Disclaimers in part 1

Guilty

by imagine

Part 14/?

She stared at him, then dropped her eyes to his mother. Huddled in Jarod's arms, Margaret was readily accepting the protection her son offered and, unable to stomach the scene, Miss Parker spun on her heel. The Pretender called after her in a deep, irritated voice, as she grabbed the bright yellow jacket from the hook by the door, but she refused to acknowledge him. When he yelled her name a second time, she swung the door open, stepped through it, then slammed it so hard the inlaid glass shook.

Damn him.

She took the porch steps in rapid succession and headed down the freshly shoveled path. Forcing her arms into the jacket as she moved, she let the garment hang open and buried her hands in the pockets. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Broots and Debbie emerge from the rented SUV. They waved but she was still too angry with Jarod to respond. With only a glance in their direction, she moved away from the confused tech and his daughter and cut across the property with long, purposeful strides.

Preoccupied with the words she and Jarod had exchanged inside the house, she barely noticed the snow was almost knee-high in places or that the cold wind was causing her eyes to tear. Instead, she saw the tension in his face and the protective way he his arms draped across his mother's shoulders.

"No, I did not know Jarod was on Carthis. If I had, I would never have left him."

"And, yet, after the accident, you left him on the river bank, unconscious and . . ."

"Parker, that's enough!"

It wasn't nearly enough and she'd told him so. His mother had information about the scrolls, information Cox and Alex wanted very badly. If they had any chance of protecting themselves, they needed to know what she knew.

He told her she was pushing too hard, warned her to back off, and then tightened his hold on his mother.

"She's my mother, Parker."

"For the last seven years, you have been searching for the truth about your past - about my past. You know she has the answers. Why won't you ask them? Why won't you let me ask them? She left you, Jarod. You don't owe her anything. She owes you."

She saw Margaret shift in Jarod's arms but, still, the woman said nothing in her defense.

"My mother left me because she had to, not because she wanted to," he growled, "If it hadn't been for her, I would be in the Renewal Wing right now."

The words propelled her back a few steps and caused her to inhale sharply, but Miss Parker's voice was suddenly calm, "Do you really believe that?"

The Pretender flinched and dropped his eyes. In a voice so soft, she barely heard him, Jarod replied, "She's my mother."

After almost ten minutes, her pace slowed and, angrily tugging on the zipper, she finally closed the jacket. Leaning against a large rock, she folded her arms across her chest and dropped her mouth below the collar of the jacket, warming each breath before it entered her lungs.

She understood that Jarod did not trust her unconditionally and the fact did not bother her; after all, it was mutual. Their past was littered with so many acts of sympathy, cruelty and, worse, indifference, that the probability of either of them ever feeling secure in their relationship - or any other - was slim. It was the fact that he put his faith in a woman he barely knew, so easily, that bothered Miss Parker.

As she stared through the trees at the bluffs in the distance, Miss Parker took deep, cleansing breaths. Suddenly, her mind flashed the image of his body, still sheathed in a thin hospital blanket, racked with terror. She shuddered at the memory, hugging herself when she recalled how he'd felt in her arms, semiconscious and trembling uncontrollably. After suffering at the hands of demons only he could identify, Jarod had accepted the comfort she offered without question. Minutes later, he was sleeping peacefully.

"You're good for him."

Emma's voice came back to her and Miss Parker shook her head. The nurse had no way of knowing the history she and Jarod shared, no way of knowing how quickly their relationship could change from allies, to adversaries. All Emma saw was a moment in their lives, a rare moment where both their defenses were down. What Emma witnessed had meant nothing.

Raising her face to the wind, Miss Parker sucked in a deep, icy breath, and closed her eyes. She remembered the heat emanating from his body when he leaned forward to kiss her on Carthis. Opening her eyes, she brought her thoughts to the present and dismissed the memory. She told herself there had been no heat; it had been the fire in the hearth behind them that had made the room feel warm. Almost immediately, she recalled the sensation of his heartbeat beneath her fingers and the sound of his breaths mingling with the spray of the shower. She felt the warmth of his body against hers as he leaned into her touch . . .

Damn him to hell.

He dropped the blanket that hung around his shoulders and moved toward the door before the inlaid glass stopped vibrating. Though he was still angry at her for her treatment of his mother, Miss Parker's abrupt departure sparked something else. Suddenly, the thought she might not return invaded his mind and Jarod felt an overwhelming desire to prevent that scenario from happening.

His mother's hand on his arm stopped Jarod only a few steps from the door. Quietly, she moved between him and the exit, blocking his path. He opened his mouth to speak but, when the woman shook her head, Jarod fell silent.

"Jarod, please, don't go after her. You have to stay here."

"I have to talk to her," he said, his eyes darting between his mother and the window that showed him the retreating image of Miss Parker, "I have to explain."

"She'll be back. You can talk to her then," Margaret replied, "Right now, you need to sit and relax."

"But . . . "

"Jarod, it's cold outside and your body has already been through a lot, in a very short time. Look at you, you're shivering. You probably have a fever."

Picking up the discarded blanket as they passed it, she slowly herded her son to the kitchen and motioned toward an available chair. Obediently, Jarod followed her direction, and lowered himself into the seat but, when she made an attempt to check his temperature, Jarod gently pushed away her hand.

"I'm fine."

She scowled at him and crossed her arms.

"You are not fine and should be in bed. I will not allow you to jeopardize your health, because of that woman."

"Mom, that woman has done nothing but help us," he hissed. Brushing away the blanket as she slid it over his lap, he continued, "She has made herself an enemy of the Centre, a place her family built, because she helped me and because she saved your life. That woman deserves much better than the way we - than I - have treated her."

"You can talk to her later, when she returns."

"We will both talk to her," he corrected, using a firm tone. "She deserves answers, Mom; so do I."

When Margaret stiffened and turned toward the stove, Jarod sighed dejectedly. He called out for her to come sit with him, but Margaret did not respond. Instead of calling out a second time, Jarod rose from the chair, intent on following his mother and forcing a conversation he told himself was overdue.

When the door suddenly swung open and a cold breeze washed over him, however, Jarod forgot about his mother. Expectantly, he turned, with the brunette's name on his lips, only to see the young girl step over the threshold.

Debbie looked at him, quietly taking in the defeated way he sat back down before carefully closing the door. "Is something wrong?"

Shaking his head, he forced a smile. "No. Everything is fine."

When she glanced behind him, Jarod followed her gaze. Finding that his mother had returned to chopping vegetables and had her back to them, he sighed and looked back at the girl. She gave him a small, shy smile, shrugged and then turned to hang up her coat.

"We saw Miss Parker outside," the girl said. "She seemed to be in a hurry but Dad said there was something he needed to talk to Miss Parker about."

Jarod frowned. "Did your father say what he needed to discuss with Miss Parker?"

The girl shook her head. "No, but he said he would be back in a few minutes."

"I am sure that Broots, or Miss Parker, will share their conversation with us, if they feel the need."

Shifting in his chair, Jarod turned toward the voice and nodded at his mentor as the man descended the staircase. He appeared tired, Jarod thought, then quickly dismissed the urge to ask about the man's health. He knew Sydney well enough to know that he would attribute his slow movements to age. So, for now, Jarod decided to accept the explanation, even though it had actually never been spoken.

"Good morning, Sydney," he said. Then, with a smile, he added, "Or, is it 'Slugger' now? I heard you brought Cox down with one punch last night. I'm sorry I missed it."

"I'm not," the older man replied with a scowl, "You would have managed to get yourself into even more trouble."

"Probably. But, admit it, bringing Cox down was a good feeling, wasn't it?" the Pretender coaxed.

"As a matter of fact, it hurt," the man replied sternly, "My hand will probably never be the same."

Jarod stared at the man, his eyes twinkling with amusement as his mentor crossed to the table. He let the silence hang between them and playfully refused to avert his stare. Sydney met his gaze and released an exasperated sigh when Jarod raised an eyebrow and tilted his head to the right.

Quickly returning the younger man's grin, the psychiatrist finally answered, "All right, yes, it felt wonderful."

Before putting her plan to transfer Jarod from the hospital to the Centre safe house into motion, Miss Parker had given Broots two assignments. The first was to find them a place to hide when it was over, and the second was to make himself available in case Emma called to report anyone looking for Jarod. Regardless of the fact that it had been less than eighteen hours since Miss Parker, Jarod, Margaret and Sydney had escaped the Centre safe house or that his boss seemed preoccupied, Broots felt it was he gave his report.

When he was about thirty yards behind her, Miss Parker pushed back the hood of her jacket and turned toward him. When their eyes met, he came to a standstill, allowing her to close the distance between them. She moved quickly and, though the hood was again blocking her peripheral vision, he knew she was aware of where he was standing.

"What are you doing out here?"

"I thought we should talk," he answered, falling into step beside her.

Taking a deep breath, Miss Parker nodded and kept moving toward the house. She did not ask what he wanted to discuss nor did she tell him to get on with it. In fact, her lack of response made Broots wonder what she was thinking about. Suddenly, he realized that she was no longer walking at the energetic and determined clip that was her norm.

"Is now a good time?"

"It's as good of a time as any."

Frowning, the tech reached into his pocket and pulled out a small cellular phone. He held it out to her as they walked but Miss Parker came to a complete stop before she took it from him.

"Did she call?"

"Yes."

"How long ago?"

"Early yesterday."

Sliding the phone into her pocket, Miss Parker brought her hand to her eyes and released a heavy sigh that he would have sworn masked an obscenity. When her lungs were empty, she inhaled deeply and simultaneously ran her fingers through her hair.

"We need to move," she said, starting toward the house. "I was hoping we would have more time but, if the Centre sent reinforcements already . . ."

"It wasn't the Centre."

"What?"

"The police came to the hospital, not the Centre."

Miss Parker stopped suddenly, staring after the man until he, too, came to a halt.

"They recovered more items from the river and wanted to return them to Jarod," he continued, answering the unasked question.

"They found the DSA case?"

He shook his head. "Judging by Emma's description, I don't think so. She said it looked like your run of the mill strong box. You know, the kind most people keep insurance papers and mortgage documents in."

"Somehow I wouldn't categorize Margaret as 'most people'. Did they tell her what was inside the box?"

He shook his head. "They don't know. The officers told Emma that, unlike the car and other items they found at the scene, the box and its lock were in tact."

After almost thirty minutes of arguing, Jarod finally allowed his mentor to examine his injuries. For a while, he sat in the chair by the fireplace, barking out instructions to his mother and Debbie as they built a fire. When his mother finally turned and told him they could manage without his help, Sydney suggested they move into his bedroom. Margaret seconded the suggestion.

"Are you and Jarod angry at each other?"

Startled by the question, Margaret looked at the girl. Pushing the hair away from her face, she furrowed her brows and asked, "Angry? Why would you think we were angry?"

Debbie shrugged and twisted so she could see the door to Jarod's room, then looked up at the woman.

"You haven't said much to each other and, well . . ." she shot another glance at the closed door and finished, ". . . you both look sad."

"Do we?"

"A little," Debbie answered. She hesitated, watching the woman as she stared at her son's room, then asked, "My Dad told me you and Jarod haven't seen each other since Jarod was four."

Releasing a shuddered breath, Margaret nodded and knelt beside the girl. "That's right. What else did your father tell you?"

"Not much."

"Did he tell you how Jarod and I were separated?"

"He said Jarod was stolen and that he found you last week."

Suddenly self-conscious, the girl nodded and turned her attention back on the fireplace. She stretched inside and rearranged the logs to the specifications Jarod had given them, then sat back on her knees. "Do you think it will work now?"

"I think so," she said, shooting a quick glance at the girl's work. "Did your father tell you who took Jarod away from me?"

"I didn't ask."

"Why not?"

Confidently meeting the woman's gaze, Debbie replied, "My father thinks it isn't safe for me to know things about his work, so I don't put him that position."

"So, is it that you don't know, or that you pretend it doesn't matter?"

Debbie stood and pulled the box of fireplace matches from the mantle and handed them to the woman. "Do you want to do the honors, or should I?"

Margaret smiled slightly and took the matches. "You're a smart girl."

"I don't know about that," she admitted, watching the woman light the fire, "but I do know that if I didn't see my mother for most of my life, I would want to know why."

"Jarod knows why."

"Did you tell him?"

Startled, Margaret looked from the small flame. "Well, no but . . . "

"Then how does he know?"

By the time Miss Parker and Broots returned to the house, Sydney and Debbie were sitting in the kitchen, each with a cup of hot tea in their hands. Between them, on the table, was a small pile of playing cards laying face up.

"I win, again," Debbie announced. "That's two out of three, Sydney. Do you want to go for the best out of five?"

"Maybe later," he told the girl, shooting a worried glance at Miss Parker.

With her jacket still on, the woman did a quick superficial search of the rooms she passed through. When she got to the bedrooms, she faced Sydney and pointed to the closed doors. "Are they in there?"

"Yes, but . . ."

"Good."

"Miss Parker, wait," Sydney called. Rising from the chair, he moved to where she stood and laid his hand over hers as it reached for the doorknob. "Now is not a good time. Jarod is in there with his mother."

"Even better."

"Miss Parker, please. They've only been in there a few minutes. Give them some time."

"Time? Sydney, we don't have time. By now, Alex and Cox have contacted the Centre and told them what happened last night. Do you have any idea what that means?"

"Yes. Of course I do," he replied tersely.

"It means that you and I and Broots are on the Most Wanted list," she snapped. As soon as the words were spoken, though, Miss Parker winced. Her eyes fell on Debbie, then traveled to Broots as the man released a solemn sigh.

"It's all right, Miss Parker," Debbie said, breaking the silence. Facing her father, she continued softly, "I know what's happening. I've known, for a long time."

"How?" Broots asked. "How could you possibly have known?"

"You're a great Dad but a horrible liar." When he blushed, Debbie gave her father a quick peck on the cheek and smiled. "Do you remember that day Miss Parker picked me up from school? She said you were working late and brought me to her house. Sam stayed with me until you got home."

When Debbie saw her father trade an uneasy look with Miss Parker, she took his hand. "It was about a week before my birthday."

"I remember."

"Well, at the time, I took everything at face value. I accepted the stories you all told me, without question," she said. "It wasn't until after we got back from our trip to Paris that I started to wonder about things. For instance, why did Miss Parker pick me up instead of my God mother? Why didn't you call? You always call when you work late, just to make sure I got home safe. What caused the nightmares you had?"

"You never asked me any of those questions. I didn't even know you knew about the nightmares."

"I thought about it, but I was afraid you might tell me I was imagining things or send me to live with my Godmother," she admitted. Then, before her father could protest, Debbie continued, "Besides, the more I thought, the more I started to question things. Like all the times I asked you about your job."

"I never lied to you about my job."

"Whenever I asked you what you did at the Centre, you told me your job was boring and would quickly change the subject. If I pushed the issue, you told me you did research and collected data for Miss Parker."

"Well, I do."

She let out a small laugh and shook her head. "You do much more than that, Dad. You're a Senior Systems Technician at the Centre and, since 1996, you and Sydney have been assigned to the Pretender Project, reporting directly to Miss Parker. Your responsibilities vary but, for the most part you are responsible for keeping the Centre mainframe secure and for collecting information about Jarod."

"Debbie, what do you know about the Pretender Project?" Miss Parker asked, moving toward the girl. "What do you know about Jarod?"

"More than I want to," she answered sadly.

"And, exactly how did you find all this out?" Broots asked, purposely preventing Miss Parker from asking another question.

She shrugged and looked at her father with wide, innocent eyes. "My lap top."

"What? That's impossible."

"It was hart but, not impossible. It took me a little more than two years to finally gain access."

"Two years? The Centre archives have firewalls and passwords that are changed on a monthly basis and . . ."

"I'm your daughter," she grinned.

TBC

Note: I know this is a long time coming. Thanks to all of you who have sent emails asking for an update. I'm sorry this is not as long as I was hoping it would be but my muse just won't cooperate with this story lately. In any case - thanks for reading! Lisa