Chapter 11

Miss Parker flung open the doors to her father's office. "Daddy, I need to speak to you," she said as she strode into the room.

The high-backed leather chair swiveled around to reveal Lyle behind the desk.

She'd never let on how much it unnerved her to see him sitting in that spot. "Where's my father?" she demanded.

"Our father is on a much-deserved vacation." Lyle lazily checked his watch. "He and Brigitte should be setting sail on their cruise right about now."

Miss Parker actually felt herself do the classic double-take. "Bridget? That bitch tried to kill him!"

"Yes, well… Brigitte has a way of making you forgive her for when she's been naughty." Lyle smiled.

The look on his face made her slightly queasy, but what really turned her stomach was the thought of her father and that bleached-blonde tramp together. She threw the image out of her head as soon as it popped in there and concentrated on the different, but no less disturbing, sight right in front of her eyes. "That doesn't explain why you're here," she challenged.

"Come now, sis. Haven't you ever sat in 'Daddy's' chair?"

She vividly remembered the one time she had sat behind that desk. When her father discovered her there, he hadn't been angry; instead, he'd expressed pride and an eagerness to see her take that position of power at the Centre one day. She wondered what he'd say if he saw Lyle sitting there, and she realized she didn't want to know the answer.

Her brother shifted in his seat, but not uncomfortably; it was more like he was settling himself more firmly. "Anyway, I have every right to be here. Since he's going to be away for two weeks, our father asked me to run things in his absence, and it's just easier to do some of the work from his office."

He casually tossed out that nugget of information, but from the glint in his eyes, Miss Parker knew he was watching to see how she'd react to the news. Well, she wasn't going to give him the satisfaction. "Good luck with that," she muttered and turned to go.

"Interesting approach you took with Jarod yesterday," he commented.

She closed the doors she was about to go through and turned back around. He didn't appear to be trying to goad her; he had that benign look on his face that she always suspected was a mask, and he was leaning back in the chair, his hands laced comfortably across his stomach. "Figured you were watching," she said.

His pale blue eyes narrowed slightly. "Oh? So was that all just a show for the camera? Or did you really mean what you said?"

"I always mean what I say." She moved behind one of the black leather chairs facing the desk. Not wanting to prolong their chat, she didn't sit, but chose instead to remain standing.

"You were a bit harsh with him, weren't you?"

This from the man who kept Jarod chained like an animal? She gripped the back of the chair and managed to keep her voice even when she said, "Which is just what you wanted, brother, or you wouldn't have let me see him. Sympathy from Sydney hadn't worked, so you thought a different approach might."

Lyle bowed his head slightly in admission.

"Well, maybe my 'tough love' won't change his mind, either," Miss Parker went on, "but I thought it was time he faced reality. I think Jarod has a bit of a God complex, and the fact that his first assignment has literally life or death consequences doesn't help."

"I didn't choose this project," Lyle said mildly. "It came straight from The Triumverate."

"Oh, because they're so concerned with saving the lives of some poor African villagers in their back yard," Miss Parker said.

Her brother took no offense at her sarcasm; in fact, he looked almost proud that she had the nerve to voice aloud the Centre's true motives for assigning Jarod to develop a cure for the virus. Of course, Jarod had figured it out, too, but it didn't take a genius to know that The Triumverate never did anything for purely selfless reasons.

"Jarod's not going to do it, you know." She stated the obvious just to see if she could get Lyle to reveal his next move.

"I truly hope you're wrong," he said soberly. "It would be a real shame for innocent lives to be lost."

A superb performance, but she wondered why he bothered. Lying with ease was a Parker family trait, so he came by it honestly (ironically enough), but Lyle's motives were always tinged with a malevolence that separated him from the rest of the family. Meeting his unflinching gaze, seeing actual compassion there, and knowing it was fake made her insides squirm. She'd had enough.

Miss Parker headed for the door again, throwing her parting words back over her shoulder, "I'm sure you'll figure out a way to make Jarod cooperate, Lyle. After all, you're in charge."

She went straight to her office, glad that the halls were mostly deserted this late on a Friday afternoon. She was fuming inside at this turn of events, and she could only imagine the expression on her face. She wouldn't be held responsible if some hapless Centre employee tried to speak to her at this moment.

The first thing she saw upon entering her office was the bottle of Scotch on her desk with the red bow on it. She approached it hesitantly then recognized her father's hasty scrawl on the envelope propped against the bottle. She ripped it open and read the enclosed note:

Sorry for leaving without saying goodbye, Angel. When Brigitte came up with the idea of the cruise, I couldn't say no. You may think me an old fool, but it's flattering to have the attention of a beautiful young woman.

"Oh, Daddy," Miss Parker sighed.

But I haven't completely lost it. I'm certain she's got some ulterior motive, so I'm being careful. But no reason why I can't have a little fun at the same time.

Miss Parker rolled her eyes.

Now, about your brother… I know you're probably mad as hell that I left him in charge. Couldn't be avoided, what with The Triumverate relying on him for the Pretender project. But I need you to keep an eye on him, Angel, and make sure he behaves himself.

She groaned under her breath.

Just try not to kill each other before I get back.

"Funny, Daddy," she muttered. She crumpled up the note and tossed it in the trash. "At least you knew I'd need a drink right about now," she added, her eyebrows raising when she saw the label on the bottle. "Nice of you to spring for the good stuff."

She poured herself a glass and downed most of it in one gulp. The warm liquid started to soothe away the edges of her irritation, but she knew there wasn't enough Scotch in the world to make her forget the problem named Lyle.

A few hours later the doors to Miss Parker's office opened very slowly and very quietly. He slipped inside the room and closed the doors behind him, quickly but just as quietly.

The only light came from the silver swing-arm lamp which cast a soft glow onto the glass surface of the desk, but he could clearly see she was right where he expected her to be, passed out on the leather settee.

He crossed directly to her. He only wasted a few seconds staring down at her, just to make sure she was truly unconscious, before he got to work. He set the hefty black leather attaché case on the floor and carefully retrieved the red thermos-shaped canister from its depths. His latex-gloved hands swiftly broke the seal and unscrewed the cap. He withdrew a syringe from the canister, rolled up the left sleeve of Miss Parker's burgundy silk blouse and smoothly injected the contents of the hypodermic needle into a vein.

The now-empty syringe was deposited back into the canister, which was returned to the leather case. He allowed a quick sigh of relief now that the trickiest part of this mission was over. Then he rolled her sleeve back down and spared a few more seconds to study her as she rested in peaceful ignorance. He preferred her fierce beauty when she was angry, but he could also appreciate the serene elegance to her face in repose that he recognized from photos of Catherine Parker.

Then he jerked his head slightly, as if to dislodge any lingering sentiment, and proceeded to his next task. He went over to the desk and picked up the bottle of Scotch. One eyebrow arched in surprise as he noted the level of alcohol she'd managed to consume before the drug took effect.

He put the opened bottle in his black bag and pulled out a brand new one of the same expensive label. With a slight wince of regret, he opened it and emptied some of the high-quality Scotch into the potted tree in the corner; he couldn't drink that much and keep a level head, and this was the quickest way to dispose of the excess alcohol.

He placed the bottle on the desk then took one last look around the room. The empty whiskey glass on the end table by the couch caught his eye. Pulling a handkerchief from inside his suit coat, he went over to the glass and wiped the inside clean, making sure no residue of the powerful sedative remained. He tucked the handkerchief away again, picked up the attaché case, and headed for the door.

A quick glance at his watch confirmed he had completed his mission in under ten minutes. He smiled grimly. "If you want something done right…" he murmured.

Lyle stole out of the room as silently as he'd entered, leaving his sister in peaceful slumber.

It would be the last she'd enjoy for quite a while.

Another Monday morning, another day Miss Parker wished she were anywhere but here. As she crossed the main concourse, she felt like she was moving in slow motion, swimming against a tide of bright-eyed, earnest Centre employees, fresh from their relaxing weekends.

Her weekend had been anything but relaxing. It had started badly with that unexpected sleepover Friday night in her office. She still couldn't believe she'd drunk enough to pass out on her couch; the good Scotch from her father must be much more potent than the stuff she usually drank. All she knew was that she'd awakened in the pre-dawn hours, disoriented and groggy, with a crick in her neck and a headache. Then she'd spent all day Saturday nursing what felt like a hangover, but the usual remedies had failed. Consequently, she had stayed at home all weekend, not feeling up to dodging the on and off rain showers that had moved into the area just as predicted.

By yesterday she'd decided she had caught some sort of bug and had gone into recovery mode. She'd tried for cozy, curling up on her couch with a good book, huddling under a fleece throw in front of a blazing fire in her stone fireplace. But the chill from outside still seemed to work its way into her bones. Then she ended up feeling flushed from sitting too close to the fire, the soft blanket got too heavy for her aching joints, and reading only aggravated her headache.

This morning she'd felt no better, but she'd dragged herself to the Centre, mindful of her father's wish that she keep an eye on Lyle. Now she'd finally reached her office. Her hands shook slightly as she unlocked the door, but then she was inside and closing the doors firmly to shut out the irritating hum of humanity in the hall. She leaned back against the frosted glass of her double doors for a moment, feeling the need to catch her breath. But then she suddenly felt unbearably hot in her clammy trench coat, so she quickly deposited her dripping umbrella in the corner and slipped out of her coat, flinging it over the back of a chair. She tucked a few wet strands of hair behind her ears; the wind-driven rain had sprayed her face a few times between the parking lot and the main entrance. She should have parked in the underground garage, but she'd foolishly thought some fresh air after two days of being inside might invigorate her. Instead, she felt sweaty from the coat and chilled from the rain on her cheeks. And under it all, the persistent headache still throbbed.

She'd just settled in her desk chair with a sigh when her doors opened and Broots scurried into her office. "What?" she asked wearily.

Broots had been studying an open file in his hands, but he looked up in response to her lackluster greeting. His normal expression of vague uneasiness sharpened into obvious concern. "Miss Parker, are you alright? You, you don't look well."

"I think-" Her voice sounded too weak, so she cleared her throat and tried again. "I think I have the flu." That was better; her annoyance with her current state of health came through loud and clear.

"Well, why aren't you at home? You should be resting."

"I rested all weekend; it didn't help. Besides, with my father away, someone's got to keep an eye on Lyle." She indicated the folder he was carrying. "What do you have for me?"

Broots hesitated but then laid the folder on her desk. "I finished going over the data from the GPS tracker, and I think I've got Jarod's location pinpointed exactly." He opened the file and spread out some sheets of paper. "I also mapped out a more direct route to his cell in case, um, anyone wants to visit him. I tried to avoid areas where guards or cameras are posted, but with all the extra security Lyle has at the Centre these days, it was impossible to devise a way that would be completely undetected."

As Broots droned on about ways he could fool the surveillance cameras, Miss Parker tried to focus on the computer-generated blueprints in front of her, but the maze of tiny squares and rectangles all started to blur together. She winced as the headache delivered a sharp stab behind her eyes and put a trembling hand to her forehead.

Broots noticed. "Miss Parker, I really think you need to rest," he began.

"What I need is an aspirin," she snapped. "Go get me one."

He blinked rapidly. "I, uh, I don't think you should take aspirin with your history of ulcers," he said uncomfortably.

"So what do you suggest, doctor?"

He paused then offered tentatively, "Maybe a cup of herbal tea?"

"Oh, for God's sake! I'll find my own aspirin." She pushed back her chair and stood up. And had to grab the edge of the desk when the room started to spin.

"Miss Parker!" Broots started towards her.

She quickly put up a hand to stop him; her arm felt like it weighed a ton. "I'm fine, just a little dizzy. I'll be better when I can get rid of this damn headache." Moving carefully, she headed for the door, fighting to stay upright on a floor that seemed to be swaying.

"No, no, you stay here, I'll get you some ibuprofen or something. Why don't you sit down?" He gestured to the sofa.

She was grateful for the suggestion but tried to sound nonchalant as she said, "Okay, I'll wait here. Just don't take all day." Her voice sounded loud in her ears. An overwhelming need to collapse on the couch made her try to move too quickly, and the room spun crazily. She felt a hand on her arm and heard faintly, through the sudden roaring in her ears, "It's, it's okay, Miss Parker, I've got you, I've got you."'

Then everything went black.