Resolutions – 32
Resurgent Darkness
by MMB
"I'll get it," Sam called to Mei-Chiang and headed for the telephone on the nightstand. He picked it up. "Hello?"
"Mr. Atlee?"
Sam frowned and was immediately concerned. "Chip. What's up?"
Harrington gestured to the three sweepers who had just been called up from sublevel security stations. "I just got a call from an Assistant Director of the FBI warning us to put extra security teams on Miss Parker immediately. Seems they suspect that there will be an attempt on her life soon — possibly even tonight sometime."
"Shit!" Sam exploded. "How many men can you pull from below?"
"I have three standing here ready to leave with me as soon as I finish talking to you, sir," Harrington told his boss somberly. "Anything else you want me to do?"
"No," Sam shook his head. "I'll call over to Miss Parker's and warn them that we're coming, so that our landing there won't be that much of a shock. Don't wait for me to get back into the Centre — I'll meet you at the Parker house as soon as I can get there."
"Yes, sir," Harrington said and nodded to the trio in the security station. "I'm on my way."
Sam punched the disconnect button on the phone, waited a moment, and then started to dial. He changed his mind, started over and dialed another number entirely and then waited until a voice answered on the other end of the line. "Hello? Sydney? Sam. Is Mr. Ikeda there?"
The psychiatrist frowned in confusion. "Yes — let me get him for you." He called out toward the front of the house, and in very short order had the former ninja in the kitchen doorway. Sydney held out the receiver. "Sam wants to talk to you."
"Domo," Ikeda bowed as he took the receiver from Green-san. "Konban-wa, Atlee-san. What can I do for you this evening?" This was unusual, to receive a call from Parker-sama's Chief of Security. Something must be VERY wrong for Atlee-san to be calling HIM.
Sam could hear the alertness on the other end of the line and was grateful for it. "I need you to head over to Miss Parker's townhouse, and I need you there as of five minutes ago. We've had a call warning us of a threat on her life."
"I am there already," Ikeda replied immediately. "You will tell her of my coming?"
"I'm going to call her next," Sam assured him. "Get going now. Harrington will be there with three other sweepers as soon as he can get there, and I'll be along as soon as I call to warn them of the danger."
"Hai, Atlee-san." Ikeda didn't wait for Sam to disconnect, but handed the telephone back to Sydney and had vanished almost before the older psychiatrist could register his departure.
"Sam?" Sydney worried into the receiver. "What's going on?"
"Sounds like we have a crazy coming after Parker, Syd," the Security Chief told him curtly. "I'm going to call her and warn her of what's coming down, and then I'll be over there. I'll let you know if anything happens — but I want you and Kevin and Deb to just sit tight. Lock all your doors and windows, and for God's sake, don't let anybody you don't know in."
"Sam…"
"I know, Sydney." Sam was sorry to have worried him so, but there was no remedy for it now. "I'll call you, I promise. I've gotta go now."
"Take care of her for me…"
"I will." Sam once more disconnected the call and dialed again. This time when he put the receiver to his ear, Mei-Chiang had moved around the end of their bed and was standing beside him, her eyes filled with worry. He patted her shoulder gently as the phone rang on the other end of the line.
"Parker residence," Jarod answered eventually.
"Sam," Sam announced. "Harrington just handled a call from the FBI, warning of a possible attempt on Parker's life — maybe even tonight. I've got Ikeda heading your way, Harrington's bringing three more sweepers, and I'll be there in a bit — and the FBI is on its way."
"Shit — what brought this on?" Jarod demanded angrily. "Do you know?"
Sam shook his head. "I haven't the foggiest — I'm hoping this A.D. Berghoff is with the G-men heading to Delaware so we can find out. I'll see you in a few."
"Yeah," Jarod replied, distracted by the sound of the doorbell. "Listen, somebody's at the door. I'll talk to you later…"
"Hey Lab-Rat — I don't need to warn you that if you don't know them…"
"I know, Sam. I'll handle it." Jarod hung up the telephone and moved carefully to the front door and looked out through a deceptively clear spot in the etched glass. Then he was undoing the chain and opening the door. "Crystal? What are you doing here?"
"This wasn't my idea, Doctor Russell, honest," she complained as he allowed her and her companion into the house and then relocked the door. "Doctor Cavendish insisted…"
Jarod gazed at the elderly man who had hold of Crystal's elbow. "You're Doctor Cavendish, I assume…"
The old man did a double take. "Jarod? What the Hell…" He looked up as Miss Parker came down the stairs. "Miss Parker…"
"What's going on at this hour of the night?" She blinked. "Crystal?"
"Miss Parker, this is my fault," the old psychiatrist stepped forward and insisted in his high voice. "I convinced her to come here tonight — she didn't want to bother you, but…"
"But…" Miss Parker rolled her hands in a gesture that urged someone to get to a point.
"You have a very worried young lady here," Cavendish continued before Crystal could even open her mouth. "It seems that she heard a news report that her father had been arrested — and now she's worried about the welfare of her mother…"
"Your father!" Miss Parker looked at Crystal sharply.
"Yeah," the girl said after taking a deep breath. "He was one of three Senators that were arrested earlier…"
"You're kidding…"
"She's afraid to go searching for her mother for fear that her father will find her again…" Cavendish plowed right on ahead with his story. "I was hoping that if she could talk to you, maybe you'd have some idea…"
"Parker, we have bigger fish to fry than that. I just got a call from Sam — seems Harrington handled a call from the FBI warning of some nutcase coming after you, maybe even tonight. Sam's got Harrington and three sweepers on the way, and Sam said he'd be here too in just a bit…" Jarod flinched as there was another knock at the front door. Again he peered cautiously through the glass, and again he quickly disengaged the chains and locks to let in the newcomer.
Without saying a word, Ikeda walked through the knot of people in the foyer until he was directly in front of Miss Parker and then bowed. "Atlee-san called me and told me to come, Parker-sama. I am here to guard your life with my own."
Miss Parker stared around her at people who were looking at her and waiting for her to give them some kind of clue as to what to do next, only to hear a soft, "What the…" from Margaret coming down the stairs behind her.
"OK, people," she sighed. "Jarod, why don't you take Crystal and Dr. Cavendish into the living room and find out what they want. Maggie," she half-turned to the older woman behind her, "I need you to stay safe or nobody in California will ever speak to me again. Right now, I think upstairs would be the best place for you…"
Margaret would have complained, but an urgent glance from her son made her bite her tongue. "If you think that's best, then," she said reluctantly and headed back up the stairs.
"Ikeda-san, arigato." Miss Parker bowed to her personal ninja. "If this is as serious as the FBI wants us to believe, I am grateful to have you here with me." Ikeda bowed again deeply. "Jarod, I'm going to be in the library when Chip and Sam get here — have them come in there."
"Will do," Jarod nodded as he gestured for Crystal and the elderly man seeming glued to her side to take seats on the couch. "Now, start from the beginning and tell me what this is all about…"
Tom Jackson tipped his head back so that he could drain the rest of the flask of whiskey, then tossed the silver vessel over his shoulder and into the back seat. On the speedometer, the needle hadn't wavered much below eighty-five for the entire trip, and already he'd gone through the south end of Dover. A small sign on the side of the road was the only indication of directions to the tiny beach community known as Blue Cove. The swift correction that he made to head up the proper highway exit without having to double back cut off two cars who had to jam on their brakes to avoid hitting him. Behind him, the angry blare of car horns faded quickly into the distance as the sedan ate up the miles to Blue Cove.
He felt in his jacket and pulled the gun from the pocket. He kept his left hand on the steering wheel and used the other one to chamber a round and prepare the weapon for use. The documentation he'd looked at so many times before had given him the address for the Parker residence — no doubt the bitch had moved into the big house now with her advancement to the Chairmanship. He'd been there a few times to attend cocktail parties when Mr. Parker and Mr. Raines had been in charge of business there — finding the place wasn't all that hard. After all, there wasn't another house in Blue Cove half as big.
Without looking, he laid the gun back down carefully on the seat next to him. There was no telling what kind of security she had built up around the place now. But he was ready for them. He smiled grimly to himself. Nine chances out of ten, nobody would expect a car on the front lawn with bullets flying immediately. No security force would stop him from taking the kind of vengeance he knew rightfully belonged to him. And since he really didn't give a damn what happened to him, provided he took the bitch out with him…
Miss Parker sighed yet again and leaned forward once more to try to make herself comfortable in the stubbornly uncomfortable leather chair that had yet to acclimate itself to her body. Not that this was all that surprising — this had been her father's chair, after all. She looked around the stately room, more than aware that she'd sought refuge in her father's den — the one room in the house that had been specifically his and virtually off-limits to all the other members of the family. Many had been the time that she'd been asked to peek in to call him for supper and seen him sitting at this desk, doing paperwork he'd brought home from the Tower. When she was young, it had seemed an inviolate fortress for him — and maybe it was that memory from a gentler time when her mother still lived that had called her in here on this night.
She shivered. It had been a mistake to retreat into this room of the house tonight. She should have known better. Of all the places in this house to try to feel safe, to choose the one with the worst memories — well, one of the worst…
The few times that she'd actually been called into this room after her mother's death, it had been to answer for some mistake or errant behavior. Having to come into this room and walk up to this desk had given the phrase 'being called on the carpet' a dark and frightening meaning. No matter how old she had been, he had always seemed to tower over her when he would rise from behind this desk to scold her in a loud and frightening voice — more often than not with words that were then followed by blows from a fist.
The last time he'd hit her had happened the day after she had been angry enough at his decision to prohibit her from having a friend over to visit that she'd locked her bedroom door at night. She had been seventeen, home from boarding school only a couple of days and already dismayed and disgusted that he had quietly let her know that he intended to continue with the frequent late-night 'visits' that had begun very soon after her mother's death. Long talks with good friends at boarding school had clued her into just how wrong those 'visits' were — and she wanted to let him know that she wouldn't put up with that kind of abuse any longer.
She had walked into this room that afternoon, she remembered that very clearly. But a Centre medical team had been needed to carry her out. Her eyes studied the carpet and found the faint outline of the stain that had never been able to be cleansed from the expensive Persian rug. She'd spent two weeks in the Renewal Wing that time, and had been summarily shipped back to school as soon as she was discharged. She had never returned home after that — never spent the night in the same dwelling as he again — she had either stayed at school or been given enough money to keep herself occupied in one of the Centre townhouses that were scattered across the European map. When she'd moved into her mother's summerhouse, the first thing she'd done was having the locks changed.
Miss Parker shook herself from her dark reverie and glanced up at Ikeda in embarrassment, only to be comforted by the calm neutrality of the ninja's demeanor. If he had noticed her disquieting meditation, he didn't show it. She sighed and took a small key from beneath the blotter and turned it in the lock of the middle right hand drawer of the huge desk. Replacing the key, she pulled the drawer open and removed the wooden box that rested on top of the assorted papers. She hadn't needed this thing for years now, she thought to herself as she opened the box and removed the chrome Smith & Wesson from the blue velvet, along with the loaded cartridge. For the first time in a very long time, she slid the cartridge home and chambered a round, making the beautiful and deadly weapon ready to fire, and slipped the gun into the waistband of her trousers at her back.
It wasn't until she had closed the box and was ready to put it away in the drawer that she finally noticed what the box had been sitting on. At the time she'd put the box there, she hadn't really paid attention to anything else in the drawer — the important thing had been that the drawer locked and that the key was easy to hide. Now, however, she was paying attention. The leather-covered book with only "Charles Parker" emblazoned in gold at the bottom of the cover had been there all along — and she'd never noticed it.
She pulled the book from the drawer, replaced the box, closed the drawer and drew an unsteady breath. She would have thought that Mr. Raines would have cleaned out the private desk of his immediate predecessor a long time ago — but evidently not. Then again, she hadn't cleaned out the desk either — the only thing she'd been able to convince herself to do prior to Jarod's arrival was to dust and vacuum and generally straighten things up.
She opened the book and saw that it was filled with Mr. Parker's tight and pointed handwriting. The top of the first page was a date: April 17, 1958. She gasped. This was a journal — a very old one — containing the thoughts of the man who had played the role of her father for so many years.
She couldn't help herself from beginning to read…
I've just got to write this down. The day will come when I'm going to look back on this day and want to relive all the emotions and triumphs of what is sure to come, and what better way than talking to my future self. The shrinks at the Centre would no doubt think me crazy, but by God, if I am, then I'm crazy like a fox and I'm winning the game.
I wondered for a while if it was going to work. But the technique has been used without fail several times in clinical trials in Centre labs now, so I suppose I'd might as well get used to the idea. Convenient her having to have that appendectomy — it gave us the opening we needed, and now the deed is done. All we have to do now is wait.
Raines assures me that Catherine will never know what we did to her. Nobody will ever know. Who would suspect, after all, that anyone at the Centre would be capable of such a thing. Raines says that this is the ideal solution to our predicament — and I have to agree that this time he's right. Nobody will ever think that I'm half a man now — and the child will be a Parker, after a fashion. Raines' child will also be a Parker — although keeping the information away from Edna may be a more difficult matter. She already knows that Bill's incapable of fathering a child — and for her to have a similarly convenient need for minor surgery will surely make her suspicious. I wonder how Raines will convince her to go along with this...
As for Catherine, she thinks she's so damned smart — leaving every April to go spend weeks at a time with that New Englander with no money, no future, just an inn on the coast. Everything's arranged so that she thinks that I think that she's going to her aunt's house to recuperate from the appendectomy when she heads to Maine this time. Raines insisted that I make a point of sleeping with her at least twice this past week, so as to provide a cover. She wasn't too happy about it and questioned the wisdom of it so soon after surgery, but I gave her the speech about being a good wife and seeing to my needs. I'm sure she's sleeping with that man too — so there will be double the questions asked, should the time ever come.
She'll never know that she was already pregnant when I slept with her, already pregnant when that bastard in Maine put his hands on her then too. And nobody will ever guess that the child she produces will combine the Inner Sense of the Jamison line with the Inner Sense of the Grüen line into which the Parkers married two hundred years ago. If it hadn't been for Raines and his penchant for digging through the archives down in the sublevels, I'd have never found out about Sydney and Jacob being part of a Belgian offshoot of the Parker family. I sure as hell am never going to tell them about it. The most important thing is the preservation and advancement of the Parker name. I want those two Flemish cousins as employees and pawns — not family with as much right to the Chairmanship as I have!
Grand-dad set this up for me — I saw the files. It was ingenious! Working with the Nazis and then later Centre operatives, he isolated those boys and then groomed them for the role that they would play in the future of the Centre, all without sacrificing anything unnecessarily to them. It would be criminal for me not to make use of all that hard work and effort.
How I'm going to laugh up my sleeve when I see Catherine seeking psychological counseling from Sydney, neither of them knowing that she's carrying his child! How much more I'm going to enjoy seeing her raise that child as mine. I will enjoy raising my child to consider Sydney as nothing but someone to be stepped on, used. And when my child begins to exhibit the enhanced Inner Sense that should be the result of breeding two powerfully psychic lineages together, how I will enjoy forcing Sydney to teach his unknown child how to control that sense.
Through this, I will reinstate a physically strong and vibrant Parker line complete with special talents to replace what two generations of irresponsible inbreeding has created in Raines and me. And when that other child the scrolls supposedly talk about is found, I'll have everything I'll need to become the most powerful man on the face of the earth. I will be invincible... and I will take the Centre with me to the apex of power...
Parker's one hand flew to her throat as the private journal dropped away to land with a thud on the desk. All this time, and nobody had ever guessed. She stared at the opposite wall, stunned. She wasn't a Parker at all — she was a Grüen, a Green. She moved the journal to the side of the blotter, knowing that one of the first things she'd want to do in the morning would be to take that book over to Sydney's — over to her father's. If she survived the next few hours, that is…
That's when it hit her. Syd really WAS her father, and Davy's grandfather. It wasn't just a case of dear friends adopting each other — there was the tie of blood between them after all. And even though he'd been prevented from knowing, he had done his best to fill in the gaps left when Mr. Parker had fallen down on the job. And when she'd needed a father when her world had fallen apart, she'd gone to the one person she'd always felt best suited to the role to begin with.
There was a knock on the door that startled her badly, and Ikeda was quick to go to the door and check on who was waiting. Then he opened the door wider to let Sam and Chip Harrington in.
"I've got two sweepers watching the front and one at the back, Miss Parker," Sam announced almost immediately, then frowned at the disconnected expression on her face. "Miss Parker?"
She sighed again deeply. "Yeah, Sam, I'm OK." She rubbed a tired hand across her face. Her paternity was an issue that could wait. "Have we heard from the FBI? Just who is this joker anyway?"
Harrington stepped forward to answer. "I was the one who took the call, ma'am — and A.D. Berghoff wasn't naming names, just issuing warnings."
"Wonderful." Miss Parker's voice was disgusted. "Any idea how long it's going to take our valiant G-force to get here?"
"I suppose, if they were coming from D.C…" Sam started, only to be waved into silence.
"Forget it. Sam, I want you in the hallway between me and the front door — Chip, in the hallway between me and the back door. Ikeda-san here will be responsible for staying with me at all times." She blinked. "Do either of you have any idea if this loon wants to attack…" She thought again. "Chip, forget the hallway — take upstairs. I'm not about to have my children endangered again. Anybody we don't know or trust starts up the stairs, I want them dead before they hit the landing."
"Yes, ma'am," both security men responded in unison and headed for the library door.
As they filed out, Jarod made his way in. "Missy…"
"Jarod!" Never had she been so glad to see him. "Come here! You need to see this!"
"About Crystal…"
"We'll talk about her in a minute — this is more important to US, to our family." She stood and handed him the journal open to the page she'd just read.
Jarod half-closed the cover to find the embossed name on the front. "Your father's journal?" he asked her in surprise.
"Not exactly. Read," she directed him.
He scanned the tight scrawling until he came to the fifth paragraph, then glanced up at her sharply. "You're kidding!" he commented, then finished the section before handing the journal back to her. "The records he talks about — those must be the same ones that Sydney tripped over that caused him to flip out."
"He IS my father, Jarod," she said, finding the experience of actually saying the words aloud a staggering relief. "I don't have to pretend anymore, and neither does he."
Jarod smiled. "Feeling like you found your family at last?" She nodded, still reeling from the news. "I know exactly what you feel like — believe me."
Miss Parker shook herself again. "I just… had to share that with someone who'd understand, you know?"
"Yeah." He walked up to her and put his arms around her. "You OK?"
"I will be…" She shook her head to clear it. "Now, what is this about Crystal?"
"Do you remember her telling us about having a father who abused her?"
"Yeah…"
"Well, it seems that this abusive father is a US Senator — one of the three that were just arrested in regards to the conspiracy surrounding those projects you round-filed…"
Miss Parker stared. "You're kidding me? Which one?"
"Jackson from Vermont. The poor kid is worried about her mother, now that the father is supposedly behind bars — but she doesn't want to go home in case daddy gets loose and finds her at home again…"
"Mommy…" The child's voice that interrupted her was small and very frightened.
Both turned in surprise to see Ginger's head poked through the library door. "Sprite!" Miss Parker rushed to her daughter's side and swept her up. "What are you doing up again?"
"What going on? Why all these people?" The little girl wrapped her arm tightly around her new mother's neck. "Me scared all the Big Mans."
"Hush…" Miss Parker shushed at the child in her arms and looked over at Jarod. "Tell Crystal I want to talk to her in a minute — first I need to get Ginger back upstairs where she'll be safe."
"Take her to Mom's room," Jarod advised with a sharp look as he opened the library door. "Maybe she'll feel safer if she was with her Gamma."
"You're probably right." She seated the little girl a bit more securely on her hip and followed Jarod, with Ikeda directly behind her. "C'mon, Sprite, how about I take you back upstairs to Gamma — she'll make sure that nothing happens to you…"
"Mommy 'tay Gamma too…" Ginger clung more tightly. Something was terribly wrong to have all these people in the house at this hour of the night — the tension was palpable, and contagious. "Please…"
"Shhhh, baby girl. I'll be just fine. Sam's here, and so is Mr. Ikeda — and they'll take as good care of me as Gamma will take care of you." Miss Parker kissed the side of the girl's head as she carried her down the hallway toward the front door and the staircase.
"Miss Parker," called a very upset Crystal from the living room. "Wait…"
The sound of an engine being gunned resounded from the outside, followed quickly by an exchange of gunfire. Miss Parker froze as Ikeda moved toward her. "Upstairs, now!" he demanded with a pointed finger, and Sam took advantage of his proximity to put out a hand to her back to impel her to continue moving forward more quickly.
Having handily disposed of the sweepers in the front yard — one with an already dented front fender into the belly and the other with a pair of well-aimed shots after climbing from behind the steering wheel of his car — Tom Jackson's fury knew no bounds. Two steps took him from the side of his sedan to the front steps of the elegant house, and he took the steps themselves two at a time. Crossing the broad veranda, he landed a well-placed kick on the knob and lock assembly of the fancy front door and splintered the wood so that the doors sprang open to him and stalked into the house, finding the inside pandemonium. But best of all, he found the object of his fury within sight the moment he entered the house.
"You bitch!" he screamed and aimed the gun at the startled woman on the staircase with the child in her arms. "Who the Hell do you think you are, ruining everything?"
"Missy!" Jarod screamed in anguish, knowing himself too far away from her across the living room to be able to protect her.
"NO!" Sam yelled, and with a mighty thrust, pushed the woman down and forward and managed to wedge his body between hers and the gunman's. When the shot resounded, Sam fell bleeding from the shoulder and landed directly on top of Miss Parker and Ginger, who was screaming, covering them both and still protecting them. Jackson snarled and moved forward again to get a better and closer shot at his target so as not to miss this time.
"Daddy! No!" Crystal ran from the living room toward her father, appalled and shocked at what he'd just done and not thinking of consequences.
Jackson tore his eyes from his intended prey, struggling beneath the body of her protector, to stare dumbfounded for a moment at the sight of his long-lost daughter screaming at him. "You bitch!" he yelled at Miss Parker again. "You stole my girl too? Have you no shame?"
"Daddy!"
"Shut up!" The gun rounded on the young woman mercilessly. "You like that bitch so much, then die with her," Jackson snarled and aimed carefully. "You're nothing but a traitor anyway, just like your mother." The gun went off again, and Crystal halted in her step as a red stain began to spread across her chest, and then with a startled expression, sank to the floor in a heap without another word.
There was another scream, only this one from a man's throat, and suddenly the gun was flying from stunned fingers as Ikeda's foot impacted with the hand. The little Japanese man's motion was fluid as he leapt into the air yet again the moment his feet hit the ground and snapped into Jackson's jaw viciously, sending the man stumbling backwards. A third leap connected the foot with the bottom of Jackson's chin, toppling the man like a felled oak to land hard against the ruins of the front door and then droop to the floor. Instantly the ninja was moving to finish the job.
"Mate kudasai!" Miss Parker's sharp Japanese command snapped through the jumble of voices like a knife through soft butter. She was struggling to get out from beneath a wounded Sam. "Don't kill him! We turn him over to the Feds alive!"
Ikeda's uplifted hand froze in position, poised to thrust through the man's neck to sever his spinal column, and the other hand finally released its hold on Jackson's hair and let the head thud dully on the polished wood of the ruined door. "Hai, Parker-sama," he managed in a breathless voice, and then bent to twist the unconscious attacker over on his stomach and use the man's loose tie to bind his hands behind him.
"Crystal? Crystal?" Cavendish was crawling across the floor from where he'd taken refuse behind an easy chair to the still form of the young woman. "Oh my God! Someone call an ambulance!" he yelled, looking at his hand that was now covered in bright red blood from the floor near her. He pulled her head and shoulders into his lap and cradled her gently. "My God!"
"Sam…" Miss Parker turned and crouched near her Security Chief, turning him over. The man's face grimaced hard with the pain of the movement. "Oh shit…" she hissed as she saw the blood flowing down his shirt.
Then she was reaching for and pulling on little hands to get Ginger out from behind Sam. "Are you OK, Sprite?" she asked anxiously, running her hands over the girl as if to check for injury.
"Mommy OK?" Ginger asked back the moment she was free, her eyes wide and dark. She looked down at Sam's pale face. "Him 'tected you?"
"Yes, baby girl," Miss Parker answered quickly, then jerked on her sleeve to tear it away from her arm and wadded it up. "I need you to help me help him — here. Hold this on his shoulder, sweetheart. Push hard — we need to try to stop the bleeding until he can get to the doctor."
Ginger took the cloth from her mother and pressed it obediently against the wound, only to elicit a deep groan of agony from Sam. He looked over at the little girl who, despite that, continued to try to staunch his wound. "Thanks, Princess," he said in a tight voice that showed how much he hurt.
"You save Mommy," Ginger shook her head disbelievingly. "You push her down save her."
His opposite hand reached for the wadded up sleeve. "Here, sweet, let me…"
"Mommy telled me take care you," Ginger insisted firmly. "Me OK." She brushed his hand aside and settled herself a little more comfortably at his side. "Me do this."
Sam blinked, then chuckled painfully. If he didn't know better, he could have sworn he'd heard Miss Parker's old 'Ice Queen' tones coming from a seven-year-old. As tiny as she was, this little creature was made of stronger stuff than most. "Yes, ma'am," he said, letting the hand fall back.
"Parker-sama." Ikeda's hand appeared at her side, extended to help her pull herself upright and to her feet. "I have called the police and asked for ambulances to be dispatched…"
All she could think of… "Jarod?"
"Missy? He didn't hurt you?" The Pretender finally stepped over and through the furniture and around people to get to her side and pull her close in a tight embrace. "He didn't hit you?" He pushed back and stared into her face that he'd framed with a hand to each cheek, then kissed her with quick desperation. "Are you OK?"
"He got Sam," she said in a slightly shaky voice. "What about…"
"He got Crystal too," Jarod told her. "I've got Cavendish with her, but she needs to get to a hospital fast…
"Jarod? Are you all right down there?" Margaret appeared at the head of the stairs and stared at the scene of carnage and destruction spread below. "My God! Missy? Ginger?"
Davy's head peeked out from around his grandmother's waist. "Dad! Mom!"
"We're OK, Maggie," Miss Parker said from Jarod's arms. "Crystal needs help, though…"
And in the distance, a siren began howling — and coming closer.
Sydney hurried on his crutches as fast as he could through the emergency room doors and toward Zeke Cavendish, truly alarmed at the amount of blood his old colleague had splattered all over his clothing. "She didn't say that you'd been hurt as well…"
Cavendish waved his hand. "This is Crystal's blood, not my own."
Sydney shivered. "How are they?"
Cavendish shook his head. "The doctors aren't telling me very much — but from the sounds of it, it isn't good for the girl — they took her right away to surgery. Sam's going to be very sore and lose the use of his left arm for quite a while. I guess the bullet put a fairly big hole in him…"
Sydney felt his chest constrict slightly. He'd heard the cacophony of siren split the nighttime quiet and been ready to charge over to the Parker townhouse for a while, until Maggie had called and told him that his family was safe and sound. Then she had informed him about Sam and Crystal being shot — and he'd rushed to his car and driven the entire way in to Dover before Kevin or Deb could talk him out of it or take charge of the driving.
"I rode in with her, Sydney," Cavendish continued, a bloodied hand on Sydney's arm. "She was asking for you for a while."
"Damn!" Sydney leaned on his crutches and wiped at his face with his hand. "How long has she been in surgery?"
"About a half-hour ago — they didn't even hardly stop in the ER with her."
The emergency room door was pulled open yet again, this time to allow a very distraught-looking Mei-Chiang in. She saw Sydney and recognized him from the dinner that weekend and homed in on him almost immediately. "Mr. Sydney," she begged as she approached. "They tell me my Sam was hurt…"
"Dr. Cavendish has been with Sam and Crystal, Mei," Sydney said gently, taking her hand and wishing he could offer her more comfort. "He says that Sam was shot…"
"Shot!" Mei-Chiang swayed on her feet. "Miss Parker didn't tell me that…"
"Probably so that you wouldn't be upset all the way in here," he soothed. "He's in there," he pointed past through the wide door, "but evidently wasn't badly wounded." He turned to Cavendish again. "What did you say about Sam?"
"He won't be using his left arm and shoulder for a while, but with therapy, he'll be as good as new," Cavendish told the frantic Chinese woman. "I'm sure they'll let you in to see him soon."
Mei-Chiang let Sydney lead her to one of the uncomfortable molded plastic chairs that lined the walls of the waiting room. The psychiatrist maneuvered himself into the adjacent chair and leaned his crutches against the next chair, knowing that his own wait would probably be much, much longer than hers would be. Not knowing anything else that would help, he gently took one of Mei-Chiang's hands in his and held it. Oddly, the contact gave him almost as much comfort as he could offer to his friend's fiancée.
"I should never have insisted that she speak to Miss Parker," Cavendish sat himself down next to his old friend, wringing his hands. "All I wanted to do was to help her…"
"Why did she need to speak to Miss Parker?" Sydney was confused.
"She was worried about her mother now that her father was supposed to be in jail," the elderly psychiatrist answered absently. "I thought that maybe Miss Parker could dispatch a sweeper or some other representative to see if they could find…" He paused, his voice cracking. "And then her father turned out to be the madman gunning for Miss Parker… and he shot her in cold blood after trying for Miss Parker."
"Oh my God!" Sydney's stomach clenched.
Jarod looked around the front yard of his new home as he drove in the driveway. There was a car on the lawn, practically on the front steps, being tested and fingerprinted and studied in detail by the federal crime scene people, and the house itself was ablaze with lights. Centre sweepers had been called in, and between them and the FBI agents that had arrived as the first ambulance with Crystal and Sam had pulled away, the place was crawling. The coroner's wagon had already taken away the bodies of the slain sweepers that Jackson had left in his wake in the front yard. Inside, he knew, Missy and Chip Harrington were giving their statements. He'd already given his.
To protect Margaret and the children from the chaos as much as possible, Missy had given him the key to her old summerhouse. After stopping to change Ginger's clothing from blood spattered pajamas to something cleaner, he'd driven the three over to the quieter dwelling and helped Margaret try to calm the children back into bed. He'd stopped at Sydney's to fill everyone there in on the news, only to find that Margaret's call earlier had already inspired his old mentor to jump into the car and head for Dover, leaving Kevin and Deb worried and waiting for word. No doubt Dover General would be where Sydney would be until there was news on Crystal's condition — although Jarod had been skeptical that the girl would even survive the ambulance trip.
Slowly he climbed from the car and slumped tiredly toward the back door of the house. It was hard to imagine, after everything that had happened over the past few months, that a time would come when life would slow down to the dull hum-drum of what most people called 'normal.' Beginning with his plan to bring down the Centre administration, his life and that of those he loved had been filled with violence and tragedy — surely it had to end soon!
Miss Parker spied him as he came out through the dining room. "There you are," she sighed and caught him by the arm and dragged him close. "Agent Berghoff was just telling me how deep a hole Jackson was in BEFORE he decided to come calling on us."
"Oh?" Jarod turned curious and feral dark eyes on the federal agent. "And yet he was out of jail, free to get a gun and kill and maim…"
"We had no idea that the man had such explosive and violent tendencies," Berghoff told him with a flabbergasted shake of the head. "And we didn't know he was on his way here until he'd been on the road at least an hour. First he ran his wife down — seems she had taken refuge in a woman's shelter there, something he saw as tantamount to personal betrayal…"
"Yeah," Jarod scowled. "We saw what he did to his daughter when he found her here."
"He'll not get out of jail again," Berghoff promised. "We have him now on murder, conspiracy to commit murder, attempted murder — IF he's found sane enough for trial, he'll not see daylight again for a good long time."
"Be sure this time," Jarod cautioned the agent sharply. "I don't want to have to live my life looking over my shoulder. I've done that enough for one lifetime."
Berghoff gazed with undisguised curiosity at the man in front of him. If the article in the Post was right, this was a man that the Centre had been hunting for decades – and yet here he was, comforting the Chairman as if she was the most important person in the world to him. "I'd imagine you are at that," the FBI man commented appreciatively. "We should be just about finished here – then you folks can get back to your life." He headed off toward the front of the house, barking orders to first one and then the next.
"Are you OK?" Jarod asked her gently, feeling her lean into him just a little harder.
She shook her head. "Not yet," she answered tiredly, laying her head on his shoulder. "But I will be once I know that Sam and Crystal will be all right."
"Missy," Jarod shook his head. "I don't know about Crystal. That was…" He sighed. "I'm not even certain that she was going to live and make it to the hospital."
"I need to call my father…"
"He's gone to the hospital," he told her quickly. "My mom called to let them know over there what had happened – Kevin said that he was out of the house like a shot."
Miss Parker could feel the effect of the past hour or so finally shredding what was left of her composure, and she closed her eyes as she huddled closer into Jarod's embrace. "Do you think it's done yet?"
"What's done?" he asked softly.
"We've been moving from one crisis to the next ever since I took over this job," she said bitterly. "It never seems to end. Maybe Daddy was right, and I should never have accepted Ngawe's offer…"
"Daddy?" Jarod was confused.
"Sydney," she enlightened him quickly. "He's my father, right? Finally someone I can call 'Daddy' and not cringe…"
Jarod nodded with the explanation, and just held her tighter. "You did the thing you thought was right – and the one thing that WAS right for the Centre. You took the responsibility for turning that place into the kind of force that it was always meant to be – there's nothing to be sorry for there…"
"But if I hadn't – if I had just walked away, the way Daddy and Broots wanted me to…"
"Would we have been able to avoid some of the heartache?" Jarod continued the thought for her, then answered himself. "Very likely – but it's also equally as likely that we would have gone through other, potentially worse situations because the Centre would have stayed on the same path that it's been on all this time under the aegis of the Triumvirate – and very likely, you and I would be in no position to take up a life without having to look over our shoulders."
"I'm tired, Jarod," she sighed. "I've had people I loved or cared for killed and maimed. For what?"
"It will be worth it in the end, Missy…"
"You don't know that," she chided impatiently.
He smiled gently. "I have faith that it will," he replied gently. "Nothing can last forever – not the evil that the Centre was doing, and not the turmoil it's taking to get the Centre turned around."
She sighed again and tightened her hold around his waist. "I don't think that I could do this without you here."
"You'll never have to worry about my not being here again," he promised and kissed her forehead. "This is where I belong – and this is where I'm going to stay. You're stuck with me, Miss Parker."
"Grüen," she corrected him with a touch of pride. "Or Green, if you prefer."
"It will take a while to get used to," he said honestly. "You've been 'Parker' for me for a very long time."
"You'll get used to it," she told him seriously. "Because I will never answer to 'Parker' again. Never. I will be Miss Green until the day I become Mrs. Russell – but Miss Parker no longer exists."
Sam's face was almost transparent with pain, but he was on his feet and maneuvering under his own power – albeit with a determined and concerned Mei-Chiang beneath his good arm for support. His shirtsleeve was slit all the way to his shoulder, but the blue sling that held up the arm covered some of the worst of the bloodstains down the front of the garment. His coat jacket was just draped over the shoulder, providing limited protection from the cool of the evening.
"Any word on the girl yet, Syd?" Sam asked in a voice pinched tight with pain despite the medication he'd been given.
Sydney shook his head tiredly. "They were still working on her the last time I checked," he replied with a yawn. He glanced over at his psychiatric colleague a few seats over, who had actually managed to fall asleep in the incredibly uncomfortable chairs. "I left word that we were waiting for word, so hopefully the doctors will come here and give us a progress report when they're finished…"
"Why don't you call it a night?" Sam asked sympathetically, knowing that his old friend was very fond of the teenager who had taken care of him not so very long ago. "The doctors can call you when there's word – you look like you can use some rest."
Sydney sighed and then shook his head. "She needs someone with her when she wakes up," he insisted stubbornly, but then turned and nudged his colleague with a hand to the shoulder. "Zeke. Zeke. Wake up…"
"Hmmph! What?" The elderly psychiatrist blinked several times to wake himself up a bit. "Any word yet?"
"Not yet," Sydney shook his head. "Why don't you call it a night? Go on home with Sam and Mei-Chiang – I'll call you when there's word, I promise. There's no need for both of us to sit here…"
Watery blue eyes looked sleepily into tired chestnut, and then the older psychiatrist finally nodded. "I'll be back in the morning, in case you're still here by then," Cavendish announced. "That way, you can go home and get some rest too."
"You have a ride, doc?" Sam asked, "or would you like to ride back to Blue Cove with us?"
"I need wheels," Cavendish admitted. "I came in the ambulance with her…"
Chip Harrington pushed through the emergency doors. "How you doin', Chief?"
"He's ready to go home and stay in bed for a while," Mei-Chiang blurted out, tightening her hold on her giant economy-sized fiancé. "And I think you'll have an extra passenger. Doctor Cavendish could use a ride as well."
"Call me too when you have word, Syd," Sam said as Mei-Chiang began moving him toward the door. "I want to know too…"
"Call him in the morning," Mei-Chiang cautioned Sydney. "I have more pain medication for him for when he gets home that is SUPPOSED to put him down for a while."
Sydney gave her a knowing nod and then smiled when she began to chatter at him in soft Chinese as she directed his not-quite-steady steps out of the hospital waiting room. From the looks of things, Sam was probably too far out of it to notice anything but the sense of a mother hen clucking at him. "I guess we're gone," Chip commented with a chuckle. "Coming, doc?"
"You call," Cavendish shook a finger at Sydney.
"I will," Sydney promised somberly.
Harrington matched his steps to the elderly psychiatrist who was his unexpected passenger, and soon only Sydney was left in the waiting room. He retrieved his crutches and pushed himself to his feet with difficulty to walk over to the receptionist's desk. "Could you please check for me again and see if there's any word?" he asked worriedly.
The nurse at the desk, having had the same question put to her already several times over the course of the night, didn't even need to know about whom he was inquiring. She simply picked up the telephone and placed the call to the operating room and asked the question. She listened, then hung up the phone. "I'm really sorry," she told him yet again, "the only information they're releasing at the moment is that she's still in surgery."
"Damn!" Sydney swore to himself softly and made his way back to the uncomfortable seat where he'd already spent the better part of the night. He glanced down at his watch and sighed. It had been five hours already since Cavendish said that they'd taken her to the operating room.
"Gamma?" Ginger crept into Margaret's bedroom and up to the side of the bed. "Gamma?"
Margaret roused and then raised herself up on an elbow. "What's the matter, Sprite?" she managed in a very slurred and sleepy voice.
"Me can't s'eep," the little girl sighed. "Me 'tay you?"
"Grandma?" This time it was Davy's voice from the door. "Are you awake?"
Margaret regretfully roused more completely, although she wasn't really all that surprised at the development. It had been a VERY disturbing evening for everyone — it was reasonable that the children would have a delayed reaction. "Come on, then, both of you," she sighed and lifted the blankets. "Get into bed before your feet freeze off." Davy's feet thudded softly against the rug as he ran to the other side of the bed and slipped beneath the warm covers, while Ginger slid beneath the covers Margaret had already lifted for her. "What are you two doing still awake at this hour?"
"Can't s'eep," Ginger repeated.
"Are Mom and Dad going to be coming over here later?" Davy asked as he snuggled down next to his grandmother.
Margaret found herself with a grandchild beneath each arm, and kissed each on the top of the head as they snuggled down on her. "I doubt it, my sweets. They'll probably stay there and make sure everything gets locked up and closed down properly after the police leave…"
"There won't be any more shooting, will there?" Davy asked worriedly.
"Shhhh…" Margaret soothed the boy, who obviously had been made more upset than anyone had guessed. "From what I understand, Mr. Ikeda had the man who was doing all the shooting all nicely tied up and waiting for the police long before we came over here. So there's probably not going to be any more shooting. Don't worry."
"That man shooted at Mommy!" Ginger exclaimed with a shiver of remembrance. "Why?"
"I don't know, Sprite. I don't know that anybody knows for sure why a person decides to hurt someone else…"
"Big Man saveded Mommy."
"That was Sam," Davy told his sister. "I told you that he wasn't a bad guy…"
"That's enough chatter now," Margaret shushed at them both. "Time to close the mouth, close the eyes and go to sleep."
It was quiet again for a little while, and then: "Gamma?"
Margaret sighed. "What, Sprite?"
"No more bad mans come hurt Mommy?"
"I don't think so, sweetheart. But I'm sure Mommy will tell you herself tomorrow. For now, however…" she hugged the little girl tightly. "Go. To. Sleep!"
"G'nite, Gamma," Ginger answered back, snuggling as close as she could to her grandmother.
"G'nite, Grandma," Davy echoed, not at all shy about snuggling against Margaret's other side.
"G'nite," Margaret said and relaxed her head back against the pillow. She had a grandchild on each side of her, both huddling close and nestling against her like baby chicks. Life had certainly been unpredictable lately — but it was moments like these that made it all worthwhile. She closed her eyes again, glad that at least Jarod and Missy were safe now — and that the children who were so dependent on her now would have their Mom and Dad back in the morning.
She hoped.
Jarod rolled over in bed and cracked his eyes open to discover the bedside lamp still lit and Miss Parker still reading at Mr. Parker's journal. "Missy, for heaven's sake…"
"I need to know," she replied simply, looking over at him. "And I can't believe some of what he's written…"
"Sweetheart, you knew that he was a twisted, sick man…"
"I know," she answered, her voice incredibly sad, "but for the first time I'm hearing his REAL thoughts, and not just what he wanted others to think he was thinking. Does that make sense?"
He rolled himself up on an elbow. "No, it doesn't. Not after everything that happened tonight…"
"Some of what happened tonight you don't know," she told him softly. "Remember when I went back into the library to wait for Sam and Chip?" He nodded. "I started remembering… things…"
"I can imagine," Jarod replied sourly. "I've watched you over the last few days since I got back — and every time I go in there to do some work, you tend to send a kid or my mom to fetch me out for meals rather than come to get me yourself. You REALLY don't like that room, do you?"
Missy shook her head. "There are a lot of things… about me, Jarod…"
That was it. Jarod reached over, gently took the journal out of her hands, laid it on the night table on his side of the bed, and then pulled Missy down into bed and cradled her in his arms. "I have an idea of what those things are," he told her gently. "I'm not a shrink for nothing — and I've been observing you for years, decades. You've been displaying the classic signs of abuse all along — I knew about the beatings, you know that, but there was more, a lot more. I figured that out later, as time went by."
She nodded against his chest. "And yet Sydney had no idea… still doesn't, about some of it…"
"That's not surprising — Sydney hadn't been watching you through binoculars for years, and seen you when you were being yourself for years before that," he argued quietly. "And it's possible that he didn't want to know — because he was in no position to do anything about it, so it hurt him too much to want to think about it. God knows that you were a different person when I came back here — and I lay the credit for most of that at Sydney's door. You needed a decent father to undo the damage that bastard Parker did, and thank God you finally found one."
"For all that I thought Raines was the monster," she mused quietly, thankful for the strong arms around her, "I think Mr. Parker was more of one — because he appeared to be so sane. He kept his abuse of my mother and me quiet — hell, I even played into that after I grew up by never spending the night in the same building with him. Even so, and despite everything, I kept hoping that some day he'd treat me like a daughter ought to be treated…" She moved closer to Jarod. "Now I know why he never did. I was nothing but an experiment — a means to an end…"
"Are you sure you want to stay in this house now," Jarod asked quietly. "Maybe now that you've faced what you needed to face in that library, you can finally let go?"
"I'm thinking that it's about time that I redecorated the library," she countered with a hint of the old, saucy and indomitable 'Ice Queen' spirit. "Leave the bookshelves, but gut the room otherwise and let you choose the new furniture and flooring. Get rid of Mr. Parker's ghost once and for all."
"You're sure?"
"We need the room we have here, Jarod. We have two kids and family in California up the wazoo. This house has enough bedrooms for one or two guests without even having to open up the summerhouse. It's in town, closer to Daddy for the kids…"
"OK, OK," he chuckled, letting his hand slip up and down her shoulder slowly in a soothing gesture. "I just don't want you staying here because you think you have something to prove — your need to do that walked out of a jet plane over the Atlantic years ago."
"I know."
"Turn off the light, then, and go to sleep. You've had enough excitement for one day."
She rolled out of his arms just long enough to reach out to the lamp on the night stand and send the room plunging into darkness before she was rolling back to where she had been. She smiled as she felt the arms enfold her again and then lay still and contented for a long moment. "Jarod?"
"Mmm?"
"Thanks."
His lips found her forehead and kissed her gently. "My pleasure," he rumbled sleepily at her. "Go to sleep now."
"You're being awfully pushy…"
"Shhh!"
A hand at Sydney's shoulder shook him from his slumber. "I just had a call from the operating room," the duty nurse told him as soon as he'd regained enough of his wits to understand her. "Miss Jackson is out of surgery and in the recovery room. The doctor will be out to speak to you in a bit."
"Thank you." Sydney sat up straighter in the molded plastic chair and stretched, only to find that he had several kinks in his neck from the posture he'd adopted when he'd fallen asleep. Self-consciously he straightened his sweater and ran his hands over his face in an effort to pull himself more awake again.
He'd managed to get himself up on his feet and over to a drinking fountain for a sip of water by the time the green-garbed surgeon came into the waiting area. "You're here for Karen Jackson?"
"How is she, doctor?" Sydney demanded immediately.
The obviously tired doctor swept the scrub hat from his head and stuffed it in a pocket. "She's a fighter," he announced with some admiration. "Considering the damage that was done, frankly I'm surprised she made it through this far. We'll have to see if she still has enough in her to pull through this."
"How bad was it?"
"The bullet nicked the pulmonary artery as well as the left atrium and caused a great deal of blood loss. We almost lost her three times when her blood pressure dropped."
"And now?" Sydney folded his face into a frown. "Will she recover?"
The surgeon shrugged and shook his head. "I've done all I can for her — the rest is up to her. If she can survive the next twenty-four hours, she has a fairly decent shot at a full recovery. But…" The surgeon's face grew grave. "…the damage done to her system was extensive. The bullet used was a hollow-point — it ripped things apart rather badly in there…" He gazed into Sydney's frantic eyes. "I don't want to say there's no hope, but I'd be lying if I put her chances at greater than ten to one odds."
Sydney was glad he was on his crutches, for without them he would have fallen down. "Can I see her?" he asked in a desperate voice.
"Once she's out of recovery, she'll be moved to Intensive Care. I understand that she has no family, and that you are the person she called for in the ambulance before losing consciousness. I'll have you paged once she's settled in the ICU."
"Thank you, doctor," Sydney said fervently, shaking the man's hand firmly. "Thank you for everything you've done."
The surgeon walked tiredly back into the bowels of the hospital while Sydney propped his crutches against one chair before dropping back into the torturous chair in which he'd already spent the better part of the night. He debated pulling his cell phone out and making calls, but then decided against it. Zeke needed his sleep, and Sam was probably happily under the influence of the pain medications he'd been given. The next morning would be soon enough to call either of them.
He folded his arms over his chest and dropped his chin again. The next few hours promised to be long ones.
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