Resolutions – 8

A Clearer View

by MMB

Jarod twitched his nose in his sleep as something soft and elusive tickled the inside of his nostril. He brushed a sleepy hand across his face to dislodge the nuisance and settled back down, only to have the tickle return. He grunted and swiped at his face again, and then roused when he heard a very soft giggle as the tickle once more invaded his nose.

He had to discipline his face not to break into an amused smirk, but just barely crack one eye to peek at his daughter. She was standing at the head of his bed, bending forward just enough so that she could use the tip end of her braid to tickle at his nose. This was truly a break-through, for until now, she had not initiated play with him in such a manner. This meant she was finally starting to relax into their new relationship, and Jarod was thrilled.

He waited patiently with one eye just barely cracked so that he could watch her until she took the end of her braid and started reaching for his nose again. Then he came awake suddenly, reaching out and capturing her before she had a chance to do much more than squeak in surprise. "So you want to play, do you?" he rumbled, and pulled her over the top of him and onto her back on the bed. He then began to tickle her back in the ribs before she knew what was happening. He tickled her mercilessly until she was laughing loudly, and then pulled her to him in a hug and kissed her forehead. "Good morning to you too, Sprite."

Ginger put a hand to His cheek in a fond caress and smiled widely at him. It was a real treat to be up in the morning BEFORE Him for a change, with no sign that he was going to jump up and hurry off to the office. Maybe this could be another one of those wonderful days where He spent the entire day with her.

Instead, he pulled her under the covers and then lay his head on her tummy and closed his eyes and began snoring loudly. "Aah!" she giggled, pushing at his head to awaken him again, only to have him grab her about the middle and use his fingertips to poke her lightly in the ribs several times before holding on tightly.

"Silly pillow," he chided without opening his eyes. "Lay still so I can get some sleep."

"Aah!" Up, she urged with a laugh, pushing at his head again. She then reached for her braid — it had done the job the last time…

Hair in the ear, Jarod found, was almost as irritating as hair up the nose. "Not fair," he moped with an exaggerated protruding lower lip. "It's Saturday, doesn't Daddy get a chance to sleep in?" He swiped at the hand with the braid.

Ginger looked across her body at him, still pillowing his head on her tummy. While She had been here, She had called him 'Daddy' when speaking of Him — and even Grandma called him Daddy when she talked of Him to her. Maybe that was what He wanted HER to call him too, instead of just 'Him?' Her smile wavered a little as she tried the idea and didn't find it all that distasteful anymore. If there were anybody she could have for a REAL daddy, it would be Him. So maybe if she started thinking of Him and calling Him 'Daddy,' He wouldn't be quite so quick to give her away to somebody else when He got tired of her? "Aah, Daa-ee!"

Jarod's heart gave a leap when Ginger actually tried to say the name that he'd been hoping that she'd use for him one day. "You want me to get up?" he asked with a gentle smile.

"Aah, Daa-ee!" she repeated. "Pees"

"And you asked nicely too!" He lifted his head from her tummy and yet gathered her close again. "Do you know how much I like having my fairy child talk to me now?" he brushed her forehead with a kiss. "I am so proud of you, Sprite."

He — Daddy, she quickly corrected herself — could hold her forever. Once more her hand found his cheek and stroked it in a gentle caress. But still… "Aah, Daa-ee!" She was hungry, and the morning was already half gone.

"OK, OK…" Jarod finally gave up and threw his legs over the edge of the bed and sat up. Behind him, Ginger got up to her knees and threw her arms around his neck from the back. Jarod chuckled and bent forward, giving her a modified tip and earning a cackle of laughter. Then he rose to his feet, catching her knees with his hands and settling her into a formal piggy-back ride. He jostled her all the way down the hall and into the kitchen, where with a backward lean he dumped her into a sitting position in a kitchen chair.

"You want Fruit Loops or toast for breakfast today?" Jarod asked, heading for the cupboard across the room.

"Ooops," Ginger answered immediately. She LOVED the fruity cereal that H… Daddy had bought for her the last time he'd gone to the store with Grandma.

"A lady after my own heart," Jarod chuckled and pulled two bowls down from the cupboards and dished up two helpings of the sugar-laden cereal. He turned on the coffeemaker to get his morning cup of caffeine on it's way too, and then brought bowls, complete with milk and a spoon for each, back to the table. "Here you go."

"Taan-koo," Ginger told him as she took up her spoon. Jarod stood for a moment, looking down and wondering at the miracle that was taking place right in front of him. Months of working so hard just to get her to make her monosyllabic verbal utterances before going back East had been wasted when he'd come back to find her pulling into herself and not talking at all. Her withdrawal had come, no doubt, as the result of the verbal abuse she'd weathered in the Thatcher home.

And yet now it seemed like the doors of communication had suddenly been thrown wide open — with a consistently loving environment apparently being the key. He was discovering Ginger was a polite child — not even needing schooling to use 'please' and 'thank-you'. Considering her background, where she would have picked up such habits was beyond him — but he wasn't asking too many questions at this point.

Right now, all that mattered was that a child that had been tightly and defensively closed down behind a wall of silence had suddenly begun to blossom — and that he intended to do his level best over the next two days encourage her to continue the process.

"Carl!" Fox stuck his hand up and waved to catch the eye of the naval office making his way across the parking lot near the Norfolk JAG headquarters.

"Ted? Is that you?" The silver-haired officer veered away from his course toward the glass doors of the complex and marched toward a man he hadn't seen in over ten years. "How the hell are you? I heard you got bumped upstairs."

Fox pumped the hand of Lt. Colonel Javitz eagerly. "Yeah — about the same time you got your berth here defending AWOL sailors and drunken marines." He smiled across in the face of his old friend. "God, it seems like just yesterday…"

"It's been a helluva lot longer than that," Fox shook his head warningly. "We both had a lot less grey — you especially."

There was a moment while Javitz gave his old friend a measuring gaze. "I seriously doubt you're here just to reminisce over old times and keep me from punching in on time." Fox's face closed down into seriousness. "Thought so."

"I need your help, Carl."

"In an official capacity?" Javitz was shocked. Theodore Fox had been a straight-shooter even in college, where the two had been in the ROTC together. He couldn't imagine the man getting himself in trouble with the law.

"It may come to that," Fox answered enigmatically.

Javitz cocked a skeptical eyebrow at his friend. "Are you trying to be deliberately mysterious, or…"

"I need to know whether investigating a superior officer whom I suspect of being a part of a conspiracy — potentially criminal — could be considered insubordination."

"Not if you have evidence to show at an arraignment, giving cause for your suspicion and consequent investigation…" Javitz lowered his voice. "What the hell is going on?"

Fox thought for a moment. He had trusted Meyers automatically, because the man was his assistant and a damn good officer. Did he dare trust in his memories of Carl Javitz being equally square with the world? "I think I've tripped over something big," he said finally, "and I'm not exactly sure how far up the food chain it goes except that at least ONE of the principles involved is a Senator."

"What's going on?" Javitz looked around, then reached out for Fox's arm and pulled him toward a protected side of the administration building. "Talk to me, Ted."

"How high's your clearance, Carl?"

"Damn it!" Javitz scowled. "You want my help or not?"

"Damn it!" Fox fumed back and then decided he had nothing on which to base his distrust of his old friend. "All right. Have you ever heard of a place called The Centre?"

The Navy man thought for a moment and then shook his head. "Sounds terribly intimidating though…"

"Well, about a week ago, I received a shipment of documents from the Centre, along with an envelope-full of cashier's checks. The Centre was returning funding and research materials it SAID it had been working on for us that it no longer felt comfortable continuing. I checked through some of the material before sending it down to secured storage, and you've never SEEN the like of the work they'd been doing. Black Ops stuff from start to finish."

Javitz nodded, listening closely. "And I take it nobody in Command knew anything about it?"

Fox shook his head. "They weren't admitting to it, at any rate. Anyway, two days ago, I get a call from one of the top brass at The Centre, telling me that they had been receiving visits and calls from military officers and one Senator trying to get them to reconsider their decision and restart work on some of the projects. I authorized and then listened in on a phone conversation between a full-bird Air Force Colonel and a research chemist, where the chemist told him to take his project and shove it. Then yesterday, after having a tap put on the phone of this officer, I caught a call between him and HIS handler, a General Curtis — who just happens to be an attaché to one of the Joint Chiefs. Curtis was urging him to use blackmail and threats to get this one project restarted."

"So, go after General Curtis," Javitz recommended. "You have the tape…"

"No wait — this gets even stickier. Meyers and I go down to the secured archive last night to remove the documentation on the projects that seem to be of the most concern to these officers — and it's gone. We're told the sign-in logs are classified, and we'd have to get the permission of another full-bird Colonel to see them."

"Since when are sign-in logs classified?" Javitz asked, his brows furled.

Fox merely nodded. "And you see what I'm up against."

"You suspect this other Colonel of being in cahoots with the others."

"And my investigation has hit a wall — especially since the only way for me to proceed logically would be to see those logs. But to do that, I'm going to have to investigate this Colonel and HIS superior to see whether either of them have any connection to the known members of this group before I can approach either one of them."

Javitz let go of a low whistle. "You really are up against it on this one, Carl," he said finally. "You ARE pushing toward insubordination here if anybody catches a whiff of what you're doing. You could go up the chain of authority — speak to a General, or maybe even one of the other Joint Chiefs not associated with this General… Curtis, you say?… to ask to work under HIS auspices. But Hell… you might just clue in everybody that you're onto them the moment you speak to anybody…"

"And there you have my dilemma." Fox commented in a brittle tone.

"How the hell did you figure you could trust ME?" Javitz wanted to know.

Fox looked at his old friend. "I didn't. I took a chance."

Javitz just shook his head. "Shit. From the sounds of it, you need to make those gut-instinct moves as rarely as possible, my friend."

"Tell me something I DON'T know."

"Well…" Javitz thought for a moment, following a line of thought to its conclusion and finding it worth mention, "you say that one of the people involved with this is a Senator?"

"Yeah…"

"So, how about going to another Senator with a proven track-record of straight-shooting and investigative moxie?" He shrugged at Fox's blank look. "Sounds like it's a vigilante type of organization you're looking into — and that you're getting set to go maverick by necessity to hunt them all down. Ideally you'd need another maverick — a maverick with the authority to get things done — at your back."

"But a Senator is civilian — the insubordination charge will come from the military end." Fox protested.

"Getting a civilian involved would mean that some of the nuts and bolts of the investigation wouldn't necessarily have to fall on YOUR shoulders to carry out," Javitz answered calmly. "What's more, once the civvies have enough on the group, you could have it arranged that the evidence against the officers involved all gets dumped into JAG's lap — which means the military could then clean up after it's own. Any civil charges can be made against the involved Senator and other civilians and stay in civil court."

"And do you know this Senatorial maverick — and are you sure you can trust him?"

"Her," Javitz corrected, "and yes, I'd trust her. Her name's Ashland — she's from…"

"California — I've heard of her." Fox nodded, no longer doubting that Javitz could find such a person. Becca Ashland had a reputation for being less than intimidated by the military machine, having brought to light several instances of military impropriety over the course of her career. "The question now is, how do I get to her?"

"You let me make a couple of phone calls, and I'll have her call you," Javitz answered easily, then added in explanation. "My wife works at the Capitol, and we know Senator Ashland personally. She's pulled strings with me a couple of times in the office here — taking advantage of the friendship a bit to take care of business that needed tending — it's about time I get to pull back for once."

Fox had his pen out and was writing a phone number on the back of his business card. "Have her call me on my cell after hours," he directed. "God only knows if I've already kicked over one or two alarms and have a bug on my home phone. I just got this thing this morning."

Javitz put out a hand to first take the card and file it in a breast pocket, then shake the hand of his old friend warmly and firmly. "You take care of yourself, Ted — and let me know if I can be of anymore help."

"Thanks, Carl," Fox shook his friend's hand vigorously. "I can't tell you how much I appreciate this."

"Just get those the good on those bastards so we can put them away for a long time," Javitz told him determinedly. "The US military doesn't need that kind of bad apple in the mix — at any level."

"You'll be hearing from me," Fox promised and the hurried across the parking lot toward his car.

Javitz already had his cell phone out of his pocket. "Sandy? Hi sweetie. I… What? No… do me a favor, will you? Call Becca and have her give me a call here at the office…" He listened. "No, nothing's wrong. I just need to talk to her, that's all…" He listened again. "Yes, I'll be back in time for Jennie's party. Just call Becca for me, will you?" He listened again. "Thanks, honey. See you in a bit…"

Deb walked slowly and carefully down the stairs, her injured foot hurting her more than she had expected after the workout she'd given it the day before. Grandpa had kept his promise and sat with her all night long, keeping her safe and watching over her from his post in the easy chair by the window. When she had finally awakened fully, they had talked quietly and without any strong emotion about what had happened the day before. Slowly, gently and very firmly he had walked her through a review of her actions the day before — her reasoning, the consequences of her actions, and the implications of what might have happened had the circumstances been different.

In the end he made certain she couldn't avoid the truth that she was NOT OK — she was NOT ready to go out and take up her regular activities and relationships again. Grandpa hadn't chewed her out or been hard on her at all, but merely put up an unbiased mirror and dared her to look at what she'd said and done the day before with an objective eye. Ultimately what had convinced her was getting her to admit to herself that the smell of an old, unopened room and the feeling of summer heat had been all it had taken to make her lose touch with reality completely. That had brought the lesson home in no uncertain terms. And then he'd let her cry on his shoulder for a while after she'd finally seen what he'd had to show her and at long last accepted that she needed help.

Eventually he'd let her go with instructions to go take a long, hot shower while he made his way downstairs and let Kevin strap him back into his therapy machine. He would be down there, he told her, and they would continue their talks once she was freshened up and had eaten something. The shower had done her some good — it had given her a chance to review things in her own mind and come to a couple of decisions of her own. She didn't want to live her life like this. She would cooperate with Grandpa in trying to put things in proper perspective, and she would stop trying to push people away anymore. She needed them.

As she rounded the newel of the stairs, she looked into the living room. Kevin glanced up at her from his reading and gave her a nod of recognition before looking back down at the paper in his hand. It was the first time since she'd come home that he'd actually acknowledged her presence and responded to her at all — not counting the time he'd spent on the phone with her yesterday.

"Kevin?"

His head shot up immediately, his blue eyes wide. "Yeah?"

She limped through the archway. "I just wanted to say thanks for staying on the phone with me yesterday."

The young man's tight face relaxed, and a small smile teased at his lips. "I'm just glad I could help out a little," he said humbly, then tipped his head at her slightly. "You OK?"

Deb shook her head. "I don't think so," she admitted in a soft voice. "But I'm working on it." She gazed at him sadly. "I'm sorry I made such a scene when I came home from California — and I didn't mean to hurt your feelings."

"Don't worry about it," Kevin soothed. "I should have thought — Sydney had warned me not to make any big movements… I'm sorry I screwed up too…" His words failed, but the expression in his eyes was hopeful. "So… can we be friends again?"

"I may not be the best of company right now," Deb warned him carefully. "And my mood is probably going to suck for a while."

"I don't care," Kevin told her firmly. "You can yell at me if you want to — as long as I know that underneath it all, we're still friends. You were my very first friend here on the outside," he said with a sigh. "I've missed you and felt horrible figuring it was my fault we weren't friends anymore. Please?"

"We're still friends," she said gently. "I just think I'm getting the better part of the deal right now."

"We'll see." Kevin was smiling. "Go have some breakfast," he urged her then. "Sydney's waiting for you." He watched her turn and walk from the living room toward the kitchen, his heart lighter than it had been for days. Somewhere, during that horrible time she'd had yesterday, something had shifted — and he'd gotten his friend back, kind of.

Deb moved straight through the kitchen and into the den, where Grandpa looked up at her immediately. "There you are!" he smiled at her, and then frowned. "Where's your breakfast?"

"I'm not really hungry," she said softly. The fact was her stomach was still in knots and didn't feel like it could hold much very successfully.

Sydney was shaking his head. "A glass of milk and a couple of cookies at least, ma petite. You haven't eaten anything for a whole day — your body AND your mind needs at least a little something for energy."

She simply didn't have the strength to argue or defy him — and yesterday had taught her the reality that Grandpa really DID know what he was talking about. She turned and shuffled back into the kitchen. A glass of milk she could deal with. Maybe one cookie…

Sydney set aside the reading he'd been doing, closing the folder and moving it aside from the coffee table. All of Deb's inner walls were down now — her breakdown the day before had been a massive one and very complete. Now would begin the most delicate part of her therapy — helping her to accept the nightmarish memories that had flooded in on her and deal with them appropriately without trying to hide from them anymore.

Under normal circumstances, and considering the kinds of things she'd told him and their emotional closeness otherwise, he knew that the wisest move would be to call in another therapist immediately. It was one thing to help a relative stranger to deal with memories of assault and violation — it was another thing altogether to hear such things from one's own granddaughter. But Deb trusted him — as much as she could trust anyone at the moment — and he simply would have to put utterly aside his emotional reactions as grandfather to play the part of therapist.

Deb re-entered the den, her milk in one hand and a cookie from the cookie jar in the other. Sydney saw that it was only one cookie rather than the two he'd suggested, but decided to let this small battle slip by without comment. He'd gotten her to eat SOMETHING, at least. She limped quietly to the side of his daybed, then sat down next to him, put her food on the coffee table and laid her head on her grandfather's chest again. Sydney's arms came up automatically, letting her find some security and safety with him while she had no defenses of her own to work with.

Therapy could wait for a little while. He could be a grandfather for her until she'd gathered some strength…

Dr. Lauren Mitchell slipped an elastic headband around her auburn curls and pulled her gardening gloves from her pocket as she surveyed her flowerbed. It had been a couple of weeks since she'd done any weeding, and there were several infant dandelion sprouts and other intruders in the otherwise immaculate bed. It was a warm afternoon now, but the fresh air and sunshine would be good for her — and there was a pitcher of lemonade in the refrigerator for when she was finished as a treat.

She turned off the water to the sprinkler and then repositioned the little metal sprayer to another section of the flowerbed before putting the water back on again in a low, gentle circle. How she loved her weekends, when she could leave behind the sterile world of a laboratory and bury her hands deep in the living soil! She knelt on the ground and bent to the first of the weeds.

Stiller waited until the chemist had turned her back to the street and the rest of the world and begun carefully pulling weeds before moving around the end of his car and beginning to walk up slowly behind her. Curtis said he wanted Mitchell turned by whatever means necessary to do their bidding and bring Veracity back online — and if scaring the shit out of her was the only way, then…

A glance up and down the street showed him that there were no watchful eyes that he could see. Mitchell lived on a quiet street of smaller and older homes — there were few signs of children or active adult life. Stiller pulled the switchblade from his pocket and walked quietly up behind the woman on her knees.

Before she could even let out a squeak of surprise, he had bent over her and slipped one hand over her mouth from behind. "This is just a friendly visit," he whispered harshly into her ear as he made an elaborate showing of flipping the switchblade open and laying the sharp edge against her straining neck. "There are people who don't appreciate it when they get told no."

He pulled her head tighter against him, stretching her neck just a little more and running the very tip of the blade across her throat. "It isn't often that people like you get a second chance to reconsider unwise decisions, little lady." He kept his voice harsh to disguise it as best he could. "You will be contacted again — and it would be in your best interest to have reconsidered your answer and change it. Otherwise…" He drew the tip of the blade across her throat again, this time actually letting the razor-sharp point cut through the very top layer of skin. "You don't want to know what happens next, do you?"

Mitchell shook her head frantically, her eyes wide and terrified. Her heart was pounding in her throat — she'd never been so afraid in her life.

"Good girl." The hand at her mouth shifted then and pinched her nose closed too. "Good night, Doctor," was whispered into her ear. Mitchell fought against the strong arms restraining her until finally her eyes began to flutter closed.

Stiller deposited the chemist on the ground next to her weeding very carefully and stepped back. She'd be a few moments recovering from her near suffocation — time enough for him to slip away. He turned and sprinted back to where he'd left his car up the street and climbed in, speeding away even as he saw her begin to struggle to sit up.

Mitchell stared after the pastel-green sedan, too far away and still too much in shock to take note of any license number. She pulled off her gloves and put a hand to her throat, and then drew her hand back in consternation when she felt warmth and wet there. In terror, she looked down at the blood on her fingers. After several attempts, she awkwardly regained her feet and then staggered toward her steps and her front door to call 9-11 — and then the Centre.

They HAD to protect her from these people!

"Mommy, what are we doing here?" Davy asked curiously as his mother pulled into the driveway of the big house she'd always told him was his 'other' grandfather's — the 'other' father that she never wanted to talk about.

"Well, I was thinking," she replied as she turned off the ignition and unbuckled her seat belt, "that when Daddy and Ginger get back from California, we won't all fit in our little house. Ginger needs her own room, don't you think?"

Davy thought for a moment and then nodded. "But is this house ours too?"

Miss Parker's brows worked up and down in brief bitter emotion. "In a manner of speaking. I inherited it when my father k… died — but I didn't want to use it for myself. It was just too big and too much for me at the time, so I've kept it all closed up all these years." She looked up at the imposing white façade. "I grew up in this house."

"It IS big," Davy commented with some awe. Certainly MUCH bigger than the comfortable little house on the very outskirts of town that was the only home he could remember now.

Miss Parker looked at the house with a very strange mixture of emotions. "Yes, it is," she agreed. "Come on," she urged, pushing her car door open, "Let's see what shape it is on the inside."

Davy was all eyes as he walked with his mother up the wide front steps to the veranda that stretched around to both sides of the house from the front. There was a hanging swing to the right of the front door. "You might want to wait until I have workmen make sure it's safe," Miss Parker cautioned him even as he made his first step toward the swing. "After that, however…" He turned back to her and saw the indulgent smile and knew that SHE knew that he'd probably found one of his favorite places to be at this new place already. "I used to love that thing when I was a kid."

The massive oak and glass front door yielded to a moderate push at last, and Miss Parker stepped into the foyer for the first time in over a decade. Above her head, the chandelier was dusty and floating with cobwebs in the first breath of breeze that had touched the fixture since the last owner had vanished into the dark waters of a storm-tossed Atlantic Ocean. All was as it had been before — only the white dust covers over the upholstered pieces of furniture were unfamiliar and turned familiar surroundings into a surreal environment. Dust and cobwebs hung on every corner of every room, from every picture frame and lampshade.

"Wow!" was all Davy could say at the grandeur of the house. He'd seen places like this in movies — but never in his wildest imagination had he thought that he'd come to live in a place like this! "It's REALLY big!"

Miss Parker had moved forward, past the door that opened into the formal sitting room to the left and the more informal parlor to the right — forward to the dining room. The massive dining table that, at the moment, could seat eight but which she knew could be extended to seat twenty was covered with a thick and even coat of grey dust. But it wasn't the table she was staring at — it was the door at the opposite end of the room, which, as usual, was closed.

"What's in there?" Davy asked reverently, pointing at the very door she was staring at.

"The library," she answered quietly, as if still afraid of making too much noise and bringing her father charging from whatever he would be doing in the library with fire in his eye and a closed fist.

"Can I see?" Davy asked carefully, sensing the hesitancy in his mother's mien.

"Sure," Miss Parker said after taking a deep breath. "Come on." She led the way to the massive oak door and pushed it open. The hinges complained only a little bit as the door swung back. Once more, everything was as she had remembered it — only the dust covers gave it the air of unfamiliarity. The walls were covered, floor to ceiling, with rich and dark wood bookcases that were filled with an astonishing and, she knew, valuable collection of literature. Her father's desk sat so that he had had the light from the huge window at his back, making the need for artificial light virtually unnecessary until after dusk.

"This was your dad's office?" Davy asked quietly.

"Mmm-hmmm," she nodded. "I wasn't allowed in here very often. He liked to work without being disturbed." As she stared at the desk, a discarded paper lifted it's corner in her direction from the errant breeze, and she shivered. It would take time for her to ever feel comfortable intruding into this most private inner sanctum. "Let's check out the kitchen, shall we?" She held out her hand to her son.

Other than the dust that seemed to cover everything in sight, the kitchen looked exactly as it had on the last occasion she'd been in it. Miss Parker walked over to a cupboard and pulled open the etched glass to reveal dishes that she'd known ever since she had been a small child. She pulled one of the fragile bone china saucers from the stack and stared at it for a long moment.

Davy had left his mother's side when she'd headed toward the cupboards, choosing instead to aim his investigation in the direction of what was evidently the back door to the house. Shifting aside curtains that rained dust onto his fingers at the slightest movement, he stared out the water-spotted glass at a huge and formerly landscaped back yard. "Wow!" he commented again at the thought that the trees here were even bigger than the ones at Grandpa Sydney's — and at the thought of making a tree-house retreat in one of THEM, maybe even with Daddy's help and advice, was downright delicious.

"I thought you'd like that part," Miss Parker commented at the look on her son's face. "I can see a new tree-house in your future, I bet…"

"Can I?" He turned excited grey eyes on her. "Really?"

"Absolutely," she answered, feeling a little of the oppression she'd felt since entering the house lift. This was the way to deal with the many memories and feelings this house would naturally pull out of her, she decided — let the Now fill it until there was no more room for bad memories. "I always wanted one myself."

"Really?"

"Yup." She leaned back against the cabinet. "So, what do you think?"

"I think we're going to take an awfully long time getting it clean before Daddy gets back," Davy told her seriously after a moment of thought.

"We haven't even checked out the upstairs yet," she reminded him. "Wanna go upstairs and stake out a room for yourself?"

Davy's smile was brilliant, and he ran through to the front of the house and then up the stairs, making the kind of noise that 'Daddy' would never have allowed in his house if he'd been still alive. Take that, you old grump, Miss Parker thought disrespectfully. It's about time this house learned how to LIVE rather than merely exist — and I'll be damned if I force my son to treat this place like a sacred icon. It's a home, not a cathedral!

Just to prove her point — to herself as much as to any residual ghost — she broke into a run and followed her son up the stairs making almost as much noise as he had in the process.

"You're a very lucky lady," the ER physician told Mitchell frankly. "If that man had made this the least bit deeper, this injury would have been much more severe. There!" He finished washing the long, thin, shallow cut with antiseptic. "The bleeding should stop in about ten minutes. Keep it clean but open to the air — it should heal normally."

There was a stir of movement outside the curtains of her examination area of the ER and the voice of the police office who had accompanied her into the hospital rumbled warningly. Then the deep voice of the Centre Security officer with whom Mitchell had spoken earlier stated clearly, "We can take it from here, officer. Thanks.". Evidently it was the changing of the guard, for the curtain was suddenly pulled open slightly, and Chip Harrison, followed by Tyler, stepped boldly in. "Doctor Mitchell — are you all right?"

"Not exactly," she snapped, extending her head upwards so that both men could see what had been done.

"Damn!" Tyler swore softly. "And in full daylight too!"

"This isn't exactly what I signed on for when I started working at the Centre," Mitchell told him dryly.

"We'll be seeing to your security now, ma'am," Harrison assured the woman somberly. He looked at Tyler. "Looks like our 'problem' just got significantly worse."

"I think, Doctor Mitchell, we'll be moving you to a more secure location," Tyler told her. "There's an apartment building on the Centre grounds with an empty apartment — it would be harder for any attacker to get to you there, and easier for us to increase security there without causing alarm to neighbors."

"I don't want to move," Mitchell complained bitterly.

"It's just for the time being, until we have this problem under control," Harrison replied. "I'm sure you'd rather not live worrying about being attacked again while your back is turned."

Mitchell looked up at him with frightened dark eyes. "This is insane!"

"Yes, ma'am, it is," Harrison agreed.

"You take her back to her house to pack up what she needs. I'll go out to the apartment building and make sure there's a habitable apartment waiting for her," Tyler ordered. "I'll call you with an apartment number as soon as I have one, and I'll call Miss Parker too, to see if she has any other thoughts or directions for us."

"Yes, sir." Harrison opened the curtain for Tyler to slip through again, then turned back to the research chemist. "When you're ready, ma'am, I'll be just outside the curtains here."

"Thanks." Mitchell watched the Assistant Security Chief slip through the curtains and reached for her blood-stained tee shirt. She did feel safer, knowing that she had a personal bodyguard for the time being. Having the police respond as well as the ambulance had also helped her feel safe — and she'd managed to make her statement while the details of the incident were still fresh in her mind. And maybe moving to a small apartment not far from the Centre itself wouldn't be such a bad idea after all until the madman who had attacked her was behind bars. "What about my telephone?" she called out, suddenly remembering that she had family that enjoyed calling her in the evening to keep in touch.

"We'll have your calls forwarded, ma'am," Harrison answered over his shoulder. "I'll have Tyler arrange that after he talks to Miss Parker."

The ER physician helped the woman slip to her feet from the examination table, then held onto an elbow for a moment. "You OK, Ms. Mitchell?"

"I'm fine," Mitchell responded, glad when Harrison pushed through the curtains again and held out his arm. "Thanks." She hung on tightly, choosing not to let her sense of self-sufficiency force her to walk alone and unaided. There was a time when accepting a helping hand — or arm, as the case may be — was not a bad thing.

Sam gave a very gentle tug on Mei-Chiang's arm. "I don't think you want that one."

Her almond-shaped eyes came around immediately to look into his, and she allowed herself to be pulled away from the aging Volkswagen beetle. "I don't?"

He continued to shake his head and led her toward a newer looking Honda Accord. "I didn't like the sound of the engine when he started it up," he explained firmly. "There was a whine that sounds like something is thinking about falling apart. You don't need to buy something just to have to turn around and pay a fortune to get it fixed."

"There is more to this than I realized!" she said with a confused shake of the head. "I thought buying a car would be easier."

"It is easier, if you don't mind getting gypped," Sam told her ruefully. "At least I know a little something about engines and cars, and I can help save you money on that score."

Mei-Chiang smiled suddenly. "I am grateful for your help," she told him softly, meaning every word.

He smiled back down at her. "What do you say we go back to my place and see what we can come up with in the newspaper classifieds? You don't need the car immediately — after all, you said you still needed to get your license…"

"You're right," she agreed. "I'm doing things a little upside-down. I've just wanted a car for a very long time…"

"Don't worry," he bent down toward her, "you'll have a car soon — and a good one. I promise." His fingers found her elbow. "And I know a good mechanic who can check out whatever you really want to make sure it's in good condition."

Mei-Chiang turned away from the used car lot and walked back to Sam's comfortable sedan at his side. He opened the door for her and waited until she was comfortably seated in the passenger seat before closing the door and moving to take his place behind the wheel. "I have some apple juice in the fridge to cool us down when we get home too. I don't know about you," he sighed as he adjusted the air conditioner vents near him, "but it's HOT out today."

"With the fresh air coming in from the ocean, I don't feel the heat so much," she answered as the car moved smoothly forward. "At home, the buildings were so close together that sometimes it seemed like the air didn't move at all. And when it got hot, it was VERY hot!"

"Do you ever think about going back?" he asked, turning the car onto the highway that led out of town and southward toward Blue Cove.

She shook her head. "I have no one left there," she said with a tone of finality.

"But…" He glanced at her quickly. "What about your family? Aren't they still there?"

"They sold me," she reminded him. "When they did that, any connection to them was cut. My loyalty belonged to the brokerage that then educated me. I had some friends, but I'm sure most of them are gone now — their services sold to someone else, like mine were." Her face grew hard. "If I were to try to go back to my family, the dishonor to them and to me would be very great. They would be forced to sell me again — only this time to be a prostitute."

Sam bristled at the very idea. "I guess that does mean you can't go back, doesn't it?"

Her face softened again. "I have Xing-Li — she was with me at the brokerage and came to America with me when Lyle brought us here. She has called me Older Sister and I have called her Younger Sister for a very long time. She is the only contact from home I have — or want — anymore. She the only family I claim."

The two of them traveled along in a very comfortable silence for a while. Mei-Chiang enjoying the sight of the scenery between Blue Cove and Dover in the daylight for the only the second time since she'd arrived at the Centre, the first being when they'd driven to Dover a few hours earlier. "So much green," she commented softly, her chin in her hand.

"It is pretty here," Sam agreed. He just couldn't understand her placid acceptance of what amounted to wholesale abandonment by her family. "Are you happy here, then?"

After thinking for a moment, she decided the answer she'd given to Tyler when he'd asked the same question was the best one. "I'm not unhappy here," she responded gently. "I have a roof over my head and good clothing to keep me from the cold, a very good job..."

"And friends?" He turned and looked at her.

Her ebony eyes met his and softened almost immediately. "I do now," she replied with a soft smile.

"Good." Sam turned back to his driving with a sense of satisfaction. He was finding that he very much enjoyed the company of this retiring and beautiful woman — and that the more time he spent with her, the more time he WANTED to spend with her. For the first time since he'd settled down to work for the Centre, he was finding his solitary life less than what he wanted. He liked having Mei-Chiang at his side.

Mei-Chiang settled back into her seat and watched her chauffeur with a fond eye. She had thoroughly enjoyed their car-shopping trip, even though they hadn't come away with any real prospects to consider. Having him with her, his sports jacket over a comfortable tee shirt making a delightfully informal fashion statement, had made the two salesmen who had attended her very respectful. With Sam around, they were very cautious with heaping praise or accolades upon a vehicle unless it genuinely seemed to merit it. Sam had followed her patiently and attentively from one vehicle that caught her eye to the next, asking the salesmen pointed questions about state of repair or mileage that let them know they were dealing with no man's fool.

And now he was taking her to his home. She could see the expression of contentedness that had painted his face, and it made her feel good to know that she was part of the reason it was there. She wondered briefly if he would ever consider honoring her little apartment by letting her prepare him a meal someday — or if Xing-Li's necessary company would be unwelcome.

It had taken a while for the fact that she had actually survived Lyle's planned end for her to sink in, and even longer to accept that Miss Parker, while an exacting boss, was also fair and approachable. Now, it seemed, she was finding that the company of American men — one American man in particular, actually — was bringing her alive. She wondered if he could possibly know how much her world had become brighter and more worth looking forward to since he had very quietly and deliberately placed himself in the middle of it.

Sam happened to glance in her direction at just the moment that she was looking at him with a soft smile on her face. Feeling brave, he reached down with his right hand and captured her left hand and just held it warmly behind the shift lever. Mei-Chiang's smile widened just a little bit more, and Sam felt his heart lift. His greatest fear was that she would be put off or intimidated by the huge difference in their size — but she seemed to be unaffected by the fact he towered over her, or that his hand seemed to swallow hers. In fact, her fingers were turning within his grasp — holding him back.

Their hands remained linked for the rest of the return trip to Blue Cove. Whereas they had chatted the entire way to Dover about what kind of car she'd been looking for, Sam took the time on the way back to point out the scenery along the two-lane highway that she'd missed before. He had lived in the area long enough that he could supply local stories for some of the landmarks he pointed out, and he enjoyed hearing his companion's gentle chuckle as some piece of local lore hit her funny bone.

But Mei-Chiang grew quiet and her eyes widened as Sam carefully steered his car into his driveway and pulled it to a stop. "This is your house?" she asked in amazement.

By Hong Kong standards, it was magnificent. There was a well-trimmed lawn of green all the way around it with a white, picket fence marking the edge. The trees on the side and toward the back were large and mature, throwing pools of shade onto the ground to offer respite from the sun. The drive was long and went down the left side of the house toward the tiny garage in back.

Sam smiled at the tone of amazement. He didn't know much about the orient except that the cities tended to be very crowded — especially where the economic situation of the populace was more distressed. "Like it?" he asked with pride as he came around the front of the car and opened the door for her.

"It is very nice!" she breathed, rising with the help of his outstretched hand. "I didn't know you were such a rich man…"

Sam beamed. This was the first time he'd actually HAD someone over to his house. "Let me show you the inside," he suggested and unlocked the back door. He waited for Mei-Chiang to enter first before following her in, and sniffed at the air. The spaghetti sauce was filling the house with mouth-watering and savory smells.

"You have been cooking while we were gone?" she inquired curiously. "You didn't have to watch it?"

"A good spaghetti sauce needs to cook slowly for the better part of a day," he told her, showing her where she could deposit her purse on a small table by the back door. He crooked a finger at her and lifted the lid from the large pot on the stove, stirring the crimson liquid. "Does it smell good to you?"

"Yes," she admitted honestly. As if to attest that she was telling the truth, her stomach growled at the scent of the savory steam. "I'm sorry," she said, one hand to her mouth to disguise her dismay, another over her stomach as if to quell a repeat grumble.

"Don't apologize," Sam said with a chuckle. "It's the sound of an appetite — something I can appreciate." He put the lid back on the pot and then put his hand in the small of her back. "C'mon, let me show you the rest of the place." The tour wouldn't take long, he knew — his house was a small one with two bedrooms upstairs and everything else downstairs.

Still, his guest was suitably impressed, even with the size of the bedrooms upstairs. "At home, a family of six or eight would be able to live in a home this size," she told him quite seriously as she stared into his guestroom from the small landing.

"I don't think we'd be able to get a family of six or eight people MY size to fit in this place," he replied with humor.

She turned bright ebony eyes on him. "There aren't all that many people your size where I was raised," she admitted with an answering smile. "They mostly come single-serving size, like me — not giant economy size…"

"I think I could get used to having someone single-serving sized around here more often," he replied with sudden warmth. "How well do you think you could get used to being around a giant economy sized bear like me?"

The almond eyes were instantly serious. "Oh, I think I could get used to that very easily."

As if drawn by magnetism, Sam stepped closer to Mei-Chiang and brushed the back of his fingers along her cheek. "I keep worrying that I'll break you," he said very quietly and intently. "You're so small — so beautiful – I'm afraid to…"

"I'm not quite so fragile as that," she answered just as quietly, her hand meeting his and her face turning up to his searchingly.

The temptation was simply irresistible, and Sam bent down to brush his lips against hers gently. The contact was electric, and his other arm encircled her shoulder to pull her closer. Mei-Chiang found herself enchanted by the way he didn't push to make the embrace more intimate, and yet almost disappointed that he didn't. Perhaps he simply didn't find her attractive enough…

He continued to hold her close as he pulled back a bit to look into her face. "I didn't mean… I mean… Please don't be angry… offended…"

She blushed and looked down, pressing her hands against his flat and solid chest. "I'm sorry I'm not the kind of woman you…"

"But you ARE, damn it! You're everything I've ever wanted," he interrupted her with quiet vehemence. "I didn't even know what I wanted until I saw you. Don't you know how hard it is for me to keep from sweeping you off your feet and doing everything in my power to make it so that you would never leave?"

She was again astounded. This gentle giant of a man genuinely wanted her? Her — the daughter of an impoverished man, sold into indentured servitude and then passed along to a corrupt and lecherous businessman for his sport — a woman with no honor, no status? She let her hands move across the broad expanse of chest, feeling the muscles that were beneath the thin white cotton cloth ripple under her gentle touch. She had an unexpected opportunity standing before her — all she had to do was take it, if she wanted it. "You would not have to sweep me off my feet," she told him hesitantly and then looked up again. "If you wish me to stay…"

Sam stared. This beautiful woman who had brightened his whole weekend already was neither angry nor offended at his forwardness, but rather returning a shy affirmation of mutual attraction. He bent again, determined to test his theory. His lips touched hers again, this time with a little more clear intent — only to find himself quickly ensnared in return as her arms snaked around his neck. The kiss suddenly deepened, and his heart began to beat a rapid tattoo against the walls of his chest. He dipped and swept one hand behind her knees and lifted her up into his arms, even though she'd told him it wasn't necessary. Now he could straighten to his full height with her in his arms and with her arms around his neck, their lips still tightly pressed together and tongues slowly dancing erotically around each other.

He leaned back against the guest room doorjamb as he continued to plunder her lips and mouth shamelessly and felt her respond eagerly to his touch. Her fingers threaded through and tangled in his hair as she too began to feel herself transported with desire. Slowly, agonizingly, their lips finally parted, only to each seek out a new place on the other's neck. Sam nibbled on an ear delicately, feeling her tremble slightly in his arms, and then he whispered breathlessly into that ear as he felt her begin to return the favor, "It's been so long… You need to… If we don't stop now…Mei…"

Mei-Chiang lifted her head and looked into the brilliant blue eyes of the man who had with so little effort set every nerve ending in her body on fire. She could see in his eyes the effort it had taken for him to put the brakes to his own stampeding urges and give her the chance to escape him while she still had the chance. It was a form of honor and respect she had long since abandoned hope ever seeing demonstrated towards her by any man, much less an American. Coming from Sam, it was like another form of intimacy — subtler, but more potent yet. She considered for a moment the wisdom of putting the brakes on their embrace and taking the time to think through the consequences of a choice that, once made, could not be taken back.

But for once she wasn't in the mood to be properly circumspect. His kisses and his gentle regard for her in the midst of all this had started something too big to be ignored any longer. Embers of longing within her that had been but awaiting the flame of passion to ignite them simply wouldn't be banked again. She trusted him — she knew without a doubt that he wouldn't deliberately hurt her. And as she slowly pulled his face forward and then pressed her lips tightly against his, deepening the kiss herself again to give him his answer, she knew she had dreamed of this moment ever since he'd taken her into his arms to dance with her.

Sam needed no further encouragement. He straightened again and resolutely walked across the landing, pushed open the door to his bedroom with a foot and carried Mei-Chiang inside, his lips not once leaving hers.

Like Sam had done only two days before, Tyler looked about the older apartment building with some consternation. Yes, it was conveniently on Centre property and thus much easier to secure — but it was also dingy, as if long-forgotten by the maintenance staff. Only one balcony showed signs of habitation, and as he watched, Tyler blinked to see Xing-Li come through the balcony door with a watering can for some of the potted plants that lined the small cement slab.

He jingled the key ring with the master key and individual apartment keys, then walked forward toward one old and weathered door, and then opened it. The apartment smelled as if it had been unopened and abandoned for a long time, and the furnishings within were covered with a light brushing of undisturbed dust. The former tenants had obviously been Chinese, for the décor on the walls were two scrolls with elaborate calligraphy, and the furniture low and oriental-styled.

He walked through into the kitchen and saw, on the stove as if just waiting for its owner to reappear, a wok and a tea kettle. Cabinets with no covering doors stored plain china dishes — it looked like a four-piece service — and the lower cupboards held other cooking pans. He turned on the tap to make sure that at least there was clean water running in the pipes.

A turn through the single bedroom told him clearly that the inhabitants — whoever they may have been — had simply left one day and not returned. The tiny closet had several brocade cheongsams hanging neatly on one side, and the small chest of drawers to the left was filled with modest lingerie items. The small bathroom still held toiletries — a hair brush, perfume bottle and modest make-up.

With a sigh, Tyler headed for the small living room, pulling his cell phone from his pocket. He pushed a pre-programmed number, spoke to maintenance and gave instructions for a four-man crew to be dispatched immediately to clean up the apartment and remove the abandoned personal affects of the previous tenant. On a whim, he walked out of that apartment, up the stairs and knocked on Xing-Li's door.

Her face grew solemn as startled as she pulled the door open. "Mr. Tyler, sir. How can I help you?"

"Do you know who was living below you?" he asked, pointing.

Xing-Li's face grew sad. "When we first came, there were two who lived there. Chao Li-Mei fell ill almost immediately. Then for a long time, just Tam Su-Lin was there by herself. She was Lyle's secretary just before Mei-Chiang took over the position."

"What happened to her?"

The young Chinese woman was shaking her head. "We were never sure, sir. All I can say is that she was not happy with her position — she said she was frightened of Mr. Lyle. Then one day, she went to work, and just never came back. The next day, Mr. Lyle came down to the clerical pool for Mei-Chiang to take her place…"

Tyler blinked. "Did you call the police?"

Again she shook her head. "Mr. Lyle told us that she had been promoted to a newer and better position — and that she wouldn't be coming back." The ebony eyes flashed fear at him. "We had heard stories… We were… afraid… to call…"

"It's all right," he soothed. "That's all in the past now."

Xing-Li looked up at him a little more bravely. "If I might ask, sir, why are you interested?"

Tyler pointed down to the other apartment again. "Because we are intending to make use of the apartment below you as a safe place for someone to stay for a while, and I hadn't expected to find the place looking as if it were occupied." He thought for a moment. "I know that maybe this isn't quite proper in Chinese terms, but if there's anything in the apartment there that you'd like to have…"

She shook her head immediately. "No, sir. I only have the room in here for my own belongings and those of Mei-Chiang."

From below came the sounds of a vehicle engine, and Tyler looked out to see the three maintenance men piling from a Centre van. "I have to go get these guys working. I didn't mean to disturb your weekend."

The tiny apology dissipated the expression of worry and sadness from her face. "You were not disturbing me, sir. With Mei-Chiang gone, I'm taking care of small tasks. It was pleasant to have the distraction."

"Mei-Chiang is gone?"

"Yes, sir," Xing-Li reported with a smile. "She is spending the day with Mr. Atlee."

"Sam?!" Tyler's eyebrows rose and a slow smile spread over his face. "Well I'll be damned."

"Sir?" Xing-Li had her head tipped like a bird, trying to follow the direction of his words.

"Nothing," he chuckled at her. "Thanks for your time."

"Thank you, sir," she smiled back at him and closed the door as he began back down the stairs.

Tyler pointed into the apartment and told the crew foreman, "We have about an hour to get that place cleaned out. Collect all the personal items in boxes or sacks, and otherwise get it aired out and immaculate. Understand?"

"Yes, sir!" The crew chief immediately turned to his help and began delegating tasks. Tyler pulled his cell phone from his pocket again and hit another number on his autodialer.

"What?" Miss Parker answered, pushing back the hair from her face as she put the device to her ear.

"Miss Parker, Tyler. I'm sorry to bother you on the weekend, but…"

She shook her head. "What's up?"

"There was an assault on Doctor Mitchell this morning – you know, the chemist who decided to tell Colonel Stiller to take a hike with his Veracity…"

"I know who Doctor Mitchell is," she replied. "Was she hurt badly?"

"More terrified out of her wits than injured," Tyler answered, watching the efficiency with which the men in the vacant apartment were gathering up the belongings of the missing Chinese girl. "Chip and I have decided for the time being to move her to a more secure location – the apartment building on the Centre grounds where your secretary lives."

Miss Parker nodded, impressed. "Not bad, Sir Edmund. I take it Doctor Mitchell is cooperative?"

"Once Chip and I explained how much harder it would be for someone to get at her again, she was. I'm just calling to give you the update and ask if there's anything else you can think of that we should do…"

"The police were called, I hope…"

"Yes, ma'am. She called them and THEN us."

"Good. Do we know if it was Stiller that attacked her today? Can we turn over a copy of the tape with him threatening her as evidence supporting our suspicion?"

Tyler was shaking his head. "She said the voice was disguised – so while that means that it probably WAS Stiller, there's no way for her to be sure. She didn't see her attacker."

"Damn!" She thought for a moment. "Get her settled into that apartment and then put sweepers inside her home and set up surveillance inside and out. If they come for her again, I want them to walk into more than they bargained for. Forward her calls to the new apartment, but talk the police into reactivating the tap on the line. If she gets a follow-up call to this attack, pressing her to restart Veracity again, I want it on tape."

"Yes, ma'am."

"And call Sam – tell him there's an impromptu meeting at my place tomorrow morning at nine. We need to figure out a way to help this jerk slip up."

"Uh…" Tyler hedged. "Sam's busy right now."

"Oh?" Miss Parker's brows rose on her forehead. "And you know this how?"

"Xing-Li told me that he's spending the day with Mei-Chiang."

Miss Parker chuckled at the tone in his voice. "I'm not that surprised. So leave a message on his machine – he'll get it when he gets back in. If there's any other emergencies tonight, call us both; but otherwise let him have his day in peace. We'll see him in the morning."

Tyler shook his head. How she knew some of these things, he'd never know – unless Mei-Chiang had talked to her… He shook his head again, deciding to leave the mystery alone. "OK. I guess I'll see you at nine tomorrow then."

"See you tomorrow," Miss Parker told him and disconnected the call, then yelled up the stairs to where her son was working at cleaning the room he had chosen for himself. "Davy! If you still want to make that softball game this afternoon, and if I'm going to get any cooking done for Grandpa today, we're going to have to get going…"

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