by Victoria Rivers ©1998

The city limits sign was old and battered, most of the paint faded to a dull gray on a weathered gray-blue background, but Jarod liked the name.

Serendipity. A treasure discovered by accident. He needed one of those, and decided to stay in the Minneapolis/St. Paul suburb, rather than the sprawling urban mass farther south. There was a sense of quietude, a pastoral simplicity that attracted him, and he felt comfortable there, though he couldn't say why. It was as if he was expected, and a sense of welcome greeted him in the smiling eyes of the people he met as he strolled along the snowy sidewalk, looking in shop windows and watching passersby hurry home in advance of the winter storm expected in the next few hours. The phone book in a booth down the street gave him the names and locations of the only two available lodgings in town, and he promised himself to check out the old motel for a little rest after picking up a few necessary items to get him through the next few days. He needed to sleep after days of traveling, demons or no, but the atmosphere of the hamlet put his spirit at ease, and he thought he might just be able to rest without violence for a change.

He walked into the office of the Four Winds Motel, set the silver Halliburton down by his feet, and rang the counter bell for service. A gray-haired man in bright green suspenders answered the summons, hobbling in from the next room where a television set played noisily.

"I'd like a room, please," Jarod said politely.

The wrinkles in the old man's face multiplied tenfold as he smiled back at the tall young man. He reached into the rack of pigeonholes behind the counter and drew out a key on a plastic key ring emblazoned with the motel's logo, and handed it to him. "There you go, son," he said warmly, and started to hobble off again.

"Um, don't I need to sign your register or something?" he asked, his thick, dark brows drawing together in confusion.

The proprietor chuckled and shook his head. "Such a kidder," he mused. "Ya can if ya want to, but it ain't necessary. We both know you're traveling incognito." He winked at Jarod and went back to his television.

Jarod frowned, wondering how the stranger knew, wondering if he had stepped into trouble again. But then, perhaps the old fellow was just a sharp observer of human nature, or clairvoyant like little Nathan. He would be ready, whatever the outcome, but at the moment all he wanted was a flat surface to recline on. He took the key, found the room and locked the door behind himself, then stretched out on his back on the bed and went to sleep in clothes and coat.

It was late the next morning when he woke, and after a bath and a change of clothes into the new outfit he had bought just before he arrived at the motel, he went out into the frigid morning in search of breakfast. A small diner down the street seemed like a good choice, so he seated himself at a booth and picked up a menu to make his selection. Moments later, a tall platinum blonde waitress set a cup of steaming coffee in front of him, along with a saucer piled high with three filled donuts, decorated with pink icing.

"Raspberry supreme?" he asked, staring at the pastries. He was salivating already. "That was just what I was going to order." He looked up at her and smiled. "How did you know?"

She laughed and waved a hand at him, then strode off to look after her other customers.

It was certainly odd how people were reacting to him, as if they already knew him, knew his desires before he even spoke them aloud. The situation bore some investigation, and he intended to start asking around, but after he attended to the task most pressing in his mind at the moment. He paid his bill and left a nice large tip for the woman, then hurried down the street to a small general store for a few more provisions. He picked out some shaving gear, several packs of Pez along with a very cool Power Pez dispenser, a few new black T-shirts and pairs of jeans, socks and underwear. He piled them on the counter and glanced up at the middle-aged woman waiting on him, as she reached under the counter and pulled out a thick stack of newspapers from all over the country.

"I got these in special, just for you," she told him proudly, and proceeded to ring up the purchases, including the newspapers he had not requested.

He started to protest, but then an article on the front page of the paper on top caught his eye, and he decided to read through them anyway. Unrolling the appropriate number of bills to cover the purchase, he handed them over, picked up the paper and started to read it right there. The woman bagged up his other purchases and slipped his change in an envelope, laying it on top in the bag. Now thoroughly immersed in his article, he picked up the bag with a distracted word of thanks and headed out into the knee-deep snow and cold again, intent on putting away his new wardrobe and spending a relaxing day reading the news.

"We've got a sighting on Jarod!" Broots crowed, poking his head into Sydney's office doorway. "Someplace up near St. Paul. The Director was at a conference and spotted him arriving at the airport. Followed him as far as the diner in Serendipity, but Jarod must've taken the back way out and lost her. She didn't have any sweepers with her, or she would've sent them after him. Wanna call Miss Parker? I got the corporate jet all ready and waiting."

Sydney frowned thoughtfully. "I wouldn't have thought he'd choose to leave the St. James Foundation so soon," he mused, steepling his fingers. "But if he's on his own again, he's fair game. I'm sure he knows that." He turned his calculating gaze on the technician at the door. "He's recovering, then. He's ready to play the game again. That's good news."

He rose slowly from his chair and started stacking up file folders on his desk, returning them to the credenza behind him, where he locked them away and put the key in his pocket. "Yes, I'll inform Miss Parker. Have a car meet us downstairs in fifteen minutes."

Broots gave an excited salute and dashed away down the hall.

But as Sydney picked up the phone to dial Miss Parker's office, his gaze fell on the white queen he had been given in Arizona. It was just an ordinary chess piece, nothing special about it, but he knew it held great significance for the woman who had given it to him. She intrigued him. In the few minutes he was in her company, he thought he saw someone very much like himself, and it was a distinct pleasure to hear a European accent after so long in America. Grace St. James had been a beautiful woman once, but now she was an angel of mercy, her face lined with character and tragedy, her hair tinged with gray from living a full life. She was hardly a waif-like model, but there was a seductive quality about her, a shadow of vibrant life that drew him like a magnet. He wanted to know more about her, and through his inquiries via the Centre's research people, he intended to do just that.

He put the queen into his jacket pocket after hanging up the phone, and strolled downstairs to meet his companions for the trip.

The Minneapolis-St. Paul International Airport closed just after their plane landed. A winter storm had arrived and the forecast called for more than a foot of fresh snow and driving winds, blizzard conditions that the cities could not ignore. The trio took the private car waiting for them and drove north to where the sighting had occurred, following I35-E to Otter Lake, then veering off on a side road to Serendipity. It was a small burg set away from the main cities and the closely clustering suburbs, and their first order of business was to find suitable rooms to stow their gear in before they commenced the hunt.

Miss Parker chose the Fortune Inn, a bed and breakfast in a blue and white Victorian house on a hill overlooking the whole of Serendipity. Whether they found him or not, they would probably be spending several days in the quaint, snow-covered village, and odds were in their favor that if Jarod was still in town, they would be able to find him. Catching him was another matter entirely.

They staked out the diner and waited in the car, borrowed blankets piled up on them for warmth, though it did no good. The car's windows kept covering with falling snow, and they decided to conduct the search on foot, making their way through the downtown area, flashing the photograph of their runaway to shopkeepers where Jarod was most likely to have done business and asking if they had seen him. She was hot on the trail, scoring hit after hit, and it seemed as if the people in the rustic, snow-clad village were on familiar, friendly terms with the Pretender. But businesses were closing early because of the weather, and Miss Parker was considering holing up in the inn until it passed, picturing Jarod relaxing by a fireplace in cozy rented digs, preparing for his next escapade. On a whim she ducked into the public library to warm up a bit, thankful that it hadn't closed yet. She brushed the snow off her hair and began an aisle by aisle search, tingling with anticipation and hopeful to find her quarry there.

She found him in the theology section, with a copy of the Koran in one hand and a book of Buddhist sutras in the other. He didn't see her, so she ducked behind the next row of shelves and tailed him until he moved closer to the rear exit before she made her move. He put down his stack of books on a reading table in the back corner of the room, and she moved up quickly, pulling her pistol but keeping it where just the two of them could see it.

"Hello, Jarod," she said softly.

He looked up slowly, confused surprise twitching between his brows, and met her steely green gaze evenly.

"Bet you didn't expect to see me again so soon, did you?"

He said nothing, his glance dropping to the gun in her hand briefly before flicking back up to her face.

"Doesn't seem like long enough," he murmured. "Then again, it could have been a whole lifetime ago."

"With you, Jarod, a whole lifetime could be five minutes," she snapped. "But I'm tired of playing games with you. No more Monopoly with real people. No more walls papered in Bazooka comics. And no more Roach Motels for people, either. Your nasty little tricks have done nothing but provoke me. But now the shoe is on the other foot, or haven't you discovered cliches, yet?" She nodded toward the door behind him. "We'll go back to that disgustingly quaint little bed and breakfast to wait for Sydney and Broots. It's too bad we can't leave right away, though. I know Daddy will be pleased to have you back in your cage at the Centre. And I'll be free at last."

His brown eyes darkened as he stared her down, and he seemed extra careful in forming his reply. "Do you enjoy locking innocent people up?" he queried, a bitter smile shadowing the corners of his mouth.

"I'll admit to a fraction of sympathy for what was done to you as a child, but you're a long way from innocent," she growled. "Especially after living with that blonde bimbo for the best part of the year I've spent chasing you. She didn't get pregnant by herself, now did she?"

He read the daggers in her eyes accurately. "Why, you're jealous," he smirked. "Why is that? Did you want me, or her?"

The temperature in the room grew significantly cooler as she froze him with a penetrating stare. "Out the door, Frankenboy," she snarled. "And don't try to escape again. Next time you make me shoot you, I won't be so kind as to aim for your leg. You know they want you back dead or alive."

"You won't kill me," he observed with certainty, but turned and headed slowly out the back door anyway, shrugging into his coat as the door closed behind the woman with the gun.

"After all the hell you've put me through this last year, Jarod? Don't bet on it."

"I'm very good at figuring the odds," he boasted innocently. "And I learned early how to stack them in my favor."

She sighed heavily, pulling her coat tighter around her neck. "You're just a lab rat, Jarod," she growled. "Your whole life has been one long experiment. Just give up this ridiculous idea that your being out in the world playing Mr. Fix-it is going to make any difference, and get on with your real work. It's what you were made for."

He stiffened, stopped short in the snow and glanced over his shoulder at her. "I was made to be a human being, with dreams and hopes, and a family who cares about me," he accused, his eyes dark and hot. "I didn't get that, because somebody stole me from my destiny. I could have made a difference in the way things are. You know that."

Miss Parker glared right back at him. "You have made a difference," she shot back mercilessly. "Just not in the direction you wanted."

He turned away and trudged through the deepening snow silently, listening to her footsteps struggling along in his wake. She slipped once, cursing as she hit the ground, but instead of running he waited for her to regain her feet before continuing on. The woman tucked her pistol inside her coat sleeve as they went up the steps of the old house, and she took her companion's arm when they stepped inside, pasting on a fake smile and gazing up at him with steely desire for the benefit of the elderly woman at the front desk, who knew the young woman was expecting to meet her husband there.

"Why, Mr. Black!" Mrs. Alcott chortled. "I had no idea you'd gotten married! You should've told me when you arrived in town."

The Pretender shrugged and grinned, patting the gloved hand wrapped tightly around the crook of his elbow, and glanced down at the redhead's predatory leer. "I didn't have the time till now, Mrs. Alcott. I hope you gave us your best room. The one with the brass bed?"

The innkeeper chuckled, blushing. "Why, yes, as a matter of fact I did give Miss Par-- er, Mrs. Black the room with the biggest bed."

"Let's go right up, darling," the young woman cooed, leading him through the foyer, up the stairs and down the short hallway to a guest suite. Once the door closed and the bolt had been thrown, she turned on him and pointed the pistol at him again. Pulling a silencer from her coat pocket, she screwed the attachment on without taking her eyes off the fugitive.

"Hang up your coat, take off your shoes and lie down on the bed," she ordered coldly.

A wicked grin slipped over his whole face. "Oooh. Shall I undress first, or do you want that pleasure?"

She rolled her eyes briefly, cocked her head and gave him a withering frown. "Please, Jarod. You've been sexually active for less time than I've had these shoes. Even if you are a fucking genius, I think I'm still light years ahead of you in that department."

He glanced at her Ferragamos and noted that they were hardly even scuffed. Undaunted, he shot back, "But I'm a very fast learner. Or had you forgotten?" He hung his coat on the brass stand in the corner, kicked off his Rockports beneath it, and reclined lazily, sensuously on the mattress. He pulled off his black T-shirt and dropped it on the floor beside the bed, barely breaking eye contact with her as the garment slipped over his face.

"Here I am, doll. Come and get me."

The flare of something hot in her eyes was unmistakable, but he couldn't tell if it was anger, hatred or passion, or possibly a mixture of all three. Her face was unreadable, impassive, but after she slipped out of her coat and hung it up, she reached into the other pocket and withdrew a pair of gleaming chrome-plated handcuffs.

"Put these on first," she commanded huskily, tossing them onto his hard, muscular abdomen. "Loop them through the headboard." She smiled then, her eyes bright and dangerous. "I don't want you to get away from me again."

He obeyed slowly, methodically, the lightness fading from his face as he latched the second cuff shut over his wrists.

She sighed and lowered the pistol, her hungry look vanishing instantly. "There, now. That wasn't so hard, was it?"

"I guess you haven't noticed," he said teasingly, rocking his hips slightly upward to draw her eyes there.

"Why, Jarod," she gushed girlishly. "Are you actually making a pass at me?"

"Why not?"

She chuckled softly to herself. "Wouldn't Daddy just have a coronary if I screwed you," she mused aloud. "That's reason enough to do it, right there."

Shaking her head, she wandered over to the nightstand beside the bed, poured herself a glass of water from the crockery pitcher waiting there, and reached for a bottle of prescription pills sitting beside it. She popped one in her mouth and swallowed it, draining the glass afterward and slipping out of her shoes as she sat down on the chair beside the bed, her pistol laid across her lap. She watched his eyes go to the bottle and flicker back and forth as he read the label.

"Yes, you gave me an ulcer," she admitted frankly. "But once I deliver you back to the Centre and get my life back, I'll be able to take a little time off, go visit a sunny beach somewhere, relax..."

"While I'm locked up in a cage doing God knows what," he finished for her. "How does that make you feel? What was my crime? Why do I deserve that?"

She glared at him again and was about to make a biting retort when a knock sounded on the door.

"Miss Parker," called Sydney through the door. "We decided to take a break in favor of a late luncheon. Or early dinner. Will you join us?"

"Come in, Sydney. Look what the cat dragged in."

Both men stepped into the room, and the captive raised his leg facing the door to hide his present state of arousal from the visitors, while he worked to quell the response physically.

"Oh, my God, you got him!" announced Broots, glancing between the man on the bed and the woman in the chair. He smiled when he looked at her, but the smile melted away when his eyes met the hooded brown ones staring back at him from the back side of the room. "Um, sorry, Jarod. I guess this kinda sucks for you, huh?"

"We'll see," he said softly, his eyes flicking back to the seated woman meaningfully. He grinned and gave her a wicked wink.

"Cut the innuendo, Jarod," Miss Parker bit out. "Nothing's going to happen, except that you're going back to the Centre as soon as we can get out of this God-forsaken hole in the cosmos." She shot an angry, short-tempered look at the technician. "Pray for a heat wave, Broots. And get us some food sent up here. We'll take turns on guard so he doesn't have a chance to get away. Nobody so much as looks away from him for a moment when they're on duty. Is that clear?"

"We could be trapped here several days, if the weather report is correct," said the Pretender. "I'll have to go to the bathroom eventually. And I'm sure you'd all appreciate it if I had a shower every day."

"Food, Broots," Miss Parker reminded him. "Sydney, you watch your creature here while I go make arrangements for another room."

The older man nodded and thrust his hands in his trouser pockets, staring down at the man on the bed from his post near the door. Once the others were gone and the door closed after them, he said quietly, "I'm sorry, Jarod. I didn't think it would be this easy. Unless, of course, you wanted us to catch you. Are you ready to go home now?"

Looking up at the ceiling, the younger man replied, "Home, Sydney? The Centre is my home? How long was I there?"

"That isn't what--"

Jerking against the cuffs, the prone man glared at Sydney and cut him off before he could finish. "Answer the question, Sydney. How long was I there?"

Sydney hesitated a moment. Something was wrong in this situation. He could feel it, but he couldn't identify exactly what it was. "Thirty-three years," he answered quietly. He saw Jarod close his eyes and let his head fall back wearily on the pillow beneath him, as if the answer had been a devastating blow rather than a commonly known fact between them. Sydney wandered over to sit in the chair Miss Parker had vacated, taking care to gingerly remove her pistol and lay it on the floor beside his feet so it would be within reach when the redhead returned.

"Where are the DSAs, Jarod? We've got to have them back, too."

"In a safe place," he answered slowly. "Safe from you, anyway." Presently he opened his eyes again, once more staring blankly at the ceiling. "Who took me, Syd?"

Hearing this particular young man use the short form of his name rankled slightly. Jarod never used to use anything but his full first name, and it bothered him but he decided not to mention it. "I don't know. None of the information on who you are or where you came from is in the Centre's database. I've told you that before. Whoever has access to the truth must be guarding it jealously. Neither I nor anyone I know there has ever heard so much as a rumor regarding your origins. I wish I could help. I really do."

He watched the young man draw his arms over his face in a gesture of utter, soul-deep exhaustion, leaving just enough space for his mouth and nose to remain unrestricted. "Why me, Sydney? Why any child?"

For a long time the elder stayed silent, turning the questions over in his mind. Both of them knew the answer to the first one, but it was the rhetorical second question that neither of them could put to rest easily. "The Tower felt that you would be able to focus better on the simulations and projects put to you if you had no other distractions," said Sydney slowly. That was the line he had been fed, anyway, years ago. He had accepted it, but never truly believed it. There was some ulterior motive for removing Jarod from his life, though Sydney never questioned his orders back then. In time, Jarod had slowly rejuvenated his curiosity, though he had to keep it tightly reined in and wait for answers to come to him rather than seeking them out. He could have saved Jarod early on, but his soul had been dying slowly for years, and he had stopped caring by the time the Centre took him in. Jarod cured him of that, too.

"Didn't anyone think about the ones who were left behind? What became of them? Do you know that much?"

"That's something I've wondered about every day since you escaped," said Sydney slowly. "You know, Jarod, you aren't the only one the Centre has erased. You've seen some of the others, some of the new children in the halls. I was surprised that you hadn't tried to save some of them, too."

"How do you know I haven't?"

Sydney chuckled softly, arching his eyebrows in acknowledgment of the point scored. "I suppose I just assumed you were so busy righting the wrongs of the world that you wouldn't have time." He sighed. "But you told me when you were eleven years old that you'd never give up searching for your identity. I should have guessed your plans were more far-reaching than that."

"You may think you know me, but you really don't. Not at all."

The two men fell silent for a space, and when Miss Parker returned to the room, Jarod was sleeping soundly, his arms still lying over his face to shut out the world. Sydney rose and decided to go to his room, unable to stand the sight of his protege lying trussed up on the bed any longer. He dared not hope that Jarod might yet escape Miss Parker's clutches again, and yet the glow of it warmed him as he shut the door behind himself.

"Jarod!"

The man jerked upward, but his restrained hands yanked him back against the bed just after the cry was torn from his lips.

He glanced around him, and spied the redhead polishing off the last bite of a piece of cheesecake on a plate she set daintily away when she was done.

"What a nightmare," he whispered aloud, to himself more than to her.

"I've been called worse," she quipped, licking her lips delicately to avoid disturbing her lipstick. "But then, you didn't always think I was such a bitch. Did you, Jarod?"

"I could use a drink. Why don't you be a good little girl and get me one?"

She rose slowly, seductively, ignoring his request, and reclined on the open side of the queen sized bed, facing him. She trailed her fingers playfully through the thick mat of dark hair covering his chest, her eyes flicking lower to see if it brought about the desired reaction. And she smiled when it did.

"I was the first girl you ever saw," she said teasingly. "The first girl to kiss you. And when we were teenagers..." Her smile faded, her expression turning cold and hard. "...you were the reason my father sent me away. Did you know that? He thought I was distracting you from your work, so he sent me to boarding school."

He rolled toward her, laying his head on his left arm like a pillow. "I'm sorry. Maybe it was best that you left. For you, I mean."

"Did you miss me?"

There was an undercurrent of hopefulness in the question that he picked up on instantly.

"Yes."

He craned his head forward slightly in an unsuccessful attempt to reach her lips, but he was unable to cross the distance.

She grinned wickedly.

"Too bad I wasn't successful with seducing you when we were 17," she teased. "I had a little practice under my belt by then and knew enough to get you trained, but, unfortunately, your keepers never left you alone for long enough to do the deed."

"We're alone now," he reminded her. "And I'm pretty good at it, too."

"When Tweedle-dum and Tweedle-Dee could walk in that door at any moment?" she chuckled huskily. "Not on your life." She stroked her hand across the bulge straining against his jeans and gave it a little pat. "Looks like it's blue balls for you, Frankenboy."

She rolled off the bed and stood up, heading for her purse to fetch a cigarette.

"I'll buy you a nicotine negligee if you'll lay off those things while I'm stuck in here with you," he offered lightly.

After a deep, long drag, she exhaled a cloud of smoke purposefully in his general direction. "In another year or so, after you've been locked away in the bowels of the Centre's deepest levels, you might be glad to be dying of lung cancer."

He watched her in silence for a long time after that, watched her smoke and pace the floor and glance at her wrist for the time. He read a thousand things in her body language and her immobile face, and eventually he asked, "Why are you so upset? You've finally caught me. That's what you wanted. Isn't it?"

She glared at him. "I want to know what you know about my mother, but I don't want to have to drag the answers out of you," she responded slowly. "I'm not twelve years old anymore, and I don't want to play games. Do you know who killed her? Was it my father, or Mr. Raines?"

"You answer my questions first," he retorted.

"Tell you who you are? Who your parents were? What difference does it make? You can't go spend your holidays with them, now, can you?"

"It makes all the difference to me," he shot back angrily. Jerking against the handcuffs, he punctuated his sentence with a sharp clang of metal chains against brass bars, and wrestled himself to a kneeling position on the bed. "Wouldn't you want to know if you were me? Wouldn't you want to look into the face of the family you haven't seen since you were a little kid? What does my mother look like? My father? Do you know? Of course not. All that was important was getting me for the Centre, and to Hell with everyone else. Their pain doesn't matter. Neither does mine. Was I worth it? Is that why you're still after me? Because I'm so irreplaceable? Or do you just not want the Centre's secrets revealed?"

The redhead took a last drag off her cigarette and strolled to the ashtray on the nightstand to stubb it out. "Lots of questions," she mused coolly. "But none of them have anything to do with me. My job is simply to catch you and bring you back. After that, I really don't care what happens to you. I never did."

"Liar," he snarled. "But then, you're an expert at lying to yourself, aren't you?"

She folded her arms across her chest and fixed him with a gaze that could melt titanium. Then very slowly she strolled over to the door and locked it. "I told you to stay out of my life," she ground out. "My mother died trying to save you from my father. That's reason enough for me to want to kill you. If Daddy didn't want you alive so badly, I'd have already done it."

He saw the way her eyes shifted as she spoke, caressing over his bare arms bulging with muscle as he strained against the handcuffs. He pulled harder against them, knowing it was futile, that they would not break from his effort, but wanting to put on a show for the woman staring at him so hungrily. Her desire was palpable; he could see the evidence of it in her face and her hardened nipples beneath her angora sweater. But she wouldn't admit to that. She would need to be pushed into taking what she wanted, and he was willing to provide the momentum.

"Stop that," she snapped. "You're just going to hurt yourself."

The bed creaked, and the brass bar bent slightly toward him as the chain between the cuffs stressed the hollow metal. He grimaced against the pain, ignoring the chromed bracelets cutting into his wrists as he pushed himself backward, adding his body weight to the effort to pull himself free.

"I said stop it!" she demanded harshly. Miss Parker strode angrily up to his side of the bed and slapped him across the face. His head flew sideways from the impact and he relaxed for a moment, a drop of blood oozing from a small split in his lower lip. He glared hotly up at her, and grinned.

"You'll never stop me," he whispered, and flung himself back with a great roar of strength and pain.

She cursed at him under her breath and pushed at his shoulders, trying to tip him over onto the bed, but he had already braced himself for that by widening his kneeling stance on the mattress. Her hands bounced harmlessly off his upper arm. Once more she struck out at his face, but this time he dodged her swing and reached out for her, letting the chains go slack and slithering one arm behind the bar so he could grab her with the other. Before she knew he had her, he was pulling her down to the bed, face first onto the pillows in front of him. He planted one knee between her shoulder blades and grabbed a handful of her hair before letting her come up for air.

He could hear her screaming expletives into the pillow, which did not stop when he pinned her cheek against the bedspread. Patiently he waited for her to finish, ready for her to lash out at him. She reached instinctively for his groin, but he blocked her with his thigh, yanking back on her hair to keep her from trying it again.

"That wasn't very nice," he chided her teasingly. "You could've hurt me. And I know you don't want to hurt me there. You're too curious for that."

"Curious?" she choked. Pushing herself up from the pillows, she clambered fully onto the bed, forcing her body up between his arms so she could face him. "Curious? About you? You've got to be kidding, Jarod."

"I'm dead serious," he growled huskily.

She was breathing hard from her struggles, her warm, tobacco-scented breath hitting him in the face. "If you don't let me go right now," she snarled, her eyes gleaming with hatred and passion, "you'll just be dead."

"I don't think so," he whispered back, and crushed her against him, devouring her mouth with his own.

She bit his lip.

He jerked away, pulled her head back and attacked her throat instead. Moving surely, swiftly downward, he teased her erect nipples with his teeth. He couldn't reach her clothes with his hands and if he let go of her hair he was sure she would vault off the bed. He had to maintain control until he pushed her over the edge. To do that, he would have to be very, very good, better than the best she'd ever had. And he suspected she was quite the expert in that field.

Part II

"I could scream," she warned him breathlessly, pushing ineffectively against his broad chest with her hands. She felt herself falling backward in slow motion, his big body covering hers to hold her still.

"Door's locked," he remided her between licks. Tugging her sweater upward with his teeth, he bared her wispy black lace bra and tore the fragile fabric open to reveal the prize beneath. He suckled her hungrily, and when she pushed at his head he let go of her rosy nipple just long enough to snap at her hand in warning. He tugged harder on her hair, forcing her to stillness, and returned to his task with a low rumble of pleasure.

He began to move against her, rubbing the bulge in his jeans against her woman's mound. Deftly he wedged his knee between her thighs, prying them apart to gain better access to her. She tried to buck him off, tried to twist out from under him, but a sharp yank subdued her. Instinct and long-buried passion propelled her into the dance with him until she could no longer hold back the moans of angry pleasure that he drew out so expertly, and then the anger faded away and left only primal need in its wake. She embraced his hips with her legs and rocked her pelvis upward, grinding against him, but it was not enough.

Her hands went to work on his clothes, dragging his zipper down and pushing his jeans over his lean hips, then ripping her panties when she couldn't get them off fast enough.

"This doesn't change anything between us," she hissed up at him.

"I never thought it would for a moment," he breathed against her face as he moved up into place. He groaned as her hand clasped his hot, hard flesh and directed it home, and watched with pleasure as she shuddered and gasped when he thrust himself deeply inside her.

"Jesus Christ! You're hung like a horse," she groaned blissfully.

He smiled and surged deeper still. She was vocal about her pleasure, letting him know clearly that what he was doing achieved the proper results. His thrusts were strong and sure, and she arched beneath him, her nails digging into his back and buttocks as ecstasy overwhelmed her, yet never once did he lose his concentration and relax his grip on his self-control.

Two hours later he lay on his back, his arms crooked on the pillow beside his head, watching Miss Parker tense and cry out as another orgasm crested, and the last of her strength ebbed away with the echoes of bliss. She lay down on him, trembling and spent, trying to catch her breath and recover.

When she could talk again, she raised up on shaky arms and gazed down into his face with a wicked, wanton smile.

"Your turn," she offered huskily. Her eyes roamed over his upper body greedily and fixed on his cuffed wrists for a moment. Her hips rocked slowly, massaging his erection still filling her. "Just think what you could do if I let your hands free."

He made no answer, no smart-ass retort, just stared at her with regret darkening his eyes. "I could make you happy, if you let me."

She smoothed a lock of hair back away from her face, her smile fading away. "Not for long, Jarod," she said softly. "It isn't meant to be."

"That's up to you, isn't it?"

"I can't help you, Jarod. And I can't let you go. You know that."

"Your father's approval is more important to you than what your own heart tells you?" he whispered, unsuccessfully trying to hide the hurt in his voice.

She stared at him, defeat showing clearly in her eyes. "I stopped listening to my heart when my mother died." With a sigh of resignation, she glanced away. "Sometimes I don't think I even have one anymore."

"That's the initial impression one gets," he admitted coolly. "But it's easier to be a coward than it is to take risks. And as long as you camoflage cowardice with cruelty, it's harder to see. Isn't it, Morgan?"

All trace of humor and pleasure vanished in her face. "I hate that name. You know that. It's my father's name, and I'm not him."

"Just his puppet," said the man softly. "I can see through the mask you wear. I always could. That's why you wanted me so badly. Only it's not really me you want. It's what I represent. You can't make Daddy love you unless you do his dirty work for him, but even that's not enough, is it? Like you said, this doesn't change anything between us."

"That's right. You're going back where you belong. Just as soon as I'm through with you. And whether or not you choose to enlighten me about my mother's death."

The last of her pronouncement was spat out with a heavy dose of leashed rage accompanied by an icy glare, and she began to move again, her fingers entwined in the thick carpet of hair on his chest.

He jerked on the handcuffs to get her attention.

"Well, then, neither of us gets what we want, do we?" he returned smoothly.

For a moment she was frozen with contempt, but slowly a look of surprised insult and enraged disbelief dawned on her face, and suddenly she pushed off him and looked for proof of the astonishing degradation he had foisted upon her. And there it was, his majestic erection shrinking and relaxing into total disinterest without him taking his own release with her.

She leaped off the bed, her face white with fury, started tugging her clothing back into place and looking for her missing underwear on the bed and floor. Her prisoner ambled to his knees on the pillow and refastened his jeans, then lay back on the mattress and closed his eyes, shutting her out of his view. A stream of curses poured from her lips, and when a knock sounded on the bedroom door her frustration peaked and she screamed, "What?" with all the venom she could muster.

"It's, um, time for my shift, Miss Parker," Broots called meekly through the door.

The redhead glanced at her watch. "You're early!" she snarled, slipping on her shoes and smoothing her skirt back into place.

"I'll come back, then," Broots offered, stepping back from the door, his palms starting to sweat.

"Never mind," she spat, and strode to the door, yanking it open before he had a chance to retreat. The warm smell of coitus wafted past her, and she could see the knowledge of what had happened in the room dawning on the tech's face. She put a hand to her hair when his eyes glanced up there and quickly away, and realized then how mussed and well bedded she must have looked.

Her green eyes narrowed tightly. "Not a word," she ground out between clenched teeth.

"You forgot something," called the man on the bed casually.

"What is it, Jarod?" she groaned impatiently, turning back to face her conquest of a moment ago.

"Your panties. They're itching me, and I can't exactly reach them."

He glanced downward and nudged his left hip upward, drawing everyone's attention to the scrap of torn black satin partially tucked into the waist of his jeans.

She stomped over to the bed, yanked her underwear out of his pants and left in a huff, slamming the door behind her, and ignoring Broots' strangled smile of amusement on her way out. The tech strolled over to the chair and took a seat, allowing a vengeful chuckle to escape in the ensuing quiet.

"Wow. You're alone with her all of four hours and the hormones go ballistic," Broots observed with an admiring grin. "I always thought there was more to her obsession with you than just bringing back Daddy's runaway. I mean, she's a babe and all, but there's a definite shrivel factor going on for me whenever she walks into the room."

"Yes, I imagine she would have that effect on most men, but then she usually gets what she wants. Doesn't she?"

Broots shrugged. "Well, yeah. She's Miss Parker." His eyes wandered up the tall man's body and settled on the handcuffs for a moment, sadness and guilt weighing on his conscience uselessly. "Y'know, I used to envy you, how smart you are, all the things you can do. I mean, you can be anything -- a doctor, a lawyer, a pilot -- and that's gotta be so cool." He could almost feel the cold metal against his own wrists, but not quite. "Only now I'm happy to be just a computer geek with limited potential. The trade-off isn't worth it. All those simulations you did... woulda given me nightmares."

"They did for me, too, Broots."

The tech shuddered, and leaned closer, whispering conspiratorially. "I saw what happened to you after the Waco Standoff simulation. Even though Sydney didn't tell you the outcome, somehow you figured out the warning didn't get out in time and it was like... you could feel all those kids around you. Man, that was hard to watch. They had to carry you out of the sim lab."

For a moment the Pretender lay quietly, staring up at the ceiling pensively. "What do you know about the work I did for the Centre, Broots?"

"Nothing much. Just rumors, mostly." He pulled the chair closer to the bed and leaned his elbows on the mattress in a thoughtful pose. "They said you invented the ebola virus as a biological weapon. Is that true?"

The prisoner pulled his long body toward the brass headboard to allow his arms to bend in order to rest more comfortably. "Not exactly. What else?"

"That pesticide plant in India that blew up was supposed to be a testing site for a nerve gas you invented. And the plane that blew up over Lockerbie was carrying a prototype of an undetectable bomb you designed that the Greeks built for us, only they accidentally armed it before shipping it out. It wasn't the Arabs at all, but they got blamed for it anyway."

"All in the interests of world peace, I'm sure."

Broots gave a sad smile and doodled on the mussed bedspread with one finger. "Yeah. I'll bet if they let you pick your own projects you'd be finding a cure for cancer or AIDS or something." And sadder still, he finished with the thought that Jarod might have stayed at the Centre if the projects had been different, work for the benefit of mankind rather than its detriment.

"I would still want to know who I am, Broots," the Pretender replied slowly. "Everyone has that right."

Uneasy silence stretched between them, and Broots got up to pace the small room, glancing guiltily at the prisoner now and then, but always keeping him in his peripheral vision.

"Why do you work for the Centre?" the prone man asked. "You still seem to have a vestigal conscience, and maybe a portion of your soul left. Why do you stay there?"

Broots stopped pacing. "The money's too good, man. I've got a little girl to take care of. And I want her to have the best."

"Don't you think she'd do just as well with a little less material goods, and a daddy who's happy and doesn't mind looking himself in the mirror when he shaves every morning?"

"No fair, man. Look, they already had you when I started working there. I knew exactly what I was getting into when I took the job..." His voice trailed off into thoughtful, guilty silence. "At least, I thought I did. But I'm in so deep now that I couldn't get out if I wanted to. I can't help you, Jarod. They'd kill me, and I don't want my little girl growing up without a daddy."

"Why not? I grew up without mine, and I turned out just fine, don't you think?"

Broots didn't answer.  After a while he noticed the prisoner's regular breathing and closed eyes, and decided to let him sleep. Jarod would need his rest before they put him to work again upon his return to the Centre.

"Jarod, wake up."

Sydney's insistent voice and gentle touch roused the man quickly and he tried to sit up, his wrists clanging against the chains when he attempted to rise.

"Fuck. I thought this was just another nightmare," he groused, turning bleary, bloodshot eyes on the man who had disturbed his slumbers. "I get little enough sleep without those. I thought you'd indulge me in a little peace for once. Christ, I could use a drink."

Sydney bathed the dried blood off his prisoner's wrists as he spoke softly, seated on the mattress beside him. "You usually manage on as little as three or four hours a night, Jarod. And besides, I needed to talk to you before Miss Parker arrives for her next shift. There's something I have to tell you that you certainly don't want the Centre to know."

With a sigh of irritation, the Pretender snapped, "Spill it, Syd."

The Belgian's graying eyebrows twitched together in a frown. Jarod's use of the diminutive of his name didn't sit well, nor did the subtle differences in his speech patterns. The Pretender had apparently done a great deal of changing in the last several months that he had been incommunicado. But he brushed off the unsettling demeanor as he continued cleaning the abrasions on Jarod's wrists and applying an antibiotic ointment.

"You should have been reading your e-mail, Jarod," he admonished quietly. "I've been trying to tell you for months now." Sydney couldn't help smiling. "It's Athena. She's alive."

There was not a glimmer of change in the young man's expression. "Explain," he snapped.

"I know you thought you saw Damon kill her. He took great pains to make you believe that. But when I went back later to identify the body, I saw the woman's face and it wasn't Athena. That means she might still be out there somewhere, and by now she's had your baby. Don't you see, Jarod? You still have a chance of finding her again!"

Clanging the chain against the brass bar, the Pretender growled, "Yeah. Just as soon as I get a chance to retire from my work, right? How the hell am I supposed to find her when I'm locked up inside the Centre?"

Sydney's gleeful enthusiasm faded somewhat, and he sat up straight on the edge of the bed, gazing down at Jarod's angry face. "I hadn't thought you'd allow Miss Parker to take you so easily."

"Maybe I thought this would be a good chance for me to get some answers," the young man shot back. "I can always escape again. Don't you think?"

The elder shrugged. "They've installed a far tighter security system than the one you triumphed over, Jarod. It may well be beyond even your capabilities." With a sly grin he added, "But if anyone can do it, I'm sure it'll be you."

"Thanks for the vote of confidence."

Sydney removed himself to the chair and kept silent, waiting for his protege's foul mood to change. He watched Jarod roll onto his belly and push to his knees, shoving the pillow aside to get closer to the headboard of the bed. But rather than try to disengage the cuffs, he began to exercise, using the brass bars and his body weight to perform bicep curls, then onto his back for abdominal curls, using the equipment available to counteract his inactivity and keep his muscles toned and ready for whatever he asked of his body.

The psychiatrist studied his prisoner, noting subtle changes in the young man since the last time they had seen each other. Something about him bothered Sydney, but he couldn't put a finger on it until Jarod stole an angry glance at him.

"Of course!" he cheered himself aloud. "I was wondering what it was about you that's so different, and looking at you in this early morning light has pointed it out to me at last. You've had that little mole by your right eye removed. Excellent job, by the way. I can't tell it was ever there. Did you do it yourself? Vanity, perhaps?"

"Thanks. I'll tell my plastic surgeon," the other man growled.

A weary sigh escaped Sydney, and he stood, turning his back to the bed in favor of the window, where dawn had come and turned the waist-high snow into rosy gold.

"You know, Jarod, there are things about our relationship that I don't think you realize," he began softly, still hoping to mend the break between them. "The Centre lied to you about the end results of your projects, for the most part. That much is true. But there were other projects that I handed off to others, in an effort to protect you from things I believed you couldn't handle. Even though it may not have seemed so at the time, I was trying to help you."

"Within the parameters of slavery," the Pretender snapped back. "You were a good master, right? But you were still my master. I was still a slave. I wasn't allowed to say no, no matter what it cost me to jump through your hoops." Then more softly, "No matter what it cost everyone when I succeeded." He stopped working out and leaned his forehead against the backs of his hands as he gripped the top bar of the headboard. "I don't suppose you've kept a body count on the results of my work over the years, have you, Syd?"

Once again, the diminutive rankled, and Sydney stretched his shoulders back until he heard a satisfying crack as tension released and allowed him to relax again. He had gotten very good at letting responsibility roll off him, but since Jarod's escape the questions he raised were becoming more and more difficult to shed. "That sort of thing isn't good for your mental health, Jarod," he reminded his companion. "You know that. Heap on enough guilt and eventually the burden becomes too great to carry. Something snaps."

"Isn't that what happened to me already?"

Sydney shook his head. "Your resilience still amazes me. There is so much about you that I can't even begin to understand, even after 30 years of working with you every day. Sometimes I think I don't know you at all. Especially after all you've done this last year. I never expected you to want to become a father so quickly."

"Accidents happen," the Pretender shot back and started on a set of leg lifts. "And you don't know me, Sydney. Not at all."

"How is Grace?" Sydney inquired, hoping to turn the conversation to less irritating matters.

"Grace is Grace."

With a wry grin, the psychiatrist turned to face his protege once again, thrusting his hands into the pockets of his cardigan sweater. "That's a conveniently non-committal answer," he observed. Withdrawing the white queen from his pocket, he studied it for a moment. "She seems like a very loving person, Jarod. Quite motherly toward you." He chuckled, remembering, and spoke under his breath, as if more to himself than his companion. "Not the sort of signal she sent me at all."

"You didn't hit on her, did you?"

Sydney pressed his lips together thoughtfully. "No, but I have been trying to figure a way to spend a little time at the Foundation. With the Centre's approval, of course."

"Now's a good time for that, since I'm not there."

Shaking his head, Sydney countered quickly, "Unless you escape again between now and our return to the Centre, I'm afraid it's back to work for both of us. The projects have been lining up steadily in your absence."

The Pretender glanced out the window. "Snow's stopped. By late this afternoon, maybe early tomorrow, they'll have the airport open again. Looks like I don't have much time left."

The door flew open and Miss Parker breezed into the room, a predatory smile fixed to her painted lips.

"Best sleep I've had in a long time," she boasted. "Time for my shift, Sydney, and you can bring us breakfast before you start trying to arrange us some transportation out of Brigadoon."

She lit a cigarette and strode over to the bed, making a moue of distaste as she towered over the prisoner. "And you get a bath."

Sydney cleared his throat. "Wouldn't you prefer I kept watch over him while he--"

"I've got the gun, Sydney," she reminded the psychiatrist frostily. "And I've seen it all before, anyway. Nothing's any different on this naked man than there is on all the others."

"That's not what you said last night," the man on the bed returned with a lazy grin.

The psychiatrist turned and strolled out without a word, keeping the smile from his lips, but not from his eyes.

She stood in the bathroom, her arms crossed over her chest, tapping her foot impatiently while she waited for her prisoner to finish his business and get out of his clothes. Heat crept up into her cheeks as she watched him, but she wasn't about to give him even a moment's privacy and risk losing him again. He undressed in leisurely fashion, stretching and flexing his muscles without seeming too obvious about it, and when he was naked he bent to turn on the faucets in the tub and let the water heat to proper temperature.

"Want to join me?" he asked without even glancing in her direction.

"I'm already squeaky clean," she shot back lightly. Her mood was vastly improved since her telephone call to her father the previous evening, and nothing short of another escape could ruin it.

"Not if you work for the Centre, you're not," he said dryly. "Great breakfast, by the way. Be sure and thank Mrs. Alcott for me."

"Is that what you call the old biddy?" Miss Parker wondered disinterestedly, certain she had heard the name before but unconcerned about recalling it at the moment. Her eyes were drawn to the tightly rounded buttocks in front of her, and it was all she could do to avoid running her free hand over his smoothly muscled flank. Great ass, she commented to herself.

As he stepped into the shower, his knowing glance seemed to say that he had heard her errant thought, and he smiled again, slowly, seductively, his brown eyes darkening with desire. A small groan of pleasure escaped him as the hot water sluiced over his skin, and he ducked beneath the shower head to let the water soak his hair and face. He imagined her irritation growing along with her desire, and enjoyed himself with the bath soap to make things even more difficult for her.

He turned off the water and stepped out of the tub, reaching past her for the towel. She snapped one of the cuffs back on his wrist as it moved by her, fastening the other bracelet on her own wrist after he had finished toweling off. Without a word she directed him back to the bed, turned the covers down and attacked.

Miss Parker had forgotten to lock the door, and when it was time for his shift, Broots knocked briskly, grabbed the antique glass doorknob and twisted it, pushing inward as he whistled the Andy Griffith theme song. For a full minute he stood transfixed by the sight of the slender redhead glaring at him from beneath the large, dark man covering her body with his own, her long legs wrapped firmly about his hips.

"Shut the door, Broots!" she spat.

Mechanically he pushed it to behind him.

"Get out, you moron!" Miss Parker shouted, her face turning a mortified shade of crimson.

As if having been recently dashed in the face with a basin of ice water, Broots jerked back to sanity and departed post-haste. He paced the floor in the hallway outside, considering whether she might want him to wait for her to call him in the room for his shift, or whether she would be busy with Jarod for the rest of the day, and whether or not he should tell Sydney what he had seen.

But as the moments passed, her own voice told the tale in cries of unbridled ecstasy accompanied by baritone groans and shouts that echoed all the way down the hall and brought Sydney out of his room one door down and across the corridor. He smiled at Broots and gave him a conspiratorial nod, followed by a broad grin and a wink, and then eased back into his room and closed the door. Broots knocked on it a second later, deciding Sydney should help him figure out what they were going to tell Mr. Parker and Mr. Raines, should they want in-depth reports from each of them.

"Still think I'm as green as your new shoes, Miss Parker?" asked the Pretender some time later.

She smiled smugly. "I did manage to teach you a couple of things," she said softly, wiggling her backside against his pelvis and drawing his arm tighter about her waist.

He chuckled against her ear. "Nothing new, vixen. Just things I haven't done for a long time. I think you learned more than I did."

"Athena must not have been very inventive in bed. I wonder how she kept your attention all those months. Or was it just because you got her pregnant right off the bat and felt loyal to her?" There was a distinctly acid tone to her tease, and it was not lost on the man cuddling her.

He rolled away, giving a harder yank on the chain between them than necessary and jerking her arm across his body.

"I suppose it was in poor taste of me to speak disrespectfully of the dead," she murmured apologetically. "I'm sorry, Jarod. I didn't want her to get hurt. Or the baby, either. I hope you believe that."

She let her fingers trail over the mat of crisp, dark hair on his well-muscled chest, then made whorled designs in the curls as she waited for his bad mood to pass. The sensation made her fingertips tingle, echoing the satisfied glow that made her whole body sing. She was a practical person, never allowing emotion to color or distort the logic that ruled her life. But for the glimmer of an instant she felt something so akin to contentment as she lay there with Jarod that it frightened her. She climbed over him to search for the key in the nightstand drawer.

"Looking for this?" he asked, producing the little silver device seemingly out of thin air.

She stared, dumbfounded. "How long have you had that? How did you know where I put it? And damn it, why didn't you try to use it?"

His dark eyes slanted over to her face, and the corners of his sensuous mouth turned up in a bitter grin.

"Maybe I want to see where it leads," he answered enigmatically.

It took several hours to make the drive to the airport, and silence reigned in the car as Miss Parker drove, with their prisoner handcuffed in the passenger seat with Broots working on his laptop computer in the back seat of the rented sedan while Sydney gazed pensively out the window. Once aboard the corporate jet, the Pretender was handcuffed to his seat and after an hour's wait they were given permission to take off.

"You look ill, Jarod," Sydney observed from the seat across the aisle. "Can I get you something?"

The young man lifted a trembling hand and rubbed his face with it, as if trying to wake himself from a bad dream. "Whisky," he said softly.

Sydney complied, pouring a small measure for himself as well, but when he passed the glass his protege downed it in a single desperate swallow and handed the empty tumbler back for more, his hand still shaking.

"You haven't picked up any nasty habits during your period of mourning, have you, Jarod?" the psychiatrist asked carefully.

"No, I..." The Pretender swallowed hard, looked at the empty glass, and slowly lowered it to his lap, still studying it. After a moment, he sighed. "Yes, actually. I'm an alcoholic. I've admitted it. That's part of the healing process, isn't it, Syd?"

The older man moved to the empty seat facing Jarod's and laid a comforting hand on his young companion's knee. "Yes, it is. I'll be able to counsel you, once we're at the Centre, but since you won't be allowed to drink anymore, we should be able to conquer the problem fairly easily." He paused, glancing sideways at the young woman reading a magazine in the seat beside Jarod's. "I know that losing Athena was a terrible thing for you, and that you have the added burden of killing Damon Winterbourne with your own hands weighing heavily on your conscience, Jarod. But he was a monster, and you were justified in what you did. You mustn't let it eat away at you."

With a darkly humorous grin tugging at the corners of his mouth, the Pretender challenged, "Tell me how all that came about, Sydney. I want to know the whole story. Or do you people ever confess to your sins?"

"Damon was the unfortunate result of an amoral environment and abilities he didn't know how to cope with," Sydney began, shaking his head sadly. "I should have washed my hands of him when he first came to the Centre, but we knew he would never be able to exist in the outside world. There was too much savagery in him, too much resentment for his differences..." He paused for a pensive sip of Chivas, letting it burn his tongue before he swallowed the potent liquid. "Raines wanted you back at all costs. It was his idea to set Damon on your trail, not caring how many people had to feed the boy's twisted desires before he flushed you out. And Athena got in his way." He glanced downward as his eyes began to fill, and hastily blinked the tears away.

When he had himself under control again, he met the young man's steady brown gaze, and was startled to see a trace of laughter in his eyes, that half-hidden smirk of superiority dancing across his mouth. He was amused by his captors, but Sydney couldn't fathom the reason why, and attributed it to some plan that he was working on to embarrass them yet again. Sydney shifted his gaze to the young woman again meaningfully before meeting Jarod's eyes for a moment of silent warning.

The limousine pulled up in front of the blond stone fortress near mid-day, and as he exited the car, the Pretender studied the elegant facade as if seeing it for the first time. His eyes took in every tower, every window, every carved decoration, calculations for escape whirling behind his penetrating glances. A team of burly sweepers escorted him and his trio of captors inside the glass doors, where two elderly gentlemen awaited their triumphant return. Miss Parker greeted one of them with a blazingly proud smile, but rather than congratulate her on her success, he asked her about the missing DSAs.

"He didn't have them with him, Daddy," the redhead explained patiently. "But I think we can get their location out of him eventually."

Mr. Parker's frown was frightening. "You didn't even check his quarters for them? I expected more of you than this. You know how valuable those archives are to us, and how damaging they could be if anyone else finds them. I want you to get back on that plane immediately and search Jarod's last lair, and the homes of anyone who knew him. Those discs must be found. And I want them found now."

Her smile vaporized, and the steely disappointment in her eyes spoke volumes, but her shoulders remained squared and her chin lifted a fraction in defiance. Her answer was a quiet acknowledgement of her father's power, and she turned on her spiked heel and strode back out the door.

Broots eased past the group blocking the entrance and excused himself, mumbling an excuse about being needed in the Tech Room, and Raines took an intimidating step closer to the prisoner.

"Well, if it isn't Darth Vader," mused the Pretender with a wry smile, gazing down at the little man with the pet oxygen tank and the eyes full of hatred. "And I guess that makes you the evil emperor, eh, Mr. Parker?"

"Take him to his quarters on Sub Level 15," demanded Raines brusquely, and the sweepers complied immediately.

Sydney watched his protege wander around the quarters that had been his home for such a long time, reading the names of the books on the shelves, checking out the desk and the bedroom as if he might be investigating the resident for a simulation.

"Nothing's changed since you left, Jarod," he promised. "There have been a few people in here studying you, to help us on the hunt, but nothing's been taken away or added in your absence."

The younger man paused at the desk and picked up the origami sculpture of Onysius, running his fingers along the folds with his head cocked inquisitively. Suddenly he turned on his heel and flung the delicately angelic figure onto the carpeted floor.

"I've seen enough, now, Sydney," he said quietly, his eyes blazing with fury. "My God, you people were so easy. I got everything I wanted out of you, without the slightest effort, but it's time for the game to end. I wanted to know what happened to Jarod, and you told me, all of you. I've seen it for myself. You people put him in Hell."

"What are you talking about?" An uneasy frown creased Sydney's forehead, and fear for the young man's sanity welled up in his chest.

"I'm not Jarod, Sydney," the Pretender confessed darkly. "I'm his twin brother, Justin."

Five minutes later, Sydney stormed into Raines' office, not caring that he was interrupting a meeting with the new Security Advisor.

"I must speak with you now," the psychiatrist demanded hotly.

Raines glanced at the young woman twiddling her hair in the guest chair and nodded toward the door. She left obediently, and Raines turned his displeasured gaze on his guest, waiting for the question to follow.

"Does Jarod have a twin?" Sydney demanded.

"No," Raines stated emphatically.

"Are you sure?"

Wheezing as his blood pressure rose, Raines growled back,"I searched for his mother for years before I found her, but she wasn't a woman who could give up her child. I only saw the one with her. Jarod is an only child, Sydney. Anyone who says otherwise is a liar. Or pretending."

Something gave way inside the Belgian, and he collapsed into a chair wearily. "Then we may have a serious problem with Jarod," he told the other man. "He may not be fit to work for some time to come. And there's also the subject of his recently acquired addiction to alcohol to address. We have to dry him out before he can concentrate on any simulations."

Raines steepled his fingers on the desk and glared at his visitor.

"Fix it, Sydney. And soon. Or I will."

Sydney heard the veiled threat, and ignored the wave of nausea that assaulted him in its wake. He rose slowly, stiffly, and made his way out of the office, hoping he could pull Jarod together enough to make him profitable in short order. If Raines got his hands on Jarod, he might destroy the young man completely. Sydney had seen that happen before.

Sydney promised himself he would not let that come to pass.

Even if he had to sacrifice his own life to prevent it.

Samantha was not alone in the dark. She could feel the presence nearby, the warmth of his body, the sound of his breathing. She stretched out her hand and felt the feathered wings, and her rising panic subsided. It was him, the Dark One, come to visit her in her dream again, and she relaxed immediately and smiled.

"You've never been this close before," she heard herself saying.

His smile provided a glimmer of light, and she could see him, his face limned in blue afterglow. "I need you now," he told her warmly. "It's your turn to help me this time."

"What could I possibly do for you?"

He reached out in the velvet blackness and the blue glow grew stronger, making his features distinct, clearly visible. His arm snaked around her waist and he drew her close, covering her with his great blue-black wing, pressing her up against his silky black robes in the bed. "Save me," he whispered, painfully. "I will understand if you can't. But without you, the darkness will consume me forever."

"You know I'll do whatever I can," she returned immediately, throwing her arm around his neck and burying her face against his throat.

He kissed the top of her head, smoothed her hair back away from her cheek and let his fingers slide down her back, pulling her closer still. "I can't ask this of you, Samantha," he began regretfully. "The price is too high. You're too precious to me."

She smiled up at him, touched the dark stubble sprouting from his jaw and was surprised by how real it felt. "I always had this gift, but it wasn't until I found you in my dreams that it got so strong. Will you tell me who you are? You're different from the Bright One. He helps me too, sometimes. Do you know him?"

The angel floated away from her, his fingertips dragging lightly over her arm as he separated himself from her. "Let me go, Samantha. Save yourself. Get away from this place if you can. And know that... you have always been special to us... even though we only see you in our dreams." He smiled as he hovered above her, and his eyes were filled with sadness and bitter joy. "You wear the wings when we see you there, angel. You save us from the terrible things we've done. Thank you for that."

"I don't want to lose you!" she cried, reaching for him as he drew farther away.

"I don't want to lose you either," he returned sadly. "That's why you have to let me go. Beware of danger, Samantha. Walk away from me. I have become Death."

His beautiful face shrank inward, growing skeletal, hollow-eyed, until only the bleached white bones were visible. The lipless grin terrified her, and she screamed as his bony hand reached out for her, trying to take her with him.

She dodged it, still screaming, and suddenly found herself sitting on the side of her bed, the covers thrown back but still clutched in her hand, and the semi-dark room was empty except for herself.

She buried her face in her hands and wept with relief, but the image in her dream did not soon fade away.

Part III

It took tremendous strength of will not to go directly to Jarod's quarters to see him and confirm that he had been captured and brought back to the Centre, but Gemini was a patient woman. Plans changed suddenly when she heard the news, since her source was reliable and in the know. Raines himself had told her, and ordered her to be prepared to work the night shift when the Pretender was returned to his cell. She was startled to learn that Jarod's rooms were right next door to her own.

But as she stood in the Security Operations room, watching the Pretender sleep via the closed circuit camera hidden in the lighting fixture, she began to wonder why Raines demanded her presence there that particular night. He sat at the control panel himself, his skeletal fingers making the camera zoom in on Jarod's face, waiting until the rapid eye movements signaled his descent into dreams.

Gemini watched Raines key in a command, and a soft hissing sound issued from somewhere in the bedroom onscreen.

He glanced over his shoulder at her for a reaction, disappointed to see none, then keyed in another sequence on the panel.

A recently manufactured copy of Sydney's voice murmured softly into the semi-darkness of the bedroom, and Gemini saw the source. A small cassette that Raines had made in the Tech Room was spinning slowly in a tape player built into the console, and Raines stopped it abruptly. He fixed his attention on the screen, watching for the REM sleep to return, and as soon as Jarod's eyes began to move beneath closed lids, the tape began to play again, commanding contentment, cooperation, and interest in the work. Jarod was to forget his family, forget his life outside the Centre, forget that he had ever been free.

Raines was concentrating so acutely on timing the tape to coincide with the REM movement that he did not see his companion close her eyes, lift one hand into empty air, and clutch her fist closed on nothing, nor did he notice the abrupt cessation of the hissing of gas flowing into the room that coincided with the movement. She crossed her arms over her chest and simply observed dispassionately for the remainder of the exercise without even cracking a smile.

Raines checked the readout for the Styx-15 gas to see how much of it had been released into the room, and frowned when he saw how low the number was. He increased the output speed to see if the numbers would change, but they remained steady. Suddenly a loud roar rocked the room as the gas pressure in the clogged pipe forced the tank to rupture, and Gemini dashed to the console, shoving Raines roughly aside and clicking her fingers over the control panel.

"What the hell--" Raines began, raising his fist to strike her. He saw her punching in the release code for all the apartments on Sub Level 15, allowing the doors to open automatically and release the occupants freely into the corridors.

"There's been an explosion, you dolt," she snapped at him, never taking her eyes off the keyboard. "Look at the screen."

Jarod had been flung off the bed by the force of the blast, and was scrambling toward the door, covering his mouth and nose with the sheet he had ripped off the bed. Flames were starting to creep into the picture frame, and a fire alarm began to blare in the background. "Shit," Raines hissed, and hit the button for the fire team assigned to Sub Level 15. By the time he got out of his chair, his companion had already bolted, headed for the emergency stairs that led into the depths of the building, on her way to rescue whoever needed help.

She awoke to artificially lit morning in the Infirmary on the third floor belowground, her throat almost closed and thoroughly raw from smoke inhalation.

"Hi, there," said the man in the bed next to hers.

Gemini turned to face him and got a whiff of her hair, still smelling like burning plastic, and grimaced at the odor. She gave him a little wave and pointed to her throat.

Do you sign? she asked him with her hands.

"As a matter of fact I do," he answered with a grin. "I pretended to be a deaf mute a few years back and got pretty good at it. But I'm a little rusty. My name's Justin, and I'd like to thank you for saving me last night. I'm new here, and I couldn't find the exit."

She stared at him for a full minute before signing back.

"Sprained ankle," he confessed. "And a couple of scratches and shrapnel wounds, too. Something blew up in my room last night. But I'm okay. What about you? I saw you go down the hall into the smoke, hustling everybody out, but I didn't see you come up. I think some of the fire crew had to go back in and get you."

She nodded, remembering. Did they get everyone out safely?

"Yeah. Somebody upstairs was on the ball and opened all the doors," he said with a touch of admiration. "If they hadn't been thinking quickly, several of us would have been toast."

Gemini smiled and decided not to confess. What about the damage? How bad was it?

"They're going to have to rebuild the section around my room, about four apartments in the cluster, but other than that, there's just some smoke and water damage to deal with. It wasn't bad at all. But they're going to have to relocate me and the other three prisoners somewhere else in the meantime, as soon as they release me from here." He frowned. "I don't look forward to going to work for them. Especially since I have no idea what I'm supposed to be doing."

She smiled sympathetically at him. You'll figure it out. Just give them a good snow job.

He grinned back at her, his warm brown eyes waxing warmer as they wandered over her face. "That sounds like good advice. Maybe I'll learn to like it here after all." He raised his left leg to hide the erection stirring beneath the covers, not wanting her to see that she was arousing him, but she caught the movement and seemed to understand, breaking out in a silent chuckle and blushing.

We employees are not supposed to fraternize with the test subjects, she signed quickly. Conflict of interest, you know.

He shrugged. "Well, there's always fantasy, I suppose," he teased.

The doctor came into the room to make his rounds, and the two put their conversation on hold until after he left, spending the remainder of the morning teasing each other and enjoying the pleasant company. And on the monitor, Mr. Raines watched them and reconsidered whether Jane Dough was Jarod's mole in the Centre, or if they had indeed just met when she awakened. There was no familiarity between them, and if they were working together, then certainly she would have been more circumspect in her apparent friendliness, not wanting to tip her hand. Especially since she worked in security, and he was part of what she was keeping under control.

But Raines promised himself to keep tabs on her anyway, and have all the couple's interactions taped for additional study. He was not about to allow the little thief to walk off with the Centre's crown jewel, and intended to be prepared for that contingency with all the firepower he could put at his command.

"Well, Jarod, time to go to work," said Sydney as he led the way into the sim lab. The big room had been prepared in advance of their arrival, with an artificial sky and an uneven slope to the floor, inclining toward a low peak capped with a roll of barbed wire. The scent of smoke and gunpowder filtered into the room, and distantly the echo of gun and cannon fire gave the room the ambience of a quiet spot in a war zone.

"Just tell me what I'm supposed to do."

Sydney smiled and shook his head. "Here are the files on the project," he said, and put a manila folder in the Pretender's hands. "We're dealing with a new gas, and its effectiveness in battle. Enemy troops would not have the advantage of these protective suits our people designed, so they would be destroyed without as much attrition for our clients. We want to be sure of that before any field trials are conducted."

The younger man turned astonished, horrified eyes on the psychiatrist. "You want to know if this scenario works before field trials?" he asked incredulously. "You mean, before they actually use this stuff on other human beings? My God, Sydney.  Jesus! I can't believe you people. Don't you have a conscience?" He dropped the folder on the uneven floor, turned his back to the elder man and hobbled toward the door, favoring his injured ankle. "I won't do it."

"Jarod, please."

"My name is Justin, dammit."

"You know I can't go along with this delusion or pretend, or whatever it is that you're trying to put over on me," Sydney warned. "As far as our records go, you were born an only child. I checked with Mr. Raines himself. And you know he's not going to let you get away with not working. I've..." He hesitated, not sure of whether he was revealing enough to get him in lethal trouble with Raines. "I've seen some of the drug therapies done here to induce cooperation of unwilling participants, Jarod, and you really don't want to go there. Please. I'm trying to help you as much as I can."

"As far as the leash extends, eh?" the Pretender shot back bitterly. "Sorry, Sydney. I'm not for sale."

Raines was waiting for Sydney when he left the lab, and sent his men in after the reluctant Pretender.

Late that night they returned Jarod to the Infirmary, barely conscious and weeping uncontrollably. It took him nearly an hour to get hold of himself, but the tremors from his body's reactions to the drugs they had given him lasted long into the night, even after he had fallen into an exhausted sleep. He was silent in the morning, not looking at the woman in the infirmary bunk next to his, even when she tried valiantly to speak and get his attention. He went with the guards meekly after his untouched breakfast tray had been collected, and sat down at the preparation table in the corner of the lab with the folder he had refused the day before.

For the first hour he read about the effects of the gas on the animals that had been exposed to it, detailing in his mind its limited range and proposed delivery methods. The projected tactical use was given, so there was nothing other than the human factor remaining in question as to how effective the gas would be as a weapon in actual use.

Sydney handed him a helmet, which he put on his head without looking at it, fastening it as if he had worn one for years. He slipped into a weighted backpack, filled with a soldier's survival gear that he would need to maintain a war on the move, and accepted a disabled Russian rifle that would complete the props he needed to perform the simulation.

Gunfire echoed distantly, and sulphurous smoke bit into his nostrils. He squatted down and finally opened his eyes, scanning the landscape on the upward slope of the hill for signs of the enemy.

"You know the opposing soldiers are just over that ridge," Sydney intoned, helping to set the stage for his protege. "You and your compatriots have been ordered to drive them back. You have superior numbers, and strategic advantages, according to the reports. You know your battalion can take them. But you can't just charge over the hill. You have to move cautiously, so you inch forward, looking for the best spot to start your offensive."

The Pretender lay down on his belly and began to crawl toward the peak, slithering along on elbows and knees as quietly as the terrain would allow.

"I hear something," he said aloud, glancing around him for the source, finally looking up to see a brightly colored wing of silk far above him, the projected image clear and beautiful on the ceiling. He took aim at the craft, then realized that it was an unmanned drone, flying in lazy figure eights overhead, probably as surveillance for the other side. He saw a sparkling silvery trail emanating from the motorized body of the craft, and then it began to dive as if it had lost control, finally crashing in the midst of the field. He turned away then, focusing his attention back on the ridge.

"I would have risked shooting it down if it hadn't crashed," he said, then inched forward a little more and waited, listening. He felt his nose running and wiped at it with the back of his hand, unable to devote more attention to it than that, his concentration fully focused on the ridge and the enemy beyond it. But his eyes flicked downward at the sight of the dark stain that he knew would be there, and he found himself staring at his hand. "I'm bleeding, Sydney. I can feel it running down my face. It scares me. I pinch my nose closed, but it starts backing up inside the sinuses, running down my throat."

He glanced up, looking around and behind himself. "I see my friends bleeding out, feel the pain in my belly and chest as the hemorrhaging intensifies, and suddenly realize that I've been gassed. This is a new weapon of theirs, and they're going to kill us all. We're dying." He started to panic, sweat running in rivulets down his face and neck. He swore in a stream of invectives in several languages, wiping at his clothing, even laying down his gun, rolling onto his back and panting hard, terrified.

"I can't do this, Sydney," he called. "I'm scared. I've got to stop."

"You're almost there, Jarod," the psychiatrist said mildly, encouraging. "The enemy is starting to come over the ridge. They're wearing fully self-contained suits that keep the gas out, so they can walk among you and kill you while you're helpless with fear."

"I see them," the Pretender cried, reaching for his gun. "They're not gonna take me like that! I won't die lying down!"

He reached for his rifle and rolled to his feet, taking aim with the dummy rifle and closing one eye as he fired. Over and over, shouting for his brother soldiers to join him, to take as many with them as they could. He stumbled to his knees weakly, swaying as the room began to swim about him, firing as often as he could manage.

"It won't work, Sydney," he panted. "The suits aren't bullet proof. One nick and the gas will get in. It takes too long to dissipate... for this kind of... assault. Won't work..." He dropped the rifle and tried to stumble to his feet again, not wanting to die on his knees. "...more research..."

He fell over onto his side against the slope and rolled toward the bottom, lifeless and still.

"Jarod?" Sydney had never seen such an intense performance from his Pretender. He hurried to the fallen man and felt for a pulse. It was weak and thready, and breathing was slow and shallow. He swore softly and hurried to the intercom on the wall by the door, demanding a medical team STAT, before returning to check on his subject.

"Good Christ, Jarod, you can stop now! The simulation is over."

Sydney worked on him until the doctor and his team arrived and stood back to let them take over. He ran a hand nervously through his graying hair and watched them carry the young man out of the lab and down the corridor to the elevator. Sydney's hands were shaking as he rode a separate car up to the infirmary, waiting until he had heard that Jarod was recovering before making the trip to Raines' office to ask him what he had done to Jarod the night before.

"We used a drug called Vida-4," Raines rasped. "It has psychotropic properties that can create terrifying hallucinations and make the individual's will a bit more, shall we say, malleable. It's been tested and found to be fairly safe. The maximum effectiveness only takes place within the first four hours or so under its influence, though."

"Which is why he was so docile this morning," Sydney assumed angrily. "But how long do the residual effects last, Raines? How long would the vividness of anything hallucinated be enhanced?"

Raines shrugged. "Between 24 and 36 hours."

Sydney's face paled with horrified rage. "And you didn't see fit to make this information available to me? My God, we nearly killed Jarod just now, doing the simulation we had scheduled for yesterday! It should have been cancelled until well after his body had thrown off the effects of the drugs."

"It was just a simulation, Sydney," Raines deadpanned. "They aren't dangerous. We go out of our way to make sure that the subjects are well protected from physical injury."

Sydney rose from his chair slowly, stepped over to Raines' desk and leaned on it to emphasize his barely leashed fury. "You were a doctor once. You know the mind is the most powerful tool a physician has to work with. If a patient believes he's getting well, then usually he does, whether medication is actually working for him or not. And when someone believes they're dying, sometimes no amount of medicine can save them. You almost killed Jarod, Raines. Don't be so irresponsible with his life again. Especially after all we've been through to get him back."

He stormed out of the office and headed straight for the Infirmary again, wishing he was brave enough to kill Raines himself. But he would make certain Mr. Parker and the Tower knew about Raines' negligence as soon as possible. And he would make it a point to read up on all the medications given to his subjects in the future, so he would not be caught unawares again.

"Can you hear me?"

The Pretender lay awake on his infirmary cot, staring at the ceiling and thinking about the events of the day. Life had become a nightmare, one that never seemed to vary whether he was awake or asleep. But as he contemplated how close he had come to dying, he heard a faint voice beside him and turned toward the woman in the next bed.

"You've got your voice back. That's great." But there was little enthusiasm in his expression.

"Are you all right?"

He smiled to himself, pleased that she was worried about him. "I'm fine. Just a little tired. How are you?"

"Better. They'll be moving me to new quarters in Sub 12 tomorrow."

"I thought the lower floors were just for the slaves," he queried softly.

She laughed softly. "I'm sort of a voluntary slave," she replied cautiously. "Raines wants to keep an eye on me. And well he should. I'm a dangerous woman."

He raised his knees beneath the sheet and appreciated how pretty she was, his eyes caressing her smiling face and the curvaceous body that turned him on so easily. "I'll say," he murmured to himself. Louder, so she could hear him, he asked, "What do you do for the Centre, Janey?"

Gemini grinned at his familiarization of her pseudonym. It sounded so much like "Jenny", which brought back fond memories of childhood and home.

"I could tell you, but then I'd have to kill you," she teased. Her throat hurt from talking, but she didn't care. "So what do you think of this madhouse?"

There was a long silence from the other bed.

"I think," he said slowly, "that I must have died and gone to Hell."

Gemini's smile faded away, and she slid down beneath the covers in the semi-darkness, understanding exactly what he meant.

"Sweet dreams, friend," she whispered softly in the silent night. But sleep did not come quickly or easily for either of them.

Sydney watched his subject pacing back and forth in the lab, running a hand through his short, dark hair, his gaze unfocused, his expression fearful, his demeanor agitated.

"I can't do this, Sydney," he said aloud, his eyes downcast as he paced, not quite seeing the floor he trod. Softly, as if to himself, he whispered, "Jesus, Jarod. Is this what it was like for you every day? Jesus. Now I know where the nightmares came from."

"You're holding back because you're afraid, Jarod," Sydney prompted from off the staging area for the current simulation. "You haven't successfully completed a single simulation after that first one because of the vividness of the experience. That was a result of the drugs Raines gave you. I've told you that. But you can do this. You just have to get past--"

"I can't, Sydney!" he shouted. "I'm not Jarod. God damn it, what the fuck do I have to say to make you believe me?" The Pretender held his head with both hands as if it might explode, veins standing out in his forehead and neck, illustrating the amount of tension he was feeling. "I don't know how to do this! I can run a con game better than anyone, but this..." Then a little softer, almost pleading, "I'm not Jarod. I'm Justin. I'm Justin..."

Sydney turned and walked out of the lab, heading for Mr. Parker's office to plead for more time to give their prize Pretender some psychological counseling and a chance to readjust to life at the Centre. Jarod wasn't eating the nutritional supplement or taking his vitamins, and he was beginning to lose weight. Signs of depression were evident, and the question of his identity was beginning to worry Sydney deeply.

And on top of everything else, Miss Parker had still not found the DSA case in Serendipity, and was reported to be considering conducting a house to house search with the sweeper team that had joined her for the hunt.

William Raines stared at the log on his computer screen in disbelief. The locks on the doors to the information storage areas were electronically controlled, and only those who had the numerical codes and magnetic key cards could open them without disabling the security system and manually opening the door, which would have to be done by sawing a hole in the steel wall and pulling the bolt free by hand. And since no one had done that, there should have been no entries into the Records room for the month of March. Yet there it was, plain as day, dated on the 15th. There were two entries, just over ten minutes apart, that showed the latch being disengaged for a few seconds, just long enough to open the door, admit someone, and lock it in place again. He had no idea how the clever thief had done it, since there were corresponding glitches in the security tapes, but he was sure Jane Dough had been in that room.

He had it dusted for fingerprints and found no trace of hers anywhere in the room, but he knew she had found the empty folder with Jarod's name on it, and the slip of reference paper with Raines' own signature on it. He knew where the contents of Jarod's file was, and knew the information in it was safe from anyone who didn't already know where to look. The photograph of Jarod's mother had been the only thing he left in the folder as a clue, a reference pointing to where the records on the original subject and her miraculous offspring were stored. Raines was never sure exactly which of the other Centre subjects had fathered her child, but she had been a savant of incredible proportions herself and it had taken him five years to find her after she disappeared. All he managed to catch the second time was her little boy, but it had been enough. He still hunted her quietly, and kept her records locked safely away in his office, along with her son's.

Jane couldn't possibly know about her, and Raines believed the information was safe where it was. But just in case, he thought he might move it to the most unlikely place for her to hunt for it -- someplace she had already been.

Samantha walked with her head down, thoroughly drained from the day's exercise. She was weary and emotionally on edge, ready to crumble at the slightest provocation. Theda was at her side, escorting her back to her quarters, trying to soothe her with her voice and comfort her, get her back on solid ground after her ordeal.

But as Samantha passed a door just down the hall from her own, an apartment she knew had been vacant for some time, she suddenly turned toward it and requested entrance.

A guard was waiting there and refused her request, explaining that the resident was about to be escorted upstairs for an interview.  At just that moment, he keyed the door open and Samantha gazed up at the man waiting on the other side. He was tall and dark, with short hair combed forward, sloe-eyes that met hers immediately, haunted eyes that touched her soul. She felt the distinct presence of invisible wings folding behind him, wings that withered away as he stepped over the threshold. He did not smile or speak, but moved past her, walking with his head down as he headed out to where he did not want to go.

"Hello," she called hopefully after him.

He glanced at her over his shoulder, sadness weighing on him like a sodden blanket, and did not reply.

She turned to Theda quickly. "I have to talk to him," she demanded.

"I'm not sure that can be arranged," said her guide gently.

Samantha turned and bolted down the hall after him, stepping into the elevator just as the door closed and nearly crashing into him. He grabbed her by the upper arms and held her away from him, trying to help her regain her balance, but suddenly she stiffened and gasped and flung herself back, bouncing off the metal doors just sliding closed.

"What is it? What's the matter?" he asked concernedly.

Her eyes were black with fear and tears filled her eyes. She stood trembling, her back pressed up against the doors as she faced him.

"Oh, my God," she whispered, and covered her face with her hands.

She began to weep in earnest, and out of sympathy the man reached out to her again, grasping her shoulders gently and murmuring words of comfort for a stranger in need. Gradually he drew her close, held her as she wept, while the guard stared straight ahead, his face a blank, unfeeling mask.

"This place can be scary," said the man after a long silence. He let her ease out of his embrace and smiled sadly as she made eye contact again.

"You're the Dark One," she sniffed, wiping her cheeks with her palms and pushing her hair back from her face.

"Hmmm?"

"I've seen you in my dreams," she explained with a trembling smile. "Only there are two of you. A light one and a dark one. I didn't know until you touched me which one you were."

He frowned and stole a glance at the guard beside him, still stone-faced. "I'm not sure I..."

"Can believe this weirdness?" she finished for him, gaining a little more control of her reeling emotions. "I know. It does sound totally crazy. But I know who you are, and I'm supposed to tell you not to give up. You have to find the dreams you lost a long time ago, and share them with the ones who matter to you most. You've been running in the dark for a long time now, and it's time to find your way back into the light."

"Whatever the hell that means," he mumbled softly. "No disrespect intended, miss."

She swallowed hard, tears springing to her eyes again. "Just remember what I said when the fever passes. Don't be sad. And please don't forget me. My name is Samantha."

The doors slid open at her back and she stepped aside, allowing his guard to lead him out into the corridor. She boarded the elevator again and punched her floor, sagging against the numbered panel weakly as the full impact of her vision replayed in her mind. By the time the doors opened again she had her shoulders back, her head up, and she faced her future with grim determination and fierce pride, knowing that her life mattered after all. She had seen a future possibility, and the only one who could change it would be Samantha herself.

Miss Parker paced the tiny room slowly, arms crossed over her chest, her anger simmering just below the surface. Every lead turned up nothing, and she had been forced to return to the Centre without the Halliburton and its invaluable cargo. But she wasn't done looking for it yet. She wanted a chance to grill the one man who did know, and all of her frustrations added fuel to the fire burning in her belly to get the answer out of him as slowly and painfully as possible.

She glanced up as the door opened and the guard escorted her prisoner into the room.

"Have a seat, Jarod," she snapped, nodding toward a cold metal folding chair parked before a small table at room centre. "And you wait outside," she told the guard, who obeyed her without question.

"You look tired," she commented as the big man slumped into the chair.

"It's the middle of my night, Miss Parker," he growled unhappily. "I used to think I had trouble sleeping until I came here. Now I'm afraid to even lie down."

A predatory smile flashed across her face. "You, afraid of something?" she asked incredulously. "Why, Jarod, what's gotten into you?"

He glanced around the bare, depressing room. "This place."

She leaned onto the table, her face close to his in an intimidating pose. "Where are the DSAs, Ratboy? I've been in every nook and cranny in Serendipity, and they aren't there. Did you leave them at the Foundation?"

He shook his head wearily. "I don't even know what DSAs are," he admitted. "I don't know where the Foundation is, either. I found Serendipity a few months ago and the people there were so good to me I decided to come back for a little sabbatical. I was planning my next job there. And since everyone there thinks I'm with the CIA, they don't ask too many questions, just let me feel at home." He paused, and sighed heavily. "I like it there, Miss Parker. It's the kind of place where I want to be when I'm old."

"Don't change the subject," she shot back. "You certainly knew what DSAs were at the inn. You told Sydney they were in a safe place."

"I didn't want you to catch on that I wasn't who you thought I was. I wanted to find out what happened to Jarod, so I pulled a con job on you. That's what I do, you know. Get people to give me what I want without revealing anything that I don't want them to know about me."

"You know my name," she accused harshly. "If you were anyone but Jarod, how would you know that?"

"The bottle of pills for your ulcer," he confessed. "It had your name on it. But I listened first before I used it. I caught on that, even though the people around you seemed to know you quite well, no one used your given name, so I didn't either. Except when it mattered. But I'm not Jarod. My name is Justin, and Jarod is my twin brother."

She crossed her arms over her chest and glared at him frostily. "Sydney told me about your delusion. But nobody's going to swallow that bullshit. You should know that already."

He shrugged. "The truth is all I have, Miss Parker."

She leaned across the table, her glare intensifying. "Even if you really are Jarod's twin brother, you know you're not leaving this place. So you'd better cooperate with us. We can be..." Her mouth tightened, and she finished with a venomous hiss. "...really nasssty when you don't please us."

He nodded without breaking eye contact, his expression composed and accepting. "I knew this could be dangerous. I knew I might not get my life back. That's why I didn't try to get away when I had the chance. Because I had to see for myself. I had to know what Jarod had been through. I had to know what the nightmares I've had all these years were about."

She strode to the door and punched the exit code. "Take him back to his room," she snarled to the guard. "I'll finish this after I've had a good night's sleep." Then more softly, to herself, "I am so tired of this crap."

She strode to the elevator and stepped inside, ready to ride to the upper floor guest room where she occasionally stayed when work kept her late at the Centre. Her bags had already been delivered there, and after indulging in a glass of wine, she would strip down to her slip and not bother with dressing for bed. She was bone weary, and intended to sleep as late as the sun would let her before starting the day.

Jarod surged upright in bed, struggling to breathe. Pain like a knife in his back assaulted him, and he pushed the dream images out of his mind. He was burning up with fever, and gasped for breath, holding himself against the spasms. The chest cold he had been fighting during the blizzard had worsened, and he suspected pneumonia had set in. He would have to get to the emergency room if he was going have access to the antibiotics he would need to get well. Pneumonia wasn't something he could handle with herbs and home remedies, and it took him almost half an hour to dress and make his way outside into the snow and cold.

But the image of the bleeding angel would not go away, and he fought back tears as he drove himself to the nearest hospital, wondering what the dream meant.

Part IV

Gemini stood in the Security Ops room, watching the colors swirl on a monitor built into the wall. She was on night duty again, and with any luck it would be her last. Something more important than the search for Jarod's past had come up, and she planned to devote all her considerable talents to the project. Justin needed her more than Jarod ever would, and she would not let the Centre destroy him slowly. Mother Nature seemed to agree, and she hoped the torrential rain on its way to the Delaware coast would offer cover enough to help make good their escape. Raines would be watching, but she doubted he suspected what she could do just yet.

And he wasn't prepared for the impossible.

She spent most of the early evening watching the progress of the season's first tropical storm as it moved landward, downgrading to a tempest that began to lose intensity as it neared the shore. Observers on the above ground floors sent down regular reports for those on duty below, and in deference to the severe weather, several shifts of workers had been released to go to their homes in the tiny village of Blue Cove to tend to their families and batten down the hatches before the storm hit. The Centre was under operation with a minimal crew, and power for the computers and security systems had already been switched over to the generators in the bowels of the complex to prevent interruption in case of a power outtage.

But Gemini watched the color patterns of the storm as it hit, and waited until the most furious part was just past them before she moved. Visualizing the circuit powering the lighting, she imagined flipping the switch on the breaker, and the overheads went black. Emergency lighting kicked in amid murmurs of disquiet from the personnel working at their various stations, and in the eerie orange-red glow, Gemini's plan began to unfold. She stood near a vacant keyboard, her body blocking the view between it and the nearest operator, and concentrated on typing in the commands without making contact with the keys. In her mind's eye she watched them flicking downward, careful to spell everything correctly, and equally careful not to appear interested in the empty station in case someone noticed the keyboard in motion. That would take care of the security cameras and the doors, and now the timing would be the difficult part.

"I'll go check on the lights," she offered. "Perhaps Maintenance can get them back on again." Wandering casually out of the Ops Center, she headed for the elevator and flashed her key card into the slot, punched in the code for Sub Level 10, and hunted for the lab where her target would be working. Several people were already standing in the halls discussing the brownout, and the lone guard was trying to hustle them back into their respective rooms.

She ducked her head in the door and eyed Sydney as he sat at the table with his subject, neither of them apparently working on their assigned project.

"Upstairs, gentlemen," she ordered. "Raines wants to see you."

Sydney kept his seat while the Pretender rose obediently and moved toward her. "Just a minute, Jarod," he said, turning his attention back to the woman at the door. "He would have phoned his request down to the lab, Jane."

"Phones aren't working," she reported with a shrug. "Storm's knocked them out, along with the regular lights. They're working on it. Shall we go?"

She stepped aside and held the door open, ushering them out into the hall. A security guard approached them, a hand-held comm unit next to his ear as he received his orders. He eyed the trio suspiciously, but deferred to the special security advisor until another message came back after his report that she was in command on his floor.

The uniformed guard called to her, demanding that she halt and explain why she was leaving the floor with her charges.

Gemini stopped in the hallway and turned to face him as he caught up to them. She smiled and explained that Mr. Raines had asked for them just as a pair of women came out of another lab into the hallway nearby.

"What's going on?" asked Theda, turning to the Security Advisor for an answer.

"There's a storm up top," Gemini answered with a placating smile. "We're having some trouble with the power in spots. Just wait in the lab and I'm sure everything will be back on shortly."

"Mr. Raines said everyone was to stay put, Jane," the guard said firmly, catching the brunette's eye again.

"You've got your orders. I've got mine," Gemini argued politely.

"He was also wondering what you were doing on this floor. Said I should keep you here if you tried to leave."

Gemini smiled at him, her eyes growing suddenly hard and calculating. Her right hand moved a little at her side, and the leather strap that held the guard's gun in the holster at his hip snapped open apparently by itself. "I don't think that would be wise, Baker," she said coolly after checking his ID badge for his name. "There are things about me that you don't know. And I'd really rather not have to pull rank on you."

Baker reached for her left arm, intending to haul her into one of the labs and sit on her until Mr. Raines came down, but Gemini was not docile like the Centre subjects he was accustomed to handling. She dodged away from his grip, taking a step back as he advanced on her and striking a distinctly martial pose.

"Just walk away, Baker," she urged him. "I don't want to have to hurt you."

Rather than get into a fistfight with her, he stepped back and reached for his pistol, intending to use the threat of firepower to keep control of the situation. But as his hand settled above the loaded pistol it jiggled in the holster, drawing his attention downward instinctively. A split second later it leaped out of the leather and flew two feet through the air toward the woman's outstretched hand.

She caught it firmly, and before anyone moved she turned it around in her hand, business end pointed directly at the guard, and thumbed off the safety.

"My God!" Sydney swore, unable to believe what he had just seen with his own eyes.

"A telekinetic!" breathed Theda, the light of discovery and greed shining brightly in her eyes as realization dawned on her. She reached out and tried to grab the pistol, but Gemini was ready and slammed the back of her left fist into the older woman's nose. Theda crumpled against the wall and Baker seized his opportunity to strike.

Gemini pulled the trigger and a bullet impacted into the guard's shoulder, knocking him backward in the wide hallway.

She turned on Sydney, who was still too stunned to move, and raced past him, grabbing at the Pretender's shirt sleeve. "Come on, Justin," she called. "We're getting out of here."

He needed no urging and followed her at a run toward the elevator. More footsteps followed them, and Gemini turned to face their pursuers, pointing the muzzle of her stolen pistol at the pair behind them.

"I'm going, too," Samantha stated firmly, her face draining of color as she fixed a brave smile to her lips.

"Samantha!" Sydney cried, reaching for her, trying to hold her back with him. "You can't go! They'll kill you before you can get away."

Gemini left them arguing in the corridor, raced to the elevator and punched the ascent button, watched the curious as they filled the hallway behind them. She saw the other young woman struggling against the hold Sydney had on her, saw her tears and desperation, but finally she broke free, shoved him off balance and ran to join the escapees just as the doors were sliding closed.

"Goodbye, Sydney," she breathed, her eyes fixed on the stainless steel doors, but seeing instead Sydney's grief-stricken face as he pounded on the other side of the barrier, shouting at her, begging her not to go. She touched the door lightly, briefly, and drew her hand back against her chest as if hugging him to her one last time.

Justin watched her somberly, but said nothing.

Once the car started its ascent, Gemini removed the maintenance panel in the ceiling and climbed up into the shaft, waiting for the power to be cut to the elevator once the escape attempt was reported.

"How the hell did you do that thing with the gun?" asked Justin as he lifted Samantha up through the hole onto the roof of the car. "That was the most amazing thing I've ever seen!"

"Yeah, well, you're probably going to be seeing some more cool stuff before the night is over, love, but don't let the surprise slow you down," Gemini panted. She visualized the motor at the bottom of the shaft, powering the car's ascent, and pushed it to speed up, but nothing happened.

"Too far away," she told herself aloud. Turning her attention to the pulleys at the top of the shaft, she worked on drawing the cables up quicker, and their speed increased. She took them most of the way up before the power shut off, and when the car started down again at the command of Centre personnel, she was hurrying her companions off onto the service ladder, urging them to climb upward. Keeping watch below, she saw the nearest set of doors begin to open manually, and clenched her fist closed as she imagined the doors crimping together, impossible to part.

The effort was telling on her, but she couldn't stop to rest. She led her companions out onto the roof, barring the door closed after them, glancing at her watch. The second command sequence she had programmed into the security system should be activating any second, shutting every electronic lock on every exterior door in the buildings, effectively trapping the Centre's guards inside.

She ran to the air conditioning unit and panted as she wrenched off a panel, revealing a large coil of thick, rubber-coated wire hanging against a filter. Gemini pulled the coil out and threw it toward the low parapet surrounding the flat roof, then opened up another panel and yanked the wire free.

"What do you want me to do?" the young woman with her called, holding herself against the wet wind. Hard rain was slanting down on them, whipped by strong winds that roared distantly in the darkness like a wounded lion.

"Keep watch on the door, but stay away from it," she ordered. "They'll be shooting their way out."

"What can I do?" shouted Justin, glancing up at the sky.

"Help me get the rest of these cables out, then tie them together," Gemini ordered. "Make the knots fast. We'll go down one at a time. You first, then her, then me. Ever done any rapelling?"

He jerked the next panel open. "No."

"Well, you're going to have burned hands, but that's okay. Just don't waste time trying to climb down. Slide down the cable and get to the bottom as fast as you can. Then head for the water."

"Got it."

Samantha felt her stomach clenching with fear, and she was freezing. She felt as if there was no blood left in her body, but she did not take her eyes off the door. The metal door was buckling, and soon the mouth of Hell would open and the demons would have her.

"They're coming!" she screamed, leaving her post to join them. "Go! You're out of time!" Samantha's eyes caressed Justin's face, burning his image into her mind.

The Pretender tugged on the cable to make sure it would hold his weight, and waited for the women to meet him at the edge of the roof.

"I'll go last," Samantha offered with a shaky smile. Tears welled up in her eyes and trickled down her cheeks, but were camoflaged by the raindrops coursing over her face. The others didn't need to know what she had seen. They would find out soon enough.

"No way," Gemini argued. "I'm in command here." She turned to Justin and sent him over the edge.

Thunder rumbled and lightning flashed in the sky. A steady pounding warned them that the door was about to be breached, and Gemini grabbed Samantha by the shoulder, pushing her toward the parapet and thrusting the cable into her hands as their companion disappeared down the side of the building.

"I have to stay," Samantha told her, dropping the cable and shaking free of the woman's grip. "Remember me. My name is Samantha."

The door bounced open and a stream of men in uniforms came pouring out onto the roof, racing to the nearest cover to take their positions.

Gemini pushed at one of them with a blast of mental energy, and he stumbled, tripping three others in the doorway as well.

She wasn't going to waste time arguing with the woman, and picked up the cable as she backed toward the parapet.

"No!" Samantha cried as she saw the first guard out the door crouching behind a satellite dish, taking aim. She had seen this same scene before and knew what would happen, but she had already accepted the outcome, and stepped in front of the bullet meant for the woman whose name she did not even know. She fell backward as the lead impacted against her forehead, hitting the parapet with her shoulders and lying still and silent, gazing up at the stormy sky.

"Oh, my God," Gemini breathed as she slid down the cable. She could see the outline of the woman's head hanging over the edge of the roof above her and knew from the report of gunfire what had happened. But there wasn't time to mourn, so she watched the roof for snipers and felt the friction of her downward slide heating up her unprotected palms.

Her companion was waiting for her on the ground.

"Where's Samantha?" he asked above the roar of the storm.

"Come on!" she ordered, and set off toward the rocky coastline at as fast a pace as she could manage on the uneven ground in the darkness. Rain beat at them, and bullets began to whiz by.

"Run zigzag!" he called to her, waiting for her to catch up to him.

But she was already doing that, and in a few more moments they would be out of range of the shooters on the roof.

"Almost there!" she cheered.

Only he stumbled and crashed to earth, grunting as he sprawled on the rocks.

"I'm hit," he moaned, struggling to his feet. Instantly she was under his arm, towing him along with her toward the water. Waves assaulted the stony beach, but Gemini led him right into the angry breakers.

"Where'd they get you?" she demanded, glancing back over her shoulder for pursuit. Guards stationed on the grounds would be on their way any moment. They only had a few seconds left of safe time.

"In the back," he wheezed. "I think it's bad."

She sat him down on a rock and instructed him to wait.

"I'm not going anywhere," he mumbled as she dove into the cold water. He could hear them coming, shouting to each other in the dark. If not for the storm, they would be able to see him by now. He was going to die. Regrets by the hundreds weighed on his soul, and he wished for another chance that he believed he would never have.

The water pounding against his shins exploded with human form, and Gemini surged to her feet, wearing a double SCUBA tank and goggles that she had stored underwater in anticipation of just such an exit. Without a word she grabbed him and pulled him down into the waves, wrestling with him underwater, struggling to stay away from the rocks and swim with him further out to sea. The salty water would help wash out the wound, but it would also prevent coagulation and enhance his loss of blood, so she would have to get him where she was going quickly. He couldn't help her swim, could barely hold onto her as he struggled to maintain consciousness. If he passed out, he would drown in moments.

When she was certain they were a safe distance from shore she turned on a waterproof flashlight she had thought to include in her submerged stash, and looked for her markers. Like following a trail of breadcrumbs, she made her way toward a submersible scooter she had anchored to the bottom further out, buddy breathing with the man beneath her arm as she towed him through the murky, agitated water.

Gemini knew they had only been under for a few minutes, but it seemed like hours that she had fought the currents, desperately hoping she would be able to get him to someplace safe before the hounds caught up to them. She had a motorcycle stashed in the woods further down the coast, but was sure her wounded passenger wouldn't be able to make it that far. It was at least a twenty minute swim, and by the time she had traversed that distance Justin would have bled to death.

The prow of a small cabin cruiser rocked into view above them, and she made a quick decision. Bringing them to the surface, she eased up alongside the boat and hailed whoever might be on board.

A white-haired man clambered onto the deck and stuck his head over the side to answer. Minutes later he was hauling the limp Pretender up while the woman climbed the rope ladder he had thrown over the side for her.

"What the hell are you doing out in this weather?" the man demanded.

"I could ask the same of you," Gemini shot back. "This isn't exactly the best port in a storm." She wedged herself beneath Justin's arm to try to help him keep his feet, and glanced toward the cabin for the entrance to belowdecks.

"This cove was the closest shelter I could find," the captain returned. "Hey, your friend's in trouble. Let's get him below." He lifted the injured man's other arm and draped it over his shoulder, leading the way to the steps that would take them out of the rain.

Once in the cabin, Gemini wasted no time in getting her fellow escapee onto the captain's bed, and rolled him onto his belly to check the extent of his wounds.

"Good Christ," she swore softly.

"Jesus," echoed the captain. "He's been shot."

She pulled the pistol she had stolen from the waistband in the back of her pants and aimed it at their good Samaritan. "We're not criminals," she told him bluntly. "But we're in trouble with some shady people. This can't be reported to the police, and he can't be taken to a hospital."

The man raised both hands, palm out, and shook his head. "If you've escaped from the Centre, which I assume you have, then I'd love to lend you a hand. My name's Joaquin St. James. I've been watching that place for a couple of months now. Figured it was time something like this happened. I'm glad I was here to be of help."

Justin grimaced and opened his eyes, looking for the fellow who had spoken.

"What did you... say your... name was?" he gasped, fighting the pain to stay conscious.

The captain repeated himself. "I doubt very much you've heard of me. I've spent my whole life avoiding attention."

Gemini lowered her pistol and moved to her friend's side, touching his cheek with her palm worriedly. "What's the matter, Justin?" she asked tenderly.

He was bleeding to death, half drowned, and being pursued by people who wanted him back dead or alive, yet the man she had escaped with was lying on the bunk, and laughing as gently as he could manage.

"Oh, nothing," he answered evasively. "Just another irony of Fate."

He closed his eyes, groaning with a sudden, intense pain, and then consciousness slid away from him without further notice.

Gemini put her fingers to his throat, checking his pulse while her eyes met those of the captain. "Get us out of here on the double," she demanded. "And even with all the rocking this boat's doing, I'll know if you take us the wrong way. You do that, and I'll come up and shoot you through the heart. Understand?"

Joaquin's expression was grim as he looked away from the young man's face. "Can you help him?"

"I think so. Where's your first aid gear?"

He pointed to a cabinet above the bunk. "You take care of him. I'll get us away from this viper's nest." He gave her a small salute, and trudged up on deck. Seconds later, the engine came to life and Gemini could feel the boat turning broadside to the waves and heading south along the coastline, hopefully out of range of the approaching hunters and toward the edge of the fading storm.

She turned her attention to her patient, and began to strip him out of his clothes so she could treat him and get him warm and dry. If she was going to keep him alive, she would need a miracle, and the meager ship's stores would not be enough to do the job. The first thing would be to stop the bleeding, which, if luck was with them, would give her time to do everything else.

Joaquin sat beside the bunk, glancing out the window occasionally, but for the most part keeping watch on the young man lying on his belly on the bunk. They had ditched his cabin cruiser in favor of a well-equipped small yacht that Gemini rented, berthed in the Maryland harbor just out of DC. He thought about the things she had done for her friend, stealing into a hospital and absconding with a variety of surgical instruments, drugs, antibiotics and an abundant supply of fresh blood without attracting the slightest notice from the authorities, and then returned to the boat where she had left Joaquin tied up, just for safety's sake, until she trusted him a little more. He had watched her perform delicate surgery to repair the young man's internal injuries, then connect him to life-saving antibiotic drips as professionally as any qualified medical expert in the field. For two days the wounded man's condition held steady, fighting off the threat of infection from the less than antiseptic conditions on board, and finally he began to improve enough that Joaquin encouraged Gemini to take a little rest and let him look after her patient for a change.

She reluctantly agreed, and now he sat on duty, waiting for the young stranger to rouse.

"Hello, there," he said with a smile, recognizing the grimace of pain on the man's stubbly face as a precursor to wakefulness. "You probably feel like shit, but we're glad you're alive."

"Mmmm," the Pretender agreed. He pushed up off his belly weakly and rolled onto his left side so he could see around him better, and make eye contact with the older man. "Joaquin St. James," he said softly. "That's what you said your name was, right? I wasn't hallucinating?"

"You know me from somewhere, son? CIA, maybe? You don't look the type."

"What type is that?"

Joaquin grinned. "The best spies are the ones who seem least like they might be. You look like a dangerous man, and would therefore be wrong for the job. What's your name, son? Your girlfriend's been real tight-lipped about the both of you."

"Justin." He grinned, remembering a private secret. "D'you remember a lady named Helen Pierce? You used to work with her a long time ago."

The older man leaned back in his chair, a dreamy, far-away look in his eyes and he smiled warmly to himself. "Yes. Helen. Hardly a day goes by that I don't think of her. She was a very special lady. Never knew what happened to her. She just... disappeared one day. I got a letter in the mail a few days later with some vague words of apology and farewell, but never heard from her again."

"She's my mother," said Justin slowly. He paused just long enough to let the other man's wheels start turning. "How long has it been since you saw her?"

A bright gleam flickered on in Joaquin's brown eyes as he stared at the reclining man's face, tracing over his features, looking for signs of his mother's genetic contributions.

"Thirty years or so," came the reply. Joaquin leaned closer to the bunk, resting his elbows on his knees as he studied the young man.

"Thirty-eight," Justin replied slowly. "Plus a few months."

Joaquin had to concentrate to inhale. His chest squeezed closed, making it difficult to breathe. For a moment his mouth wouldn't work, and when it did obey him at last, the words issued out in a strangled whisper. "You look like you're just about that age. Are you..."

He couldn't finish the question. But there was enough evidence in the young man's face, in his tall, broad-shouldered frame, that told him the truth already.

"I heard a lot about you, growing up," said Justin calmly. "I'm glad to finally get a chance to meet you." He paused, then hesitantly added, "Dad."

Joaquin's hands were shaking as he reached under his chair and scooted it closer to the bunk. He took Justin's right hand and squeezed it firmly.

"Helen... Helen never told me. I didn't know, I swear, or I would have been there for you," he whispered hoarsely. "Jesus."

"I know. She told me that." He grimaced, trying to adjust to a more comfortable position. "There's a lot more to the story, but right now, I'd like to see Janey. Is she all right?"

"She's sleeping," he said quietly. "She's a regular guardian angel, son. Made quite a miracle in keeping you alive. I helped out with the surgery, but she's the one who saved you."

Justin Pierce stood on the swaying deck surefootedly, reveling in the wind brushing against his skin and ruffling his hair. Freshly bathed and shaven, it was his first visit abovedecks since his arrival a week before, and though still very weak, he was healing nicely. He watched seagulls following in the yacht's wake, waiting for Joaquin to toss the ship's edible garbage into the drink for them to fight over. But he didn't see the graceful gray and white birds or the brilliant azure sky or the indigo waves frothing up in their wake.

Instead, he saw the face of a brave young woman with long brown hair and brown eyes, shivering in a rainstorm, and offering up her life to save someone else's. He remembered hearing the gunfire, and when Samantha didn't come down with Gemini, he knew she was gone. He mourned for her, aching to make her sacrifice worthwhile. For a long time his opinion of himself had contributed to his alcohol addiction, but in the past week he discovered that there were others much worse in the world than he, and that his life could be put to good use in the service of others. He and Gemini had talked about the subject a lot during his recovery, and as he mulled over their options he felt her come up behind him and slip under his arm quietly, embracing his hip rather than his waist to avoid touching the tender spot in his back.

"What's it like, where you're from?" he asked her softly.

She smiled sadly. "I'm from so many places," she reminded him. "But from the first I felt a kinship with the Basques, and their mistrust of strangers has been instrumental in keeping me out of the hands of the Centre, and other organizations like them. Atzerri osterri. 'The alien's land is a land of wolves.' "

He turned to look down at her earnest face, his eyes filled with astonished fear. "You mean there are other Centres?"

She shrugged. "Of course. Most of the major world powers have a branch of the Centre, or research facilities much like it, all over the globe. Science has no morals, or haven't you discovered that truth yet?"

"Jesus," he swore softly. "So wherever we go, whatever we do, we always have to watch our backs? I thought my mother was just paranoid. She's farther-sighted than I gave her credit for." He sighed and leaned his cheek against her hair. "I guess that pretty much cancels out any hope for a relatively normal life, then."

"For us, yes," she agreed. "But it also rules out mediocrity, love." Smiling up at him, she waited for him to meet her hopeful gaze before trying for a kiss. It was a solemn kiss, a moment of unmasking for them both, and Gemini felt a bittersweet ache rising up in her soul in its wake.

That blossomed into an awareness of something else, a little miracle that she had not believed possible.

She was falling in love.

"My mom and I ran away to the circus for a while, when I was little," he told her. "But we were hiding everywhere we went. She taught me to stay on the move, and be anything I needed to be. I misused my gifts and took a lot of people's money. I was a con man for a long time, and I hurt a lot of people, but I don't want to be that person anymore."

"I know what you mean, Justin," Gemini agreed, releasing his hip and letting her hand trail down his arm to his hand. His fingers interlaced with hers and held on gently while his eyes searched her face. "And after you've recovered, if you want, we can take on projects that will help people." She smiled mysteriously. "Perhaps I can even teach you to work in my trade. You'd be surprised what corruption you can uncover as a professional thief."

"I just might enjoy the hell out of that," he admitted frankly. "I'm not too big for the job, am I? You're such a dainty little thing."

"We'll just have to make sure we plan jobs with no tight places that might get you caught, eh?"

He bent to give her another kiss, longer and bolder, filled with restrained passion that left her breathless and hungry.

"You'd better stop that," she warned him happily. "You aren't up to romance yet."

With a sly glance downward, he grinned back at her. "Well, maybe not all of me..."

He touched her cheek with his fingertips, his smile fading slowly away. "Thank you for believing me," he said softly. "You were the only one who knew Jarod that believed I wasn't him. We must be a lot alike, even after all these years."

Gemini shook her head. "I can't explain how I knew, but it was just so obvious to me that you weren't the same man. It might have been the missing mole, but I don't think that's enough to draw such a conclusion. Perhaps it was just that the others weren't willing to entertain the idea that there might be two of you." Pleasure teased the corners of her mouth and glowed in her eyes. "As different as night and day. You're going to be a challenge, Justin."

He nodded solemnly, his mind elsewhere. "I can't believe I was so close to Jarod, and missed him completely. I have to find him. I have to tell him who he is, and take him home to meet our mom."

"I know his e-mail address," Gemini suggested.

Justin shook his head. "It has to be face to face."

"We'll set up an introduction, then. I can have him meet me somewhere, and then bring you out. But I should prep him first. It shouldn't be too much of a shock."

"Are you sure he'll come? He might think the Centre's setting a trap. I would, if I was him."

"Well, you're not him," she returned gently. "Jarod is still a little boy, a Peter Pan who grew up in an evil Neverland. He might suspect, because he's so bright, but he'll come because he believes in me, though he'll be ready for an ambush. He's rather good at that."

"You knew him pretty well, then."

She heard a distinct note of disappointment in his voice, and hope grew in her heart that he felt the same attraction as she did. With that possibility in her pocket, she suddenly felt that nothing else mattered in the world.

Jarod lay on the motel bed waiting for the signal from his digital thermometer. His bout of pneumonia had prevented him from getting started in the quest for justice for Tommy Sadler, the mentally retarded man he had come to St. Paul to investigate. There were bundles of dried herbs hanging on the bedpost above his head, bottles of prescription medicines on the nightstand, a humidifier with pungently aromatic steam billowing into the room from its commanding spot on the floor near the bed, and nearly every other square inch of horizontal space in the room was strewn with newspapers, food cartons and Pez wrappers, with the dispensers neatly lined up on top of the television, which he chose not to watch.

The treatments and time were helping him to feel better, and as soon as he could breathe again fairly well and the headache settled down to a mild pounding, he hauled himself upright and began to read again. The papers were from all over the country, some recent and some as much as six months old. He had been working his way down to the bottom of the stack, and dragged a worn-looking copy of an El Paso newspaper onto his lap. He unfolded the front page and began to scan the headlines, when a photograph caught his eye. It was the portrait of a smiling blonde woman, and his eyes automatically flicked upward on the page to check the article title and the date of the paper.

September 23. Three days after Athena's death.

He went back to the article and began to read. By the time he finished, his hands were shaking and there were tears in his eyes. Part of him grieved for the slain woman and her unborn child, but the larger part of his heart was delirious with the possibility that the woman he loved still lived.

Athena was alive. The twins were alive, and somewhere, during the month of December, they had been born. He could find them. He could go back to Cornudas, back to the trailer where he had lived with her, and pick up her trail from there. Somehow she had gotten away from Damon, and she was in hiding, waiting for him to find her again.

He sat up in the bed, his pulse quickening as his mind began to race. He pictured the scene at the hangar again in all its terrible clarity, looking for details he had missed before.

The woman Damon killed had her face covered with a bloodied canvas bag, and Jarod never heard her voice except in screams. The psychopath had fooled him, but the reason why escaped him, unless Athena was already gone when Damon found the trailer and he was running out of time, needing a suitable replacement for her to exact his revenge on Jarod. Damon had taken Athena's clothes and dressed the stranger in them to play her role in his deadly game.

Athena could be anywhere... but Jarod had given her finances to Faith, and there had been no activity on any of the accounts during the period between September and Christmas, when he believed her dead. She should have drawn on the money for living expenses, even if she had to make cash withdrawals to keep her whereabouts under wraps... unless there was some reason that she couldn't.

Jarod leaped to his feet, his chest hurting as his breathing deepened. Images flashed in his mind, reminding him of the scene at the trailers. The truck, smashed into the front door of his home, but only a single bloody wound in Ernie's chest, not a likely injury for someone who had been in a car crash. Why would Ernie have crashed the truck into his trailer, anyway? It didn't make sense. The scenes were all wrong, and he began to doubt his memory again. Perhaps the effects of Styx-15 were more far-reaching than the study revealed, making him unable to trust his own mind for any extended period of time. And for this event there were no DSAs for him to fall back on, to help him see the truth.

Athena was alive! But what had happened to her? Where was she? Why hadn't she left him an e-mail message? Why hadn't she used any of her money?

The answer was simple. She couldn't. The realization dawned on him in a sudden flash of inspiration, accompanied by the brief image of an angel fading into darkness. She was standing behind Faith, with her hand on the new mother's shoulder, smiling down at the baby in her arms, and brushing the dimpled cheek of the other child sleeping in his crib before vanishing into the night. Athena couldn't reach him, because she couldn't remember his addresses. She hadn't touched her funds because she didn't know about them. Everything she was had disappeared, including the face that he loved so much. The pieces fell into place quickly, and he couldn't believe how he had missed all the signals nudging at his consciousness during the months they had spent together.

She had been right under his nose all along, and the excitement of his discovery made him dizzy with relief. He had to sit down to figure out the last details, but he could see the scenes vividly now, and his hands were trembling as he clutched the sheet beneath him.

Athena had been the one driving Ernie's pickup, and the resulting injuries she received caused her to be an unsuitable pawn in Damon's game. Her memory loss from the injury to her brain, and the construction of a new face that hid her identity from him prevented him from recognizing the familiarities between Faith and Athena. He wondered why he hadn't considered the idea before, but then Damon had done everything necessary to prevent his curiosity from turning in that direction, and the untimely arrival of Miss Parker and her minions kept him from removing the bag from the dead woman's face and learning the truth. Sydney had been there to view the body, but Jarod had avoided his posts and telephone calls during his period of mourning, and he was sure the Belgian had tried to tell him that the woman who died was not Athena.

Fate had put them together once again, and he began to wonder about the possibility of a controlling Force in the universe. But an even more important question was how to tell Faith Wise who she was, and that he loved her. He reached for the telephone only to hang it up again after a moment's consideration, deciding that announcement was one that needed to be made in person.

He picked up all the newspapers, cleaned up and packed up the car, and walked to the motel office to pay his bill.

"I hope we'll be seeing you again soon, Just-- er, Jarod," said the proprietor warmly. "I always do get the names mixed up, don't I, son? Sorry you were laid up this time. Can I get you anything before you go?"

"No, thanks, Mr. Carlson," Jarod returned with a smile. He scratched at his beard, wishing he had taken time to shave before leaving, but deciding to tend to that at the next overnight stop on his way home. "But I did want to thank you for coming by to check on me every day. I don't think I'd have made it if you hadn't brought me my meals. That was above and beyond the call of duty."

The old man winked at him and gave him a conspiratorial grin. "Got to do my part to see that justice is done in this world," he said enigmatically. "And I figure helping you furthers that cause just a little bit, eh?"

"How'd you know?" Jarod asked innocently. "Everyone here in Serendipity treats me as if I belonged here."

Mr. Carlson chuckled and waggled his white eyebrows at the young man. "Maybe you do, son. Maybe you do."

Jarod shook his hand and hit the road again, heading southwest into the setting sun. His mission of justice could wait, but he promised himself to return to Serendipity one day when spring was in the air. And he wanted to bring his wife and children with him.