long time for him to calm down enough to fall asleep again.  He was always relieved when morning came.  No matter how dire his situation, the real world was preferable to the land of dreams where he felt powerless.

Jarod shifted uncomfortably on the hard, thin mattress and wondered when he’d be given better quarters.  Yet he couldn’t blame the Centre for putting him back in this cell.  The lengths he’d gone to to escape this place…and for what?  So he could roam the country like some kind of vigilante dispensing his own brand of justice by whatever means necessary?  He’d acted like a crazy man.  Thank goodness the Triumverate’s team of doctors had been able to diagnose and fix the defective part of his brain.

Yes, he’d come back from Africa a new man, but definitely one changed for the better.  Finally willing to use the Centre’s resources to make a real difference in the world, he was no longer at odds with himself.  He could put all of his energy into his assignments, which should only enhance his abilities.  Jarod finally felt at peace.

So why did his subconscious have to interfere?  He’d been left with a few lingering impressions from his earlier dream: someone – Miss Parker? – had been screaming at him to RUN, but he hadn’t done so.  Unlike normal nightmares, he hadn’t been unable to move; he simply hadn’t seen the need to.

  Perhaps this was his mind’s way of forcing him to replay the conversation he’d had with Miss Parker a few days ago, which was not something he wanted to do.  It had been an entirely unsatisfactory meeting; even the kiss they’d shared – while as passionate as ever - hadn’t felt quite right.  He’d hoped she would have been happy for him, relieved that he’d finally accepted his life at the Centre.  Instead, she’d seemed determined to sow the seeds of rebellion in him, actually expecting him to make another attempt to escape.

Jarod, you’re hurting me.

The memory of her quiet accusation seemed to echo loudly in the darkness of his cell.  He felt the same stab of confusion and panic as he had when she’d actually uttered those words a few days ago.  Now, as then, he couldn’t understand what had made him grab her arm so roughly.  He remembered the sudden rage he’d felt when she’d mentioned Raines, but he also recognized that his reaction had been too severe.  He couldn’t believe he had acted like that.  In fact, he’d felt somewhat disconnected through that whole meeting with Miss Parker, like he’d been watching from a distance.  Not like an out-of-body experience; he’d gone on vision quests and knew what it felt like to leave your corporeal self behind.  This had been more like he was viewing a DSA of himself doing a simulation.  It was an unnerving sensation, one he hoped he wouldn’t have to experience again.

Jarod could feel a headache forming.  He’d been getting them frequently since returning to the Centre, a side effect of the medication the doctors in Africa had prescribed to help with his recovery from the treatments on his brain.  He could put up with this mild discomfort in exchange for a life free of the pain of loneliness.  It was such a relief to finally feel like he belonged somewhere.  The Centre had become his family now.

Jarod sighed.  He really needed to get some sleep; he wanted to be at his best when he was given his first assignment tomorrow morning.  Taking deep even breaths, he closed his eyes and tried to imagine a pleasant scene: Mr. Parker shaking his hand and congratulating him on a job well done while Miss Parker stood nearby, pride shining in her clear blue eyes…

Jarod fell asleep with a smile on his face.

As eager as she was to get on the road, Miss Parker still took a moment after closing her front door to pause and lay a hand against its solid oak surface. 

She would miss this house.  Her mother had loved this summer retreat where she’d spent the happiest times of her life.  Miss Parker was grateful that she’d been able to make this place her home, cherishing the memories of precious moments she’d spent within these walls with her mother.  It would be hard to leave here, but she had no choice.

She’d meant what she’d told her father: her mother would have approved of her decision to leave Blue Cove, especially under these circumstances.  She’d want her daughter to start a new life elsewhere and hopefully find happiness.  That’s exactly what she had been planning to do herself right before she died.

Her father was wrong in thinking her mother weak for wanting to run away.  Miss Parker realized how brave that decision had been, how it took a strong person to leave behind everything familiar.  She knew her mother had felt that that course of action was the only way she could rescue the children from the Centre, her own daughter included.

Miss Parker understood that instinct now.  She let her hand slowly fall from the door and come to rest on her stomach.

She’d do anything to protect her child.

THE END

(for now)

Author’s Note: I am immensely grateful to everyone who took the time to read

and review this story.  Feedback really helps to keep the creative juices flowing.

 Look for the sequel – WHAT DOESN’T KILL YOU – later this year!