Disclaimer in part 1
Guilty
by imagine
Part 12/?
Keeping his back against the wall, Jarod retreated a few steps, stopping when his foot hit the large maple bookshelf. Taking a deep breath, he let his eyes dart quickly around the room, assuring himself that the window on the opposite wall did not reflect his image to those in the hall. The door to the closet was still open and the bags it once hid were now stacked unevenly against the wall. He glanced at the entrance to the room, then back at the closet, unable to decide if it was visible from the hall. If things went wrong, he did not want the bags to be questioned, he did not want Parker's good deed to be punished.
Sighing, he decided there was nothing he could do about the bags and let his eyes travel to the four poster bed that sat directly across from him. He attributed the thick, dark wood frame and ornate carvings to the fact that the bed seemed larger, more regal than a Queen sized bed. The comforter was deep red, trimmed in satin with delicate floral stitching along the edges and in the center, and the over stuffed pillows were covered with matching shams. He could see the indentation he'd made, when he and his mother sat at the edge of the bed. The glass of water she'd brought him was still on the night table, and, for a moment, her concerned gaze flashed before his eyes. It was a look he'd imagined seeing, thousands of times, as a child; now that it was real, he was willing to do anything not to see it again. He did not want her worrying about him.
Shaking his head, he refused to acknowledge that the gun he clutched felt heavier than it should, or that his heart was still racing and dropped his eyes to the slowly opening door. He calculated the percentages of which of the Centre operatives would be the first to enter while motioning for his mother to move further away from the door. There was definite fear and hesitancy in her eyes, but she did as he wanted and moved into the hall that led to the bathroom.
Suddenly, the door swung open, slamming against its hinges and swinging back only a few centimeters before coming to a stop. Though the action had meant to startle, it had not been unexpected. Jarod saw his mother take a step toward the swaying door, felt his hand tighten around the butt of the automatic and, in the same split second, lunged forward. Grabbing the newcomer by the collar, he pulled him inside and held him against the wall.
"Hello, Alex," he growled. Using his body to hold the man in place, he pounded Alex's gun wielding hand against the frame of a Monet print while pushing the muzzle of his own gun against the man's throat.
Alex responded with a slow, sinister grin that was barely complete before he plunged a fist into Jarod's side. Unprepared for the blow, the Pretender grunted and his stance shifted just enough to let the gun slip from its mark. His opponent took full advantage. With a wide sweep of his hand, Alex struck Jarod in the mouth, forcing the man back just far enough to enable him to slide away from the wall.
"You should have taken Mommy and left, when you had the chance."
"That's not something you need to worry about," Jarod replied, wiping his lip with the back of his hand, "We will be leaving very soon."
"She's not worth it, you know," he taunted, taking a few steps to his right.
Jarod's eyes narrowed, but he said nothing.
"She's not worth the risk you're taking, the risk you're making your mother take. After all this time, you've defied the Centre and managed to find your mother. Is doing what you're doing really worth losing her again?" As he continued, Alex's voice became more threatening, "You can either have the world that includes your mother, or the one that includes Miss Parker. If you try to combine them, both will collapse and I will see to it that it happens in the most painful way possible."
With his shoulders low and every muscle in his back and arms tight, Jarod bulldozed into Alex and easily brought the man to the floor. His attack was so quick, so fueled by adrenaline, that neither realized what was happening until the Pretender's fist made contact with the other man's jaw. When Alex regained his senses, after the second blow, he rolled to the side, knocking his attacker off balance and kicking him just below the ribs. The pretender let out a small, guttural sound but refused to stay down.
Once on their feet, the men breathlessly continued the battle, each refusing to allow the other to recover either of the guns that had spun across the floor. Their groans and gasps punctuated the sound of their bodies being slammed against walls and furniture with unnatural force. Paintings that decorated the wall became weapons, floor lamps became missiles and drapery accents became tools of strangulation. When they stumbled into the bookshelf, Alex felt it rock on its base. Dodging Jarod's fist, he grabbed the nearest posts of the wooden structure and, using its instability to his advantage, tipped the shelves forward, toward the Pretender.
Heavy granite and iron bookends slid from the shelves, followed by dozens of thick hard covered volumes and a pair of crystal vases. Mercifully, only a few of the items glanced off Jarod's shoulder and back on their way to the floor; but when the heavy unit finally came away from the wall, his mother screamed.
--------------------
Pushing her way past Alex, she rushed to where Jarod was lying, dazed and moaning softly, under the shelving unit. Tipped forward, the rack angled from the wall to the four poster bed and the items it once held were scattered and splintered across the floor. Had the bed been a few inches in either direction, Jarod would have been crushed by the weight of the frame; instead, it laid around him, caging him like an animal, between the wall and the bed.
Alex ignored her and moved to the corner and retrieved one of the guns lost during the battle. Slipping it into the waistband of his pants, unearthed the second firearm from beside the closet door. After a quick glance toward where Jarod and his mother were huddled together, he turned and disappeared into the bathroom. When he emerged a few minutes later, strips of a towel were acting as a bandage around his left hand. The blood that had been trickling from his forehead, into his eyes, was gone and his face was damp.
Crossing the room, he let his right arm hang at his side, but tightened his grip on the gun he held. Wiping his eyes with the toweled hand, he looked down at Margaret and waved the gun at her.
"Get up," he demanded.
Reluctantly, the woman did as she was ordered, leaving her semi-conscious son on the floor.
Wrapping his bandaged hand around her arm, he dragged the woman back a few steps, forcing her to view Jarod's injuries from a distance. Blood dripped down the side of his face, his lip was swollen and, bruises had already started to form around his neck.
"Look at what you did," he hissed, "Look at what you did to your son."
Her eyes still trained on Jarod, she shook her head. "No. I . ."
"I told you I would kill him in front of you, if I had to; but you didn't believe me," he spat. Tightening his grip on her arm, he raised the gun and added, "You are responsible, Margaret. All you had to do was tell us what we wanted to know. All you had to do was tell us where the scrolls were."
"No. I don't .."
"Let her go."
Alex stiffened at the voice, then slowly looked over his shoulder at the brunette standing behind him. With her gun drawn and pointed directly at his head, she looked determined, angry and as dangerous as he knew she could be.
"I don't like repeating myself, Alex," she warned, "Now, let her go."
Letting his hand slide from the older woman's arm, he released Margaret. Peripherally, he saw her scurry back to Jarod, but kept his attention on the other woman, fascinated by the flame he saw in her eyes and the fire sizzling just beneath the surface.
"Now drop the gun."
He looked at the automatic in his hand and then looked back at the woman. "And if I don't?"
She responded by removing the safety on her gun. "Don't delude yourself into thinking I won't pull the trigger, Alex. You've given me more than enough reason."
After glancing over his shoulder at Margaret, as she moved the floor lamp that blocked her son's path from beneath the shelving unit, Alex turned back with a look of mock confusion. "So, are you referring to what I did to Jarod, here, or to what I told you about your father? Which one is reason enough to pull that trigger, Miss Parker?"
--------------------
Wiping his face with her hand, Margaret leaned down and kissed Jarod on the forehead when his eyes fluttered open. He forced a smile she knew was meant to reassure her, then winced in pain when he tried to move.
"I'm all right," he whispered, squeezing her hand.
Shaking her head, she wiped the tears from her face and argued, "No, you're not; and the next time you say that to me, you had better not be exaggerating. I'm your mother, Jarod, I'm not stupid."
He dropped his eyes, accepting the chastising without comment. "I don't want you to protect me from the truth," she sighed, adding softly, "It's my job to protect you."
His eyes came back to hers, but Margaret pretended not to notice the question they held. Instead, she turned away and began sliding away the debris that trapped him beneath the shelving unit. "Now, let's get you out of there."
Though her attention was centered on Jarod, as he carefully pulled himself to freedom, Margaret listened to the exchange between Miss Parker and Alex. The few words that were spoken were angry, taut and, threatening; but, if Miss Parker and Alex were both operatives of the Centre, they were both working toward the same goal - Jarod and the scrolls. They were on the same team, so to speak, yet, there was something between them that suggested otherwise.
Helping Jarod into a sitting position against the wall, she continued to listen to them. She wondered about their history, about Alex's comments regarding the younger woman's father and, most of all, she wondered what role her son had in all of it.
"At the very least, give her the benefit of the doubt."
His voice was barely a whisper, but it brought Margaret back to reality. Looking at her son, she saw a myriad of things in his face: fatigue, pain, expectation and only a trace of fear. After everything he'd been through, he had either managed to minimize his fear or hide it, she couldn't decide which. She could only imagine how badly he was hurt, now that Alex had inflicted new injuries on top of the ones received because of the accident, and she did not like what came to her mind.
When his eyes darted over her shoulder, at the standoff between Miss Parker and Alex, she saw him reach for the floor lamp that had been discarded a few feet away.
"Trust me," he said.
Taking a deep breath, Margaret nodded and laid her hand over her son's.
--------------------
"Drop the gun, Alex. I'm not going to warn you again."
Backing away, Alex leaned against the bed post and looked at the gun in his hand, turning over thoughtfully. "You and I both know you won't shoot, don't we, Miss Parker?"
Her hand tightened around the gun.
"If you shoot me, there will be a T-board hearing," he warned lightly, "and I know how much you hate those. You'll have to explain yourself, explain why you thought I was a threat and, now that Daddy isn't there to protect you . ."
"I can take care of myself," she snapped. "Shooting you would not be the worse thing to happen in my life."
"Maybe not; but, if you miss .."
"I won't."
"If you miss," he repeated more forcefully, "or don't kill me with the first shot, I will return fire."
"Not a problem."
"Isn't it? Even if it isn't in your direction?"
In a heartbeat, his eyes hardened and, though they were still trained on her, his arm sprung up at his side. His gun was pointed directly at Jarod.
"Shooting him is not a smart career move, Alex. The Centre wants him back."
"The powers that be will get over it, after all, they still have me," he shrugged. "I'm more interested in you and why you're suddenly so concerned about him. You have been chasing him, just so you could bring him back to the Centre, haven't you?"
"I not only chased him, I caught him, you moron. And, I did not do it so you could use him for target practice."
"What if I promise just to graze him?"
"You take one shot, in his direction," she warned, "and it will be your last."
"Really? Well, then, I'll make it easy for you. You have until the count of three to stop me before Mr. Wonderful gets a hole to match the one I gave him three years ago."
Margaret used the lamp to help her stand and moved obstinately in front of the gun. She felt Jarod's hand brush against the back of her sweater as she rose, trying to keep her down, but Margaret kept her eyes focused on the man with the gun.
"I won't let you do it," she told him.
Alex grinned and peered around Margaret, shaking his head as he made eye contact with Jarod. "Amazing. You have women all over just dying to protect you, don't you?"
"Leave her alone, Alex," he warned.
"Now why would I do that? I've already told you, the Centre never wanted the two of you to find each other. If I shoot her, you lose."
"If you shoot her, I'll kill you."
"Tough talk from a man who can barely stand," he laughed. Then, taking on a more menacing tone, he directed his comments to Margaret, "You can stop this, you know. All you have to do is tell me where . ."
"You are not in any position to negotiate. Drop the gun, Alex," Miss Parker demanded. "Now."
"I'm getting bored with this," he sighed, removing the safety from his gun. "I think it's time to find out who is willing to do what. One."
"Damn it, Alex . ."
"Two."
"Don't make me shoot you."
"Mom, no . ."
"Three!"
"No!"
She heard her son yell, as two gunshots rang out but Margaret was preoccupied in the vibration that ran from the base of the lamp, into her arms as Alex fell to the ground. She stared at the spot where the lamp had connected with the back of his head then backed away. Breathing heavily, she let the light fixture drop and faced Jarod's startled expression. She saw the bullethole just inches to the right of him and, suddenly, her legs buckled, bringing her to her knees at his side.
Wrapping Jarod in her arms, she looked back as Miss Parker holstered her gun and knelt at Alex's side. The man was unconscious and, though there was no open head injury, the bullet in his shoulder caused blood to spread over his shirt and down his arm; but, the woman did not seem to notice, or care. Pulling the man into a sitting position, she relieved him of both guns, a knife and a set of handcuffs, then roughly brought his arms over his head and chained them around the bed post.
-------------------
Standing, she stole a quick glance in Jarod's direction then crossed to the window. When she turned back, the Pretender was pushing himself to his feet, using his mother as a crutch. For the first time, Miss Parker saw the extent of Jarod's injuries.
"Are you all right?"
He nodded and took a few steps, trying desperately not to put all his weight on his mother's shoulders. "I will be."
"So, when I told you to take it easy, did you really think I meant to engage in hand to hand combat with Alex?"
He shot her an annoyed look then, allowing her to move under his free arm, stated, "He started it."
"What are you, twelve? You knew the plan. Couldn't you have controlled yourself for fifteen more minutes?"
"No."
"You weren't there," Margaret interjected, glaring at the brunette. "Jarod was just defending himself."
"I'm sure he was," Miss Parker replied, lowering Jarod to the bed. Then, facing the older woman, asked, "But, tell me, who threw the first punch?"
When there was no response, Miss Parker nodded and turned away. "I thought so."
Jarod waited until his mother went into the bathroom in search of medical supplies, before he shifted on the bed and faced Parker. Standing at the window, she was staring intently into the yard and, yet, he felt her eyes on him.
"We don't have much time," she said, "As soon as Cox realized you were missing, he called for backup. Sweepers should be arriving in the next hour or so to help in the search."
"What happened to Cox?" he asked, glancing at the door. "And, where's Sydney?"
"Cox is in the next room. When I left, Syd was handcuffing him to Victor," she answered, letting the curtain drop into place. "It seems Freud has a pretty good left hook. You would have been proud."
"So, he's all right?"
"He's fine. He's getting the car," she answered, facing him as Margaret reappeared with a towel, a box of bandages and a small bowl of water. She watched the woman dab at the cut on her son's forehead then headed for the door. "We don't have time for that, right now. I'm going to get the wheelchair; when I get back, we have to leave."
"Wheelchair?" Margaret repeated. Looking from the woman to her son, she asked, "What wheelchair?"
"It's all right, Mom," he said, "Parker is just being overcautious. I can . ."
"Like hell I am," she spat, from the doorway, "Your mother and I will help you down the stairs; but, from here to there, you're riding. When we get to the bottom, you're going to sit your ass on the sofa and wait for me to bring the wheelchair down. Is that understood?"
"I am perfectly capable of making it on my own two feet."
"Right," she sighed, disappearing into the hall, "you keep telling yourself that; because I'm not buying it."
"I mean it, Parker, I can do this without you," he called. Then, looking at the grin that had emerged on his mother's face, he repeated, "I can."
--------------------
Despite his intitial protests, Jarod allowed his mother and Parker to help him down the stairs and out of the house. Though he refused to admit it, he was exhausted and in pain. When he slid into the seat of the SUV, he saw the concern on his mentor's face but turned away.
Under the pretense of fastening his seat belt, he lowered his gaze and then, leaning back in the chair, kept his eyes closed until he felt his mother's hand slip in his. He rocked his head to the side, and forced a weak smile when he looked at her. Though she didn't say a word, he knew what she was thinking and that she was worried about where they were headed.
"It's going to be all right," he promised. "Trust them."
TBC
Guilty
by imagine
Part 12/?
Keeping his back against the wall, Jarod retreated a few steps, stopping when his foot hit the large maple bookshelf. Taking a deep breath, he let his eyes dart quickly around the room, assuring himself that the window on the opposite wall did not reflect his image to those in the hall. The door to the closet was still open and the bags it once hid were now stacked unevenly against the wall. He glanced at the entrance to the room, then back at the closet, unable to decide if it was visible from the hall. If things went wrong, he did not want the bags to be questioned, he did not want Parker's good deed to be punished.
Sighing, he decided there was nothing he could do about the bags and let his eyes travel to the four poster bed that sat directly across from him. He attributed the thick, dark wood frame and ornate carvings to the fact that the bed seemed larger, more regal than a Queen sized bed. The comforter was deep red, trimmed in satin with delicate floral stitching along the edges and in the center, and the over stuffed pillows were covered with matching shams. He could see the indentation he'd made, when he and his mother sat at the edge of the bed. The glass of water she'd brought him was still on the night table, and, for a moment, her concerned gaze flashed before his eyes. It was a look he'd imagined seeing, thousands of times, as a child; now that it was real, he was willing to do anything not to see it again. He did not want her worrying about him.
Shaking his head, he refused to acknowledge that the gun he clutched felt heavier than it should, or that his heart was still racing and dropped his eyes to the slowly opening door. He calculated the percentages of which of the Centre operatives would be the first to enter while motioning for his mother to move further away from the door. There was definite fear and hesitancy in her eyes, but she did as he wanted and moved into the hall that led to the bathroom.
Suddenly, the door swung open, slamming against its hinges and swinging back only a few centimeters before coming to a stop. Though the action had meant to startle, it had not been unexpected. Jarod saw his mother take a step toward the swaying door, felt his hand tighten around the butt of the automatic and, in the same split second, lunged forward. Grabbing the newcomer by the collar, he pulled him inside and held him against the wall.
"Hello, Alex," he growled. Using his body to hold the man in place, he pounded Alex's gun wielding hand against the frame of a Monet print while pushing the muzzle of his own gun against the man's throat.
Alex responded with a slow, sinister grin that was barely complete before he plunged a fist into Jarod's side. Unprepared for the blow, the Pretender grunted and his stance shifted just enough to let the gun slip from its mark. His opponent took full advantage. With a wide sweep of his hand, Alex struck Jarod in the mouth, forcing the man back just far enough to enable him to slide away from the wall.
"You should have taken Mommy and left, when you had the chance."
"That's not something you need to worry about," Jarod replied, wiping his lip with the back of his hand, "We will be leaving very soon."
"She's not worth it, you know," he taunted, taking a few steps to his right.
Jarod's eyes narrowed, but he said nothing.
"She's not worth the risk you're taking, the risk you're making your mother take. After all this time, you've defied the Centre and managed to find your mother. Is doing what you're doing really worth losing her again?" As he continued, Alex's voice became more threatening, "You can either have the world that includes your mother, or the one that includes Miss Parker. If you try to combine them, both will collapse and I will see to it that it happens in the most painful way possible."
With his shoulders low and every muscle in his back and arms tight, Jarod bulldozed into Alex and easily brought the man to the floor. His attack was so quick, so fueled by adrenaline, that neither realized what was happening until the Pretender's fist made contact with the other man's jaw. When Alex regained his senses, after the second blow, he rolled to the side, knocking his attacker off balance and kicking him just below the ribs. The pretender let out a small, guttural sound but refused to stay down.
Once on their feet, the men breathlessly continued the battle, each refusing to allow the other to recover either of the guns that had spun across the floor. Their groans and gasps punctuated the sound of their bodies being slammed against walls and furniture with unnatural force. Paintings that decorated the wall became weapons, floor lamps became missiles and drapery accents became tools of strangulation. When they stumbled into the bookshelf, Alex felt it rock on its base. Dodging Jarod's fist, he grabbed the nearest posts of the wooden structure and, using its instability to his advantage, tipped the shelves forward, toward the Pretender.
Heavy granite and iron bookends slid from the shelves, followed by dozens of thick hard covered volumes and a pair of crystal vases. Mercifully, only a few of the items glanced off Jarod's shoulder and back on their way to the floor; but when the heavy unit finally came away from the wall, his mother screamed.
--------------------
Pushing her way past Alex, she rushed to where Jarod was lying, dazed and moaning softly, under the shelving unit. Tipped forward, the rack angled from the wall to the four poster bed and the items it once held were scattered and splintered across the floor. Had the bed been a few inches in either direction, Jarod would have been crushed by the weight of the frame; instead, it laid around him, caging him like an animal, between the wall and the bed.
Alex ignored her and moved to the corner and retrieved one of the guns lost during the battle. Slipping it into the waistband of his pants, unearthed the second firearm from beside the closet door. After a quick glance toward where Jarod and his mother were huddled together, he turned and disappeared into the bathroom. When he emerged a few minutes later, strips of a towel were acting as a bandage around his left hand. The blood that had been trickling from his forehead, into his eyes, was gone and his face was damp.
Crossing the room, he let his right arm hang at his side, but tightened his grip on the gun he held. Wiping his eyes with the toweled hand, he looked down at Margaret and waved the gun at her.
"Get up," he demanded.
Reluctantly, the woman did as she was ordered, leaving her semi-conscious son on the floor.
Wrapping his bandaged hand around her arm, he dragged the woman back a few steps, forcing her to view Jarod's injuries from a distance. Blood dripped down the side of his face, his lip was swollen and, bruises had already started to form around his neck.
"Look at what you did," he hissed, "Look at what you did to your son."
Her eyes still trained on Jarod, she shook her head. "No. I . ."
"I told you I would kill him in front of you, if I had to; but you didn't believe me," he spat. Tightening his grip on her arm, he raised the gun and added, "You are responsible, Margaret. All you had to do was tell us what we wanted to know. All you had to do was tell us where the scrolls were."
"No. I don't .."
"Let her go."
Alex stiffened at the voice, then slowly looked over his shoulder at the brunette standing behind him. With her gun drawn and pointed directly at his head, she looked determined, angry and as dangerous as he knew she could be.
"I don't like repeating myself, Alex," she warned, "Now, let her go."
Letting his hand slide from the older woman's arm, he released Margaret. Peripherally, he saw her scurry back to Jarod, but kept his attention on the other woman, fascinated by the flame he saw in her eyes and the fire sizzling just beneath the surface.
"Now drop the gun."
He looked at the automatic in his hand and then looked back at the woman. "And if I don't?"
She responded by removing the safety on her gun. "Don't delude yourself into thinking I won't pull the trigger, Alex. You've given me more than enough reason."
After glancing over his shoulder at Margaret, as she moved the floor lamp that blocked her son's path from beneath the shelving unit, Alex turned back with a look of mock confusion. "So, are you referring to what I did to Jarod, here, or to what I told you about your father? Which one is reason enough to pull that trigger, Miss Parker?"
--------------------
Wiping his face with her hand, Margaret leaned down and kissed Jarod on the forehead when his eyes fluttered open. He forced a smile she knew was meant to reassure her, then winced in pain when he tried to move.
"I'm all right," he whispered, squeezing her hand.
Shaking her head, she wiped the tears from her face and argued, "No, you're not; and the next time you say that to me, you had better not be exaggerating. I'm your mother, Jarod, I'm not stupid."
He dropped his eyes, accepting the chastising without comment. "I don't want you to protect me from the truth," she sighed, adding softly, "It's my job to protect you."
His eyes came back to hers, but Margaret pretended not to notice the question they held. Instead, she turned away and began sliding away the debris that trapped him beneath the shelving unit. "Now, let's get you out of there."
Though her attention was centered on Jarod, as he carefully pulled himself to freedom, Margaret listened to the exchange between Miss Parker and Alex. The few words that were spoken were angry, taut and, threatening; but, if Miss Parker and Alex were both operatives of the Centre, they were both working toward the same goal - Jarod and the scrolls. They were on the same team, so to speak, yet, there was something between them that suggested otherwise.
Helping Jarod into a sitting position against the wall, she continued to listen to them. She wondered about their history, about Alex's comments regarding the younger woman's father and, most of all, she wondered what role her son had in all of it.
"At the very least, give her the benefit of the doubt."
His voice was barely a whisper, but it brought Margaret back to reality. Looking at her son, she saw a myriad of things in his face: fatigue, pain, expectation and only a trace of fear. After everything he'd been through, he had either managed to minimize his fear or hide it, she couldn't decide which. She could only imagine how badly he was hurt, now that Alex had inflicted new injuries on top of the ones received because of the accident, and she did not like what came to her mind.
When his eyes darted over her shoulder, at the standoff between Miss Parker and Alex, she saw him reach for the floor lamp that had been discarded a few feet away.
"Trust me," he said.
Taking a deep breath, Margaret nodded and laid her hand over her son's.
--------------------
"Drop the gun, Alex. I'm not going to warn you again."
Backing away, Alex leaned against the bed post and looked at the gun in his hand, turning over thoughtfully. "You and I both know you won't shoot, don't we, Miss Parker?"
Her hand tightened around the gun.
"If you shoot me, there will be a T-board hearing," he warned lightly, "and I know how much you hate those. You'll have to explain yourself, explain why you thought I was a threat and, now that Daddy isn't there to protect you . ."
"I can take care of myself," she snapped. "Shooting you would not be the worse thing to happen in my life."
"Maybe not; but, if you miss .."
"I won't."
"If you miss," he repeated more forcefully, "or don't kill me with the first shot, I will return fire."
"Not a problem."
"Isn't it? Even if it isn't in your direction?"
In a heartbeat, his eyes hardened and, though they were still trained on her, his arm sprung up at his side. His gun was pointed directly at Jarod.
"Shooting him is not a smart career move, Alex. The Centre wants him back."
"The powers that be will get over it, after all, they still have me," he shrugged. "I'm more interested in you and why you're suddenly so concerned about him. You have been chasing him, just so you could bring him back to the Centre, haven't you?"
"I not only chased him, I caught him, you moron. And, I did not do it so you could use him for target practice."
"What if I promise just to graze him?"
"You take one shot, in his direction," she warned, "and it will be your last."
"Really? Well, then, I'll make it easy for you. You have until the count of three to stop me before Mr. Wonderful gets a hole to match the one I gave him three years ago."
Margaret used the lamp to help her stand and moved obstinately in front of the gun. She felt Jarod's hand brush against the back of her sweater as she rose, trying to keep her down, but Margaret kept her eyes focused on the man with the gun.
"I won't let you do it," she told him.
Alex grinned and peered around Margaret, shaking his head as he made eye contact with Jarod. "Amazing. You have women all over just dying to protect you, don't you?"
"Leave her alone, Alex," he warned.
"Now why would I do that? I've already told you, the Centre never wanted the two of you to find each other. If I shoot her, you lose."
"If you shoot her, I'll kill you."
"Tough talk from a man who can barely stand," he laughed. Then, taking on a more menacing tone, he directed his comments to Margaret, "You can stop this, you know. All you have to do is tell me where . ."
"You are not in any position to negotiate. Drop the gun, Alex," Miss Parker demanded. "Now."
"I'm getting bored with this," he sighed, removing the safety from his gun. "I think it's time to find out who is willing to do what. One."
"Damn it, Alex . ."
"Two."
"Don't make me shoot you."
"Mom, no . ."
"Three!"
"No!"
She heard her son yell, as two gunshots rang out but Margaret was preoccupied in the vibration that ran from the base of the lamp, into her arms as Alex fell to the ground. She stared at the spot where the lamp had connected with the back of his head then backed away. Breathing heavily, she let the light fixture drop and faced Jarod's startled expression. She saw the bullethole just inches to the right of him and, suddenly, her legs buckled, bringing her to her knees at his side.
Wrapping Jarod in her arms, she looked back as Miss Parker holstered her gun and knelt at Alex's side. The man was unconscious and, though there was no open head injury, the bullet in his shoulder caused blood to spread over his shirt and down his arm; but, the woman did not seem to notice, or care. Pulling the man into a sitting position, she relieved him of both guns, a knife and a set of handcuffs, then roughly brought his arms over his head and chained them around the bed post.
-------------------
Standing, she stole a quick glance in Jarod's direction then crossed to the window. When she turned back, the Pretender was pushing himself to his feet, using his mother as a crutch. For the first time, Miss Parker saw the extent of Jarod's injuries.
"Are you all right?"
He nodded and took a few steps, trying desperately not to put all his weight on his mother's shoulders. "I will be."
"So, when I told you to take it easy, did you really think I meant to engage in hand to hand combat with Alex?"
He shot her an annoyed look then, allowing her to move under his free arm, stated, "He started it."
"What are you, twelve? You knew the plan. Couldn't you have controlled yourself for fifteen more minutes?"
"No."
"You weren't there," Margaret interjected, glaring at the brunette. "Jarod was just defending himself."
"I'm sure he was," Miss Parker replied, lowering Jarod to the bed. Then, facing the older woman, asked, "But, tell me, who threw the first punch?"
When there was no response, Miss Parker nodded and turned away. "I thought so."
Jarod waited until his mother went into the bathroom in search of medical supplies, before he shifted on the bed and faced Parker. Standing at the window, she was staring intently into the yard and, yet, he felt her eyes on him.
"We don't have much time," she said, "As soon as Cox realized you were missing, he called for backup. Sweepers should be arriving in the next hour or so to help in the search."
"What happened to Cox?" he asked, glancing at the door. "And, where's Sydney?"
"Cox is in the next room. When I left, Syd was handcuffing him to Victor," she answered, letting the curtain drop into place. "It seems Freud has a pretty good left hook. You would have been proud."
"So, he's all right?"
"He's fine. He's getting the car," she answered, facing him as Margaret reappeared with a towel, a box of bandages and a small bowl of water. She watched the woman dab at the cut on her son's forehead then headed for the door. "We don't have time for that, right now. I'm going to get the wheelchair; when I get back, we have to leave."
"Wheelchair?" Margaret repeated. Looking from the woman to her son, she asked, "What wheelchair?"
"It's all right, Mom," he said, "Parker is just being overcautious. I can . ."
"Like hell I am," she spat, from the doorway, "Your mother and I will help you down the stairs; but, from here to there, you're riding. When we get to the bottom, you're going to sit your ass on the sofa and wait for me to bring the wheelchair down. Is that understood?"
"I am perfectly capable of making it on my own two feet."
"Right," she sighed, disappearing into the hall, "you keep telling yourself that; because I'm not buying it."
"I mean it, Parker, I can do this without you," he called. Then, looking at the grin that had emerged on his mother's face, he repeated, "I can."
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Despite his intitial protests, Jarod allowed his mother and Parker to help him down the stairs and out of the house. Though he refused to admit it, he was exhausted and in pain. When he slid into the seat of the SUV, he saw the concern on his mentor's face but turned away.
Under the pretense of fastening his seat belt, he lowered his gaze and then, leaning back in the chair, kept his eyes closed until he felt his mother's hand slip in his. He rocked his head to the side, and forced a weak smile when he looked at her. Though she didn't say a word, he knew what she was thinking and that she was worried about where they were headed.
"It's going to be all right," he promised. "Trust them."
TBC