Table of Contents [Report This]
Chapter or Story 
Chapter or Story
Disclaimer: The Characters Miss Parker, Sydney, Jarod, Broots and The Center are all property
of MTM, TNT and NBC Productions and are used without permission. No profit has been made...you know the drill.
Of Envy and Darkness
02/20/04 Part6 – By Phenyx
-
“Damn,” Jarod muttered to himself. “Damn!” he spat more emphatically as he tossed a file away from him in disgust.
Parker snickered, having entered the Chairman’s office just in time to hear the explicative. At Jarod’s poisonous glare, Parker smiled serenely. Crossing the room, she calmly sat on the corner of what had once been her father’s desk and innocently gazed at the frustrated pretender.
“I told you so,” she said cheerily.
“Yes, you did,” Jarod admitted ruefully. “This military contract is rock solid.”
Parker nodded. “It’s as tight as a virgin headed for the nunnery,” she purred.
Jarod sighed, “You’re a damn good contract lawyer, Parker. How did you manage to get a ten year deal with the United States Army?”
“I was a real over-achiever in my youth,” Parker shrugged. “Daddy was suitably impressed.”
“Justifiably so. This is really fine work,” the pretender said seriously.
Parker’s smiled at the genuine praise, given so easily by the man who sat before her.
Jarod stretched in his chair, easing the tension that had developed during the hours he’d been bent over the papers. “I wish you’d been a bit less thorough,” he said. “I don’t want to be involved in any further military contracts. I wanted out of this one. As it stands, we’ll have to stall any current work for these people. The last eighteen months of this agreement are going to be decidedly unproductive.”
Parker frowned. “There will be financial repercussions, fines and such, if we miss deadlines.”
“That’s not a problem,” Jarod said with a wave of his hand. “I won’t allow The Centre to create the next new wave of chemical weapons.”
“We could alter our focus,” Parker offered. “Delve into immunizations and treatments.”
Jarod drummed his fingers on his thigh as he considered the possibilities. “Switch from weapons development to defense improvements,” he murmured with a nod. “I can live with that.”
“We would only need to stall current work for about six months,” Parker said. “That will give us time to develop some defensive programs. Then we kill whatever projects we don’t agree with and bring our new initiatives to the bargaining table just in time for contract negotiations.”
“If the army isn’t interested in our new products, we’ll take the work to the DHS,” Jarod agreed.
“My thoughts exactly,” Parker said seriously. “We can’t drop all ties to the military. That avenue is just too profitable.”
Jarod grimaced in distaste. “The Triumvirate will only support our power base if we can continue to bring in the dollars,” he said wryly.
”Precisely,” Parker agreed. “But a defense contract is just as profitable as a weapons deal. History has proven that the Triumvirate doesn’t care how we get the money,”
“As long as it keeps flowing,” Jarod interrupted.
Parker nodded. “To be perfectly honest about it, with the world’s terrorist situation being what it is today, working in defense strategies is probably going to be more lucrative anyway.”
Jarod chewed thoughtfully at his lip for a moment before making his decision. “Agreed. All our military involvement needs to be transitioned as soon as possible.”
Crossing her arms Parker commented, “We’ll need to drop some personnel and hire others with different specializations. The change will need to be made subtly. Negotiations with the Pentagon could become very delicate.”
“It will be a major undertaking,” Jarod admitted as he stood. “But you’ll get it done. For the next eighteen months Parker, you are our military liaison. Add to your staff as you see fit. Any remaining projects you have dealing with Centre security I want you to turn over to Mercedes.”
Parker nodded perfunctorily at her boss’s command. Eyeing Jarod critically she observed, “You’re placing a great deal of trust in her. Centre security is our most vital area right now.”
Jarod began clearing the paperwork from his desk. “If I thought security was a problem, you would be managing that department,” he explained. Glancing quickly at his companion Jarod asked, “I thought you and Mercedes were getting chummy. Do you think it’s a mistake to rely on her?”
“No,” Parker said firmly. “I trust her implicitly. As much as I can trust anyone at any rate,” she added with a shrug. “I can’t explain it, but in those few moments that we shared our memories, something remarkable happened. More than just knowledge passed between us. I just find it surprising that you’ve accepted her so quickly.”
Returning to the task of tidying his work area, Jarod chuckled. “We’ve been working together for six weeks, Parker. Besides,” Jarod shrugged again. “You trust her. That is good enough for me.” Peering playfully at Parker he added, “And she’s got nice legs. I’ve always been a sucker for a great pair of legs.”
Parker snorted in mock disgust. “They aren’t all that amazing,” Parker scoffed.
“They are from where I’m standing,” Jarod purred seductively. “Better than yours, and I thought that was a standard that couldn’t be topped.”
Moving with a speed born from years of training, Parker grabbed an empty coffee mug from the desktop and threw it at Jarod’s head. The pretender was quicker than she was, laughingly plucking the ceramic missile from the air with little effort.
“I thought we had decided to stop throwing objects at each other,” a soft low voice scolded from the doorway.
“He was asking for it,” Parker stated simply.
Jarod snickered. “I was,” he admitted. His eyes glittered mischievously as he watched Mercedes enter the room. “I was goading her unmercifully.”
The voluptuous dark-skinned woman folded her arms across her chest and frowned. “Can’t you two play nicely together?” she asked, a tender grin spreading across her face.
“If I don’t put a bullet in him,” Parker said haughtily. “I am being exceedingly charitable.”
Jarod nodded with false seriousness. “In six weeks, Parker hasn’t shot me even once,” he said with awe. “We should nominate her for sainthood.”
“Shut up, Jarod,” Parker groused.
Still chortling to himself, Jarod loosened his tie. He pulled his suit jacket from the back of the chair where he’d tossed it several hours ago. As he shrugged the jacket onto his shoulders, he glanced at Mercedes and asked, “Any luck?”
The slight smile slipped from the other woman’s lips. “Nothing,” she said. Mr. Raines had disappeared just over a week ago. Figuring that she had the greatest desire to locate him, Jarod had placed Mercedes in charge of the search for the missing Centre employee. “Mr. Broots has tracked down every bank account Raines had, including a couple of Swiss accounts held under phony names. We had all his corporate accounts frozen a month ago when we took over, so he couldn’t access those funds. None of the others have had draws on them in the past two weeks.”
“Any sizeable transaction before our arrival? Say, in the last month or two?” Jarod asked, abruptly all business once again.
Mercedes shook her head morosely.
The trio fell into a glum silence. Over the past nine days, they had repeatedly debated the possible reasons for Raines’ disappearance. Parker was of the opinion that the old ghoul had gone into hiding, slipping into the massive criminal underworld to wait out the new Centre regime.
Mercedes was gripped by the fear that the man had been dispatched. Raines had a great many enemies. Now that he no longer had the backing of either the Centre or the Triumvirate, he would have been an easy target for anyone who wanted to make the man disappear permanently. This possibility frustrated and angered the vengeful African woman. Mercedes had wanted Raines to suffer greatly before she killed him herself.
Though he leaned toward Parker’s point of view, Jarod restrained himself from making any assumptions. Raines had resurfaced too many times in the past. No body had been found, making Jarod doubtful that the man was dead. Yet there had been no sign of a struggle at the Raines’ residence. It was the absence of anything unusual that made Jarod wonder. If Raines had wanted to go into hiding, he would have done everything in his power to make them believe he was dead. The fact that there was absolutely nothing to suggest it was the single most obvious clue that Raines was indeed pushing up daisies somewhere.
When his stomach growled, Jarod pushed his concern aside with a mental shrug. Either Raines was dead, or he wasn’t. Worrying about it served no useful purpose and the pretender refused to waste the emotional energy. Jarod decided he would simply assume that Raines would resurface someday. He vowed to always stay on guard, prepared for whatever the wheezing fiend could conjure up.
Jarod frowned slightly when he looked out the window and realized it was quite dark. “No wonder I’m hungry,” he exclaimed as he glanced at his watch. “It’s nearly ten o’clock.”
“You’re always hungry,” Mercedes chided.
“You’re the genius,” Parker added. “We figured you knew how to tell time.”
“I’m sorry ladies,” Jarod apologized ruefully. “Let’s round up the team and get something to eat.”
It didn’t take long to find Ishmael and the other sweepers. They were patiently waiting just outside Jarod’s office doors. Ishmael was never far from Mercedes. He clung to her like an ominous shadow. Sam functioned in the same capacity for Miss Parker. Omar and the other two sweepers from Mercedes’ original team, took turns guarding Jarod and providing backup for Ishmael and Sam whenever necessary.
As they made their way through the empty hallways, Jarod was once again assaulted by the strange sense of nervousness he tended to get when being escorted in this manner. Since his first meeting with this group in the restaurant, Jarod had learned to curb his anxiety to some degree. They all lived together in the Parker mansion, which had helped Jarod acclimate himself a bit better. But being surrounded by sweepers as he was now still made him edgy.
Uneasiness continued to flutter in the pit of his stomach until they stepped through the Centre’s front doors into the star-filled night. Sighing with relief, Jarod followed Parker down the steps toward their limousine. Mercedes smiled reassuringly at him as Jarod’s stomach growled loudly again.
“Are you okay?” she asked softly as Jarod held the car door.
Jarod nodded without comment. He knew that Mercedes was concerned for him. When they’d first met, the woman had not understood his wariness. The fear of what she and her team represented had been deeply ingrained into Jarod’s psyche. Mercedes had not recognized the monumental task it had been for Jarod to simply sit at a table with the Triumvirate sweepers that she depended upon so much.
Parker had known, of course. She had been the one to notice Jarod’s inability to sleep at first. Indeed, for the first ten days of their accord the pretender had kept a continuous, watchful eye on his new partners. It had taken nearly three hundred hours of shear exhaustion, as well as two sedatives slipped into his food, before Jarod had finally drifted into unconsciousness with sweepers nearby.
Jarod tried to hide his agitation. Though the feelings now came much less frequently, they still came none-the-less. But the pretender couldn’t hide from Miss Parker. She understood Jarod far too well. Although Parker usually left Jarod to work through his phobias on his own, she did share her insights with Mercedes. The two women talked about Jarod often and he knew it. It irritated him for reasons he didn’t quite understand.
As the limo carried them away from the Centre, Jarod watched the two ladies. They sat beside one another in the leather seat facing him, a stunning example of beauty and class. The partition was down, allowing Jarod to see Ishmael at the steering wheel with Sam at his side. Immediately to Jarod’s left was Omar. Through the windshield, Jarod watched the red taillights of the car in front of them, driven by the other two sweepers on his team.
It had been a long and busy day. They were all weary so there was little talk amongst them. Despite his hunger, Jarod found himself lulled by the easy motions of the luxury vehicle and his eyelids fluttered heavily. He was beginning to enjoy moments like this. Quiet, easy minutes where he was warm and comfortable and he could take in his fill of the image of these two beautiful women.
They tugged at Jarod’s heart, these two royal ice maidens. Not only were they both sexy as hell, but they were also equally intelligent, smart enough to keep a pretender on his toes. Mercedes and Parker each had a strong personality as hard as steel and neither of them hesitated to argue with him if they felt the need. In addition, both women had a wounded aspect to their personas that caused Jarod’s protective instincts to shift into high gear on the rare occasions when the vulnerability surfaced.
To pass the time, Jarod began to compare the two ladies’ physical attributes in a purely clinical manner. He smiled lazily at the glare Miss Parker shot at him across the darkened car. The pretender seldom got the chance to admire her this way without getting caught in the act. But Parker said nothing to dissuade him so Jarod continued his perusal. He was just beginning a mental debate over which woman really had the better legs when the car abruptly jerked to one side.
Immediately snapping to the alert, Jarod straightened as the rear of the limo swayed and then jerked again.
“What’s wrong?” Jarod barked, glancing forward.
Ishmael was wrenching madly at the steering wheel, his face contorting with concentration. There was a sickening thud and Jarod had the distinct sensation of gravity shifting beneath him.
Tires squealed and the smell of rubber filled the air. Jarod was thrown against the door, his forehead striking the window with such force that he saw stars. Omar was pressed against him and Jarod belatedly realized that the vehicle was on its side. Metal scraped and gravel crunched as the limo flipped over and began to somersault off the road.
Bodies crumpled into a mass of tangled limbs as the car rolled once, then twice. The limo landed on its roof and slid for several more yards before finally rocking to a stop. Jarod had just enough time to register a warm body pressed against his before he lost consciousness a moment later.
--
When Jarod came to, he was being dragged from the limo by one arm. Kurt, who’d been riding in the lead car, hauled the pretender through a shattered window. Dazed and disoriented, Jarod instinctively began to struggle against the firm grip on his wrist. Flailing wildly, he broke free and scrambled to his feet.
“Easy, Mr. Jarod,” Kurt reassured him. “You’re hurt.”
His eyes were wide and frantic as Jarod backpedaled, slipped in the dew damp grass and fell to the ground with a jarring thump. Panic governed Jarod’s limbs as the young man reached for him again. The pretender scrabbled away like a crab, kicking at the sweeper who followed.
“Jarod! Stop!” Miss Parker’s sharp cry cut through the fog of confusion. Jarod froze for a moment before blinking up at her. “Be still. You’re injured,” she snapped at him in irritation.
“I am?” Jarod asked stupidly.
“You’re bleeding, sir,” Kurt replied gently as he knelt in the grass at Jarod’s side.
“Here,” Parker commanded, handing the younger man a torn strip of white silk. “Try to stop the bleeding.”
With the cloth in one hand, Kurt carefully took Jarod’s chin in the other and began to dab at the pretender’s brow. When the rag came away from his forehead, Jarod was stunned to see that it was soaked red with blood. Putting one hand to his face to survey the damage, Jarod felt moisture across his cheeks and running down his neck.
“How bad?” Jarod asked in a surprisingly calm voice.
Kurt shrugged. “It looks worse than it is,” he called loudly enough for Miss Parker to hear. “There’s a cut about two inches above your right eye. There is some swelling and that’s causing the wound to split further.”
“There’s a lot of blood,” Jarod said in a detached voice.
The younger man nodded. “Always is with a head wound.” Holding his hand in front of Jarod’s face, Kurt asked, “How many fingers do you see?”
“Four,” Jarod answered mechanically.
“Any blurriness?” he asked.
“No,” was the reply.
Jarod winced slightly as Kurt pressed the silk against his cut. Holding the makeshift bandage in place himself Jarod tried to stand up.
“Careful, sir,” Kurt scolded. “You may have a concussion.”
Jarod shrugged away from the younger man’s attentiveness. “Is everyone okay?” Jarod called.
Parker turned toward him and flinched. The grimace of concern on her face told Jarod that he must look terrible. “Maybe you should sit down,” she suggested. “Kurt’s right. A concussion is a real possibility, even with a skull as thick as yours.”
“Is anyone else hurt?” Jarod snapped. Looking around, he scanned the area as Parker began to talk. The limousine was beyond repair, resting upside down like a stranded turtle.
“Ishmael is pretty banged up but he’ll live,” Parker said. “His shoulder is dislocated.”
Turning toward her, Jarod eyed Miss Parker carefully, scanning her for injuries. When he found none, he crouched beside the big man lying in the grass at his feet. Ishmael was clutching one arm against his chest and frowning with pain.
“I’m sorry, sir,” Ishmael grimaced. “I let you down.”
“Nonsense,” Jarod scolded sharply. “We are all damn lucky you are so good at your job. Your skill at the wheel probably saved all our lives.”
Sitting cross-legged beside her sweeper, a disheveled looking Mercedes cradled one hand in her lap as she nodded in agreement to Jarod’s remarks.
“Mercedes?” Jarod asked softly, diverting his attention from the injured man.
“I’ve broken my wrist,” she said simply.
Satisfied that these two would live, Jarod stood and looked around again. “Omar!” he called. “Sam!”
“Here, Mr. Jarod,” the black man answered. Omar was jogging awkwardly from the undamaged car, carrying a blanket in his arms.
Noticing the sweeper’s limp, Jarod glanced questioningly at him.
“My knee will be swollen and sore in the morning, but I’ll be okay,” Omar explained.
“I think we’ll all be sore,” Jarod agreed wryly. “Get that knee checked out. Has anyone called for an ambulance?” he asked.
“They are on the way,” Parker nodded.
“Where’s Sam?” Jarod demanded.
“Over here,” the burly man hollered. Sam was standing in the shadows beside the ruined limousine. “You should see this, sir.”
As Jarod moved toward the wreckage, he pulled the bandage away from his head and inspected it ruefully. With a total disregard for the condition of his suit, Jarod dragged one arm across his face in an attempt to wipe away the mask of blood that had formed. Approaching Sam, he asked, “Are you alright?”
Sam nodded, handing Jarod a clean handkerchief from his pocket without comment. Quickly folding the cotton into a compress, Jarod discarded the soiled silk and held the new dressing to his brow. Sam waited as Miss Parker joined them before holding something out in the palm of his hand.
“Found this tucked against the wheel well,” the sweeper said flatly. The cracked bit of plastic and wires Sam held was no bigger than a deck of cards.
“Damn,” Parker hissed with self-loathing. “We shouldn’t all be riding in the same vehicle. We provided them with a conveniently focused target. From now on we travel separately.”
“Screw that shit!” Jarod spat vehemently. “What good does it do us to be in power if we still behave like frightened children? I’m in charge now. I will go where I want when I want and I’ll go with whomever I damn please!”
“Calm down,” Parker snapped trying to rein in her own temper. “We can’t afford to go off half cocked. That kind of behavior causes mistakes we can’t afford.”
“They are the ones who’ve made a mistake,” Jarod growled. “A costly one. They missed.” Turning on his heel Jarod stormed across the grass toward the road.
“Jarod, you don’t even know who is responsible,” Parker hollered at him as sirens became audible in the distance.
“Not yet. But I will find out,” the pretender snarled. “And when I do, I will make them rue the day they were born.”
“Jarod!” Parker called in an effort to stop him.
The pretender stopped and glowered at her from the middle of the street. “We are now the powers-that-be, Miss Parker,” he ground between clenched teeth. “I think it’s time to drive that point home a bit more forcefully.”
With that Jarod turned his back on the astonished group and stomped across the asphalt, disappearing into the darkness of the opposite berm.
“Jarod,” Parker called futilely.
“Let him go,” Mercedes said softly. “He’s right. This attempt on our lives can not go unpunished.”
Parker gazed into the night for a moment longer before turning toward Mercedes with a worried sigh.
“He’ll be back,” Mercedes said reassuringly.
Parker frowned with skepticism.
“He’ll be back,” the dark woman repeated. “Because he is beginning to believe.”
“Believe what?” Parker asked.
“That the Centre belongs to him.”
Parker stared at the confident smile on the other woman’s face and tried unsuccessfully to stop the icy shiver that ran down her back.
of MTM, TNT and NBC Productions and are used without permission. No profit has been made...you know the drill.
Of Envy and Darkness
02/20/04 Part6 – By Phenyx
-
“Damn,” Jarod muttered to himself. “Damn!” he spat more emphatically as he tossed a file away from him in disgust.
Parker snickered, having entered the Chairman’s office just in time to hear the explicative. At Jarod’s poisonous glare, Parker smiled serenely. Crossing the room, she calmly sat on the corner of what had once been her father’s desk and innocently gazed at the frustrated pretender.
“I told you so,” she said cheerily.
“Yes, you did,” Jarod admitted ruefully. “This military contract is rock solid.”
Parker nodded. “It’s as tight as a virgin headed for the nunnery,” she purred.
Jarod sighed, “You’re a damn good contract lawyer, Parker. How did you manage to get a ten year deal with the United States Army?”
“I was a real over-achiever in my youth,” Parker shrugged. “Daddy was suitably impressed.”
“Justifiably so. This is really fine work,” the pretender said seriously.
Parker’s smiled at the genuine praise, given so easily by the man who sat before her.
Jarod stretched in his chair, easing the tension that had developed during the hours he’d been bent over the papers. “I wish you’d been a bit less thorough,” he said. “I don’t want to be involved in any further military contracts. I wanted out of this one. As it stands, we’ll have to stall any current work for these people. The last eighteen months of this agreement are going to be decidedly unproductive.”
Parker frowned. “There will be financial repercussions, fines and such, if we miss deadlines.”
“That’s not a problem,” Jarod said with a wave of his hand. “I won’t allow The Centre to create the next new wave of chemical weapons.”
“We could alter our focus,” Parker offered. “Delve into immunizations and treatments.”
Jarod drummed his fingers on his thigh as he considered the possibilities. “Switch from weapons development to defense improvements,” he murmured with a nod. “I can live with that.”
“We would only need to stall current work for about six months,” Parker said. “That will give us time to develop some defensive programs. Then we kill whatever projects we don’t agree with and bring our new initiatives to the bargaining table just in time for contract negotiations.”
“If the army isn’t interested in our new products, we’ll take the work to the DHS,” Jarod agreed.
“My thoughts exactly,” Parker said seriously. “We can’t drop all ties to the military. That avenue is just too profitable.”
Jarod grimaced in distaste. “The Triumvirate will only support our power base if we can continue to bring in the dollars,” he said wryly.
”Precisely,” Parker agreed. “But a defense contract is just as profitable as a weapons deal. History has proven that the Triumvirate doesn’t care how we get the money,”
“As long as it keeps flowing,” Jarod interrupted.
Parker nodded. “To be perfectly honest about it, with the world’s terrorist situation being what it is today, working in defense strategies is probably going to be more lucrative anyway.”
Jarod chewed thoughtfully at his lip for a moment before making his decision. “Agreed. All our military involvement needs to be transitioned as soon as possible.”
Crossing her arms Parker commented, “We’ll need to drop some personnel and hire others with different specializations. The change will need to be made subtly. Negotiations with the Pentagon could become very delicate.”
“It will be a major undertaking,” Jarod admitted as he stood. “But you’ll get it done. For the next eighteen months Parker, you are our military liaison. Add to your staff as you see fit. Any remaining projects you have dealing with Centre security I want you to turn over to Mercedes.”
Parker nodded perfunctorily at her boss’s command. Eyeing Jarod critically she observed, “You’re placing a great deal of trust in her. Centre security is our most vital area right now.”
Jarod began clearing the paperwork from his desk. “If I thought security was a problem, you would be managing that department,” he explained. Glancing quickly at his companion Jarod asked, “I thought you and Mercedes were getting chummy. Do you think it’s a mistake to rely on her?”
“No,” Parker said firmly. “I trust her implicitly. As much as I can trust anyone at any rate,” she added with a shrug. “I can’t explain it, but in those few moments that we shared our memories, something remarkable happened. More than just knowledge passed between us. I just find it surprising that you’ve accepted her so quickly.”
Returning to the task of tidying his work area, Jarod chuckled. “We’ve been working together for six weeks, Parker. Besides,” Jarod shrugged again. “You trust her. That is good enough for me.” Peering playfully at Parker he added, “And she’s got nice legs. I’ve always been a sucker for a great pair of legs.”
Parker snorted in mock disgust. “They aren’t all that amazing,” Parker scoffed.
“They are from where I’m standing,” Jarod purred seductively. “Better than yours, and I thought that was a standard that couldn’t be topped.”
Moving with a speed born from years of training, Parker grabbed an empty coffee mug from the desktop and threw it at Jarod’s head. The pretender was quicker than she was, laughingly plucking the ceramic missile from the air with little effort.
“I thought we had decided to stop throwing objects at each other,” a soft low voice scolded from the doorway.
“He was asking for it,” Parker stated simply.
Jarod snickered. “I was,” he admitted. His eyes glittered mischievously as he watched Mercedes enter the room. “I was goading her unmercifully.”
The voluptuous dark-skinned woman folded her arms across her chest and frowned. “Can’t you two play nicely together?” she asked, a tender grin spreading across her face.
“If I don’t put a bullet in him,” Parker said haughtily. “I am being exceedingly charitable.”
Jarod nodded with false seriousness. “In six weeks, Parker hasn’t shot me even once,” he said with awe. “We should nominate her for sainthood.”
“Shut up, Jarod,” Parker groused.
Still chortling to himself, Jarod loosened his tie. He pulled his suit jacket from the back of the chair where he’d tossed it several hours ago. As he shrugged the jacket onto his shoulders, he glanced at Mercedes and asked, “Any luck?”
The slight smile slipped from the other woman’s lips. “Nothing,” she said. Mr. Raines had disappeared just over a week ago. Figuring that she had the greatest desire to locate him, Jarod had placed Mercedes in charge of the search for the missing Centre employee. “Mr. Broots has tracked down every bank account Raines had, including a couple of Swiss accounts held under phony names. We had all his corporate accounts frozen a month ago when we took over, so he couldn’t access those funds. None of the others have had draws on them in the past two weeks.”
“Any sizeable transaction before our arrival? Say, in the last month or two?” Jarod asked, abruptly all business once again.
Mercedes shook her head morosely.
The trio fell into a glum silence. Over the past nine days, they had repeatedly debated the possible reasons for Raines’ disappearance. Parker was of the opinion that the old ghoul had gone into hiding, slipping into the massive criminal underworld to wait out the new Centre regime.
Mercedes was gripped by the fear that the man had been dispatched. Raines had a great many enemies. Now that he no longer had the backing of either the Centre or the Triumvirate, he would have been an easy target for anyone who wanted to make the man disappear permanently. This possibility frustrated and angered the vengeful African woman. Mercedes had wanted Raines to suffer greatly before she killed him herself.
Though he leaned toward Parker’s point of view, Jarod restrained himself from making any assumptions. Raines had resurfaced too many times in the past. No body had been found, making Jarod doubtful that the man was dead. Yet there had been no sign of a struggle at the Raines’ residence. It was the absence of anything unusual that made Jarod wonder. If Raines had wanted to go into hiding, he would have done everything in his power to make them believe he was dead. The fact that there was absolutely nothing to suggest it was the single most obvious clue that Raines was indeed pushing up daisies somewhere.
When his stomach growled, Jarod pushed his concern aside with a mental shrug. Either Raines was dead, or he wasn’t. Worrying about it served no useful purpose and the pretender refused to waste the emotional energy. Jarod decided he would simply assume that Raines would resurface someday. He vowed to always stay on guard, prepared for whatever the wheezing fiend could conjure up.
Jarod frowned slightly when he looked out the window and realized it was quite dark. “No wonder I’m hungry,” he exclaimed as he glanced at his watch. “It’s nearly ten o’clock.”
“You’re always hungry,” Mercedes chided.
“You’re the genius,” Parker added. “We figured you knew how to tell time.”
“I’m sorry ladies,” Jarod apologized ruefully. “Let’s round up the team and get something to eat.”
It didn’t take long to find Ishmael and the other sweepers. They were patiently waiting just outside Jarod’s office doors. Ishmael was never far from Mercedes. He clung to her like an ominous shadow. Sam functioned in the same capacity for Miss Parker. Omar and the other two sweepers from Mercedes’ original team, took turns guarding Jarod and providing backup for Ishmael and Sam whenever necessary.
As they made their way through the empty hallways, Jarod was once again assaulted by the strange sense of nervousness he tended to get when being escorted in this manner. Since his first meeting with this group in the restaurant, Jarod had learned to curb his anxiety to some degree. They all lived together in the Parker mansion, which had helped Jarod acclimate himself a bit better. But being surrounded by sweepers as he was now still made him edgy.
Uneasiness continued to flutter in the pit of his stomach until they stepped through the Centre’s front doors into the star-filled night. Sighing with relief, Jarod followed Parker down the steps toward their limousine. Mercedes smiled reassuringly at him as Jarod’s stomach growled loudly again.
“Are you okay?” she asked softly as Jarod held the car door.
Jarod nodded without comment. He knew that Mercedes was concerned for him. When they’d first met, the woman had not understood his wariness. The fear of what she and her team represented had been deeply ingrained into Jarod’s psyche. Mercedes had not recognized the monumental task it had been for Jarod to simply sit at a table with the Triumvirate sweepers that she depended upon so much.
Parker had known, of course. She had been the one to notice Jarod’s inability to sleep at first. Indeed, for the first ten days of their accord the pretender had kept a continuous, watchful eye on his new partners. It had taken nearly three hundred hours of shear exhaustion, as well as two sedatives slipped into his food, before Jarod had finally drifted into unconsciousness with sweepers nearby.
Jarod tried to hide his agitation. Though the feelings now came much less frequently, they still came none-the-less. But the pretender couldn’t hide from Miss Parker. She understood Jarod far too well. Although Parker usually left Jarod to work through his phobias on his own, she did share her insights with Mercedes. The two women talked about Jarod often and he knew it. It irritated him for reasons he didn’t quite understand.
As the limo carried them away from the Centre, Jarod watched the two ladies. They sat beside one another in the leather seat facing him, a stunning example of beauty and class. The partition was down, allowing Jarod to see Ishmael at the steering wheel with Sam at his side. Immediately to Jarod’s left was Omar. Through the windshield, Jarod watched the red taillights of the car in front of them, driven by the other two sweepers on his team.
It had been a long and busy day. They were all weary so there was little talk amongst them. Despite his hunger, Jarod found himself lulled by the easy motions of the luxury vehicle and his eyelids fluttered heavily. He was beginning to enjoy moments like this. Quiet, easy minutes where he was warm and comfortable and he could take in his fill of the image of these two beautiful women.
They tugged at Jarod’s heart, these two royal ice maidens. Not only were they both sexy as hell, but they were also equally intelligent, smart enough to keep a pretender on his toes. Mercedes and Parker each had a strong personality as hard as steel and neither of them hesitated to argue with him if they felt the need. In addition, both women had a wounded aspect to their personas that caused Jarod’s protective instincts to shift into high gear on the rare occasions when the vulnerability surfaced.
To pass the time, Jarod began to compare the two ladies’ physical attributes in a purely clinical manner. He smiled lazily at the glare Miss Parker shot at him across the darkened car. The pretender seldom got the chance to admire her this way without getting caught in the act. But Parker said nothing to dissuade him so Jarod continued his perusal. He was just beginning a mental debate over which woman really had the better legs when the car abruptly jerked to one side.
Immediately snapping to the alert, Jarod straightened as the rear of the limo swayed and then jerked again.
“What’s wrong?” Jarod barked, glancing forward.
Ishmael was wrenching madly at the steering wheel, his face contorting with concentration. There was a sickening thud and Jarod had the distinct sensation of gravity shifting beneath him.
Tires squealed and the smell of rubber filled the air. Jarod was thrown against the door, his forehead striking the window with such force that he saw stars. Omar was pressed against him and Jarod belatedly realized that the vehicle was on its side. Metal scraped and gravel crunched as the limo flipped over and began to somersault off the road.
Bodies crumpled into a mass of tangled limbs as the car rolled once, then twice. The limo landed on its roof and slid for several more yards before finally rocking to a stop. Jarod had just enough time to register a warm body pressed against his before he lost consciousness a moment later.
--
When Jarod came to, he was being dragged from the limo by one arm. Kurt, who’d been riding in the lead car, hauled the pretender through a shattered window. Dazed and disoriented, Jarod instinctively began to struggle against the firm grip on his wrist. Flailing wildly, he broke free and scrambled to his feet.
“Easy, Mr. Jarod,” Kurt reassured him. “You’re hurt.”
His eyes were wide and frantic as Jarod backpedaled, slipped in the dew damp grass and fell to the ground with a jarring thump. Panic governed Jarod’s limbs as the young man reached for him again. The pretender scrabbled away like a crab, kicking at the sweeper who followed.
“Jarod! Stop!” Miss Parker’s sharp cry cut through the fog of confusion. Jarod froze for a moment before blinking up at her. “Be still. You’re injured,” she snapped at him in irritation.
“I am?” Jarod asked stupidly.
“You’re bleeding, sir,” Kurt replied gently as he knelt in the grass at Jarod’s side.
“Here,” Parker commanded, handing the younger man a torn strip of white silk. “Try to stop the bleeding.”
With the cloth in one hand, Kurt carefully took Jarod’s chin in the other and began to dab at the pretender’s brow. When the rag came away from his forehead, Jarod was stunned to see that it was soaked red with blood. Putting one hand to his face to survey the damage, Jarod felt moisture across his cheeks and running down his neck.
“How bad?” Jarod asked in a surprisingly calm voice.
Kurt shrugged. “It looks worse than it is,” he called loudly enough for Miss Parker to hear. “There’s a cut about two inches above your right eye. There is some swelling and that’s causing the wound to split further.”
“There’s a lot of blood,” Jarod said in a detached voice.
The younger man nodded. “Always is with a head wound.” Holding his hand in front of Jarod’s face, Kurt asked, “How many fingers do you see?”
“Four,” Jarod answered mechanically.
“Any blurriness?” he asked.
“No,” was the reply.
Jarod winced slightly as Kurt pressed the silk against his cut. Holding the makeshift bandage in place himself Jarod tried to stand up.
“Careful, sir,” Kurt scolded. “You may have a concussion.”
Jarod shrugged away from the younger man’s attentiveness. “Is everyone okay?” Jarod called.
Parker turned toward him and flinched. The grimace of concern on her face told Jarod that he must look terrible. “Maybe you should sit down,” she suggested. “Kurt’s right. A concussion is a real possibility, even with a skull as thick as yours.”
“Is anyone else hurt?” Jarod snapped. Looking around, he scanned the area as Parker began to talk. The limousine was beyond repair, resting upside down like a stranded turtle.
“Ishmael is pretty banged up but he’ll live,” Parker said. “His shoulder is dislocated.”
Turning toward her, Jarod eyed Miss Parker carefully, scanning her for injuries. When he found none, he crouched beside the big man lying in the grass at his feet. Ishmael was clutching one arm against his chest and frowning with pain.
“I’m sorry, sir,” Ishmael grimaced. “I let you down.”
“Nonsense,” Jarod scolded sharply. “We are all damn lucky you are so good at your job. Your skill at the wheel probably saved all our lives.”
Sitting cross-legged beside her sweeper, a disheveled looking Mercedes cradled one hand in her lap as she nodded in agreement to Jarod’s remarks.
“Mercedes?” Jarod asked softly, diverting his attention from the injured man.
“I’ve broken my wrist,” she said simply.
Satisfied that these two would live, Jarod stood and looked around again. “Omar!” he called. “Sam!”
“Here, Mr. Jarod,” the black man answered. Omar was jogging awkwardly from the undamaged car, carrying a blanket in his arms.
Noticing the sweeper’s limp, Jarod glanced questioningly at him.
“My knee will be swollen and sore in the morning, but I’ll be okay,” Omar explained.
“I think we’ll all be sore,” Jarod agreed wryly. “Get that knee checked out. Has anyone called for an ambulance?” he asked.
“They are on the way,” Parker nodded.
“Where’s Sam?” Jarod demanded.
“Over here,” the burly man hollered. Sam was standing in the shadows beside the ruined limousine. “You should see this, sir.”
As Jarod moved toward the wreckage, he pulled the bandage away from his head and inspected it ruefully. With a total disregard for the condition of his suit, Jarod dragged one arm across his face in an attempt to wipe away the mask of blood that had formed. Approaching Sam, he asked, “Are you alright?”
Sam nodded, handing Jarod a clean handkerchief from his pocket without comment. Quickly folding the cotton into a compress, Jarod discarded the soiled silk and held the new dressing to his brow. Sam waited as Miss Parker joined them before holding something out in the palm of his hand.
“Found this tucked against the wheel well,” the sweeper said flatly. The cracked bit of plastic and wires Sam held was no bigger than a deck of cards.
“Damn,” Parker hissed with self-loathing. “We shouldn’t all be riding in the same vehicle. We provided them with a conveniently focused target. From now on we travel separately.”
“Screw that shit!” Jarod spat vehemently. “What good does it do us to be in power if we still behave like frightened children? I’m in charge now. I will go where I want when I want and I’ll go with whomever I damn please!”
“Calm down,” Parker snapped trying to rein in her own temper. “We can’t afford to go off half cocked. That kind of behavior causes mistakes we can’t afford.”
“They are the ones who’ve made a mistake,” Jarod growled. “A costly one. They missed.” Turning on his heel Jarod stormed across the grass toward the road.
“Jarod, you don’t even know who is responsible,” Parker hollered at him as sirens became audible in the distance.
“Not yet. But I will find out,” the pretender snarled. “And when I do, I will make them rue the day they were born.”
“Jarod!” Parker called in an effort to stop him.
The pretender stopped and glowered at her from the middle of the street. “We are now the powers-that-be, Miss Parker,” he ground between clenched teeth. “I think it’s time to drive that point home a bit more forcefully.”
With that Jarod turned his back on the astonished group and stomped across the asphalt, disappearing into the darkness of the opposite berm.
“Jarod,” Parker called futilely.
“Let him go,” Mercedes said softly. “He’s right. This attempt on our lives can not go unpunished.”
Parker gazed into the night for a moment longer before turning toward Mercedes with a worried sigh.
“He’ll be back,” Mercedes said reassuringly.
Parker frowned with skepticism.
“He’ll be back,” the dark woman repeated. “Because he is beginning to believe.”
“Believe what?” Parker asked.
“That the Centre belongs to him.”
Parker stared at the confident smile on the other woman’s face and tried unsuccessfully to stop the icy shiver that ran down her back.
