Disclaimer in part 1
Angel
by imagine
Part 2 - The Dawn
The muscles in her body tensed at his touch, then slowly melted against his body. Though her arms slid around his waist and her shoulders trembled, Miss Parker's tears were still unable to find a release. Opting to keep the cliched words of comfort to himself, Jarod lightly kissed the top of her head as he gently cradled her in his arms.
She allowed him to hold her for much longer than he expected and, when Miss Parker finally drew out of his touch, Jarod's arms ached to bring her back to him. He watched quietly as she wiped her face with both hands and moved from the bed.
"Parker, it's all right to cry. It has been days since you were told of your father's death and you have yet to shed a tear. He's being buried tomorrow. If you continue to suppress your emotions, they will . . ."
"Stop it!" she barked, pivoting to face him. "Just stop it, Jarod. He was my father and I am a grown woman. None of this is your problem, or your business. I do not need you to critique the way I choose to grieve."
"The problem is that you are not grieving."
"That's where you're wrong, Genius. In case you've forgotten, I've done this before."
Bringing the heel of her hand to her forehead, she took a shuddered breath. He waited, watching her with concern as she composed herself.
"I know you have," he said quietly.
She dropped her arms and looked at him. "Thomas and my mother both died so suddenly I had no time to do anything but react. I mourned for them, Jarod. I cried continually for weeks and it never made their deaths easier to accept. All it did was threaten to destroy me."
Jarod swallowed hard, remembering that both deaths were violent and carried out while she was nearby. Before he could stop it, the image of her as a child, screaming for her mother, slipped into his mind. Quickly following was the image of her at Thomas' grave, her shock and fatigue evident in every movement and every word.
"You may think that your grief was destroying you," he told her, keeping his voice gentle, "but, in actuality, it was making you stronger. It was the healthy reaction and it helped you to move on. I do not understand why your father's death is so different for you."
When Miss Parker spoke again, her voice was so soft it was barely audible, "With my father, I knew it was going to happen. The voices warned me. They told me he was going to die and then told me I couldn't stop it."
He frowned and considered her words, silently chastising himself for pushing her so hard, then said, "But you tried to save him, anyway."
"He was my father, of course I tried," she replied, tiredly. "I knew he was living somewhere in the Canary Islands. Last month, I told Raines that I was following a lead on you and booked a commercial flight to Spain. From there, I made a connection to the islands."
"Wasn't Raines suspicious about the fact you thought I had traveled outside the US?"
"Of course he was, but it's not like you've never done it before. Besides, I had Sydney and Broots to back me up."
Jarod frowned. "Sydney knew you were looking for your father?"
"No. He and Broots both asked what I was searching for, but I never told them. They backed me up for no other reason than I asked." Glancing at the Pretender over her shoulder, she added, "They trusted me."
Jarod took a deep breath and nodded, but did not comment.
Satisfied with his silence, the woman moved to the window and stared out at the deserted street.
"I hired a guide and searched for my father for almost three weeks. I would have kept looking but Raines was making life miserable for everyone here, so I came home. I had every intention of leaving again, and continuing the search, but . . ."
"He died before you got the chance," Jarod finished, when her voice faded.
She nodded and wiped her eyes again, adding, "Strange, isn't it? I've tracked you down hundreds of times but I failed to find my own father when he needed me."
"You didn't fail. Your father went to great pains to make sure no one could find him, Parker."
She glanced at him, but said nothing. Instead, Miss Parker crossed to the dresser on the other side of the room and picked up a framed photo. When he looked over her shoulder, he told her, "I've never seen that picture before."
"I've never shown it to anyone," she murmured. "Until recently, it was tucked in an album and stored in a box at the top of my closet. I actually forgot it existed."
"Where was it taken?"
"There's a cove about twenty minutes North of here. The only time I was there was the morning this picture was taken."
He nodded. "The sunrise."
She looked at him, curiously. "I told you?"
"You were very excited about seeing it and wanted to share it with me."
Glancing at the picture, she took a breath and nodded slightly as she brought her eyes back to his. "I remember, now. You let me go on and on about the colors and the breeze and . . . I'm sorry. At the time, I didn't realize how difficult it must have been for you."
"It wasn't difficult at all," he promised. Shooting her a sincere lopsided grin, he added, "You made me feel like I saw it with you. Believe it, or not, Parker, but you gave me my first sunrise and, to date, I have not found one quite as beautiful."
The tears in her eyes suddenly welled and, determined not to let them fall, she wiped her face again and looked away from him. Even if she trusted her voice, she realized she could think of nothing to say in response.
"My mother told me, later, that taking a family photo during sunrise was my father's idea," she managed, dropping her eyes back to the photo. She gently traced the faces of her parents with her ringed finger as she spoke. "I think that night was the only time in my life that I was truly happy."
"And your father made it happen."
When she nodded, Jarod saw her expression tighten and twist as she fought her emotions.
"Parker, it's all right," he promised, softly. "It's all right that you relive the happy times with your family. I know it hurts, now, but it's part of the process. It will get better."
She placed the picture back on the dresser and buried her face in her hands.
"No, it will never get better, Jarod. My father died alone because I couldn't find him in time," she replied in a gravely voice. "And, at ten o'clock this morning, I'm going to have to watch them lower him into the ground."
Impulsively, Jarod slid his arm around her. "You are not to blame for what happened, Miss Parker. Your father made the choice to die alone when he jumped from that plane. Besides, he died from a heart attack. There was nothing you could have done, even if you had found him."
She shook her head and slipped out of his hold. "You don't believe the heart attack story any more than I do, Jarod, so don't pretend otherwise."
In all honesty, he had believed the report of how her father had died without any investigation. Now, that he watched her face beginning to distort with grief, he wondered how he could have done such a thing. She needed closure. She deserved the truth.
"How long had you known he was in the Canary Islands?" he asked, quietly.
"Since we returned from Morocco, after the plane crash. I just never had the courage to look for him," she answered softly. "I was afraid that either the Centre would follow me, and I would put him in more danger, or that he'd disappear again."
"I wish I had known," he said, more to himself, than to her. "I would have helped you. Maybe, between the two of us . . ."
"Maybe," she said, interrupting his thought. Her voice was heavy as she pushed past him, toward the door, "I really can't talk about this anymore."
"Parker . . ."
"Jarod, no, you don't understand," she insisted, twisting out of his grasp. Miss Parker looked up at him and, in a tone reserved for threats, said, "I know you want me to cry. I know you think that it's what's best to me but you're wrong. If I start now, I am never going to stop. I will have a complete breakdown."
"I won't let that happen. I'll help you."
"There's nothing you could do. I have to get out of this house."
"That is not a good idea."
"Maybe not for you, but I am not on the Centre's Most Wanted list," she spat, continuing across the room.
"Are you sure about that?"
She stopped abruptly at the door and he regretted his words. Her hands curled into fists at her side but she did not turn her body toward him. Instead, she glared at him over her shoulder.
"I am not in the mood for more of your innuendo or your sanctimonious observations, Jarod, so don't start. It's been a hell of a long week and I'm too tired to fight anymore."
"I don't want to fight, either. I just think it would be better if you stayed home. You need to rest. You need to close your eyes and . . ."
"You really don't get it, do you? I don't want to sleep. If I close my eyes, I see things I don't want to see. I see him standing at the door of the airplane, his arms filled with the scrolls. I see him on a slab in the morgue. I see him being lowered into a grave." Slowly, she shifted her entire body toward him. Her voice trembled with each word but her glistening eyes never left his wide brown orbs. "I planned this entire evening so that I wouldn't be able to think of any of those things, Jarod. Thanks to you, my plans walked out the front door about an hour ago."
"I won't apologize for interrupting your plans with Jimmy. You . . ."
"Of course you won't," she hissed. "You never do, but that's not the point. You're supposed to be a genius and, minutes ago, you claimed to be my friend. Why can't you see that I not only want a distraction, I need one?"
When he was silent, she shook her head in frustration. Grabbing a pair of running shoes as she moved from the room, she took the stairs at a rapid pace and headed for the front door.
"Where are you going?" he asked, following her into the living room.
Dropping the shoes, she slid into them and quickly tied the laces. "If you must know, I'm going for a run. Alone."
"Parker, it's almost two in the morning."
"Yes, I know," she whispered, pulling open the door. "I still have more than eight hours until this nightmare can even begin to be over. If you really want to help me, Jarod, don't be here when I get back."
Though his sleep was far from restful, it was the hand that pressed over his mouth that woke Sydney. His eyes widened and, in the dark, his arms struck out toward the intruder.
"Sydney, it's okay. It's me."
He felt the gentle touch on his hand, and recognized the voice, but until the Pretender's hand slid from his mouth, the psychiatrist was unable to calm himself. The shadowed figure beside him began to take form and, in a span of half a dozen heart beats, Sydney found his voice.
"Jarod? Jarod, what are you doing here? What time is it?"
"It's two thirty," the younger man replied absently. "Sydney, I need your help. Miss Parker needs your help."
"Miss Parker?" Sydney shifted on the mattress so that he was in a sitting position. More than anything, he wanted to see the younger man's face, but knew better than to reach for the light. It was best, for Jarod's safety, if the room remained dark. "Is she hurt?"
"In a manner of speaking, yes. I need to find her father's personal effects, specifically the items that were found at his home in the Canary Islands. Where are they being stored?"
He frowned and, even in the dim light, Jarod saw his mentor's disapproval.
"Sydney, this is important. Please. Just tell me."
"Not until you tell me why."
"I've thought about it and there must be something in his things that relates to her. She needs to know what kind of life he was living without her and why he stayed away. She needs to know the truth about how he died."
Sydney gingerly slid from the bed. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Jarod stand, prepared to follow if he left the room. Without facing his protégé, he asked, "Did she send you here?"
"You know better than to ask that question," Jarod replied. "Miss Parker would never ask me for a favor, especially one this personal."
"Then why are you doing it?"
He stared at his mentor, dumbfounded.
"I know you are trying to help, Jarod," he said, when the younger man was silent. Turning in his spot, he met the dark eyes he'd grown so fond of and added, "But, you need to be cautious. Staying in town, this way, puts you at greater risk for capture. Just because they are burying one of their own, does not mean the Centre will not come after you."
"I know what I am doing and I know the risk I am taking," he promised, curtly. "What I don't know, is where Mr. Parker's personal effects are being stored. Tell me."
She returned to the house to find he had done exactly as she'd asked. He was gone. In the kitchen, she found a fresh pot of coffee and a note explaining that he'd left a plate in the oven and a bowl of fruit in the refrigerator.
I'm sorry, Miss Parker. I never intended to make things more difficult for you.
The mantle clock in the living room struck three as she slid the warmed plate of eggs and chilled bowl of fruit to the counter. Deciding against the eggs, she left them where they were. She poured herself a cup of the coffee she was sure was decaf and sat at the table with the fruit.
From the moment she'd been told of her father's death, and was shown the body, Miss Parker had made a point of staying out of silence. She'd gone to the gym, the firing range, and finally, to the bar. At home, she'd had Jimmy and then Jarod to keep her adrenalin pumping. Now, that there was no noise to distract her, no people for her to ignore or argue with, she felt more than alone. She felt lost.
"Hang onto something, Angel. You can't come with me this time."
"Your father always seemed to have a gentle quality when you were around."
"The new Parker legacy begins with you."
"Your father loved you."
"God be with you, Angel."
She dropped the fork into the bowl of melons and strawberries in front of her and raised her hands to her ears. Before she realized it was happening, her body began trembling violently and the tears she'd fought all night finally began to fall. "I'm sorry, Daddy."
Jarod searched the house, his panic building when he saw the mess in the kitchen. The plate he'd left for her was cracked and discarded in the ceramic sink. The juice and meat of a melon and two kinds of berries were strewn across the tiled floor with stained shards of glass intermingled at a high ratio. Though he told himself the red stains on the swinging door were from the berries, his mind could not help taunting him with the idea it could be her blood.
"Parker!"
Chastising himself for not staying in the house until she returned, he swung open the door to her mother's studio. A quick glance told him everything was in its place and, immediately, Jarod pulled the portal closed and raced toward the stairs.
"Parker, where are you?"
The bedroom was in the same condition it had been earlier. The bed was made. The clothes she'd worn to the bar were tossed over a wooden rocking chair. The closets held nothing but designer label blouses and neatly tailored suits. The telephone was in its cradle and the Caller ID did not indicate any new calls.
Frustrated, the man spun in one place, looking for something in the room that might help him understand what had happened in his absence. When his eyes fell on the dresser, he came to an abrupt stop. Moving toward the piece of mahogany furniture, he gently lifted the photo from its place on her jewelry box.
"Daddy woke me in the middle of the night," she told him. "He drove me and Momma to this cove. When I told him I was cold, he put his jacket around my shoulders and held me in his lap. When I asked what we were doing he told me I had to be still or I might miss it."
"Miss what?"
She grinned and whispered in a conspiratorial tone, "The sunrise."
His brows furrowed and his dark eyes slid over her face in curiosity. "But there is a sunrise every morning. If you miss one . . ."
"No," she said, shaking her head fervently. "Daddy said that every sunrise is special. He said they're like snowflakes, and no two are exactly alike."
The young man frowned at the analogy but did not question her. Instead, he leaned forward, anxious to hear more of what she had to say.
"Oh, Jarod, I wish you could have seen it. One second it was so dark I could barely see where the rocks ended. Pretty soon, there were all these colors rising from the water. And, everything was so quiet! Daddy took a family picture. He said that he's sure this morning's sunrise is the most beautiful ever, because he saw it with me and Momma."
Dropping the photo back on the dresser, Jarod glanced at his watch and hurried out of the room.
He parked the Jeep behind her Porsche and let out a sigh of relief. It was second nature for him to scan the immediate area for signs of the Centre but, tonight, the ritual was forgotten. Without hesitation, Jarod moved from the vehicle and started up the rocky slope.
She was crouched on the largest boulder, her arms wrapped tightly around her knees as she kept herself from sitting on the cold slate. He came to a stop about ten feet behind her. Though he knew she heard him approach, Miss Parker kept her eyes on the horizon.
"Are you all right?" he asked, softly.
"I'm fine."
"How long have you been here?" he asked, glancing at the horizon.
"Since four."
Jarod sighed and glanced at his watch. She'd been sitting on a rock, staring out at the ocean for almost an hour, waiting for a sunrise that would not happen for another ninety minutes.
"I went back to the house, but you were gone," she said.
"You told me not to be there when you returned, that I was making things more difficult for you."
"Yet, here you are."
"Do you want me to leave?" he asked, though it sounded more like a threat.
Miss Parker did not reply verbally, but he saw her body shift and a slight shake of her head as she took a tighter hold of her knees. He smiled, but did not comment nor did he move closer, knowing she was not ready for him to invade her personal space.
In the silence that followed, he watched her continue to stare out at the ocean. It was sad, he thought, that the place she felt closest to her father was a place she'd only visited once, as a child.
"Where did you go?"
"To see Sydney," he admitted.
For the first time, she looked at him, over her shoulder. "Do you think that was a smart thing to do? Someone may have seen you. Hell, someone may have seen you come here."
He shrugged and grinned. "I'll take my chances."
"Well," she sighed, looking back at the ocean, "since you're feeling so brave tonight, you may as well come over here and sit down. No sense giving them an easy target."
Jarod moved closer, prepared to obey the command. When he saw her shiver, he slipped out of his jacket and he laid it out like a picnic blanket. Gently, he lowered the woman onto the garment then, without a word, the Pretender sat beside his childhood friend and wrapped his arm around her shoulder. When he felt the brunette's clasped hands rest on his knee, Jarod looked at her, wondering if she might have been praying.
"How did you find me?"
"I went back to the house and saw the mess in the kitchen. I thought something might have happened, then remembered what you said about this place. It seemed the logical place to look for you."
"That's not what I meant," she told him, keeping her voice low. "How did you know I was at that bar? I could have been anywhere."
Taking a deep breath, Jarod gently stroked her arm. "It is the same bar you went to, after Thomas died. It never occurred to me that you might go elsewhere."
Miss Parker did not reply but, after a few moments of silence, she snuggled closer to him. Whether it was nothing more than an instinct to keep warm, or an intentional display of affection, Jarod did not know. However, he did know better than to question her so, instead, the Pretender cupped his free hand over hers and squeezed them gently.
They sat in silence, with their bodies pressed against each other, until the sky began to lighten. As the horizon became more defined by hues of yellow, orange and red, he felt Miss Parker's body begin to relax. The gentle breeze from the ocean suddenly picked up, making it strong enough to lightly sweep her hair against his cheek. Though, initially, he found the tickling sensation to be annoying, after only a few seconds, Jarod decided it was a comfort. Her hands opened under his and, soon, their fingers were intertwined.
After the sun pulled itself completely from the sea, Jarod looked down at the woman in his arms. Her blue eyes were still sparkling with tears and, though her cheeks held a red glow from the salty wind, the tracks of previously spent tears were still visible.
Feeling the weight of his stare, Miss Parker slowly drew her gaze away from the horizon and settled on his face. Still in his arms, she smiled softly as he brought his thumb to her cheek and gently wiped away a stray tear.
"Thank you," she murmured.
"You're welcome," he assured her, "but what, exactly, have I done?"
"You came looking for me. You found me."
As her hand tenderly stroked the bristly growth of hair that was beginning to form on his jaw, Jarod replied, "Thank you for letting me stay."
Without warning, her hand slid behind Jarod's neck, pulling him toward her as her mouth rose to meet his. Though the kiss was light, and their lips barely touched, the Pretender drew away. Reminding himself that she was vulnerable, he shook his head and managed, "Parker, no. Not tonight."
His dark eyes allowed Miss Parker see the confusion and guilt he was beginning to feel, but she could not find the words to reassure him, or to explain. She didn't need him in her bed. She didn't want him feeling guilty or confused, nor did she want to start something neither of them could finish. She trusted him to keep her safe. All she wanted from him, tonight, was his touch and his warmth. Everything else could wait.
Running her thumb over his lips, Miss Parker murmured that it was all right and kissed him a second time.
TBC
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Note: Thank you all for such a great response! I really appreciate it. I'm also very glad that you're enjoying this story because, in all honesty, it's the only story I can concentrate on at the moment ;-) Thanks again!