Their exodus from New York City was done in the heaviest of silences, as if
the utterance of a single word might give away their location to the sweeper
team combing the city. Jarod kept his eyes on the road, though Parker could
occasionally feel his gaze briefly on her, but by the time she turned to look at
him, he was already back on the road. They played this game down through Times
Square and the Lincoln Tunnel.

Without a word, Jarod maneuvered the vehicle into the southbound lane. Parker
dared not to ask what was south of New York City, save for Blue Cove, fearing
the twisted answer she anticipated. Instead, she kept to herself, looking out
the passing scenery, the retreating skyline of the city framed by the shrinking
sun. Dusk was upon them.

Putting the residual light -- and their highway coasting speed of 65 mph --
to good use, Parker unbuckled her seat belt and carefully peeled off her black
jacket (her *new* and expensive black jacket) to inspect the damage Lyle's gun
had caused. She winced as the material ripped away from the parts of the skin
where it had been acting as a makeshift bandage. The sleeve of her crisp,
tailored white shirt was stained burgundy. Feeling around the skin, she found
that for the most part, the bleeding had stopped.

"Looks pretty bad."

His comment only interested her slightly. She glared at him for a moment
before returning her gaze to the wound, and her more immediate question: the
possibility of a bullet lodging itself in her flesh. She wondered suddenly if
Jarod happened to have any bandages floating around in the glove compartment.
However, she surmised from the distinct smell of the vehicle's interior that
Jarod hadn't exactly had time to stock it up with the essentials of running for
your life.

Running for her life. Parker refused to think of herself as the prey in
Lyle's thirst for blood.

"You *could* help me," she suggested absentmindedly. She wasn't sure if she
actually wanted his help -- after all, despite his impeccable timing, she hadn't
exactly invited him to be her knight in shining armor -- but the need to keep of
this game of theirs, taunting and teasing, struck her as the appropriate course
of action for the moment. Anything to keep her mind of the pain, which increased
with each movement.

"Duffel bag, behind the driver's seat."

Did he enjoy watching her wriggle in pain? Apparently so. She grabbed the bag
that came complete with new waves of pain, and unzipped it. Inside was
everything she needed: antiseptic, bandages, gauze...

"Ever the Boy Scout," she commented.

Parker had to rip along the seam of her shirt in order to properly bandage
the wound. It was somewhat of a tight fit inside the vehicle's interior as she
wrapped the small ace bandage around her arm. Granted, not the most effective
bandage she'd ever done, but considering the circumstances, it was impressive.

He kept his eyes on the road as he spoke. "Take out your cell phone."

"Excuse me?" Now he glared at *her* and he didn't seem to be in the mood to
bicker. "Fine," she conceded.

Her unbandaged arm reached into her back waistband and pulled out the small
phone. She replaced her seat belt. As Jarod's gaze darted between the phone and
the duffel bag, Parker feared his next request would include chucking both items
out of the car.

"There's a scrambler in that bag. Attach it to the bottom of your phone." His
request was cool and collected, as if this was something or than life and death.
"You don't want the Centre tracking your cell signal, now do you?"

She replied coolly, "You could just tell me to chuck the phone."

"Don't tempt me." He was grinning like a fool.

Halfway through New Jersey, they veered east, crossing into Pennsylvania.
Even in the semi-early hour, dusk had come and gone, and darkness now settled on
the unfamiliar surroundings. How long had they been driving? Despite her
assumption that Jarod had arrived in that alleyway fully prepared, eventually
they would have to stop for gas. Parker kept glancing nervously at the gas gage
and the numerous passing rest stops. A few times Jarod caught her, but said
nothing and smiled.

Where the hell were they going? Parker hoped he wasn't just aimlessly driving
somewhere.

Three hours away from the city, somewhere west of Philadelphia, Jarod finally
pulled off the Turnpike and into the rest area. He had barely turned off the
ignition and put the black sports car in park before she was flying out of the
car. She felt the grimy city air blast her face, but compared to the car ride
she had just endured, it was a bit of 'freedom' she was glad to have. Before she
slammed the car door, she made it a point to grab her jacket -- to hide the
bandage and keep her warm -- and her cellphone from the console.

He didn't question her hasty exit. Parker thanked God for simple pleasures.

The rest area smelled like greasy travel food: truck drivers and families of
five and six packed into the fast food joint embedded in the building, while
commuters jonesing for a caffeine hit waited patiently in the curly-Q line that
was the Starbucks kiosk. The bubble crowd surprised Parker, considering the
hour, but maybe it wasn't half bad. In a crowd she would hardly stand out. For a
moment, she felt what Jarod must have felt, but quickly shook the feeling.

In the restroom, she inspected her appearance in a dingy mirror framed by
out-of-place bouquets of fresh flowers. At first glance one might not have
noticed she made barely escaped with her life from a back alley in New York City
hours earlier. Of course, on further inspection, the dark rings under her eyes
gave away her stress and exhaustion. She massaged the bridge of her nose,
squeezing her eyes shut to will away the sudden wave of dizziness, and quickly
remembered the bandage on her arm as a dull throb reminded her.

Next to her was a woman, mid 20's with dingy, stringy blonde hair. Her face
showed the kind of road-weary daze induced by a minivan full of three children.
Parker wondered how a woman could put herself in that situation. The woman was
staring quite noticeably at Parker's sleeve, at the dried burgundy stain she
could only guess was blood.

"What?" Parker snapped. The woman, put off by her defensive response,
retreated. Parker didn't bother to watch her leave, leaving her alone in the
bathroom. How unusual, she remarked, considering the traffic outside. She
didn't, however, make much use of the observation.

Ring!

The shrill ring of her cell phone startled her, coming almost as if on cue.
For a moment, Parker simply stared at the piece of technology as it rang; or
rather, the rather crude device slapped on the bottom of it. If she answered the
call, she would be putting her trust in something Jarod probably wiped up from
spare parts and things he bought at Radio Shack. This was her life she was
talking about here, and the last thing she wanted to do was deliver herself to
the Centre with a nice big ribbon in the form of a telephone signal.

Ring!

However was on the other end of the phone call was persistent, which meant it
could only be one person. He'd be worried, she knew, worried about them both.
She took a deep breath, suppressing the second wave of lightheadedness by
bracing herself against the sink, and made a decision.

"Sydney?" she answered. The need in her own voice surprised her.

"Parker," he sighed over the line, and Parker could imagine the grin on his
face. "Are you all right?"

"I'm..." She glanced at herself in the mirror, wondering how much she should
lie. "I've been better."

He got straight to the point. "Where are you?"

"Sydney," she chided. "You know I can't tell you that."

Parker knew that he knew. They were half playing to whoever may be listening
in, half trying to extract information from one another. Now it was her turn.

"How's Lyle?" It made her sick that she even cared.

"Recovering in the Infirmary," replied Sydney. "You should thank Jarod for
being such a lucky shot."

She bucked at the remark. "I would hope it was more than luck, Sydney,
say...good aim?"

She heard him smiling. "So you're with Jarod." It was the question he hadn't
asked.

"I never said that."

He chuckled. Perhaps, she thought, it was a defense mechanism on his part.
"I'm sure Jarod's slapped some sort of scrambling device on your phone, Parker.
They won't be able to trace your call."

"They could still be listening, Syd." Her paranoia surprised her.

The sound of heels clicking along the tiled floors startled Parker, and
thinking they belonged to sweepers, she hunched over her phone and tucked
herself as much in a corner as she manage without generating much undue
attention. Only when she cast a glance at the entering figure did she notice
that it belonged to a woman in a business suit with a small child perched on her
hip. Not a sweeper, she assured herself.

"Parker?" Sydney asked. He sounded frantic when she hadn't spoken.

"I should go." Her voice was more a whisper.

He paused for a moment. "Be careful, Parker."

"Thanks, Syd," she replied genuinely. She quickly ended the call, tucking the
phone back into her waistband.

*

The walk back to the car was slightly more taxing than she had expected. By
now the bullet in her arm had been sitting there for over three hours, her every
movement aggravating it. She surmised that the dizziness she had experienced in
the bathroom hadn't been simple exhaustion, instead linked to the infection she
could have been developing. Seeing Jarod leaning against the car with a
self-satisfying grin on his face, probably from having successfully filled the
gas tank, Parker tried to pretend she was fine.

"Feel better?" he asked as she approached, making his way back to the
driver's seat. It was a question that she didn't dignify. She also decided *not*
to inform him about her conversation with Sydney.

"Just..." She didn't finish, instead bracing herself against the car frame as
another wave passed over her. First, the pain and now this. She wasn't sure how
much longer she could put up with these constant attacks on her immune system.
Parker knew that the bullet in her arm would eventually have to come out before
it killed her. "...drive."

She took her frustration out on the car door, swinging it rather violently
open. No doubt Jarod noticed, but hell, she didn't very much care *what* he
thought.

Entering the highway again, she engaged him in the conversation that had
abstained from on their previous drive. "Mind letting me know where exactly
we're going?"

Jarod didn't take his eyes from the road "A seedy motel in a small town along
the Pennsylvania-Ohio border. We're staying the night." Adding, "I'll change
that bandage for you, too."

She glared at him. "And after that?"

He looked at her once, regarded her, and was staring at the road again. "You
and I have some catching-up to do."

*

The young lab tech tried not to tremble as the older man leaned over his
shoulder. Even in the noisy communications room, he could hear the man's
wheezing breaths.

He saw Raines' satisfied expression reflected in his computer terminal as the
telephone call ended. "Locate them," he commanded.

The tech gulped. "Um, that's the thing, sir, I'm running into some kind of,
um, well, interference."

"Interference?" Uh oh, the tech noticed, he didn't like Raines' tone.

"Yeah, feedback or something. I, uh, can't seem to make heads or tails of
it."

The tech heard Raines mutter something under his breath; a name or a word, he
wasn't sure. After a moment, he felt a cold hand clamp on his shoulder, and a
shiver ran down his spine. He prayed Raines didn't notice how much he scared the
living daylights out of him.

"Find her," he hissed.

The tech didn't turn to watch Raines retreat, instead listening as the oxygen
tank squeaked into the distance.