Disclaimer in part 1
Guilty
part 6
by imagine
As the ambulance backed into a covered stall beside the multi-car garage, Jarod took in his surroundings, forcing himself to commit as much of it to memory as possible. The secluded house was larger than he expected. In fact, it looked more like a deserted lodge than a house.
Set at the end of a long snowy driveway that was lined with evergreen trees, the two level structure was made of stone and wood with two wide chimneys set on either side of the house, indicating it boasted two fireplaces. The smoke and heavy scent of ash billowing from the house told Jarod that the hearth on the west side of the house was currently lit. Balconies overlooked a frozen pond in the back while a deep wooden porch hugged the front of the building. Had it been Summer, the small windows at ground level would not have been visible through the closely planted bushes bordering the house; but, in the dead of Winter, the branches were thick fingers of ice and offered the basement nothing in the way of cover.
By the time the vehicle rolled to a stop and engine was abruptly cut off, Jarod also noticed a maintenance building skillfully hidden among the trees, a downed fence at the edge of the property, a wide stone wishing well and a barbecue pit. Laying back in the stretcher, he sighed, bit down on the cloth between his teeth and tugged at the heavy leather straps holding him in place. If he was ever to regain his freedom, he needed more information about where he had been taken. Nothing was insignificant.
"Well, well, look who's awake."
He stared up at the man, increasing his pull on the restraints while the guard adjusted the drip of the IV. Despite his best efforts, Jarod had dozed periodically during the trip and he had no doubt that his fatigue was due to the drug flowing freely into his veins. However, the drug was not strong enough to put him into the deep sleep that was required to fend off his nightmares. Each time he woke, it was with a start; and, the first sound he heard was always the same deep, menacing voice floating into the cabin from the front of the ambulance. Though he hadn't been able to make out most of the man's words, Jarod had heard enough to know that Victor was a sweeper with career goals. Regardless of how it had come to be, he considered his current assignment, as one of Jarod's guards, an opportunity to move up the Centre foodchain and, he had no intention of squandering the chance to prove himself to the corporation's upper echelons
With a cold grin, the sweeper met his captive's gaze then crouched beside him. Taking a handful of Jarod's dark hair between his fingers, he pulled the bound man toward him, into an uncomfortable angle.
"In a few minutes, we're going to take you inside and, if you're lucky, we'll undo the restraints. Remember what I told you earlier," he warned, "if you behave, we'll get a long just fine; do something stupid, and your worst nightmare will be more comforting than what I do to you. That is, if you ever find the courage to close your eyes."
The smile broadened, and the light eyes flickered with excitement at a thought Jarod could only imagine. The ripped towel Victor gagged him with threatened to slip further down his already dry throat, his heart raced and his fists clenched in anxiousness, but the Pretender refused to look away. He had dealt with far worse threats over the years, and this man - this sweeper - did not have the power to intimidate him.
His message delivered, the sweeper turned away as the double doors at the back of the ambulance swung open. Immediately, the cabin was filled with a cold gust of wind and flurries of snow but Jarod managed to suppress a groan of discomfort. Still dressed in nothing but a thin hospital gown and robe, the icy breeze cut through him, making the thin blanket around his legs flutter and forcing his lungs into releasing the last warm breath they held very slowly. At that moment, he remembered a similar feeling right before losing consciousness in the river but he refused to dig deeper into the memory.
The second guard, a woman Victor had continually referred to has 'Babe' during the drive pulled herself through the open doors and, wordlessly, unlocked the wheels of the gurney. With a nod to her partner, standing at Jarod's head, she gripped the foot of the stretcher and pulled it out the door. The legs of the metal cart fell to the ground with sudden jolt, echoing icily against the cement, and, seconds later, Jarod was being wheeled down a freshly shoveled walk.
Shivering from the cold, he closed his eyes as they moved, silently promising his body that they would soon be inside. Soon, the wind and snow would not have access to his exposed skin. He had turned his head, trying to bury his nose against the pillow in hopes of warming the air filling his lungs when something warm was draped over his body and a familiar scent invaded his nostrils. Opening his eyes he found Miss Parker moving beside him. Her dark hair hugged her face, and her scarf fluttered against her jaw and mouth, in the wind; but, for a moment, Jarod thought he saw a faint smile of reassurance. As the stretcher continued toward the house, she slipped her hand under the long lined leather jacket that now hugged his body and squeezed his hand.
"Why the hell is he gagged?" she demanded. Without waiting for a response, she pulled them to a stop as soon as they were on the porch, sheltered from the wind by the building. She leaned over the Pretender and gently pulled at the tape that bound his mouth, holding his head gently with gloved hands and offering him a few seconds of her body heat.
"Two miles from the hospital, he started singing some damned nursery rhyme," the sweeper complained, watching the woman remove the towel that had been used as a muzzle. "It was annoying."
"So you gagged him?" Sydney challenged, suddenly appearing in Jarod's line of sight, "With the amount of medication in his system, his body could have reacted violently. If he had panicked, if he had begun to retch, he might have choked. He might have suffocated on his own . .
"I warned him twice, but he wouldn't shut up," the man interrupted with a smirk, "He gave me no choice."
Miss Parker stepped back, allowing Sydney to comfort Jarod when he began to cough violently. She watched as the psychiatrist held a bottle of water to Jarod's lips, waiting until the still restrained man swallowed enough to calm himself before spinning on her heel. Grabbing the collar of the sweeper's jacket, she abruptly pulled him to her eye level, and pushed the nose of her automatic under his chin.
"For future reference," she hissed, "anything and everything to do with Jarod is my job. I chased him, I caught him and I'm responsible for him until we get to the Centre. You are a sweeper assigned to the safe house, not one of my personal guards. It is your job to do as you're told and nothing more. You are not authorized to make any decision regarding his treatment; and I don't *ever* recall telling you it was all right to gag him. Therefore, when he began his annoying habits - which were designed to push your buttons, by the way - you should have contacted me on my cell phone for instructions. Make another mistake like that, and it will be your last. Do I make myself clear?"
Keeping her frosty gaze on the man, Miss Parker waited until he nervously dropped his eyes and nodded, before pushing him away and holstering her gun. Then, taking Sydney's arm, she brought the psychiatrist to her side and glanced between Victor and his partner.
"It's cold out here," she told them, motioning toward Jarod, "Get him inside."
*********
She knew that his solicitous tone and gentle touch were more of a threat than they were a manner to ease her mind, and Margaret backed away from the man. She stared at the open hand he offered, then at him, pulling the blankets tightly around her shoulders.
"I promise, we won't go far," he smiled, "Just to the window."
She shot a curious glance toward the shuttered pane, but said nothing and made no attempt to move.
"But you're going to want to see this," he urged, dropping his hand as he lowered himself to the edge of the bed. "We've got visitors and, I'm sure, just knowing they're here will make a dramatic difference in the way you feel."
"I'm not interested in anything you have to show me."
"Not even your son?"
"What are you talking about?" she asked, stealing another look at the window.
"Jarod," he smiled. "Jarod is here."
Her eyes widened, locking on to his for a brief, panic-stricken moment before turning toward the window. Discarding the blankets as she moved from the bed, Margaret ignored the rubber feeling in her legs and crossed the room, using furniture and the wall for support. Then, with one more glance at him over her shoulder, she shakily pulled back the thick curtains.
Leaning against the cold frost covered pane, she watched Jarod being pulled to the house on a hospital gurney. His eyes were closed, his hands were bound at his side and, even from her vantage point on the second floor, she could see he was shivering.
"What's wrong? I thought you would be happy to see him," the man mocked, moving behind her. His fingers slid along her shoulders, burying themselves under her long hair and reveling in the feel of the tight muscles. "After all, the last time you saw him, he was near death. You should be thrilled to know he survived."
"You didn't need to bring him here," she whispered, still staring out the window. She stopped slowly clawing at the glass when Jarod was covered, her mind immediately recognizing the woman protecting her son and then silently thanking her.
"Of course we did. You weren't being very cooperative, Margaret. We needed some way to get your attention."
"Please," she begged, turning toward him only when Jarod was rolled out of view, "let him go. He doesn't know anything about the scrolls, about . . I'll tell you whatever you want to know; just let him go."
Taking a step back, he laughed and shook his head. "You are far from a stupid woman, Margaret. You know there isn't a chance in hell that I'm going to let your little boy leave here, until it's time to take him back to Delaware." Opening the door, he stood at the threshold and smiled at the distraught look spreading over the woman's face. "The best you can hope for, now, is that I don't kill him in front of you."
*********
Once inside, Miss Parker took control of the gurney. Pushing Victor out of the way, she and Sydney rolled the Pretender in front of the large stone fireplace. He felt the straps around his wrists and ankles fall away, warm hands massaging his arms to increase circulation and, the dry heat against his face. Inhaling deeply, Jarod rolled his head to the side and returned his mentor's concerned gaze with a soft, tired smile.
He heard her voice, and looked up, watching her face as she ordered the sweepers to find blankets and warm clothes. Though her cheeks were still flush from the cold, she removed her gloves and scarf, and tossed them on a nearby chair. With her arms crossed in front of her, she turned in place, quietly surveying the house with a critical eye. When she met his gaze, however, he saw her expression soften.
"Thank you," he managed.
She nodded, letting her arms drop to her side as she moved out of his line of sight. An instant later she returned with a small pile of folded quilts, the woman guard trailing behind her. With a flick of her wrist, Miss Parker removed the leather coat and before Jarod could react to the loss, it was replaced by two thick blankets.
"We need to get you out of those wet clothes," she told him. Turning toward the sweeper, she tossed the remaining two quilts on to the floor beside the hearth and demanded, "Where's your partner? Go find him and tell him I want him to
donate something for Jarod to where. Something warm."
The woman bit back a grin and nodded, disappearing into the space behind Jarod.
"I wasn't exposed that long," he promised, hugging himself beneath the coverings. Facing the fireplace, he slid his eyes to the flames and leaned back. "I'll be all right now."
"Miss Parker is right," Sydney admonished, running his hand along Jarod's forehead, "It's better to err on the side of caution. Less than forty-eight hours ago, you narrowly escaped freezing to death at the side of a river and, since then, you have been suffering from extremely high fevers and hallucinations. If we're not careful, you could develop pneumonia."
"Listen to your doctor, Jarod," a voice said from behind, "you're much too valuable to risk losing to something as mundane as a respiratory disease."
He recognized the voice, but because of the gurney's positioning, Jarod found he had to strain to see the new arrival. Stretching his neck, and turning his body at an odd angle, he watched the man enter from the large gourmet kitchen.
"Cox, what the hell are you doing here?" Miss Parker demanded. "You're supposed to be in Blue Cove."
"Am I?"
"Sydney was assigned to Jarod," she spat, crossing her arms as she stepped between the approaching man and the Pretender, "That was the deal."
"I'm afraid you misunderstand, Miss Parker," he replied. His smile was thin and his eyes were narrow as he spoke, "My presence here has nothing to do with Jarod's capture. In fact, I was here long before you contacted anyone at the Centre to notify them of the unfortunate accident that prompted your success."
She glanced at Jarod as Mr. Cox moved around her and stopped at foot of the stretcher. Though the Pretender kept his gaze on the other man, the lines on his face were suddenly much more defined than they had been, his eyes no longer held the lackluster signs of exhaustion and the muscles in his neck were so taut she could see his the tempo of his pulse. Regardless of the drugs pumping through his system, and the trauma his body had endured, Jarod knew Mr. Cox was not only responsible for the accident, he was responsible for Margaret's disappearance.
"You expect me to believe in coincidences?"
Raising his eyes from the Pretender, he looked at her and shrugged. "That, my dear Miss Parker, is completely your choice. I am just stating a fact. If you don't believe me, feel free to contact Mr. Raines or Mr. Lyle; they will confirm that I have been staying in this house for almost a month."
"A month?" she repeated. "Now, why would you - or anyone for that matter - come to northern Minnesota in Winter?"
"When my activities become your affair, I will explain," he answered tersely, "In the meantime, I suggest you refrain from asking questions that are none of your concern and concentrate your energies on keeping your Pretender alive and under your control until he can be delivered to a cell on SL-27."
Before Miss Parker could reply, Victor appeared, carrying a small bundle. He shot a disapproving glance at Jarod, then held out the clothes to the brunette, unaware of the dialogue he had interrupted. Drawing in a deep breath to keep herself from pushing the issue with Cox, she moved to the sofa and inspected the items carefully, finally indicating they would suffice with a nod of her head in the sweeper's direction.
"The bedrooms are on the second floor," Cox offered, circling the stretcher, "I am afraid that there is no elevator; but, Victor will assist Jarod up the stairs and into the waiting wheelchair. We've designated the room at the west end of the hall for Jarod and assigned Victor to act as his guard while he's here; you and Sydney will have the rooms on either side."
"We?"
"One of my associates is staying here, as well," he explained calmly. Casting a quick, sinister smile at Jarod, he added, "He is currently attending to some business, but I am sure you will see him soon."
"And, exactly who is this associate?" she asked, when the man started toward the back of the house.
"Someone you're already acquainted with," he replied over his shoulder, "I don't want to ruin the surprise. Dinner will be brought to Jarod at seven, and served in the main dining room for the rest of us. Please, do not be late."
*********
She stared at the door, long after he was gone, his threat still echoing in her ears.
"The best you can hope for, now, is that I don't kill him in front of you."
Shaking her head, she turned away, slowly sitting on the edge of the bed and bringing the overstuffed pillow to her lap. Since being abducted, they had asked her repeatedly about the scrolls, doing everything from bargaining with her to threatening her, and she had said nothing. At first, she had been too weak to respond, too feverish to understand what they wanted; but, as the night wore on, and the drugs they gave her pushed away her memories and guilt, she slept. For the first time, in years, she slept without dreams, without nightmares. And, when she woke, in the early hours of the morning, she was still feverish, but coherent enough to understand what had happened and what they wanted.
She bought herself time, hoping to use her illness to her advantage, hoping to find an escape before they forced the truth from her. She exaggerated her pain, flinching and crying out at the slightest touch. When they spoke to her, she gazed over their shoulders at a blank spot on the wall, responding to them by calling out for her husband and her children; allowing real tears to surface as she pretended to relive the night she was separated from each of them. When they gave her pills, she obediently swallowed some and palmed the others, knowing they would do nothing more than make her rest.
In the time she made for herself, she began to develop an escape plan. Admittedly, it was still in its early stages, dependent on their belief she was too weak to defend herself, too helpless to even consider retaliation, and too confused to formulate a plan; but, she believed it would have worked.
Now, however, they managed to do the one thing she had not anticipated: they brought in her son.
"Why aren't you still in the hospital, unidentified and being properly cared for?" she whispered. "How did they find you so quickly?"
She knew the answers to her questions didn't matter, all that mattered was finding a way of protecting Jarod. Their captors knew she and her son had been together and they believed she had shared the secret; when, in fact, she had not. If she continued her charade, letting them think she was unable, or unwilling, to tell them what they wanted to know, they would turn to Jarod. They would threaten him, threaten her well-being, do whatever was necessary to force the information from her son, information he did not have.
Hugging the pillow to her chest, she remembered the hours before her capture, when she had gone to the river. Intent on recovering the metal box that held the scrolls and her bible before the authorities, she arrived at the scene to find Catherine's daughter pacing thoughtfully up and down the bank of the river. Though she had no idea why the younger woman was there, or what she was doing, she had watched from the bushes until it appeared that the brunette had given up her quest.
She waited for almost fifteen minutes before she emerged from her hiding place, but she didn't wait long enough. After only a few steps from the bushes, she saw Miss Parker moving back to the shore, the beam of her flashlight alternating between the wreckage in the water and the hole in the bridge. Slowly, the younger woman unwittingly began moving toward her and, in a panic, she turned to run, making a conscious decision to leave the metal box where it was rather than take the chance she might, once again, come face to face with the woman who had chased her son for almost seven years. It was at that desperate moment that she had slipped in the mud, her hand jamming painfully against a nearby rock. She bit back the cry of pain but, in her hurry to distance herself from the approaching Miss Parker, she had not felt the ring slip from her finger.
As she looked at the empty hand, she wondered where it was, then quickly put the thought out of her mind. There were more important matters to think about. Raising her eyes to the window, she watched the snow coming down in soft, heavy flakes and thought about Jarod. If she left without him, she put him at risk; if she stayed, and told her captors what they wanted to know, she put in him danger. After eliminating two of her options, she knew what she had to do.
Taking a deep breath, she slipped her hand into the pillow case and retrieved the stash of pills, spilling them onto the bed. Nine pills. She hoped it would be enough.
*********
The gurney was rolled to the foot of the steps where, grudgingly, Victor reached under Jarod's arm and helped him to his feet. With the sweeper on one side and Sydney on the other, the Pretender took the stairs slowly, more for the opportunity to inspect his surroundings than because of his strength. Half way up, he spotted the woman sweeper standing vigil in front of a room to the left of the landing. Though she refused to meet his gaze, the woman stiffened as Jarod was deposited into a wheelchair.
Placing his hand on Jarod's shoulder, he pulled the man back, holding him against the chair as he moved it toward the end of the hall. Understanding the unspoken threat, Jarod was silent, swallowing the urge to question why the room needed a guard. Besides, it didn't matter. He knew exactly why the room was guarded and who was being kept inside.
Victor stepped in front of the wheelchair long enough to push the thick oak door open, then wheeled Jarod inside. Leaving the Pretender in the middle of the room, he looked at Miss Parker and motioned toward the door.
"I'll be outside."
She nodded, waiting until the man was gone and the door closed tightly behind him before turning back to Jarod.
"I know what you're thinking, but we can't do anything about it tonight," she hissed, sliding her arm under his shoulder.
"I have to get inside that room, Parker," he argued, keeping his voice low.
"Later," she replied, "We still don't know who we're dealing with. In the morning . ."
"The morning is too late," he interrupted, moving away from the two and settling on the Queen sized bed. Pulling the blankets around his shoulders, he stared at them. "I need to know she's all right. Now, give me those clothes."
"No."
"What?" he stared at the brunette as she moved away, hugging the bundle of clothes under her arm. "I'm freezing, Parker. I need to get out of these wet things."
"So, go ahead. Nobody is stopping you."
He looked from the woman to Sydney and then back again, when he saw the small smirk playing on the old man's lips.
"Give me the clothes," he growled.
"What part of 'no' did you not understand?" she snapped, moving toward the door. "Now, if you don't want to catch pneumonia, I suggest you dry yourself off and get between the sheets. Sydney will help you."
"You're not serious. You're not going to leave me here without any clothes, are you?"
"The way I see it, I don't have a choice. As long as I have these, I know you'll be here .. in bed, where you belong. I'll be in to check on you in a few hours," she said, pulling the door open, "in the meantime, get some rest."
"Parker . . PARKER!"
*********
TBC
Guilty
part 6
by imagine
As the ambulance backed into a covered stall beside the multi-car garage, Jarod took in his surroundings, forcing himself to commit as much of it to memory as possible. The secluded house was larger than he expected. In fact, it looked more like a deserted lodge than a house.
Set at the end of a long snowy driveway that was lined with evergreen trees, the two level structure was made of stone and wood with two wide chimneys set on either side of the house, indicating it boasted two fireplaces. The smoke and heavy scent of ash billowing from the house told Jarod that the hearth on the west side of the house was currently lit. Balconies overlooked a frozen pond in the back while a deep wooden porch hugged the front of the building. Had it been Summer, the small windows at ground level would not have been visible through the closely planted bushes bordering the house; but, in the dead of Winter, the branches were thick fingers of ice and offered the basement nothing in the way of cover.
By the time the vehicle rolled to a stop and engine was abruptly cut off, Jarod also noticed a maintenance building skillfully hidden among the trees, a downed fence at the edge of the property, a wide stone wishing well and a barbecue pit. Laying back in the stretcher, he sighed, bit down on the cloth between his teeth and tugged at the heavy leather straps holding him in place. If he was ever to regain his freedom, he needed more information about where he had been taken. Nothing was insignificant.
"Well, well, look who's awake."
He stared up at the man, increasing his pull on the restraints while the guard adjusted the drip of the IV. Despite his best efforts, Jarod had dozed periodically during the trip and he had no doubt that his fatigue was due to the drug flowing freely into his veins. However, the drug was not strong enough to put him into the deep sleep that was required to fend off his nightmares. Each time he woke, it was with a start; and, the first sound he heard was always the same deep, menacing voice floating into the cabin from the front of the ambulance. Though he hadn't been able to make out most of the man's words, Jarod had heard enough to know that Victor was a sweeper with career goals. Regardless of how it had come to be, he considered his current assignment, as one of Jarod's guards, an opportunity to move up the Centre foodchain and, he had no intention of squandering the chance to prove himself to the corporation's upper echelons
With a cold grin, the sweeper met his captive's gaze then crouched beside him. Taking a handful of Jarod's dark hair between his fingers, he pulled the bound man toward him, into an uncomfortable angle.
"In a few minutes, we're going to take you inside and, if you're lucky, we'll undo the restraints. Remember what I told you earlier," he warned, "if you behave, we'll get a long just fine; do something stupid, and your worst nightmare will be more comforting than what I do to you. That is, if you ever find the courage to close your eyes."
The smile broadened, and the light eyes flickered with excitement at a thought Jarod could only imagine. The ripped towel Victor gagged him with threatened to slip further down his already dry throat, his heart raced and his fists clenched in anxiousness, but the Pretender refused to look away. He had dealt with far worse threats over the years, and this man - this sweeper - did not have the power to intimidate him.
His message delivered, the sweeper turned away as the double doors at the back of the ambulance swung open. Immediately, the cabin was filled with a cold gust of wind and flurries of snow but Jarod managed to suppress a groan of discomfort. Still dressed in nothing but a thin hospital gown and robe, the icy breeze cut through him, making the thin blanket around his legs flutter and forcing his lungs into releasing the last warm breath they held very slowly. At that moment, he remembered a similar feeling right before losing consciousness in the river but he refused to dig deeper into the memory.
The second guard, a woman Victor had continually referred to has 'Babe' during the drive pulled herself through the open doors and, wordlessly, unlocked the wheels of the gurney. With a nod to her partner, standing at Jarod's head, she gripped the foot of the stretcher and pulled it out the door. The legs of the metal cart fell to the ground with sudden jolt, echoing icily against the cement, and, seconds later, Jarod was being wheeled down a freshly shoveled walk.
Shivering from the cold, he closed his eyes as they moved, silently promising his body that they would soon be inside. Soon, the wind and snow would not have access to his exposed skin. He had turned his head, trying to bury his nose against the pillow in hopes of warming the air filling his lungs when something warm was draped over his body and a familiar scent invaded his nostrils. Opening his eyes he found Miss Parker moving beside him. Her dark hair hugged her face, and her scarf fluttered against her jaw and mouth, in the wind; but, for a moment, Jarod thought he saw a faint smile of reassurance. As the stretcher continued toward the house, she slipped her hand under the long lined leather jacket that now hugged his body and squeezed his hand.
"Why the hell is he gagged?" she demanded. Without waiting for a response, she pulled them to a stop as soon as they were on the porch, sheltered from the wind by the building. She leaned over the Pretender and gently pulled at the tape that bound his mouth, holding his head gently with gloved hands and offering him a few seconds of her body heat.
"Two miles from the hospital, he started singing some damned nursery rhyme," the sweeper complained, watching the woman remove the towel that had been used as a muzzle. "It was annoying."
"So you gagged him?" Sydney challenged, suddenly appearing in Jarod's line of sight, "With the amount of medication in his system, his body could have reacted violently. If he had panicked, if he had begun to retch, he might have choked. He might have suffocated on his own . .
"I warned him twice, but he wouldn't shut up," the man interrupted with a smirk, "He gave me no choice."
Miss Parker stepped back, allowing Sydney to comfort Jarod when he began to cough violently. She watched as the psychiatrist held a bottle of water to Jarod's lips, waiting until the still restrained man swallowed enough to calm himself before spinning on her heel. Grabbing the collar of the sweeper's jacket, she abruptly pulled him to her eye level, and pushed the nose of her automatic under his chin.
"For future reference," she hissed, "anything and everything to do with Jarod is my job. I chased him, I caught him and I'm responsible for him until we get to the Centre. You are a sweeper assigned to the safe house, not one of my personal guards. It is your job to do as you're told and nothing more. You are not authorized to make any decision regarding his treatment; and I don't *ever* recall telling you it was all right to gag him. Therefore, when he began his annoying habits - which were designed to push your buttons, by the way - you should have contacted me on my cell phone for instructions. Make another mistake like that, and it will be your last. Do I make myself clear?"
Keeping her frosty gaze on the man, Miss Parker waited until he nervously dropped his eyes and nodded, before pushing him away and holstering her gun. Then, taking Sydney's arm, she brought the psychiatrist to her side and glanced between Victor and his partner.
"It's cold out here," she told them, motioning toward Jarod, "Get him inside."
*********
She knew that his solicitous tone and gentle touch were more of a threat than they were a manner to ease her mind, and Margaret backed away from the man. She stared at the open hand he offered, then at him, pulling the blankets tightly around her shoulders.
"I promise, we won't go far," he smiled, "Just to the window."
She shot a curious glance toward the shuttered pane, but said nothing and made no attempt to move.
"But you're going to want to see this," he urged, dropping his hand as he lowered himself to the edge of the bed. "We've got visitors and, I'm sure, just knowing they're here will make a dramatic difference in the way you feel."
"I'm not interested in anything you have to show me."
"Not even your son?"
"What are you talking about?" she asked, stealing another look at the window.
"Jarod," he smiled. "Jarod is here."
Her eyes widened, locking on to his for a brief, panic-stricken moment before turning toward the window. Discarding the blankets as she moved from the bed, Margaret ignored the rubber feeling in her legs and crossed the room, using furniture and the wall for support. Then, with one more glance at him over her shoulder, she shakily pulled back the thick curtains.
Leaning against the cold frost covered pane, she watched Jarod being pulled to the house on a hospital gurney. His eyes were closed, his hands were bound at his side and, even from her vantage point on the second floor, she could see he was shivering.
"What's wrong? I thought you would be happy to see him," the man mocked, moving behind her. His fingers slid along her shoulders, burying themselves under her long hair and reveling in the feel of the tight muscles. "After all, the last time you saw him, he was near death. You should be thrilled to know he survived."
"You didn't need to bring him here," she whispered, still staring out the window. She stopped slowly clawing at the glass when Jarod was covered, her mind immediately recognizing the woman protecting her son and then silently thanking her.
"Of course we did. You weren't being very cooperative, Margaret. We needed some way to get your attention."
"Please," she begged, turning toward him only when Jarod was rolled out of view, "let him go. He doesn't know anything about the scrolls, about . . I'll tell you whatever you want to know; just let him go."
Taking a step back, he laughed and shook his head. "You are far from a stupid woman, Margaret. You know there isn't a chance in hell that I'm going to let your little boy leave here, until it's time to take him back to Delaware." Opening the door, he stood at the threshold and smiled at the distraught look spreading over the woman's face. "The best you can hope for, now, is that I don't kill him in front of you."
*********
Once inside, Miss Parker took control of the gurney. Pushing Victor out of the way, she and Sydney rolled the Pretender in front of the large stone fireplace. He felt the straps around his wrists and ankles fall away, warm hands massaging his arms to increase circulation and, the dry heat against his face. Inhaling deeply, Jarod rolled his head to the side and returned his mentor's concerned gaze with a soft, tired smile.
He heard her voice, and looked up, watching her face as she ordered the sweepers to find blankets and warm clothes. Though her cheeks were still flush from the cold, she removed her gloves and scarf, and tossed them on a nearby chair. With her arms crossed in front of her, she turned in place, quietly surveying the house with a critical eye. When she met his gaze, however, he saw her expression soften.
"Thank you," he managed.
She nodded, letting her arms drop to her side as she moved out of his line of sight. An instant later she returned with a small pile of folded quilts, the woman guard trailing behind her. With a flick of her wrist, Miss Parker removed the leather coat and before Jarod could react to the loss, it was replaced by two thick blankets.
"We need to get you out of those wet clothes," she told him. Turning toward the sweeper, she tossed the remaining two quilts on to the floor beside the hearth and demanded, "Where's your partner? Go find him and tell him I want him to
donate something for Jarod to where. Something warm."
The woman bit back a grin and nodded, disappearing into the space behind Jarod.
"I wasn't exposed that long," he promised, hugging himself beneath the coverings. Facing the fireplace, he slid his eyes to the flames and leaned back. "I'll be all right now."
"Miss Parker is right," Sydney admonished, running his hand along Jarod's forehead, "It's better to err on the side of caution. Less than forty-eight hours ago, you narrowly escaped freezing to death at the side of a river and, since then, you have been suffering from extremely high fevers and hallucinations. If we're not careful, you could develop pneumonia."
"Listen to your doctor, Jarod," a voice said from behind, "you're much too valuable to risk losing to something as mundane as a respiratory disease."
He recognized the voice, but because of the gurney's positioning, Jarod found he had to strain to see the new arrival. Stretching his neck, and turning his body at an odd angle, he watched the man enter from the large gourmet kitchen.
"Cox, what the hell are you doing here?" Miss Parker demanded. "You're supposed to be in Blue Cove."
"Am I?"
"Sydney was assigned to Jarod," she spat, crossing her arms as she stepped between the approaching man and the Pretender, "That was the deal."
"I'm afraid you misunderstand, Miss Parker," he replied. His smile was thin and his eyes were narrow as he spoke, "My presence here has nothing to do with Jarod's capture. In fact, I was here long before you contacted anyone at the Centre to notify them of the unfortunate accident that prompted your success."
She glanced at Jarod as Mr. Cox moved around her and stopped at foot of the stretcher. Though the Pretender kept his gaze on the other man, the lines on his face were suddenly much more defined than they had been, his eyes no longer held the lackluster signs of exhaustion and the muscles in his neck were so taut she could see his the tempo of his pulse. Regardless of the drugs pumping through his system, and the trauma his body had endured, Jarod knew Mr. Cox was not only responsible for the accident, he was responsible for Margaret's disappearance.
"You expect me to believe in coincidences?"
Raising his eyes from the Pretender, he looked at her and shrugged. "That, my dear Miss Parker, is completely your choice. I am just stating a fact. If you don't believe me, feel free to contact Mr. Raines or Mr. Lyle; they will confirm that I have been staying in this house for almost a month."
"A month?" she repeated. "Now, why would you - or anyone for that matter - come to northern Minnesota in Winter?"
"When my activities become your affair, I will explain," he answered tersely, "In the meantime, I suggest you refrain from asking questions that are none of your concern and concentrate your energies on keeping your Pretender alive and under your control until he can be delivered to a cell on SL-27."
Before Miss Parker could reply, Victor appeared, carrying a small bundle. He shot a disapproving glance at Jarod, then held out the clothes to the brunette, unaware of the dialogue he had interrupted. Drawing in a deep breath to keep herself from pushing the issue with Cox, she moved to the sofa and inspected the items carefully, finally indicating they would suffice with a nod of her head in the sweeper's direction.
"The bedrooms are on the second floor," Cox offered, circling the stretcher, "I am afraid that there is no elevator; but, Victor will assist Jarod up the stairs and into the waiting wheelchair. We've designated the room at the west end of the hall for Jarod and assigned Victor to act as his guard while he's here; you and Sydney will have the rooms on either side."
"We?"
"One of my associates is staying here, as well," he explained calmly. Casting a quick, sinister smile at Jarod, he added, "He is currently attending to some business, but I am sure you will see him soon."
"And, exactly who is this associate?" she asked, when the man started toward the back of the house.
"Someone you're already acquainted with," he replied over his shoulder, "I don't want to ruin the surprise. Dinner will be brought to Jarod at seven, and served in the main dining room for the rest of us. Please, do not be late."
*********
She stared at the door, long after he was gone, his threat still echoing in her ears.
"The best you can hope for, now, is that I don't kill him in front of you."
Shaking her head, she turned away, slowly sitting on the edge of the bed and bringing the overstuffed pillow to her lap. Since being abducted, they had asked her repeatedly about the scrolls, doing everything from bargaining with her to threatening her, and she had said nothing. At first, she had been too weak to respond, too feverish to understand what they wanted; but, as the night wore on, and the drugs they gave her pushed away her memories and guilt, she slept. For the first time, in years, she slept without dreams, without nightmares. And, when she woke, in the early hours of the morning, she was still feverish, but coherent enough to understand what had happened and what they wanted.
She bought herself time, hoping to use her illness to her advantage, hoping to find an escape before they forced the truth from her. She exaggerated her pain, flinching and crying out at the slightest touch. When they spoke to her, she gazed over their shoulders at a blank spot on the wall, responding to them by calling out for her husband and her children; allowing real tears to surface as she pretended to relive the night she was separated from each of them. When they gave her pills, she obediently swallowed some and palmed the others, knowing they would do nothing more than make her rest.
In the time she made for herself, she began to develop an escape plan. Admittedly, it was still in its early stages, dependent on their belief she was too weak to defend herself, too helpless to even consider retaliation, and too confused to formulate a plan; but, she believed it would have worked.
Now, however, they managed to do the one thing she had not anticipated: they brought in her son.
"Why aren't you still in the hospital, unidentified and being properly cared for?" she whispered. "How did they find you so quickly?"
She knew the answers to her questions didn't matter, all that mattered was finding a way of protecting Jarod. Their captors knew she and her son had been together and they believed she had shared the secret; when, in fact, she had not. If she continued her charade, letting them think she was unable, or unwilling, to tell them what they wanted to know, they would turn to Jarod. They would threaten him, threaten her well-being, do whatever was necessary to force the information from her son, information he did not have.
Hugging the pillow to her chest, she remembered the hours before her capture, when she had gone to the river. Intent on recovering the metal box that held the scrolls and her bible before the authorities, she arrived at the scene to find Catherine's daughter pacing thoughtfully up and down the bank of the river. Though she had no idea why the younger woman was there, or what she was doing, she had watched from the bushes until it appeared that the brunette had given up her quest.
She waited for almost fifteen minutes before she emerged from her hiding place, but she didn't wait long enough. After only a few steps from the bushes, she saw Miss Parker moving back to the shore, the beam of her flashlight alternating between the wreckage in the water and the hole in the bridge. Slowly, the younger woman unwittingly began moving toward her and, in a panic, she turned to run, making a conscious decision to leave the metal box where it was rather than take the chance she might, once again, come face to face with the woman who had chased her son for almost seven years. It was at that desperate moment that she had slipped in the mud, her hand jamming painfully against a nearby rock. She bit back the cry of pain but, in her hurry to distance herself from the approaching Miss Parker, she had not felt the ring slip from her finger.
As she looked at the empty hand, she wondered where it was, then quickly put the thought out of her mind. There were more important matters to think about. Raising her eyes to the window, she watched the snow coming down in soft, heavy flakes and thought about Jarod. If she left without him, she put him at risk; if she stayed, and told her captors what they wanted to know, she put in him danger. After eliminating two of her options, she knew what she had to do.
Taking a deep breath, she slipped her hand into the pillow case and retrieved the stash of pills, spilling them onto the bed. Nine pills. She hoped it would be enough.
*********
The gurney was rolled to the foot of the steps where, grudgingly, Victor reached under Jarod's arm and helped him to his feet. With the sweeper on one side and Sydney on the other, the Pretender took the stairs slowly, more for the opportunity to inspect his surroundings than because of his strength. Half way up, he spotted the woman sweeper standing vigil in front of a room to the left of the landing. Though she refused to meet his gaze, the woman stiffened as Jarod was deposited into a wheelchair.
Placing his hand on Jarod's shoulder, he pulled the man back, holding him against the chair as he moved it toward the end of the hall. Understanding the unspoken threat, Jarod was silent, swallowing the urge to question why the room needed a guard. Besides, it didn't matter. He knew exactly why the room was guarded and who was being kept inside.
Victor stepped in front of the wheelchair long enough to push the thick oak door open, then wheeled Jarod inside. Leaving the Pretender in the middle of the room, he looked at Miss Parker and motioned toward the door.
"I'll be outside."
She nodded, waiting until the man was gone and the door closed tightly behind him before turning back to Jarod.
"I know what you're thinking, but we can't do anything about it tonight," she hissed, sliding her arm under his shoulder.
"I have to get inside that room, Parker," he argued, keeping his voice low.
"Later," she replied, "We still don't know who we're dealing with. In the morning . ."
"The morning is too late," he interrupted, moving away from the two and settling on the Queen sized bed. Pulling the blankets around his shoulders, he stared at them. "I need to know she's all right. Now, give me those clothes."
"No."
"What?" he stared at the brunette as she moved away, hugging the bundle of clothes under her arm. "I'm freezing, Parker. I need to get out of these wet things."
"So, go ahead. Nobody is stopping you."
He looked from the woman to Sydney and then back again, when he saw the small smirk playing on the old man's lips.
"Give me the clothes," he growled.
"What part of 'no' did you not understand?" she snapped, moving toward the door. "Now, if you don't want to catch pneumonia, I suggest you dry yourself off and get between the sheets. Sydney will help you."
"You're not serious. You're not going to leave me here without any clothes, are you?"
"The way I see it, I don't have a choice. As long as I have these, I know you'll be here .. in bed, where you belong. I'll be in to check on you in a few hours," she said, pulling the door open, "in the meantime, get some rest."
"Parker . . PARKER!"
*********
TBC