Chapter 13

Jarod raced into the infirmary.  “I’ve got it!” he exclaimed.

Of the group gathered around the bed, Lyle was the first to turn and face him.  “You’re too late,” he said grimly.  His maroon shirt and matching tie appeared a deep blood red under the fluorescent lights.

“But I have the antidote,” Jarod said.  “It’s right here, see?”  He held up a syringe.

Broots was standing at the foot of the bed.  He turned around now, slowly, his face ashen.  “I thought you could do anything, Jarod.  How could you let her down?” he moaned, wringing his hands.

“What are you talking about?” Jarod sought out Sydney, as he usually did when he was scared and confused.  He spotted him sitting in the corner, reading the newspaper.  “What’s happened, Sydney?”

“Quite a legacy you’ve left, Jarod,” Sydney commented casually from behind the paper.  The headlines screamed: MYSTERIOUS VIRUS SPREADS, KILLS HUNDREDS.

“No,” Jarod said.  “I found the cure.  I can save those people.  I can save Miss Parker!”

Lyle turned back to the bed.  “Poor sis,” he said, shaking his head.  “She believed in you.  Guess you’re not the genius we all thought you were.  The Triumverate will be so disappointed.”

 “Why aren’t you listening to me?” Jarod shouted desperately, waving the syringe in the air.  “Here’s the antidote!  Let me give it to her!”

Broots shuffled out of the way, allowing Jarod a clear view of the bed and the form completely covered in a white sheet.

            Jarod approached the bed on trembling legs.  “No,” he whispered, “she’s not, she’s not…”

            “Dead?” The shrouded figure sat straight up in bed, the sheet falling away to reveal Miss Parker, her eyes huge and sunken in, her mouth an angry red slash in her pale, pale face.  “Yes, I am, Boy Wonder, and it’s all your fault.  You just couldn’t do the assignment when Lyle first asked you to, could you?  You and your damn moral code!” she sneered.

            “It’s not my fault,” Jarod protested, trying to get to her side but being restrained by Willie and Tony.  He struggled in vain.  “Let me go!  I can save her!”

            As he watched helplessly, Miss Parker’s eyes shut and she fell slowly back in the bed.  Lyle covered her face with the sheet.  “Too late, Jarod,” he intoned, turning a cold smile his way.  “You’re too late.”

            “NO!”

            Jarod awoke in a cold sweat, choking on the scream from his nightmare.  He forced himself to lie still while his racing heart slowed.  As usual, he was lying on his side, his back to the camera; he didn’t want recordings of his facial expressions when his nightly demons visited him in his sleep.

            He wondered what time it was.  His cell was still dark, except for the faint illumination that shone through the viewing slot in the door (left open overnight to provide enough light for the camera to clearly pick up his movements and to make him wonder if the guards in the hall spied on him while he slept) which meant it was not yet morning.  The fluorescent lights in his cell came on every day at 6 a.m. without fail.  Fine with him, since he’d never enjoyed too much time spent in the dark.

            It felt like the middle of the night.  He was amazed he’d been able to fall asleep at all, but the exhaustion of working four days straight in the lab must have finally caught up with him.  He’d had a breakthrough late yesterday morning and had checked and re-checked the results before he sent the medicine to the infirmary.  He’d wanted to administer it to Miss Parker himself, but of course, his request had been denied.  Instead, he’d been brought back to his cell and left to wonder.  Thankfully, his restraints had been left off, so he’d been able to work off some of the nervous energy by pacing, doing push-ups, sit-ups, yoga, and any other exercises that would help purge the body and clear the mind.

            It hadn’t worked.  His body may finally have succumbed to sleep, but his fears had followed him into his dreams.  He was 99 percent sure that the drug he’d developed would work to eradicate the virus from its victims’ systems, but it was that one percent of uncertainty that plagued him.  It had to work, it had to!

            She couldn’t die.  Not now, not when he’d finally realized just how much she meant to him.

            He couldn’t lie still a second longer.  Keeping his expression neutral, he rolled over and sat up, swinging his legs over the side of the cot.  He still felt muzzy from interrupted sleep, so he went over to his small sink and started to splash cold water on his face.

            The fluorescent lights hummed to life and the door to his cell opened.

            Jarod turned quickly, water dripping from his chin, to find Lyle standing in the doorway.  Even at this hour, he was impeccably dressed in a coat and tie – his usual maroon to match the glove on his deformed left hand – and looked like the embodiment of corporate America.  “Trouble sleeping, Jarod?” he inquired pleasantly.

            Jarod swiped his wet bangs out of his eyes.  “I notice you’re not home in bed.”

            “I was awakened by an urgent call from the infirmary, telling me I was needed there at once.”

            Jarod’s mouth went dry.  “Miss Parker?” he managed to get out.  “The doctors gave her the antidote?”

            “Yes,” Lyle replied then said no more.  He stared at Jarod, his boyish face a smooth mask giving nothing away.

            The bastard was going to make him ask.  Even through the overpowering worry for Miss Parker, Jarod felt the familiar stirring of disgust and hatred for the man who stood before him.  It took all of his self-control to keep the anger out of his voice as he said, “And?  How is she?”  He wondered if his foe could hear the thudding of his heart as he waited for an answer.

            Lyle surely knew exactly how he felt, which was probably why he waited an agonizing beat longer before he finally said, “She’s better.  The drug you developed worked.  The doctors expect her to make a full recovery.”

            It worked.  Jarod had to lean back against the sink as his legs threatened to give way.

            “Congratulations, Jarod,” Lyle went on grudgingly.  “The Triumverate is pleased.  You’ve been given a short reprieve before your next assignment.  I suggest you get some rest.”  He turned to go then looked back, a tight smile on his face.  “I knew you could do it.  Given the proper motivation, that is.”  He sauntered into the hall and closed the door heavily behind him.

            Jarod let out a breath he felt like he’d been holding for five days - half-sigh and half-sob – and sank down on the edge of the cot, suddenly woozy from the intense feeling of relief that washed over him.  He buried his face in his hands and didn’t care that the camera was capturing his reaction.  All that mattered was that Miss Parker was going to be alright.

            The first thing she heard was a loud beeping that increased in speed as she came fully awake.  Miss Parker opened her eyes then immediately shut them against the glare of the overhead lights.

            “Miss Parker!  Miss Parker?  Sydney, I think she’s awake, I saw her open her eyes.”

            “Miss Parker, can you hear me?” Sydney’s calm, cultured tone was usually preferable to Broots’ nervous jabber, but even the voice of her distinguished colleague echoed uncomfortably in her throbbing head today.

            She groaned and forced her eyes open again.  Blinking rapidly to clear away the bleariness, she looked to her left and slowly brought Sydney’s face into focus.  Broots was hovering right behind him, wearing a matching look of concern.

            “Where -?” she started and stopped when barely a croak came out of a throat that suddenly felt like it was on fire.

            “You’re in the Centre infirmary,” Sydney supplied helpfully.  “Your throat is sore, because the doctors had to intubate when you had difficulty breathing.”

            She swallowed to ease the sandpaper roughness.  “How long have I been here?” she managed in a slightly stronger voice.

            “Six days,” Sydney said.  “You’ve been very ill, Miss Parker.”

            He didn’t need to tell her that.  Although she couldn’t remember the last few days, her body was sending her all sorts of signals that it had been through the wringer.  Wait, maybe she did remember something.  “I had the flu?” she asked.

            “You didn’t have the flu,” Sydney said but seemed reluctant to explain further.

            Well, that was sort of good news.  She didn’t like to think she’d totally collapse from something as mundane as the flu.  She was made of tougher stuff.  The only things that landed her in the hospital were getting shot and… “I didn’t get another ulcer, did I?” 

            “Uh, no,” Broots said.  He and Sydney exchanged cryptic glances.

            “What?” she demanded.  Or tried to; it came out sounding like a petulant squawk.

            Sydney pulled a chair close to her bed and sat down.  He looked at her with his psychiatrist face and seemed to take a moment to choose his words.

            Oh, this couldn’t be good.  “Just tell me, Sydney,” she said as forcefully as she could.  “What’s wrong with me?”

            “You contracted the African virus,” he said.

            Her mind was blank.  As she tried to figure out what he was talking about, Broots put in quickly, “But the good news is that Jarod developed an antidote which the doctors gave you yesterday and you’re already much better, so they said you’re going to be just fine!”

            She knew the desperate cheer with which he’d delivered that information was supposed to comfort her, but she was still stuck on the cause for her present condition.  Jarod, he’d mentioned Jarod.  She focused on Sydney’s face.  “The African virus,” she repeated slowly, as understanding dawned.  “The project assigned to Jarod.”

            Sydney nodded.

            But that didn’t make any sense, because… “But Jarod refused to do that assignment,” she said.  “He was afraid the Triumverate would take his work and use it to hurt innocent people.”  She coughed then winced from the stab of pain in her throat.

            “I’ll get you some water,” Broots said and hurried from the room.

            Miss Parker kept her eyes locked on Sydney’s.  “Broots said Jarod created an antidote.  Why would Jarod give the Centre what they wanted?”

            “To save you,” Sydney said simply.

            She still felt foggy, so she wasn’t sure she’d heard correctly.

            Her doubt must have shown on her face, because Sydney leaned closer and continued, “As soon as Jarod learned you had been infected with the virus, he began to search for a cure.  He worked tirelessly in the lab until he succeeded.  Thank God, it was in time.”  He gently squeezed her hand.  “Parker, he wasn’t going to let you die,” he added quietly.

            She wasn’t sure what she should feel about that.  She looked away, not willing to let her friend the shrink read something in her eyes she’d rather not share. 

But what would be in her eyes other than gratitude to Jarod for being … well, Jarod?  It wasn’t like he hadn’t saved her life before.  There’d been that time in Florida with the creep in the hurricane.  Then a couple of years ago when Raines’ sniper had shot her by accident, Jarod had sacrificed his chance to escape with his father and clone so he could get her to a hospital (instead he’d been captured and brought back to the Centre).  It was what he did.  He always had to be the hero – albeit the anonymous superhero most of the time – no matter the risk or cost to himself.  Not that she’d consider herself one of the “weak and abused” he liked to help, but Jarod was stuck on the notion that she’d been as much a prisoner of the Centre as a child as he’d been.   

            She shouldn’t be feeling anything other than the usual mixture of appreciation for his help and annoyance that she’d been in need of his help in the first place.  So why did this time seem different?  Sydney holding her hand while he told her how hard Jarod had worked to save her just added a level of intensity that wasn’t warranted.  Why was he trying to make this more than it was?

            Miss Parker pulled her hand away.  Sydney looked slightly startled but sat back in his chair without comment. 

            Broots came back into the room.  “The nurse said you could only have ice chips,” he said, sounding apologetic, “but I think they should feel good on your throat.”  He came up to the head of the bed on her right side and stood there uncertainly, a styrofoam cup with a spoon in it in his hand.

            Miss Parker had the horrifying thought that he might actually be contemplating feeding her.  “Give me that!”  She snatched the cup from his hand and immediately wished she hadn’t.  The sight of her own too pale and too thin arm had shocked her, as had the fact that it felt like she was lifting a ton of weights just to reach out and take a paper cup.  She forced herself to put a spoonful of ice chips into her mouth as if nothing was wrong.  “Thank you,” she said belatedly, grateful for the soothing coolness on her raw throat.

            Broots nodded and retrieved the cup from her hand (which she hoped wasn’t shaking from exertion), which he placed on the swivel table  inconveniently placed out of reach at the foot of her bed.  That was fine; she didn’t think she had the strength to feed herself any more ice right now.  All she wanted to do was close her eyes and drift into a dreamless sleep where she didn’t have to think about deadly viruses or why she’d been saved or how she’d gotten infected in the first place…

            Suddenly wide awake, she asked, “How the hell did I get this damn virus anyway?”

            Sydney and Broots exchanged looks over her bed, making her want to scream.  She chose to give her throat a break and settled for shooting a silent glare at, first, Sydney then Broots.  The techie wouldn’t meet her eyes, so she gave Sydney the full brunt of her annoyance.

            He sighed but then leaned closer.  “We’re not certain,” he said quietly, “but we think Lyle…”

            “I’m glad to see you’re finally awake, sis!”

            Sydney scraped his chair back from the bed and stood up, Broots looked like he wanted to bolt, and Miss Parker’s headache started throbbing anew as Lyle strode into the room.  He walked straight up to the bed and gave her an awkward, brotherly peck on the cheek.  “The doctors told me yesterday that you were out of the woods, but I wouldn’t believe it until I saw those big blue eyes of yours glaring up at me,” he said.

            Miss Parker narrowed her blue eyes at him, seething from the kiss he’d dared to give her.  Why the need for the show of brotherly support; everyone in the room knew they couldn’t stand each other.

            “It looked pretty grim there for a few days,” Lyle went on, “but I always knew you’d pull through.  After all, you have the Parker fighting spirit.”

            God, he sounded like her… “Where’s my father?” she asked suddenly.

            “Our father is still on his cruise,” Lyle answered.  “I tried to reach him on his cell, but he didn’t pick up and he hasn’t returned my messages.  Maybe the batteries are dead or he’s just having too good of a time to check his phone.”

            “Since this was a family emergency, I’m certain the cruise line would have put you in contact with ship personnel to pass word to Mr. Parker,” Sydney said.

            Lyle didn’t turn around.  He sighed and looked slightly annoyed as he said, “I’m certain they would have, Sydney, but I confess I wasn’t in a hurry to give my father bad news.  I wanted to be able to give him a more definite prognosis when I finally got in touch with him. But now that Parker here is going to make a full recovery,” he smiled down at his sister, “I don’t think there’s any need for him to rush home, do you?  Let him enjoy the rest of his vacation.”

            Much as she hated to admit it, Lyle was probably right.  She was too tired to deal with one more person hovering by her bedside.

            He seemed to read her mind.  “Well, you need your rest, and this room is a little crowded.”  He sent a pointed look at Broots and then headed for the door.  “I’ll just get out of your way…”

            “Wait!”  Her hoarse command stopped Lyle in his tracks.  He stopped at the foot of her bed and looked back expectantly.

            She had to know.  “How did I get infected with this virus?”

            She heard Broots’ sharp intake of breath and saw Sydney raise an eyebrow in mute admiration of her direct approach.

            Lyle didn’t flinch.  “It was all my fault,” he said.

            Miss Parker felt her eyes widen, and the monitor announced the quickening of her heartbeat.  Was her brother actually confessing to exposing her to a deadly virus?

            Lyle stepped closer but still stayed out of reach, she noted.  “It was Friday a week ago when you stopped by our father’s office.  You didn’t realize he’d gone on vacation and left me in charge.  You weren’t too pleased to find me at his desk, but you were interested in the shipment I’d just received from Africa.  It was blood samples from some of the virus’ victims.  I had just unpacked the canister when I was called out of the room by my secretary.”  He paused and looked down at the floor, shaking his head.  “I don’t exactly know what happened.  Maybe you wanted to inspect the contents for yourself.  The seal on one of the vials must have been broken.  The virus isn’t airborne, so maybe you had a cut on your hand and somehow the infected blood mixed with yours.  I just don’t know.” 

He looked up again and spread his hands in apology.  “I’m truly sorry, sis.  I didn’t even know you’d been infected until Monday when Broots took you to the infirmary after you collapsed.  When the doctors confirmed the presence of the virus in your system, I was horrified. Because of my carelessness, your life was put in jeopardy.”

Miss Parker stared at him.  Everything about his demeanor screamed sincere remorse: the sorrowful look in his pale blue eyes, the dejected slump of his shoulders, his serious tone.  Yet she didn’t for one minute believe a word that he’d said.  The virus may have robbed her of any clear memories of the past week, but she knew – as he did – that she’d never be stupid enough to handle potentially hazardous substances.  For whose benefit had he created this tale?  His story was lame, but she could tell he intended to stick to it.

He seemed to be waiting for some response from her – absolution?  Forget it.  “Good thing our resident genius discovered a cure,” she said.

Relief flooded Lyle’s face – probably because she hadn’t challenged his version of events.  “Yes,” he breathed, “Jarod came through in the nick of time.”

A nurse came into the room.  “I know we’re all glad to see Miss Parker awake, but there are too many people in here,” she said briskly, stepping over to the I.V. pole and checking the level of fluid in the bag.  “The patient needs her rest, so I want this room cleared in five minutes.”  She turned on her heel and left.

Miss Parker didn’t know the woman but she admired her efficient and authoritative manner.  It helped that she was exhausted enough to agree with the order that had been issued.

Lyle seemed delighted that his earlier excuse for cutting his visit short had been backed up by medical personnel.  He said, “Listen to your doctors, sis,” nodded at Sydney and Broots, and was out the door in a flash.

Broots looked ready to follow him just as quickly, but Miss Parker called him to her side and beckoned for him to lean in close.  “Yes?” he said, bending stiffly over the bed.

She spoke in a low voice to avoid detection by any listening devices.  “Broots, find me proof that my dear brother did this to me.”

Broots blinked rapidly, but his voice was steady as he replied, “I’ll do my best, Miss Parker.”  Then he exited, a purposeful stride in his step.

Sydney approached the left side of the bed.  “I’m sorry I didn’t try to contact your father myself, Parker,” he said.

She sighed and shook her head, then winced as the slight movement sent a new stab of pain through her head.

“Shall I tell the nurse on my way out that you need something for the pain?” Sydney asked.

“No, I’m okay,” she assured him, noticing how her voice was starting to sound slurred.  She certainly didn’t need any more drugs.  “And don’t worry about not calling my father, Sydney.  No point in having him sitting by my bedside while I was unconscious all week.”

“Still, I’m sure your father would have wanted to be here with you.  And now that you’re awake, it would help to have family around.”

“Yes, well… I have you.  And Broots.” 

Sydney smiled and leaned towards her.  For a moment, she thought he was going to kiss her cheek, but instead he whispered close to her ear, “And you have Sam right outside your room.  As long as you’re here in the infirmary, he, Broots or I will always be nearby.  We’ll make sure you’re safe.” 

Miss Parker felt the pricking of tears behind her eyes and blinked rapidly to dissolve them.  Damn, she was more tired than she realized.  “Thanks, Sydney, but I think I’ll be fine.  Jarod created an antidote.  Lyle got exactly what he wanted.”

Sydney was still leaning over her, so she could clearly see the real concern in his eyes as he murmured, “For now.”

Gee, thanks, Syd, that’s comforting.  She hoped he was being melodramatic so that she would think twice before dismissing her bodyguard.  He needn’t have worried about that.  The way she felt right now, she knew there was no way she could defend herself from any enemy – known or unknown.  So she’d accept whatever protection he felt necessary.

Sydney straightened.  “Get some rest,” he said softly and gently squeezed her hand before moving away.  He checked the monitor, as if to reassure the doctor in him that she was stable, before leaving the room.

Miss Parker closed her eyes.  All of the recent revelations formed a dizzy swirl in her mind – she’d been infected with the African virus, Jarod had developed a cure and saved her, Lyle was probably responsible, Sydney was still worried about her safety – but instead of trying to make sense of the confusion, she followed the whirlpool down into dreamless slumber.

For the hundredth time, Miss Parker wished there were hand rails in this elevator, something physical to grab onto, to help brace herself against the emotional turmoil she always experienced here, especially when she was alone.  She tucked herself into one of the back corners of the elevator and concentrated on keeping a stoic expression on her face, loathe to let the new security camera within the car pick up on her inner distress.  She knew Lyle – and probably a good number of Centre employees – were aware of the tragedy surrounding this elevator, and she didn’t want to add grist to the gossip mill by showing weakness on tape.

It was a source of pride for her that she’d never avoided riding in this elevator all the years she’d been working at the Centre.  She saw it as a daily challenge, a fear to be conquered – to be able to face the memory of that horrible day so long ago, a memory of a gunshot and hands holding her back as she cried out for her mother…

As always, she carefully avoided looking at the bullet hole in the elevator wall.  The Centre had left it there all these years, trying to send a message.  Exactly what that message was depended on the person receiving it.  Her father would say that this gruesome reminder of his wife’s suicide served as a lesson that there was no place for weakness at the Centre.  Miss Parker believed it to be a warning against defying Centre directives.

The demons of that day still haunted her, especially since she’d never been able to disprove the official story that her mother committed suicide.  Over the years she’d pieced together enough bits and pieces of the puzzle to be certain that her mother was getting ready to escape from the Centre – but not by taking her own life.  Catherine Parker’s intention was to “rescue” the children, including Jarod and her own daughter.  Instead, she’d been murdered before she could steal the Centre’s most prized possession away.  Jarod loved to throw that fact in her face, mistakenly believing he could garner her sympathy (“your mother wanted to save me, so you should, too”).  But as she’d pointed out to him on more than one occasion, she was not her mother and never would be.  Alike in appearance, yes, but they were completely different in temperament; she knew she could never have half the compassion of Catherine Parker.

In fact, her untimely death guaranteed that her daughter would never grow up to be just like her.  The one thing that horrible day had taught Miss Parker was that weakness could be fatal, a lesson her father reinforced, telling her time and again to be strong in the face of tragedy, to carry on, to never let down her defenses.  She took that advice to heart, especially whenever she set foot in this elevator.

Over the years the sadness and confusion surrounding her mother’s death had turned to anger – anger at the still-unknown killer, anger at her father for not keeping his wife safe, anger at Jarod for being the unwitting cause of her mother’s murder, anger at herself for not being able to bring her mother’s killer to justice.  She imagined Sydney would have a field day with that tangled mess of emotions if she ever chose to confide in the psychiatrist.  But she knew he’d want her to let go of the anger, and she couldn’t do that; it was what kept her strong, what got her through every ride in this elevator.

A few years ago she’d almost met the same fate as her mother when Brigitte tried to kill her.  Shot in the arm and hurtling downwards in a runaway elevator, she had only survived because Broots managed to hot-wire the controls and slow the car’s descent.  Miss Parker wasn’t sure what upset her more – the fact that she’d let that blonde bitch get the drop on her or that a twitchy, bald nerd had to come to her rescue.

She leaned more heavily against the back wall of the elevator and tried to stop this disturbing train of thought.  It had only been a few days since she’d been released from the infirmary.  She should still be resting at home, but with her father finally returning from his vacation tomorrow, she wanted to be ready to greet him properly – with proof that Lyle had infected her with a deadly virus.  So she’d come to the Centre today in the hopes that Broots had managed to find some sort of evidence.  She was heading down to the tech lab now.

The elevator came to a stop.  Before the doors even opened, Miss Parker started forward, eager to be free of the confined space.  But the sight of the person waiting to board stopped her in her tracks. 

It was Jarod.

His eyes widened at the sight of her.  Then he sprang into action.

He whirled around, his cuffed fists slamming into the stomach of Willie, making him double over.  Then Jarod brought his hands up sharply under the Sweeper’s chin, snapping his head back and making him stumble.  Tony had just drawn his gun when Jarod sent the weapon clattering to the floor with a sideways slice of his arms, which he followed with a kick to the burly guard’s shin.  Tony fell to one knee and Jarod brought him down the rest of the way with a double-handed karate chop to the back of his beefy neck.  He thrust an elbow into Willie’s face and threw himself onto the elevator, immediately punching the button that closed the doors.  As the car continued its descent into the sublevels of the Centre, Jarod leaped up and ripped the security camera from its mount.  Then he pulled the emergency stop button, and the elevator shuddered to a halt.

Jarod spun to face Miss Parker, who’d stumbled back into the corner when the elevator lurched to a stop.  “Are you alright?” he asked.

He seemed barely winded, but she felt exhausted just from watching that impressive display.  “Jarod,” she breathed, “what the hell…?”

That was all she got out before he’d crossed the short distance between them and kissed her.

He took her completely by surprise, just as he had last fall in that dingy apartment.  But where that kiss had been tender and tentative, this one was reckless and without apology.  His mouth was crushing hers, yet she could feel the desperation behind the power and knew the roughness was unintended.  Even as her mind reeled from the implications of this moment, her body responded enthusiastically to the kiss.

It was Jarod who pulled away a few seconds – an eternity! – later.  But he didn’t break contact completely; his hands still clung to the collar of her gray silk blouse as if to steady himself.  “I thought I’d lost you,” he said brokenly, not meeting her eyes.  “It was all my fault that you got sick.  If I hadn’t refused to do the project when Lyle first assigned it to me, he would never have infected you with the virus.”  He paused, and his fingers curled and uncurled nervously against the edge of her shirt.  “He told me last Friday that the antidote had worked, but he wouldn’t let me see you, so I wasn’t sure…”  He stopped and swallowed hard.

 The Centre and its damn mind games.  Now she understood why Jarod was holding on to her so tightly, as if he needed to reassure himself that she was real.  If Lyle was his only source for information about her condition, it was no wonder he had worried; you couldn’t trust a word her brother said, and Jarod knew that better than anyone.  He’d probably been in torment for over a week, first in a frantic attempt to find a cure and then agonizing over whether it had truly worked.

She needed to end his nightmare now.  “Jarod, look at me,” she said firmly, cupping his face in her hands and tilting his gaze upwards.  “I’m fine.  You saved me.”

The fear and pain were still there in his dark brown eyes, the pain she’d pretended not to see when they were children together at the Centre.  But now guilt also lurked there in the mirrors to his soul.  She knew her words would not be enough to convince him.  She needed to show him that she was very much alive.

So she kissed him.  Gently at first, but then with growing intensity.  She could feel Jarod begin to relax and respond to her.  As she ran her fingers through his hair, she realized she was starting to relax, too.  Jarod was an excellent kisser, so why not enjoy herself?  She’d wanted to take his mind off the events of the past week, have him stop dwelling on her near-death experience.  Well, maybe she needed to do the same thing, and what better way to embrace life than an impromptu make-out session?  And what better place than in this elevator, where a good memory would be a welcome addition?

She suddenly wished she could have a true embrace, feel Jarod’s strong arms around her.  She pulled away with regret.  “I wish I had a paperclip, so you could pretend to be MacGyver and get out of those damn cuffs,” she muttered.

“Who?” he asked.

She laughed shakily.  “Never mind.” Before she could reconsider, she lifted his hands high and ducked under and into the circle of his arms.  Pressed tightly against him, she could feel the rapid beating of his heart, matching the excited rhythm of her own.  She was surprised that she didn’t feel trapped or uncomfortable at all; she couldn’t remember the last time she’d felt this safe.

“Much better,” she murmured into his neck, her arms sliding around his neck.

This time when they came together the kiss was instantly deep and demanding, both of them pouring all of their passion into it.  Miss Parker didn’t worry about consequences and just let herself feel, blissfully riding the current of sensations washing over her body.  Despite being restrained by cuffs, Jarod’s hands were delightfully busy, threading through her hair, caressing her shoulders, stroking her back, and slowly sliding lower and lower until…

The sudden flush of heat she felt did not come from pleasure but from anxiety as she realized Jarod’s fingers had landed on the gun tucked into her waistband.  Cursing her own stupidity, she instantly stiffened and pulled back.  Jarod lifted his arms at once, freeing her from their embrace, and retreated to the far corner of the elevator.

His hands were empty, and she still felt the reassuring weight of the gun at the small of her back, but Miss Parker was unnerved by the fact that Jarod could have easily grabbed her weapon.

He eyed her warily, as if expecting her to draw that weapon on him.  “I wasn’t going for your gun,” he said.

“I know,” she answered and felt the same surprise that showed on his face.  He’d gotten the better of her so many times in the past, so why was she so certain that he wasn’t playing her now?

Because those kisses had felt real.  Her logical side – the one trying to ignore the tingles she still felt from where he’d touched her or the leftover warmth from his lips on hers – told her she was being a fool, that he was a Pretender who could become anyone he wanted to be, including the man of her dreams.  Their emotional connection from when they were children just made it easier for him to seduce her now that they were adults – two lonely adults.

While she was warring with herself, Jarod broke the awkward silence.  “Why are you here anyway?  Less than a week ago you were lying unconscious in a bed in the infirmary.  You should be at home resting.”

She heard the concern in his voice, saw it in his eyes, and she didn’t want to worry about whether that emotion was real or not.  “My father gets back in town tomorrow, and I need to talk to him right away, tell him what Lyle did.”  She sighed and ran her hands through her hair, trying not to wish that it was Jarod doing that.  “If I can find some proof.  He gave me some crazy story about accidental contamination, but I know he must have infected me on purpose.  I just can’t remember when or how he did it.”

“He all but admitted he infected you when he first brought me your blood samples and again when he came to tell me the antidote worked,” Jarod said.  “Have Broots check the surveillance recordings from the research lab and my cell.  I can give you the dates and times-”

She shook her head.  “Won’t do any good.  Broots has already discovered that access to the security feeds from those particular cameras is password-protected.  He hasn’t been able to crack it yet; we think Lyle changes it often.”

As usual when faced with a challenge, Jarod looked determined, not defeated.  “Well, I can probably come up with some educated guesses, especially if Lyle is using words that mean something to him personally.”

“That might be helpful for the future, but it’s not going to do me much good right now.  I’m sure Lyle’s already deleted anything incriminating that was recorded.  But, just in case he missed something, I was heading down to the tech lab to see if Broots has had any luck.”

“Well, if there’s anything to find, Broots will find it,” Jarod said.  He paused then added, “Although I’m not sure any amount of proof will make your father take your side against Lyle.”

This was an old argument between them; Jarod was always trying to convince her that she couldn’t trust her father.  “It doesn’t help that Lyle’s got the support of the Triumverate now that you’ve successfully completed your first assignment,” Miss Parker pointed out.  “Even my father won’t go against the Centre’s African overseers.”

“If Lyle’s truly got that much power now, you’re not safe here, Miss Parker.”

“Who is?” she said.

Jarod’s gaze intensified.  “You don’t understand.  This isn’t the first time Lyle used you to get to me.”

She didn’t like the sound of that.  “What are you talking about?” she demanded.

“That day at the cemetery, when you and your father visited your mother’s grave…”

“The day you were caught?”

He nodded.  “Lyle pointed a gun at you.  I couldn’t risk that he was bluffing, so I came willingly.”

That bastard.  He’d said she was “an important part of Jarod’s capture.”  She’d wondered how he’d gotten Jarod to come without a fight.  Now she knew.

While she seethed inwardly, Jarod went on, “Given what I know now – that he actually infected you with a deadly virus with no known cure – I’m glad I didn’t call his bluff at the cemetery.  You’d still be recovering from a gunshot wound.”

“Been there, done that,” she muttered.

Jarod crossed to her and took her hands.  “Miss Parker, listen to me,” he said urgently.  “I can’t protect you from Lyle.”

She pulled out of his grasp.  “I can take care of myself,” she said testily.  Then, realizing how lame that sounded given the events of the past week, she added, “Now that I know how far he’ll go, I’ll be extra careful.”

Jarod shook his head.  “That’s not enough.  You need to leave the Centre.”

“Run away?  Like hell I will!” 

Just then the elevator hummed to life to started moving upwards.

Jarod rushed over to the control panel and pounded his cuffed hands against the wall in frustration.  “They’ve overridden the controls,” he said.  He automatically sent a desperate glance around the elevator as if searching for an escape route, but they both knew there was no way out.

The elevator came to a stop and the doors slid open.

Lyle stood there, flanked by Willie and Tony.  He looked irritated and slightly flushed, as if the last few minutes had been frantic.  Miss Parker imagined he’d spent the time envisioning Jarod pulling off some fantastic escape with him having to explain to the Triumverate how that had happened again.

With fresh blood seeping through the nose bandage he still wore from the last time Jarod had tried to escape, Willie took a step forward and reached inside the elevator to depress and hold the button that kept the doors from closing.  Aiming a murderous glare at the Pretender, he kept the gun in his right hand carefully trained on him.

Lyle produced a small black box from the pocket of his tan suit coat. “You’ve been a bad boy, Jarod,” he said and pushed the red button on the box.

Jarod jerked like he’d been poked with an electric cattle prod.  He quickly went rigid and pressed his back against the wall of the elevator.  As spasms rippled through his body, he somehow managed to stay on his feet.

Miss Parker instantly knew what was happening, but she was still taken by surprise.  Obviously, Jarod was receiving an electric shock through the implant in his neck, but she’d assumed that only happened when he went outside the building.  The fact that Lyle had a device that could deliver the shocks whenever he wanted was an unsettling development.  She wondered how many times he’d already used this form of torture on Jarod.

Enough times that he obviously wasn’t getting the reaction he’d expected.  Lyle frowned and looked like he pressed harder on the button.  Jarod remained standing even as his tremors increased.

“Lyle, stop this!” Miss Parker snapped.

Her brother ignored her, his gaze locked on Jarod.  The hatred between the two men charged the air more than the electric current being transmitted. Then Jarod let out a groan - more out of frustration than pain - and fell to his knees. 

Now maybe this horrifying game of chicken could end.  “Enough!” she said.  “What’s the point of this?”

“He needs to learn a lesson,” Lyle said, coldly staring down at Jarod. 

“What lesson? That you’re a sadistic freak? Everyone already knows that,” she said, using sarcasm to hide her growing desperation with the current situation. Still on his knees, Jarod was leaning his right side heavily against the elevator wall. He was sweating as his body shook as if in the throes of a high fever.

“Jarod can stop this anytime he wants,” Lyle said.  “All he has to do is say the magic word.”

His face contorted with pain, the defiance still shone through clearly as Jarod grated through clenched teeth, “Go. To. Hell.” 

Miss Parker respected his resolve, but that declaration had cost Jared dearly. His reserves of strength depleted, he slowly toppled over onto the floor.  He lay there, sweating, his body wracked by convulsions.  Lyle smiled in satisfaction at this result, but he didn’t let go of the button.  His fingers were white from clutching the device so tightly.

“Don’t be a fool, Lyle,” hissed Miss Parker.  “You’ll kill him!”  She made a grab for the box, but Tony quickly stepped between her and Lyle.

“Restrain her,” said Lyle dismissively.

“Really? Bring it on, big boy,” Miss Parker said, feeling adrenaline surge through her as she instinctively brought her fists up into a defensive pose.  But Tony must have had enough of hand-to-hand combat, because he brought his gun to bear on her instead.  Her eyes widened in surprise at the Sweeper’s audacity.  She tensed and prepared to make a move for her own gun…

“Stop!” rasped Jarod, drawing the attention of all the elevator’s occupants.  He’d somehow managed to lift his head a few inches.  His eyes were wide and filled with pain as he pleaded, “Lyle, stop.  Please.”

Lyle stared at him a few seconds longer, triumph gleaming in his pale blue eyes.  Then he let go of the button.

Jarod let out a low moan.  His forehead hit the floor with a soft thud.

Lyle returned the black box to his coat pocket and glanced sourly at the security camera dangling uselessly in the corner. “Hope your little private chat was worth it,” he said to the inert form at his feet. “Bring him,” he instructed the Sweepers before turning on his heel and walking away.

Tony stepped forward and roughly prodded Jarod with his foot. “Get up,” he said.  Jarod struggled to rise but failed.  Tony and Willie grabbed him under the armpits and dragged him out of the elevator.

Now that the crisis was over, Miss Parker was feeling a bit shaky herself as her extra adrenaline suddenly had nowhere to go.  As the doors started to close, she darted through, wondering if she’d ever be able to set foot on that cursed elevator again.