Chapter 22

            Miss Parker wondered if she should have cried by now.

            It had been almost a week since Jarod’s death, and she hadn’t shed a tear.  Was that normal?  There were certain stages of grief, she knew, so maybe she was stuck in one of those.  It wasn’t denial, though.  She knew Jarod was dead.  She’d seen him get shot and fall from the window.  She’d felt no pulse, even after performing CPR on him.  She knew Jarod was dead.

            At least her mind knew it.  But her heart?  Well, her heart hadn’t known what to feel about Jarod for a long time, so why should now be any different?

            She took a sip of Scotch from the glass that was close at hand, as it had been for several days.  Sydney could probably explain the whole grieving process, but from what she heard, he was in need of some counseling himself right now.  Broots had told her about his meltdown that had resulted in the destruction of the Empire State Building model in his office.  According to Broots’ friend Rags from Maintenance, Sydney still hadn’t allowed anyone to pick up the pieces.  He’d been stepping around those damn Lego bits for days, probably brooding over them, she thought, leaving the mess there as some maudlin metaphor.

            Not that what she was doing was much better.  Holed up in her house all week, she’d spent the time watching the old sim archives, the Centre’s twisted version of home movies.  Broots had transferred most of them to DVDs, and she been viewing them over and over, especially the recordings of those brief encounters she’d had with Jarod when they were children. 

            Strange.  She remembered those times clearly, but she didn’t think she’d ever watched the official footage of their meetings.  The impersonal lens of the Centre camera provided quite a different point of view.  For instance, the scene playing on her computer screen right now – the day she’d kissed Jarod – had a completely different feel to it when viewed as a third party.  At the time, she’d been too preoccupied with the feeling of power she’d experienced by doing this unexpected thing to really pay attention to the boy she was kissing.  But now she could see his reaction, the look of surprise and wonder that came over his face, and she ached for those innocent children.

            Miss Parker took another swallow of her drink.  She still couldn’t believe she’d had the audacity to kiss him.  Even then, she’d had trouble following the rules, and anything forbidden just fascinated her more.  Sydney had wanted to collect data on how Jarod interacted with the opposite sex, and her mother had wanted Jarod to have a friend, but what had motivated her to go along with the adults’ wishes was her own curiosity about this strange boy who was so vital to her father’s work.  Maybe she’d been a little jealous at first and had wanted to see what made this boy so special, so important to her father.  But then she’d gotten to know Jarod better, to see beyond his freakish intelligence to the sweet boy who actually wanted to spend time with her.  His face literally lit up when she would enter the room; she could see that clearly on the recordings.  Yes, she’d been used as part of the Pretender project, but she’d gained something invaluable in the process – a true friend.

            Whom she’d betrayed when she’d agreed to catch and return him to the Centre.

            No, that wasn’t entirely true.  She and Jarod had stopped being friends long before he escaped from the Centre.  There was no dramatic end; they had just grown apart, as people do.  She went off to school, and he… well, he stayed right where he was.  Only natural that their friendship would not survive the separation.

            No.  If she was completely honest, it was more than just physical distance that had made her pull away from Jarod.  And it was she who had pulled away, because she had always been free to visit him; she had chosen not to do so.  As they grew older, the immorality of what was being done to Jarod had become apparent to both of them.  Knowing she was powerless to change anything about his situation, Miss Parker had decided to ignore his plight, best accomplished if she didn’t have to watch what was being done to him.  By the time she was an adult, she’d bought into the company line that only the Centre could effectively direct Jarod’s genius abilities; she’d even believed that all the projects he did were for the greater good.

            She’d wanted to believe it.  It made her decision to distance herself from him easier.  If he was doing important work at the Centre, it was best that she stay away and allow him to concentrate on his job.  Satisfied that Jarod was fulfilling his purpose in life, Miss Parker had moved on with college and new friends and new possibilities.

            But always eager to please her father, she’d come back after graduation and taken a job with the company.  She’d never imagined that someday that job would require her to hunt down an old friend and force him back to a life he detested.  Until Jarod escaped and began asking hard questions of her and Sydney, revealing the lies that had been fed to all of them for years, she’d had no idea the scope of the Centre’s duplicity. 

            So, why did she continue to lead the search for Jarod, knowing that her connection to him was being used to draw him out, just like she’d been used as a child when that connection had first been encouraged?  Partly to make her father proud, to prove to him that she was capable of one day taking his place at the helm.  But also partly to use the tidbits Jarod fed her to gain as much information about the Centre’s secrets as she could to ensure her future rise to power.  That motivation would make Daddy proud, too.

            She’d never imagined that one day she’d discard all her carefully-laid plans and actually help Jarod to escape.  How could she have known that those long ago feelings of friendship would resurface?

            Friendship… and more. 

            Damn it!  She slammed the lid of her laptop shut.  Those innocent children were long gone, so why take this ghastly trip down memory lane?  Was this a normal part of the grieving process?  Who needed Sydney?  She was doing fine at self-analysis.  It wasn’t that hard, just painful.

            The doorbell rang.

            Saved by the bell?

            It rang again, almost immediately, followed by a knock, and a voice, nervously calling, “Miss Parker?  Miss Parker, are you in there?”

            Broots.  Not wanting to talk to anyone, especially someone whose frenetic personality tended to tire her out, she’d been ignoring his phone calls all week.  Now it seemed that tactic had backfired; her continued silence had driven him to pay her a personal visit.  It would be even more exhausting to have to deal with him face to face.  She reached for her drink for some liquid support.

            More knocking, louder this time.  “Please, Miss Parker, it’s Broots!”

            She sighed and slowly got to her feet, dragging her hands through her hair.  She glanced down at herself to make sure she’d remembered to get dressed today; if Broots beheld her in her robe or silk pajamas, he’d become even more of a blithering idiot than usual.  Thankfully, she had on a silk tank top and linen trousers; that’s right, this morning she’d had the vague idea that it might be good to make an appearance at the office.  She just hadn’t managed to follow through on that notion.

            When she opened the door, the heat and humidity hit her like a furnace blast.  She squinted against the glare of the summer sunshine and asked wearily, “What, Broots?”

            His face was pinched with worry.  “You haven’t returned any of my calls,” he said, a tad reproachfully.

            She hadn’t paid much attention to the rambling messages he’d left her, but she didn’t recall anything of urgency in them.  Of course, what she and Broots considered urgent were usually very different.  Still, if he’d felt it necessary to come speak to her in person…

            “Is my father okay?” she asked sharply. 

            Broots blinked, as if the question took him by surprise.  “Yes, I mean, no, I mean, well… he’s as okay as he can be, I guess, what with everything that’s going on… you know, Jarod’s death and the threat of retaliation from the Triumverate.  Your father must be under a lot of stress, I certainly don’t envy him, but I guess he’s doing as well as can be expected…”

            “And Sydney?”

            “Well, he hasn’t had another… meltdown, I guess you’d call it, not that I blame him, he was so close to Jarod... He’s still coming into work, but he just sits in his office – with those Lego pieces still all over the floor - watching the old DSAs of Jarod’s sims.”

            She was glad that she’d closed her laptop before Broots arrived.  She didn’t need him to know she was doing the same thing.  “So, what’s so important?” she asked.

            “You,” Broots said.  “I wanted to make sure you were okay.”

            This simple expression of concern brought her closer to tears than she’d been all week.  Or probably it was just the sun in her eyes.  She was starting to feel strangely feverish, with the chill of the air conditioning on the back of her neck, and the midsummer heat creating an uncomfortable flush on her face.  “I’m fine,” she said shortly, turning and retreating into the cool interior of her living room.

            Broots followed, closing the heavy oak door behind him.  “Well, when I didn’t hear back from you, I was worried,” he said.

            When wasn’t he worried?  But, knowing he was speaking as a true friend, Miss Parker kept the ungracious thought to herself.  She wandered over to the coffee table and picked up a half-empty bottle of Scotch.  “Care to join me?” she invited, topping off the glass that she still had clutched in her hand.

            “Um,” Broots said.  “Isn’t it a bit early?”

            Normally she would have blasted him for daring to question her drinking habits, but again, she let the comment pass because of the spirit in which it was offered.  Besides, if she was honest with herself, she had to admit she’d been hitting the bottle pretty hard since Jarod’s death. 

            Broots didn’t know she had decided to go easy on him.  “Why don’t I make us some coffee?” he suggested over brightly.  Without waiting for permission, he made good his escape and quickly headed to the kitchen.

            “Make yourself at home,” Miss Parker muttered.  She put the bottle of Scotch back on the coffee table and – after a few seconds’ hesitation – her freshly refilled glass with it.  Then she settled on the couch with a sigh, tucking her legs under her – glad she hadn’t gotten around to donning her high heels yet today – and leaning her head back. 

A cup of coffee might be a good idea, she reflected.  Even with all the alcohol in her system, she hadn’t been sleeping well.  She’d toss and turn for hours before finally falling asleep, only to jerk awake a short time later, her heart racing, her mind a muddle of fragmented images that stayed stubbornly out of focus.  She’d gotten to the point that every time she closed her eyes she saw Jarod’s face as it had appeared in that moment before Lyle had shot him.  She’d called out his name, he’d turned towards her, and his dark eyes had widened in surprise…

Miss Parker pulled one of the oversized throw pillows onto her lap to ward off the sudden chill that came over her.  She must have the air conditioning set too high; she should check the thermostat.

Why had he looked so surprised to see her?  She’d made it clear before she helped him to escape that she still had to make it appear that she was continuing to search for him.  There was no way he could expect to stroll right into the Centre’s back yard without a Sweeper team learning of his presence.  And where the Sweepers went, she went.

Except she was supposed to be in Las Vegas.  That’s where she would have been if her flight hadn’t been cancelled due to mechanical difficulties.  Jarod had sent her a cryptic e-mail to get her to Vegas, so that’s where he thought she’d be.  While he was here in Blue Cove.

Why?

That look on his face.  Was it as intense as she remembered, like he wanted to tell her something, or was her memory heightening that moment because of what happened next?

The smell of coffee brought her back to the present.  She realized that Broots was standing in front of her, holding out a steaming mug.  Disturbed that she hadn’t even noticed him enter the room and hoping he hadn’t been standing there too long, she took the coffee and tried to cover her embarrassment by saying, “Aren’t you having any?”  She’d noticed he only had one cup in his hands.

“Oh, no, I’m pretty much maxed out on caffeine,” he said.  He took a seat at the opposite end of the sofa but then jumped up and perched on the edge of the coffee table instead.  “With all the uncertainty at the Centre right now, I’m trying to stay as alert as possible.”

Miss Parker doubted Broots needed artificial stimulants; he lived his life on high alert.

“Besides, spending a lot of time in the break room is a good way to find out what’s going on in that place,” he went on.

So that’s how he heard things from those freakish friends of his.  She’d always wondered where he got his information.

“Yesterday I learned that one of the doctors in the infirmary has disappeared without a trace.”  Broots leaned forward and lowered his voice.  “It was the doctor who treated Jarod when you brought him in last Friday.”

Miss Parker vaguely remembered the young man who looked like he was the one in need of oxygen when he saw who his emergency patient was.

“And now he’s gone?  Courtesy of Mutumbo and his African goon squad?” she asked.

“Well, if they’re here, they haven’t made their presence known yet, but I’m sure the Triumverate is not happy with the doctor who couldn’t revive Jarod.”

“Then Willie and I are in trouble, since we were the ones who tried CPR on Jarod in that alley.”  Abruptly, she felt like she was back there, her nostrils clogged by the smell of hot asphalt and rotting garbage, her head ready to explode from the relentless sun beating down on it while she bent over Jarod, doggedly focusing on his pale, pale face while shadows crept into the corners of her vision as she struggled to stay conscious…

            Strange that she should feel cold while lost in the memory of that sweltering alley.  She tightened her grip on the coffee mug to transfer some of its warmth of her icy fingers.

            “Miss Parker, are you okay?”

            Broots’ voice seemed to come from far away.  She took a quick swallow of coffee and welcomed the bitter taste that snapped her out of the hellish memory.  “Since Lyle was the one who shot Jarod, he should be the next one to disappear,” she said.  “Unless he already has?  Has my dear brother made a run for it?”

            Broots shook his head.  “No, he’s still around, sticking close to your father.”

            “He’s using Daddy as a shield,” Miss Parker said with disgust.

            “Well, your father certainly has a lot of power as the Director of the Centre,” Broots said, “but I doubt even he could save Lyle if the Triumverate comes for him.”

            “Good,” she said grimly.  She took another sip of coffee.  It was too strong and tasted terrible, but the fire the hot liquid lit in her belly felt good.  She indulged herself by envisioning Lyle being dragged off to Africa in chains.  She hoped they used torture methods on him similar to the ones he’d inflicted on Jarod.

            “Um,” Broots said.

            Miss Parker blinked, cursing her lapses of concentration.  She really had to get some sleep, but right now she needed the coffee to kick in and enable her to pay attention to any important tidbits of information she could pull out of her co-worker.

            He was stalling, she could see that, now that she focused more carefully on his face.  “What aren’t you telling me, Broots?”

            “Um, well, it’s just that… well, people have also noticed your absence,” he said, picking nervously at the collar of his green polo shirt.

            “So?” 

            “So, it’s um, well, pretty unusual for you not to be at the office.  People were wondering if maybe you, um, disappeared, too.  Not that anyone thought you ran away,” he added hastily, “they just didn’t, um, know what to think, especially when you haven’t been answering your phone or returning calls.  But of course, you’re entitled to your privacy, and I understand if, um, you felt you needed to be alone at a time like this.  It’s just that, um, I want you to know you don’t have to be alone if you don’t want to.  There are people who you can talk to… I mean, even if Sydney isn’t available, um… I don’t mean another shrink!  I guess what I’m saying is, um…”  He finally had to stop for a breath.  His next words were strong and steady.  “If you need a friend to talk to, I’m here.”

            Miss Parker looked at the fidgety little man in front of her and marveled at the fact that he probably was her one true friend.  “I know, Broots,” she said quietly, but then the emotions of the moment threatened to overcome her and she couldn’t say another word.

            Despite his offer of a shoulder to cry on, Broots seemed terrified that she might just take him up on that, which made her determined not to break down in front of him.  She drank some more coffee to dissolve the lump in her throat then said briskly, “Okay, so other than everyone waiting for the Triumverate’s executioner’s axe to fall, has it been business as usual at the Centre?  What have you been working on?”

            She noticed his shoulders straighten, and he seemed more at ease now that she’d adopted a businesslike tone.  “Well, I’ve been catching up on some things that I never seemed to have time to do while we were chasing Ja- Just ordinary computer maintenance like running diagnostics, installing new anti-virus software, freeing up space on the hard drive, things like that.”

            She nodded and forced down some more of the strong brew, knowing she’d need as much caffeine in her system as possible if she hoped to stay interested in this tech talk.

            Then Broots said, “I did manage to do a little research on cryonics.”

            That got her attention.  “And?” she prompted.

            Encouraged by her reaction, he stood up and began pacing in front of her fireplace as he delivered his findings.  “I always thought it was called cryogenics, but do you know that is really just the study of the production of very low temperatures and the behavior of materials at those temperatures?  Cryonics – which comes from a Greek word meaning ‘icy cold’ – is the low-temperature preservation of humans and animals who can no longer be sustained by contemporary medicine, with the hope that healing and resuscitation may be possible in the future using highly advanced technology.”  He paused then added, “Or what is commonly known as freezing dead people so they can be brought back to life.”

            “There’s nothing common about this,” Miss Parker said.  “The only thing I know about cryo-whatever is that Walt Disney was frozen.”

            Broots stopped pacing and spun to face her.  “I thought so, too!  But as it turns out, that’s just an urban legend.  Walt Disney was actually cremated.  A man named James Bedford was the first person whose body was cryonically preserved.  In fact, the anniversary of that day is known as ‘Bedford Day’ and is celebrated by those in the cryonics community.”

            A disturbing image of bespectacled guys wearing pocket protectors and eating popisicles while surrounded by streamer-draped stainless steel pods flashed through her mind.  She really needed to get some sleep.

            “Is this for real, Broots?” she asked wearily.

            “Oh, it’s a real field of research,” Broots said eagerly, “just still mostly theoretical.  But I discovered that there are about 62 current scientists who support the theory.  And there are several cryonics facilities in the world; the largest one in the United States maintains over a hundred human patients.”

            She cringed inwardly at the idea of Jarod being “maintained” in a vast freezer somewhere.  “I only care about one number,” she said.  “How many people have been thawed out successfully?”

            Broots seemed to deflate.  “Well, none,” he said slowly.  Then he brightened.  “That we know of!”

            “I think a person being brought back to life would be big news,” she said drily.

            “Not necessarily.  I mean, the Centre created a human clone and didn’t tell anyone,” he pointed out.  “There was a time when everyone thought cloning only existed in the realm of science fiction, and now genetic copies of several types of animals are openly being created. Maybe the same will be true with cryonics.  It may not be that long before a preserved human is successfully resuscitated.  Who’s to say it won’t be Jarod?  With the Centre running the Lazarus facility, anything’s possible.”

            She knew he meant well.  He’d researched cryonics and presented her with what he’d learned as his way of helping her deal with Jarod’s death.  He wanted to give her hope.

            After you lose someone you love, the best thing to do is get on with the business of living.

            Her father was right.  She couldn’t get on with her life if she was clinging to some crazy hope that one day the technology would exist to revive Jarod.  No, she needed to deal with the here and now.  And right now she wanted to make sure Lyle paid for killing Jarod.

            The easiest way to do that was to wait for the Triumverate to pass judgment and mete out punishment.  She could pin her hopes on that happening someday soon.

            But that still left loose ends.  Why had Jarod come to Blue Cove?  And why had he wanted her in Las Vegas?  Until she answered those questions, she knew she wouldn’t be able to get on with the business of living.

            “Broots, did you figure out if that security recording of Jarod in Las Vegas was a fake?”

            He looked blank.  “Um, you mean what you asked me to do last Friday before you went to look for, for J-Jarod?”

            “Yes, did you do it?” she asked impatiently.

            He seemed confused by the turn the conversation had taken but replied, “Well, I took a closer look at that footage and couldn’t see any obvious signs of editing.  So then I spoke to the security guy at the casino who was on duty on Thursday at the time when Jarod showed up on camera.  He checked his records and saw no sign of Jarod.”

            “How did you get the tape with Jarod on it?”

            “Well, you know we put out feelers to the whole Vegas strip with the story that we were trying to find a con man who’d been counting cards in Atlantic City.  It was another member of the security staff at this casino who e-mailed me the video of Jarod.”

            Miss Parker sighed.  “Let me guess.  This other employee doesn’t exist.”

            “No, she exists,” Broots said.  “The guy I spoke to last week said she was working on Thursday, but she left early Friday for a two-week vacation out of the country.”

            “Putting Jarod’s accomplice conveniently out of touch.”

            Broots nodded.  “I also checked with the registration desk at the hotel attached to the casino.  They confirmed that a Jarod Otis did stay there last week.  But he checked out on Wednesday, which would have given him plenty of time to get back here to Blue Cove.”

            “And I never got there to find any red notebook or other cryptic messages he might have left in his room.” 

            “We could check with the maid service to see if they found anything,” Broots said doubtfully, “but I’m pretty sure they would have thrown away he left unless it was valuable.”

            “The things Jarod left behind were never valuable to anyone but us,” Miss Parker said, thinking that any of his possessions would be priceless to her now.

            Broots was silent for a moment.  Then he cleared his throat.  “Miss Parker?  Why do you want to know what he left in Las Vegas?  That doesn’t matter now, does it?  It’s not like we’re missing a clue that will lead us to his next location.”

            He sounded truly miserable having to make the point, and she didn’t resent him for doing so.  He couldn’t understand her need to know why Jarod had tried to lure her across the country.  That e-mail with the reference to the intimate time they’d spent together in the elevator had led her to believe that whatever awaited her in Las Vegas would be worth the trip on a personal level.  She’d hoped to find Jarod there but now knew he’d never intended a clandestine meeting.  Had he even left her a message?  Or had he just wanted her out of the way while he completed a vital task here in Blue Cove?  What could have been so important?

            She certainly wasn’t going to tell Broots about her desire for a secret rendezvous with Jarod in Sin City, but she needed to give him a reason for her curiosity about what might have been left for her there.  “It does matter,” she said.  “If the Triumverate questions me, I need to have a damn good reason why I wasn’t part of the Sweeper team with Lyle when they realized Jarod was right here in town.”

            “They can’t blame you for following another lead!”

            “That’s why we need to prove it was a lead worth following.  Although I don’t think they’ll approve of my decision to leave Lyle behind,” Miss Parker added grimly.

            “Well, it’s a good thing you did, or he wouldn’t have been here to find Jarod.  N-not that it was good that he did find Jarod, I mean, not with what happened, that was terrible, of course, just awful!  I mean, it’s j-just that Jarod has led us on w-wild goose chases before, so maybe you could use that as your reason for dividing the search team?”

            Despite the air conditioning, Broots had broken out in a sweat as he tried to extricate his foot from his mouth.  Miss Parker knew he was as upset as she over Jarod’s death, although in a different way, so she didn’t take offense at his careless comments.

            “I’ll check with the hotel today to make sure nothing unusual was found in Jarod’s room,” Broots went on anxiously.  “Don’t worry, Miss Parker, the Triumverate is not going to blame you for Jarod’s death!”

            “But it is partly my fault,” she murmured.  “If I hadn’t entered that warehouse loft when I did and distracted Jarod… he could have gotten away.  Instead, Lyle shot him.  Which was probably my brother’s intention all along, but I have no doubt he meant to only wound Jarod.  As much as he hated him, he’s too much of a coward to risk the Triumverate’s displeasure by killing him.”

            Broots said, “Well, at least now Lyle will have to face the consequences of his actions.”

            “If the powers-that-be don’t buy his lame excuse that he only pulled the trigger because Jarod turned his gun on me.”  Her last words seemed to echo in her head, and she frowned. 

            Broots misread her distress.  “I’m sure Jarod wasn’t going to shoot you,” he said hastily.  

            “No, I know that, of course not.”  Miss Parker waved a hand at him, like shooing away a fly, as she tried to grab onto the thought that was trying to form.  “Jarod had a gun,” she said slowly.  “Why did he have a gun?”

            “For protection,” Broots said simply.

            “No, no.  Think, Broots!  Out of all the times we’ve chased Jarod and gotten close enough to have him in our sights, has he ever pulled a gun on any of us?  Has he ever even fired a warning shot at the Sweepers?  No.  Because he doesn’t carry a gun.  The only time he’s been armed is when he’s pretending to be a cop, FBI agent, member of the military, or maybe a criminal, and it’s just a prop for his disguise.”  She remembered Jarod’s dark silhouette against the window.  “He wasn’t wearing any kind of uniform last week.  So why did he have a gun?”

            “He could have been undercover,” Broots suggested.

            “Do we have the gun?”

            “It should have been collected with anything else of Jarod’s at the scene.”

            “Okay, good.  We need to find out if that gun was issued to someone in law enforcement.”  When Broots hesitated, she snapped her fingers at him.  “Now, Broots!”

            “Oh!  Right!”  He hurried towards the door but stopped when he got there. “No, wait,” he said, turning back and pulling out his cell phone.  “I’ll call one of the other computer techs at the Centre – my friend Steve – and he’ll get the information we need.  He’s helped me with some of our searches for Jarod; we can trust him.” 

            Miss Parker took another sip of coffee, grimacing at the taste of the lukewarm sludge.  At least it had done its job; she felt more energized than she had all week.  She tossed her lap cushion aside, set the mug down on the coffee table, and stood up.  She was the one who felt the need to pace now.

            Broots was talking rapidly into his phone, but she didn’t pay attention to what he was saying.  As she stalked back and forth in front of her majestic stone fireplace, her mind raced with the implications of her new line of thinking.  Jarod never carried a gun, yet he’d had one – pointed at Lyle – when she’d found him in that warehouse.  Of course, Broots could be right, and he’d brought the weapon for added protection, knowing he was going to be so close to the Centre.

            But that still didn’t explain why he’d come back to Blue Cove.  Unless… what if the gun wasn’t just a prop or an added measure of protection?  What if the gun was an essential part of what he’d come to do?

            Broots was off the phone.  “Steve traced the serial number of the gun Jarod had with him.  It’s not registered to any law enforcement agency.  The last known owner was a pawn shop here in Blue Cove, right near the old warehouse district.”

            Miss Parker stopped pacing and put voice to her theory.  “So Jarod bought the gun and then made sure Lyle and the Sweeper team would be able to trace him to that part of town.”

            “He wanted them to find him?  But why?”  Broots’ confusion was understandable.

            But it had all become clear to her now.  “Jarod came here for one reason,” she said.  “To kill Lyle.”

            Broots’ mouth dropped open, the shock too great for him to even stutter a response.

            “It all makes sense now,” Miss Parker went on.  “That’s why Jarod tried to lure me out of town.  He didn’t want me there for the confrontation.  He didn’t want there to be any chance that I’d be implicated in Lyle’s death!”

            “Jarod’s not a killer,” Broots said uncertainly.

            “No, but Jarod always does - did - what he had to do.  You should know that better than anyone, Broots, given what happened with Damon.”

            Broots flinched at the memory.  “I know, you’re right,” he said.  “When that psycho had a gun to my head, Jarod didn’t hesitate.  He shot to kill.  I’ll never forget the look in his eyes when he pulled the trigger.”  He shivered slightly.

            Had there been the look of a killer in Jarod’s eyes in that moment that haunted her?  No, she’d only seen surprise and… regret?    

            Broots’ phone rang, and he turned away to answer it.

            She’d walked in at exactly the wrong moment, ruining his plans.  And worse… costing him his life.

            “That was Steve again,” Broots said, pocketing his phone.  “He e-mailed the pawn shop owner a photo of Jarod.  She identified him as the man who purchased the gun last Friday, July 13th.”

            “It’s true,” Miss Parker breathed, feeling a chill sweep over her.  “Jarod was going to kill Lyle.  But I got in the way, and he… he died instead.”  Her knees grew weak and she sank down onto the coffee table, reaching out blindly to grip its edge and knocking the bottle of Scotch onto the floor.

            “No, no, Miss Parker, don’t, don’t blame yourself.”  Broots started towards her.

            Her chest was tight as she struggled to contain the emotions threatening to burst forth, but she could feel the tears beginning to prick at the back of her eyes, and she knew she was seconds away from losing it.

            Then something Broots had said suddenly registered.  “The pawn shop owner said Jarod bought the gun on the thirteenth?” she asked sharply.  “Friday the thirteenth?”

            “Y-yes.”  Broots stopped in his tracks, stunned at the implication of that date.

            Amazingly, she wasn’t that surprised.  She’d never been superstitious, but it made a hideous kind of sense that Jarod should die on an infamously unlucky day.  Even with all his genius abilities, he couldn’t control fate.  It was almost funny, in a sick sort of way.

            Miss Parker laughed.