The characters don't belong to me, but I like to play with them like I used to play with my dolls. Mwahahah! *twink* Enjoy!
Chapter Seven
Darkness had fallen completely when Trista saw headlights shine through the curtains of the motel room. She sat up and jumped from the bed, eager to know if it was Jarod and Jeremy, come to show her where her daughter was and not a false alarm.
Pulling the curtain aside, Trista glimpsed the car, which had gone silent and could just make out two shadowed figures in the luminous glow of street lamps not far away. A bubble of excitement rose in her. She prayed fervently. She just wanted her daughter back.
The driver's door opened and a tall, darkened shape unfolded itself from the car, and loped to the door. A key was slid into the lock, but Trista could no longer keep herself at bay. She rushed over to the door and threw it open before Jarod could turn the lock.
Her breathing was heavy by now; she looked up into Jarod's face, illuminated by the lighting of the room. He seemed serious, but when she looked into his eyes, she knew something good had happened.
"Get your stuff. Jeremy has finally confided in me," Jarod told her.
Overcome by joy and relief, Trista squealed. She couldn't help herself. This was the best news she'd had in 24 hours. She ran over to where she had packed up all their meager belongings and began to gather them in her arms. Jarod was beside her in an instant, helping her pick up the heaviest of his bags and slinging them over his shoulder with ease she envied.
In less than ten minutes, they were back on the road, Trista sitting in the back seat, next to the car seat they had purchased outside of Memphis two days ago. She looked over at the little seat, and her breath caught in her throat and her chest seemed to tighten in anticipation of what was to come. She could feel the tension, sense the energy in the air. Be it good or bad, something was going to happen tonight.
Broots awoke to a cacophony of sounds; arguing and the plaintive wailing of an infant. At first his fuzzy brain thought that his wife was screaming at him again and Debbie must be somewhere nearby, crying because she hated it when they fought. But no, there was a male voice and that realization finally registered in his muzzy head.
He groaned, beginning to feel the pounding ache in his head. What had happened? The last thing he remembered … was being in that office again. Memories rushed back and a cold sweat broke out on his skin a second before he sat up, all the while glancing around wildly.
He was lying on a bed in a darkened room. It was as stark as the sterile office he'd been in … however long ago it had been. Swinging his feet over the edge of the bed, he stood up very slowly, gingerly feeling his head and finally finding the lump that had risen while he was unconscious. He swayed a bit, but he steadied himself and went for the thin, rectangular ribbon of light that shone like a beacon, telling him that beyond laid not only light, but more answers to the mysteries everyone had been caught up in.
He eased the door open, his hand shaking, the sweat now dripping down his face. Broots was nobody but Miss Parker's fool, and he knew when he was in serious trouble. He stopped as the voices arguing quieted a bit and then the baby's wailing quieted to mere snuffles and whimpers of protest. That was when Broots' heard it.
The melody of the tide crashing against the beach beyond the walls of the house, it surrounded him and filled him with not only a sense of dread, but oddly enough, a warring sense of peace as well. If they were on the beach, the Centre wasn't all that far away now, was it?
He eased the door open a few more inches and was greeted by the site of his attacker bouncing a small bundle of blond hair and wiggling limbs in her lap and Miss Parker's mysterious green-eyed man sitting on the couch, side by side.
"So nice you could join us, Mr. Broots," the man said.
Miss Parker hissed out a curse as she slammed her cell phone shut, wondering again why the hell Broots wasn't answering his phone. It just wasn't like him. He was either at the office, or at home. She couldn't reach him on anything, not even his cell phone which he was never without. She ground her teeth in pure frustration. He was supposed to be looking for not only Jeremy, but her mystery man as well.
She looked around his office and wondered where the hell the little pale-faced porn junkie could have gotten himself off to. Hadn't he said that he had gone into her mystery man's office? Surely if Broots could find the office, then she could too.
She snapped open her cell phone once more and dialed the front desk of the Centre. She asked the man to run a trace on Broots' cell phone. Sure enough, he was still in the Centre. Wonder of wonders, not far from where she was now.
Smiling grimly, Miss Parker walked briskly to the elevators, in the opposite direction of the ones her mother had died in, still feeling that shiver of premonition each time she thought of them and jammed her thumb on the floor she wanted. SL-17.
Hopefully Broots would have found out the answers she'd been wanting. Perhaps even now he was preparing to call her. She ignored another shiver of premonition as she got off the elevator and made her way to the office where Broots would be found. The door was open.
She stopped and pulled her gun from its holster. Out of habit and self-preservation, she readied herself for any possibility, including coming around the corner and face to face with Broots while he wet himself from shock.
Something just was not right.
Her heels clicked against the tile beneath her feet and she silently cursed herself for her own stupid vanity. Bracing herself, she took a deep breath and rounded the corner, her gun pointing at the one and only object in the room, a smashed computer terminal and a stained carpet that told her a desk had once sat there.
That the computer remained told her more than if the entire office had been emptied of its contents. Whoever had done this was telling her or anyone else foolish to have followed in Broots' footsteps; it could only lead to destruction. She rounded the terminal warily, looking for any telltale clues when she spotted it.
His cell phone, laying there like a lost, abandoned toy.
"Damn it," she breathed, not allowing herself to admit she was not only fond of her computer tech, but frightened out of her mind for him as well.
Suddenly, the little thing began to ring and oh-so-slowly, Parker bent over and picked it up. She flipped it open, "Who is this?" she demanded.
"Good evening Miss Parker, there's a beach house about seven miles south of the Centre. Hurry." Click.
She stared down at the handset in annoyance and wondered again, what the hell was going on.
Jarod switched off the lights as per Jeremy's instructions. The element of surprise is never to be taken for granted, and Jarod figured with both him and Jeremy working together to rescue Caitlyn, surely they would succeed.
Jarod turned and looked at a white-faced Trista, who could only stare at the snug looking cottage before them with fear, trepidation and longing. She was in no way prepared to handle this kind of thing and there was no way Jarod was going to let her get involved either. She might get herself or possibly someone else, killed.
"Do not get out of this car. If anyone pulls up, or someone besides Jeremy or myself comes out of that house, you crawl into the front seat and drive away, Trista. Do you hear me? Get the police and get back here as fast as you can. Understand?"
She could only nod, too nervous and frightened to do more. She watched as the two of them got out of the car and stealthily made their way over to the cottage, the lights blaring against the darkness and the cold, pale light of twinkling stars and luminescent moon. They were nothing more than shadows in the night, darkness itself creeping forward to battle against unseen enemies.
In that house lay not only her daughter, but the truth about what was going on. She snapped out of her daze and shook her head, not willing to allow the "men" all the glory in this mad scheme. She wasn't about to sit back and do nothing while her child lay not thirty feet away from her.
Without even thinking about what she was doing, Trista climbed out of the car and closed the door just as softly as she had seen Jarod and Jeremy do. She made her way over to where she had seen them disappear around the side of the house.
"Don't' worry, Caitlyn, mommy's coming," she whispered into the crisp breeze.
He was so dead.
His mouth dropped open and all he could do was stare at the pair sitting on the couch, holding who he assumed would be Lyle's granddaughter. The baby stopped her mewling long enough to regard him with large, dark blue eyes, which oddly enough reminded him of Miss Parker's own sapphire eyes. Suddenly she let out a gurgle and giggled at Broots.
What a charming little baby she was, Broots thought absently. Caitlyn grabbed her toes and gave him a toothless grin before trying to guide mini appendages into her mouth to chew and suck and generally investigate with her tongue.
Unfortunately, Broots' apprehension stifled any nostalgia he might have felt. Slowly, he closed his mouth, finally realizing it was still hanging open and he probably looked the part he usually played, the idiot.
The woman holding Caitlyn smiled prettily for him, Broots finally noted the laugh lines around her eyes, the silver strands that ran through her blonde hair, yet there was also an ageless quality that had fooled Broots into thinking she was much younger than she was.
"Please, sit down Mr. Broots, our other guests should be arriving shortly," she invited, her voice deceptively polite and sweet.
Automatically, Broots obeyed without a second thought. There was a chair to his left, a straight backed wooden chair, with scrollwork along the back and legs, stained in cherry mahogany.
"Wh-who else are you expecting?" he managed to ask with some trepidation.
A secretive smiled played about both the man and woman's faces as they glanced at each other, talking with only their eyes and facial expressions.
"You'll find out soon enough," was the blonde's vague reply.
Was it a figment of his over-active imagination or did he hear a clock somewhere, ticking by the minutes? Tick, tock, tick, tock … strange.
The door burst open suddenly, a door that was located to Broots' right, Jarod stood there, gun ready, a skin tight black t-shirt tucked into his black denims that hugged the rest of his body in all the right places. His biceps bulged as he pointed the gun at the man and woman.
"Give me the baby."
The door from which Broots' had stumbled from only minutes prior, then burst open and Lyle's son stood there, though he was unarmed, his stance told Broots' he was nonetheless deadly.
"So, you've brought the prey to us, not once but twice, Jeremy. I am very proud of you," the man smiled broadly at both Jarod and Jeremy.
A small frown marred Jarod's face as he glanced between both the green-eyed stranger he'd seen from only a distance in the vents-- but recognized the smooth, even toned voice—and Jeremy, suspicion lighting his dark, coffee eyes.
He stalked away from the door, moving closer to Jeremy, a move that no one missed the significance of. If Jeremy made any move that would betray him, Jarod was that much closer to do something about it. His eyes never left the man's face, but his entire body was wound tightly, tensed and ready to spring into action.
"Give me the child," he demanded once again.
Broots sat there, stunned. It was not often he was in Jarod's presence and he could only stare in awe at the man he so admired not only in genius but in everything else as well. Jarod seemed to have everything Broots ever wanted. Except for his tormented life.
Movement in the doorway of the house distracted Jarod, as Trista came into view from the darkness beyond. In that moment, when Jarod turned to gape at Trista, Jeremy pulled a small derringer from underneath his borrowed sweater, tucked into the waistband of his pants and pointed it directly at Jarod's head.
"Trista-" Jarod stopped when he heard the gun behind him being cocked.
"Drop your gun, Jarod," Jeremy whispered, his face set in hardened lines, his hands shook ever so slightly, as if he fought with himself over what he was doing.
"You son of a bitch!" Trista accused, her own face blanched white, realizing she'd been betrayed by this man twice.
"Trista, move into the light and away from the door, hands up where I can see them," Jeremy barked out, his voice different from the tormented whisper in which he'd commanded Jarod.
Jarod turned slowly as Trista stepped into the house. He bent and lowered the gun, dropping it on the carpet and then straightening just as slowly, his palms pointing outward. His own eyes burned with anger and betrayal.
"Now kick it over to me," Jeremy ordered, his voice strangled.
Jarod complied.
"What the hell is going on here?" Trista asked, her voice trembling with uncertainty as she looked longingly at her daughter and then warily at Jeremy.
"That's just what I want to know!" a new voice inserted, everyone turned to find Miss Parker standing, her legs spread wide, gun pointing at Jeremy.
The green eyed man took this opportunity to stand and smiled at the motley group before him, "Well, everyone is here," he announced.
Miss Parker turned her lethal glare on the man and curled her lip in disdain, "Now that you've gotten everyone's attention, would you mind telling me what the hell we're all doing here?" she asked ever so sweetly, venom dripping from her words.
"Gladly, Miss Parker. I am Mr. Z, this is my wife and associate, Eleanor," he made introductions as if he were nothing more than the host at a party.
Broots could only sit there in shock as events unfolded around him.
Mr. Z smiled coldly, "Project Ghost has finally come to fruition, though not in the way I'd originally planned. I've had to make a few allowances for blunders such as Mr. Broots here finding the answers I'd carefully hidden away before I was ready for them to be revealed," he stared down at everyone from his opposing height of 6 foot 5 inches, his blazing green eyes seemed to almost glow in his dark features.
Caitlyn began squirming once again, having lost interest in the strange goings on around her and let out a loud yell. Trista stepped forward to grab her daughter, but Jeremy reached out a grabbed her arm roughly, "Stay away from her," he threatened.
Jarod stepped closer and pried Jeremy's fingers from Trista's arm, who had opened her mouth to give Jeremy an acid retort, but a warning look from Jarod stopped her. She cast another longing look at her crying daughter and bit her lip, trying to keep at bay the tears she wanted to shed at being so very close, but so very far from her child.
Mr. Z sneered down at the infant, his distaste plain to see, before continuing, "Miss Parker, you've been called in because I wanted you to see for yourself how successful my plan has been," Z told her, triumph lighting his emerald eyes.
"Arrogant bastard," Parker retorted.
That only made Z chuckle, before turning to Jarod, "You are coming back to the Centre with me, Jarod. This time, there will be no escape, that I can promise you," Z told him.
Trista felt a shudder run through Jarod's body. She couldn't let this happen. They were going to take Jarod, her daughter and then Jeremy away. As little as she did know of what was going on, she knew that Jarod would die if he was returned to the Centre, her daughter would grow up in a sterile environment, unloved and used by these calculating people.
A bark of laughter distracted everyone, Miss Parker wiped a mock tear from her eye, "Do you honestly think it will be that simple? I've been chasing wonder-boy here for years and this is the closest I've ever gotten to him. You're fooling yourself to think that he doesn't have some way to escape from this place," she told him, though her gun was still trained on Jeremy, she had been just as aware of everyone else as Jarod had been moments before her arrival.
A dark brow rose in mockery of Miss Parker, "Au contraire, Miss Parker, I have the one thing guaranteed to subdue Jarod. An innocent babe. As long as I hold this card, he will never do anything that could harm this child."
Even Miss Parker was taken back by the veiled threat in those words, the unfeeling way he had tossed that out to her as if the child meant nothing more than a piece of garbage.
"You're a sick bastard," she told him.
Trista's lip trembled. She took one last look at her daughter and then looked up at Jarod before whispering so only he could hear her, "Take care of her for me."
With an inhuman cry, Trista launched herself at Mr. Z, hand arched like claws, her body hurtling towards him with speed that surprised everyone. She rammed into the man, knocking him to the ground and attacked him like any other mother would while defending her young from a predator.
Everyone remained helpless for a split second, until Mr. Z pushed the girl from him, jumped to his feet and pulled a gun from the holster hidden under the folds of his coat. He aimed it at Trista, then cocked the gun.
Jarod lunged for the child, knowing that even as he did so, Trista would die and leave her child without a mother. A fury so great enveloped him as he whirled past Miss Parker and grabbed Caitlyn in his arms. A loud crack rang in his ears and he turned to see a body draped protectively over Trista's, and the look of horror dawning in Z's eyes.
Jeremy had saved her.
Parker sprang into action, as time seemed to speed back to normal. She stalked forward and pressed her gun against Mr. Z's back and barked at Broots to give her something to restrain the man with.
Nodding, Broots jumped up, still gaping at the entwined figures of Trista and Jeremy.
"Jeremy?" Trista whimpered as she pushed his dead weight off of her. She sat up and brushed a stray lock from his forehead. He was breathing still, but he looked so deathly pale that all she knew in that moment was that Jeremy had dove from where he stood to save her from the madman who'd raised him.
A ghost of a smile played about Jeremy's face as he looked up at Trista, "I'm sorry, Trista," he murmured, "I never wanted to hurt you or Caitlyn."
Jarod stood there, still motionless as Caitlyn squirmed in his arms, having seen her mother and wanting to nuzzle against that familiar warmth, scent and heartbeat. He whispered soothing words to the child, trying to calm her, then he went over to where the pair lay and handed Trista her daughter.
Trista burst into sobs as she pulled her daughter's familiar weight against her body. She breathed in her sweet baby smell and rubbed the soft, downy hair with her finger tips.
Jarod examined Jeremy's wound. It was in his left shoulder, the bleeding was profuse and Jarod knew that if he didn't get Jeremy some kind of medical attention, he would likely bleed out.
Broots scrambled from the bedroom just then, two pairs of handcuffs in his hands. He could only shrug and hand them to Miss Parker, who in turn cuffed Mr. Z. Before she could restrain Eleanor, Jarod looked up at her, his eyes big and pleading.
"Help me, Parker. I need to get him out of here."
Growling, Miss Parker closed her eyes for a moment before nodding and kneeling next to him and putting her hand against Jeremy's wound to staunch the bleeding.
"Broots!" she snapped over her shoulder, "Grab a gun will you and make yourself useful!"
"Y-yes, Miss Parker," he stammered before grabbing Jarod's fallen gun.
Together, Miss Parker and Jarod manage to pick up Jeremy who was beginning to shift in and out of consciousness, and drag him out the door, Trista following closely behind.
"Broots keep an eye on Eleanor and Mr. Z and be sure to get a cleaner team out here to fix this little mess," she ordered as Jarod helped Jeremy into the backseat while Trista buckled Caitlyn into the car seat.
Trista stayed in the back with Jeremy while Miss Parker unthinkingly climbed in the front seat with Jarod. She glanced over at the man she'd been chasing, wondering when in all this mess, had she suddenly become his ally? Shrugging off the notion, she knew there would be a moment soon when she'd catch wonder-breath off his guard and that would be when she'd spring on him and drag his happy little ass back to the Centre.
A feline smile spread itself across her lips, because then she would be free.