(Author's note: I am resuming the posting of this and the rest of my Pretender stories on FFN after a long hiatus. To those who have read this before, I hope you enjoy seeing it again. To those who are new, enjoy! My personal site evidently is no more - and unexpectedly so. So FFN will be where MMB's complete works will be found. -MMB)

Re-establishing Connections

by MMB

Tyler downed the final gulp of his coffee from Oggie's and slipped the key into the lock of his office door. Already it was promising to be another stiflingly hot day, so he had his sports coat draped over one arm as he headed for his desk and a place where he could drop his briefcase and wait for the day to get started properly. He hit the button on the oscillating fan on the file cabinet near his desk and then sat down, hoping that when the Tower was rebuilt, part of the amenities of the job would include functional air conditioning. Then again, maybe he should call the maintenance man again to see what happened to his last request two days ago for the system to be overhauled…

"Mr. Tyler?"

He looked up to see Mei-Chiang's face peeking around the edge of his door. "Come on in," he said, gesturing for her to come into the office.

Mei-Chiang turned and pulled and, as she stepped through the door, brought a slimmer, tinier woman into the room with her. Clad in a more traditional cheongsam and with waist-length jet-black hair pulled back at her neck and hanging down her back, her companion looked almost more like a child out of an imported movie than an adult that worked at the Centre. "This is Ping Xing-Li," Mei-Chiang introduced formally. "Xing-Li, this is Mr. Tyler. As I told you last night, he wants to speak with you about a new job…"

"Sit down," Tyler gestured at the chairs in front of his desk and then watched as the tiny Chinese woman nervously sat down on the very edge of the chair he'd indicated. "Did Mei-Chiang explain to you why I wanted to see you?"

"Yes, sir," Xing-Li's English was as musically accented as her compatriot's, but her voice was softer, more hesitant.

"I'm looking for someone to do for me what Mei-Chiang is doing for Miss Parker – see to it that I don't miss appointments, be my liaison with some of the other department heads, sometimes just cheer me up or keep me from taking myself too seriously. Being able to type and take dictation would be a plus." He watched the small face as he listed off what he was looking for. "Do you think you're up to the challenge?"

Xing-Li looked at her prospective boss with surprise. Unlike Mr. Lyle, when that one had come to select the cadre of 'clerical workers,' Mr. Tyler had made NO mention of more personal, intimate, duties. "You want just a secretary?" she asked in hesitant surprise.

Tyler exchanged a glance with Mei-Chiang, who was still standing near the door to the office with an understanding look on her face. He didn't want to think of what kind of other duties she had been told to expect to be asked of her when she had been 'purchased.' The thought of that kind of servitude being practiced anywhere within his knowledge was still enough to make the hackles rise on the back of his neck. "Was there something else that you expected to be part of your duties?" he asked back with a cocked eyebrow.

Xing-Li looked down at her hands in her lap. "No, sir," she replied shyly. Perhaps Older Sister was right, and this man wouldn't be thinking of making a meal of her in the near future.

"Good. And I'm assuming that you can start today?"

"Yes, sir," she replied again. She studied her new boss shyly. He seemed to be a very well mannered man in the Chinese sense of the word, and was even more polite to women than she would have ever hoped to see. "Do you wish me to start now?"

"Absolutely!" Tyler rose and stretched out his hand to her. Xing-Li flinched back at the large movement but then bravely swallowed her fear and rose as well, eventually putting her hand in his in this unfamiliar gesture of agreement. Tyler frowned at the idea that someone may have frightened his pretty young secretary so badly. "Y'all listen to me," he told her firmly, keeping a tight hold on her hand for the moment. "I don't know what anybody has told to you to expect, or what anybody has ever done to you in the past. But I want you to know that I have no intentions of ever hurting you or letting anybody else hurt you either. If someone threatens you, I want you to tell me about it, do you understand?"

"Mr. Tyler, sir…"

"No. I want you to do that from now on." He shook his head vigorously. "Mei-Chiang told me a few things about the way you got this job. Don't get me wrong, I'm glad the both of you are here NOW – but I don't approve at all of the way you got here or the way either of you have been treated up until now. So let me put our working relationship in terms we both can live with, OK?"

Now he had her entire attention. Intelligent ebony eyes that were wide with astonishment and respect were watching his every move. He glanced up one last time at Mei-Chiang with a nod, grateful to see that she, too, was listening closely. "Having you as my secretary does NOT give me the right to ask for anything other than assistance with Centre business – you do not have to take care of my personal affairs or business, nor can I demand your time to keep me company after business hours. Some of the things I've heard about Mr. Lyle…"

Xing-Li could see from his expression that Older Sister was right – Mr. Tyler definitely did not have the same tastes and expectations that Mr. Lyle had. "I understand, sir," she said, feeling just a little more comfortable and safe with her new employer. "I appreciate the reassurance, however."

"Good," Tyler breathed easier, seeing that she was already beginning to relax a little with him. "Now, let me send the poor lady who has been less than effective at her job than I would have liked back to the clerical pool while you go back there and retrieve any personal items that you'd prefer to have at your desk here from now on, OK?"

That earned him his first, hesitant smile. "Yes, sir," she agreed easily. "Thank you, sir."

He looked back up at Mei-Chiang one last time. "And thank you for helping me out in this way. I owe you one."

"It was my pleasure, Mr. Tyler," the older Chinese woman said in her own musically accented voice. "And now, I should get to my desk before Miss Parker gets here. I like to be at my post when she arrives."

"What time is it anyway?" Tyler looked at his wristwatch. "Definitely, you'll need to make tracks. You too," he told Xing-Li, "only I want you back here in about a half hour, trying to make sense of the mess that my previous secretary made of my appointment calendar. Will that be possible?"

"Yes, sir!"

"Sam! Welcome back!" Tyler's voice came at the ex-sweeper from the hallway behind him.

"Hey there," Sam smiled back. "You look as if keeping the Centre running smoothly didn't bother you at all." He pointed. "No new grey hair."

Tyler swatted at the finger. "Well, while things weren't quite as desperate as they were last week, we had plenty to keep us on our toes."

"Oh?" Sam sounded both interested and concerned.

"Yeah. But let's wait until Chip and Miss Parker are here before we get into that."

The two men continued to move down the hallway toward the end office and the Chinese secretary that sat guarding the door. "Is she in?" Tyler asked Mei-Chiang.

"She arrived about five minutes ago, sir," she replied, her gaze drawn almost immediately to Sam's face. "Good to see you again, sir."

"You go on, I'll be along in just a minute," Sam told the younger Southerner, his eyes not leaving Mei-Chiang.

Tyler began to smile and patted Sam on the back. "Anything you say," he drawled knowingly and then moved past the desk and through the door.

"I got your message," Sam told her gently. "That was very thoughtful of you – and so nice to come home to. Thanks."

"I meant what I said," she replied in a soft tone meant not to carry very far. "I'm very glad to see you back."

He leaned over her desk slightly. "I seem to remember something about inviting you to go to dinner with me before things got crazy around here." She nodded with a soft smile and a slight blush. "Now that things are calming down a bit, maybe we can make some definite plans…"

"Whenever," she told him shyly. "I am usually just at home when I finish working…"

"Tonight?"

She looked up at him in surprise, and then smiled more widely at him. "If you'd like…"

"You get a say in this too," he reminded her gently.

"I know," she nodded. "Tonight would be fine. What time?"

Sam thought for a moment. "How about I pick you up at about seven at your place?"

"That sounds good." She tipped her head in the direction of the office door. "You'd better get on in there," she urged softly. "I can see Mr. Harrison coming down the hallway already."

"I'll get directions to your place when I'm done with the meeting," he announced firmly.

"I'll write them out for you," Mei-Chiang told him, giving Chip Harrison a brief wave.

Sam followed his assistant through the office door to find Miss Parker and Tyler already drinking coffee and talking. "So," he began, taking his seat next to Miss Parker, "how did things go while we were gone?"

Tyler and Harrison exchanged a glance. "I think we have trouble brewing," Tyler announced in a serious tone. "While you were gone, I had three visits from military representatives looking for me to restart their canceled projects while you weren't paying attention."

Miss Parker shook her head. "I hope you told them to take a long hike off a short pier," she said sharply.

"I told them that if they wanted to talk to you about reconsidering your decision, they were more than welcome to make an appointment to come back in," Tyler answered dryly. "Not all of them appreciated how dedicated you were to having things go through proper and legitimate channels anymore."

Sam shrugged. "We knew that several of those fellows were going to have their epaulettes tweaked out of shape over this," he stated simply, reminding all of them of conversations that they'd held on the matter quite a while earlier, when the original decisions had been make.

"Yeah, and we even anticipated that some would try to do an end-run around Centre authority and try to contact our scientific staff directly," Harrison added, equally dryly.

"And they have?" Miss Parker's brows folded together in concern. "Already?"

"I got a call and a mini-tape from Dr. Mitchell in Pharmaceuticals yesterday. Seems she got a call from a Colonel Stiller, asking to restart a project known as Veracity…"

"THAT thing!" Miss Parker was instantly on edge. "That was one of the most repugnant projects of the lot – a hallucinogen that would be lethal in high enough doses and invasive enough to make anyone given even a tiny dose susceptible to suggestion and brain-washing."

"Well, from what Stiller said on the tape, he was willing to offer Dr. Mitchell money for starting up the project in one of the unused labs – AND the possibility for continuing to earn under-the-table money for making herself available for further covert projects as time went by." Harrison looked thoroughly disgusted. "He did the most blatant and bogus appeal to patriotism I've heard since I was visited by a Naval recruiter. A lot of crap about a 'grateful country' and all that…"

"And did SHE tell this Stiller to stuff it?" Sam wanted to know.

Tyler smiled coldly. "She did better than that. She asked him to call her at her home tomorrow to get her answer. I'm thinking that we could set up a tap on the line and a tracer – and get in contact with Air Force officials who would be Stiller's superiors at the Pentagon to listen in on the conversation."

Miss Parker's smile was equally cold, and she was nodding in agreement. "I like it, I like it a lot. We keep our noses clean by simply reporting suspicious activities of military officials to the proper authorities." She leaned her chin into her hand. "I worry, though, that there might be other staff members a little less loyal than Dr. Mitchell. We canceled about thirty projects, you know."

"We may need to consider instituting a little more stringent security measures," Sam found himself suggesting, much to his own displeasure. "NOT as tight or as invasive as those the Centre had in place all those years, but certainly sufficient to make sure that unused labs do not get quietly co-opted to house research the Centre doesn't want any part of anymore."

"We could reinstall the cameras in those labs that aren't being used anymore," Harrison suggested immediately. "The wiring is still in place, and the cameras themselves were just retired into warehouses…"

"I like that," Miss Parker nodded enthusiastically. "It's your idea, see that it's implemented by the end of the day – use sweeper personnel to get it done if there aren't enough electrical wizards around to handle the job. Sam," she turned to her Security Chief, "might as well find out how many labs we're talking about now, and see to it that we have enough monitors set up in a central security location for each lab."

"I'll get a hold of the Air Force liaison to the Pentagon and have him either come or send someone over to be present to listen to the tap on Dr. Mitchell's phone tonight," Tyler piped up. "Did we keep ANY records on these projects at all?"

"Technically speaking, no," Miss Parker hedged. "However, we still haven't purged Broots' computer of all the files that were what we reconstructed the Centre mainframe with. I can have…" She stopped. Damn. Jarod was still in California. "I can have Kevin sort through the database and see what he can pull up on any of them. We also have the hard-copy archives that Sydney and Kevin are slowly sorting through. There's a chance that part of the documentation had been set aside there too. We gave the Pentagon everything we KNEW about at the time – that doesn't mean they got absolutely everything."

"Not to mention that maybe Dr. Mitchell might have held back some of her research notes on the project – especially those things that she considered might be able to be used a little more beneficially," Harrison theorized. "Considering how angry she was at the idea that she could be bribed into working contrary to Centre policies, we might be able to talk her into making copies of them for us."

"I wouldn't hold your breath," Sam felt he needed to put the brakes on the rampant optimism filling the room. "Finding anything in the hard-copy archives is going to take a lot of time. Then there is the consideration that we asked all the scientists involved in those projects to hand over all their notes. Finding out that they DIDN'T do as requested probably isn't something they want us to do."

"Let's just deal with what we have to work with for the time being," Miss Parker directed. "We get additional security set up in the unused sections of the Centre, we get the Pentagon informed as to what some of their underlings are up to, and we just see where that leads us." The three others in the room nodded agreement. "Good. Then if there isn't anything else…"

"I have something I need to talk to you about," Tyler raised a finger. "But I don't think that it's anything that Sam or Chip need to concern themselves with."

"I'll meet you back in your office in about ten minutes," Sam told his assistant. "I have to talk to someone first. You go find out what we did with all those cameras we uninstalled about a month ago."

Tyler and Miss Parker waited patiently for the two security men to leave the room, and then Miss Parker looked over at her assistant curiously. "What is it that you didn't want to discuss in front of them?"

"It has to do with your secretary," Tyler began lamely. "Were you aware of how Mei-Chiang and the others who came with her came to be here at the Centre in the first place?"

She shook her head. "All I know was that Lyle was the one who made the arrangements to bring them over." She shot him a sharp glance when she saw that he was very serious, very uncomfortable. "Why?"

"Then you weren't aware that they were essentially PURCHASED by the Centre?"

That stunned her. "Pur… Lyle BOUGHT them?"

Tyler was nodding in satisfaction. Her muted explosion at the facts of the matter confirmed that she really had known nothing about this beforehand. Now he didn't feel badly at all about addressing the issue head-on. "And, considering some of the stories I've heard about your brother…"

"He wasn't my brother," she hissed quickly. "Not really."

Tyler shrugged. "Still, considering some of the stories, one can only speculate what all these women were purchased to do for him…"

Miss Parker's face was decidedly sour. "Oh, that's disgusting — even for Lyle!" She shuddered and pushed the button on her intercom. "Mei-Chiang, could you come in here for a moment, please?"

"Yes, ma'am."

Miss Parker rose and turned to look out the window at the construction site. "How on earth did you find out…"

"I decided that I needed a secretary at least as talented as yours — so I asked Mei-Chiang if she knew of another Chinese lady down in clerical…"

There was a knock on the office door, and then Mei-Chiang slipped her head through. "You wanted to speak to me, ma'am?"

"Come in," Miss Parker gestured with a wave. "Sit down. Tyler is just telling me something very disturbing about the terms of your employment here?"

Mei-Chiang moved to the indicated chair with some hesitation, shooting Tyler a slightly wary look. "Yes?"

"Is it true?" Miss Parker put to her bluntly. "Did Lyle actually BUY you?"

"He purchased my services, yes," the Chinese woman admitted softly. "He went through a broker…"

Miss Parker waved her hand back and forth. "The details aren't important at the moment. What IS important is just…" She stared at Tyler dumbfounded. "I don't even know how to ask the proper questions — this is incredible! I had always thought that he'd promised all kinds of things to sweet-talk women into coming to Delaware, and THEN he'd…"

"Miss Parker, I tried to tell Mr. Tyler yesterday that I'm not unhappy now," Mei-Chiang spoke up for herself carefully. "I have a place I can call my own, food in my stomach, I spend my day working with interesting people…"

"For what?" Miss Parker sat down at her desk and looked at her prized secretary in deep concern. "You do at least get paid, don't you?"

"A small stipend," Mei-Chiang said with a nod. "But I also get my room and board included…"

"Where?"

"She says there's a small apartment complex here on the Centre grounds…" Tyler began.

"No." Miss Parker started shaking her head. "That won't do. That simply WON'T do. I can't have you working for me at a mere subsistence wage." She looked at her secretary in amazement. "My God, Mei-Chiang, you could go to New York or Boston and be making VERY good money doing what you're doing for me — and considering the pittance you've been getting here to date, I wouldn't blame you if you did. You are worth far more than just room and board in a tiny little hole in the wall and enough to buy yourself a new blouse or new pair of shoes every once in a while…"

"What I want to know…" Tyler inserted when Miss Parker finally stopped to take a breath, "is how many more like you are there in the clerical pool? I know Xing-Li is in the same boat…"

"Xing-Li?" Miss Parker's face folded into confusion. "Who's that?"

"MY new Chinese secretary," Tyler announced with pride. "Never let it be said that a Sir Edmond lets himself be outdone by a mere Lobsang…"

She blinked in astonishment, then shook her mind free of the cobwebs. "Mei-Chiang, how many more of the group Lyle…" She couldn't say it. "How many of you are there?"

The almond eyes were sad. "There are only the two of us left now, Miss Parker."

"And how many came over with you in the first place?"

"Six."

"Damn!" Miss Parker stared at Tyler in dismay. "How long ago did you come to the US?"

"Almost a year and half." Mei-Chiang shook her head. "Please understand, Miss Parker, that I wouldn't want to take a job in New York or Boston. I am very happy here."

"And I intend to make sure that I keep you happy." Miss Parker looked over at Tyler with determination in her gaze. "I want to speak to the bookkeeper in charge of payroll as of yesterday. Mei-Chiang, I would like to schedule a meeting with you and this Xing-Li to review your salaries and benefits package early this afternoon — say a two o'clock. I have a feeling you both are just about due for a VERY hefty wage increase."

The cautious smile that started to tweak Mei-Chiang's lips was enough to make Miss Parker certain that she was doing the right thing and righting yet another one of Lyle's many, hideous wrongs.

"Tyler, you have your work cut out for you over the next few — Mei-Chiang, right now I need you to arrange for a meeting with all the key staff in the Pharmaceutical and Chemical departments for late this afternoon — around four-thirty."

"Yes, ma'am," the two said, getting to their feet.

"Thank you, Miss Parker," Mei-Chiang added softly.

"Thank me after we've had our meeting," Miss Parker told her with a knowing smile. "Now go on. We all have work to do…"

"So, Harry, what's the news from your end of the world?" Senator George Canfield clapped a hand on his colleague as they walked down the hallway to a caucus meeting.

"We're working on re-establishing a few contacts we lost a little while ago," Senator Burns said in a casual manner, knowing full well that Canfield was well aware of recent developments in their quiet efforts to boost military defense despite the political, legal and moral hesitancy of the current administration.

"How's that going?" Canfield's hand caught at Burns' shoulder and pulled him to the side of the corridor so they could talk without obstructing other foot traffic in the building. "I hear the new Chairman at the Centre is a real Puritan when it comes to the projects she's continuing."

"Yes, well," Burns smiled coldly, "I have some of my military contacts working on going around her on as many of those projects she canceled as we can get. And should that not work…"

The thick, black eyebrows of the Senator from Montana rose. "What can you do if subterfuge doesn't work?"

"Institute an investigation into Centre legal and financial dealings, with major emphasis on underworld connections," the Floridan said with a shrug. "The Centre has been playing footsie for too long with all sorts of unsavory partners. Having that fact exposed in public hearings won't be good for their bottom line — and the Centre will come back, hat in hand, asking us to back off just to keep themselves solvent."

"Be careful, Harry," Canfield warned. "Getting Federal agencies involved in an investigation could backfire on us. We don't need…"

"I have a friend over at the FBI that would be thrilled to put the Centre under a microscope," Burns reassured his colleague quickly. "He's suspected the Centre of any number of illicit dealings and outright violations of trade agreements and RICO statutes for years — he'd jump at the chance to nail their asses to the ground."

"I'd rather see you find other, smaller R&D firms to take over the work on those projects than pit everything we've worked so hard for against the Centre," Canfield told him urgently. "This isn't a game we're playing — we don't do grudge matches unless we're SURE we'll win."

"Do you honestly think the Centre would be able to out-flimflam the American Government, George?" Burns asked, astounded at his friend's attitude.

"I don't want to take anything for granted around this town," Canfield told him, poking a finger into the fabric of the expensive suit for emphasis. "The rest of the committee is just as concerned that we don't overplay our hand with the Centre too. You push your military flunkies to do what they can, and we'll have to see what happens for the rest of it."

Burns seethed. He was the Chairman of that quiet and extra-curricular Pre-emptive Defense committee, damn it — and he didn't take getting pushed around by the majority of the other members lightly. "You tell those chickens that I'm handling things," he retorted, punching Canfield's suit with a finger in return, "and to lay off me. The Centre can't do anything against us."

"Except expose us," Canfield countered darkly, "and expose our work."

"They have nothing," Burns insisted. "You know that…"

"No," Canfield looked his colleague in the eye, "we don't. And what we DO know is that the new Chairman at the Centre is doing a damned good job of defending her new policies from inside challenges at the administrative levels – AND that the Centre has other friends here within the Beltway than just our little group. YOU watch what you say and who you say it to," he warned in a soft and dangerous tone. "You know as well as I that there are several involved in this that won't take the slightest mistake well."

Burns blinked. "Are you threatening me, George?"

"No," the Floridan shook his head. "Just reminding you that the stakes involved are just as personal on this end as they are at the Centre."

"I don't need to be reminded," Burns snapped. "You just keep those chicken-hawks from squawking so loudly that they start calling attention to themselves, and let me handle the Centre." He turned his back on his colleague and headed for the meeting room in which the caucus would be meeting in just a few minutes.

Canfield shook his head and watched the Florida Senator walk away. The unofficial ad-hoc Defense committee was right to be concerned about Burns' attitude. More than one of them had the kind of connections to be very aware of how the Centre had dealt with the administrators within the Centre itself who had seen fit to try to force the Centre to stay with old policies and procedures. Burns' arrogance and self-assuredness were valuable tools when things were going well, but they could well turn into dangerous drawbacks in these delicate times.

He would have to call a meeting of the committee when he finished his legislative day and report on this meeting. And as he thought about it, he began to smile. Perhaps Burns' attitude and behavior itself could become an advantage to turn against the Centre. He glanced down the hallway at the doorway to the meeting room. He'd need some time to think this through, but he may just have found that perfect way to bring the Centre back to the fold, hat in hand and pleading to be taken out of the limelight.

Jarod opened the door to let Rizzo and an older woman into his home. Rizzo looked about the place appreciatively. "You really do have a nice home, Doctor," he commented easily. "This is Caroline Sanchez, my associate at CPS. She's the one who will try to have an interview with Ginger this morning. Where is she this morning?"

"Still eating breakfast," Jarod replied. Actually, he was just as glad that the little girl had reined in her curiosity at the sound of the doorbell in favor of filling her stomach with breakfast cereal – he wasn't sure how the sight of the man that had taken her away from Mrs. Thatcher and, by all accounts, had been responsible for placing her in that locked juvenile facility would affect the girl.

When it was obvious that both CPS workers were waiting for him to lead the way, Jarod gestured in the direction of the kitchen and led the way down the short hallway and through the door.

Ginger looked up and smiled widely with her mouth filled with cereal as He walked back into the kitchen, but then the smile evaporated as she caught sight of the man who was coming into the kitchen behind Him. It was That Man – the one who had picked her up bodily and carried her into that horrible Little Room with no escape! She looked up at Him with pleading eyes and a small whimper. What had she done wrong?

"Hello there," Rizzo said gently to the girl, not failing to notice how, when she realized who had come, had immediately started looking to Dr. Russell for reassurance and safety. "How are you today?"

Ginger forced herself to finish chewing her food enough to be able to swallow without choking. She put down the spoon and dropped her hands into her lap. If That Man thought that she fought him the last time he'd tried to pick her up, just WAIT until he tried to take her away from Him!

"Let me try," Caroline put a hand on her colleague's arm and moved in front of him to crouch near the child's chair. "Hello, my name is Caroline. What's yours?"

Ginger stared at the woman distrustfully and then turned wide and frightened eyes to her guardian. What was going on here?

Jarod moved to the other side of the table and sat down – close enough that, should she decide to flee, he could catch her before she got very far. "They just wanted to see how you were doing and make sure you were happy here, Sprite," he told her gently. "It's part of the stuff we all have to do to make sure that you can stay with me from now on."

Rizzo watched with amazement as much of the fright slowly faded from the little girl's face to be replaced with simple wary distrust. He pulled a photograph from his pocket and gazed first at it and then at the child, marveling at the difference a single week had made.

Ginger's face was no longer gaunt or pale – she actually had the beginnings of a healthy tan and her cheeks were filling nicely. Her hair was neatly braided into a single queue down her back, and her shirt was worn but clean. "Do you think you can stand up for me?" he asked, then glanced over at Jarod. "It would help if I could see her standing…"

"Stand up, sweetheart," he directed gently. "He won't hurt you, I promise."

Ginger's eyes flicked from her guardian's face to that of That Man, then she slipped slowly from her chair and moved to the edge of the table.

Rizzo could then see that the little girl had indeed put on some weight, which she'd needed to do desperately when he'd released her to Dr. Russell's custody a week ago. He could also see from the way that she kept looking at her guardian that the man had become the very center of this child's whole world. Every time her eyes touched Dr. Russell's face, the entire expression became soft, clearly adoring.

"So can you tell me if you're happy here?" he asked from his crouch, choosing to neither rise to his full height or in any way do anything that she might find intimidating.

Ginger nodded somberly, slipping along the edge of the table until she could put down a hand on His thigh. When she felt His hand cover hers, she began to feel just a little more safe – maybe she hadn't done anything wrong after all!

"Can you show me your room?" Caroline invited, holding her hand out to the little girl.

Ginger backed away from the hand immediately and flinched into Jarod's side in obvious need of reassurance and comfort.

"She has focused all of her insecurities on female authority figures," Jarod explained to the CPS workers after putting an arm around his child. "It isn't all that surprising – her mother was the one who did most of the cigarette burns, her first foster mother is seen as knowing and permitting the foster father to molest her, and Mrs. Thatcher…"

"I can understand that, I suppose," Caroline rose, nodding. "I still need to see the child's bedroom and try to talk to her without you being present," she explained apologetically.

Jarod nodded and smoothed his hand across Ginger's back. "I really need you to show this lady your room, Sprite – and she's going to want to talk to you a little bit. But I'll be right outside, in the living room, if you get scared, OK?"

Ginger shook her head vigorously and pressed herself into her guardian. This was a Stranger – there was no way that she was going to go ANYWHERE with a Stranger!

"Even if I promise that I won't do anything to hurt you?" Caroline tried again.

The little girl shuddered and pressed into Jarod even harder. How many times had she had promises thrown at her that The Quiet Man wouldn't hurt her if she went with him – only to find out when she'd done as she was told that she was in for another one of those evenings where he did nothing BUT hurt her. She looked up into His face with outright terror in her eyes.

"I have an idea," Jarod said after noting that the caseworker's patience was beginning to grow thin and thinking about it for a little while. "Ginger's room is the first door on the left as you go down the hall past the living room. Why don't you go on down there, and then Mr. Rizzo and I will bring her to you and leave her in the hallway. She can see me, but I'll be far enough away that I won't be hearing what you ask her or interfering in any way."

Rizzo looked at his frustrated colleague. "Remember, Caro, I told you that this one didn't talk? And if she's scared of women to boot, this may be about as close as you're going to get to the interview you wanted…"

Caroline Sanchez wasn't happy. She didn't like any change to her way of doing things, and having a child be uncooperative after she'd put on her 'I'm on your side' façade was not a good way for her part of this visit to start. She'd seen far too many bratty kids whose guardians didn't give a damn what they did or how they behaved during her probationary period in case management to be put off at this late date by one little whippet of a girl acting shy. "And I told you that I wanted to have a chance to talk to this child away from her guardian. How am I supposed to find out for sure if the child's happy and safe here if I can't talk to her without having him influencing her even subtly." She turned her angry gaze on Jarod. "I demand to see this child's room and to speak to her alone."

Jarod bent to his little girl. "Well, Sprite, it looks like you're going to have to take her to your room and try to talk to her," he told her gently. "I'll be right here, though – and if you start to feel scared or if she does anything that you think might hurt, you yell real loud, and I'll be right there, understand?"

"Don't be ridiculous! She'll do nothing of the sort!" Caroline sighed in frustration. "Come along, young lady." She held her hand out to Ginger, obviously expecting the child to willing put her hand in hers and frowning threateningly when the little girl continued to cling to her guardian and shake her head vehemently.

Jarod turned anxious and half-angry eyes to Rizzo. "This is the kind of treatment that made her stop talking in the first place," he hissed at the CPS worker. "I just told you that she's terrified of female authority figures. What the hell is this woman trying to do, traumatize her even more?"

"Sanchez!" Rizzo spoke up finally, realizing Dr. Russell's concern was a legitimate one. "What the heck do you think you're doing? How do you think you'll be able to get her to talk to you when all you've done so far is scare her to death?"

Rizzo and Sanchez stared at each other for a while, and then finally Sanchez' gaze dropped. "I don't understand what the big deal is," she complained finally. "This kid is just being stubborn — I've seen it too many times to be fooled by this kind of act."

"Good heavens, woman!" Jarod could bite his tongue no longer. "Didn't you study her case file before you came here?"

"What the heck for," she snapped back at him, "it probably doesn't say anything different than the three cases I worked on before. And who the heck do you think you are…"

"I have been a court-appointed psychiatrist for some of your young clients," Jarod told her in a no-nonsense tone of voice. "Specifically, I was Ginger's psychiatrist until I took a leave of absence. And now that I'm bucking to become her father, I'll be damned if I let you bully her around in this way just because you CAN. She's not just a case, or a stubborn kid — if you'd read the file, you'd know that."

"Dr. Russell," Rizzo put a cautionary hand on Jarod's arm before the psychiatrist could rise to his full height. "Sanchez, I can't believe that you failed to study the case file last night, as is required before a visit of this kind. You forget, I think, that we're here for the CHILD'S benefit – not our own. You will wait for me in the car and we'll discuss this on the way back to the office." It wasn't a request.

Caroline Sanchez glared first at Dr. Russell, then at that brat of a child, and finally, most bitterly, at Rizzo. His seniority at his job gave him the experience to make or break the career of a probationary caseworker like herself. Having him accompany her to this interview and see how she coped with reluctant clients HAD seemed to be a way to win her way to the promotional ladder after having been dismissed from her previous social worker position in the Welfare Office. After three years in that office, she knew her way around most of the stunts people — especially kids — pulled. Now it looked like she'd made the mistake of showing her tough-as-nails business persona to a bleeding heart superior. She sighed, picked up her satchel and stormed toward the front door.

Rizzo turned to the psychiatrist and his terrified ward apologetically. "Sorry about that. I'd heard rumors, and my boss paired me up with her today to see if there was any truth behind them." When all he got back was an accusing glare from the tall doctor, he sighed and turned to the little girl. "I'm sorry she was so scary to you, Ginger. She forgets, I think, what it must be like to be little, like you."

Ginger blinked warily. It had been hard to understand what had gone on, but it seemed that That Man and He had told That Woman to go away. That must mean that That Man might not be quite the horrible person she'd thought he was.

"Will you show ME your room?" Rizzo asked gently. "Maybe you can go with Dr. Russell and I'll just follow you, and then we all can see it together?"

Wide, dark eyes studied the CPS case-worker's face for a long moment. Then, slipping her hand very obviously and tightly into her guardian's, Ginger nodded and began leading the way.

Deb stood in the kitchen doorway and stared into the den, watching how the machine that Kevin had retrieved from an out-of-the-way corner of the room slowly moved her grandfather's injured leg up and down. From the looks of it, there were certain points at which the movement became painful, for Grandpa's face would tighten on a regular basis, and then ease again as the leg began to move in the opposite direction. It hurt her to know that he'd gotten hurt trying to protect her, and that he still couldn't walk properly. But she couldn't let herself think about that…

"Is Daddy going to have to have a machine like that?" she asked finally, moving further into the den.

"That's something you'll have to ask your father's doctors the next time you get a chance," Sydney told her frankly. "I do know that he has a lot of physical therapy ahead of him so that he can walk again."

"I finished the dishes," she told him then, finding the spaces of time where nothing was being said to be very uncomfortable. As much as she wanted to be with her grandfather, she knew that fairly soon he was going to start asking her questions that she wasn't going to want to answer.

"Why don't you bring us both a nice, tall glass of ice water, then," Sydney smiled over at her. "We can talk in here for a while."

Deb limped back into the kitchen and slowly got the drinks that had been requested. She returned to the den to find that her grandfather had cleared most of the mess from the coffee table. He had also shifted on his daybed so that not only could he see into the room better but there was plenty of room for her to sit next to him if she needed to.

"Why don't you sit in that recliner again," Sydney suggested, taking his glass of water from her with a quick glance of gratitude. "That way you can see me, I can see you, and we both can be comfortable."

Deb curled up in the recliner, tucking her feet beneath her. "So, what do you want to talk about?" she asked with as much false bravado she could muster.

"Well, we could discuss a few things that were left for this morning from your nightmare last night," Sydney said, keeping a close eye on her reactions.

As expected, the time since she'd suffered her scare had given her the chance to build walls around her. "It was just a nightmare," she shrugged. "I have them all the time now."

"Are they always the same?" he asked gently.

"Pretty much," she admitted sullenly. She REALLY didn't want to have to think about those horrible dreams again – or the memory that sparked them.

"In what way are they different sometimes?"

She aimed a sharp look at him. He wasn't asking the kinds of questions that she'd feared he'd ask – questions that the therapist in California had insisted on asking over and over again — and that made her wary. "The location changes sometimes."

"You said last night's dream took place in your room here." He put it in the form of a statement, and she nodded. "Where else does it take place sometimes?"

Deb wiped back across her eyes. "Most often it takes place at that house – you know, the one out in the middle of nowhere where everything happened…"

"Anywhere else?"

"In my room at home," she answered in a very small voice. "I'm home alone and there's nobody there to help me."

"Anywhere else?"

"Not for that one, anyway…"

Sydney's eyebrows raised. "You have more than one nightmare?"

Deb nodded unhappily. "Sometimes I'm running and I know that I'm running toward… something very bad… but I can't stop running…"

"Do you recognize where you are while you're running?"

She shook her head. "All I know is that it's dark, and I'm so scared."

"Is that how you feel while you're having these dreams – scared?"

"That's what I said," she bit back shortly, reaching for her glass of water and hiding behind the act of sipping.

"You told me last night that, in your dream, you couldn't move to get away. Does that feeling come often too?"

"What do you think? I COULDN'T get away," she reminded him bitterly.

"What are you feeling now?" he asked her abruptly.

Deb blinked. "Sort of… angry… I think."

"At whom?" Sydney looked at her evenly, keeping his face completely neutral so that she would feel at ease enough to tell him the truth. "At me?""

"A little," she admitted, her voice small again as she looked down at her hands in her lap.

"And why is that?"

She looked up at her grandfather again, astonished. "Because…"

"Yes?"

She reached for her glass again. "Because…" she repeated without elaboration, hiding behind the glass.

"Because I'm making you remember?"

"Yes." She glared at him, only to be met with a look of gentle acceptance.

"But I'm only asking questions about your nightmares. Is that something to be angry about?"

Deb blinked again. He was right – he hadn't asked her about that horrible morning or anything that man had done to her. He'd only been asking very general questions about the nightmares themselves. "But I thought…"

"You thought I was asking you about being molested?"

Her blue eyes opened wide and filled with tears at the facts of what had happened to her being stated so frankly and succinctly. "Y…yes…"

"Because your nightmares have everything to do with your having been molested."

She only nodded now, unsure of her voice. There was that word again, out in the open where she couldn't avoid it: her badge of shame.

"Have you told anybody what happened?"

"The police…"

Sydney shook his head. "I know you reported to them a nutshell version and identified the men involved. I'm not talking about that. I'm asking if you've told anybody what REALLY happened – everything that was done to you from the moment you ran out the front door here until you woke up in the hospital — complete with how it made you feel at the time and how you feel about it now?"

She stared at him, horrified at the very idea, and then shook her head.

"Why?"

"Because then they'd know…" she started, then paused as her feelings tried to overwhelm her. "Because I let him…"

"Because you didn't fight back?" Sydney asked gently.

"I couldn't…" she retorted, her voice vibrating with guilt.

"Does it make a difference?" he pressed carefully.

She stared down at her hands. "It makes it my fault," she accused herself softly.

"No, it doesn't." She looked up into his face in surprise at the vehemence and certainty in his tone. "You said it yourself," he continued without much pause, "that you couldn't fight back. You probably were tied so that you couldn't run and had tape over your mouth so you couldn't scream…" The tears that had only been swimming moments before dropped one by one to her cheeks as she nodded slowly. "And he was bigger than you were." Sydney waited, and again Deb nodded, her eyes blue wells of agony. "Then how could it have been your fault? You did nothing wrong, ma petite – living and being caught up in such a horrible thing and actually surviving is not a crime. The only person who did anything wrong was the man who molested you."

Deb wrapped her arms around herself and folded herself into as small a package in the big recliner as she could. "But now, I'm…"

"You're what?"

"Dirty," she answered very softly. "I feel like I have paw-prints all over me."

"Have you looked in a mirror lately?"

She looked up at him, astonished yet again. "What? No, why?"

He had thought as much — that too was a classic reaction to sexual assault. "Listen to me. I want you to go do something, right now," Sydney said with gentle but insistent firmness. "I want you to go into the bathroom and look at yourself in the mirror – REALLY look at yourself. And when you think you're finished looking at yourself, I want you to take all your clothes off and I want you to look again — this time at your entire body, from head to foot. I want you to look at yourself closely — especially at those places where he touched you."

"Grandpa…"

Sydney shook his head. "Uh-unh. This is very important. You say you feel like you have paw-prints all over yourself – you need to look into a mirror and see if you can SEE those paw-prints for real. Be honest with yourself, and don't just give yourself a quick glance because you're afraid of what you'll find. Really look – see the details of how you look. And when you're done, get dressed again and come back out here, and we'll talk some more about this."

Deb stared at him. "You're serious!" She'd never heard anything so outrageous…

"Absolutely! Go on, cheri," Sydney pointed at the bathroom door that opened back into the den. "Be sure to lock the door after you so that you feel secure, and then do as I tell you."

As she considered the request, her emotions shifted. "I'm afraid," she admitted in a harsh whisper.

Sydney modulated his voice to be as comforting as possible. "I know you are, ma petite. But I'm right out here, and I'll make sure that nobody bothers you while you do this. Just remember, the only person that will be in there with you will be YOU." He smiled at her gently. "Go on, and then get dressed and come back out and sit down again. We'll talk some more then."

Deb got slowly to her feet, shaking internally as she hadn't since first regaining consciousness, and limped slowly toward the bathroom door. She cast a long, frightened look back at her grandfather who was ensconced on the daybed with his leg strapped to a machine moving it up and down slowly. She listened carefully for Kevin but heard nothing from the young man who had moved to the living room to continue reading at some of the material from file folders Sydney had handed him much earlier. Then she reached through the bathroom door and turned on the light and, after one last glance, stepped through and pulled the door shut behind her.

Tyler found himself indulging in an old nervous habit of flipping a quarter across the back of his fingers one by one — first in one direction, and then in the other — while waiting for Colonel Fox to come on the line. It had been an interesting adventure, trying to navigate the Pentagon labyrinth of hierarchy to someone who could address the issue he wanted to present. The last person he'd spoken to, a Major Baker, had assured him that Colonel Fox was the man he needed to speak to.

Finally the dead air in his ear gave a click, and he heard, "Colonel Fox."

"My name is Tyler, sir, and I work at The Centre in Blue Cove, Delaware," Tyler introduced himself with no further ado. "I have a matter of importance to discuss with someone in authority."

"Well," Fox drawled in an accent very much like Tyler's own, "considering that you managed to get my secretary to allow you through, how about you explain your important matter to me, so I can see if I can be of any help to you."

"Are you aware of the number of military projects that the Centre was working on for the Pentagon — we thought — that were recently canceled, with all materials turned over and unexpended funding returned?"

Fox paused a moment. "I remember hearing about a rather interesting ruckus about a bunch of projects we here at the Pentagon had never heard of before being suddenly turned over to us half-done, and the rather large sums of money that were handed over at the time." There was a great deal of humor in the drawling voice. "That was you boys?"

"Yes, sir," Tyler confirmed. "Well, it seems that our behavior wasn't very popular with the colleagues of YOURS who had been the movers behind the projects originally. Our Chairman has been contacted repeatedly by different military officers in an attempt to put those projects back into development, and…"

"Now you just wait a minute, son." Fox sat up straighter in his chair. He'd seen the mission statements to some of those mystery projects, and they had been anything BUT fun and games. "You're telling me that there are military officers still trying to promote those projects?"

"Yes, sir," Tyler put his quarter back in his pocket and leaned forward to his desk too. "Not only that…"

"The United States is not interested in projects that violate international law…" Fox began in a huff.

"Sir, if I may?" Tyler asked patiently and without letting his frustration color his voice.

"What the hell was your organization thinking, letting such projects go forward in the first place?" Fox demanded.

"In the first place," Tyler let some of his own steel gird his voice, "the Centre just underwent a major reorganization. The people in charge of taking on such projects are no longer running the show here. THAT was why we sent the projects back along with all associated materials and funding — WE want nothing to do with them ourselves any longer."

Fox's eyes narrowed. "All right, son, you have my attention. You're saying you have military officers coming BACK to you, trying to restart some of these… obscenities?"

"Yes, sir, and willing to go around the Chairman and her staff and make their appeals directly to the scientists involved. In particular…"

"Deliberately ignoring the chain of command?" Fox interrupted.

Tyler was getting used to the Colonel's abrupt speech patterns. "Yes, sir. In fact, the reason I'm calling is that I was hoping that either you or one of your representatives would be willing to come to Blue Cove this evening, when this military officer is supposed to call our scientist back to get her answer."

Fox was quiet for a moment. "Your scientist, I take it, is cooperating with you?"

"Yes, sir. It was she herself who reported the contact."

"You have a tap on the line?"

"A word from you to the local police would make that a lot easier to accomplish," Tyler suggested evenly.

"What is the name of this so-called 'officer'?" Fox demanded.

"Stiller," the younger Texan reported flatly. "Colonel Daniel Stiller."

"That name's familiar," Fox mumbled almost under his breath. "When is this telephone call going to happen?"

"Seven-thirty. If you can be at the Centre by seven o'clock, you'll be able to listen in with myself, the Chairman, and our Security Chief."

Fox nodded. "At the Centre, you say?"

"IF you can pull some strings and get the Delaware Attorney General to authorize a phone tap in time — otherwise, you'll have to come with us to the residence…"

"I'll be on the phone to the Attorney General as soon as I finish with you, Mr. Tyler." Fox was writing notes furiously. "I want to thank you for putting up with me until you could lay your matter out."

"Not a problem, sir. I look forward to meeting you in person," Tyler was able to breathe a little easier and almost smile again. "Until this evening."

"Until this evening, sir," Fox said crisply. "I'll have the officers setting up the phone tap report to you."

"Thank you, sir." Now Tyler could relax entirely. The plan was coming together flawlessly. "I'll see you then."

Fox disconnected the call and immediately paged his secretary. "Cancel my afternoon appointments, Karen, and book me on a flight to Dover NOW. Then get me the number for the Delaware Attorney General. Seems we have a few troublemakers in the ranks that need their tail-feathers singed."

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