Chapter 3

Author's Note: When I was writing WHAT PRICE FREEDOM, many of the songs I heard on the radio seemed to reflect what my Pretender characters were feeling. So I decided to start each chapter in this sequel with a quote from a song - popular or obscure - as a comment on the action of the upcoming scene or just a description of that character's state of mind.

"You can get addicted to a certain kinda sadness

Like resignation to the end, always the end"

from Gotye's Somebody That I Used to Know


Not even the sight of Broots' name on her cell phone's caller ID display could spoil Miss Parker's good mood.

She'd had a surprisingly satisfying evening. She'd enjoyed an excellent meal in a fine restaurant just inland enough and pricey enough to keep away the casual summer tourist in search of an authentic Maine lobster dinner. The setting may have been a bit unorthodox for a job interview, but Miss Parker felt it made a nice change from talking to applicants over the phone or computer. She knew most modern workers embraced the convenience that e-mail, texting or video conferences offered, but she still felt more comfortable with face-to-face conversations.

Tonight especially. After reading Sean's online application, Miss Parker knew he was a promising candidate for the security position open with her company. The follow-up chat she'd had with him over Skype reinforced her opinion. Since he lived only about an hour away, it made sense to grant him an in-person interview. After spending two hours with him, she knew she'd recommend him for the job; he came across as a strong, intelligent, confident man who had the potential to be a great employee.

And the potential to be something more… to her. After she caught herself wondering just how broad his shoulders were under his suitcoat and yearning for another glimpse of the roguish grin he'd flashed at something she'd said, she knew she wanted to see more of this man – and not in a business capacity. The job he was seeking was at her company's main office in Maine, so he wouldn't be too far away.

She'd been happily anticipating future meetings with Sean – of the non-business variety – when her phone rang, so she answered in a much more pleasant manner than usual. "Hello, Broots."

There was a brief pause while he no doubt wondered if he had the right number. "Um," he finally said, "I'm not interrupting your dinner… meeting, am I?"

"No, I'm on my way home. How can I help you?"

Even she couldn't believe how cheerful she sounded. If one night out with an attractive man made her feel this mellow, it really had been too long since she'd done anything fun. It was definitely time to to change that.

Still sounding like he thought he'd stumbled into an alternate reality, Broots said slowly, "I wanted to tell you that I – I know where Sydney is." He stopped.

Miss Parker had never been a fan of the dramatic pause. "Where, Broots?" she prompted, some of the familiar acidity returning to her tone.

"In a hospital in upstate New York."

She was glad she was on speakerphone, because she had to clutch the wheel tightly to stay on the road. "Is it his heart?" she asked, feeling a tightness in her own chest.

She'd always thought Sydney kept his feelings bottled up too much of the time – an occupational hazard of being a shrink and having to remain on an even keel for your patients. Of course, she'd never had a problem expressing her frustrations on a regular basis when she'd worked at the Centre and still had developed a bleeding ulcer that almost killed her. Venting wasn't enough when you worked in a high-stress environment like that, and Sydney was still in that pressure cooker every day.

"No, he was found unconscious in an alley where a lot of homeless people camp out. The police think he may have been there since yesterday before anyone noticed."

"What?" She almost grabbed the phone and asked him to repeat that to see if she'd heard correctly. Sydney didn't go around wearing Armani suits, but what she considered his professorial attire certainly set him apart from your average street person. How could he have lain unnoticed in an alley for that long? "What happened? Was he mugged?"

"Well, he didn't have any cash on him and his watch was missing, but he still had his wallet. That's how the police knew to call me. Apparently, Sydney has me listed as his emergency contact." He paused. "Um, why would he do that?"

"You're his friend, Broots. He trusts you." Although she couldn't understand how Sydney could have picked their-panic prone pal to be his go-to guy in a crisis.

From the uncomfortable silence on Broots' end of the line, she knew he was wondering the exact same thing. He finally came out with, "Well, that's…um, gosh, that's..."

Time to take charge. "What's Sydney's condition?" she asked sharply. "He's going to be alright, isn't he?"

"I don't know. I found out that he hasn't regained consciousness yet and that he's in stable but serious condition, but that's all the hospital would tell me because I'm not a family member." Another worried pause. "Do you think I should contact his son?"

It had been in large part because of the Centre that Sydney hadn't even known he had a son until the boy was all grown up, and Miss Parker knew he wanted to keep Nicholas as far away from anything to do with the shady think tank as possible. "I'd hold off on that for now, Broots," she said, as she felt the first stirrings of suspicion that this was not a random attack. "Do you know why Sydney was in New York? Could he have been there on Centre business?"

"I, um, I don't know. I mean, he never mentioned any project he was doing up there, but you know how many secrets there are in this place. Who knows what he was working on?"

"Well, we need to know, so see what you can find out."

"Okay."

Miss Parker knew he'd dive into the Centre's computer files and also tap into his human network of oddball co-workers to find the answers. She noticed that Broots seemed calmer now that they'd fallen back into their old familiar rhythm of her asking questions and giving orders. She had to admit that it was helping to keep her nerves in check, too.

"Is the Centre aware of Sydney's status?" she asked.

"I don't think so. When he didn't show up for work today, I told security he had the flu to cover for him; they weren't happy having to deal with all those twins who showed up for the study only to have no one there to administer the tests. I didn't want Sydney to get in trouble." He paused then added worriedly, "But what about the police? They asked if I knew why Sydney was in New York, and I said he was probably spending the weekend at his fishing cabin, which is what I thought anyway. I- I didn't mention the Centre – you know how they hate dealing the authorities – but what if the cops call his place of work as part of their investigation?"

"If the police think it was just a simple mugging, I doubt they'll pursue it."

"But you don't think it was a simple mugging, do you?"

"All I know is we need to keep the Centre in the dark about this as long as we can," Miss Parker said firmly. "I don't know the extent of Sydney's injuries, but the last thing he needs are a couple of Sweepers standing vigil outside his hospital room when he wakes up."

"Well, I'm in the middle of an upgrade of the Centre's main network here, so if I ask for time off now, they'll get suspicious. Miss Parker, Sydney shouldn't be alone. D-do you think you could go to the hospital?"

"I'm not family either, Broots, so they may not let me see him."

Another silence, this one a bit reproachful. For someone who had trouble getting his point across through all his stammering, Broots' frequent pauses seemed to speak volumes. Or maybe she was just projecting. They both knew that she would never let anyone stop her from doing anything, so if she really wanted to go see Sydney…

It would be such a hassle: making sure Ben could stay with Katie, booking a flight, rearranging her schedule, making some of her work calls from New York…

And all of those things were just excuses. She owed it to Sydney to go down there and be with him in his time of need. He'd been there for her – he and Broots both – when she was in the hospital after her ulcer surgery and after being drugged - and almost worse - by her brother.

Miss Parker stifled a sigh. "Alright, send me directions to the hospital, and I'll fly down there tomorrow. Maybe Sydney will be awake by then and I can find out what the hell is going on."

"I'm e-mailing you the details right now." The relief evident in his voice, Broots made a hasty goodbye and hung up quickly.

Before she could change her mind, Miss Parker reflected sourly. She'd just agreed to take the lead in this sticky situation, leaving him to handle the logistical support behind the scenes. Those were the roles they'd always played in their years working together at the Centre, a familiar scenario that Broots probably found comforting.

Whereas she felt slightly queasy at the thought of stepping back into the world she'd been only too happy to leave five years ago.

Miss Parker realized her fingers were going numb from gripping the steering wheel too tightly. She loosened her grasp and wished she could let go of these new suspicions that easily. So it turned out that Broots had been right to be worried about Sydney. Still, she could be overreacting in assuming that the attack on him was anything more than a random mugging. She blamed Broots for that. Talking to him could cause anyone to have an anxiety attack. When she'd worked with him every day, she'd become somewhat immune to his nervous vibes, but now she was out of practice.

She eased her foot off the gas pedal as she turned onto the narrow winding lane that led to her house. The mile-long stretch through the woods usually made her feel secure, like she was safely hidden away from her enemies. But tonight, in her present frame of mind, the dark evergreen trees hugging the meandering road seemed sinister, like they were hiding the very threats she struggled to avoid.

She was glad when she finally pulled up to the house. After parking in the detached garage, she crossed the gravel drive quickly, eager to get inside. Still, she let herself into the foyer quietly, certain she'd find Ben on the couch dozing over a book. When she saw the living room was empty, she headed upstairs, wondering if her daughter had conned him into reading her too many bedtime stories until the poor man fell asleep right along with the girl. The door to Katie's room was ajar, and she pushed it open the rest of the way, slowly, so as not to suddenly awaken the occupants within.

But there was no one in the bedroom. She switched on the light and saw that the bed was still made from this morning, her daughter's pajamas in their neatly folded pile on the dresser where she'd placed them earlier that day.

Miss Parker frowned. They couldn't still be out by the campfire, could they?

Annoyed now, she went back downstairs, crossed the living room in a few determined strides, and slid open the glass patio door. "Hey, you two, it's way past someone's bedtime," she called into the darkness.

No answering giggle or tearful protest from Katie. No chagrined apology from Ben. There was no response at all.

A dim glow came from the dying embers of the fire pit, and she thought she could make out a figure lying at the edge of the deck. The sudden chill she felt had nothing to do with the cool night air.

Miss Parker reached back inside to switch on the spotlights. "Ben!" she gasped when the spill of lights clearly showed the man lying motionless on his side. Even as she rushed over to him, a jumble of questions about his condition going through her mind – had he fallen…did he have a heart attack…or a stroke – she was acutely aware that Katie was nowhere in sight. The usually-soothing sound of the waves on the rocky shore, mere yards from the house, suddenly seemed loud and ominous.

Ben was groaning by the time she knelt beside him, and she felt a quick pang of relief. "Ben, are you okay? What happened? Where's Katie?" she asked urgently.

He looked dazed, reaching with trembling fingers to touch his forehead, and wincing as he did so. "Someone hit me," he mumbled.

The dread returned full force. She suddenly noticed the bloody gash on the side of his head and quickly retrieved the handkerchief he always kept in his shirt pocket. Pressing it to the wound, she repeated, "Ben, where's Katie?"

"I- I don't know," he said slowly, his eyes widening in alarm. He struggled to sit up, but she pushed him back down.

"Don't move," she ordered. "You could have a concussion."

Ben nodded slightly and obeyed.

Miss Parker pushed the handkerchief into his hand and stood up, trying to fight down panic as her thoughts flew apart. Ben needed an ambulance…but her phone was inside…she had to find her daughter first…Katie knew how to call 9-1-1…someone hit Ben? Where was her daughter? Her wild gaze swept the area.

Then she saw it. The forks they used for roasting marshmallows were laying on the round glass-topped table on the deck, and a piece of paper was skewered on one of the metal tines. She stepped to the table and snatched it off the spike. The big block letters seemed to shout at her: NO POLICE, MISS PARKER.

No one around here knew that she used to go by that name. Which meant…

It felt like all of the air left her body as the realization hit her with sickening force.

The Centre had her little girl.