As soon as Sara made contact with the woman, the Witchblade began an insistent whispering in her head. There were many voices, incoherent and dissonant, but each of them demanding to be heard. Sara tried to focus on the woman, on cuffing her and Mirandizing her, but the cacophony of the voices was becoming unbearable.

Just stop! Sara willed at the Witchblade, and it surprisingly became quiet. Sara pulled the struggling woman up off the ground, getting her first good look at her. The make-up, the designer clothes and the attitude all screamed ‘corporate security’ to Sara. She already didn’t like the woman, although, Sara hated to admit, she carried a nice piece. Her eyes were a light blue, almost grey, and somehow Sara saw right through her to the damaged soul beneath the hard corporate exterior. Sara recognized the pain in those eyes because she saw it in her own every day.

“You got some ID?” Sara asked.

The woman nodded. “Front jacket pocket. The permit and license for my gun are there, too.”

She sounded irritated to Sara, as if she had been through this before and could barely be bothered with such trivialities. Sara pulled out a small identification card case from the pocket. The ID card had a picture of the woman, and only The Centre logo and “M. Parker” printed on it. Not even an employee number. The gun permit and license (also in the name of M. Parker) were folded neatly behind the card. Both were valid. Sara placed the case in her jacket pocket and pulled Parker along to the car.

Parker said, “What I am under arrest for?”

“Aggravated assault on a federal agent, failure to obey a police officer…”

“Jarod’s not an officer of the law,” she said tightly.

“But I am and I told you to stop.”

Parker glared at Sara, but kept silent. Sara knew she couldn’t hold the woman for very long on those admittedly thin charges, but Sara hoped it would be long enough to put some time between Jarod and Them. Sara was sure that she would see Jarod again, and not just because his mother was still waiting to be claimed in the morgue. She had a new ally in Jarod; he had trusted her with his big secret and with his life. The Witchblade had shown her the truth of his story and maybe, just maybe, she could trust him with her secret. And maybe someday, Sara hoped, Jarod could help her learn more about the Witchblade and her past. Was that why it had woven this little web that had led her to Jarod and The Centre? She glanced at the Witchblade, still silent on her wrist. Damn bracelet.

~*~*~*~*~

Less than an hour later, Sara was about to sit at her desk and begin her background search on “M. Parker” when Burgess stuck his head in the door. “Hey, that corporate security chick you brought in is being let loose.”

“What?!”

He raised his hands in surrender. “Don’t shoot the messenger.”

“Thanks, Burgess.”

Sara shot past him and headed down to holding. She stopped dead in her tracks at the sight before her. Parker was clipping her holster to her waistband at the small of her back while Ian Nottingham – a Nottingham with hair slicked back and tied up and a neatly trimmed beard – held her coat for her. She slipped into the coat as they talked. Sara was across the room and couldn’t hear what they were saying, but the conversation seemed to flow easily. They knew each other, and Sara wasn’t too surprised by that. After all, both Nottingham and Parker worked in corporate security for two large corporations. From what Jarod had said about The Centre’s business dealings, Sara was sure they had done more than one odd job for Vorschlag. Sara did note, though, that Nottingham managed to keep eye contact with Parker.

Danny appeared at her side. “Jealous, Pez?”

She glared at Danny. “Bite me.”

He laughed lightly. After a moment, he commented, “They’re awfully chummy.”

That, of course, made Sara even more suspicious of Parker. She didn’t like people like Parker who got away with stuff because of who they know and the money they could toss around. At that moment, Nottingham and Parker started to head towards the exit and therefore towards Sara. Sara noticed that Nottingham was wearing dress shoes and a black on black business suit under his coat – no doubt tailored and expensive and definitely not his usual attire of cargo pants and combat boots.

As they approached, she heard Parker and Nottingham exchange words in a sing-song language that was not English. Parker laughed gently, and Nottingham gave her a shy little smile. Sara glanced at Danny.

“Don’t look at me – my family’s Korean,” he said. “I think that was Japanese.”

The Witchblade began that whispering again, and Sara still couldn’t make out what it was trying to tell her.

As Parker walked past, she looked at Sara with a steely gaze. “Let’s do this again sometime.”

Sara clenched her fists, but held her tongue. The last thing she needed was an assault charge. Parker walked out the door and the whispering from the Witchblade abated.

Nottingham lingered long enough to say, “Always a pleasure, Sara.”

He started to walk away, but Sara called after him. “Tell me something, Nottingham.”

He turned back to her but still didn’t make eye contact with her.

“Was it you or Irons who had her released?”

“Does it matter?”

It did, but she didn’t want to admit that to him. If it was Nottingham, she could write it off as a favor to a colleague. If it was Irons, Sara knew he was plotting something.

Nottingham seemed to be waiting for a response. His eyes met hers for an instant, then he said, “Good day, Sara.”

Sara watched him walk out the door, both furious that he hadn’t answered the question and surprised that she was so upset about it. She walked over to the nearest window, observing their interaction. She watched as they crossed the street – the deliberate, confident strides; the calm demeanor; the discrete, professional way they scanned their environment; the polite conversation… Nottingham held the rear passenger door open for Parker, Sara could tell they discussed something, and then Parker shrugged, entering the car.

“You better get that.” Danny’s voice barely registered with Sara. She was about to ask Danny what he was talking about when her cell phone rang. Still watching as Nottingham took the driver’s seat, Sara didn’t bother to check the caller ID and answered, “Pezzini.”

“Sara, it’s Gabriel.”

As Nottingham’s car pulled away from the curb, she finally turned away from the window. “Hey, how are you?”

“Good. You?”

“The usual. What’s up?”

“I’ve got some info for you. When can you come over?”

Sara glanced at the precinct clock on a nearby wall. “How about now?”

“I’ll be waiting.”

~*~*~*~*~

As the car drove up towards Irons’ manse, Parker was filled with some mild trepidation. She had been here a few times – once as a child with her father and a few times when she had been head of security at The Centre – but each time she felt that same uneasiness as she approached the mansion. She knew rationally what triggered it: the stone and architecture of the mansion were more than vaguely reminiscent of The Centre’s headquarters in Delaware. Still, she could never prevent the sense of unease she felt when she came here.

“Parker?” Ian asked gently from the front seat. “Are you alright?”

She realized that she hadn’t heard a word he had said in the last few minutes. Her eyes met his in the front rearview mirror. The concern in his eyes was fleeting but genuine. With a light smile, she replied, “Yes, I’m sorry. It’s…been a long day.”

She saw him nod once in response as his eyes returned to the road, and then she focused on the darkness on the other side of the window.

Before she knew it, Ian was silently leading her through the house and she found herself remembering the first time she had met Ian. It was a few years after her mother had died and she had been banished to boarding school in Europe. Parker had come to New York to visit with her father and he had brought her here. It was a business trip. She wasn’t supposed to leave the bedroom she had been assigned, but she had. In the hall, she had run into a little boy who was no more than five or six years old. Parker could remember how serious Ian had seemed as he introduced himself. She could not remember the details of their conversation except that they had swapped secrets. Parker had told him her first name, the taboo name her father never wanted her to use. She, in turn, had deduced (and gotten confirmation) that Ian was Kenneth Irons’ son, which she promised never to tell anyone and had, so far, kept that promise. Parker couldn’t say that those secrets were a foundation for a friendship between her and Ian (because they weren’t friends, not in the true sense of the word). They had, perhaps, an unspoken trust because of those secrets from which their current camaraderie had been born in Japan many years ago.

For a long time, she had told no one of that particular skeleton in Irons’ closet because she had promised not to. Later, as an adult who worked for The Centre, she realized that tidbit of information was her ace-in-the-hole – something she could call upon in the darkest of times to get help from the mighty Kenneth Irons. She hadn’t needed to play that card yet, but these were pretty dark times at The Centre.

Ian ushered her through the Kama Sutra paneled doors to what she privately called Irons’ sanctum sanctorum. The room’s decor in warm colors had not changed much in the years since she had been here last. The most notable change was that the grand piano had been removed and that somehow made the room seem colder and more impersonal.

Ian indicated a chair but she declined, opting to warm up by the hearth. Within a moment, Irons voice came from above. “Ah, Miss Parker. It has been far too long since these halls have been graced with your beauty.”

Despite herself, she smiled at the compliment as she turned to watch him descend the stairs. It always surprised her how he didn’t seem to age. Parker would have sworn that he hadn’t changed since she had first met him. She had spent an afternoon with him in the garden just talking – no adult (not even her own father) had paid her that much attention since her mother; her father had been proud of her because Irons was pleased with her. Irons had made her feel like a princess back then, and somehow being in his presence evoked those feelings again.

“You are very kind, Mr. Irons.”

His gentle smile faded and he said, “I was sorry to hear about your father.”

Parker nodded once. “Thank you.”

Irons walked toward her, stopping briefly at Ian’s side and Parker was suddenly struck by the yin and yang of these men, both in appearance and temperament. Irons could be disarmingly charming when he chose, but his demeanor most of the time was regal and demanding. His movements were graceful but calculated. Parker always wondered what he was thinking behind those green eyes of his. She knew he could be cold and ruthless, but that was often hidden under a veneer of erudition and sophistication. Ian, on the other hand, reminded Parker of a panther – as beautiful as he was dangerous. He had a way of blending into the background, as if he never wanted to be noticed, but his eyes took in everything around him. His dark hair and eyes and his intelligence triggered in Parker something that vaguely felt like recognition. Both men were extremely bright; Irons used his intelligence to scheme and, like a chess grandmaster, stay several steps ahead of his foes. Ian, on the other hand, seemed more intuitive; he could make connections that were not obvious and, in that way, reminded Parker of Jarod. While Irons made her feel a little off-kilter (like a schoolgirl with a crush on her favorite teacher), Ian’s presence had always made her feel secure.

They spent a few moments engaged in the pleasantries of a social call. Wine was offered and served. Irons lead her to the leather sofa and he sat on her left. She glanced around the room, noting that Ian had disappeared.

“I know about the deal you had with your father,” Mr. Irons began. “I believe the terms dictated that you could leave his employ once The Pretender was returned. I am curious as to what you plan to do after you leave The Centre.”

Parker gave him a sly, knowing smile. “Are you offering me a job, Mr. Irons?”

He countered with a playful smile, and Parker felt once again like a little girl.

He said, “I am offering you The Centre…free from Triumverate control.”

~*~*~*~*~

To be continued...