Guilty

by imagine

part 17/?

She rapped lightly on the door before opening it and, without invitation, stepping inside. Immediately, she was assaulted by the thick heat emanating from the fireplace. The smell of burning ash and the sounds of crackling wood also demanded her attention but, instead of moving toward the hearth, where he stood, she crossed to the chair beside the bed.

"I don't remember inviting you inside."

"Funny, I don't remember asking for permission."

Glaring at her over his shoulder, Jarod narrowed his eyes. "What do you want, Parker?"

"I want a lot of things," she admitted, lowering herself into the chair. "But, I'll settle for you telling me why you're in here, pouting like a spoiled child."

"I am not pouting," he said, taking another stab at the flames.

"Then, what would you call it? You got what you wanted, Jarod. Your mother agreed to follow your plan. Yet, ever since she and Sydney left, you've holed yourself up in your room."

"First of all," he replied, turning away from the fireplace, "it wasn't my plan. The idea belongs to Broots. I just helped get it into motion."

"Semantics."

"And, secondly, you know, as well as I do, that my mother only agreed because it got her one step closer to her goal."

"And, what was that?"

When he did not respond, she sighed and shook her head. "So, you're pouting because your mother had her own agenda?"

"For the last time," he snapped, "I am not pouting."

"Okay, you're brooding, then. Either way, you've managed to isolate yourself for the past six hours and, we both know that solitary confinement can be a dangerous thing for you."

"Careful," he muttered, placing the wrought iron poker against the warm brick, "someone might think you actually care."

"Would that bother you?"

Startled by the question, Jarod crossed his arms and turned his eyes toward the window. Thick gray clouds blocked the sun and, if it was still snowing, the flakes were so light he couldn't see them from where he stood. The bend in the trees, however, told him that the wind had picked up considerably. When the windowpane shook, verifying his thoughts, Jarod moved away from the fireplace and abruptly yanked at the curtains.

In the beginning, she watched his nervous movements out of a sense of curiosity. This man was one of the few people in the world that, she believed, understood her. He knew when she needed comfort, when she needed privacy and, more importantly, when she needed to hear the truth. Though Sydney claimed that Jarod's ability to read her stemmed from their close childhood friendship, and that she could do the same, it was times like this that Miss Parker had her doubts. It was obvious that something was weighing heavily on his mind but, she had no idea what it might be and no idea what to do to help him.

"Jarod, talk to me."

"Leave it alone, Parker," he said quietly.

Still standing in front of the shaded window, Jarod had a tight grip on one drapery panel and stared through the inch wide gap at the snow capped bluffs in the distance. Slowly rising from her chair, Miss Parker moved to where he stood and slipped her hand around his.

"Not a chance."

He sighed and tightened his grip on her hand.

"She's not coming back," he mumbled. "Once she has the case, and the scrolls, my mother plans on disappearing."

"You don't know that, for sure."

"Of course I do, and so do you," he frowned. "My mother believes I will be safer without her."

"And, so you took that information, simmed her and decided you were never going to see her again."

"I didn't have to run a simulation."

"But you did, didn't you?"

With a heavy sigh, Jarod nodded and moved around her. "Yes."

She crossed her arms and watched him move toward the bed. "There is always a possibility that you left out a few important facts that could change everything."

He looked at her and raised an eyebrow, then shook his head. "It's doubtful."

She waited until he sat on the edge of the mattress before returning to his side. Even with his head lowered and cradled in his hands, she knew he was watching her approach. Softly, she slid her hand to his shoulder, leaned into him and whispered, "Your mother has abandoned you once already, this week, Jarod, I have no intention of letting her do it again."

Looking up, Jarod cocked his head to one side and stared at the brunette.

"Now, let's get out of here," she said, suddenly rising from her seat and pulling at his arm. "Broots took Debbie into town. They're going to buy some supplies and stop for dinner, so they won't be back for a few more hours. So, we're on our own and I'm getting hungry."

Jarod caught her eyes then glanced toward the door. "We're alone?"

Miss Parker stepped back and, letting her hand from his, moved toward the door. Without even glancing in his direction, she asked, "Does that bother you?"

"That depends," he answered, allowing a playful tone to his voice as he followed the woman into the next room, "Are you planning on cooking?"

Deciding against the soup his mother had prepared earlier, Jarod and Miss Parker raided the refrigerator. Opting for omelets, salad and bread as their evening meal, the two began working together to prepare the food. Unfortunately, the small kitchen kept them in close proximity and, subsequently, an awkwardness they could not explain.

After a few false starts, though, they found that discussing the preparation of their dinner, helped ease their tension. Slowly, their dialogue shifted into a conversation that revolved around a time in their lives when they had been completely at ease with each other. And, by the time the eggs were done and the table was set, Miss Parker and Jarod had begun to slip back into the familiarity of their childhood.

"I saw ice cream in the freezer," he told her, grinning as he shoveled the last of his omelet into his mouth. "So, save room for desert."

"Amazing. I have never seen anyone look so happy at the thought of a food, as you do when you're talking about ice cream. Or Pez."

"Don't you remember the first time you brought a box of Cracker Jack for me and Angelo? I think it was the first time I ever saw him truly happy."

"But it took me so long to get him to try it," she complained.

"Can you blame him? He and I were raised on nutritional supplements, wheat grass and carrot juice. Carmel popcorn and peanuts was new to us."

"It never occurred to me that neither of you had ever tasted it before, so I wasn't prepared to have to convince you that it was safe to try . . ."

"The look on his face, though, when he finally found the courage to put a piece in his mouth, was priceless," he interrupted, flashing her a quick grin as he picked up the knife and began slicing a loaf of French bread. When her smile faded, though, Jarod stopped what he was doing and reached for her hand.

"Parker, it was a long time ago. Let it go."

"I thought I had," she admitted, pushing back her chair.

"It wasn't your fault. You didn't know I would have such a violent reaction," he said softly. "Neither of us knew I was allergic to nuts."

"You almost died."

"But, I didn't. In fact, if I remember correctly, you were the one who saved my life."

She shook her head and pulled her hand from his. "I didn't do anything but run."

"You ran for help," he corrected. Slipping his hand under her chin, when she turned away, Jarod brought her gaze back on him and said, "You brought Sydney. You saved my life."

Sighing heavily, Miss Parker stood and began clearing the table. When she reached for his plate, however, the Pretender rose to his full height and moved between her and the table.

"You saved my life," he repeated. Taking the plate from her, he placed it back on the table and then, gently, slid his hands to shoulders. "If it had not been for you, I would never have . . . "

"Stop."

"Not until you understand what you did that day."

Pulling away from him, Parker glared at Jarod and continued angrily, "Stop romanticizing what happened. The truth of the matter is that I goaded you into eating the Cracker Jack."

"No."

"I told you that one taste wouldn't kill you," she spat, pivoting away when he reached for her.

"Parker, please, don't do this."

"When you started to go into shock, I got scared and I ran," she hissed, facing him again. "I didn't run for help, Jarod, but I did, literally, run into Sydney."

He heard the panic in her voice and took a step toward her. Matching his movements, Miss Parker backed away. Even after he came to a stop, she continued until she was at the edge of the room.

"The fact that you survived that episode was nothing more than coincidence."

"I don't believe in coincidence."

"Then call it luck or fate or divine intervention, if you want, just don't make me out to be your hero. Sydney saved your life, Jarod, not me."

Without giving him a chance to respond, Miss Parker turned her back to him and leaned against the wall adjacent to his bedroom. He waited almost a full minute, watching her struggle to regain control of her emotions, then moved behind her. His hands came up, and hovered over her shoulders a moment, then softly dropped back to his side.

Leaning as close to her as he dared, he whispered, "I don't know why we don't remember that day the same way, Miss Parker, but, trust me, you are the reason my heart is still beating."

Something in his voice, some tone she could not identify, made her face him. His dark eyes were glistening and, though he opened his mouth to speak, Jarod suddenly changed his mind and looked away. As she stared at him, wondering how they had gone from talking about the proper way to beat an egg to an event that scarred them as children, Jarod moved closer. Before she could even think about stopping him, he passed his lips over hers. A moment later, the chaste kiss dissolved into one filled with passion and thirty years of denial.

His hands seemed to be everywhere at once. Gentle, caressing strokes became fevered and urgent while his lips and tongue traveled across her face and down her neck.

"What are you doing?" she murmured, into his mouth.

He stopped the exploration of her body long enough to grin and slide his fingers over the buttons of her shirt. "If you need me to explain," he replied, resuming the nuzzling of her neck, "I must be doing it wrong."

She arched her back as his teeth lightly scraped her earlobe. His hands slid under her shirt and, as it began to fall from her shoulders, Miss Parker shook her head and took a step backward. Holding one arm out, she kept the Pretender at bay until his dark eyes slid from her chest to her face. She could feel his heart pounding with excitement and his breaths were quick and deep. He looked at her with a mixture of confusion, frustration and bridled delight, reminding her of the expression he'd held when he realized she planned on joining him in the shower. Suddenly, any doubts she had about continuing what they had begun melted away.

"Not here," she said, "Not in the hall."

Sliding her hand into his, she took a step closer, kissed him lightly on the lips and then quickly lead him into the bedroom. The fire in the hearth threw shadows that were long and animate across the walls, but it also gave the room a warmth that no longer seemed stifling.

She released his hand and moved to the edge of the bed, letting her blouse slide from her shoulders before turning to face him. His eyes devoured her in seconds but, when he advanced toward her, Miss Parker deflected his hands and shook her head slightly.

"Not yet," she whispered.

Tugging at the sweatshirt that hid his physique, Miss Parker lowered her head and ran a trail of slow, wet kisses in the wake of the retreating fabric. When her teeth gently scratched his belly button, Jarod inhaled sharply. When her lips gently crossed the bruises on his ribs, he pushed his fingers through her hair. And, when her tongue danced playfully over his left nipple, Jarod yanked the sweatshirt over his head and scooped her into his arms.

"Now," he growled, laying her in the middle of the sleigh bed.

"Now," she smiled.

"Are you sure you know where you're going?"

"Yes, Sir," he sighed.

"And how is it you are so sure we will find them there? They could be anywhere."

"I told Mr. Cox . . ."

"I don't care what you told Mr. Cox. Tell me."

Biting back the response that he knew Mr. Cox had shared the information with his associate, Victor flipped on the windshield wipers and glanced at the man in the passenger seat. When Alex repeated his demand, the guard turned his attention back on the road.

"This area has a large percentage of absentee landlords, people who use their homes only a few times a year as a vacation home. In the off-season, an acquaintance of mine manages several of these properties, on behalf of their owners," Victor explained, as lightening flashed across the sky. "Considering the weather and Jarod's condition when he left the safe-house, I thought it was doubtful that he could have gone very far that night. So, I contacted my friend on the off-chance that someone might have tried to rent one of the properties at the last minute."

"And, coincidentally, Jarod and his entourage contacted your friend for a place to stay?" he asked, skeptically.

"No. But my friend did some checking and one of the other realtors in the area told him about a man who rented from him the night before the escape. I did some checking and the description matches an associate of Miss Parker's. A gentleman named Mr. Broots."

"We've been on the road for almost three hours," Alex complained, "How much further is this place, Victor?"

Sighing, the sweeper gripped the wheel of the car tighter and answered, "Another forty minutes, give or take a few minutes."

TBC

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