Disclaimer in part 1
Guilty
by imagine
part 9/?
"Where is he?" she asked. "Where is Jarod, right now?"
"In a room at the end of the hall. I promise, he is quite comfortable."
"You're sure he's all right?"
"His injuries will heal. Jarod is a strong man," Sydney said.
Keeping her back to him and her eyes focused on the snow fall, Margaret nodded. She wanted to believe him. Despite the fact he had been one of those responsible for keeping her son away from her for four decades, she wanted to believe that this man cared about Jarod and would not lie to her about his well being. There was no denying, however, that he was an agent of the Centre and, in her experience, almost everyone associated with the Centre was untrustworthy. The operative word being 'almost'.
"He is much stronger than, I think, even he realizes," he added, when the silence consumed them again.
Slowly pivoting away from the window, she faced Sydney with an almost too calm expression. "Correct me if I'm wrong; but, Jarod has never had a choice to be anything but strong, has he?"
Sydney was silent, lowering his eyes from her gaze.
"He told me about you," she said softly. When the psychiatrist looked up, she turned back to the window. "He didn't have a chance to tell me much, but he said you took care of him. He said you protected him when you could."
"I tried."
"Then I suppose I should thank you."
"No, you shouldn't."
Still watching the snow, she nodded. "You're right."
There was a long silence as the two fell into their own thoughts. Other than the fact that he had been Jarod's caretaker and mentor, Margaret knew nothing about her visitor. She knew she should question him, test his honesty by asking questions she already knew the answers to; but, for some reason, she could not make herself waste the time. There were legitimate questions, things she needed to know, weighing heavily on her thoughts and, at the moment, Sydney was the only hope she had of getting information.
"How did you find us so quickly?"
"What do you mean?"
"Jarod and I were together for less than twenty four hours when we were run off the road."
"I don't know who ran you off the road," he admitted, "or how they knew you and Jarod were together. Miss Parker found Jarod in the hospital. She would have to explain how that came to be."
She considered his reply then took a deep breath.
Sydney watched the woman carefully. She kept her back to him, but he could see both hands were buried in the pockets of her sweater and pulled in front of her. If her red hair had been left loose, it would have easily reached the middle of her back; but, instead, Margaret wore it in a tight, unadorned pony tail. She kept her head held high, and her shoulders back, but, in the short time he had to observe her, Margaret's perfect posture was marred by what appeared to be nervous habits. Without realizing she was doing it, the woman shifted her weight from one foot to the other several times while the muscles in her upper arm twitched impatiently, a subconscious demand for physical and emotional release.
He remembered Jarod's plea to ease his mother's fears; but, for the life of him, Sydney had no idea how to accomplish the feat. It was obvious, to him, that Margaret was carrying an excess of anxiousness and fear.
"Where is Catherine's daughter now?"
"Miss Parker is with Jarod," he told her, adding, "He's in good hands but, not knowing how you are is taking its toll."
For the first time, Margaret lowered her head and Sydney saw her shoulders slump forward slightly. After a moment, she shook her head, took a deep breath and faced him.
"I don't want him worrying about me," she said.
Sydney smiled softly. "He said the exact same thing about you, not more than fifteen minutes ago."
Returning the smile, Margaret let it fade quickly and moved to the bed. When she was situated on the edge of the mattress, she asked, "When can I see him?"
"I was told someone would come for you at seven," Sydney replied. "We have about forty minutes."
"We?" she repeated. "Were you planning on staying with me until they arrive?"
"With your permission."
Stiffening, she narrowed her eyes and asked, "Why are you here, Sydney? What do you want from me?"
"I don't want anything from you."
She looked at him suspiciously, cocking her head to one side as she considered his offer. "I repeat, why are you here?"
"I thought I might be able to tell you about Jarod."
======================================================================
She watched the door closely, the muscles in her neck and back getting tighter with each passing moment. Flashes of him laying unconscious on the floor came to her in regular intervals, but it was a soft, calming voice at the back of her mind that told her to stay put. He needed the chance to review everything that had happened, everything that had brought them to this point, and he needed time to formulate his part of the escape plan; but, more than anything, Jarod needed his privacy to consider her actions.
Suddenly, they were no longer huntress and prey; they were no longer estranged childhood friends; they were something else - something she could not label. Though she had only meant to help, by stepping into the shower with him, she had crossed a line she had temporarily forgotten existed. As a result, she had blurred the boundaries of their relationship forever.
Jarod stepped out of the bathroom, pushing the wheelchair with one hand while the other buttoned the flap over his breast pocket. Though his balance did not seem dependent on the chair, she stood and moved toward him. Immediately, the man shook his head and held out a hand, stopping her only a few feet from where she began.
"I can manage," he said.
"Just don't over do it," she warned when he stopped in front of her, "It's going to be a long night."
He nodded and took a step back. Lowering his eyes, he concentrated on fastening the last three buttons on his shirt then adjusted the white T-shirt beneath it, pushing the hem into the loose fitting waistband.
"I don't suppose there's a belt laying around somewhere."
"Sorry. At least they're the right length," she offered, running her eyes over him. "How are the shoes?"
"Victor's clothes aren't exactly a perfect fit, but they'll do until I can get my own," he said, rolling up the sleeves that were a little too short. Lowering himself to one knee, he double knotted the Nike's he'd been loaned and slowly stood. Reaching into the seat of the chair, Jarod lifted a small leather pouch and held it out to her. "This is not his shaving kit, though, is it?"
"Is that a problem?"
"Everything inside is mine. Where did you get it?"
"Exactly where you left it," she answered, cocking her head to the side.
He said nothing as she moved to the closet and opened the door. Though he thought he knew what she would reveal, his eyes widened in surprise at the sight of his small leather bag perched on top of the vinyl case that held his mother's belongings. He remembered the police returning both pieces to him, in the hospital, shortly before Parker arrived and told him about seeing his mother. He remembered the long conversation he had with his friend, and the plans they'd made to rescue his mother; but, when he woke up the next morning, Sweepers were standing guard at his door, Parker was no longer treating him like his friend and the bags were gone.
"I don't understand," he admitted. "If you took these from my room, the sweepers would have reported it. Cox . . Alex . . they would have wanted to go through . ." he stopped short, staring at the smile that emerged on her face. "The sweepers didn't know?"
"I put them in my car, before the sweepers arrived at the hospital and had Victor lug them up the stairs, when we got here. He thinks they're my bags," she told him, placing both pieces on the bench at the foot of the bed. His gaze slipped from her to the bags and then back again, shaking his head slightly in confusion.
"I thought you might want them and figured they were safer with me," she shrugged, moving away as he approached, "I couldn't leave them in my car, because we won't be using it again."
"I know the plan," he snapped, adding, "I just don't know why you're going out of your way to help me."
"Does it really matter?"
He frowned at her, then turned toward the items on the bench. Slowly unzipping the vinyl bag, Jarod pulled out the book he'd tried to dry over the hospital vents and absently flipped through the ink-smeared pages. Sliding his hand back into the bag, he recovered the birthstone ring and stared at the still mud-caked setting for a moment.
"Don't get me wrong, Parker, I'm very grateful for everything you've done; but, if Cox and Alex even suspected you were keeping these things from them . . ." he let his voice fade, then faced her, "Does Sydney know the risks you're taking?"
When she didn't reply, Jarod shook his head and, in a soft but reprimanding voice, said, "Parker, I won't let you . ."
Moving in front of him, she angrily closed each of the bags and slid them in the closet. "You don't get a say in what I do or do not do, is that clear?"
When she faced him again, Jarod's eyes were still trained on her, but they had taken on an edge they hadn't had before. The two stood in silence, his dark, brooding orbs holding her sharp, daring gaze until they were startled by a knock at the door. Simultaneously, Alex's voice boomed through the wood that it was time to go and, with an exasperated sigh, she stepped behind Jarod and gently guided him into the chair.
"I will worry about Sydney, Cox and Alex. All you need to do, Jarod, is worry about yourself and your mother."
"And who is going to worry about you?" he murmured when she moved in front of him to open the door.
=======================================================================
As the door swung inward, Alex stepped into the doorway with Victor standing close behind.
"Get out of the way," Parker demanded.
"Now, now," he grinned, circling the wheelchair, "what's your hurry? Jarod and I have a lot of catching up to do and, well, to be honest, his mother isn't going anywhere."
"Where is she?" Jarod demanded.
"She's safe."
"I want to see her."
"I know you do," he taunted, "In fact, you want your entire family together, don't you? The last time we met, I told you that the Centre would never allow that to happen, Jarod, and I meant it."
Jarod's eyes widened and his hands gripped the arms of the wheelchair; but, before he could make a move, Miss Parker was standing between him and Alex. Positioned only inches in front of him, she crossed her arms and dared, "So help me, Alex, if you and Cox are welching on the agreement . ."
"Relax," he grinned, pointing to a room two doors down, "she's in there."
Taking a step back, when Jarod pushed his way forward, Alex let his eyes wander from the woman to Jarod and shook his head. "I just wouldn't want Jarod to come away from this one little visit with the wrong idea," he called after them in a dark voice, "When this is over, his world is going to revolve around the Centre and he will never see his mother again."
=======================================================================
He stopped just outside the door. The guard reached for the knob but Jarod put his hand on top of hers, stopping the motion.
"Your mother is waiting," the woman said, not bothering to hide her confusion. "I thought you wanted to see her."
"I do," he nodded. Pulling his hand back, Jarod reached down and set the brake on the wheel chair. "But not like this."
"Jarod, I don't think this is such a good idea," Miss Parker protested.
"I will not let her see me in this chair," he insisted, "I will not add to her worries."
The guard glanced at her partner, then at Miss Parker for direction. With a scowl on her face, the brunette nodded. "Let him do what he wants."
"Well, now, isn't that special?" Victor muttered, "If that's not proof that the inmates are running the asylum . ."
"He can't go far on foot, so this arrangement should actually help keep an eye on him," Miss Parker said, ignoring Victor and directing her comments to the woman, "Besides, I've found that arguing with him does little good when he's got his mind made up."
"It only took six years," Jarod muttered.
Raising an eyebrow, she stared at him and continued in a firm tone, "If you want to walk in, under your own steam, that's fine with me, Jarod; but, the chair stays here, just outside the door. I don't want people running around, looking for one, when you fall flat on your face."
"Your concern is overwhelming."
"And, when the visit is over," she continued, talking over his interruption, "you sit your ass in this chair and keep it there until you're back in your room. Is that understood?"
"As long as my mother doesn't see me using it, you've got a deal."
"We've got a deal, as long as I say we have a deal," she retorted. Slipping her hands around his back and arm, she helped him rise. When he was standing, and using the wall for support, she patted his chest, the flat of her hand tapping him over the pocket of his shirt. In a low voice, she said, "As long as you hold up your end of it, we won't have any trouble."
Before Jarod could respond, he was pushed forward, toward the opening door. Instinctively, he angrily pushed back at Victor, resisting the forced movement; but, as the interior of the room came into view, Jarod stopped fighting.
Except for a large table in the center of the room, holding a dinner of soup, salad and bread, and surrounded by four wooden chairs, the chamber had no furnishings. The lights were brighter than the ones in the hall and, for a moment, Jarod shielded his eyes. When he lowered his hand, his eyes immediately found the woman standing at the far window. Framed by heavy, dull, yellowing curtains, the contrast of her red hair and the animated shadows that danced behind her gave a brief image of fire; and, somehow, a warmth he could not explain.
With her arms wrapped around her waist, she turned as he entered and let her arms fall to her side. Less than a second later, Jarod found himself in his mother's embrace.
=======================================================================
"I'm a friend of Miss Parker's," he told her, "She said you might call."
Emma shook her head and continued brushing the heavy snow from her car. Her shift had only been eight hours, but had seemed much longer. The hospital beds were filled with victims of the storm who had varying degrees of injuries, each demanding her attention and, thankfully, distracting her from the short conversation she'd had at the beginning of her shift.
Though the man had seemed genuine, he had seemed nervous. When she told him that two policemen had tried to deliver a silver case they'd found at Jarod's accident sight, the man's anxiety seemed to rise. He asked for physical descriptions, mannerisms, whether or not they had produced badges and, despite the fact she remembered their names, he seemed disappointed that she had not written down their respective badge numbers.
"You didn't tell them where Jarod went, did you?"
"How could I? I haven't the faintest idea where he is. His file says he was transferred to a hospital in Delaware, but they've never heard of him."
"Oh, yeah," he sighed, "Right."
Just when she thought the conversation was over, he asked questions about the metal case. She corrected his assumption that the object was shaped like a suit case, explaining it was more like a strong box.
"You know," she prompted, "the kind of thing someone uses to protect important papers from fire and such. It had an impressive looking lock on it, if that helps."
Luckily, the car started immediately; but, as Emma sat and waited for the car to warm up, she wondered what she had gotten herself involved in and how she had managed to do it. No matter how hard she tried to convince herself that making the phone call to the nervous man was the last interaction she would have to Miss Parker, Jarod or their friends, she had a strong suspicion she would be seeing them again.
TBC
Guilty
by imagine
part 9/?
"Where is he?" she asked. "Where is Jarod, right now?"
"In a room at the end of the hall. I promise, he is quite comfortable."
"You're sure he's all right?"
"His injuries will heal. Jarod is a strong man," Sydney said.
Keeping her back to him and her eyes focused on the snow fall, Margaret nodded. She wanted to believe him. Despite the fact he had been one of those responsible for keeping her son away from her for four decades, she wanted to believe that this man cared about Jarod and would not lie to her about his well being. There was no denying, however, that he was an agent of the Centre and, in her experience, almost everyone associated with the Centre was untrustworthy. The operative word being 'almost'.
"He is much stronger than, I think, even he realizes," he added, when the silence consumed them again.
Slowly pivoting away from the window, she faced Sydney with an almost too calm expression. "Correct me if I'm wrong; but, Jarod has never had a choice to be anything but strong, has he?"
Sydney was silent, lowering his eyes from her gaze.
"He told me about you," she said softly. When the psychiatrist looked up, she turned back to the window. "He didn't have a chance to tell me much, but he said you took care of him. He said you protected him when you could."
"I tried."
"Then I suppose I should thank you."
"No, you shouldn't."
Still watching the snow, she nodded. "You're right."
There was a long silence as the two fell into their own thoughts. Other than the fact that he had been Jarod's caretaker and mentor, Margaret knew nothing about her visitor. She knew she should question him, test his honesty by asking questions she already knew the answers to; but, for some reason, she could not make herself waste the time. There were legitimate questions, things she needed to know, weighing heavily on her thoughts and, at the moment, Sydney was the only hope she had of getting information.
"How did you find us so quickly?"
"What do you mean?"
"Jarod and I were together for less than twenty four hours when we were run off the road."
"I don't know who ran you off the road," he admitted, "or how they knew you and Jarod were together. Miss Parker found Jarod in the hospital. She would have to explain how that came to be."
She considered his reply then took a deep breath.
Sydney watched the woman carefully. She kept her back to him, but he could see both hands were buried in the pockets of her sweater and pulled in front of her. If her red hair had been left loose, it would have easily reached the middle of her back; but, instead, Margaret wore it in a tight, unadorned pony tail. She kept her head held high, and her shoulders back, but, in the short time he had to observe her, Margaret's perfect posture was marred by what appeared to be nervous habits. Without realizing she was doing it, the woman shifted her weight from one foot to the other several times while the muscles in her upper arm twitched impatiently, a subconscious demand for physical and emotional release.
He remembered Jarod's plea to ease his mother's fears; but, for the life of him, Sydney had no idea how to accomplish the feat. It was obvious, to him, that Margaret was carrying an excess of anxiousness and fear.
"Where is Catherine's daughter now?"
"Miss Parker is with Jarod," he told her, adding, "He's in good hands but, not knowing how you are is taking its toll."
For the first time, Margaret lowered her head and Sydney saw her shoulders slump forward slightly. After a moment, she shook her head, took a deep breath and faced him.
"I don't want him worrying about me," she said.
Sydney smiled softly. "He said the exact same thing about you, not more than fifteen minutes ago."
Returning the smile, Margaret let it fade quickly and moved to the bed. When she was situated on the edge of the mattress, she asked, "When can I see him?"
"I was told someone would come for you at seven," Sydney replied. "We have about forty minutes."
"We?" she repeated. "Were you planning on staying with me until they arrive?"
"With your permission."
Stiffening, she narrowed her eyes and asked, "Why are you here, Sydney? What do you want from me?"
"I don't want anything from you."
She looked at him suspiciously, cocking her head to one side as she considered his offer. "I repeat, why are you here?"
"I thought I might be able to tell you about Jarod."
======================================================================
She watched the door closely, the muscles in her neck and back getting tighter with each passing moment. Flashes of him laying unconscious on the floor came to her in regular intervals, but it was a soft, calming voice at the back of her mind that told her to stay put. He needed the chance to review everything that had happened, everything that had brought them to this point, and he needed time to formulate his part of the escape plan; but, more than anything, Jarod needed his privacy to consider her actions.
Suddenly, they were no longer huntress and prey; they were no longer estranged childhood friends; they were something else - something she could not label. Though she had only meant to help, by stepping into the shower with him, she had crossed a line she had temporarily forgotten existed. As a result, she had blurred the boundaries of their relationship forever.
Jarod stepped out of the bathroom, pushing the wheelchair with one hand while the other buttoned the flap over his breast pocket. Though his balance did not seem dependent on the chair, she stood and moved toward him. Immediately, the man shook his head and held out a hand, stopping her only a few feet from where she began.
"I can manage," he said.
"Just don't over do it," she warned when he stopped in front of her, "It's going to be a long night."
He nodded and took a step back. Lowering his eyes, he concentrated on fastening the last three buttons on his shirt then adjusted the white T-shirt beneath it, pushing the hem into the loose fitting waistband.
"I don't suppose there's a belt laying around somewhere."
"Sorry. At least they're the right length," she offered, running her eyes over him. "How are the shoes?"
"Victor's clothes aren't exactly a perfect fit, but they'll do until I can get my own," he said, rolling up the sleeves that were a little too short. Lowering himself to one knee, he double knotted the Nike's he'd been loaned and slowly stood. Reaching into the seat of the chair, Jarod lifted a small leather pouch and held it out to her. "This is not his shaving kit, though, is it?"
"Is that a problem?"
"Everything inside is mine. Where did you get it?"
"Exactly where you left it," she answered, cocking her head to the side.
He said nothing as she moved to the closet and opened the door. Though he thought he knew what she would reveal, his eyes widened in surprise at the sight of his small leather bag perched on top of the vinyl case that held his mother's belongings. He remembered the police returning both pieces to him, in the hospital, shortly before Parker arrived and told him about seeing his mother. He remembered the long conversation he had with his friend, and the plans they'd made to rescue his mother; but, when he woke up the next morning, Sweepers were standing guard at his door, Parker was no longer treating him like his friend and the bags were gone.
"I don't understand," he admitted. "If you took these from my room, the sweepers would have reported it. Cox . . Alex . . they would have wanted to go through . ." he stopped short, staring at the smile that emerged on her face. "The sweepers didn't know?"
"I put them in my car, before the sweepers arrived at the hospital and had Victor lug them up the stairs, when we got here. He thinks they're my bags," she told him, placing both pieces on the bench at the foot of the bed. His gaze slipped from her to the bags and then back again, shaking his head slightly in confusion.
"I thought you might want them and figured they were safer with me," she shrugged, moving away as he approached, "I couldn't leave them in my car, because we won't be using it again."
"I know the plan," he snapped, adding, "I just don't know why you're going out of your way to help me."
"Does it really matter?"
He frowned at her, then turned toward the items on the bench. Slowly unzipping the vinyl bag, Jarod pulled out the book he'd tried to dry over the hospital vents and absently flipped through the ink-smeared pages. Sliding his hand back into the bag, he recovered the birthstone ring and stared at the still mud-caked setting for a moment.
"Don't get me wrong, Parker, I'm very grateful for everything you've done; but, if Cox and Alex even suspected you were keeping these things from them . . ." he let his voice fade, then faced her, "Does Sydney know the risks you're taking?"
When she didn't reply, Jarod shook his head and, in a soft but reprimanding voice, said, "Parker, I won't let you . ."
Moving in front of him, she angrily closed each of the bags and slid them in the closet. "You don't get a say in what I do or do not do, is that clear?"
When she faced him again, Jarod's eyes were still trained on her, but they had taken on an edge they hadn't had before. The two stood in silence, his dark, brooding orbs holding her sharp, daring gaze until they were startled by a knock at the door. Simultaneously, Alex's voice boomed through the wood that it was time to go and, with an exasperated sigh, she stepped behind Jarod and gently guided him into the chair.
"I will worry about Sydney, Cox and Alex. All you need to do, Jarod, is worry about yourself and your mother."
"And who is going to worry about you?" he murmured when she moved in front of him to open the door.
=======================================================================
As the door swung inward, Alex stepped into the doorway with Victor standing close behind.
"Get out of the way," Parker demanded.
"Now, now," he grinned, circling the wheelchair, "what's your hurry? Jarod and I have a lot of catching up to do and, well, to be honest, his mother isn't going anywhere."
"Where is she?" Jarod demanded.
"She's safe."
"I want to see her."
"I know you do," he taunted, "In fact, you want your entire family together, don't you? The last time we met, I told you that the Centre would never allow that to happen, Jarod, and I meant it."
Jarod's eyes widened and his hands gripped the arms of the wheelchair; but, before he could make a move, Miss Parker was standing between him and Alex. Positioned only inches in front of him, she crossed her arms and dared, "So help me, Alex, if you and Cox are welching on the agreement . ."
"Relax," he grinned, pointing to a room two doors down, "she's in there."
Taking a step back, when Jarod pushed his way forward, Alex let his eyes wander from the woman to Jarod and shook his head. "I just wouldn't want Jarod to come away from this one little visit with the wrong idea," he called after them in a dark voice, "When this is over, his world is going to revolve around the Centre and he will never see his mother again."
=======================================================================
He stopped just outside the door. The guard reached for the knob but Jarod put his hand on top of hers, stopping the motion.
"Your mother is waiting," the woman said, not bothering to hide her confusion. "I thought you wanted to see her."
"I do," he nodded. Pulling his hand back, Jarod reached down and set the brake on the wheel chair. "But not like this."
"Jarod, I don't think this is such a good idea," Miss Parker protested.
"I will not let her see me in this chair," he insisted, "I will not add to her worries."
The guard glanced at her partner, then at Miss Parker for direction. With a scowl on her face, the brunette nodded. "Let him do what he wants."
"Well, now, isn't that special?" Victor muttered, "If that's not proof that the inmates are running the asylum . ."
"He can't go far on foot, so this arrangement should actually help keep an eye on him," Miss Parker said, ignoring Victor and directing her comments to the woman, "Besides, I've found that arguing with him does little good when he's got his mind made up."
"It only took six years," Jarod muttered.
Raising an eyebrow, she stared at him and continued in a firm tone, "If you want to walk in, under your own steam, that's fine with me, Jarod; but, the chair stays here, just outside the door. I don't want people running around, looking for one, when you fall flat on your face."
"Your concern is overwhelming."
"And, when the visit is over," she continued, talking over his interruption, "you sit your ass in this chair and keep it there until you're back in your room. Is that understood?"
"As long as my mother doesn't see me using it, you've got a deal."
"We've got a deal, as long as I say we have a deal," she retorted. Slipping her hands around his back and arm, she helped him rise. When he was standing, and using the wall for support, she patted his chest, the flat of her hand tapping him over the pocket of his shirt. In a low voice, she said, "As long as you hold up your end of it, we won't have any trouble."
Before Jarod could respond, he was pushed forward, toward the opening door. Instinctively, he angrily pushed back at Victor, resisting the forced movement; but, as the interior of the room came into view, Jarod stopped fighting.
Except for a large table in the center of the room, holding a dinner of soup, salad and bread, and surrounded by four wooden chairs, the chamber had no furnishings. The lights were brighter than the ones in the hall and, for a moment, Jarod shielded his eyes. When he lowered his hand, his eyes immediately found the woman standing at the far window. Framed by heavy, dull, yellowing curtains, the contrast of her red hair and the animated shadows that danced behind her gave a brief image of fire; and, somehow, a warmth he could not explain.
With her arms wrapped around her waist, she turned as he entered and let her arms fall to her side. Less than a second later, Jarod found himself in his mother's embrace.
=======================================================================
"I'm a friend of Miss Parker's," he told her, "She said you might call."
Emma shook her head and continued brushing the heavy snow from her car. Her shift had only been eight hours, but had seemed much longer. The hospital beds were filled with victims of the storm who had varying degrees of injuries, each demanding her attention and, thankfully, distracting her from the short conversation she'd had at the beginning of her shift.
Though the man had seemed genuine, he had seemed nervous. When she told him that two policemen had tried to deliver a silver case they'd found at Jarod's accident sight, the man's anxiety seemed to rise. He asked for physical descriptions, mannerisms, whether or not they had produced badges and, despite the fact she remembered their names, he seemed disappointed that she had not written down their respective badge numbers.
"You didn't tell them where Jarod went, did you?"
"How could I? I haven't the faintest idea where he is. His file says he was transferred to a hospital in Delaware, but they've never heard of him."
"Oh, yeah," he sighed, "Right."
Just when she thought the conversation was over, he asked questions about the metal case. She corrected his assumption that the object was shaped like a suit case, explaining it was more like a strong box.
"You know," she prompted, "the kind of thing someone uses to protect important papers from fire and such. It had an impressive looking lock on it, if that helps."
Luckily, the car started immediately; but, as Emma sat and waited for the car to warm up, she wondered what she had gotten herself involved in and how she had managed to do it. No matter how hard she tried to convince herself that making the phone call to the nervous man was the last interaction she would have to Miss Parker, Jarod or their friends, she had a strong suspicion she would be seeing them again.
TBC