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"Trouble," inquired Parker blandly, filling two cups and tossing a quizzical frown at Jarod, who indolently wandered the spacious kitchen, pausing occasionally to examine a painting or the odd plant. "What kind of trouble?"

"How old are they," asked Jarod, regarding with a smile a photograph magnet adhered to the refrigerator.

"Jarod," demanded Parker impatiently, drying her hands.

"How old are your children," repeated Jarod peremptorily, swinging his fierce gaze at Parker and experiencing only the tiniest spasm of self-reproach when, after an all too brief standoff, she averted her eyes, acquiesced.

"Nine and twelve," murmured Parker.

"They're obviously very happy."

"Jarod—"

"And you," interrupted Jarod casually.

"Do we have to do this dance?"

"I'll consider that a no," he murmured. "Considering the predicament you're in, I imagine you're remarkably displeased."

"You didn't self-resurrect to inquire about my happiness," she rejoined with a sour smile.

"No," Jarod agreed. "I didn't."
"Then why?"
"You didn't answer my question," he observed.
"You didn't ask a question," retorted Parker shrewdly.
"Are you happy?" Jarod gazed steadily at her, scrutinized body language, expressions, her untouched cup of tea, and the distance she diligently maintained. A table, bar, and a hard block of silence separated the pair and Parker wasn't eager to compromise, terminate the impasse. "Are you," he repeated.

"My happiness isn't any of your god damned concern. You've been dead for thirteen ye-" she faltered; the catch in her voice, however, would've been entirely imperceptible to anyone else, was faint enough, in fact, that even Jarod was  uncertain, but then Parker cleared her throat artificially and sequed into the most absurd coughing jag that might have been, none the less, somewhat convincing had she fetched a glass of water and a lozenge.

Parker was unable to prepare that far ahead or think of anything beyond simply enduring Jarod's intrusion, preferably with dignity and self-possession.

Severing allegiance to the Centre and shedding the huntress's skin had presented challenges, snipers, cleaners. Parker outmaneuvered assassins, changed her name, carved a new identity, established the kind of life strictly forbidden her by Mr. Parker, an ordinary one that indeed revolved around a small uninspired community inhabited by the same sort of people she'd once regarded with contempt and mercilessly mocked. Monotonous perhaps, decidedly innocuous. Occasionally prejudices and hypocrisies surfaced; fear that fuels bigotry, however, fosters hypervigilance. No sweeper, cleaner, or dark sedan entered the affluent gated community. Her children played outdoors safely with partial adult supervision.

Parker paid a steep price for peace of mind, had struggled to acclimate herself and not draw her gun in front of the children. She'd swallowed barbed ripostes, measured each word, and had never uttered an expletive inside the Sacred Hearts Community Church.

It had taken some time to contort herself, her psyche, into the role of doting mother, caring neighbor, loving wife. Forced smiles and strained cordiality had caused her literal pain. Her face no longer ached; sardonic replies no longer lingered on her tongue.

Growing vegetables and roses and children was accomplished gracefully. Parker made it look easy. Compared to losing Jarod it had been. I can do this. This is nothing. I did this without Jarod.

I survived. 

Parker wasn't confident she could do it a second time.

She had grieved, closed that chapter of her life, begun a new one. Presently the book was flying open, the pages flipping, of their own volition, in reverse, flying loose from the binding.

His reappearance upended her life, filled her with dread and the odd fear that she hadn't moved forward at all. Jarod had not died; something else had and it was better left interred.

She felt her edges fraying; he could easily strip away the guise, unravel her life. She loathed him, loathed herself for believing he was dead. It was an amateurish misstep and entirely unforgivable. Indeed, she was more terrified of Jarod than she'd ever been of the Triumvirate's snipers.

"years," she continued brusquely and with growing anger. "If you're half the genius you think you are, you know I'm not happy now so tell me, Jarod, why the hell are you?"

Jarod's eyes misted; he smiled sadly, sat, fondled his cup. "Greg didn't keep his promises, did he?"

"Promises," repeated Parker with a remote, wan smile.

"Miss Parker, I know that you're plotting to murder your husband."

A sharp, strangled laugh departed Parker's lips. "Right," she retorted throatily, drawing out the word, elongating the syllables and revolving her eyes.

Jarod scrutinized her steadily. "He hurt you."

"He wouldn't be the first man to do that," returned Parker stiffly, and was quite satisfied with herself when Jarod closed his eyes and grimaced. Her aim was still precise, although the intent was still as misguided and irrational as it had ever been.

Jarod pushed a hand across his face, studied the marble floor briefly, and swung his gaze at Parker. "It's rather convincing. This act of yours," he added with a small curt gesture, indicating her. "However, I know the truth. The man you hired to kill your husband is in police custody. My god, did you honestly believe you'd get away with this?"

"With conspiracy to commit murder, you mean," she said with a soft snort that was equal measures annoyance and incredulity. To Jarod's perturbation, she laughed mirthlessly and, concurrently, tears filled her eyes.

"Look," Jarod said grimly, "I know that he's hurt you, but you cannot murder him. Now, I can help you with this if you'll tell me the truth."

"The truth is that Greg has never raised his voice at me, or the children, let alone his fists."

"Wise man, all things considered," retorted Jarod meaningfully. "Not physically," he said studying her carefully. He sipped his tea and very casually returned cup to saucer. "Emotionally," he clarified, earning himself an expression of abject disbelief. "My source cited blatant infidelity and my source provided proof; this strongly suggests motive," concluded Jarod who, without further ceremony, retrieved from his back pocket several photographs of Greg in various stages of undress (not to mention various sexual positions) with another woman.

He presented the photos to Parker who was stammering something to the effect of, "Greg would never-" Her words of adoration died a quick death, however, when she glimpsed the photographs, which she then snatched indignantly from Jarod's hand. "That," she said, sucking in a sharp breath, "that slimy son of a bitch is fuc—" She drew a tremulous breath of righteous indignation, "is having an affair?"

Jarod's face twisted into disbelief. "You didn't- oh, my god, you didn't know," he stammered.

"Look at the bimbo's roots," decried Parker, narrowing her eyes. "No. Those are extensions!"

"Extensions," inquired Jarod curiously. "Uh, could I see those again, please?"

Parker thrust the photos at him and neither noticed nor cared when they floated to the floor.

"She's not even really blond," exclaimed Parker, grabbing up the kettle and spilling water into two cups, and across the counter, down the face of the cabinets, and basically flooding the entire west side of the kitchen. "I can't wait to tell him that when I toss his sorry ass out of my house tonight."

"No," Jarod said softly, glowering in disbelief, "she isn't blond. How did I miss that?"

"She's married, too. I wonder if he knows that."

"Married? How can you possibly ascertain that from-" he fell silent, cleared his throat, and at last continued, "from uh those angles?"

"I'm guessing her husband brought her the trashy off-the-rack negligee and the knock-off Jimmy Choos. No woman with any fashion sense would buy that hideous—"

"You aren't able, by any chance, to divine a name as well," interrupted Jarod, "are you?"

"Cheap Lay springs to mind."

"I'm going to need you to be a little more specific than that."

"You thought I was going to kill him?"

"Admit it," he said, "you kinda want to now."

"I don't want to kill him, Jarod," she hissed. "I want to divorce him."

"There could be an explanation," offered Jarod weakly.

"Mm yes, his penis accidentally tumbled into her vagina- and every other orifice- six ways to Sunday," Parker said, slumping into a chair. "Eight years of marriage," she added bitterly.

"I'm sorry," Jarod said. "I am so sorry you found out this way."

"Yeah," she breathed softly. "At least the hit man's in custody."

"Now we have to track down Miss Extensions and her husband," explained Jarod with a sympathetic smile. He rose, excused himself and disappeared into the dining room to order a BOLO.

"Jealous husband," amended Parker when Jarod returned, "and preferably before he hires someone else to snuff the hubs and frame me."

"We will," he assured her, putting away his mobile.

"Well," she said, drawing a breath of exasperation, "thanks for not cuffing me and shoving me into the back of a police cruiser."

"I think we've given your neighbors enough to talk about."

"No doubt," she said.

"Am I forgiven? Or should I even dare to hope?"

"You're forgiven for doing your job, Agent."

Jarod absorbed her curt answer with a frown. "I didn't want to go off-grid. I didn't want to cause you any pain. Mother was devastated following Levi's death, terrified by the Triumvirate's threats, and eventually refused to eat. I placated her with anxiety medications, a private jet out the country, isolation and safety underground. When I learned it was safe, my first stop was Blue Cove. Your home appeared to have been shuttered for some time," he fell silent and waited expectantly and eagerly for an explanation; Parker, however, wasn't feeling charitable. "I wrote letters to every address associated with you and your father."

Parker lifted her chin thoughtfully and at length, asked, "Why?"

"We share a half-brother-"

"Do we, Jarod? Odd," she added, "I haven't seen Ethan in seventeen years. Perhaps someone should acquaint you with the concept of sharing."

"He's been safe."

"He was my only family," said Parker sorrowfully and with a sudden stridency in her voice that was as startling as it was troubling.

"He still is your family," reminded Jarod gently. "Look, I was hoping-"

"Hope is an incredible misuse of energy. I learned that a long time ago- from you, Jarod; it's time you did the same. Leave."










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