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‘Have I told you how much I just love what you’ve done with the place?’
It was cold steel disguised by cream-white magnolia; soft to touch, soft to look at. He was skilled, adept even, at the deception – almost as good as herself; his words cut through the silence effortlessly and he made himself completely at home without invitation, but she did not look up. The paperwork in front of her suddenly grew, if possible, far less interesting than it had been seconds earlier.
‘Mr Lyle,’ she acknowledged, drawing out his name in a tone that was dry as bark.
‘Miss Parker. Long time, no see.’
‘Just the way I like it.’ This time, she raised her gaze to meet his. ‘What do you want?’
He had a smile that was slick as oil, and he wasn’t so easily deterred.
‘It’s always such a pleasure to stumble across you in a wonderful mood,’ he quipped.
‘I try.’
She lowered the pen from her fingers; her eyes like cold glass marbles calmly tracking his movements as he approached her desk. It was a mild reception and he knew he was walking on eggshells but it didn’t bother him in the slightest.
‘I could make a comment in regards to what, exactly, constitutes trying,’ he said, making it was ostensible he was referring to her currently futile attempts at recapturing Jarod.
‘You could,’ she concurred. She arched a brow, ‘or you could stop beating around the bush tell me what you’re really doing in my office.’
She threw in a saccharine smile for effect.
Lyle lapped it up like a kitten at a bowl of milk and she resisted the urge to bare teeth. He responded with that reserved kind of look; only faintly amused and disconcerted, and yet distinctly reminiscent of a smirk. She’d seen it on his face in the diamond depository - she saw it again now. The flex of the neck, the tightening of the jaw. He was about to say something sly and he was arrogantly aware he was going to get away with it.
He straightened his tie.
‘Would ‘let’s cut to the chase’ be too cruelly ironic?’
She leant back in her chair, expression blank – the perfect poker face.
‘Now, now, Lyle – ‘cruel’ is my word. You’ve already got ‘smug’, ‘scheming’ and ‘self righteous’. Let’s not be greedy.’
‘Adjectives and alliteration. You never cease to astound me with your creative use of the English language.’
‘Capricornian wit,’ she replied dismissively. ‘Readily available in a range of other tongues.’
‘I’d always thought you were born in the winter,’ he mused. ‘It makes sense, you know. So… a Capricorn, huh?’
‘Indeed,’ she said, cool and crisp. ‘I’d advise not getting up my goat.’
‘I’m looking forward to locking horns sometime.’
She laughed, and it was a fluid, malicious sound. It echoed; slithering around in his ears like quicksilver, intended as a cool signal of caution.
‘Don’t be. The chances of that happening are set at a, let me see…’
‘Dead zero?’ he offered, still smirking.
‘Drop it a few notches, and you’d be getting there.’
‘I already knew you were a cold hearted bitch, Parker. There’s no need to exaggerate.’
‘Oh, take my word for it, Mr Lyle,’ she said, eyes wide and daring as she spoke. ‘I don’t exaggerate. And I love being underestimated.’
Stepping away from her and turning his back (not a smart move on his behalf – she had no problem with delivering a coup de grâce from behind, this he would come to learn) he adjusted his tie again, shifting somewhat uncomfortably in his suit and clasping his hands behind his back.
‘Don’t you have a pretender to be beating me to?’ she asked coolly, tone still dry. It wasn’t bark this time, but the Sahara desert. A contradiction in so many ways. ‘I’m sure my incompetence is just begging to be countered by you and your cleaner.’
He read her words for what they were. She’d grown tired of the game – the exhilarating, thrilling game – and she wanted him to get to the point or, even better, get the hell out of her office.
He was hanging by one hand from a cliff above a dangerous ravine and found it riveting. Perilous, undoubtedly so – but for some strange reason, he was reluctant to make the move back to safer ground.
‘Smells nice in here.’
He didn’t get to the point because he wasn’t entirely sure he ever had one.
‘Gardenias,’ she said evenly, giving a nod in the direction of the vase on the corner of her desk.
He leaned over and took one of the flowers for himself; holding it so that the petals almost brushed his nose. He inhaled, and the sweet scent filled his nostrils.
She glared at him. He had heard stories of her glares, and knew she was holding back.
Their eyes met, and for a few seconds, nobody moved.
‘Well,’ he said eventually, spinning the custard-powder-white bloom between his fingers. ‘Better get back to work.’
He turned and exited the way he entered.
Blue eyes stared after him long after the doors swung shut.
* * *
‘1985,’ she murmured, softly tapping the placard Jarod had sent her against her chin. ‘One of the best years of my life.’
‘Why’s that, Miss Parker?’
‘For the majority of it, I was either drunk, hung over, or sleeping. I can hardly remember a moment.’
‘Then why was it one of the best years of your life?’ Broots asked, confused.
She rolled her eyes.
‘That is the reason, you moron.’
He let out a quiet, ‘oh,’ that came out as more of a squeak, then turned his attention back to the computer. Giving a small shake of her head, she placed her palms on the desk to lean over and see what he had brought up on the screen.
Miss Parker liked Broots, even though she’d never admit it. She showed her affection for the bumbling tech by embarrassing him whenever possible.
A faint smile found its way onto her lips.
‘Well, I ran a search on the name of the company from the card, Miss Parker, and -’
‘I hope I’m not interrupting anything.’
She drummed her nails on the desk. They were toffee apple red, and long and smooth. When she heard Lyle’s voice, she slowly straightened up.
‘Is there anything I can help you with?’
It was that smirk again; she found herself itching to find a way to wipe it off his face.
‘Just… checking progress,’ he told her nonchalantly, and his smile reminded her of a car salesman.
Don’t buy the car, she thought. Don’t do it. It’s a rip off and a half for sure…
‘Everything’s going just fine. We’ve got a lead on Jarod, a solid one this time -’
‘Excellent,’ he interjected. ‘Excellent.’
He dropped a file in front of her and she stared at him before she allowed her gaze to rest on it. She picked it up and waited for him to tell her what significance it had to anything.
He didn’t.
‘You’re going to Atlanta,’ he said instead.
‘I just told you,’ she said, by means of argument, ‘that we have a lead. The placard Jarod just sent – the company is based in -’
‘Gary, Indiana. And I commend you on your work. It was, after all, a solid lead.’
‘Was?’ she repeated.
Her voice said she didn’t like being told what to do, and she didn’t like being interrupted, either.
‘Was,’ he confirmed, nodding towards the file. ‘Jarod was in Indiana two days ago. He is, however, there no longer.’
‘And you would know this because…?’
‘Brigitte was there yesterday. Shame, really - she only just missed him.’
He continued on, but she didn’t listen. She was too busy calculating the best way to dispose of the blonde that seemed to be making a living out of making her and her team look bad. She was an imaginative person; she came up with many, most of them excruciatingly painful.
Lyle blinked at her and she realized he was waiting for an answer to something.
‘What?’ she snapped irritably, opening the file.
It contained inventories and photos of Jarod’s latest lair. She didn’t bother to read because she knew what it would say – no direct clues. Littered with references to Jarod’s newest discovery. She had seen it a thousand times before.
‘I said, I’d recommend you take the next flight out of here. Who knows. This time, you might just catch him.’
‘If it’s all the same to you, I’d rather Broots kept at the lead we’ve got.’
Saccharine – she’d found that they worked especially well with him. A paper thin smile, sugar coated and oozing with fake cheer.
‘By all means, do so,’ Lyle shrugged. ‘Broots, and Sydney, can stay here. You and I will go to Atlanta.’
A protest formed on her lips but the words didn’t leave her mouth. He smiled and clasped his hands together as if he had settled everything and he’d just come up with a brilliant idea.
‘Right then. I’ll… see you on the tarmac.’
She always liked to have the final word but, again, he disappeared before she could string together a reply.
Next time, she decided, he wouldn’t get away with it.
* * *
‘I’m sure some people exist for the express purpose of annoying me.’
‘Are you suggesting I’m one of them, Miss Parker?’
‘Implicitly,’ she said dryly.
She’d demanded the window seat; God knows she needed something to occupy her during the flight, considering she was stuck sitting next to Him.
An argument had ensued on the tarmac when she had tried to bring along Sam, insisting that while she detested the swarms of sweepers one extra set of muscle couldn’t do any harm. Lyle, however, had won the dispute; he wanted to be as inconspicuous as possible, and she had spent the first half of the flight acting under a self induced vow of agitated silence. He’d proceeded to make subtle attempts at annoying her - all of which had been unsuccessful up until the point where he had taken to blatantly examining all aspects of her figure. She’d supplied him with an icy glare that could freeze hell in return and had, from that moment on, resorted to engaging in an apathetic battle of the wits when it became apparent that deadly quiet had little effect on him.
‘What makes you so damn sure Wonderboy is in Atlanta, anyway?’ she asked, uncrossing then repositioning her legs.
‘I have my sources. Of course, we’re not entirely sure when it is Jarod will be making an appearance.’
‘Excuse me?’
‘Does the name Nia Pedron mean anything to you?’
A bad taste seemed to form instantaneously in Parker’s mouth at the mention of Argentinean woman, though the words had never come from her own tongue.
‘It rings a bell,’ she answered, pretending to become interested with the stretch of clouds visible through the window. ‘But what relevance does she have to Atlanta?’
‘As I’m sure you’re well aware, the Centre has kept Nia under surveillance, should Jarod try to reestablish communication with her. I understand that the two of them have somewhat of a,’ - he cleared his throat, ‘history together.’
‘Get on with it,’ she said, coldly.
She spoke as if she were spitting out venom, and she could tell from the hint of a smirk on his face that he was choosing his words carefully.
‘Recent developments indicate she’s on the move. Heading to Atlanta, to be exact. The surveillance team uncovered her intended destination at the same time routine scans picked up a reservation for a Jarod Carter at a hotel not far from the city central.’
‘You think they’re meeting up,’ she said, catching on.
‘I think there’s something going on here that needs looking into and yes - it all fits.’
‘What doesn’t fit is why Jarod would be planning to rendezvous with this woman when he knows the precautions the Centre would be taking. Surely he realizes she’s being watched.’
‘Contemplating what goes on in that overrated brain of his is Sydney’s job,’ Lyle said dismissively. ‘Yours is to catch him and bring him back, and right now, this is the best chance we’ve got.’
‘I’m surprised you didn’t drag that cleaner of yours along with you,’ Parker said coolly, leaning back in her seat.
‘She’s not my cleaner,’ he responded, ‘she’s the new cleaner. Her presence was hardly intended to make you feel inadequate. Those higher up merely wanted to speed up Jarod’s capture.’
‘So I’m continually being told.’
Taking into account that what she knew about the man seated beside her amounted to approximately nothing, nada, nix – Broots’s efforts had been rather disappointing in that area – she was both determined regarding and wary of extracting information from him. There was incriminating evidence that he had been at the Centre long before his abrupt appearance and, during that time, had been involved with what could most likely be accurately deemed as torturing Jarod. She didn’t doubt that the two of them had a history, and somehow, she knew he wasn’t someone she should be turning her back on in a hurry. He had an aura about him that screamed he wasn’t to be trusted.
‘You’re not one for idle chit chat, are you?’
‘Call me antisocial if you like, Lyle, but my main focus here is putting a certain lab rat back in his cage, and the sooner I can put a stop to these fruitless wild goose chases, the better.’
‘Come on, Miss Parker,’ he goaded. ‘Relax, enjoy the scenery. Soak up the atmosphere. A little fun never killed anyone.’
Considering who they worked for, it was the mother of all lies.
‘No,’ she said cruelly, ‘but you’d hate to be the first.’
He settled back in his seat after that, lips curling slightly at the corners, not saying another word.
* * *
‘Try that again and you’ll be singing soprano in the hospital choir.’
Miss Parker glowered contemptuously in the general direction of airport security officer that had insisted on frisking her upon her arrival. She’d decided that he’d enjoyed the procedure more than he should have, and it had taken immense willpower on her behalf not to break all of his fingers. Lyle, smug bastard that he was, had stood patiently to the side as she had been searched for the offending item that had set off the alarms – later to be found as non existent. A glitch in the system, as it were.
‘Glitch in the system my ass,’ she snarled, snatching her sunglasses from Lyle as she stalked past. She regarded him accusingly over the top of them. ‘I’ll bet you loved every minute of that.’
‘You don’t seem to have much luck with security, do you? But those casino guards in Vegas… surely this paled in comparison.’
‘One more comment like that and I might just introduce you to the concept.’
‘Are you saying you want to… strip search me, Miss Parker?’
Damn straight, she thought – and right after I steal your clothes, I’ll coat you in honey…
That smirk appeared, instilling in Miss Parker great incentive to strangle him.
… and leave you for the birds and whatever menacing, man-eating bugs that inhibit this place. If that proves unsuccessful, we could always go for death by humiliation…
‘You wish,’ she replied, scathing and yet cool as a cucumber as she stopped to fish in her jacket for her cell phone, which she ripped out of her pocket and flipped open with agitation.
‘What?’
‘Miss Parker?’
The tech’s voice on the other end was a welcome sound. She doubted she could stand another minute alone with Lyle and she was tempted to bark ‘get down here, now,’ at her computer geek, all for the sake of distraction.
‘Who else would it be, your girlfriend?’ Pleased to hear his voice - yes. Willing to let him in on the fact – not a chance. ‘Any developments?’
‘Uh, since you left? Not really. Except -’ he dropped his tone a few decibels, ‘I was searching the mainframe, just doing the daily checks, you know? And there’s certain inconsistencies in… well… some things just aren’t right. With you and Mr Lyle leaving for Atlanta, and Brigitte – please don’t ask me to follow her, Miss Parker, because I know you always send me on these spy missions and I really, really don’t want to follow her – but there’s data here that -’
‘Broots? Take a deep breath, and patronize me,’ she interjected, impatient. ‘In English. Please.’
‘I… it’s just…’ He paused to do as she asked, still speaking in an urgent whisper. ‘I… I don’t think Jarod’s in Atlanta.’
She allowed her eyes to flicker shut for a moment in exasperation.
‘News flash, Broots – Jarod makes a living out of not being in the same place as I am.’
‘No, but Miss Parker, it’s Mr Lyle. He’s -’
‘I’ve got to go. Call me if anything comes up,’ she interrupted.
A terminating beep sounded in the tech’s ear, and Parker, itching for a cigarette, turned to her travel companion, eyebrow raised.
‘Shall we?’
* * *
Finding and settling into their rooms at the Hotel Hiatus was, to Parker’s relief and relative surprise, uneventful. Jarod apparently had commendable taste; she was at a loss as to how to fault him on his choice of accommodation that she was now being forced to share. In fact, she reflected as she lounged in the lobby, waiting for Lyle to make an appearance - maximizing the luxury that the Centre covered all costs made the long hours of running around and their grim failure rate somehow mildly worth it.
‘I see somebody’s been fraternizing with the service staff,’ she remarked, straightening as Lyle joined her, having left his Asian escort once he had stepped out of the lift.
‘It can’t hurt to make a few allies,’ he shrugged. ‘If Jarod’s going to be sneaking around here then we might need some help on the inside. It’s called sleeping with the enemy, Parker.’
‘It’s also statutory rape,’ she commented. ‘She’s got to be a minor.’
He rolled his eyes.
‘Since we’ve got a few hours to kill… what do you say to getting a bite to eat? Xiu Ling recommended a Thai restaurant not far from here. She tells me they do an excellent pork.’
‘Xiu Ling? My, my - we are on friendly terms.’ She grinned. ‘Exactly what was going on in those five, ten minutes I was waiting?’
‘Dinner?’ he pressed flatly, clearly not amused.
Touchy, she thought.
‘I’m not really in the mood. I was thinking of… ordering in. Taking advantage of free room service.’
‘Understandable,’ he nodded.
The pause, followed by a sharp pivot on her heel, was unanticipated by him, and as she leisurely made her way back the way he had just come, he watched her a moment before heading after her.
When they reached it, he grabbed her by the arm and pulled her into the elevator, forcibly and yet not. The doors closed, he located what he remembered to be their floor, and immediately proceeded to pin her to the wall - effectively preventing her escape. His lips moved to hers, but she turned her head to the side at the last minute.
Playing hard to get had always been her style – there was no way he was getting off that easily. That aside, however, she was taken aback by his audacity.
More often than not, she was the one to be acting brazenly; but she’d been held back by the sense of self incarceration that would no doubt come with entering a relationship, even a one night only one, with someone she could be working with on a daily basis for any given amount of time. She hadn’t expected him to make the first move, either, and yet, there she was, trapped between an elevator wall and a man with a decidedly hungry look in his blue orbs.
‘Now isn’t this just a…’ she murmured, eyes flashing triumphantly, ‘compromising situation?’
It was defiance; written clearly on the wall in blood. A challenge.
‘Compromising isn’t the word I would have used.’
‘Oh?’
A perfect brow crept upwards and she tossed her head to remove her hair from her eyes. Still cold glass marbles, he thought, though now there was a steely glint. He wondered if it had always been there, and if he’d only just noticed.
‘More like…’ He skittered his hand up the back of her thigh and pinched, just below the hem of her skirt. ‘… convenient.’
‘Convenient,’ she hummed, arching as his mouth attacked her throat.
The elevator came to a stop, and she took note of the floor out of the corner of her eye.
It wasn’t theirs.
When the doors slid open, two businessmen joined them, briefcases in hand. All they supplied was acknowledgment in the form of a tip of the head as they continued the conversation that had obviously been initiated prior to their entering the lift. He was facing one wall; she the opposite, arms crossed and the hint of a smirk on her lips.
Lyle straightened his tie.
The two men got off not long after, only to be replaced by a young couple that, Parker observed, were continually sneaking glances at each other. Newly weds, she thought, and registered that their intended stop was now ground floor. Once they reached it, she hesitated undetectably, then stepped off with them.
‘Uh… going somewhere?’ Lyle asked, eyebrows raised.
‘Mmm, well, you see, the annoying thing is, they,’ she nodded in the direction of the service desk, ‘won’t let me have these,’ she gestured towards the silver case she held in which she kept her cigarettes, ‘in here. And since I,’ she continued, pointing to herself as if explaining something to a five year old, ‘want to have them, I have to go out there.’
She tilted her head in the direction of the door, widened her eyes at him to signify she was finished, then began to make her way towards her aforementioned destination. A few steps on, she turned to see him standing exactly where she had left him.
Tightening of the jaw. Flex of the neck. Straightening of the tie.
Don’t buy the car.
‘What happened to ordering in?’ he called.
‘Not hungry,’ she replied, giving a derisive wrinkle of her nose.
She did nothing to fight the feral grin that crept onto her face as she fished in her pocket for her lighter, the glass doors sliding open to allow her through.
* * *
After a rather unsettled return to his room, Lyle had taken a few minutes to move around without purpose, quickly deciding that a shower would be an effective way to waste time until his meal arrived. Removing his tie was a welcome relief and, after battling his cufflinks and disposing of his shirt, he’d stepped into the en suite to test the hotel’s waterworks.
Fifteen minutes later he’d finished; he wrapped the towel around his waist and opened the door, allowing the cloud of steam to spill out from the bathroom and into the main quarters – a scope with minimalist, yet stylish, décor.
Sending up a spray of droplets as he rubbed the back of his hair, he ambled towards the coffee table in the middle of the room in search of his beverage. The glass of wine that he had poured prior to his retreat to the shower, however, as he soon realized, was no longer on the table where he had left it.
It had evidently been moved – to its new place on the mantle – by somebody other than him, because he had no recollections of ever repositioning it. He had his suspicions as to who exactly that somebody else might be, and a few steps towards the relocated flute confirmed them.
For there, on the rim of the now half empty glass, was the vermillion residue of what was unmistakably her lipstick.
‘Sherry. Nice.’
He turned, slowly, hardly surprised. She was lazing in the doorway to the bathroom; a smoky silhouette against a background of mist.
He swallowed.
‘I thought so.’
She pushed off from the wall and idly strolled forward, stopping in front of him to part her lips and release a cloud of smoke.
‘Nice shower?’
‘Invigorating,’ he said.
Another drag. The cigarette dropped to the ground, and she extinguished it with the toe of her shoe - an invitation.
She raised an eyebrow.
‘Care for another?’
He continued towards her but she backed steadily away, stopping only when he had her up against the doorframe she’d appeared through mere moments before.
‘It could be arranged,’ he said, one hand sliding down her shoulder, her side, her hip; the other on the wall for leverage.
A lazy smile crept onto her lips.
‘I’ll bet it could.’
Their noses collided, eyes wide and barely an inch apart. Four cold ice pools, two pairs, burning into each other - a blue gas flame. Seconds ticked by, nothing existing but two bodies pressed into one.
‘I’ll make sure it’s worth your while.’
‘Convince me,’ she whispered, breath hot against his ear.
Lips met, and he didn’t wait before his tongue fought its way into her mouth, dueling with hers, already working at getting her out of her blouse; languidly, barely noticeable. It wasn’t about taking his time. Fingers moved deftly at her buttons, massaging her breasts and almost making her moan.
She wouldn’t let herself go that easily.
He shifted to below her ear, to her throat, to her shoulder blade, skittering across skin. She was so soft, a contradiction. Neither had paid much attention to the fact that they had somehow moved from the doorway to further inside the bathroom.
‘New perfume?’ he asked, inhaling her scent; sweet, and faintly spicy.
‘Essence of iceberg.’
He smirked again, finding the verbal foreplay stimulating in more ways than one.
‘Ice doesn’t have an aroma,’ he informed her.
‘It does,’ she argued, brow knotting slightly as he unceremoniously pulled her hair into a bunch at the nape of her neck with one hand.
‘What does it smell like?’
He ran a finger down her spine, sliding over each disc.
Bump, bump, bump.
‘What would Daddy say if he saw you now?’
She didn’t reply, and he didn’t want her to. She raked her nails up his back while he traveled hers, scratching the soft tissue without being brutal.
A cool smile slipped over her lips as she leaned into his ear.
‘Puts a whole new meaning to getting a rise out of you, doesn’t it, Lyle?’
He ignored her; his hand went for her leg at the back of her knee, drawing it up to his side and pulling her closer in turn - a carnal tango. It was a primal dance without affection or a desire for intimacy; merely a vent for numerous frustrations and yet another power struggle.
Effortlessly transferring her weight to balance on one foot, the unbent leg was nudged between his and her skirt, short and black, hiked up her thigh. His flat palm was already gliding down the smooth plane of stocking and flesh, friction against the nylon, when she pulled back, huffing impatiently.
‘In a hurry, Miss Parker?’
‘Places to go, people to see,’ she replied. ‘Pretender to catch.’
‘You and I both know how… unlikely that is.’
‘Don’t get your wires crossed,’ she warned, mouth dancing millimeters away, body molding perfectly to his length. He was hard against her. ‘You’re handling explosive goods and post-detonation is never a pretty thing.’
‘There are many words to describe you, Parker, and I’m sure pretty has never been one of them.’
Both Promethean in their own rights, it was not entirely apparent who was screwing whom. Power, control, superiority. They were two stags in a rut, antlers entwined in a battle for territory and domination.
‘I’m still not sure if you’re incredibly smart, or incredibly stupid.’
Her back connected with the shower wall and she elicited a hiss at the sensation of cold tile against bare skin.
There was a fumble of hands and seconds later, torrents of water were cascading down already sweat-slick bodies.
‘This is an expensive skirt,’ she told him, tilting her head back to allow the droplets to run down the curve of her throat and disappear into the cleft of her breasts, nipples already hard and visible through the saturated fabric of her bra.
‘It’ll dry,’ he said.
‘Mmm,’ was her incoherent response, and the only thing that came to mind as his fingers found the inside of her thigh.
He worked smoothly, tantalizingly. His touch was firm and illicit, just like him. His grip would leave mottled bruises on the pale skin, but she had little present concern for what would come with the aftermath of their dalliance.
She wriggled her toes against the wet towel that had pooled at her feet at the bottom of the shower as that expensive skirt became nothing more than a soaked ring around her waist. His taut, lean body created a source of heat, tension and anticipation where it connected with hers, and the warm rain created by the showerhead made movement slick and easy.
She was beginning to get irritated – never a patient woman - and he somehow sensed it.
He let his tongue invade her mouth again - the kiss all the more hot and steamy from the dull taste of the water - and roughly pulled aside the black satin panties to gain access, plunging into her hot center.
A moan escaped from her throat, and she hated herself for it.
It wasn’t at all comfortable, pressed against hard tile - her shoulders ached and his hold would slip occasionally, causing the grout to graze her bare shoulders – but the rhythm was steady, a demanding beat. She arched forward, head back, and focused with a creased brow on the hazy waves of sensation washing over her with slowly increasing intensity.
‘He’d kill us both, you know.’
‘Who?’ she groaned, gasping when he raised her higher, shifting position and entering her on a different angle.
‘Your father.’
Her idiosyncratic reply would have been to argue the fact that her father would do no such thing - not to her, anyway - but she was at a general loss as to what exactly he was talking about.
‘Stop talking,’ she requested, and for once, one succumbed to the other without protest.
She didn’t come but she’d already decided she didn’t care. Vague dissatisfaction could be easily dismissed and dealt with later on. This was a way to pass the time and, as she was sure Lyle had also realized, grounds for extortion. Sex had become a weapon between them and even if it meant self destruction, each had the power to destroy the other. It was all a matter of who was willing to administer the suicidal parting shot.
It seemed apparent, nonetheless, that he’d left her hanging for a reason.
It was only later, as she pinned stray damp tendrils up on the top of her head, that he told her that next time, she wouldn’t feel so unfulfilled.
Parker laughed; a deep, dark sound.
‘What makes you so sure there’s going to be a next time?’
Somehow, they both knew there would.
* * *
Lyle had called her at around ten the next morning.
‘There appears to be a delay,’ he’d said.
Nia, apparently, had vanished. He assumed she was hiding, watching. Waiting to see if her position had been compromised, intentions stumbled upon. Nevertheless, no Nia meant no Jarod, which also meant they weren’t going to get out of there in a hurry.
He suggested he come around and discuss a plan of action with her, to which she obliged – there was nothing better to do and lounging around and reveling in free time had quickly lost its appeal. She made him wait before she decided to let him in, and when she did, she wore an oriental robe of red and black silk ending an inch above her knee; it was fastened with a sash but gaped slightly at the front. It was intentional, and both of them knew it.
He dropped a file on the table.
‘Thirsty?’ she queried, raising a brow. She was nursing in one hand a glass of what he suspected was scotch; the other, a cigarette he wasn’t sure she was supposed to be smoking indoors.
‘I’m fine.’
‘Suit yourself.’
She made herself comfortable on the sofa, one leg draped elegantly over the other. Raising her glass to her lips, she swirled, inhaled, then sipped.
‘You said you wanted to talk.’
‘Yes,’ he agreed, ‘about Jarod. I was hoping to find out a bit more about him. What it is I’m dealing with.’
‘I’m sure you’ve read the file. There’s nothing I can tell you that’s not in there.’
‘Au contraire, I think there is. I’m aware the two of you go way back. I mean, all that history.’
Adjusting his tie, as he was prone to do, he moved around to the back of the lounge, a look in his eyes that she didn’t like.
She watched him with complete deadpan as he circled her like a vulture, annoyed that he had gotten her into such a position because she was usually the one doing the circling.
‘Did you two ever… ?’
‘Don’t,’ she began, all acid but without a trace of agitation, ‘even think you can use Jarod as a means to control me. I’ve made a living out of putting the past behind me, and it’s none of your goddamn business. What I did when I was younger is my concern and nobody else’s.’
‘Yes, well,’ he replied smoothly, ‘We all have our… secrets.’
She rose from the chair, breaking his circle, and slinked across the room, pulling back the curtain slightly to peer outside. His eyes were on her legs as she crossed them and leaned against the wall, languidly flicking her ash out the open window.
‘Just for the record, I wasn’t even considering using any of this against you. Quite the opposite and in fact, I was more thinking along the lines of… using you to control Jarod.’
‘It won’t work,’ she said shortly, glancing up. ‘Whatever messed up friendship we formed out of loneliness back then no longer exists. Jarod’s sole purpose in life after his escape has been to torment me. That, and finding his family.’
‘Sydney -’
‘- would just be asking for trouble. The only thing you’d succeed in doing would be pissing Jarod off and believe me, past experiences indicate you don’t want that to happen.’
‘Surely there are more… efficient methods we could employ, to speed this process up. He’s been gone for what, eighteen months now? This is a waste of time, effort and manpower.’
‘Tracking down a pretender that’s strayed off, or more accurately sprinted away from, the garden path is a lot more work than everyone around here seems to think,’ Parker said tersely. ‘He is a genius that can become anybody he wants to be. Blend in to any situation. Compared to this, getting a blind woman to find a needle in a haystack would be child’s play.’
‘And you think your current efforts will yield?’
‘He can’t keep running forever,’ she said, tone softer. ‘Sooner or later, he’s going to mess up. And we’ll be there waiting when he does.’
‘You certainly don’t… lack confidence, do you?’
‘I know what I want, I go after it. One way or another, I get it.’
Conversation had rather dropped to a minimum after that. It had been an interesting morning to say the least – the night before had been a mapping of terrain, which they proceeded to follow up by competing by means of exercising supremacy; using what they knew about the other to manipulate them and bring them to the brink of surrender.
It had been more roguish, more rough, but with a better employment of technique in order to achieve what was each’s ultimate goal; domination.
*
‘I’m always on top.’
‘So am I.’
Her eyes narrowed at his words but she got no chance to protest as his mouth claimed hers and she found herself pinned beneath him; arms held above her head by one of his hands.
‘Let me go,’ she hissed, once, tongue dueling with his.
‘You enjoy a struggle as much as I do,’ he told her, and she did nothing to dispute it.
*
In the end, she had come out of it relatively content with what had transpired. Basking in the afterglow of good sex, left alone by her conniving bedmate, though to no disappointment of hers, she’d gotten up to answer her phone with a good stretch that signified she ached in all the right places.
‘What?’ she asked, her voice sounding thick though she strove to disguise it.
‘Miss Parker? Thank god – I’ve been trying to call you, and… where have you been?’
‘Busy. What is it, Broots?’
‘Well, you said to call you if anything came up. And I was trying to tell you the other day – Jarod isn’t in Atlanta.’
‘We’ve been over this. We’re here on a stakeout, egghead, he’s not necessarily going to -’
‘No, Miss Parker, listen to me. Jarod isn’t going to be in Atlanta, either. The reservation for a Jarod Carter? It doesn’t exist. Lyle’s got you chasing a ghost.’
She stopped to absorb it, perching on the arm of the sofa. She was hardly surprised that the scheming bastard had been playing with her all along. He was going to pay for it, no question.
‘And Nia?’
‘Still back at her house near the mountains. The whole thing is a set up.’
‘Why would Lyle lure me here if not to catch Jarod?’
She had a few ideas.
‘My guess is to distract you while he zones in on the prize. He’s deployed sweeper teams to several locations, and Brigitte’s, well… she’s currently missing in action.’
‘This is sounding more and more like something out of a Stephen King novel. What else have you got for me?’ she asked, running her hand along the table. Her fingertips drifted over the wallet Lyle had left there, and she picked it up.
‘Nothing much at the moment. But a package did arrive this morning. It’s a, uh, PEZ dispensers. With our heads on them.’
She pinched the bridge of her nose, closing her eyes and not even bothering to dignify it with a response.
‘No, really, they’re actually pretty cool,’ the tech offered. ‘I mean, I haven’t had one since I was a kid, and Jarod’s really good at this kind of stuff.’
‘A jack of all trades and a master of most. Do you know where the package came from?’
‘I’m, uh, I’m still working on that.’
‘Well keep at it. And call me when you figure something out.’
‘So… what are you going to do now? I mean, since your being in Atlanta isn’t really necessary.’
‘Considering absolutely nothing around here seems to be grabbing my attention, I think I’ll take a night out and see if there’s anything worth seeing in this town before I head back. Who knows, I might just… stumble across someone worth my while.’
‘Oh.’
‘Oh?’ she echoed, eyebrow raised though he couldn’t see her.
Holding the phone between her ear and shoulder, she flipped open the wallet, frowning slightly at the string of photos she found contained within.
‘Well it was just, I, uh, thought… you and Mr Lyle…’
Any other occasion and she would have jumped down the phone, ripped off his limbs and stuffed them down his throat for being presumptuous, but she was too fixated on the collection of pictures to care. At least a dozen of them. All young girls, all Asian.
‘I’m not his type,’ she replied absently.
‘How would you know?’ Broots ventured, sounding relatively surprised that she hadn’t supplied him with a verbal castration.
She transferred the receiver to her other ear, blinking a few times and thinking of the hotel worker she had seen Lyle with earlier before glancing back to the open wallet.
‘Oh, believe me. I know.’
* * *
‘You know, we’ve really got to stop meeting like this.’
She let herself in, strolling inside and leaving him to close the door behind her. The wallet she tossed onto the couch - still mildly curious regarding its contents but with other things on her mind.
Without a word, she stood in front of him, then took him by the chin and kissed him. Hard.
Discarded shirts and bare, heaving chests later, a tangle of limbs collapsed onto the coverlet - a sharp contrast to the black frame of the bed with its pristine whiteness and gold intricacies.
Cleverly controlled circumstances resulted in Parker falling in a highly advantageous position; securely astride and, when she tore her lips away and sat up, hands placed flat against his chest, Lyle was pinned beneath her.
He regarded her from where he lay; the only sound that of their erratic breathing. Though he seemed to have guessed what she was doing when she reached for the nightstand to retrieve something she knew he’d kept in the drawers, he made no move to gain the upper hand.
‘Ah,’ he said, his smirk betraying him. ‘Returning the favour, are we?’
She glanced down at him as the cuffs snapped shut, then leaned close so that their noses were almost touching.
‘Oh, I’m returning the favour alright,’ she told him before swinging a leg over and climbing off. Straightening her skirt, and collecting her blouse, she explained, ‘Nobody, and I mean nobody, gets between me and my prey. I’m sure I’ve told you once before – I love being underestimated, and if you’re going to fuck with me, don’t expect me not to fight back.’
She’d fixed as best she could her rather disheveled appearance and was on her way out when he attempted to pull himself into a seated position.
‘Parker? What are you going to do, just leave me here?’
‘Hmm,’ she hummed, imbued with fake sympathy. ‘Don’t worry – housekeeping will have to come by sometime.’
She made sure the sign on the door read ‘Do Not Disturb’ as she left.
* * *
According to Broots, the package from Jarod pointed towards a market in Brooklyn – this was based on some twisted theory of Sydney’s that the dispensers, accompanied by shredded paper that turned out to be traceable to a particular chain of green grocers, stood for Brooklyn’s abundance of parks and recreational areas, which related back to the theme of childhood.
Though unimpressed with Sydney’s interpretation of what he insisted was a message from Jarod, Parker had been reassured when Broots confirmed the lead by reconstructing all of the shredded documents to find that they indeed matched with the store in Brooklyn, owned by an Antonio Garcia. He was a stocky man with a bald head and his general demeanor radiated stupidity.
She approached him with caution.
‘Have you seen this man?’
‘Non parlare inglese.’
He blinked at her, and she found it amusing that the owner of a store that was frequented by customers spoke only Italian. Someone else might have bought it. She didn’t.
‘Yeah, right,’ she muttered. Just as the man was about to dart away, she grabbed him by the lapels of his shirt and pulled him aside.
‘You might not speak English, buddy…’ she said, ‘ma io parlare Italiano. Vedere questo persone?’
Antonio frowned, then shook his head at the photo she pushed in his face.
‘No –non si vedere.’
Determined to get some answers out of the suspicious looking grocer, whom had most definitely been speaking to a shopper prior to her approach, she turned helplessly demure and rattled off the first thing that jumped into her head.
‘Ma questo persona stola il mio cane.’
‘Il tuo cane?’
‘Si – il mio cane… chiamato Lyle. Sento la sua mancanza.’
‘Mi dispiace, signora, ma -’
‘Aiuto, per favore,’ she pressed on innocently.
‘Jarod stola un cane? Your dog? Perchè? I no believe you, Signora.’
‘Jarod?’ she repeated, fighting off the smirk.
Gotcha, she thought.
‘You must be Miss Parker,’ the man huffed. ‘Jarod – he told me to be expecting you.’
‘Ah,’ she replied. ‘Now we’re getting somewhere.’
* * *
‘Oggi a Pasqua!
Buona Pasqua a tutti!
Oggi a Pasqua!
Fa, la, la, la, la, la!
Oggi a Pasqua, buona Pasqua a tutti!
Fa, la, la, la, la!’
Reluctant directions from the suddenly deftly English speaking grocer had led her to the outskirts of town, and her unannounced arrival to a seemingly empty street - tarnished by litter and soaked and made humid by a light shower - had left her wondering if her quarry had sent her there for the sole purpose of doing some damage to her footwear.
The bell like ringing of children’s laughter filtered down the street from the alleyway, bringing back memories of a world she had been distanced from by the endless stretch of time. Having attended a sizeable portion of her education at an establishment in Trieste, she had witnessed countless Easter celebrations taking place within the Italian communities; the pre-Lent Carnevale activities being a personal favourite. Such a love she had developed for that particular aspect of the culture, she reflected, that her home still featured a display of two beautifully hand crafted masks.
‘Can I help you?’
Parker shifted to face the owner of the voice that had appeared in one of the shaded doorways. Shadows distorted her features, but she could make out the form of a woman in a sundress; a small child sitting at her hip and another peering out from behind her legs, loosely grasping her hand. The scene radiated lower class domesticity.
Parker glanced from left to right, then stepped forward with the photograph of Jarod ready at her fingertips.
‘I was wondering if -’
‘Parker?’ the woman interrupted. ‘Dio mio… is it you?’
Her forehead creased a moment before she realized the face was indeed familiar.
‘It is! Parker, it has been so long!’
‘I’m sorry, but I don’t remember you,’ she said slowly.
‘But you must! Why else are you here? It is Rosa, silly cugina – do you not remember me now?’
Rosa, Parker recalled, upon further reflection, was a good seven years younger than herself. She had been a rosy-cheeked, bright-eyed girl with beautiful thick lashes and a dazzlingly sweet smile that had won the hearts of many with her innocent and loving nature. She was no blood relative, but the daughter of an Italian woman close to Catherine that, incidentally, had been named Parker’s godmother, despite the fact she herself had not met them until a year after her mother’s death.
Jarod’s intentions became instantly crystal clear, and for once in her life, Parker did not tell herself she wanted to kill him.
‘Rosa?’ she repeated. Her eyes moved to the window above the door. ‘Your mother… ?’
‘Is upstairs,’ Rosa replied playfully, setting the boy from her waist down to stand on his own feet. She straightened, and placed her hands on her hips; demeanor communicating that she was joking. ‘I am not rid of her yet.’
The young child immediately made his way over to tug unceremoniously at Parker’s skirt, blinking up at her with caramel eyes.
‘These… are these yours?’ Parker asked, lowering herself to the boy’s level.
‘Do you think they are mamma’s?’ Rosa teased. ‘His name is Roberto – he is a lady’s man, no? His sister’s name is Daniela, and they are my angeli piccolo.’
‘Hello,’ Parker smiled, drawing out the word in her quintessential fashion.
‘Well?’ his mother demanded. ‘Where are your manners? Say buongiorno to your zia, bello!’
‘Buongiorno,’ Roberto said warily.
‘And how old are you, Roberto?’
‘Ho tre anni.’
‘You know, it’s been a long time since I’ve spoken Italian,’ Parker said conspiratorially. ‘Is that… one?’ He bit back a giggle, and shook his head shyly. ‘Ten?’
‘No!’
‘Ninety nine?’
‘No – it’s three, silly!’
‘Ah,’ she smiled. ‘Three. You’re a big boy then, aren’t you?’
The boy nodded, then asked,
‘How old are you?’
‘It is no business of yours, grillo,’ Rosa scolded, removing the tea towel that had previously been slung over her shoulder and waving it dismissively in his direction, pushing him back into the welcoming cool gloom of the house.
‘Ignore him – he forgets his manners. Roberto, Daniela – upstairs and see if nonna is awake. Parker - what are you waiting for? You must come inside! You’re just in time for lunch! Presto, presto!’
‘Rosa, you don’t have to -’
‘Sciocchezze! Nonsense! You were not here by your own intentions. A miracle has brought you back to me, and you are mistaken if you think I am letting you go yet, especially with a dry throat and an empty belly! Sit and eat, and I shall fetch my mother. She will be very pleased to see her figlioccia again.’
* * *
‘Benvenuto, bella,’ the older woman, Maria, said kindly, holding Parker’s face in her hands and kissing each of her cheeks, Parker doing her best not to flinch. ‘I hope you have not forgotten your language as easily as you have forgotten your family.’
‘Maria, I wasn’t even aware you had left Italy. What are you doing here?’
‘We left Trieste two summers ago,’ Rosa explained from the kitchen. ‘We decided we would start new, when my husband, Pedro, died in a car accident in Udine.’
‘I’m sorry,’ Parker offered wanly, the weight of just how much she had missed out on beginning to sink in.
Friuli-Venezia Giulia, the northeastern Italian region in which she had spent her teenage years, had been rich in its agriculture - or so she remembered. The mountainous north received the highest rainfall in the country, and Trieste, the province that lay to the southeast of the region, had been known for its port and tobacco. Udine had been an industrial city, a marketing centre. She had only been there once.
To think that Rosa had not only found a husband, but lost him also - not to mention had two children - within the fifteen or so years they had been out of touch… it all made Parker’s head spin.
‘So, if you are not here to visit, mia carina, what are you here for?’
‘I was… looking for my dog,’ she replied slowly.
‘Looking for your dog?’ Maria echoed. ‘He is lost? That is no good. Have you found him yet?’
‘No.’ Noticing the narrowed eyes Rosa sent in her direction, she added, ‘It’s a long story, believe me.’
* * *
‘Un capro stupido, credere mia,’ Maria muttered in response to the tale Rosa had finished telling – a light hearted account of the small family’s journey over from Italy to America and the events that had taken place since their arrival.
She’d just completed her version of a recent encounter with a tourist from Rome they’d stumbled upon in the states, whom Rosa had obviously become smitten with, when Maria had piped up with her own opinion of the man; that he was an interfering busybody and as stubborn as they came. Rosa laughed her mother’s grumbling off.
‘Perhaps you are better off not remembering the language, cugina,’ she teased, before pretending to be stern. ‘Mamma’s mouth gets away with her. She should watch what she says while young ears are flapping.’
‘Zia, zia – look at this!’ Daniela proclaimed suddenly, springing out of the hallway and skidding to a stop in front of Parker, a piece of paper in her hands.
Parker exchanged a smile with Rosa, then leaned down to see what the girl – who could be no older than six – wanted to show her.
It was an artful finger painting; an incredibly apt portrayal of a scene that showed, through vivid colours and simplistic imagery, a child’s depiction of a carnival scene.
Having a good idea of what was taking place in the girl’s illustration, but tactful enough not to offend, Parker avoided any hurtful misinterpretations by replying with the request,
‘Tell me about it.’
Her figurative niece responded in kind, describing in vibrant detail the story behind the painting, though more in depth than Parker had expected – how one little girl was lost and searching for her mother, and how the mother was also searching endlessly for her daughter. There was a rabbit, leaving a trail of cleverly hidden eggs to follow to lead the girl back, and a man in a mask trying to ruin the attempt. The man, Daniela explained, was Arlecchino – one of the traditional characters of Carnevale. An impudent schemer with a large nose, Arlecchino delighted in wrecking havoc on those around him; it made sense that he would want to spoil the rabbit’s plan.
‘A regular Picasso,’ Parker remarked, though kindly and without malice. ‘Do you know what you have to do with that?’
Daniela shook her head.
‘When I was your age, and I made a pretty picture like that, I’d put it on the refrigerator, so that everyone could see it.’
‘Refri-ger-rator?’ she echoed.
‘Il frigorifero, bella,’ Rosa explained. ‘In the kitchen.’
Recognition flashed across the child’s features, and she nodded, disappearing into the kitchen to do as Parker had suggested.
‘She’s a cute kid.’
‘Si… she is a well behaved girl – though she is headstrong like her papà and I can tell she will be a handful when she starts going to parties and liking boys! Roberto, on the other hand,’ Rosa began, ruffling the hair of the toddler in question, ‘is my terrore piccolo. My little terror. I think it comes with the age, no?’ She laughed at the indignant expression on her son’s face before picking him up and placing a kiss on the tip of his nose, evoking a fit of delighted giggles. ‘Dio mio, grillo, your mamma is joking - don’t look so bothered.’
The whole scene brought to the surface in Parker longings for motherly love that she was sure she had squelched. She felt suddenly out of place.
‘You miss her, don’t you?’ Rosa asked softly. ‘Your mother?’
‘Every day,’ she replied, swallowing. ‘She was my whole world for a very long time.’
‘Zia?’ Daniela queried quietly, back from her expedition to the fridge. ‘Where’s your mamma?’
Rosa, sensing the pain the subject held for her Parker, made to dissuade her daughter from broaching the topic, but was cut off before she had the chance.
‘She… she’s gone to heaven.’
‘Do you still love her?’
‘Of course,’ Parker smiled, ‘Very much.’
Daniela, brown eyes wide and sorrowful, walked over and startled Parker by crawling into her lap. After the initial shock, she adjusted so the girl could sit comfortably, though feeling somewhat awkward.
‘What was she like?’
‘She was... amazing. When I was with her, I always felt like there was nobody else there, but me and her, and that I was so safe. As if nothing could ever hurt me as long as she was there with me.’ Stopping a moment, she took a deep breath and touched her fingers to her lips before continuing. ‘Does your mother read you stories?’ She received a solemn nod. ‘My momma used to read to me, all the time. We’d get lost in our own imaginary world of princesses and princes and fairies and goblins... and for a little while, everything would seem perfect.’
She looked up at Rosa, who was watching them with a sad smile on her face. A fleeting glance at Maria revealed that she’d been watching the exchange with the same expression.
‘Zia?’ Daniela asked again, cocking her head to one side.
‘Mmm?’
‘Everything will seem perfect again someday.’
‘I hope so, Dani,’ Parker whispered, dropping a kiss on Daniela’s hairline. ‘I hope so.’
* * *
The hotel in Brooklyn wasn’t quite as distinguished as the one back in Atlanta, but it had a bed and a shower and as far as Miss Parker was concerned, that was all that mattered.
Other than feeling like something a dog had left behind on the pavement - she was stretched out both physically and psychologically – the events of the past few days were haunting her. She’d been up all night, finding it impossible to get back to sleep after a rude awakening compliments of a certain pretender.
It wasn’t just the confrontation with Lyle, although he was large contributing factor in both cases. Tired muscles had caught up with her and she was paying the price, not to mention the whirlwind of emotions that surfaced when she thought about it; annoyance, anger and smug satisfaction when she remembered how mildly panicked he had looked, cuffed to the bed post.
Stumbling across Rosa had further sent her into a spin - she hadn’t heard from the woman in years and had possessed no interest of getting back in touch, until Jarod had decided to stir up the past, yet again.
*
‘What?’ she groaned, after groping blindly for the phone. She finally located a lamp and turned it on, sitting up and massaging her forehead.
‘Someone once asked me which I believed to be better; a lie that earns a smile, or a truth that draws a tear. What do you think, Miss Parker?’
‘I think that you need to get over this insomnia of yours,’ she said. ‘It’s three o’clock in the morning, Jarod.’
‘I’m sorry,’ he replied.
He wasn’t, and they both knew it.
She sighed.
‘So,’ she said, drawing it out wryly as she lit a cigarette, the flame from her lighter casting an eerie glow. ‘Another fruitless goose chase.’
‘Are you sure it was fruitless?’
‘Tell me – how did you find her?’
‘I met Rosa Christou on a recent pretend. Her daughter attends the same school that a girl named Anna Llellwyn did – I’m sure you read the notebook. Rosa was a great help.’
Something clicked, and the irony of the situation was not lost on her.
‘The charming Italian tourist. An opportunity to polish up on the language, right? Quite an effect you had on her.’
‘Is that so?’
‘Poor woman had stars in her eyes. Though I believe her mother’s words were… stupid goat,’ she quipped.
‘It was a chance meeting, but we got talking and as conversation progressed, I got the strange feeling that she knew me.’
‘She’s a nosy Italian housewife – she acts like she knows everybody and when she doesn’t, she soon gets to know them,’ Parker responded dryly.
‘Oh, I think you underestimate Rosa’s memory, Miss Parker. Or is she more perceptive than you recall?’ he asked, and she recognized his goading tone. ‘It was strangely intriguing, stumbling across a friend of yours, from your childhood. Or should I say… cugina?’
‘She’s not my cousin, Jarod.’
‘No, I suppose not. Not by blood. But if you ask me, she is in all the ways that count.’ There was a pause, and then, ‘She reminded me of you.’
‘Because you’re so sure that you know who it is I really am,’ she said bitterly. ‘Did she really remind you of me? Or did she just stand for everything that you think is still lurking somewhere?’
‘Maybe it’s just another lie, earning a smile in a world where there’s already too many tears.’
‘Yeah,’ she responded, blowing smoke. ‘Only I’m not the one smiling.’
*
The phone call had left her frazzled. She’d been tired, yes, and he’d interrupted her sleep. But he’d also done something that he had a habit of doing when it came to her – and that was forcing her to think about something she’d made it her business to forget.
Despite being captivated by Daniela and Roberto, and loving the instant acceptance she received from Rosa and Maria, she’d left Rosa’s place with blurry eyes and self-reproach at having gotten so emotional. Running away and retiring to the hotel room for the evening had been effective by means of personal recovery, but the pesky pretender had merely opened the wound up again.
Rubbed salt in it, even.
*
‘I’m not the Parker you used to know.’
Rosa was a ghost in the shadows; pale darkness washed over her normally white skin and her brown eyes were deeper, more soulful, like a doe’s, than they had been earlier.
‘I don’t believe that.’
‘People change.’
‘People don’t change,’ Rosa said, voice graveled with accent, ‘circumstances do. Circumstances change and people adapt. You’re still hiding in there somewhere.’
‘I’m sorry to disappoint you, Rosa, but the little girl that said you were going to be a bridesmaid at her wedding doesn’t exist any more.’
‘Tell me, Parker. How is Jarod?’
Her eyes widened and locked those of the younger woman standing behind her, hands on hips, as she continued.
‘I haven’t forgotten, and I know that neither have you. When you first came to us, I remember that you spoke of nothing else. You told me because we were worlds away, and you needed someone to talk to, someone that would listen without condition. And who better than an Italian girl with a love for your American fairytales?’
‘My life back then was nothing like a fairytale.’
‘No – but it is less so now.’
Rosa’s words were accusing, though Parker could see in her eyes that she was being gentle. Cruel to be kind, because she was determined to get to the bottom of matters. It was the way she had always been. Reason gave way to latent anger, however, and Parker flared in defense.
‘You don’t know anything about me.’
‘I know more than you may think. I know you’re not happy.’
‘I am happy,’ she sneered. ‘Maybe I didn’t fall in love and find my prince charming but that’s fine with me. No one ever got anywhere without working for it. I’m sorry things didn’t turn out the way we dreamed it, but wake up, Rosa. Just because you lost your chance at happily ever after doesn’t… it doesn’t mean I’m upset about losing mine.’
‘Don’t you dare,’ Rosa hissed. ‘Things may get tough once in awhile around here but I do not resent any of it. I have my mother, I have my children and we have a roof over our heads. I, here, have a happiness that you, for all your fancy suits and Corporate job, cannot find. Don’t you dare stand in front of me and lie to me that you’re happy, because you’re only lying to yourself.’
The fierce mother of two, at that moment, despite being slight in stature, had all the qualities of a towering red-eyed dragon. She’d struck one nerve after another but for all the reproving words, there was a desire to help burning within her. Parker just didn’t want to see it.
‘I think I should go,’ she said tonelessly, making towards the door.
Three steps down the stairs and mere metres from the door. She was possessed by the urge to run – unwilling to face herself and therefore gripped with fear and the need to flee. It was the musical sound of angry Italian words that followed her that made her pause, even if only for a moment.
‘That’s it, Parker!’ Rosa yelled after her, resorting back to English. ‘Keep running away from your problems. One day, they will catch up with you!’
And for the briefest moment, Miss Parker allowed her eyes to flicker shut, though no tears fell.
*
To her great relief, the ringing of her cell tore her from her reflections.
‘What?’ she demanded, her tone not nearly as terse as she intended as she answered the phone.
‘It… it’s me.’
‘Broots,’ she murmured, almost fondly, as she sniffed. ‘What is it?’
‘Well, I don’t know when you plan on coming back, Miss Parker, but…’ He resorted to a whisper. ‘I think… I think we’ve found Jarod.’
There was a short silence, like the holding of a breath, and as the seconds ticked by he wondered if he needed to say it again. She replied before he could.
‘I’ll be there,’ she said, and ended the call.
She took a final drag of her cigarette, dropped it and crushed it beneath her nose-bleed heel, death defying and sharp, and picked up her keys.
And with that, she left the room as it was, its crumpled sheets and all, and not once did she glance back.
It was cold steel disguised by cream-white magnolia; soft to touch, soft to look at. He was skilled, adept even, at the deception – almost as good as herself; his words cut through the silence effortlessly and he made himself completely at home without invitation, but she did not look up. The paperwork in front of her suddenly grew, if possible, far less interesting than it had been seconds earlier.
‘Mr Lyle,’ she acknowledged, drawing out his name in a tone that was dry as bark.
‘Miss Parker. Long time, no see.’
‘Just the way I like it.’ This time, she raised her gaze to meet his. ‘What do you want?’
He had a smile that was slick as oil, and he wasn’t so easily deterred.
‘It’s always such a pleasure to stumble across you in a wonderful mood,’ he quipped.
‘I try.’
She lowered the pen from her fingers; her eyes like cold glass marbles calmly tracking his movements as he approached her desk. It was a mild reception and he knew he was walking on eggshells but it didn’t bother him in the slightest.
‘I could make a comment in regards to what, exactly, constitutes trying,’ he said, making it was ostensible he was referring to her currently futile attempts at recapturing Jarod.
‘You could,’ she concurred. She arched a brow, ‘or you could stop beating around the bush tell me what you’re really doing in my office.’
She threw in a saccharine smile for effect.
Lyle lapped it up like a kitten at a bowl of milk and she resisted the urge to bare teeth. He responded with that reserved kind of look; only faintly amused and disconcerted, and yet distinctly reminiscent of a smirk. She’d seen it on his face in the diamond depository - she saw it again now. The flex of the neck, the tightening of the jaw. He was about to say something sly and he was arrogantly aware he was going to get away with it.
He straightened his tie.
‘Would ‘let’s cut to the chase’ be too cruelly ironic?’
She leant back in her chair, expression blank – the perfect poker face.
‘Now, now, Lyle – ‘cruel’ is my word. You’ve already got ‘smug’, ‘scheming’ and ‘self righteous’. Let’s not be greedy.’
‘Adjectives and alliteration. You never cease to astound me with your creative use of the English language.’
‘Capricornian wit,’ she replied dismissively. ‘Readily available in a range of other tongues.’
‘I’d always thought you were born in the winter,’ he mused. ‘It makes sense, you know. So… a Capricorn, huh?’
‘Indeed,’ she said, cool and crisp. ‘I’d advise not getting up my goat.’
‘I’m looking forward to locking horns sometime.’
She laughed, and it was a fluid, malicious sound. It echoed; slithering around in his ears like quicksilver, intended as a cool signal of caution.
‘Don’t be. The chances of that happening are set at a, let me see…’
‘Dead zero?’ he offered, still smirking.
‘Drop it a few notches, and you’d be getting there.’
‘I already knew you were a cold hearted bitch, Parker. There’s no need to exaggerate.’
‘Oh, take my word for it, Mr Lyle,’ she said, eyes wide and daring as she spoke. ‘I don’t exaggerate. And I love being underestimated.’
Stepping away from her and turning his back (not a smart move on his behalf – she had no problem with delivering a coup de grâce from behind, this he would come to learn) he adjusted his tie again, shifting somewhat uncomfortably in his suit and clasping his hands behind his back.
‘Don’t you have a pretender to be beating me to?’ she asked coolly, tone still dry. It wasn’t bark this time, but the Sahara desert. A contradiction in so many ways. ‘I’m sure my incompetence is just begging to be countered by you and your cleaner.’
He read her words for what they were. She’d grown tired of the game – the exhilarating, thrilling game – and she wanted him to get to the point or, even better, get the hell out of her office.
He was hanging by one hand from a cliff above a dangerous ravine and found it riveting. Perilous, undoubtedly so – but for some strange reason, he was reluctant to make the move back to safer ground.
‘Smells nice in here.’
He didn’t get to the point because he wasn’t entirely sure he ever had one.
‘Gardenias,’ she said evenly, giving a nod in the direction of the vase on the corner of her desk.
He leaned over and took one of the flowers for himself; holding it so that the petals almost brushed his nose. He inhaled, and the sweet scent filled his nostrils.
She glared at him. He had heard stories of her glares, and knew she was holding back.
Their eyes met, and for a few seconds, nobody moved.
‘Well,’ he said eventually, spinning the custard-powder-white bloom between his fingers. ‘Better get back to work.’
He turned and exited the way he entered.
Blue eyes stared after him long after the doors swung shut.
* * *
‘1985,’ she murmured, softly tapping the placard Jarod had sent her against her chin. ‘One of the best years of my life.’
‘Why’s that, Miss Parker?’
‘For the majority of it, I was either drunk, hung over, or sleeping. I can hardly remember a moment.’
‘Then why was it one of the best years of your life?’ Broots asked, confused.
She rolled her eyes.
‘That is the reason, you moron.’
He let out a quiet, ‘oh,’ that came out as more of a squeak, then turned his attention back to the computer. Giving a small shake of her head, she placed her palms on the desk to lean over and see what he had brought up on the screen.
Miss Parker liked Broots, even though she’d never admit it. She showed her affection for the bumbling tech by embarrassing him whenever possible.
A faint smile found its way onto her lips.
‘Well, I ran a search on the name of the company from the card, Miss Parker, and -’
‘I hope I’m not interrupting anything.’
She drummed her nails on the desk. They were toffee apple red, and long and smooth. When she heard Lyle’s voice, she slowly straightened up.
‘Is there anything I can help you with?’
It was that smirk again; she found herself itching to find a way to wipe it off his face.
‘Just… checking progress,’ he told her nonchalantly, and his smile reminded her of a car salesman.
Don’t buy the car, she thought. Don’t do it. It’s a rip off and a half for sure…
‘Everything’s going just fine. We’ve got a lead on Jarod, a solid one this time -’
‘Excellent,’ he interjected. ‘Excellent.’
He dropped a file in front of her and she stared at him before she allowed her gaze to rest on it. She picked it up and waited for him to tell her what significance it had to anything.
He didn’t.
‘You’re going to Atlanta,’ he said instead.
‘I just told you,’ she said, by means of argument, ‘that we have a lead. The placard Jarod just sent – the company is based in -’
‘Gary, Indiana. And I commend you on your work. It was, after all, a solid lead.’
‘Was?’ she repeated.
Her voice said she didn’t like being told what to do, and she didn’t like being interrupted, either.
‘Was,’ he confirmed, nodding towards the file. ‘Jarod was in Indiana two days ago. He is, however, there no longer.’
‘And you would know this because…?’
‘Brigitte was there yesterday. Shame, really - she only just missed him.’
He continued on, but she didn’t listen. She was too busy calculating the best way to dispose of the blonde that seemed to be making a living out of making her and her team look bad. She was an imaginative person; she came up with many, most of them excruciatingly painful.
Lyle blinked at her and she realized he was waiting for an answer to something.
‘What?’ she snapped irritably, opening the file.
It contained inventories and photos of Jarod’s latest lair. She didn’t bother to read because she knew what it would say – no direct clues. Littered with references to Jarod’s newest discovery. She had seen it a thousand times before.
‘I said, I’d recommend you take the next flight out of here. Who knows. This time, you might just catch him.’
‘If it’s all the same to you, I’d rather Broots kept at the lead we’ve got.’
Saccharine – she’d found that they worked especially well with him. A paper thin smile, sugar coated and oozing with fake cheer.
‘By all means, do so,’ Lyle shrugged. ‘Broots, and Sydney, can stay here. You and I will go to Atlanta.’
A protest formed on her lips but the words didn’t leave her mouth. He smiled and clasped his hands together as if he had settled everything and he’d just come up with a brilliant idea.
‘Right then. I’ll… see you on the tarmac.’
She always liked to have the final word but, again, he disappeared before she could string together a reply.
Next time, she decided, he wouldn’t get away with it.
* * *
‘I’m sure some people exist for the express purpose of annoying me.’
‘Are you suggesting I’m one of them, Miss Parker?’
‘Implicitly,’ she said dryly.
She’d demanded the window seat; God knows she needed something to occupy her during the flight, considering she was stuck sitting next to Him.
An argument had ensued on the tarmac when she had tried to bring along Sam, insisting that while she detested the swarms of sweepers one extra set of muscle couldn’t do any harm. Lyle, however, had won the dispute; he wanted to be as inconspicuous as possible, and she had spent the first half of the flight acting under a self induced vow of agitated silence. He’d proceeded to make subtle attempts at annoying her - all of which had been unsuccessful up until the point where he had taken to blatantly examining all aspects of her figure. She’d supplied him with an icy glare that could freeze hell in return and had, from that moment on, resorted to engaging in an apathetic battle of the wits when it became apparent that deadly quiet had little effect on him.
‘What makes you so damn sure Wonderboy is in Atlanta, anyway?’ she asked, uncrossing then repositioning her legs.
‘I have my sources. Of course, we’re not entirely sure when it is Jarod will be making an appearance.’
‘Excuse me?’
‘Does the name Nia Pedron mean anything to you?’
A bad taste seemed to form instantaneously in Parker’s mouth at the mention of Argentinean woman, though the words had never come from her own tongue.
‘It rings a bell,’ she answered, pretending to become interested with the stretch of clouds visible through the window. ‘But what relevance does she have to Atlanta?’
‘As I’m sure you’re well aware, the Centre has kept Nia under surveillance, should Jarod try to reestablish communication with her. I understand that the two of them have somewhat of a,’ - he cleared his throat, ‘history together.’
‘Get on with it,’ she said, coldly.
She spoke as if she were spitting out venom, and she could tell from the hint of a smirk on his face that he was choosing his words carefully.
‘Recent developments indicate she’s on the move. Heading to Atlanta, to be exact. The surveillance team uncovered her intended destination at the same time routine scans picked up a reservation for a Jarod Carter at a hotel not far from the city central.’
‘You think they’re meeting up,’ she said, catching on.
‘I think there’s something going on here that needs looking into and yes - it all fits.’
‘What doesn’t fit is why Jarod would be planning to rendezvous with this woman when he knows the precautions the Centre would be taking. Surely he realizes she’s being watched.’
‘Contemplating what goes on in that overrated brain of his is Sydney’s job,’ Lyle said dismissively. ‘Yours is to catch him and bring him back, and right now, this is the best chance we’ve got.’
‘I’m surprised you didn’t drag that cleaner of yours along with you,’ Parker said coolly, leaning back in her seat.
‘She’s not my cleaner,’ he responded, ‘she’s the new cleaner. Her presence was hardly intended to make you feel inadequate. Those higher up merely wanted to speed up Jarod’s capture.’
‘So I’m continually being told.’
Taking into account that what she knew about the man seated beside her amounted to approximately nothing, nada, nix – Broots’s efforts had been rather disappointing in that area – she was both determined regarding and wary of extracting information from him. There was incriminating evidence that he had been at the Centre long before his abrupt appearance and, during that time, had been involved with what could most likely be accurately deemed as torturing Jarod. She didn’t doubt that the two of them had a history, and somehow, she knew he wasn’t someone she should be turning her back on in a hurry. He had an aura about him that screamed he wasn’t to be trusted.
‘You’re not one for idle chit chat, are you?’
‘Call me antisocial if you like, Lyle, but my main focus here is putting a certain lab rat back in his cage, and the sooner I can put a stop to these fruitless wild goose chases, the better.’
‘Come on, Miss Parker,’ he goaded. ‘Relax, enjoy the scenery. Soak up the atmosphere. A little fun never killed anyone.’
Considering who they worked for, it was the mother of all lies.
‘No,’ she said cruelly, ‘but you’d hate to be the first.’
He settled back in his seat after that, lips curling slightly at the corners, not saying another word.
* * *
‘Try that again and you’ll be singing soprano in the hospital choir.’
Miss Parker glowered contemptuously in the general direction of airport security officer that had insisted on frisking her upon her arrival. She’d decided that he’d enjoyed the procedure more than he should have, and it had taken immense willpower on her behalf not to break all of his fingers. Lyle, smug bastard that he was, had stood patiently to the side as she had been searched for the offending item that had set off the alarms – later to be found as non existent. A glitch in the system, as it were.
‘Glitch in the system my ass,’ she snarled, snatching her sunglasses from Lyle as she stalked past. She regarded him accusingly over the top of them. ‘I’ll bet you loved every minute of that.’
‘You don’t seem to have much luck with security, do you? But those casino guards in Vegas… surely this paled in comparison.’
‘One more comment like that and I might just introduce you to the concept.’
‘Are you saying you want to… strip search me, Miss Parker?’
Damn straight, she thought – and right after I steal your clothes, I’ll coat you in honey…
That smirk appeared, instilling in Miss Parker great incentive to strangle him.
… and leave you for the birds and whatever menacing, man-eating bugs that inhibit this place. If that proves unsuccessful, we could always go for death by humiliation…
‘You wish,’ she replied, scathing and yet cool as a cucumber as she stopped to fish in her jacket for her cell phone, which she ripped out of her pocket and flipped open with agitation.
‘What?’
‘Miss Parker?’
The tech’s voice on the other end was a welcome sound. She doubted she could stand another minute alone with Lyle and she was tempted to bark ‘get down here, now,’ at her computer geek, all for the sake of distraction.
‘Who else would it be, your girlfriend?’ Pleased to hear his voice - yes. Willing to let him in on the fact – not a chance. ‘Any developments?’
‘Uh, since you left? Not really. Except -’ he dropped his tone a few decibels, ‘I was searching the mainframe, just doing the daily checks, you know? And there’s certain inconsistencies in… well… some things just aren’t right. With you and Mr Lyle leaving for Atlanta, and Brigitte – please don’t ask me to follow her, Miss Parker, because I know you always send me on these spy missions and I really, really don’t want to follow her – but there’s data here that -’
‘Broots? Take a deep breath, and patronize me,’ she interjected, impatient. ‘In English. Please.’
‘I… it’s just…’ He paused to do as she asked, still speaking in an urgent whisper. ‘I… I don’t think Jarod’s in Atlanta.’
She allowed her eyes to flicker shut for a moment in exasperation.
‘News flash, Broots – Jarod makes a living out of not being in the same place as I am.’
‘No, but Miss Parker, it’s Mr Lyle. He’s -’
‘I’ve got to go. Call me if anything comes up,’ she interrupted.
A terminating beep sounded in the tech’s ear, and Parker, itching for a cigarette, turned to her travel companion, eyebrow raised.
‘Shall we?’
* * *
Finding and settling into their rooms at the Hotel Hiatus was, to Parker’s relief and relative surprise, uneventful. Jarod apparently had commendable taste; she was at a loss as to how to fault him on his choice of accommodation that she was now being forced to share. In fact, she reflected as she lounged in the lobby, waiting for Lyle to make an appearance - maximizing the luxury that the Centre covered all costs made the long hours of running around and their grim failure rate somehow mildly worth it.
‘I see somebody’s been fraternizing with the service staff,’ she remarked, straightening as Lyle joined her, having left his Asian escort once he had stepped out of the lift.
‘It can’t hurt to make a few allies,’ he shrugged. ‘If Jarod’s going to be sneaking around here then we might need some help on the inside. It’s called sleeping with the enemy, Parker.’
‘It’s also statutory rape,’ she commented. ‘She’s got to be a minor.’
He rolled his eyes.
‘Since we’ve got a few hours to kill… what do you say to getting a bite to eat? Xiu Ling recommended a Thai restaurant not far from here. She tells me they do an excellent pork.’
‘Xiu Ling? My, my - we are on friendly terms.’ She grinned. ‘Exactly what was going on in those five, ten minutes I was waiting?’
‘Dinner?’ he pressed flatly, clearly not amused.
Touchy, she thought.
‘I’m not really in the mood. I was thinking of… ordering in. Taking advantage of free room service.’
‘Understandable,’ he nodded.
The pause, followed by a sharp pivot on her heel, was unanticipated by him, and as she leisurely made her way back the way he had just come, he watched her a moment before heading after her.
When they reached it, he grabbed her by the arm and pulled her into the elevator, forcibly and yet not. The doors closed, he located what he remembered to be their floor, and immediately proceeded to pin her to the wall - effectively preventing her escape. His lips moved to hers, but she turned her head to the side at the last minute.
Playing hard to get had always been her style – there was no way he was getting off that easily. That aside, however, she was taken aback by his audacity.
More often than not, she was the one to be acting brazenly; but she’d been held back by the sense of self incarceration that would no doubt come with entering a relationship, even a one night only one, with someone she could be working with on a daily basis for any given amount of time. She hadn’t expected him to make the first move, either, and yet, there she was, trapped between an elevator wall and a man with a decidedly hungry look in his blue orbs.
‘Now isn’t this just a…’ she murmured, eyes flashing triumphantly, ‘compromising situation?’
It was defiance; written clearly on the wall in blood. A challenge.
‘Compromising isn’t the word I would have used.’
‘Oh?’
A perfect brow crept upwards and she tossed her head to remove her hair from her eyes. Still cold glass marbles, he thought, though now there was a steely glint. He wondered if it had always been there, and if he’d only just noticed.
‘More like…’ He skittered his hand up the back of her thigh and pinched, just below the hem of her skirt. ‘… convenient.’
‘Convenient,’ she hummed, arching as his mouth attacked her throat.
The elevator came to a stop, and she took note of the floor out of the corner of her eye.
It wasn’t theirs.
When the doors slid open, two businessmen joined them, briefcases in hand. All they supplied was acknowledgment in the form of a tip of the head as they continued the conversation that had obviously been initiated prior to their entering the lift. He was facing one wall; she the opposite, arms crossed and the hint of a smirk on her lips.
Lyle straightened his tie.
The two men got off not long after, only to be replaced by a young couple that, Parker observed, were continually sneaking glances at each other. Newly weds, she thought, and registered that their intended stop was now ground floor. Once they reached it, she hesitated undetectably, then stepped off with them.
‘Uh… going somewhere?’ Lyle asked, eyebrows raised.
‘Mmm, well, you see, the annoying thing is, they,’ she nodded in the direction of the service desk, ‘won’t let me have these,’ she gestured towards the silver case she held in which she kept her cigarettes, ‘in here. And since I,’ she continued, pointing to herself as if explaining something to a five year old, ‘want to have them, I have to go out there.’
She tilted her head in the direction of the door, widened her eyes at him to signify she was finished, then began to make her way towards her aforementioned destination. A few steps on, she turned to see him standing exactly where she had left him.
Tightening of the jaw. Flex of the neck. Straightening of the tie.
Don’t buy the car.
‘What happened to ordering in?’ he called.
‘Not hungry,’ she replied, giving a derisive wrinkle of her nose.
She did nothing to fight the feral grin that crept onto her face as she fished in her pocket for her lighter, the glass doors sliding open to allow her through.
* * *
After a rather unsettled return to his room, Lyle had taken a few minutes to move around without purpose, quickly deciding that a shower would be an effective way to waste time until his meal arrived. Removing his tie was a welcome relief and, after battling his cufflinks and disposing of his shirt, he’d stepped into the en suite to test the hotel’s waterworks.
Fifteen minutes later he’d finished; he wrapped the towel around his waist and opened the door, allowing the cloud of steam to spill out from the bathroom and into the main quarters – a scope with minimalist, yet stylish, décor.
Sending up a spray of droplets as he rubbed the back of his hair, he ambled towards the coffee table in the middle of the room in search of his beverage. The glass of wine that he had poured prior to his retreat to the shower, however, as he soon realized, was no longer on the table where he had left it.
It had evidently been moved – to its new place on the mantle – by somebody other than him, because he had no recollections of ever repositioning it. He had his suspicions as to who exactly that somebody else might be, and a few steps towards the relocated flute confirmed them.
For there, on the rim of the now half empty glass, was the vermillion residue of what was unmistakably her lipstick.
‘Sherry. Nice.’
He turned, slowly, hardly surprised. She was lazing in the doorway to the bathroom; a smoky silhouette against a background of mist.
He swallowed.
‘I thought so.’
She pushed off from the wall and idly strolled forward, stopping in front of him to part her lips and release a cloud of smoke.
‘Nice shower?’
‘Invigorating,’ he said.
Another drag. The cigarette dropped to the ground, and she extinguished it with the toe of her shoe - an invitation.
She raised an eyebrow.
‘Care for another?’
He continued towards her but she backed steadily away, stopping only when he had her up against the doorframe she’d appeared through mere moments before.
‘It could be arranged,’ he said, one hand sliding down her shoulder, her side, her hip; the other on the wall for leverage.
A lazy smile crept onto her lips.
‘I’ll bet it could.’
Their noses collided, eyes wide and barely an inch apart. Four cold ice pools, two pairs, burning into each other - a blue gas flame. Seconds ticked by, nothing existing but two bodies pressed into one.
‘I’ll make sure it’s worth your while.’
‘Convince me,’ she whispered, breath hot against his ear.
Lips met, and he didn’t wait before his tongue fought its way into her mouth, dueling with hers, already working at getting her out of her blouse; languidly, barely noticeable. It wasn’t about taking his time. Fingers moved deftly at her buttons, massaging her breasts and almost making her moan.
She wouldn’t let herself go that easily.
He shifted to below her ear, to her throat, to her shoulder blade, skittering across skin. She was so soft, a contradiction. Neither had paid much attention to the fact that they had somehow moved from the doorway to further inside the bathroom.
‘New perfume?’ he asked, inhaling her scent; sweet, and faintly spicy.
‘Essence of iceberg.’
He smirked again, finding the verbal foreplay stimulating in more ways than one.
‘Ice doesn’t have an aroma,’ he informed her.
‘It does,’ she argued, brow knotting slightly as he unceremoniously pulled her hair into a bunch at the nape of her neck with one hand.
‘What does it smell like?’
He ran a finger down her spine, sliding over each disc.
Bump, bump, bump.
‘What would Daddy say if he saw you now?’
She didn’t reply, and he didn’t want her to. She raked her nails up his back while he traveled hers, scratching the soft tissue without being brutal.
A cool smile slipped over her lips as she leaned into his ear.
‘Puts a whole new meaning to getting a rise out of you, doesn’t it, Lyle?’
He ignored her; his hand went for her leg at the back of her knee, drawing it up to his side and pulling her closer in turn - a carnal tango. It was a primal dance without affection or a desire for intimacy; merely a vent for numerous frustrations and yet another power struggle.
Effortlessly transferring her weight to balance on one foot, the unbent leg was nudged between his and her skirt, short and black, hiked up her thigh. His flat palm was already gliding down the smooth plane of stocking and flesh, friction against the nylon, when she pulled back, huffing impatiently.
‘In a hurry, Miss Parker?’
‘Places to go, people to see,’ she replied. ‘Pretender to catch.’
‘You and I both know how… unlikely that is.’
‘Don’t get your wires crossed,’ she warned, mouth dancing millimeters away, body molding perfectly to his length. He was hard against her. ‘You’re handling explosive goods and post-detonation is never a pretty thing.’
‘There are many words to describe you, Parker, and I’m sure pretty has never been one of them.’
Both Promethean in their own rights, it was not entirely apparent who was screwing whom. Power, control, superiority. They were two stags in a rut, antlers entwined in a battle for territory and domination.
‘I’m still not sure if you’re incredibly smart, or incredibly stupid.’
Her back connected with the shower wall and she elicited a hiss at the sensation of cold tile against bare skin.
There was a fumble of hands and seconds later, torrents of water were cascading down already sweat-slick bodies.
‘This is an expensive skirt,’ she told him, tilting her head back to allow the droplets to run down the curve of her throat and disappear into the cleft of her breasts, nipples already hard and visible through the saturated fabric of her bra.
‘It’ll dry,’ he said.
‘Mmm,’ was her incoherent response, and the only thing that came to mind as his fingers found the inside of her thigh.
He worked smoothly, tantalizingly. His touch was firm and illicit, just like him. His grip would leave mottled bruises on the pale skin, but she had little present concern for what would come with the aftermath of their dalliance.
She wriggled her toes against the wet towel that had pooled at her feet at the bottom of the shower as that expensive skirt became nothing more than a soaked ring around her waist. His taut, lean body created a source of heat, tension and anticipation where it connected with hers, and the warm rain created by the showerhead made movement slick and easy.
She was beginning to get irritated – never a patient woman - and he somehow sensed it.
He let his tongue invade her mouth again - the kiss all the more hot and steamy from the dull taste of the water - and roughly pulled aside the black satin panties to gain access, plunging into her hot center.
A moan escaped from her throat, and she hated herself for it.
It wasn’t at all comfortable, pressed against hard tile - her shoulders ached and his hold would slip occasionally, causing the grout to graze her bare shoulders – but the rhythm was steady, a demanding beat. She arched forward, head back, and focused with a creased brow on the hazy waves of sensation washing over her with slowly increasing intensity.
‘He’d kill us both, you know.’
‘Who?’ she groaned, gasping when he raised her higher, shifting position and entering her on a different angle.
‘Your father.’
Her idiosyncratic reply would have been to argue the fact that her father would do no such thing - not to her, anyway - but she was at a general loss as to what exactly he was talking about.
‘Stop talking,’ she requested, and for once, one succumbed to the other without protest.
She didn’t come but she’d already decided she didn’t care. Vague dissatisfaction could be easily dismissed and dealt with later on. This was a way to pass the time and, as she was sure Lyle had also realized, grounds for extortion. Sex had become a weapon between them and even if it meant self destruction, each had the power to destroy the other. It was all a matter of who was willing to administer the suicidal parting shot.
It seemed apparent, nonetheless, that he’d left her hanging for a reason.
It was only later, as she pinned stray damp tendrils up on the top of her head, that he told her that next time, she wouldn’t feel so unfulfilled.
Parker laughed; a deep, dark sound.
‘What makes you so sure there’s going to be a next time?’
Somehow, they both knew there would.
* * *
Lyle had called her at around ten the next morning.
‘There appears to be a delay,’ he’d said.
Nia, apparently, had vanished. He assumed she was hiding, watching. Waiting to see if her position had been compromised, intentions stumbled upon. Nevertheless, no Nia meant no Jarod, which also meant they weren’t going to get out of there in a hurry.
He suggested he come around and discuss a plan of action with her, to which she obliged – there was nothing better to do and lounging around and reveling in free time had quickly lost its appeal. She made him wait before she decided to let him in, and when she did, she wore an oriental robe of red and black silk ending an inch above her knee; it was fastened with a sash but gaped slightly at the front. It was intentional, and both of them knew it.
He dropped a file on the table.
‘Thirsty?’ she queried, raising a brow. She was nursing in one hand a glass of what he suspected was scotch; the other, a cigarette he wasn’t sure she was supposed to be smoking indoors.
‘I’m fine.’
‘Suit yourself.’
She made herself comfortable on the sofa, one leg draped elegantly over the other. Raising her glass to her lips, she swirled, inhaled, then sipped.
‘You said you wanted to talk.’
‘Yes,’ he agreed, ‘about Jarod. I was hoping to find out a bit more about him. What it is I’m dealing with.’
‘I’m sure you’ve read the file. There’s nothing I can tell you that’s not in there.’
‘Au contraire, I think there is. I’m aware the two of you go way back. I mean, all that history.’
Adjusting his tie, as he was prone to do, he moved around to the back of the lounge, a look in his eyes that she didn’t like.
She watched him with complete deadpan as he circled her like a vulture, annoyed that he had gotten her into such a position because she was usually the one doing the circling.
‘Did you two ever… ?’
‘Don’t,’ she began, all acid but without a trace of agitation, ‘even think you can use Jarod as a means to control me. I’ve made a living out of putting the past behind me, and it’s none of your goddamn business. What I did when I was younger is my concern and nobody else’s.’
‘Yes, well,’ he replied smoothly, ‘We all have our… secrets.’
She rose from the chair, breaking his circle, and slinked across the room, pulling back the curtain slightly to peer outside. His eyes were on her legs as she crossed them and leaned against the wall, languidly flicking her ash out the open window.
‘Just for the record, I wasn’t even considering using any of this against you. Quite the opposite and in fact, I was more thinking along the lines of… using you to control Jarod.’
‘It won’t work,’ she said shortly, glancing up. ‘Whatever messed up friendship we formed out of loneliness back then no longer exists. Jarod’s sole purpose in life after his escape has been to torment me. That, and finding his family.’
‘Sydney -’
‘- would just be asking for trouble. The only thing you’d succeed in doing would be pissing Jarod off and believe me, past experiences indicate you don’t want that to happen.’
‘Surely there are more… efficient methods we could employ, to speed this process up. He’s been gone for what, eighteen months now? This is a waste of time, effort and manpower.’
‘Tracking down a pretender that’s strayed off, or more accurately sprinted away from, the garden path is a lot more work than everyone around here seems to think,’ Parker said tersely. ‘He is a genius that can become anybody he wants to be. Blend in to any situation. Compared to this, getting a blind woman to find a needle in a haystack would be child’s play.’
‘And you think your current efforts will yield?’
‘He can’t keep running forever,’ she said, tone softer. ‘Sooner or later, he’s going to mess up. And we’ll be there waiting when he does.’
‘You certainly don’t… lack confidence, do you?’
‘I know what I want, I go after it. One way or another, I get it.’
Conversation had rather dropped to a minimum after that. It had been an interesting morning to say the least – the night before had been a mapping of terrain, which they proceeded to follow up by competing by means of exercising supremacy; using what they knew about the other to manipulate them and bring them to the brink of surrender.
It had been more roguish, more rough, but with a better employment of technique in order to achieve what was each’s ultimate goal; domination.
*
‘I’m always on top.’
‘So am I.’
Her eyes narrowed at his words but she got no chance to protest as his mouth claimed hers and she found herself pinned beneath him; arms held above her head by one of his hands.
‘Let me go,’ she hissed, once, tongue dueling with his.
‘You enjoy a struggle as much as I do,’ he told her, and she did nothing to dispute it.
*
In the end, she had come out of it relatively content with what had transpired. Basking in the afterglow of good sex, left alone by her conniving bedmate, though to no disappointment of hers, she’d gotten up to answer her phone with a good stretch that signified she ached in all the right places.
‘What?’ she asked, her voice sounding thick though she strove to disguise it.
‘Miss Parker? Thank god – I’ve been trying to call you, and… where have you been?’
‘Busy. What is it, Broots?’
‘Well, you said to call you if anything came up. And I was trying to tell you the other day – Jarod isn’t in Atlanta.’
‘We’ve been over this. We’re here on a stakeout, egghead, he’s not necessarily going to -’
‘No, Miss Parker, listen to me. Jarod isn’t going to be in Atlanta, either. The reservation for a Jarod Carter? It doesn’t exist. Lyle’s got you chasing a ghost.’
She stopped to absorb it, perching on the arm of the sofa. She was hardly surprised that the scheming bastard had been playing with her all along. He was going to pay for it, no question.
‘And Nia?’
‘Still back at her house near the mountains. The whole thing is a set up.’
‘Why would Lyle lure me here if not to catch Jarod?’
She had a few ideas.
‘My guess is to distract you while he zones in on the prize. He’s deployed sweeper teams to several locations, and Brigitte’s, well… she’s currently missing in action.’
‘This is sounding more and more like something out of a Stephen King novel. What else have you got for me?’ she asked, running her hand along the table. Her fingertips drifted over the wallet Lyle had left there, and she picked it up.
‘Nothing much at the moment. But a package did arrive this morning. It’s a, uh, PEZ dispensers. With our heads on them.’
She pinched the bridge of her nose, closing her eyes and not even bothering to dignify it with a response.
‘No, really, they’re actually pretty cool,’ the tech offered. ‘I mean, I haven’t had one since I was a kid, and Jarod’s really good at this kind of stuff.’
‘A jack of all trades and a master of most. Do you know where the package came from?’
‘I’m, uh, I’m still working on that.’
‘Well keep at it. And call me when you figure something out.’
‘So… what are you going to do now? I mean, since your being in Atlanta isn’t really necessary.’
‘Considering absolutely nothing around here seems to be grabbing my attention, I think I’ll take a night out and see if there’s anything worth seeing in this town before I head back. Who knows, I might just… stumble across someone worth my while.’
‘Oh.’
‘Oh?’ she echoed, eyebrow raised though he couldn’t see her.
Holding the phone between her ear and shoulder, she flipped open the wallet, frowning slightly at the string of photos she found contained within.
‘Well it was just, I, uh, thought… you and Mr Lyle…’
Any other occasion and she would have jumped down the phone, ripped off his limbs and stuffed them down his throat for being presumptuous, but she was too fixated on the collection of pictures to care. At least a dozen of them. All young girls, all Asian.
‘I’m not his type,’ she replied absently.
‘How would you know?’ Broots ventured, sounding relatively surprised that she hadn’t supplied him with a verbal castration.
She transferred the receiver to her other ear, blinking a few times and thinking of the hotel worker she had seen Lyle with earlier before glancing back to the open wallet.
‘Oh, believe me. I know.’
* * *
‘You know, we’ve really got to stop meeting like this.’
She let herself in, strolling inside and leaving him to close the door behind her. The wallet she tossed onto the couch - still mildly curious regarding its contents but with other things on her mind.
Without a word, she stood in front of him, then took him by the chin and kissed him. Hard.
Discarded shirts and bare, heaving chests later, a tangle of limbs collapsed onto the coverlet - a sharp contrast to the black frame of the bed with its pristine whiteness and gold intricacies.
Cleverly controlled circumstances resulted in Parker falling in a highly advantageous position; securely astride and, when she tore her lips away and sat up, hands placed flat against his chest, Lyle was pinned beneath her.
He regarded her from where he lay; the only sound that of their erratic breathing. Though he seemed to have guessed what she was doing when she reached for the nightstand to retrieve something she knew he’d kept in the drawers, he made no move to gain the upper hand.
‘Ah,’ he said, his smirk betraying him. ‘Returning the favour, are we?’
She glanced down at him as the cuffs snapped shut, then leaned close so that their noses were almost touching.
‘Oh, I’m returning the favour alright,’ she told him before swinging a leg over and climbing off. Straightening her skirt, and collecting her blouse, she explained, ‘Nobody, and I mean nobody, gets between me and my prey. I’m sure I’ve told you once before – I love being underestimated, and if you’re going to fuck with me, don’t expect me not to fight back.’
She’d fixed as best she could her rather disheveled appearance and was on her way out when he attempted to pull himself into a seated position.
‘Parker? What are you going to do, just leave me here?’
‘Hmm,’ she hummed, imbued with fake sympathy. ‘Don’t worry – housekeeping will have to come by sometime.’
She made sure the sign on the door read ‘Do Not Disturb’ as she left.
* * *
According to Broots, the package from Jarod pointed towards a market in Brooklyn – this was based on some twisted theory of Sydney’s that the dispensers, accompanied by shredded paper that turned out to be traceable to a particular chain of green grocers, stood for Brooklyn’s abundance of parks and recreational areas, which related back to the theme of childhood.
Though unimpressed with Sydney’s interpretation of what he insisted was a message from Jarod, Parker had been reassured when Broots confirmed the lead by reconstructing all of the shredded documents to find that they indeed matched with the store in Brooklyn, owned by an Antonio Garcia. He was a stocky man with a bald head and his general demeanor radiated stupidity.
She approached him with caution.
‘Have you seen this man?’
‘Non parlare inglese.’
He blinked at her, and she found it amusing that the owner of a store that was frequented by customers spoke only Italian. Someone else might have bought it. She didn’t.
‘Yeah, right,’ she muttered. Just as the man was about to dart away, she grabbed him by the lapels of his shirt and pulled him aside.
‘You might not speak English, buddy…’ she said, ‘ma io parlare Italiano. Vedere questo persone?’
Antonio frowned, then shook his head at the photo she pushed in his face.
‘No –non si vedere.’
Determined to get some answers out of the suspicious looking grocer, whom had most definitely been speaking to a shopper prior to her approach, she turned helplessly demure and rattled off the first thing that jumped into her head.
‘Ma questo persona stola il mio cane.’
‘Il tuo cane?’
‘Si – il mio cane… chiamato Lyle. Sento la sua mancanza.’
‘Mi dispiace, signora, ma -’
‘Aiuto, per favore,’ she pressed on innocently.
‘Jarod stola un cane? Your dog? Perchè? I no believe you, Signora.’
‘Jarod?’ she repeated, fighting off the smirk.
Gotcha, she thought.
‘You must be Miss Parker,’ the man huffed. ‘Jarod – he told me to be expecting you.’
‘Ah,’ she replied. ‘Now we’re getting somewhere.’
* * *
‘Oggi a Pasqua!
Buona Pasqua a tutti!
Oggi a Pasqua!
Fa, la, la, la, la, la!
Oggi a Pasqua, buona Pasqua a tutti!
Fa, la, la, la, la!’
Reluctant directions from the suddenly deftly English speaking grocer had led her to the outskirts of town, and her unannounced arrival to a seemingly empty street - tarnished by litter and soaked and made humid by a light shower - had left her wondering if her quarry had sent her there for the sole purpose of doing some damage to her footwear.
The bell like ringing of children’s laughter filtered down the street from the alleyway, bringing back memories of a world she had been distanced from by the endless stretch of time. Having attended a sizeable portion of her education at an establishment in Trieste, she had witnessed countless Easter celebrations taking place within the Italian communities; the pre-Lent Carnevale activities being a personal favourite. Such a love she had developed for that particular aspect of the culture, she reflected, that her home still featured a display of two beautifully hand crafted masks.
‘Can I help you?’
Parker shifted to face the owner of the voice that had appeared in one of the shaded doorways. Shadows distorted her features, but she could make out the form of a woman in a sundress; a small child sitting at her hip and another peering out from behind her legs, loosely grasping her hand. The scene radiated lower class domesticity.
Parker glanced from left to right, then stepped forward with the photograph of Jarod ready at her fingertips.
‘I was wondering if -’
‘Parker?’ the woman interrupted. ‘Dio mio… is it you?’
Her forehead creased a moment before she realized the face was indeed familiar.
‘It is! Parker, it has been so long!’
‘I’m sorry, but I don’t remember you,’ she said slowly.
‘But you must! Why else are you here? It is Rosa, silly cugina – do you not remember me now?’
Rosa, Parker recalled, upon further reflection, was a good seven years younger than herself. She had been a rosy-cheeked, bright-eyed girl with beautiful thick lashes and a dazzlingly sweet smile that had won the hearts of many with her innocent and loving nature. She was no blood relative, but the daughter of an Italian woman close to Catherine that, incidentally, had been named Parker’s godmother, despite the fact she herself had not met them until a year after her mother’s death.
Jarod’s intentions became instantly crystal clear, and for once in her life, Parker did not tell herself she wanted to kill him.
‘Rosa?’ she repeated. Her eyes moved to the window above the door. ‘Your mother… ?’
‘Is upstairs,’ Rosa replied playfully, setting the boy from her waist down to stand on his own feet. She straightened, and placed her hands on her hips; demeanor communicating that she was joking. ‘I am not rid of her yet.’
The young child immediately made his way over to tug unceremoniously at Parker’s skirt, blinking up at her with caramel eyes.
‘These… are these yours?’ Parker asked, lowering herself to the boy’s level.
‘Do you think they are mamma’s?’ Rosa teased. ‘His name is Roberto – he is a lady’s man, no? His sister’s name is Daniela, and they are my angeli piccolo.’
‘Hello,’ Parker smiled, drawing out the word in her quintessential fashion.
‘Well?’ his mother demanded. ‘Where are your manners? Say buongiorno to your zia, bello!’
‘Buongiorno,’ Roberto said warily.
‘And how old are you, Roberto?’
‘Ho tre anni.’
‘You know, it’s been a long time since I’ve spoken Italian,’ Parker said conspiratorially. ‘Is that… one?’ He bit back a giggle, and shook his head shyly. ‘Ten?’
‘No!’
‘Ninety nine?’
‘No – it’s three, silly!’
‘Ah,’ she smiled. ‘Three. You’re a big boy then, aren’t you?’
The boy nodded, then asked,
‘How old are you?’
‘It is no business of yours, grillo,’ Rosa scolded, removing the tea towel that had previously been slung over her shoulder and waving it dismissively in his direction, pushing him back into the welcoming cool gloom of the house.
‘Ignore him – he forgets his manners. Roberto, Daniela – upstairs and see if nonna is awake. Parker - what are you waiting for? You must come inside! You’re just in time for lunch! Presto, presto!’
‘Rosa, you don’t have to -’
‘Sciocchezze! Nonsense! You were not here by your own intentions. A miracle has brought you back to me, and you are mistaken if you think I am letting you go yet, especially with a dry throat and an empty belly! Sit and eat, and I shall fetch my mother. She will be very pleased to see her figlioccia again.’
* * *
‘Benvenuto, bella,’ the older woman, Maria, said kindly, holding Parker’s face in her hands and kissing each of her cheeks, Parker doing her best not to flinch. ‘I hope you have not forgotten your language as easily as you have forgotten your family.’
‘Maria, I wasn’t even aware you had left Italy. What are you doing here?’
‘We left Trieste two summers ago,’ Rosa explained from the kitchen. ‘We decided we would start new, when my husband, Pedro, died in a car accident in Udine.’
‘I’m sorry,’ Parker offered wanly, the weight of just how much she had missed out on beginning to sink in.
Friuli-Venezia Giulia, the northeastern Italian region in which she had spent her teenage years, had been rich in its agriculture - or so she remembered. The mountainous north received the highest rainfall in the country, and Trieste, the province that lay to the southeast of the region, had been known for its port and tobacco. Udine had been an industrial city, a marketing centre. She had only been there once.
To think that Rosa had not only found a husband, but lost him also - not to mention had two children - within the fifteen or so years they had been out of touch… it all made Parker’s head spin.
‘So, if you are not here to visit, mia carina, what are you here for?’
‘I was… looking for my dog,’ she replied slowly.
‘Looking for your dog?’ Maria echoed. ‘He is lost? That is no good. Have you found him yet?’
‘No.’ Noticing the narrowed eyes Rosa sent in her direction, she added, ‘It’s a long story, believe me.’
* * *
‘Un capro stupido, credere mia,’ Maria muttered in response to the tale Rosa had finished telling – a light hearted account of the small family’s journey over from Italy to America and the events that had taken place since their arrival.
She’d just completed her version of a recent encounter with a tourist from Rome they’d stumbled upon in the states, whom Rosa had obviously become smitten with, when Maria had piped up with her own opinion of the man; that he was an interfering busybody and as stubborn as they came. Rosa laughed her mother’s grumbling off.
‘Perhaps you are better off not remembering the language, cugina,’ she teased, before pretending to be stern. ‘Mamma’s mouth gets away with her. She should watch what she says while young ears are flapping.’
‘Zia, zia – look at this!’ Daniela proclaimed suddenly, springing out of the hallway and skidding to a stop in front of Parker, a piece of paper in her hands.
Parker exchanged a smile with Rosa, then leaned down to see what the girl – who could be no older than six – wanted to show her.
It was an artful finger painting; an incredibly apt portrayal of a scene that showed, through vivid colours and simplistic imagery, a child’s depiction of a carnival scene.
Having a good idea of what was taking place in the girl’s illustration, but tactful enough not to offend, Parker avoided any hurtful misinterpretations by replying with the request,
‘Tell me about it.’
Her figurative niece responded in kind, describing in vibrant detail the story behind the painting, though more in depth than Parker had expected – how one little girl was lost and searching for her mother, and how the mother was also searching endlessly for her daughter. There was a rabbit, leaving a trail of cleverly hidden eggs to follow to lead the girl back, and a man in a mask trying to ruin the attempt. The man, Daniela explained, was Arlecchino – one of the traditional characters of Carnevale. An impudent schemer with a large nose, Arlecchino delighted in wrecking havoc on those around him; it made sense that he would want to spoil the rabbit’s plan.
‘A regular Picasso,’ Parker remarked, though kindly and without malice. ‘Do you know what you have to do with that?’
Daniela shook her head.
‘When I was your age, and I made a pretty picture like that, I’d put it on the refrigerator, so that everyone could see it.’
‘Refri-ger-rator?’ she echoed.
‘Il frigorifero, bella,’ Rosa explained. ‘In the kitchen.’
Recognition flashed across the child’s features, and she nodded, disappearing into the kitchen to do as Parker had suggested.
‘She’s a cute kid.’
‘Si… she is a well behaved girl – though she is headstrong like her papà and I can tell she will be a handful when she starts going to parties and liking boys! Roberto, on the other hand,’ Rosa began, ruffling the hair of the toddler in question, ‘is my terrore piccolo. My little terror. I think it comes with the age, no?’ She laughed at the indignant expression on her son’s face before picking him up and placing a kiss on the tip of his nose, evoking a fit of delighted giggles. ‘Dio mio, grillo, your mamma is joking - don’t look so bothered.’
The whole scene brought to the surface in Parker longings for motherly love that she was sure she had squelched. She felt suddenly out of place.
‘You miss her, don’t you?’ Rosa asked softly. ‘Your mother?’
‘Every day,’ she replied, swallowing. ‘She was my whole world for a very long time.’
‘Zia?’ Daniela queried quietly, back from her expedition to the fridge. ‘Where’s your mamma?’
Rosa, sensing the pain the subject held for her Parker, made to dissuade her daughter from broaching the topic, but was cut off before she had the chance.
‘She… she’s gone to heaven.’
‘Do you still love her?’
‘Of course,’ Parker smiled, ‘Very much.’
Daniela, brown eyes wide and sorrowful, walked over and startled Parker by crawling into her lap. After the initial shock, she adjusted so the girl could sit comfortably, though feeling somewhat awkward.
‘What was she like?’
‘She was... amazing. When I was with her, I always felt like there was nobody else there, but me and her, and that I was so safe. As if nothing could ever hurt me as long as she was there with me.’ Stopping a moment, she took a deep breath and touched her fingers to her lips before continuing. ‘Does your mother read you stories?’ She received a solemn nod. ‘My momma used to read to me, all the time. We’d get lost in our own imaginary world of princesses and princes and fairies and goblins... and for a little while, everything would seem perfect.’
She looked up at Rosa, who was watching them with a sad smile on her face. A fleeting glance at Maria revealed that she’d been watching the exchange with the same expression.
‘Zia?’ Daniela asked again, cocking her head to one side.
‘Mmm?’
‘Everything will seem perfect again someday.’
‘I hope so, Dani,’ Parker whispered, dropping a kiss on Daniela’s hairline. ‘I hope so.’
* * *
The hotel in Brooklyn wasn’t quite as distinguished as the one back in Atlanta, but it had a bed and a shower and as far as Miss Parker was concerned, that was all that mattered.
Other than feeling like something a dog had left behind on the pavement - she was stretched out both physically and psychologically – the events of the past few days were haunting her. She’d been up all night, finding it impossible to get back to sleep after a rude awakening compliments of a certain pretender.
It wasn’t just the confrontation with Lyle, although he was large contributing factor in both cases. Tired muscles had caught up with her and she was paying the price, not to mention the whirlwind of emotions that surfaced when she thought about it; annoyance, anger and smug satisfaction when she remembered how mildly panicked he had looked, cuffed to the bed post.
Stumbling across Rosa had further sent her into a spin - she hadn’t heard from the woman in years and had possessed no interest of getting back in touch, until Jarod had decided to stir up the past, yet again.
*
‘What?’ she groaned, after groping blindly for the phone. She finally located a lamp and turned it on, sitting up and massaging her forehead.
‘Someone once asked me which I believed to be better; a lie that earns a smile, or a truth that draws a tear. What do you think, Miss Parker?’
‘I think that you need to get over this insomnia of yours,’ she said. ‘It’s three o’clock in the morning, Jarod.’
‘I’m sorry,’ he replied.
He wasn’t, and they both knew it.
She sighed.
‘So,’ she said, drawing it out wryly as she lit a cigarette, the flame from her lighter casting an eerie glow. ‘Another fruitless goose chase.’
‘Are you sure it was fruitless?’
‘Tell me – how did you find her?’
‘I met Rosa Christou on a recent pretend. Her daughter attends the same school that a girl named Anna Llellwyn did – I’m sure you read the notebook. Rosa was a great help.’
Something clicked, and the irony of the situation was not lost on her.
‘The charming Italian tourist. An opportunity to polish up on the language, right? Quite an effect you had on her.’
‘Is that so?’
‘Poor woman had stars in her eyes. Though I believe her mother’s words were… stupid goat,’ she quipped.
‘It was a chance meeting, but we got talking and as conversation progressed, I got the strange feeling that she knew me.’
‘She’s a nosy Italian housewife – she acts like she knows everybody and when she doesn’t, she soon gets to know them,’ Parker responded dryly.
‘Oh, I think you underestimate Rosa’s memory, Miss Parker. Or is she more perceptive than you recall?’ he asked, and she recognized his goading tone. ‘It was strangely intriguing, stumbling across a friend of yours, from your childhood. Or should I say… cugina?’
‘She’s not my cousin, Jarod.’
‘No, I suppose not. Not by blood. But if you ask me, she is in all the ways that count.’ There was a pause, and then, ‘She reminded me of you.’
‘Because you’re so sure that you know who it is I really am,’ she said bitterly. ‘Did she really remind you of me? Or did she just stand for everything that you think is still lurking somewhere?’
‘Maybe it’s just another lie, earning a smile in a world where there’s already too many tears.’
‘Yeah,’ she responded, blowing smoke. ‘Only I’m not the one smiling.’
*
The phone call had left her frazzled. She’d been tired, yes, and he’d interrupted her sleep. But he’d also done something that he had a habit of doing when it came to her – and that was forcing her to think about something she’d made it her business to forget.
Despite being captivated by Daniela and Roberto, and loving the instant acceptance she received from Rosa and Maria, she’d left Rosa’s place with blurry eyes and self-reproach at having gotten so emotional. Running away and retiring to the hotel room for the evening had been effective by means of personal recovery, but the pesky pretender had merely opened the wound up again.
Rubbed salt in it, even.
*
‘I’m not the Parker you used to know.’
Rosa was a ghost in the shadows; pale darkness washed over her normally white skin and her brown eyes were deeper, more soulful, like a doe’s, than they had been earlier.
‘I don’t believe that.’
‘People change.’
‘People don’t change,’ Rosa said, voice graveled with accent, ‘circumstances do. Circumstances change and people adapt. You’re still hiding in there somewhere.’
‘I’m sorry to disappoint you, Rosa, but the little girl that said you were going to be a bridesmaid at her wedding doesn’t exist any more.’
‘Tell me, Parker. How is Jarod?’
Her eyes widened and locked those of the younger woman standing behind her, hands on hips, as she continued.
‘I haven’t forgotten, and I know that neither have you. When you first came to us, I remember that you spoke of nothing else. You told me because we were worlds away, and you needed someone to talk to, someone that would listen without condition. And who better than an Italian girl with a love for your American fairytales?’
‘My life back then was nothing like a fairytale.’
‘No – but it is less so now.’
Rosa’s words were accusing, though Parker could see in her eyes that she was being gentle. Cruel to be kind, because she was determined to get to the bottom of matters. It was the way she had always been. Reason gave way to latent anger, however, and Parker flared in defense.
‘You don’t know anything about me.’
‘I know more than you may think. I know you’re not happy.’
‘I am happy,’ she sneered. ‘Maybe I didn’t fall in love and find my prince charming but that’s fine with me. No one ever got anywhere without working for it. I’m sorry things didn’t turn out the way we dreamed it, but wake up, Rosa. Just because you lost your chance at happily ever after doesn’t… it doesn’t mean I’m upset about losing mine.’
‘Don’t you dare,’ Rosa hissed. ‘Things may get tough once in awhile around here but I do not resent any of it. I have my mother, I have my children and we have a roof over our heads. I, here, have a happiness that you, for all your fancy suits and Corporate job, cannot find. Don’t you dare stand in front of me and lie to me that you’re happy, because you’re only lying to yourself.’
The fierce mother of two, at that moment, despite being slight in stature, had all the qualities of a towering red-eyed dragon. She’d struck one nerve after another but for all the reproving words, there was a desire to help burning within her. Parker just didn’t want to see it.
‘I think I should go,’ she said tonelessly, making towards the door.
Three steps down the stairs and mere metres from the door. She was possessed by the urge to run – unwilling to face herself and therefore gripped with fear and the need to flee. It was the musical sound of angry Italian words that followed her that made her pause, even if only for a moment.
‘That’s it, Parker!’ Rosa yelled after her, resorting back to English. ‘Keep running away from your problems. One day, they will catch up with you!’
And for the briefest moment, Miss Parker allowed her eyes to flicker shut, though no tears fell.
*
To her great relief, the ringing of her cell tore her from her reflections.
‘What?’ she demanded, her tone not nearly as terse as she intended as she answered the phone.
‘It… it’s me.’
‘Broots,’ she murmured, almost fondly, as she sniffed. ‘What is it?’
‘Well, I don’t know when you plan on coming back, Miss Parker, but…’ He resorted to a whisper. ‘I think… I think we’ve found Jarod.’
There was a short silence, like the holding of a breath, and as the seconds ticked by he wondered if he needed to say it again. She replied before he could.
‘I’ll be there,’ she said, and ended the call.
She took a final drag of her cigarette, dropped it and crushed it beneath her nose-bleed heel, death defying and sharp, and picked up her keys.
And with that, she left the room as it was, its crumpled sheets and all, and not once did she glance back.
