The Saddest Little Valentine

by notbang

The biggest game of cat and mouse just got bigger. The stakes are higher - lives are on the line and someone else is after Jarod... or so it seems. Who are they, and can they be worse than the Center?

4. Chapter IV: Web Of Lies

 SEQ CHAPTER \h \r 1The Saddest Little Valentine

Summary: The biggest game of cat and mouse just got bigger. The stakes are higher - lives are on the line this time around, and someone else is after Jarod... or so it seems. Who are they, and can they be worse than the Centre?

Rating: PG13

Chronology: Post-IotH.

Genre: Suspense/Mystery/Angst... and a little bit of romance, though short lived.

Disclaimer: Are you the author? I am today. Except I'm only pretending...

Notes: None today...

Chapter IV - Web Of Lies

All her life, all she had ever wanted was to please her father, because it was the love and affections of him that she craved above all else. Betrayal after betrayal, she took him back - because no matter how hard she tried, she couldn't bring herself to tear away from the only family she had left.

It was, ultimately, her family that kept drawing her back. She was their marionette; a puppet on strings in their control... to do their will and answer their call.

A prisoner to the ties that bound.

          - Jarod Heart, The Saddest Little Valentine, chapter four.

'Miss Parker,' Broots hissed, sticking his head out of Sydney's office as she walked past.

'What?' she asked offhandedly, pausing to hear him out.

'I've found something I think you might want to see.'

'This better be good,' she warned him, following him through the door.

'I wasn't able to find any of the Parallax files,' he said in a hushed voice. 'But I did find this.'

'What is it?'

'It's a list of all the people that had clearance to the files before they were relocated. It's the average - Raines, the Tower. But there's one name on there that doesn't add up to its top secret classification.'

'Let me guess,' she said dryly. 'My Lyle.'

* * *

'I'm beginning to wonder about you,' Lyle informed Parker after she had invited herself into his office. 'No leads on Jarod for over a month now.'

'Oh, I've had leads,' she informed him. 'I just haven't had the time to chase them up.'

'That's a dangerous call. You're here to find Jarod, not to go nosing around in affairs that don't concern you.'

'I think I'll decide what does and doesn't concern me,' she said coldly, picking up a cigar cutter that had been lying on his desk. She examined it.

'You'd better pray that Raines doesn't find out that you haven't had a lead on Jarod since Christmas,' Lyle said.

She ignored the comment.

'Speaking of Christmas, how was yours?' she asked with fake curiosity. 'I can see Santa didn't bring you a new thumb.'

'And I can see he didn't bring you some benevolence,' Lyle returned.

'Didn't ask for any,' she replied with a dismissive coolness. Her eyes were still on the cigar cutter in her hand.

'What do you want?'

'I want to know about Parallax,' she said evenly. 'And this time, I want the whole truth.'

'Parallax is none of your business. If Raines catches you snooping around -'

Her hand wrapped around his wrist, pulling it closer so she could examine his hand.

'He won't,' she assured him, looking up and flashing him a grin. 'Tell me, Lyle. How attached are you to your only thumb?'

She slid the blade through the cigar cutter in warning.

He knew she would do it.

'You're one sadistic bitch, Parker,' he said.

'You're not in a position to be calling me sadistic,' she said in a quiet but deadly tone. 'Now talk.'

'I don't know much. But you were right. Kiya has been sent out after Jarod.'

'And?'

'That's all I know. That and what I told you the other day. I've never even laid eyes on her.'

'What's Raines up to on SL-27?'

'I don't know.'

She slid the cutter down the length of his thumb. He winced.

'Something to do with Parallax. It's top secret. Clearance only for him and up. It involves the Triumvirate and I swear I don't know anything else.'

'You had clearance,' she contradicted, venom lacing her words.

'Temporary. I had been keeping tabs on Kiya's whereabouts, but Raines cancelled out the order three months ago.'

'Are you still tracking Ethan?'

To ensure a reply, she moved the blade forward, drawing a thin line of blood before receding.

'Yes,' Lyle managed through gritted teeth.

'Why? And I want more than just the crap you fed me the other day, Lyle.'

'Mirage was always Raines's project. He wants him back to do his dirty work.'

She made to press the blade forward again, so he continued.

'He thinks it's a surefire way to get to Jarod. If we brought in Ethan, Jarod would come back for him.'

'And he'd have himself a Pretender,' she finished, releasing Lyle.

He ran his hand along the cut she had made.

'If you lay a finger on our brother, I will hunt you down and finish the job I started four years ago on that dock,' she warned icily. 'And believe me, I don't make the same mistake twice.'

She turned sharply on her heel and exited the room, leaving Lyle to nurse his remaining thumb.

* * *

Jarod was adamant that Davy Reynolds was innocent. He had a theory, but it was incomplete, and without solid evidence it was useless.

In his opinion, he had been in Florida a lot longer than he would have liked. But with the confusion surrounding Davy's case, along with his promise to help Kiya, it looked like he was going to be there a little longer.

Deciding that he was getting nowhere in his investigation into the Davy mystery, he turned his attentions to Kiya's problem. He began by tapping into the Centre mainframe.

So far, his search for Rosie Jamison had been fruitless. The only evidence he had to go on that she had ever walked the earth was Kiya's word. And, he supposed, the photograph she was in possession of.

The fact that he couldn't find her meant nothing, of course. He knew more than anyone how easy it was for the Centre to completely erase a person's existence. It just didn't make his job any easier.

'Found anything?' Kiya asked, her voice unnaturally soft as she came up behind him.

'No,' he replied, putting his hands on the back of his head. 'There are no records anywhere of a Rosie Jamison. They could have been erased, which would mean the Centre is trying to cover something up.'

Kiya was wearing pale pink pajamas; a strange contrast to the dark colours she normally opted for. Her hair, which she nearly always had down, was tied back. She seemed an entirely different person.

'The Centre's always trying to cover something up,' she sighed.

'So it seems,' he agreed grimly.

Her eyes narrowed and focused on the screen.

'Someone else has been tracing those files,' she noted.

'Your cousin,' Jarod supplied. 'She was under the impression her mother never had a sister.'

'Why doesn't that surprise me? They keep everyone so well informed,' she said sarcastically. 'What?' she asked warily, noticing the look of amusement that crossed Jarod's face.

'You share the same mordant sense of humour,' he answered.

'She has a sense of humour?' Kiya asked in mock disbelief, resulting in Jarod giving her a diluted warning glance. 'Sorry, but she sounds like a pretty dark person to me. Crabby.'

'And for that she has justification,' Jarod said calmly, entering something into the computer.

'Why do you always defend her? She's trying to take you back there,' Kiya said in confusion, perching herself on the edge of the table. 'She's trying to ruin your life.'

'If it wasn't her it would be someone else. She just happened to be the lucky candidate.'

'I can see you're not going to give me a direct answer here,' she said, put-out.

'Where's Ethan?' he asked her, ignoring the statement.

'Asleep.'

'Like you should be,' he said, glancing at her.

'I can't sleep. It's too early. I'm a night person,' Kiya responded with a shrug, getting up to walk the room. 'But you, Mr, are an insomniac.'

'My dreams take me to places I'd rather not go.'

'That I do understand. Thankfully, my dreams seem to be the one place I can escape the Centre. To my great fortune, I've been spared the nightmares.'

'Sometimes I wonder which are worse. The ones I really live, or the ones in my mind.'

'In reality, they're inextricably combined,' she said quietly. 'Once the Centre gets its claws into you, it's near impossible to get rid of them.'

She walked over to the window, peering out at the starry night sky.

'Once upon a time, I used to always go out at night. I'd just sit and watch the moon. Then I stopped believing.'

'In what?' he asked, swivelling his chair around slightly to watch her.

'I'd look up at the moon and I'd feel safe, because for that moment it was like I wasn't alone anymore. Like I was sharing a moment with my family, because everyone sees the same moon, right? But now I know it's stupid to think that someone was out there looking for me.'

'No,' Jarod said lightly. 'It's not.'

'It's silly,' she said, turning her head away from the window.

'It's not silly, Kiya. Because it's that same thought that has kept me going these past years. You're going to find your family.'

'It's an empty promise, Jarod. But thank you.'

* * *

It was nearly midnight, but two pale blue eyes were still very much awake. Their owner was very much aware of the glass of liquor in her left hand, and the cigarette in her right.

A tendril of smoke wafted up towards the ceiling.

Those two things aside, she wasn't aware of much else. Her mind was sufficiently blank for her to wallow in self pity. Thus her annoyance when the phone rang, knocking her from her reverie and forcing her to focus on something nontrivial.

She could have ignored it. She knew who it was. She didn't want to talk to him. She put down the glass and picked up the phone.

'What?'

One word. That was all it took. One, sole, four letter word and it was apparent to the person on the other end exactly what kind of mood she was in.

'It seems that the Centre records comply with what you thought. Not one word on Rosie Jamison,' Jarod said lazily, without preamble.

'But you still think otherwise,' she noted, emitting a cloud of smoke.

'According to the records, Mr Lyle doesn't exist. But I get the impression he is very much alive.'

She gave a short laugh.

'That one-thumbed asshole is alive and kicking, that's for sure,' she replied dryly. 'And I have the pleasure of putting up with him.'

'And how are things at the Centre?'

'A regular riot, as usual. Of course, things would change if you came back.'

'Do you really believe that?'

Choosing to disregard his comment, she pressed the remainder of her cigarette into the ashtray.

'We haven't heard from you in awhile. We were beginning to think you'd decided to disappear for good.'

'I get the feeling you'll be hearing from me very soon, Miss Parker,' Jarod replied.

'By that you mean a clue that will send us on a wild goose chase across the country, only to arrive to find you long gone, as always?'

'Those goose chases are never fruitless though, are they?'

'In other words you've found something. What?'

'You'll have to rely on that love of wild goose chases of yours to tell you that. Just remember, Miss Parker... the early bird may get the worm, but the second mouse gets the cheese.'

'And what is that supposed to mean?'

'Oh, I'm sure you'll figure it out.'

She terminated the call before he had a chance to, lowering the phone to the table somewhat mechanically and picking up her drink.

'I'm sure I will.'

* * *

'Kiya,' Jarod called, lowering the phone. His eyes were fixed on the computer screen. 'I think you might want to come see this.'

He looked over to where she was, curled up on the couch, cat-like, in somewhat of a modified fetal position. At his words, her eyes opened lazily. Whilst being languid, they were clear and alert, without any sign that she had recently been asleep. She stretched and sat up.

'What is it?' she murmured, flexing her arms out in front of her.

'It could just be a coincidence, but -'

'There's no such thing as coincidence,' she informed him in a tone so like Miss Parker that it disturbed him. She left the couch to peer over his shoulder.

'A birth certificate issued the date I was born,' she said, reading the documents listed under the archive Jarod had up on the screen. 'It has to be mine. Do you think it would have my father's name on it?'

'I'm not sure. But look at the files beneath it.'

'Sweet Merlin,' she said, leaning closer. 'Surrogacy papers. Do you think... ?'

'There's only one way to find out,' Jarod said, leaning back in his chair and meeting her gaze. 'And that's to get a hold of those papers.'

'Which is easier said than done,' Kiya muttered. 'But not impossible.'

'No. I think I can get those documents with a little inside help. Since it concerns family, there should be no trouble convincing Miss Parker to look into it.'

'Why would she help us out?'

'A piece of my past for a piece of hers has always been the rules I've encouraged. It's about time she did me a favour,' he said, his hand stroking his chin thoughtfully. 'Don't worry. I'll get you those answers. I promise.'

* * *

'Miss Parker, something from Jarod,' Broots said, handing her a yellow package as soon as she stepped into her office. 'Lyle got one too,' he added.

Her eyes narrowed at this piece of information as she sat down and slid her finger beneath the seal and tore it open. She tipped its contents out on the desk.

'Maine,' she muttered, recognising the place in the picture on the front of a postcard. The message on the back was nothing new.

Miss P –

The early bird may catch the worm, but the second mouse gets the cheese.

– J

Along with the postcard were two pieces of paper. On one, what seemed to be a map coordinate.

'Check this out,' she said, handing the paper to Broots.

On the second sheet, a number.

'I'm presuming this is a file code,' she told Sydney, putting it back down on the desk. 'In which case it can wait.'

'It seems that Lyle, too, is headed for Maine,' he commented, gesturing to the glass doors.

'Let him,' she replied. 'In fact, something tells me that it's within our best interests that he gets there first.'

'I got it. It's the coordinates for a small warehouse in Maine,' Broots said, bursting back into the room. 'But we'd better hurry, unless you want Mr Lyle to beat us to it.'

'I do,' she interrupted.

Broots looked confused.

'But Miss Parker, if Lyle catches Jarod -'

Her lips curled back in amusement.

'Lyle isn't going to catch Jarod. Jarod isn't in Maine. But something he wants us to see is, and it all depends on Lyle getting their first. So relax, gentlemen,' she said sarcastically, leaning back in her chair and taking out a cigarette. 'We're going to give the chief chimpanzee a head start for once.'

* * *

'Have you found out anything else about your parents?' Ethan asked Kiya, sitting down across from her at the table.

'Nothing concrete, no,' she said, taking a sip of coffee. 'But Jarod's found something that may be able to help.'

She glanced to where Jarod was sleeping on the couch. Why he hadn't just gone to bed was beyond her, but the fact that he was actually sleeping seemed to be a good sign. He had a late shift that night and he needed whatever rest he got.

After a moment, she turned back to Ethan. She watched him for a few seconds before she spoke.

'Why do we hear voices?'

'I don't know.'

'I thought it what strange, how they warned me about you when I didn't even know who you were. But when I first met you... I got the feeling I did know you,' she said slowly.

'I get that feeling too,' Ethan told her. 'But then again, we are cousins.'

'Maybe,' she said, not quite understanding what she meant by it.

'You are on the run from the Centre too.'

'I was. I'm not sure if they're still interested in getting me back,' she replied with a shrug. 'I think they're directing their resources towards getting your brother back at the moment.'

'My sister is determined she's going to,' he concurred. 'She wants him back.'

'Because she thinks she'll get her freedom in return? She's living off false promises if she does. They're never going to let her go.'

'No. I get the same feeling. But I don't think anything is going to change her mind,' Ethan said.

'Yet Jarod still defends her.'

'They used to be friends. At the Centre.'

'Yes. But things have changed, and I can't see her going back,' Kiya answered, looking over at Jarod again. 'He'll never give up on her, though. He can't give up. If he gave up, he wouldn't have lasted this long.'

* * *

'I hate this place already,' Parker announced with contempt, stepping out of the black car that had brought her to Maine.

It had been raining, and the dirt ground around the warehouse was slightly muddy. She lifted a shoe to inspect its base. The sole was stained a murky brown.

'Three pairs of shoes, Jarod,' she muttered icily. 'Three pairs of shoes ruined tracing your sorry ass across the country.'

She looked up at the warehouse. It was reasonably small - compared to ones she had seen in the past, anyway - and seemingly empty. Another Centre car was parked nearby.

There was no sign of Lyle.

'Let's move in, shall we?' she suggested, raising her eyebrows to her accomplices.

'Lyle is still here,' Sydney noted.

'For the past four hours?' Broots asked dubiously. 'What could he be doing that takes four hours?'

'Malaysian movie marathon,' was the offhand reply as Parker stepped through the open doors to the warehouse.

The warehouse was full of stacked crates and boxes that looked like they had been there a long time. A thick layer of dust had settled over them and the floor, and the lack of footprints suggested there had been few visitors in the past year at least.

'Looks like lab rat was low on rent money,' Parker commented, glancing around. Noticing a set of footprints that definitely did not belong to them, she began to follow the trail in the dust.

'Parker,' Sydney said, looking ahead. 'There's a note by that door.'

She strode towards the door he had pointed it. The note, she saw once she was closer, was in Jarod's handwriting.

Do not enter.

The arrow on the sign was pointing to the door. Curious, but not stupid, she leaned up to peer in through the glass on the window before even considering disobeying Jarod's warning. Her caution paid off.

'And you think he would have learned his lesson last time,' she said, her lips curving in amusement.

'What is it?' Broots asked.

Lyle, seeing her at the glass, had stood and come closer to the window. She couldn't hear him, but got the idea. The door was self-locking, and he was stuck inside.

'Lyle,' she answered, grinning at her brother through the glass. She reached over to pull off Jarod's sign and pressed it up against the window to tease. 'Self locking door. He's trapped in there until someone decides to let him out.'

'Mr Lyle's in there?'

Broots peered in to see, then immediately drew back.

'Wow,' he said. 'He doesn't look very happy.'

Sydney looked amused, pointing out the official notice that Jarod's note had been covering.

Warning: self-sealing door. Keys required.

'Your suspicions were right, Parker. Jarod, it seems, is doing us a favour.'

'So that's all? We came here to see Lyle?' Broots queried, looking confused.

'No,' she replied slowly, taking a few steps back. 'There has to be more. Jarod brought us out here to find something.'

She surveyed the door and the walls around it carefully. A pin-up board covered with notices hung to the left. The majority of the pins were old and rusty, with the exception of one, a postcard which was stuck in the middle of the board. Hooked over the pin was a key ring.

'Bingo,' she muttered, snatching the keys and card down. The other side of it was blank except for a Miss P scrawled in Jarod's print. She flipped it back to the picture on the front, where Albany was written in the bottom right corner. Her gaze then turned to the key ring, which appeared to be the keys to a hotel room. A red eight was emblazoned on the tag.

She sighed.

'Boys, it looks like we're going to Albany.'

* * *

'Yoo-hoo, daddy dearest,' Kiya called in a sing-song voice, leaning close to Jarod's ear.

He frowned and shifted, laying still a moment before opening his eyes.

'What was that for?'

'To wake you up.'

'Why?'

'I think it's time you went to work,' Ethan explained from the table, nodding towards the clock on the wall.

'I'm not working today,' Jarod replied, sitting up. 'I swapped shifts with someone.'

'In that case, your own fault for not telling us,' Kiya said, taking a bite out of an apple. 'I'm not psychic, you know.'

Jarod rolled his eyes, then sighed, glancing over at his computer.

'I may not be working, but I do have work to do. You two will be fine here if I go?'

It was Kiya's turn to roll her eyes.

'We'll be fine. You go play detective. I'll be good.'

'I'm paying a visit to the local prison,' Jarod said, looking at Ethan. 'I think it's time I visited Davy Reynolds.'

* * *

Jarod pulled up outside the prison and sat still for a moment, lazily observing the outside of the building.

His relaxed surveying was interrupted when he caught sight of something rather interesting. A figure that seemed to be Leishelle Martin had just pushed through the glass doors at the entrance, appearing to be in considerable distress. She was followed shortly after by a man, whom Jarod also recognised.

Mark Field, from the cab company.

Eyes narrowed, Jarod got out of the car and moved a little closer, watching the pair. They were having a heated discussion about something, though what exactly he couldn't discern. A few minutes later and Leishelle apparently gave in, because she allowed Mark to put an arm around her and guide her to a car.

Jarod waited until they had driven out of the lot before making his way into the building, casting a glance over his shoulder.

Once inside he immediately slipped into Pretender mode, producing a persona with ease. He quickly convinced the authorities in charge to allow him to speak to Davy Reynolds. Five, ten minutes later and he was in the chamber with the prison telephone pressed to his ear, Davy on the other side of the glass.

Davy Reynolds was not much different to how Jarod remembered him. His hair was slightly lighter, and his skin a pasty colour. His face was somewhat hollow and thin, no doubt a result from the stress of the past month.

'You may not remember me,' Jarod said, slipping the receiver into a more comfortable position. 'I met you a few years back.'

Davy surveyed him a moment.

'Jarod,' he said eventually. 'You were being chased by a brunette with a gun.'

'You do remember,' Jarod smiled.

'I remember you, but I don't understand why you're here.'

'You told me if I was ever in Florida to drop in and see you. Here I am.'

The sandy haired man made a noise of amusement.

'Here you are, and here I am. I'm surprised they let you through. My fi - friend had some difficulty getting in. She just left.'

'Leishelle. Your fiancé.'

'You know Leishelle?' Davy sighed. 'She's not my fiancé anymore. I thought... I thought it would be best if she didn't wait around for me.'

'That's why she was crying,' Jarod said.

'Yeah. She didn't take it too well.'

Jarod paused, then asked his next question with caution.

'Did you know she was here with Mark?'

At this, Davy looked genuinely taken aback.

'Mark Field?'

Jarod nodded.

'No,' Davy replied. 'Though I can't say I'm surprised. They used to date years ago. She broke it off, but he was never really over her.'

'Were you and Mark friends?'

'Acquaintances,' he corrected. 'Work colleagues that knew each other through Leishelle.'

The officer near the door looked at his watch.

'Time's almost up,' he told Jarod, tapping its lens.

Jarod nodded his acknowledgment and turned back to Davy.

'Davy, I need to ask you one thing.'

'Sure, Jarod. Shoot.'

'Were you drinking the night of the accident?'

Davy blinked.

'No,' he said slowly. 'That's the strange thing. I don't drink, Jarod.'

'I know,' Jarod replied. He looked over at the officer, who nodded. 'I have to go now.'

'Thank you for coming in,' Davy said, smiling sadly. 'If you see Leishelle... I just want her to be happy.'

'I understand,' Jarod assured him. 'And don't worry. I'm going to do everything within my power to clear your name.'

* * *

The Silverview Inn, Albany, was a humble lodge with cozy rooms and comfortable prices. The personnel were annoyingly cheery and only too happy to direct Miss Parker to room number eight.

'Jarod said we should be expecting you,' the lady at the desk beamed. 'He said to show you to his room, because you were here to pick up a few things he'd left behind.'

'That's why we're here,' Parker agreed, forcing a smile.

'Room eight is just upstairs and down the hall. The numbers are on the doors,' was the reply. 'You have a key?'

Miss Parker flashed the keys in the woman's direction before heading up the stairs, Sydney and Broots trailing after her.

'This had better be good,' she muttered, turning the key in the lock.

The room was immaculate; there were no apparent signs that someone had been living in it. The bed was perfectly made and the shelves were free from clutter.

'An empty room,' she said, glancing around. 'Great.'

'Not entirely empty,' Broots said, pulling open a drawer. 'There's some things in here.'

Inside the drawer were three things; a box, another set of keys and another blank postcard.

The box was locked.

'These keys don't fit the lock,' Miss Parker said, lifting the mentioned keys up to inspect them. 'It looks like another hotel room. Number eight.'

'The postcard is of Indiana,' Sydney said, examining it.

'Hotel Hiatus,' she murmured, reading the fine print along the outside of the tag.

'What does this all mean?' Broots asked.

'It means, you moron,' she said dryly, 'that we're going to Indiana.'

* * *

'How's your murder mystery going?' Kiya asked, sitting herself down on the couch next to Jarod, who had his computer on his lap. She had a bunch of grapes in one hand.

class=Section2>

'Not too well,' Jarod admitted.

'What's the problem?' she asked, popping a grape into her mouth.

'I have a possible who, a possible how, and a possible why. But possibilities mean nothing.'

'Everything means something,' Kiya contradicted. 'Run it by me.'

He looked at her a moment before sighing and honouring her request.

'Davy Reynolds was charged with manslaughter after he lost control of his car and hit a woman. She died in hospital a day after the accident. Davy was found to have almost twice the limit of alcohol in his bloodstream, but he doesn't drink.'

'Gotcha,' she nodded. 'Go on.'

'I went to visit Davy today. When I got to the prison, I saw his fiancé Leishelle leaving, accompanied by Mark Field, a colleague of mine who Davy says used to date Leishelle.'

'And you think this might have something to do with a love triangle?'

'It might. I'm not sure,' Jarod replied.

'Anything else? What was your how?'

'Coffee,' he answered. 'There's a coffee machine in the staff room, and most of the taxi drivers drink it. It would be easy for someone to drug Davy through his coffee.'

'You have this in notes?' she queried.

'Most of it,' Jarod said, handing her a red note book. She flicked to the back, where he had written some things down.

Kiya scanned over them relatively quickly, drinking in Jarod's observations and discoveries.

She paused thoughtfully for a moment when she finished and used the opportunity to pop another grape into her mouth while she contemplated the mystery.

'It wasn't Mark,' she said eventually. 'At least, I doubt it was. If Mark were jealous, there would be much easier ways to go about getting rid of him. Drugging him wouldn't have a set effect; there was no guarantee he was going to kill some girl. If I were you, I'd be focusing on this Leishelle girl.'

Jarod's eyes narrowed slightly, a signal that he was interested in hearing the rest of her theory.

'Her alibi's pretty shaky. So is Mark's, but hers bothers me more. She says she met up with some friends at the cinema that evening after work, which I'll buy. When you served her the other day, where did she want to go?'

'To her apartment. I picked her up from outside the bank in the square,' Jarod replied.

'What I find hard to accept is the fact that she walked from the cinema to the depot to visit Davy, then to her apartment, seven blocks away, at night, when she took a cab from the bank, five blocks away, in broad daylight. It doesn't add up,' Kiya told him.

'What motive would Leishelle have for setting Davy up?' he asked. 'They were engaged.'

'I think you need to take a look at that paper over there, Mr Fallens,' Kiya said slyly. 'You might find it answers that question. Page two, if I'm not mistaken.'

Wondering what exactly Kiya had discovered in the paper, Jarod got up to have a look at the local gazette. Page two, in bold.

LOCAL WINS LARGE SHARE IN LOTTERY.

He scanned the article. The reporter never mentioned a name, simply stating that the winner was a local cab driver.

'You think Leishelle wanted Davy dead for his money?' Jarod asked dubiously.

'That's up to you,' Kiya shrugged. 'That article doesn't give you a name, but it provides you with two new possible scenarios. That winner could have been Davy or Mark.'

'Thank you,' Jarod said, smiling. 'I think you may have found something.'

'Glad to help,' Kiya grinned, jumping off the couch. 'Oh, by the way... have you taken a look at the accident report?'

'Yes.'

'Look closer. Into the condition of the car, in particular.'

'What are you hinting at?' he asked suspiciously.

'Nothing,' she replied honestly. 'But if you ask me, contaminating someone's coffee doesn't necessarily kill them. If I had been doing the job, a subtle bit of interference with the vehicle would have been my backup. An innocent glitch in the system that would be difficult to deal with when drunk.'

'What did they teach you at the Centre?' Jarod asked with amusement.

'To get inside people's heads. But it's a lot easier to understand an evil-doer when you were intended to be one yourself,' she said with a smile. 'Besides, I'm no empath, but your mind's elsewhere, Jarod. You're losing focus.'

And with that, Kiya slinked out of the room.

* * *

'Our Pretender seems to have taken to simplicity of late,' Parker commented, looking around room eight of the Hotel Hiatus.

It was in much the same state as the last; clean and void of any evidence that someone had been staying there.

'I don't think Jarod has been staying in either of these hostels,' Sydney said, inspecting the closet.

It was empty.

'No,' she agreed. 'Rat boy is still safe and sound in Florida.'

Broots glanced at her oddly.

'Miss Parker, if you know Jarod is in Florida -'

'Ethan's with him,' she said coolly, and that was that.

They found what they were looking for in the same place as the last; the bedside drawer.

'Another box,' Broots said, pulling it out. 'Locked.'

'And another set of keys,' she added, withdrawing them by the green tag. 'What a surprise. Room number eight.'

This time there was no postcard but a photograph. A photograph of a place Miss Parker recognised almost immediately.

'St Catherine's,' she muttered. 'The convent where my mother stayed.'

'Parker,' Sydney said gently, placing a hand on her shoulder.

'I'm fine, Sid,' she said, shrugging it off and moving away. 'Let's go.'

* * *

The convent was no different to how she remembered it. It still gave off the same, eerie aura, and she couldn't shake the feeling that the place had some hidden importance that she had yet to discover.

The nuns gladly welcomed them back, warmly directing them to the eighth chamber. Unlike the previous two, this room was scattered with items. It was evident from the childish toys and scattered Pez dispensers that Jarod had at least visited this particular location recently. The question was why he had led her there.

The table near the window attracted her attention. It was relatively tidy; only a few papers lay on its surface. Along with three sets of keys, each next to a small plastic figurine.

'What is he trying to tell us?' Broots asked, looking at the strange display.

'He's trying to tell us what the keys are for. These two,' she said, pointing to the first two plastic objects, which were miniature treasure chests, 'are for the two boxes.'

She ran her fingers over the third model, a mouse in a mouse trap.

'And the last one is to free the first mouse from his trap,' she finished.

She picked up the first two sets of keys and turned away from the desk to leave.

'Uh, Miss Parker?' Broots asked.

She turned around impatiently in reply.

'Er, what about the other set of keys?'

She shot him a look that clearly said she couldn't care less if Lyle remained locked in his temporary prison.

Sydney picked up the keys with amusement.

'Come along, Broots,' he said, slipping them into his pocket.

The boxes were back in the car, and Miss Parker wanted to hurry up and open them to find out what she had been dragged from state to state to collect. She was extremely irritated when the first box contained only a postcard identical to the one they had first received. On the back were the coordinates for the warehouse.

'So he wants us to go back to Maine, does he?' she murmured, opening the other box with aggression.

Again, she was disappointed. The case contained only a single piece of paper. A note from Jarod.

Miss P –

Aren't you sick of this game yet?

– J

'Ugh!' she said in frustration, throwing the box at the ground.

'What do we do now?' Broots asked cautiously.

'We go back to Maine,' she said venomously, getting in the car and slamming the door.

* * *

'Miss Parker, there's a new notice on the board,' Broots pointed out once they had arrived back at the warehouse.

She stalked over and ripped it off, thoroughly irritated.

Miss P –

All work for Miss Parker without any play,

Keeps Jarod alive another day.

Enjoy the goose chase?

– J

She scrunched the note up and threw it at the door in aggravation, turning around to stalk back out.

'Shall I let Mr Lyle out?' Broots asked as she stormed past him, holding up the keys.

She snatched them off him and threw them at the ground near the door.

'Get a sweeper team out here,' she said icily. 'They can look after their own monkey.'

* * *

Jarod picked up the receiver in the public phone booth and dialed a number, a smile crossing his features when the person on the other end answered.

'What?'

'So, how was your goose chase today?' he asked genially, leaning against the side of the booth.

'You'd better watch out,' the icy voice threatened. 'Next time I see you, I'm putting a bullet in your kneecap.'

'I thought I'd done you a favour.'

'Locking Lyle up would have been a hell of a lot more enjoyable if I had been around to savour it,' she said testily. 'Whatever happened to these goose chases never being fruitless?'

'If I recall correctly, the first postcard arrived with a file number. From the way you're talking, Miss Parker, I'd say you haven't looked into it.'

The short pause told him he had assumed correctly.

'I'd chase it up, if you'd excuse the pun. You might find it quite interesting.'

He hung up the phone with a click.

'Very interesting indeed.'

* * *

'Did you get the file?' Parker asked coolly, walking into her office the next morning.

Broots glanced at Sydney before answering.

'Miss Parker, I'm not sure if -'

'Did you get the file?' she interrupeted.

'Yes,' he said, handing her the folder. 'And you'll never guess what they say.'

'Surrogacy papers,' she muttered. 'For an R Jamison. Jarod was right. It seems I do have an aunt.'

'But look at the certificate beneath it,' Broots said.

Miss Parker moved the top document to the bottom of the pile. The next sheet was a certificate. A birth certificate, to be precise.

'Kiya Parker,' she said, eyebrows rising. 'Parker?'

'It seems,' Sydney said, his own eyebrows raised, 'that this Pretender is a relative of yours.'

'Cousin?' Parker queried. 'R Jamison was only a surrogate.'

'A surrogate,' Broots replied, 'for your parents.'

'What do you mean?' she asked slowly, reaching into her drawer for a cigarette.

'I mean that according to those records, Kiya is your sister!'

'My mother was dead long before this girl was born,' she said, taken aback.

'Death doesn't stop the Centre,' Sydney said grimly. 'It looks like Raines has been playing God again.'

'You're telling me this pretender is really my sister?'

'Well, yes. According to these records,' Broots answered.

She expelled a plume of smoke.

'Great,' she said sarcastically. 'This family just keeps getting bigger and bigger. You never know, cockroach,' she said, grinning at Broots. 'For all we know, I could be your evil step sister.'

She threw the file and its papers onto her desk, looking at it as she took another puff of her cigarette, trying to get her head around the newest deception she had uncovered.

'Why?' Broots asked. 'Why create another Parker child?'

'We don't know,' Sydney answered.

'Why do they ever do anything around here?' Parker asked bitterly, exhaling smoke. 'Do they even need a reason?'

Extinguishing her cigarette, she threw a last glance at the file before glancing back up at Broots.

'I want answers, Broots. On Parallax, on Rosie Jamison. On what the hell Dr Frankenstein is doing in SL-27. How did you go tracking down surveillance DSA's?'

The tech sighed.

'I suppose I can get them now, if you want.'

'I do.'

Broots disappeared to carry out her request and she relaxed into her chair, sighing. 

'What does this all mean, Sid? What are we coming to?'

'I only wish I could answer that question, Parker,' he sighed, taking a few steps forwards.

'If we could wish for the answers, things would be a hell of a lot easier, that's for sure.'

He observed her a moment, thinking out carefully what he was going to say.

'Things are not the way they used to be,' he commented eventually.

'What's changed?' she asked evenly, watching him.

'It may not be entirely apparent, but it's there. Something changed, on Carthis... something changed the way you look at things.'

She sighed.

'Everything's changed, Sid,' she said wearily, massaging her forehead. 'It's not just a game anymore. It's a race. And the first one to the answers... wins.'

And there we have it, my longest chapter yet. My mum actually reads this story, since she too is hooked on Pretender, and she said I had to go to bed unless I wrote more for her. So I wrote her more and now it's out quicker.

The next chapter is called Roles Reversed and it's mostly to do with Miss Parker being hunted down by someone who shall remain nameless…

A pretender fan: We'll have to wait and see :)

Nans: I love Sydney, too. I love them all for different reasons, but Sydney is one of my ULTIMATE favourites. Him and Angelo. But Miss Parker's just so fun to write.

Trista: You're not the only one who's confused. I confuse myself with this story sometimes :)

Nancy: Miss Parker? Work together with Jarod? OK, that might last about… five seconds! Nah, they do actually join up about half way through the story. In the sequel to this, though, which I've already planned, they spend the majority of the story working together, even if they aren't being civilized *g*

Michelle: I'd actually be interested to know what you think about Kiya! I'm always interested in knowing what impressions people get from things. And, you never know! She's a pretender, she could be anyone!

Thanks for the reviews :) More coming soon

Cheers & beers,

SezZie