Disclaimer: I don’t own ‘em... never did... never will... will never earn a penny... no infringement intended... please don’t sue me... life is complicated enough these days.
 

Devotion
by Ginger

Cafe L'ange
Blue Cove Delaware
May 1996

"Please try to understand. I just don't want to... no, it's more than that... I just CAN'T live this life any longer."

"Damn it, Angel, do you think a Parker can write a letter of resignation, pick up a 401(k) rollover kit, and simply stroll out of the Centre? You don't work at IBM for Christ's sake!" Realizing he'd raised his voice, Mr. Parker warily scanned the room. Fortunately, it was a Tuesday night and the exclusive French restaurant was nearly empty.

"No, I don't, which is why I am asking for your help. I've met someone, Daddy, and he's very nice - so nice that I'd rather not have to lie to him about who I am, what I do. It's just casual right now but I think there's potential. Plus, he makes such a welcome change from the pool of Centre stiffs I'm typically forced to draw from."

"So, this is about some guy. Figures," he remarked with disdain.

Stung, Parker struggled to explain, "Not entirely. I've devoted virtually all of my adult life to the place and I'm not getting any younger. Is it too much to ask that I be allowed to live a normal life? My life hasn't been normal since Momma..." She caught herself.

"We're not going to get into that now, are we." It was a command, not a question.

"No," she answered meekly, casting her eyes down. She was dying for a cigarette but Daddy had insisted on being seated in the "No Smoking" section. Looking around, she located and motioned to the waiter.  Fortunately, alcohol consumption was allowed everywhere.

"As it turns out, my dear, an opportunity may have just presented itself. I don't think you're going to like it - I sure as hell don't - but the choice is yours. It's an assignment requiring the utmost delicacy and skill and involves the protection of very rare and valuable Centre assets. They want the best and brightest on this, which, of course, means my little girl. I'd rather you stay the hell out of it but, given your present wishes, well, let's just say if you were to handle this properly, it would certainly earn you one hell of a pass."

*So that's it...* She knew there had to be a reason that he'd called her out of the blue to ask her to dinner. She'd hoped that it was because he missed her and just wanted to see her but she knew better. Never mind, if this were a ticket out it didn't matter. "So, what sordid little chore is it this time?"

"I wish you wouldn't talk about our work that way. You make us sound like a bunch of criminals. You know there is a damn good reason for everything we do."

"I know, Daddy, I'm sorry." She smiled, wishing to improve his mood and, hopefully, her own. "So, what's the assignment?"

"We can't discuss it here. Let's enjoy the rest of our dinner before we head back."

"Back?"

"To the office, of course."

She glanced at her watch and frowned. It was nearly 9:00 p.m., she was tired, and the last place she wanted to go after dinner was... back there.

*Where the hell is that waiter with my drink!*

* * * *

Haven of the Rest Motel
Michigan City, Indiana
September 2000

Wincing at the shrill sound of traffic speeding down the highway behind him, Jarod wearily unlocked the door to the seedy motel room and pushed it open. It seemed to require more effort than usual. He was tired. His last pretend had taken a nasty and dangerous turn near the end - surprising since it was a situation similar to one he'd handled with relative ease years earlier. Maybe that was it. Lately he couldn't shake that feeling of 'been there - done that.' Day after day, he'd see to it that some evildoer was punished and prevented from doing further harm. Yet for each injustice put right, another one popped up to replace it. Like weeds in a garden. It was probably inevitable - the longer he was at it. In the early days, there was the thrill of discovery as he solved each puzzle, gaining new insight into the darker side of human nature. But there are probably a finite number of scenarios that fall under the rubric of the 'evil that men do' and, lately, the liars, cheaters, thieves and murderers just seemed to be repeating themselves. And so was he. The banality of evil... His way of life: it had never been easy but at least it had been a challenge. Now it was becoming... boring.

*"The super-intelligent are easily bored. When bored, they tend to lose interest, stop concentrating. They must be constantly challenged, stimulated, to perform at their maximum potential."*

The words of his mentor echoed in his head. Laughing bitterly as he sank onto the lumpy, musty smelling bed he muttered, "What you failed to mention, Sydney, is that, when bored - having lost interest and stopped concentrating - the super-intelligent run the risk getting their heads blown off!" It was only then that he noticed the item on the floor by the door... a padded envelope.

* * * *

The Centre
Blue Cove, Delaware
July 1996

"Clearly you must grasp the seriousness of our predicament. Several weeks have elapsed since Jarod's escape; Sydney is wandering aimlessly around the building like King Lear and Miss Parker has yet to make the commitment required of her. I'm worried, Parker, these are dangerous times... dangerous for us all. I repeat, it is vital for you to comprehend the gravity of the situation and I suggest - strongly suggest - that you make her understand... for her own good."

"I'm not an idiot, Raines, I haven't survived this long by UNDERESTIMATING the gravity of situations! My little girl will come around and do what's required. She always does. Still, I don't like it; I don't like it one bit."

"Given her perceived 'role' in this mess, whether or not YOU like it is beside the point."

"It's just ridiculous, holding her responsible for someone else's mistakes. She wasn't even here! She was away, out of the country in fact, during the entire fiasco. It's that moron Damon's fault if it's anybody's. Or Sydney... he was supposed to be in charge of the damn thing. He's the one who lost control of the situation in the first place."

"What's important here is 'perception," which, as you know, happens to be that this disaster was hers to prevent. She chose not to."

"She considered an offer which, I might add, was presented to her as strictly voluntary. She chose not to accept it and, personally, I'm glad she did! She's been running Centre security three years, for pity's sake! The assignment was beneath her and she knew it. Imagine, someone possessing her brains and talent utilizing them in such a way. She's a professional, my Angel, and she made a professional decision."

"Are you absolutely certain it was a 'professional' decision? Given her present reluctance, I'm beginning to wonder. And, if I'm beginning to wonder, you know that others are as well."

"What are you getting at, Raines?"

"Perhaps what makes your daughter singularly qualified for both the previous and present assignments... Let's just say that, under a certain set of circumstances, one might be inclined to wonder if it's the very same thing that poses an obstacle to her achieving the stated objective. I don't think I need remind you that a Parker taking action based on some misguided sense of justice - or misplaced sense of loyalty - is hardly unprecedented. Catherine did it and we're all... painfully... aware of the consequences."

"Kindly leave her out of this! This situation is entirely different and Miss Parker is not Catherine!" Mr. Parker's voice quivered with anger as he spoke. "I have every confidence that my daughter will succeed in cleaning up a mess that was most definitely not of her making! Then it will be stablished, once and for all, that Parkers are key not only to the success, but to the very survival, of the Centre."

"I hope you're right... for her sake... for all our sakes."

"Hey Raines, I'd appreciate it if you wouldn't leave your trash behind. Your newspaper..."

"I was working on a crossword puzzle but I've lost interest. I thought you might like to take a crack at it. I don't think you'll have any trouble figuring it out."

Now alone, Mr. Parker picked up the paper, looked at it, then growled, "Damn it, Angel! Damn it to hell! I can't protect you if you won't help me!"

* * * *

Hands folded under his chin, Jarod stared at the micro-cassette recorder that lie on the desk in front of him, as if visual inspection might shed some light on the meaning of the baffling and vexing conversation. His mind firing off questions faster than he could process them, his head was swimming.

*Perceived ROLE... Disaster HERS to prevent... She didn't play a role in my escape. I was there - I would have REMEMBERED something like that! Mr. Parker was TRULY afraid for her. Why? Did my escaping somehow place her in danger? How? PRESENT reluctance... Did she initially REFUSE the assignment to bring me back? THANK GOD she reconsidered! The THING that qualifies her for the previous and present assignments... posing an OBSTACLE... PREVIOUS assignment... WHAT ASSIGNMENT!*

"I don't think you'll have any trouble figuring it out."

Raines's words resonating in his head, Jarod picked up the envelope and carefully inspected it a second time. It bore no address, no postmark and no clue to its origin. But he did find it contained something else, something he'd missed initially - intrigued as he was by the discovery of the cassette player - a scrap of paper with a couple of lines scribbled on it:

NP 7/16/96

NINE ACROSS

* * * *

"What!"

"What's an eight letter antonym for betrayal?"

"How the hell should I know!" Parker sat up angrily in bed and barked into the phone, "One would think that a genius could complete a crossword without assistance!"

"One would think and, yet, I'm finding this little puzzle to be particularly... puzzling."

*Asshole...* "Are you calling for a reason, besides, that is, to ANNOY me? If you are, I suggest you spill it because I'm about 10 seconds from hanging up."

"What was your assignment before I was?"

Sighing with exasperation she replied, "You know damn well that I was head of Centre security for three years before joining the lab rat roundup."

"I'm referring to the job opportunity you DECLINED."

Parker stiffened. "I don't know what you're talking about."

Though delivered in an even tone, there was something in her reply, barely detectable. In fact, most people wouldn't have detected it. Jarod wasn't most people.

"Yes, you do. What was it, Parker? What carrot did they dangle in front of you? Must've been one hell of a proposition for Daddy to have been so dead set against it."

She could feel her anger and anxiety rise with every word he spoke. All the moisture drained from her mouth causing her to swallow hard. Her heart pounded, almost painfully, in her chest.

"I don't know WHAT it is you THINK you know and, frankly, I don't care. It's the middle of the night and I've got a splitting headache so, if it's all the same to you..."

"Don't you dare hang up on me, Parker."

"Dare? What gives you the right! Fuck you, Jarod!"

"This isn't over..."

"Like hell it isn't!"

"Parker, please..."

She slammed the receiver down hard and, leaping from bed, immediately yanked the cord from the jack. Moving briskly through the large house, she repeated the process. By the time she reached the phone on the small table in the foyer, her fingers were shaking so badly that it impeded her progress. Grunting in frustration, she clumsily achieved her goal. The ceaseless ringing was silenced; she collapsed in a heap on the floor still clutching the liberated wire in her hand.

# # # #
 

"This is Sydney."

"Where is she?"

"Hello, Jarod. May I assume that you are referring to Miss Parker?"

"She's not at home; she's not at the Centre. She's gone and I need to know where."

"I'm afraid I can't help you, Jarod. I don't know where she is. Broots and I arrived at work yesterday to find a message that she'd be taking a few days off. You sound upset. Is something wrong?"

"You tell me, Sydney... you tell me."

* * * *

He entered the room to find his colleague furiously typing away at a computer keyboard. He casually walked up next to the man, turned and leaned against the desk, crossed his legs and folded his arms. Broots glanced up and smiled.

"What's up, Syd?"

He leaned in and spoke in a hushed tone. "I need you to look into something for me. You must keep whatever you find in the strictest confidence - just between us - and you need to operate completely under the radar... You don't look happy," he observed.

"It's just that, whenever you or Miss P. give me one of these assignments, what usually follows is a whole lot of gunfire or some type of explosion... sometimes gunfire AND an explosion."

"I fear we may, indeed, have an explosive situation on our hands... albeit one of a different sort." Sydney confided, staring off into the distance, scratching his chin.

Broots knew that look; there was something weighing on the good doctor's mind. "I don't think I like the sound of that," he muttered nervously.

"I would say it's turning out to be a rather quiet week, wouldn't you agree? And it's an absolutely splendid day out there. What do you say to a nice, long walk, Mr. Broots?" Sydney suggested with a reassuring smile and an affectionate pat on the shoulder of his anxious companion.

* * * *

"I'm afraid you'll have to try to be patient, Jarod. Broots spent the entire afternoon, and a good bit of the evening, on this but these things take time."

Sitting at the desk in his study, Sydney spoke softly into the phone. He was worried about his protégé; in fact, he was worried in general. Two people - people who meant the world to him - were troubled. And he was feeling powerless to do anything about it. It was late, after midnight, and that hour of the day had always left him vulnerable to feelings of helplessness.

He continued, "It is essential that he exercise extreme caution to avoid arousing suspicion. It's not as though he just can go rummaging through the Centre archives. But he'll come through for us; he always does."

"I know, Sydney. I'm sorry I snapped at you. Please tell Broots I really appreciate what he's doing. I realize how dangerous these little excavations can be."

"I know he deeply respects you and truly appreciates what you've done for him over the years but I do not believe he is doing this for you."

"She's fortunate to have such a devoted ally at the Centre."

"She has two... three, if you count Angelo."

"I just wish she knew she had one out here as well."

"She knows, Jarod. She may not be willing to admit it out loud, but she knows."

"So, what's this tiny morsel Broots was able to unearth?" Jarod inquired, his voice ragged with emotion as he steered the conversation back to the matter at hand.

"In looking over your records from the months leading up to your escape, he didn't find anything we haven't already seen except for one thing... a handwritten scrap of paper. It reads only: 'Blume's findings'... with a question mark. He didn't recognize the name so he brought it to me. The only Blume of which I'm aware is a psychologist who's done consulting work for the Centre on and off for years. He never, as far as I know, treated you or even laid eyes on you. But then," he added sadly, "a good deal has gone on over the years without my knowledge."

"Blume... Blume..." Jarod repeated in an attempt to jog his memory. "Oh, him," he stated flatly when he remembered.

"So you did see him?"

"Yes, just once. I guess you must have been out the day they brought me to this room, a conference or board room of some kind, to see him. He was polite enough, really, said he just wanted to talk. He proceeded to show me a bunch of pictures... of naked women, of naked men, of naked women AND naked men, naked women and naked women... pretty much any combination you can think of... well, you get the idea. He showed me picture after picture and asked me what I thought about each one. I found the whole thing sort of weird but I played along... some of the pictures were rather interesting and at least I didn't have to sim that day."

Sydney smiled. "And that was all? Just the pictures?"

"Yeah, I guess... No, wait a minute; he did ask me about my childhood, if I'd had any friends at the Centre. I told him you were my friend but he said he meant friends my own age. I said that I'd met a few other children but that I couldn't exactly classify them as friends. Then..." He paused for a moment. "He asked about Miss Parker. I didn't want to talk about her so I evaded the question."

"And what was his reaction?"

"He seemed fine with it, more than fine really. Said that I had given him everything he needed and sent me on my way."

"Hmmm..."

"Sydney?"

"Oh... I was just wondering why you never mentioned this before."

"I don't know, I guess I just forgot about it. It didn't seem all that important at the time and you know I had a lot on my mind in those days."

"Yes you did. We'll get to the bottom of this, Jarod. In the meantime, please try to get some rest. I am worried about you."

Jarod smiled into the phone and clutched it tighter to his ear. "No need to worry, Syd, I'm fine... but I'll be even better once Broots locates that report of Blume's findings and when..."

"Miss Parker returns." Sydney completed with a nod then hung up the phone and glanced down at a newspaper clipping from the Newark Post.

"An eight letter antonym for betrayal."

He thoughtfully repeated the phrase to himself, smiled sadly, and shook his head before swiveling his chair to retrieve an item from the bookcase behind him. Sydney took a long, fortifying sip of tea before cracking open the latest edition of  "Who's Who in the Behavioral Sciences."

* * * *

"Nothing?"

"A complete dead end. If Blume's report ever existed, it's been completely expunged from the Centre records... electronic and paper copies... everything. Unless..."

"What is it Broots?"

"Unless we're looking in the wrong place." Sydney looked keenly at the man as he continued, lowering his voice, "And besides Miss Parker herself, we're certain of two other people at the Centre who knew about this "previous" assignment. Raines and..."

"Mr. Parker."

"Who knows? But I will tell you one thing, if he does have it then, for once, his intentions may be honorable. I've been making some 'discreet' inquiries about the period right before and immediately after Jarod's escape - you know, in passing, at lunch and with my friends in the Centre bowling league." Sydney raised an eyebrow.

"And I've found out something interesting, terrifying really, from my friend
Toby in transportation."

"Toby... Is he the one with the rare skin condition who grew up on the carnival circuit? Alligator boy, wasn't it?" Sydney recalled scratching his chin.

"No, that was Teddy in facilities but he's gone now. He missed life on the stage and left the Centre last year to take a job at Coney Island." Broots smiled briefly then turned serious.

"What he told me, Toby that is, I almost couldn't believe my ears, which is saying something considering everything these ears have heard over the years.  Anyway, he recalled that there was a serious accident involving a Centre vehicle - you know, one of the black sedans - around the time I was asking about. The whole thing was very "hush-hush" and the car was never returned to the Centre garage, which is unusual... I mean, they'd hardly allow it to end up in a police impound somewhere, would they? Toby said he has absolutely no idea what happened to it but that he sure as hell knew better than to ask." He hesitated, his face becoming visibly paler.

"Go on," Sydney encouraged.

"Nobody seems to know for sure what happened or even who was driving or, at least, nobody will admit to knowing. Plus, the vehicle sign-out log for the day in question mysteriously disappeared. But word on the street was that whoever it was had to have been one heck of a driver... you know, to gain enough control over the situation to be able walk away."

The two men exchanged knowing glances before Broots continued, "A few days later he was working late, trying to get one of the limos ready for a VIP that was scheduled to visit and overheard a heated exchange between Raines and Mr. Parker. A livid Mr. Parker had come down, apparently in search of Toby's boss, but was headed off at the pass by Raines who warned him that raising questions would only make things worse. If this is true - if this means what I think it means - I had absolutely no idea, did you? ...Sydney?"

* * * *

The Centre
Blue Cove, Delaware
September 1996

"We're not getting anywhere here!" Parker hissed as she angrily rose from the table and stormed across the room. "That freak of nature had better enjoy his little taste of freedom because once I get my hands on him he's going to rue the day he was born... almost as much as I do!"

Sydney spun in his chair to face her and was about to remind her, yet again, that their primary objective was to bring Jarod SAFELY back to the Centre.  But he was immediately distracted by what he saw when Parker, in profile, took a drag from her cigarette. As she brought her right hand to her lips, the sleeve of her blouse rode up exposing a relatively fresh and nasty looking scar on the inside of her forearm - the flesh still raised and discolored a deep purplish red.

"Miss Parker! What happened to your arm?" he asked with alarm.

Exhaling smoke with one languorous breath, she turned her head to face him and replied with a steely glare but no emotion.

"Minor accident."

* * * *

A wave of anxiety and rage washing over him, Sydney slapped a hand to his forehead.

"My God, Broots!"

* * * *

"Great lecture, Doc," the graduate assistant chirped as he walked alongside the man adding, "Nobody ever seems to nod off in your classes."

"Wish I could take the credit but I'm afraid it's the subject matter, not the man presenting it, that keeps them awake. As anyone on Madison Avenue will tell you, sex sells!"

"I suppose you're right but I still think you're being too modest. Well, unless there's something in particular you'd like to go over this evening, I think I'll hit the road. The Nickelodeon is running a Welles retrospective and a bunch of us were hoping to catch it tonight."

"That's fine," the professor replied with a smile. "Enjoy. I'll see you tomorrow, Tom."

The young man veered right and headed down the corridor as the older man stopped at his office door and unlocked it. Flicking on the light as he entered, he was startled when his desk chair began to move, spinning around slowly until its occupant faced him. The face was familiar although he couldn't immediately place it. *A former patient maybe...* Then it came to him: he realized who the man was and where he'd encountered him and it sent a chill down his spine.

*HIM!*

"Good evening, Dr. Blume, remember me? Judging by the look on your face, I'd say you do."

"J...Jarod, isn't it?"

"How KIND of you to remember. Have a seat, Doctor." Jarod motioned to the chair in front of the desk.

"I SO enjoyed our previous chat and thought it high time we had another."

# # # #

Parker Residence
August 1996

Parker lay half-conscious on the couch when the doorbell rang. "Just a minute!" she called out as she gingerly hoisted herself up. Although it had been a week since the accident, she was still very sore, moving stiffly toward the front door and opening it slowing.

"Daddy?"

"Hello, Angel, may I come in?"

"Daddy?" She repeated, blinking.

"Yes, it's me. What kind of dope does Raines's doctors have you on?" he moved toward her, taking her gently by her uninjured left arm, leading her back into the hallway and closing the door behind him."

"Um, nothing. I mean, I'm not on the pain medication anymore. I'm just surprised that's all. You NEVER come here." She replied with a yawn as he led her back to the couch and helped her sit.

"I'm sorry, Angel, did I wake you?"

"Don't worry about it. I've been fading in and out all day. Lack of sensory
stimulation, I think."

"Ah well, you'll be back at work soon enough and good as new." He sat down next to her on the couch and patted her knee gently adding, "And with a brand new assignment. It's good to make a fresh start after something like this happens... after a run of bad luck."

She stiffened. "I told you, I don't want a new assignment. I'd prefer to return to my post in Security."

"And I told you that it's no longer an option. You are singularly qualified..."

"I've heard that before," she remarked cynically.

"For Christ's sake, we can't leave this to Sydney. He's hopeless! And we can't trust something this important to just any Centre operative. You know Jarod better than anyone, with the possible exception of Sydney. And while that is a fact I deeply and profoundly regret, it remains a fact nevertheless. Come on, Angel, you and I both know that nobody else can bring him in."

"Then maybe he shouldn't be brought in," she sighed squinting at her discomfort. Everything still hurt so badly.

"Now that's just the kind of talk that..."

"What? Led to my little 'accident?'"

He leaned in, lowering his voice. "I'm only going to say this once, Angel, and I know you'll never make me repeat it. I never want to hear you say anything like that again... for your own good... for the good of your career. We're going to put this whole nasty episode behind us and start fresh. We will never mention any of this again - not even to each other. It will be as if the whole thing never happened. And, when you've succeeded in bring Jarod home, it truly will be forgotten... by all. They're willing to give you anything you need. You'll have complete autonomy and sole leadership of the project team. With you at the helm, we ought to be able to mop up this whole mess quickly. Then we'll be firmly in control; our position at the Centre will be secure; there'll be no need to worry. And you'll be able to have whatever you want."

"Whatever I want?" She looked into his eyes, tears welling in hers.

"Yes, Angel, whatever you want. Like a corner office right next to Daddy's." He gently squeezed her knee.

She let a bitter laugh escape then sucked in air at the sharp pain that reverberated from her cracked ribs.

"Aw, Angel, is the pain really bad?"

"Not so bad." She managed a small smile; not telling him that it hurt so badly she cried herself to sleep every night. Parker had ceased taking the pain medication a day after the accident. She needed to stay alert even if it didn't change the fact that she was at their mercy. If they send some sleazeball to kill me, I want to be able to look the son-of-a-bitch in the eye. She had also begun to take her gun to bed with her - clutching the handle of the 9mm that lay under her pillow - a seemingly extraordinary act born of desperate circumstances that was destined to become commonplace.

"I'd better leave my little girl to rest and recuperate. We need you at your best when you return to work."  He patted her knee once more and placed a light, gentle kiss on her forehead before standing. Parker made a move to get up but he shook his head saying, "You stay put. I can let myself out."

"Thank you, Daddy," she replied in a defeated voice.

On his way out he called back in a tone of faux cheeriness, "I can't wait to go and deliver the good news. Everyone will be relieved to know that the assignment is in good hands. It's a new day, Angel, I promise. Oh and, when you're feeling better, how about letting your old man treat you to an obscenely expensive dinner?"

"That will be nice," she muttered half-heartedly. *A fancy dinner with Daddy... isn't that how this whole nightmare began?*

As soon as the door closed, the tears began to fall in torrents making their journey down her cheeks, rolling under her chin and tumbling down her neck. By the time she heard the car pull out of the driveway, enough had spilled to begin forming a stain on the fine beige silk of her pajama top.

"Well, OLD FRIEND, it would seem you've placed me in quite a spot," she choked out through gritted teeth and tears. Her building anger melded with the existing fear and hurt to form a knot in the pit of her stomach.

* * * *

A single tear trailed down Parker's cheek as she stared out the window of her small but elegantly appointed room at the astounding view of the bleakly beautiful Cornish landscape it afforded. She thought it amazing, in retrospect, that she had managed so successfully to put the misery of those days in the late spring and summer of 1996 out of her mind. She was equally amazed at how with just a few words from Jarod - earth-shattering, soul-wrenching words - the pain, desperation and isolation she'd felt after her 'accident' came back as vividly as if it had happened only yesterday.

She took another sip of the tea that the innkeeper had brought up to her and shuddered. *I don't know how an entire country manages to function on this stuff!* She shook her head slightly then set the cup down on the tray that rested on the windowseat before turning and grabbing her black leather jacket off the bed.

Standing in front of the full-length mirror, she slid into the jacket and took a moment to inspect her appearance. She wore a black silk turtleneck, a well-worn but nevertheless flattering pair of jeans, and her favorite ankle-high black Ferragamo boots. Her hair was pulled back tightly - not a one out of place - into a ponytail clipped with an onyx barrette she'd just purchased at a flea market in Penzance. The only jewelry she wore were the perennial square ring on the index finger of her left hand and pair of half-carat diamond stud earrings set in platinum. Parker was the picture of casual elegance, looking every bit the part of a well-heeled, professional woman from the States enjoying a little getaway.

"Just like Momma," she mused bitterly as she wiped any evidence of tears from her face, "the whole fucking world could be crashing down around us and we'd still manage to look as though we've just come from an afternoon of lunch and shopping at Saks."

Shrugging, she grabbed her wallet and keys from the dresser and swiftly exited the room. Bounding down the stairs, she came face-to-face with her hostess.

"So, you're off again, Miss?"

"Yes, I am."

"To the usual place, is it?"

"Of course."

"Well, you'd better be on your way then. It's getting late. Cheers!"

"Good evening and thanks for the tea and everything." She waved back to the woman standing in the doorway of the elegant little guesthouse.  Early on, she had decided to find the innkeeper's easy-going, friendly interest in her to be a comfort rather than an intrusion.

"St. Just in penwith," she muttered to herself as she climbed into her rented Peuguot 306. She liked the sound of the little corner of the Cornish coast she had inhabited for most of the four days since she'd made her hasty departure from Blue Cove. She'd rented a car at Heathrow and had just started driving... and driving... until she had essentially run out of country, or continent, or hemisphere for that matter. Starting the motor she repeated, "St. Just in penwith," then recited the rest of the address just as the landlady had to her over the telephone when she'd called ahead from a rest stop on the A30, "Land's End, Penzance, Cornwall." *Sounds magical... like one of those places full of myth and magic from the stories Mommy used to tell me...*

It was a short drive, even on the maddeningly narrow, winding coast road. Passing the turnoff to Sennen Cove, she made a mental note. *Hmmm... maybe I'll stop off at the 'Old Success' for dinner on the way back. It's as good as any place.* Arriving at her destination, she was thankful that it wasn't very crowded and surmised that it must be because of the rather persistent chill in the air. If she had to choose she'd rather have sun than warm and, in this place at this time of year, one usually couldn't have both. Besides, if it meant even greater solitude in which to enjoy the sunset from her favorite rocky perch at Land's End - just as she had done the last two evenings - then so be it.

It was damn chilly though. An icy, hostile wind blew, liberating a few strands of tethered hair and whipping them about her head as Parker wrapped her arms tightly around her midsection in an attempt to brace herself against its assault. Still, she stood - high on a rocky outcrop, defying the wind, defying... *them all, the bastards!* The sky before her proceeded with its evolution from deep yellow to bright orange to fiery red - the hot colors sliding lower and lower on the horizon toward their rendezvous with the cold blue of the ocean. She wasn't sure exactly when she had become aware of another's presence; it had been long enough that she wasn't the least bit startled to feel a hand press gently on her shoulder.

"Well, you sure do manage to cover a lot of ground," Parker remarked without turning.

"I could say the same about you."

"I guess we've both had a lot of practice," she replied with a sardonic chuckle, her eyes still fixed resolutely on the blazing horizon.

* * * *

Sydney sat alone in his office, having succumbed once more to feelings of helplessness. He usually didn't entertain such feelings in broad daylight, in the middle of the day, and at work no less. But his anxiety had continued to grow since his conversation with Jarod the evening before, one in which he had counseled caution and restraint, even though he knew full well that the deeply troubled man was of no mind to exercise either. Sydney didn't blame him; he'd do exactly the same thing if placed in a similar situation. Still, he couldn't remember the last time Jarod had sounded so vulnerable, so lost - maybe not since the early days, right after his escape... perhaps never.

"I need to hear it from her, Sydney. I won't... I can't rest until I hear it from her."

Those were Jarod's last words to him before hanging up. He'd meant to warn the man he loved like a son, warn him that they still didn't know who had sent the package that set the events of the past few days in motion. This whole thing might be some sort of test; one that Jarod ran a serious risk of failing, that is, if he hadn't already. But, as usual, Jarod had deprived him of the opportunity to speak his mind. And, Parker... what would she do? She could be dangerous, unpredictable when cornered. They both could. He sighed heavily. For the first time in his life, Sydney felt every bit of his age; he felt it right down to his core. He felt weak and frightened, powerless to protect those whom he most cherished.

"Good analogy, Raines, I am rather like 'King Lear,'" he mumbled under his breath.

"You okay, Syd?"

He looked up to find an equally crestfallen Broots standing before him.

"I could ask you the same thing, Mr. Broots."

"Yeah, well, I'm not sleeping so well these days."

"I think it's safe to say nobody is."

"Oh, I wouldn't say that. I'm sleeping like a baby."

"Mr. Lyle. What brings you down here on a Friday afternoon?"

"Well, actually, I was looking for Miss Parker but I've been informed that she's not on the premises. Is there a problem, gentlemen? I don't like to hear that Centre employees aren't sleeping well. It's bad for business; hurts productivity."

"There isn't a problem. We've just hit a bit of a dry spell with Jarod. It's nothing to worry about; he does this periodically. He'll be back in touch when he's ready. Still, it can be rather frustrating."

"I can imagine. I guess that would explain Sis's last-minute vacation then? I sure hope so. The last time she did something like this it was over that handyman. God, I hope she hasn't gone off the deep end again," Lyle's voice was laced with contempt, "...fallen for some guy who assembles patio furniture for 'Home Depot' or something."

"There is not, to my knowledge, any man involved here," Sydney replied dryly, striving to avoid becoming angry or defensive. "Miss Parker works very hard and, with things so quiet, why shouldn't she take a few days off?"

"I suppose you're right. Everyone can benefit from a few days off. I'm just back from a little break myself and I must say I feel reinvigorated. Maybe you two should follow our lead - you and Mr. Broots here both look pretty awful. Well, I've taken up enough of your time. I'll leave you two to do... whatever it is you do here all day."

Lyle pivoted on his heels and strolled confidently toward the door. Stopping in the doorway he turned around again and looked Sydney squarely in the eye.

"Do you expect Miss Parker back on Monday?"

"I am not her supervisor, Lyle, or her keeper. I expect her back when she is ready to come back. I don't imagine she'll be away long. She never is."

"Well, when she does materialize, please tell her that her little brother would like to see her. Actually, ask her to call my assistant and schedule lunch. I'd like to get together and chat, you know, compare notes on our holidays."

The two men remained locked in a stare for what seemed like an eternity, broken only when a wry smile began to form on the older man's lips. Without another word, Lyle turned and walked out.

"Do you think he suspects anything?" Broots whispered nervously.

"I think he's fishing, but then, he's always fishing." Sydney replied with a satisfied smile. It occurred to him that he was far from powerless when it came to protecting those he cared about.

# # # #
 
 

Jarod wanted more than anything to look into her eyes but didn't want to push her. Instead he sat down on a rock, rested his hands on his knees, and waited in silence for her to speak. A good ten minutes elapsed before she said anything.

"How did you manage to get out here so quickly? I figure it must have taken you at least a couple days to unravel everything," she inquired without turning around.

"A commercial flight into London... then a helicopter ride courtesy of the Royal Navy. Because of the 'special relationship,' they're very accommodating with regard to shuttling around American military personnel on important missions."

"Using your pretender skills to bum a ride... I'd have thought that sort of thing beneath you."

"Oh, I paid my way, in a manner of speaking. I made what I hope was a helpful suggestion or two with regard to the hydraulics on the latest generation of British fighter jet. The chief engineer on the project, with whom I shared a pleasant ride out here, reckons I saved the Royal Treasury about 50 million pounds, but I think he was just being dramatic."

Parker shook her head and sighed, "Ever the hero..."

"I'm no hero, Parker, I'm just out here trying to do the best I can," he looked down, "although, lately, I'm beginning to think it's not nearly good enough... never has been. I don't know what to think anymore, really."

*Poor Jarod... must have been quite a blow to find out that you didn't know EVERYTHING... that, despite your insistence on meddling in my life, I will still able to keep a secret this big.*

Parker had enough of the sunset and turned around. "Well, you came all this way, you must want something. What is it, Jarod, what do you want from me?"

He looked up to meet her eyes and was stunned by what he saw. God, she was beautiful... amazingly, shockingly beautiful. She was always beautiful but he realized that he'd never before seen her in a setting so worthy of her. So much of their time together had been spent surrounded by ugliness: as children in the oppressive sterility of the Centre, as adults mostly in painful and dangerous situations. But here, now, they were alone in this place of fierce beauty and it suited her; hell, it was made for her, mirrored her. On his way out here, his heart had skipped a beat when his travel companion tapped his shoulder and motioned him to look down at the Cornish landscape. Of course he'd have an affinity for the place, partial as he was to unyielding beauties. Parker was wrapped in the purity of the brisk salt air and framed by the flaming sky and she was transcendent, almost blinding. If he hadn't been certain already, this would have convinced him, and he couldn't help but blurt it out.

"You gave me my life... this life."

"Oh God, not you too! Isn't it bad enough THEY hold me responsible?"

"My life... it was yours to take but you refused. It would have set you free."

"Bullshit, they'd never have set me free. Isn't that what you've been telling me all these years?"

She walked past him in the direction of the car park. As she passed he reached up and grasped her hand, stopping her.

"Christ, Jarod," she looked back at him, "don't be so goddamned dramatic. I'm hungry and cold and I want to get out of this wind." He let go of her hand and stood.

"I'll drive," she called back as he followed behind her.

* * * *

Hearing the clanking of glasses, Sydney glanced up from his reading to find Broots standing in front of his desk, onto which he had just set two rock glasses and an unopened bottle of single-malt scotch.

"Why, Mr. Broots, where on earth did you come upon such a thing?"

"Um..." the younger man's face reddened slightly, "better not say. Did you ever notice how this place empties out on Friday afternoons?"

Sydney smiled. "My, aren't we being brave this week."

Pulling a chair up to the desk, Broots sat down and opened the bottle. "The funny thing is, as my contempt for them grows, my fear seems to diminish. I guess I always had a healthy respect for their power and their capacity for evil but, now, I'm beginning to think they're just petty and stupid... and cowards." He poured a glass and slid it across the desk.

"Petty and stupid, indeed, cowards, most definitely, but still extremely dangerous," Sydney advised before taking a sip.

"I know. And, don't worry, I'm no hero."

"On the contrary, Mr. Broots," Sydney replied as he raised a glass in honor of his friend.

* * * *

"Oh, God," Parker muttered to herself, dreading the flurry of inquiries a document as cryptic as a West Country pub menu was likely to elicit from her peculiar dining companion. *No, Jarod, I don't know why it's called scrumpy!* To her profound relief, he remained silent as he set his menu down in front of him, folded his hands on top of it, and looked around. There was a fire going in a hearth at the corner of the warm, inviting room; the publican was wiping down the counter as he chatted with two elderly men who sat at the bar; a few other patrons were scattered about the place engaged in hushed conversations at tables and in wooden booths like the one he and Parker shared. Cozy was the word for the place; cozy, indeed, the space they currently occupied being so tight there was no way to avoid their legs touching and neither had bothered to put up the pretense of trying.

"So," Parker began after a long, fortifying sip from her pint, "I assume you have the whole story, every sordid little fact, every tawdry little detail?"

"More or less. I got the general outline and, with that, it wasn't too difficult to fill in the rest."

"Then what could I possibly add to the twisted little tale?" she asked bitterly.

"The most important part," Jarod replied softly as he reached over and took her right hand, pulling her arm across the table toward him, "I know the who, the what, the when and the where but I still don't know the answer to the most important question of all... why?"

He pushed up the sleeve of her shirt and squinted in the dim light to inspect the faint remnant of the scar on the inside of her forearm. Tenderly brushing his thumb the length of it, his voice quivered as he repeated, "Why, Parker?"

Infuriated and unnerved by the intimacy of the gesture, she swallowed hard and pulled her arm away. Rolling down her sleeve she snapped, "Because, I may be a lot of things, Jarod, but I'm nobody's WHORE... not THEIRS... and certainly not YOURS!"

Her words stung but he shook it off, resolved, as he was, to take whatever she gave. It was the least he could do after being so ignorant, so foolish, for so long. Eying her already half-empty pint glass, he offered, "I'll go up and place our food orders. What can I get you, Parker?"

* * * *

"I think you should put the rest of this away for safe keeping or neither of us will be able make it home."

"Good idea, Syd, and I'd better hit the road. I promised Debbie we'd make pizza together tonight. Between you and me, I have absolutely no idea how to go about it and I doubt being intoxicated would help... or maybe it would? No, I'd probably set the house on fire," Broots shrugged.

Sydney smiled, "You have a good evening and kiss Debbie for me."

"With pleasure Syd. Oh, and if you want to talk or anything over the weekend..." He offered affectionately as he stood and picked up the evidence of his and Sydney's indiscretion, but then hesitated for a moment, lost in thought.

"What are you thinking about, Broots?"

"Oh, just a time when Miss Parker and I shared a drink in her office... last year, during the whole 'Project Gemini' fiasco, not long before..."

"She was shot," Sydney completed.

"Yeah," the younger man replied sadly.

"Don't worry, wherever she is, Miss Parker is safe. She is in good hands."

* * * *

Jarod frowned, following closely behind Parker as she stumbled out of the pub into the damp chill of the night air. In his endeavor to avoid antagonizing her he had succeeded, but at the cost of his compliance with each and every request for another round. If what he had learned earlier in his discreet inquiries among the locals were to be believed, then she hadn't been drinking much since her arrival. Now she was inebriated and it was his fault; the very sight of him had driven her to it. He felt like taking her into his arms and cradling her like a child. He felt like dropping to his knees before her and begging her forgiveness. He felt like crying. Instead of doing any of those things he just followed her, keeping watch over her as she made her way across the quiet road to the beach.

She headed in the direction of the car park and Jarod cautioned, "Parker, there is no way in hell I am going to let you get behind the wheel in this condition."

"Thanks for the information, rat boy, but nobody asked. I'm going to get a blanket the innkeeper lent me out of the trunk... ha..." she chuckled, "I mean 'the boot.' When in Rome..." she trailed off as she stopped behind the car and dug into her pockets for her car keys. Jarod held them up in front of her before unlocking the trunk himself.

"Aren't you a clever boy," she drawled, "Will the clever boy come sit on the beach with me?"

"It's pretty chilly out here, Parker."

"I don't feel chilly."

"That's because the alcohol is making you 'feel' warmer, even though it's actually inhibiting your body's ability to retain heat."

"Oh, clever boy, clever, clever boy. Clever, compassionate, Jarod... friend to the masses... the downtrodden... the weak and abused... And now me... or is that I... qualify? Me! Cold, nasty, selfish, misdirected Miss Parker has become worthy of Jarod's compassion... I've been added to St. Jarod's list of souls to save!" She swayed ever so slightly to and fro throughout the soliloquy.

"Come on, Parker, we really should get out of the cold," he implored as he reached out to steady her.

Pulling away, she protested, "NO! I've spent the last two evenings here, on the beach, and I want to stay HERE! It makes me happy... or less sad, which I suppose is as close to happy as I'm likely to get... or deserve to be. Look," she pointed at the surf, "the beautiful whitecaps of Sennen Beach. I'm not going anywhere, Jarod. I want to sit on the beach!"

"You're not likely to make it down those steps," he motioned toward them, "without landing on your head at the bottom."

"Then you'll help me down, St. Jarod, isn't that what you do all day, help people? I'm a person, aren't I... sort of ?"

"But the cold..."

"You will keep me warm... coming to my rescue like the hero and the femme fatale. I may not be much of a femme fatale," she snickered, "but you embrace that hero role with such GUSTO." She raised a fist for emphasis.

Heaving a heavy sigh, he reached into the trunk and grabbed the woolen blanket, which, to his relief, appeared to be quite substantial. "Okay, but only for a little while."

# # # #

 

"Please sit down, Parker, and wrap the blanket around you."

Jarod's plea fell on deaf ears, as she remained fixed in her position, standing with her back to him only inches away from the rising tide and staring intently into a stark blackness punctuated only by the white foam of breaking waves. He sighed in resignation and sank down on a flat rock, resting the still-folded blanket in his lap.

Much to her chagrin, her buzz was quickly wearing off, leaving her feeling tired and with a faint queasiness. After a time she asked, "How did you find out? I mean, what prompted that phone call the other night?"

"About a week ago, I was just wrapping up a pretend and getting ready to move on. When I got back to my motel room, there was a package waiting for me. It contained a taped conversation between your father and Raines from about six weeks after my escape, and made reference to a crossword clue from the Newark Post - the July 16, 1996 edition."

She wasn't sure of the significance of either item and didn't much care, proceeding to the more important question: "Where do you think it came from? The Centre?"

"I don't know but I can only assume so. Dr. Blume swears he didn't have anything to do with it and I believe him."

"Dr. Blume," she repeated flatly, "And how is the good doctor?"

"I guess he's okay but he wasn't very happy to see me."

"Well, he wouldn't be, would he?" she remarked bitterly then continued, "So, let me get this straight. You receive a package of unknown origin, but more than likely from the organization that tore apart your family and kept you prisoner for thirty years. So you go blundering off on another one of your little crusades. You brought Sydney into this, no doubt. And I'm sure that once he'd managed to coax Broots out from under his desk with a bag of 'Funyuns'" she let out a dry chuckle, "because, let's face it, he's the only one among us with a shred of good sense, he got drafted too. Poor Broots... Well that's just splendid, Jarod! Congratulations, you've more than likely signed four termination orders! Wait, I stand corrected, it's probably only three because you are, after all, a rare and valuable Centre asset! They want YOU alive!"

"I've been very careful. I wouldn't ask Sydney or Broots to do anything that would place them in any real danger," he bristled. "Besides, by taking off in the middle of the night like that, you've probably succeeded in raising a hell of a lot more eyebrows than I ever could!"  He closed his eyes and shook his head; he had resolved not to let her make him angry.

"You're right," she sighed, "it was none too slick of me. I'll have some major damage control to face when I go back but I'll manage... for Syd's and Broots's sakes, I'll manage."

He took a deep breath and stood, moving up behind her. "Well," he began in a conciliatory tone, "we're both here now and I want you to talk to me. Please."

"Fine," she snapped, "what do you want to hear?"

"Everything," he replied in a low voice then unfolded the blanket and tentatively placed it on her shoulders. She brusquely grasped it and pulled it tightly around her, then turned and stalked past him.

She emitted a grunt of exasperation then barked, "Okay, Wonderboy, you really want to hear it? Then I'll be happy to let you have it!" and plopped down on the rock Jarod formerly occupied.

And let him have it she did. It just came pouring out of her, that which had been buried so deeply and for so long. She recounted all she knew of the matter, recalling that back in the winter and spring of 1996 when Jarod had become increasingly uncooperative, some began to suspect that his poor attitude might be "hormonal" in origin. At the same time, confidence in Sydney's ability to handle the situation was quickly dwindling. So, unbeknownst to Sydney, Dr. Blume, a noted expert on human sexuality, was brought in to review what was deemed to be the pertinent parts of Jarod's case history and to interview him.

Blume had concluded that, as a heterosexual adult male with sexual appetites that, in his analysis, fell squarely within the range of normal, the lifestyle Jarod was forced to lead could be the source of his present emotional distress. But it was far more complicated than a severe case of sexual frustration because Jarod was permitted to masturbate and, as surveillance records indicated, did so at frequencies one would expect under the circumstances. To Jarod's groan of embarrassment at that point in the narrative, Parker shot back,

"Hey, you wanted me to talk, remember?"

Blume was more concerned about Jarod's deep yearning for affection, his desire for loving human contact. He felt strongly that this was key to preventing Jarod's attitude, and therefore his performance, from deteriorating further.

"The doctor was most helpful," she seethed through clenched teeth, "he even recommended a candidate to step in and save the day."

That's when she had been brought into the picture. Parker shuddered as she remembered the meeting. She sat alone on one side of a long table, a harsh, bright light shining into her eyes, while the faces of those on the other side were completely obscured. The only thing she could make out in the dark was the outline of eight human (if you could call them that) figures. They asked her questions about her relationship with Jarod when they were children, which had made her increasingly uneasy and defensive. Then, one of those in attendance piped in to say that this wasn't an interrogation. In fact, they were pleased that she had been so close to Jarod. He was a very rare and valuable Centre asset and she was in a singular position to protect that asset. They proceeded to explain their dilemma to the extent they felt necessary then spelled out their proposition, indicating that it was strictly voluntary and that she would have 48 hours to consider it.

"I didn't need 48 hours; I declined on the spot," Parker declared then took a deep breath, surprised to find that, in finally being able to say it out loud, she felt something resembling pride for the first time in... she couldn't even begin to figure how long.

"Yeah, I guess it would have been more than your job was worth," Jarod grumbled unconsciously, only realizing he'd spoken out loud after it was too late.

"Excuse me!" She looked at him fiercely.

"I... I mean, I just wish..."

"Jarod," she forced her voice back into an even tone, "if you see any present or future value in my ever speaking to you again, I would SERIOUSLY reconsider finishing that statement."

"But... it's just that, if we'd been able to spend some time together, gotten to know each other again, then maybe we would have come to trust..."

She laughed bitterly. "How pathetically, typically male of you to think that a roll in the hay with you would have turned me into Polly Purebread."

"Polly who?"

She looked heavenward and shouted, "I'm in hell!" then added, "You think you could have fucked me into being the woman you want me to be, that, in your arms, I would have rediscovered the girl I once was, your long lost friend? Well, I guess those sadistic morons were on to something because that's precisely what they were banking on!"

"NO! I'm not talking about sex! I'm talking about feelings, friendship, the way it used to be!"

"Precisely," she bit out through a tight jaw, "and it would have all been a lie. If I had come to you, it would have been to seduce, betray, and break you. It would have meant a life of perpetual enslavement for you and it would have meant an eternity of damnation for me, although the jury's still out on that one, I may end up there yet."

He knew she was right and was deeply ashamed that he continued to feel regret and even a tinge of resentment at the deeply moral, truly righteous decision she had made. "So," he inquired softly, his voice quivering under the weight of his emotions, "you declined and they just let it go?"

"As far as I knew at the time. They did state that it was strictly voluntary and I suppose I do have the fact that I am the Chairman's daughter to thank for that. I got the hell out of there and had decided, on the spot, to cash in several years' worth of unused vacation time. I was several thousand miles, not to mention an ocean, away for the next several weeks."

"And yet they held you responsible for my escape," he commented sadly.

"Well, they didn't let it go, did they? Obviously, they must have abandoned the 'puppy love' angle altogether and opted for 'Plan B.' And we all know how well that turned out."

"Damon," Jarod sneered.

"I guess, the way they figured it, I would have succeeded where he failed," she sighed then looked over at him. Even in darkness she could sense the pain emanating from him, the tenseness of his body.

He responded in a ragged voice and with complete conviction, "You would have."

Parker quickly turned away from him and back to the ocean. Shrugging, she replied, "Maybe... but, fortunately, we will never know."

"Th... that summer must have been horrifying for you."

She could hear the tears in his voice but could not bring herself to look at him. For crying out loud, she thought, if I can deal with it, then he sure as hell ought to be able to.

"Well, I've had better but it was my own damn fault. I was a victim of my own hubris. Looking back, I can hardly believe my own arrogance. I mean, I had already turned down one assignment. Who the hell did I think I was? I guess I must have let that whole 'Chairman's Daughter' thing go to my head because I foolishly believed that I had value in my own right." She laughed bitterly, shook her head and, with a sigh, continued, "That I had value beyond my perceived ability to use my body to keep their prized pretender happy or, having rejected that option, to use my skills in hunting him down after he escaped."

"If that's true, then they're even more reprehensible than I thought."

"Ha," she huffed, "Come on, Jarod, it's always been you and you know it. You're all they've ever cared about, any of them, even my father. The rest of us, we mere mortals, are expendable."

"You were in danger, injured, in pain," he choked, desperately trying to think of a way to make it better. "They tried to kill you!"

"No, they tried to scare the living shit out of me. If they had truly wanted me dead, I wouldn't be sitting here today remembering how well they succeeded."

"You really didn't want to hunt me." It was a statement, not a question.

"What I really wanted was out; I wanted a life. But I knew, by that point, I was in no position to ask. Barring that, I wanted to retain my position with Security but thanks to your little stunt, even that option was closed to me. I guess that was my cosmic payback for 'doing the right thing.' As the saying goes, no good deed goes unpunished!"

"I... I don't know what to say. Tell me what to say, Parker, what to do! It changes everything... everything!" He reached out to touch her and she slapped his hand away.

"The hell it does! It doesn't change a single fucking thing! It doesn't change the fact that I'm trapped there, that my only chance for freedom is to deprive you of yours and, even then, who knows because they don't exactly have a proven track record of keeping their word! It doesn't change the fact that we are both completely and irrevocably fucked up! It doesn't change the fact that my actions sent you into the arms of the 'Queen of the Pampas,' who was only too ready and willing to school you in the ways of love!"

Parker's stomach soured as she recalled the misery of those days, living in fear and misery at the Centre while knowing that someone else was enjoying the privilege she had forfeited only a few months earlier. But she was on roll; she couldn't stop herself if she tried, and continued,

"An education you were more than happy to resume with 'Rebecca of Sunnybrook Farm.' You still fucking her, Jarod, your little 'honey from the heartland,' or have you moved on?" she spat. She didn't wait for an answer and blurted,

"And this I regret above all, it doesn't change the fact that you sent a proxy, a kind and beautiful man, an innocent, to my bed and, ultimately, to his death!"

Parker gasped, bringing a hand to her lips. She waited; expecting the earth to stop spinning on its axis, for the sky to fall. But neither happened; she had said it, what she had kept bottled up for ages, and the earth still turned, the sky remained fixed above them. She blinked, taking in her surroundings, and breathed in deeply. She was okay; she had spoken the unspeakable and she was okay. Jarod, on the other hand, appeared to be anything but.

He collapsed in a trembling, sobbing heap into her lap, momentarily startling her into speechlessness. She stiffened, her eyes wide with disbelief. Shaking her head, she eyed him warily and held her hands up and away from him.

"I'm sorry!" he muttered into her lap, choking on the words, "I'm so sorry! I wish I could take it back... all the fear and pain I caused you!" He tightened his grasp on her legs and pleaded, "Please, Parker, please tell me how to make it better! Tell me how to make it up to you for everything I subjected you to over the years! I can't stand it! I can't stand what I've done to you!"

Parker raised her head up and stared out into the darkness of the nighttime horizon. "Shit!" she growled through clenched teeth then shook her head again, a battle waging within her. She glanced down at him and frowned then swallowed hard and groaned before letting her hands slowly come to rest on his back.

"I... it's not your fault," she uttered in a low voice, "it's them. They did this to me... to us... you didn't." She then began to stiffly, awkwardly stroke his back with one hand as she moved the other gingerly into his hair.

"Come on, Jarod, get a grip... please," she whispered. She was suddenly very tired, so very tired, and closed her eyes.

At some point she realized that her hands had become unconsciously steady and sure, now fully engaged in a soothing, rhythmic caress. He's so warm, she thought, is every human being this warm? It had been so long since she'd had any real human contact that she couldn't remember. A wry chuckle escaped her lips before she slowly leaned forward to rest her head on his back, which continued to convulse through heavy sobs. She took a moment to pull the blanket more tightly around them before sliding her arm around his torso to tuck him more tightly into her body. She then began to rock slowly and murmur soft words of comfort.

"It's okay," she whispered against his back, "I'm okay. I'm here and I've got you... I've got you."

Her mind cloudy with fatigue, plus an array of emotions she possessed neither the capacity nor the inclination to numerate, Parker had lost all sense of time and, therefore, had no idea how long they had remained as such. What she could sense was dampness in her lap from tears so voluminous they soaked through denim. Beyond that, all she could discern was that she felt sleepy and warm and comfortable... very comfortable.

She was on the verge of drifting off when Jarod stirred, bringing her back into full consciousness, and she sat up. He raised himself up into a sitting position and rubbed his swollen eyes before moving to kneel before her.

"Parker," he sighed as he lifted a trembling hand to stroke her cheek.

She shuddered, hearing the yearning, the desire, in his voice and anticipated what would come next.

"No," she whispered and reached up to place her hand over his lips before they could reach hers. He nuzzled his face into her hand and kissed her palm again and again.

"Jarod... Jarod, listen to me... Jarod!" She pulled her hand away from his lips and firmly clasped his head in both hands. "I said NO!"

He groaned in protest, shaking out of her grasp, wrapping his arms around her and pulling her forward into a tight embrace until she, too, was propelled into a kneeling position, her body pressed into full contact with his.

"Jarod!" she grunted as she attempted to free herself from his embrace, "You need to listen to me. My life, both or lives, depend on it! Do you WANT them to hurt me again?"

He gasped, loosened his grasp on her and sat back on his heels, letting his arms drop to his sides. "I won't let them hurt you again," he stated determinedly, "not ever."

"Well, I'm afraid that's not entirely within your control but if you really mean it then you'll do what I ask of you. No arguments."

"Of course," he said, reaching up to stroke her hair, "anything." She closed her eyes and momentarily allowed herself to enjoy his touch before quickly coming to her senses. Her eyes snapped open and she shook her head.

"We have no idea where that package came from and it could very well be a set-up of some kind, a trap set to ensnare us both."

"I can protect you. I won't let them..."

"No. The only way you can protect either one of us is to drive me back, because I still don't think I'm legal to do it myself. Then you'll do what you've always done: you'll get as far away from here, from me, as you can and as quickly as you can. Do you understand?"

Jarod's head dropped. Exhaling a deep, shaky breath he grumbled, "Yes," paused a moment then added, "You hate me."

"I WHAT?" She barked, incredulous. Of all the fucking nerve, she thought.

"You refused to betray me and I paid you back by escaping, putting your life in danger, and tormenting you for the last four years. So you hate me." He sounded like a petulant child as he spoke.

"Oh no, you son-of-a-bitch, I won't let you manipulate me! Not this time!" she snarled, shoving him backwards and standing up. She dusted herself off and grabbed up the blanket, angrily shaking it out and folding it.

"Come on!" she demanded, "I need to get back or the landlady's going to send out a search party! She then charged off down the beach toward the stairway leading to the car park. Jarod quickly scrambled to his feet and followed her.

*  *  *  *

After driving her back to the B&B in silence, Jarod had insisted on seeing Parker to the door.

"Remember," she advised as she stood at the door fumbling for the key, "NOTHING has changed."

"Nothing," he sighed, "except for everything I have ever believed to be true about us."

"There is no 'us' and you would do well to remember that. Otherwise you might find it somewhat difficult to play those nasty little tricks on me. Business as usual, Jarod, it has to be."

"If you say so," he mumbled, looking at the ground.

"Only," she added tersely as she slipped the key into the lock, "if it's all the same to you, I'd rather not be locked up with Lyle again." She regretted the words as soon as they left her lips.

Jarod uttered a loud groan of regret then reached out for her, forcing Parker to turn and face him. "I'm sorry," he mouthed, his face a mask of pain. He then pulled her into another tight embrace, which, this time, she didn't fight. Perhaps it was because she was too tired to resist or perhaps she really did want to comfort him or allow him to comfort her, she wasn't sure. Whatever the reason, she did let him hold her, resting her head on his shoulder and going so far as to wrap her arms loosely around his waist. Again, all sense of time evaporated until the door flew open causing both to jump and quickly pull back from their embrace.
 
"Oh... excuse me!" the startled landlady exclaimed. "I am sorry, my dear, only I heard the car drive up fifteen minutes ago and I was beginning to wonder why you hadn't made it inside yet. I didn't realize..." she looked at Jarod and pressed a hand to her mouth.

"It's okay," Parker replied evenly, "this is... an old friend. I'm afraid I had a pint too many at the 'Old Success' and he was good enough to see me home."

"How very kind of you," the landlady remarked with a smile, noting to herself that it was well past 1:00 a.m. and last call was at 1l. "Well, I'll bid you good evening, now that I know you're safe and sound."

"Thanks." Parker smiled back at her. "Goodnight."

Stepping into the building, Parker turned and pressed a hand to her forehead, "Shit! I didn't even think of it. How are you going to get back to your car? It's parked at Land's End and that's miles from here. I suppose I could call you a cab, if such a thing exists out here."

"Don't bother, I'd prefer to walk. I think I could use the fresh air."

"Are you sure? It's pretty chilly out there."

"I'll be fine." He replied with a reassuring nod.

"Be careful," she said softly.

His only response was a sad smile wrought by the genuine concern in her voice. He forced himself to turn away from her and began to slowly stroll away.

"Jarod," she called out. He turned back to her. "A favor?"

"Anything."

"If you think you can, safely, when you get in touch with him, please let Sydney know that I'll be home tomorrow evening, around 8:00. He can call or stop by if he likes."

"I think he'd like that very much," Jarod stated then turned away again, disappearing into the darkness.

"Will he be alright out there on his own? He looks pretty rough around the edges."

Parker smiled and shook her head as she checked to make sure the door was securely locked. She turned around and replied, "He will. He'll have to be."

"Is there anything I can do for you, love?" The woman had known from the moment she'd set eyes on her that Parker was running from something, and now she had a pretty good idea what, or rather whom it was. If ever she had seen a star-crossed pair, she had tonight.

Man, Parker thought, she's good. We could use someone like her at the Centre. "There is, actually. If anyone shows up here after I've gone and happens to ask if I was alone, or if you ever saw me with someone else..."

The landlady nodded and smiled conspiratorially. "Someone else? All I know is you're traveling alone... period."

"Thank you, you don't know what this means to me. You see," Parker wasn't sure why but she felt compelled to offer an explanation, "My husband is a very powerful and cruel man. If he were ever to find out, he would destroy us both." It wasn't exactly a lie for she was as good as married to the place.

"And don't you worry a bit about the folks at the 'Old Success.' Brian, he's the publican, and he and I grew up together; we go way back. He and his regulars will develop a serious case of amnesia if I say so. Will it be breakfast at the usual hour or would you prefer to have a bit of a lie in?"

"I'm your only guest now, right?"

"Yes, dear, why?"

"Because I think we both deserve a bit of a lie in, don't you?" Parker remarked with a weary smile, patting the woman amiably on the shoulder as she passed on her way to the stairs.

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