Note: Sorry for the long delay between chapters. Real life, once again, demanded attention. Hope this LONNGGG chapter makes up for it. Thanks for reading!
Disclaimer in part 1
Survival II – Retribution
By imagine
Chapter 25/?
Jarod leaned back and stared out the window, his head resting lethargically against the thin cushion of the bench seat. He could not remember a time when he felt so tired. The blackouts, nightmares and the constant fear were taking their toll. Worse, though, were the moments he was unable to identify as being real or a simulation out of control.
"Look at me," she insisted, her eyes darting toward the window as he followed her directive. "I know he's confused you but I can help. All you have to do is concentrate. We were together a few hours ago. You told me to trust you – to trust us. I just need you to do the same."
He rubbed his temples as the memory began to fade, unable to decide when – or if- she had spoken the words. All he knew was that they felt real and he was clinging to that feeling with more energy than he would have ever believed a week ago. Since leaving the courthouse, he had been unable to concentrate on little else than Parker and realized that, though he wasn't sure when it had happened, at some point, he had begun trusting her again.
"No. Wait. I just need a minute," he said, glancing over his shoulder at the brunette. "Something is wrong. Parker, what happened? Is my family . . .?"
"Keep moving!"
His mind had come up with a dozen possible reasons for her sudden appearance at the court house. The more he thought about it, the more he was sure there had been a sense of urgency in her voice when she called out to him. Despite his quiet attempts to convince himself that he was imagining things, his anxiousness was growing at an alarming rate. If Lyle, or Philip, or the Centre had done something to his family as a means of gaining more control over him . . .
Closing his eyes, he took a deep breath and, for what seemed like the hundredth time, told himself, "Whatever the problem, Parker can handle it."
He waited until the panic began to wane then tiredly rocked his head to the left. Without raising it from the back of the seat, he stared out the window. The sun was hovering just above the horizon, its path of light slicing across the delicate white foam of the waves, to the shore. Trees were bowing slightly to the increased velocity of the breeze and weekend fishermen were packing their supplies on the long wooden and cement pier that extended from the beach.
"What are you staring at?"
Jarod glanced at the reflection of the young man sitting in the seat across from his. "Everything."
"Trying to memorize it?"
"Something like that." Turning away from the window, the Pretender sat up straight in his seat and quietly introduced himself. "My name is Jarod."
The young man nodded and glanced toward the front of the bus. "I'm Kyle."
Jarod flinched at the sound of the name. Memories he had thought could no longer hurt him - images of his brother's face and the sounds of his voice, as he drew his last breath - were suddenly as vivid as they had been that night.
Jarod dropped his gaze before the other man could read the confusion he was sure had settled on his face; but his body's reaction to the name bothered him. It had been years since his brother was killed. One of the most painful times of his life, he had believed he'd come to terms with it – until now.
"Hey, you don't look too good all of a sudden. Should I get a guard?"
Inhaling deeply, he slowly brought his gaze back to the younger man. The Kyle sitting across from him was blond with vivid green eyes and a full beard that hid most of his features. The only commonality between this man and his brother was their height and weight. Both had a physique that was deceivingly trim and muscular.
"Should I call for a guard?" he repeated.
Jarod forced a smile and shook his head. The only explanation for his reaction was stress, lack of sleep and the unsettling feeling of paranoia that was becoming all too common. "There's no need - I'm fine. It is very nice to meet you, Kyle."
Kyle shot him a look that conveyed his skepticism but, thankfully, did not push the issue. Instead, he glanced at the guards. When it appeared their conversation had not drifted to the front of the bus, he asked, "Was that woman at the courthouse your girlfriend?"
Jarod replied with a soft chuckle. "No, not the way you mean anyway. She is just a good friend."
"Trust me, Jarod. There's nothing 'just' about a good friend."
The Pretender nodded in agreement as he let his gaze slide back toward the window.
"She seemed very intent on talking to you. Any idea what she wanted to say?"
Jarod shrugged and, rather than share the dark thoughts that were going through his head, replied. "She and my family have been working on proving my innocence. She may have wanted to tell me about something they found."
"Your family is in the picture?"
The young man's surprised tone caused Jarod to glance at him over his shoulder. "Yes, of course they are."
"And they believe you're innocent?"
Jarod's brows furrowed. "Yes."
Kyle sat back in his seat and stared at the guards. "You are a very lucky man."
Before the Pretender could respond, he was distracted by a movement caught from the corner of his eye. Drawing his gaze away from Kyle, he found a familiar Porsche traveling beside the bus. As if she felt the weight of his stare, Miss Parker looked up from the road and smiled at him. A second later, she shifted gears on the vehicle and, with a sudden spurt of speed, the Porsche moved ahead of the bus.
He pressed his forehead to the pane, watching the car until it disappeared from view. Without facing the young man, Jarod answered, "I am realizing that fact more every day."
"Slow down!"
"Don't wet your pants, Nancy," she snapped, "I know what I'm doing."
"And, what is that, exactly?" he demanded as she rode the shoulder of the expressway long enough to pass a black Ford Mustang. "Are you trying to get us killed, or just trying to break the sound barrier?"
She shot him a withering glare, but said nothing. An instant after bringing her attention back on the road, Miss Parker swerved from the left lane into the center lane, narrowly avoiding the Chevy Malibu that had inconveniently, and unwisely, appeared in her path. Just as quickly, she was back in the left lane. Ryan released a breathless, albeit involuntary scream and grabbed the dashboard.
"Oh, please," she sighed, "I didn't even come close to hitting him. Stop overreacting."
"Look, you got what you wanted," he pointed out, though his eyes never left the road. "We're ahead of the bus. We'll arrive at the prison in time to meet with Jarod before lockdown."
She glanced in the rear view mirror, as if confirming the fact she was still ahead of the prison transport.
"If you don't get that foot off the gas pedal," he warned, leaning over far enough to glance at the speedometer, "you're going to get pulled over. If you get pulled over, I can guarantee that you will not see Jarod for at least another twenty-four to forty-eight hours because Los Angeles County will provide you with your own semi-private jail cell."
"You're a cop. Don't you guys have professional courtesy or something?" she dared. "If I get pulled over, you show him your badge and tell him it's an emergency."
Again, she slid onto the shoulder, this time to get ahead of a Pontiac Grand Am. He ground his teeth and grabbed the dashboard as the back wheels spun for traction and the rear of the Porsche fishtailed to the left. Before he could make a sound, however, the brunette had control of the car and was moving it back onto the highway.
"So help me, Miss Parker," he hissed, "if you get pulled over, I'll show my badge and tell them to throw the book at you. In fact, I will offer to testify against you. I don't really give a rat's ass if you get to see Jarod tonight, or not. Now get your damned foot off the gas pedal!"
Miss Parker gripped the steering wheel tighter, and her expression seemed to harden but, slowly, she complied with is demand. His eyes darted between her face and the speedometer. When the needle dropped closer to the legal speed limit, Ryan took a deep breath and sat back in his seat.
"Thank you," he muttered. "Now, do you want to tell me why the rush to see Jarod? Why can't you see him tomorrow morning?"
"The media got wind of the story," she told him. "His face is all over the internet. By the time his bus pulls into the prison parking lot, every major news station in North America will have shown his picture."
"So?"
She glared at him. "So, he needs to know that they're gearing up to crucify him."
"Jarod seems like an exceptionally intelligent man. He's been connected to a very high-profile case; I'm sure he knows how the media operates."
"Of course he does. He also knows how a truck operates but, knowing how to build an engine and having the big rig roll over you are two different things," she snapped, her foot slowly increasing pressure on the gas pedal. "I'm trying to prevent Jarod from getting flattened."
"And, in order to do this, you have to visit him tonight," he replied with a smirk. Shaking his head, he studied her profile. "For the record, I don't believe you, Miss Parker."
The brunette said nothing but kept her eyes on the road. The last thing she wanted was to get into a discussion that might lead to her real reason for visiting Jarod. With his photo being broadcast over every computer and television in the nation, the Centre would make an appearance very soon.
"We're going to be at the prison in thirty . . ." he glanced at the speedometer then shook his head as the needle began moving toward the higher numbers. "Make that twenty minutes. I would much rather we spend that time talking about the recordings Jarod wants you to show me."
"Adam, come inside. It's time for dinner."
Showing no sign that he heard the words, the young man scribbled something on the pad of paper beside him then looked back at the laptop's monitor. She watched quietly from the door as he tapped a new command into the computer. He leaned forward, his finger moving slowly across the screen as he concentrated on the results of his inquiry.
"I'm not hungry," he told her, once again picking up the pencil to jot down a note. "I'll eat later."
"You haven't eaten all day."
He sighed, but instead of turning to face her, Adam continued his work. With a quick tap on the keyboard, the spreadsheet he was studying shifted downward. "I had an apple and some yogurt this morning."
"That was fourteen hours ago," she pointed out. "Since then, all you've had is water. I know you're anxious to make sense of the files but you have to eat."
"I'll eat later," he repeated absently, adding softly, "as soon as I'm done."
She stared at him a moment longer, unsure, until the squeak of the screen door sounded behind her. Turning, she watched as Emily stepped on to the porch.
"He said he's not hungry," she complained, approaching the woman.
"Okay, go inside, Debbie," Emily replied, her eyes still on her brother. "Let me talk to him for a few minutes."
Though he kept working, kept scribbling notes and manipulating the small bits of data he had in the file, Adam heard every word exchanged between the two. He said nothing, even after his sister moved beside him and bravely brought the monitor of the laptop to its keyboard.
He calmly lifted it into place and continued typing. "Leave it alone."
Ignoring his command, she closed the monitor a second time. "You've been at this all day. Take a break, Little Brother."
"Not yet. I'm close, Em. I know I am. I just need a little more time."
Emily's expression softened at the sound of his words. He was pleading with her but, despite the urge to give in to him, she shook her head. "We can work on it later. It's time to think about something else for a little while."
"No. I have to do this."
"Adam, look at me," she murmured. Taking both his hands in hers, as he reached for the computer, she squeezed them until he obeyed the request. "I am not asking you to stop searching for answers. I want Jarod free, as much as you do. All I want is for you to take a break and have something to eat."
"But, I'm so close," he insisted. Pulling out of her hold, Adam turned away from his sister and opened the lap top. "Look at the dates, Em. There is a definite pattern."
"Adam . . ."
Talking over her interruption, he kept his eyes on the spreadsheet. "Twice a month, approximately 14 and 28 days apart, shipments are sent to Atlanta, Phoenix and Denver. The deliveries are always made to a different fictitious address but they aren't simultaneous. Each location is on its own distribution cycle."
"Adam, please, just take an hour. We can . . ."
"Miss Parker's men were very thorough. They gave her every known delivery location for the last six months – but I have not been able to figure out the pattern." He pulled a short stack of papers from under the laptop. "Last month, the delivery was to a vacant lot in Denver. In Phoenix, it was a train station and, in Atlanta, the address was an empty warehouse."
Emily frowned as she looked at the documentation her brother handed to her.
"Two weeks before, the deliveries were at an abandoned church in Denver, a dilapidated playground in Phoenix, and a soup kitchen in Atlanta. The couriers said that when they arrived at the locations, someone was always there to accept delivery but, according to the files, Miss Parker's men were never able to determine the final destination."
"So, who signed for the shipments?"
Adam shrugged. "The signatures are unreadable."
"Do the addresses have anything in common?" she asked, her eyes once again drawn to the piece of paper he'd handed her. "Are they in the same neighborhoods, or in the vicinity of any kind of business or institution that might have use for the shipments?"
"It might be easier to answer that question, if I knew what was being shipped. Miss Parker was so annoyed with me for taking the files that I didn't have a chance to ask her anything about them."
She stared at her brother then tilted her head to the side as he averted his gaze. "But you have an idea."
Adam shivered as the image of Lyle standing over him filled his mind for the umpteenth time that day. While taunting him with claims that the kidnapping had been orchestrated by Jarod, as a form of retribution, Lyle had taken various DNA samples. A vial of blood, a cotton swab covered with cells and saliva from the inside of his cheek, and a clipping of hair had been carefully stored in a small cooler at the side of the bed. When Lyle left, he'd taken the cooler with him.
Drawing his knees to his chest, Adam's eyes darted anxiously between the tools on the night table and his tormentor. "Calm down. Since this is your first time, and you've been so cooperative, I'm going to cut you some slack. We're done for now."
Adam's brows furrowed, but he did not loosen the hold he had on himself.
"I don't want to run the risk of Claire walking in on us. So, I will take the additional samples tomorrow, when we're alone."
Adam knew he'd been lucky because 'tomorrow' had never come for him. However, he didn't think he could say the same for Jarod. If he was putting the pieces together correctly, his older self had endured countless tomorrows at the mercy of Lyle. He just had no idea why Miss Parker's brother needed so many DNA samples, or what he was doing with them.
"Adam, answer me. Do you have an idea of what was being shipped?"
"Until I talk with Miss Parker, I can't be sure."
"So, you're not going to tell me."
"Not yet." With a deep breath, he reached over and took the page of data from her hands. Sliding it under the laptop, he rose from the chair. "Maybe, you're right. Maybe, it's time we all take a short break."
When the door opened, Miss Parker rose from her seat at the table. Jarod entered, his wrists bound in front of him. Flanked on either side, by guards of comparable height and weight, he smiled sadly at his visitors then let himself be guided to the chair opposite her.
"You can leave the cuffs off," Ryan said as Jarod's wrists were pulled toward the metal bar at the center of the table. The guard stared defiantly at the man crossing from the far side of the room, but acquiesced when the Detective showed his badge.
"Visiting hours end at six. We'll be back to take him to his cell in ten minutes."
"Then you'll be waiting a long time. We've been allotted a thirty minute visit." Making a point of glancing at his watch when the guard raised an eyebrow, Ryan added, "We'll see you at six twenty."
The guard said nothing until he stepped over the threshold. Looking directly at Jarod, who had his eyes trained on Miss Parker, he said, "Thirty minutes, not a second longer."
Though the Pretender did not face the man, he nodded his reply. The moment he heard the door close and the lock engage Jarod found his voice. "Parker, what happened? Is everyone all right?"
His tone was filled with a bridled panic. For a moment, the brunette felt a twinge of guilt. Lowering herself to the chair she'd occupied before his arrival, she nodded. "Your family is fine. Sydney, Broots and Debbie are fine. They're confused by your actions in court today, but they're all fine."
"You're sure?"
"Yes."
The Pretender released a heavy breath and let a smile of relief grace his face for a few moments before it melted, once again, into worry. He glanced at Ryan. "So, why are you here?"
"Don't look at me. I just came along for the ride."
"Parker?"
Jarod's dark eyes met hers for only a second before she glared at Ryan. With a jerk of her head, she motioned toward the door. "Don't you have a phone call to make, or something?"
The Detective leaned against the wall, putting the weight on his left shoulder, and crossed his arms over his chest. "If I do, it can wait. I'm curious as to why you broke every NASCAR speed record to get here, too."
"Parker, he's okay." Placing his hand on hers, Jarod brought the woman's attention back on him before she released the verbal tirade he knew was building inside. "Just tell me what has happened."
Taking a deep breath, she glanced once more at Ryan before settling her gaze on Jarod. "By morning, everyone in the country is going to know who – and where - you are, Jarod. Your face is all over the internet, complete with a grainy video of your little outburst in court."
He frowned and sat back in the chair, his fingers still lightly brushing against hers.
"If you have any hope of walking out of here, you need to start worrying about that big red target on your back," she added, when he didn't respond.
"As long as the target is on my back, the people I care about are safe," he told her, adding with a forced smile, "Things are happening as they should."
Rising from her chair, she leaned forward and, with her hands flat on the table, brought her face within inches of his. "Get this through your thick skull, Genius: None of this should be happening. If something happens to you, no one will be safe. Everyone who cares about you is either going to have a breakdown, be out for blood, or both."
"Nothing is going to happen to me. Lyle wants me alive," he countered. "Project Retribution, remember?"
"I don't know whether you're being just plain arrogant, or if you've gone stupid, but snap out of it, will you?" she hissed, her voice taking on a desperate tone. "This is not one of your simulations. You are not going to wake up tomorrow morning in a warm, safe bed with the sun shining on your face and frigging blue birds singing to you from the window."
"Parker . . ."
"This is real, Jarod. You are in danger of losing everything, including your life." Pushing herself to a standing position, she crossed her arms and glared at him. "Lyle doesn't give a damn about your well-being. In fact, quite the opposite, he wants you to suffer. You saw what he did to Adam. The kid has never done anything to him; so, why do you think put him through it? Because, in his mind, he was doing it to you. Do you understand what I'm saying?"
"I understand exactly what you're saying, Parker, but I'm not sure you do," he growled. "As long as I … cooperate … Lyle has no reason to go after my family again."
"What world are you living in? The moment Adam was born, you became dispensable. He's the newer, improved model." His eyes widened at her words, but she continued at an angry pace, ignoring his reaction. "Don't look at me like that. You know I'm telling you the truth. My brother wants it all and - with you trapped in here, Adam is vulnerable on the outside. Lyle is so close to winning, I guarantee he is salivating like a hungry wild dog."
"He won't get to Adam."
"As long as you're in here . . ."
"You will be out there - protecting him," he finished. "Lyle won't get within ten feet of my brother."
The words made her hesitate then, letting her arms drop, she turned and took a step away from him.
"I trust you, Parker."
"You trust me. Well, now, isn't that just grand? You picked one heck of a time to admit it." Pivoting so that they were, once again, facing each other, Miss Parker glared at the man, her hands balling into fists at her side. "So the kid, not to mention your entire family, is now my full time responsibility?"
Raising an eyebrow, Jarod cocked his head to one side and stared at the woman for a heartbeat before the crooked smile he knew annoyed her emerged on his face. Leaning back in the chair, the Pretender folded his arms over his chest. "Do you have something better to do?"
She let out a moist laugh and shook her head, but said nothing.
When Miss Parker wiped her face with both hands and turned away, his expression morphed from taunting to serious. Slowly, his arms fell to his lap and Jarod slid forward in the chair. "I need you to do this."
"You've lost your mind." Her words were quiet but they held a decisiveness he had heard countless times over the years. "Otherwise you would know that I can't do what you're asking. I can't protect him."
"There is no question that you are the most qualified to keep Lyle and the Centre away from my family," he countered gently. "I trust you, Parker, but, more importantly, Adam and my family trust you."
"Stop saying that! If you trusted me as much as you say then take my word for it when I tell you that you're wrong." Glancing over her shoulder, she met his gaze. "And you are wrong about this, Jarod."
"Parker . . ."
"No. " She dropped her gaze and, keeping her back to him, took a few steps away. "Adam deserves better odds. You can't put his welfare in my hands."
"Parker, I don't understand." Though he remained seated, the Pretender was now sitting at the edge of his chair, one hand firmly gripping the edge of the table for support. "Why are you fighting me on this?"
"Why am I fighting you on this?" Spinning to face him, tears welled in her eyes as her voice dropped to low, broken pitch. "Why are you fighting me? Have you forgotten everything? Six months ago, I left your home … I left you … because I thought I could keep you safe from a distance. I was wrong. I tried to protect you and you ended up here; how could you possibly think I can protect Adam?"
Despite the heaviness of her words, they faded to almost a whisper before she turned away again. Her shoulders trembled slightly as she raised her hands to her face. In one motion, she wiped her eyes and slid her fingers through her hair, releasing a shuddered breath as she tried to regain control of her emotions. Jarod watched her for only a few seconds before he rose from his chair and moved to her side.
"You are responsible for a lot of things, Parker, but my being here is not one of them," he murmured.
Oblivious to the fact that Ryan was still in the room, Jarod gently slid his arms around the woman. Before he knew it, she was leaning against his chest. Though he was unsure if he had pulled her toward him or if she had just moved into place, Jarod tightened his hold and gently pressed his lips to the top of her head.
"You have been protecting Adam, and the rest of my family, since the moment this nightmare began. Without you, there is no telling what Lyle and Philip might have done to them – and me. I am just asking you to keep doing what you are doing a little longer."
When he felt her stir in his arms, Jarod brought his lips to her left ear and added softly, "I promise, I am not giving up. I just need your help."
His plea hung between them for a few seconds before Miss Parker reacted to the words. Still wrapped in his arms, she pulled her head back. With narrowed eyes and a soft, but semi-threatening voice, she warned, "If you let Lyle win, I will never forgive you. I will make him pay and then I will come after you."
He smiled and stroked her hair. "Don't worry. You, of all people, should know that Lyle never wins when we work together."
Ryan watched the couple closely, his curiosity building with the heat of their argument. Questions about Jarod's brother, Lyle's relationship to Miss Parker, a place called the Centre, and Jarod's reference to a project called Retribution, were screaming to be asked. But, as their words turned intimate, Ryan began to feel awkward about his presence. He filed the thoughts away for another time.
"There's something else you should know," she said. Pulling slowly out of his arms, she fought to adopt a normal tone as their physical connection began to sever. "I saw Kelly in front of the court house and got the distinct impression that he will be here first thing in the morning. He's trouble, Jarod."
"Yeah, he's definitely more than a little anxious to meet with you. The doc wasn't too pleased with the way I banned him from the holding cell at the courthouse."
Ryan noticed that his voice seemed to startle Jarod and Miss Parker. Their eyes darting from each other to him, they quickly separated as the detective pushed himself from the wall.
"I don't suppose he was," Jarod admitted, moving back to his chair. "But, thank you for keeping him away for as long as you did."
"So, you're planning on talking to him tomorrow?"
"I have to," he nodded. Then, looking at the woman, he forced a smile. "It will be all right."
Confused by the expression that flashed across Miss Parker's face as she turned away, Ryan asked, "Are these court ordered sessions?"
Though his gaze followed the woman's movements away from the table, Jarod shook his head at the question. "No."
"Then, what's the problem? If you don't want to see him, just tell the guard. You are allowed to refuse visits, you know."
"Actually, I'm not." Jarod slowly shifted his attention from Parker's retreating form to the detective. "Meeting with him ensures the safety of the people I care about."
"Funny, I thought the armed guards and the high voltage fence were in place to ensure the safety of everyone on the outside." Ryan crossed his arms as he dared, "Besides, I thought you were an innocent man. Are you telling me that you are capable of hurting someone?"
Jarod heard the sarcasm and frustration in the other man's voice but, before he could respond, Miss Parker stepped between them.
"Are you really that dense? Jarod is not the threat, you moron, Kelly is."
He hesitated then arched a brow at the woman. "A threat to who, specifically? I admit that I thought the guy was more than a little off the moment I saw him, but I thought the same thing about the two of you. In order to tip the scales one way or another, you're going to need to give me more information."
"Meeting with him ensures the safety of the people I care about," Jarod repeated. "I can't refuse his visit."
"Are you actually telling me that he's threatening your family in order to keep you as a patient?" He moved around the brunette and stared at the man. When Jarod said nothing, Ryan shook his head. "You must have one hell of a medical plan."
"If you're any indication what my taxes are being used for, I should get a huge refund this year. You're hardly worth the gas it cost to get you here."
"Parker, that's enough." Jarod's words were soft, but held a strength she hadn't heard from him in days. Turning, she stared at the Pretender as he rose from the chair. Though he continued to address her, his eyes were on Ryan. "You can't blame him for how he's putting the pieces together. He doesn't know everything."
"Then tell me," the man pressed, suddenly encouraged. When Jarod averted his gaze, Ryan threw up his arms in frustration. "Oh, that's right. You told me at the courthouse that you can't tell me anything. How could I have forgotten?"
Turning his back on the Pretender, he took two steps away then pivoted to his left, locking eyes with the woman. "I don't suppose you can fill me in either, can you?"
Her smile was thin and her words were tight, as she pulled herself to her full height, "Once again, you've jumped to the wrong conclusion. I'll answer all your questions after you've seen the recordings."
Startled, he dropped his arms to his side. "Why after?"
"Because, until you see them for yourself, Columbo, you're not going to believe a word I tell you."
She was half way down the marble staircase when she saw him standing at the base, his hand on the railing. Without breaking stride, she moved around him, repositioning her leather shoulder bag so that it hung between them.
"Doctor, what are you doing here? I thought you went home."
"Forgive me, Miss DeWitt, but I returned to talk to you." He glanced toward the top of the stairs and asked, "Your meeting with the judge lasted a very long time. Was it productive? Were you able to make him understand that Jarod . . .?"
Pushing on the heavy metal and glass door that separated her from the outside, she replied, "We've had this discussion before, Doctor. I cannot talk to you about Jarod's case. Now, why don't you just tell me why you're here?"
"I am concerned about Jarod's welfare," he said, matching her long stride.
Cara started down the shallow steps. "After his outburst in court, your concern is understandable but I am in a hurry and, I assure you, Jarod will not be able to hurt himself, or anyone else, tonight. So, unless this is urgent, I would prefer we had this conversation tomorrow."
"Actually, I was hoping you could help me get into see Jarod tonight. I have not been able to talk with him, alone, since the incident. I think it is in his best interests that I do so."
Not waiting for the light to change to green, she shot a quick glance in each direction then quickly moved across the street. "Why does it have to be tonight?"
"The sooner I meet with him, the better able I will be to find out why he reacted the way he did. The fact that he threatened you the way he did is very puzzling," he said, following the woman into the parking garage. "Don't you want to know why he did what he did?"
"Of course I do," she sighed, "but I think it's best if I speak with Jarod myself."
"Oh, so you are planning a visit to the prison?"
She frowned at the sickly sweet tone of his voice. "Of course I am. I'm his attorney."
"And, as his attorney, the standard visiting hours would not apply to you. By chance, are you planning on meeting with him tonight?"
"As a matter of fact, that is where I am headed." Cara entered the stairway and took the steps two at a time, exiting on the second floor. When she realized the man had followed her, she told him, "I think it's best if Jarod and I met alone this time."
"I see." He hesitated then, stopping beside her at the rented Celica, he adopted a fatherly tone. "I don't want to intrude on your time with Jarod, or his defense. But, considering his actions in court, I think it's best if I evaluate his emotional state before he meets with you."
"And, why is that?" she dared.
He raised an eyebrow and shook his head, his gaze never straying from hers. "As I mentioned earlier, his attack on you this afternoon was very puzzling. I have no idea what set it off. I would hate for him to have another outburst and . . ."
"If I didn't know better, I would think you were trying to frighten me away from my client – the man you hired me to defend. Is that what you're doing?"
"No, of course not," he replied hurriedly. "But, there is no denying that Jarod is a troubled man. He is my patient; I feel a sense of responsibility. I want to do what is best for him – and those around him. Believe it, or not, but I want Jarod to survive this ordeal, Miss DeWitt."
She stared at him a moment then pulled open the door of the vehicle. Sliding into the driver's seat, Cara looked up at the doctor. "I don't know what game this is, but I will play a little while longer. I'll meet you at the prison. If Jarod wants to talk to you, I will arrange it."
Nodding, he waited until she had pulled the vehicle out of its parking space before smiling to himself and heading for his own car. "Jarod will talk to me."
After his visit with Miss Parker and Detective Stratford, Jarod was handcuffed and escorted through an area lined on all sides by metal doors. A small window in each revealed the residents of his new world - murderers, kidnappers, and rapists. Some stared out at him as he passed, their expressions ranging from cruel, disturbing smiles to hard, viciously threatening glares to hopeless curiosity. For an instant, he thought he saw Kyle's face but it disappeared from view so abruptly, he couldn't be sure.
"Here you go," the guard announced, pulling Jarod to a stop. Removing the restraints, he stepped threateningly close to the man and murmured, "Welcome home."
Moving back when Jarod flinched, the guard knocked on the small window in the door and motioned for someone inside to back away. When his directive was obeyed, the guard deactivated the lock and pulled at the handle, simultaneously pushing the Pretender inside the small cell.
"Sleep tight." He closed the door, laughing at his own comment but all Jarod heard was the electric hiss of the bolt sliding into place.
"Well, what do ya know? I hit the jackpot," a rough voice said from the corner. "I'm sharing space with a celebrity. You're the guy on the news – the one they say did all those women."
The muscles in his jaw pulsated as he faced the other man, biting back the discomfort of the man's gaze. "The name is Jarod."
"Did I ask you?" the man dared. Moving away from the wall, he let his eyes travel from Jarod's face to his chest to his hips. He smiled thinly and, slowly began circling the Pretender with a predatory gleam. "You'll answer to whatever name I decide, Sweetheart. Got it?"
Though he didn't move from his spot in the middle of the cell, Jarod took a defiant stance. His arms crossed over his chest, he used a deep, dark voice when he responded, "As long as the name you decide on is 'Jarod', we have no problem."
"So, what did the two of you talk about?"
Miss Parker abruptly pushed the Porsche into the next gear and shook her head. "If we'd wanted you to know, we wouldn't have asked you to leave."
He raised an eyebrow and looked at her. Though her eyes remained trained on the road, he saw her hands tighten around the steering wheel. "Okay, so tell me about the things you discussed while I was in the room."
Without comment, Miss Parker slipped the Porsche into a higher gear.
"For instance, why are you and Jarod so concerned about his brother? And, speaking of brothers, why didn't you ever mention that Mr. Lyle was. . ."
Before he could finish his statement, the Porsche was darting around a speed-limit-honoring Volkswagen. When she saw Ryan grab the dashboard for support, she pressed the gas pedal closer to the floor.
"It's not going to work," he warned, as her driving took them into the narrow space between two lanes of vehicles. "I've got questions, Miss Parker, and, eventually, you are going to answer . . . watch out!"
Swerving into a tight spot in the left lane, the brunette ignored the horns blasting from behind and reduced the speed of the Porsche. Her eyes darted from the road to the man beside her. "There's one more very important thing you should know about me, Detective."
Hesitantly, he looked at her. "What's that?"
"I don't like being interrogated." Abruptly bringing her attention back to her driving, she shifted gears again and maneuvered the Porsche around a blue Nissan. "Everything is on a need to know basis. I will tell you only what you need to know, when you need to know it."
"Is that so?"
"Yes," she snapped, "but only if you shut up long enough for me to tell you."
"What happened to him?"
Her words were directed at the guard, but her gaze was on Jarod as the chain between his wrists was tethered to the metal bar at the center of the table.
"He and his new cellmate, Birch, had a disagreement," the guard answered, stepping away from the table. "It looks worse than it is. Birch, on the other hand . . ."
"I don't give a damn about his cellmate. Has my client seen a doctor?"
The guard smiled and glanced at Philip. "He has now."
The Pretender did not react when Philip moved to his side but flinched at the man's touch. "I'm fine."
"You are far from fine, Jarod," the doctor insisted. "Now, look at me, so that I can inspect your injuries."
He tensed at the demand then, slowly faced the doctor though his eyes were trained on the woman. Her hair was curled around her ear, framing her jawbone with a softness that brought an image of Miss Parker to his mind. The image was fleeting and, somehow, unfamiliar. He frowned, trying to pull the image back, desperate to identify its origins.
"Ow!" Pulling away, Jarod glared at Philip only long enough to see the small smile of satisfaction.
"I'm sorry," the man purred. "I didn't mean to add so much pressure to the area."
"Doctor, that's enough," she said, grabbing his wrist as he reached for Jarod's face again. "Have one of the guards take you to the infirmary for whatever supplies you need. While you're gone, Jarod and I can talk."
"The injuries appear to be minor." Pulling out of her hold, he gently slid his hand under Jarod's left eye. "There will be some bruising; that's all." He looked at the woman and nodded reassuringly. "No medical supplies are needed."
"Leave anyway," she ordered, her eyes darting from him to Jarod. "I want to talk with my client."
The grin disappeared and his eyes hardened. Philip shook his head, adopting a patronizing tone. "I don't think it is wise to leave him alone with you until . . ."
"He's chained to the table," she replied coldly. "He can't hurt me."
Philip's gaze followed hers to Jarod's wrists as the Pretender uncurled his fists and pressed his palms against the table. The knuckles on his right hand were beginning to swell, while the skin over his left hand was scraped and raw. Taking a deep breath, he looked at the woman and nodded. "If you feel safe with him, I will not argue the point. However, we do have an arrangement. I insist on having time with him."
She folded her arms over her chest. "Leave. Now."
Straightening his stance, he looked down at Jarod. "I will be right outside, Jarod. We will talk as soon as you and Miss DeWitt have finished your business."
Banging on the door with one fist, Cara signaled for the guard. "It's time for you to leave, Doctor."
The room was silent as Philip rose from his chair and crossed the room. At the threshold, he looked over his shoulder at the Pretender. With his eyes lowered and his shoulders slightly forward, Jarod's posture indicated submissiveness – just as he had been trained. He stared at the man a moment longer, unsure, and then looked at the woman.
"I will be outside, if you need me. Please be very careful."
Jarod heard the words and could not help wondering to whom the warning had been directed.
"Are you sure you are all right?" she asked, when Philip was gone.
Jarod took a breath and brought his eyes to hers. "The guard was right. It looks worse than it is."
Her finger traced the raw section of skin around his knuckles. "Looks like you held your own. Do you want to tell me how it happened?"
"It's not important."
"No," she sighed, "I suppose it's not, since you won't be returning to that particular cell."
Jarod frowned in confusion.
"It seems you have friends in high places." Taking the seat beside him, she retrieved a manila envelope from her briefcase and opened it in front of her. "The Governor received a phone call from George Harper. Do you know who he is?"
Jarod nodded. "He runs a software company."
"That's kind of like saying Paul McCartney played in a band or two, isn't it? George Harper is one of the richest men in the country and it seems he's one of your biggest supporters."
Jarod smiled shyly. "Mr. Harper and I worked together once."
"Well, you must have made an impression. He has twisted some very influential arms. Though he hasn't been able to get the bail dropped, he has been able to get you out of the general population."
"Meaning I'm going to be put into isolation."
"Meaning you're going to be protected from further injuries – or worse," she countered. "I know you've only been here a few hours – but this is a dangerous place, Jarod. Your friend has done a very good thing."
He sighed and let his head rest against the back of the chair. "Isolation can be a dangerous place, too. Your mind can start to play tricks on you, convince you of things that might not be true."
She stared at him. "Are you saying you want to stay where you are?"
"Are you saying that I have a choice in the matter?"
"Only if you want your sanity questioned." When he looked at her, she shook her head and sighed. "I didn't mean that the way it sounded. Look, if you really don't want this, I can make some phone calls in the morning."
Jarod shifted forward in his seat so he could wipe his face with his hands. He knew he was safer away from the general population and the Centre operatives that might already be in place. He knew his transfer would ease the fears of his family and of Parker, but they would increase his.
"As long as the target is on my back, the people I care about are safe."
"Jarod, talk to me. What do you want to do?"
"I'm sorry." He raised his eyes to her and sighed. "You must think I'm certifiable."
"I think you're tired and confused. Maybe a good night's sleep, without fear of being attacked, would do you some good."
"I could use some rest," he agreed with a smile. "But, honestly, I don't sleep much in the best of situations."
"That actually explains a lot."
The grin on her face told him she was teasing, but Jarod felt the urge to be serious. Sitting back in his seat, he said softly, "I am sorry for what happened at the courthouse, Miss DeWitt. I would never have hurt you. I don't know why . . ."
"It's over, Jarod, and there are no hard feelings. I don't know that I would be able to handle the situation any different, if the roles were reversed." When he lowered his eyes, suddenly finding a very interesting bruise on the back of his hand to inspect, Cara forced herself to adopt a mocking tone, "Besides, thanks to me, the judge agreed to overlook it this time."
Jarod smiled and nodded. "Thank you."
"You're welcome – just be careful," she said, seriously. "The judge isn't going to give you any more slack. If you so much as . . ."
"I understand."
She tilted her head to the side and stared at him. "You're not going to promise that it won't happen again?"
"I wish I could."
Though his eyes never left hers, she had the distinct feeling he was fighting the urge to look away. He swallowed hard and offered a lopsided smile, but all she saw in his face was sadness. Suddenly embarrassed, she dropped her gaze and cleared her throat. When she looked up again, Jarod was staring at the cuffs around his wrists.
"So, what's the verdict?" she asked. "Should I call George Harper and tell him to undo what he did, or are you going to agree to isolation?"
The Pretender took a deep breath and let it out slowly before raising his head. He couldn't hide, not that he would have wanted to. Whatever Lyle's plan, Jarod knew his family's safety depended upon him staying in view, and accessible. "Tell him thank you, but I have to stay in the general population."
"Your sister said you've been waiting to talk to me."
Adam turned from the laptop and offered the brunette a wide smile. Despite the heavy shadows of the evening, he saw her return the grin as she took the seat beside him.
"I'm all yours," she said. "Stratford is in my bungalow, watching the DSA's and Kelley's recordings. At the very least, it will keep him busy and out of my hair - for awhile."
"He's watching Jarod's DSA's? Are you sure that's a good idea? The Centre . . ."
"Don't worry. I had Sydney pull a few, just to give him a sense of what we're up against." When he frowned, unconsciously biting his lower lip in concern, she took his hand. "Stratford knows about the Centre."
"He does?"
Miss Parker nodded and sat back in her chair, her arms loosely propped on the arms. "Unfortunately, he overheard Jarod and I talking about it. I had no choice but to explain what it was during the car ride home. The DSA's are just to fill him in on Jarod's background. Now, what did you want to talk to me about?"
"I was wondering about the recordings," he admitted, slowly. "Who, beside yourself and Sydney have seen them?"
She frowned and sat forward in the chair. "Why?"
Ignoring her question, he asked, "Have my parents seen them?"
"Yes."
He took a deep breath. "What about Emily? She hasn't seen them, has she?"
Miss Parker shook her head. Almost immediately, Adam's body relaxed. The tension in his face and neck seemed to disappear. "What's going on? You aren't about to ask me to see them, are you?"
"No, Miss Parker. I don't need to see them."
She considered his words a moment then took his hand when he reached for the laptop. "Adam, did someone show them to you already? Because, you weren't . . ."
"No, I haven't seen them, but I have a pretty good idea of what they contain."
She heard the sadness in his voice but noticed that he did not look at her. Before she could question him, he typed a command into the computer. An instant later, the shipment files appeared on the screen. Distracted, she shifted her gaze from him to the screen and then back again, waiting for an explanation.
"Are those the files you took from my apartment?"
He nodded, his eye still trained on the monitor. "Before I tell you what I discovered, I need to know how confident you are that the data was accurate."
"Very. The men who work for me are professionals. They do not make mistakes."
"Thank you. I just needed to be sure."
"What is this about? Did you find something?"
"Well, I didn't see the pattern until this morning," he apologized. Pointing to the screen, he repeated the information he'd given Emily earlier, glancing at the brunette periodically to make sure she had no questions. When he was done, he took a deep breath and added softly, "I didn't understand what it all meant until about two hours ago."
"Enlighten me."
"The shipments to Denver are spaced 14-28 days apart. The shipments to Atlanta are every 14-28 days. The . . ."
"The shipments to Phoenix are every 14-28 days," she finished, annoyance seeping into her voice. "I get that part. What does it mean?"
"I did some searching," he said. Tapping another command into the computer, he split the screen and showed her articles from various newspapers. "All four of these women disappeared in the last six months – which coincides with the start of the shipments your men recorded during their investigation."
"But, they disappeared from Chicago, New York, Austin and New Orleans," she pointed out, rattling off the cities mentioned. "What's the connection?"
"They have AB negative blood." In the night air, his voice seemed to echo. He glanced at the door to the bungalow then looked back at the brunette. "Miss Parker, only 1 of the population has AB negative, including Jarod, me, and these missing women."
"You obviously don't think it's a coincidence." She frowned and tilted her head to the side. "Keep talking."
He cleared his throat. "A woman's fertility cycle is . . ."
"Fourteen to twenty-eight days," she finished.
He nodded, keeping his eyes on her face. The more shadows that filled the porch, the harder it was for him to read her expression. "Rose Barber's blood type was A positive, Susan Pearce was B negative, Claire James and Jennifer Forrest were B positive, and Jillian is O."
She sighed and waited for him to continue, hoping that his conclusions wouldn't be the same has the ones forming in her own mind.
"I think the murders are decoys – a way to keep us concentrating on him so we don't see that there is another crime being committed." Seeing her nod, sadly, he motioned toward the shipment calendar he'd created and added, "If we can find where the shipments are ending up, we will find some – if not all – of these women."
Miss Parker was silent, staring at the information on the glowing screen while her mind absorbed what she was being told. As the words began to make sense, she faced him but Adam allowed their eyes to meet only briefly before he nervously began adjusting the contrast and hues of the documents.
"Adam, this is more than a guess. You specifically searched for women who went missing in the past six months. You know what the shipments contain. You know what Lyle and Philip did to Jarod."
"I told you, I have an idea . . ."
"No, this is more than a hypothesis," she insisted, her tone taking on a pace equal to her heartbeat. "If you didn't see the recordings, how did you know about the DNA samples?"
Still not meeting her gaze, he murmured, "It's not important."
"Yes, it is." Sliding her hand beneath his chin, she tried to draw his eyes to hers, but Adam pulled away. Rising from the chair, he folded his arms over his chest and moved to the screened window that overlooked the courtyard.
"Oh, my God," she whispered.
Adam tightened the hold he had on himself, focusing on the silhouette of trees in the distance. Her tone was a mixture of controlled anger, worry and pity, none of which he wanted to acknowledge.
"When did it happen?" she asked, then softly answered her own question, "While you were on the ship. They . . ."
"It's okay. I was lucky. All he took from me was blood, hair and saliva. Lyle didn't want Claire walking in while he was . . ." He let the words fade and swallowed hard, hoping that when he spoke again, his voice wouldn't sound so young. More than anything, he wanted her to believe him when he said he was all right.
Taking his arm, Miss Parker gently turned the boy to face her. She saw the tears welling in his eyes then realized they were welling in hers, too.
"If you and Emily and Jarod hadn't come for me that night . . ."
Miss Parker slid her arms around Adam's shoulders, effectively interrupting him. He stiffened at the touch but allowed her to pull him toward her. Then, slowly, hesitantly, and with a slight shiver of uncertainty, the almost six-foot boy wrapped his arms around her waist. When her fingers fanned out across the back of his head and neck, Adam responded by resting his cheek against her shoulder.
"I was lucky," he repeated softly.
She tightened her hold on him, hoping to offer him comfort while her mind was ticking off the ways she would make Lyle pay.
TBC
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