Note: I know it's been several months since I posted a chapter to this story. On behalf of my muse, I apologize. I also thank all of you who have been sending me emails, asking for another chapter. It was greatly appreciated (and helped get my muse off her butt!) Thanks ;-)
Disclaimer in part 1
Guilty
by imagine
Part 22?
As the house came into view, she slowed the van and stared at the structure from a distance. No puffs of smoke escaped through the chimney and the shoveled walk now glistened with ice. Other than the glow of light that came from the fixtures on the porch and garage wall, the house was dark. With the darkening sky as a backdrop and the long shadows that accompanied the setting sun, there was an aura of foreboding around the house.
Leaving the van at the edge of the road, she felt for the hunting knife she'd found earlier and slid into the cold. She moved quickly, at first, her eyes continually scanning the area in front as well as behind for signs of life or danger.
Her hand tightened around the knife and her eyes darted from side to side as she moved gingerly onto the porch. The door opened easily and, thankfully, quietly, revealing an equally silent house. Only her training prevented her from calling out for him.
Suppressing the urge to quickly cross the room, she glanced up the stairs to her bedroom. In the brief moment she considered going after the automatic she had left in the night stand, however, the sound of glass breaking, followed by a deep moan in the cellar brought her attention back to the open door.
Forgetting about the gun, she moved to the stairs. Another crash from the basement quickened her pace and tightened her hold on the knife. Descending slowly, she kept her back against the wall and her free hand on the railing in front of her, moving sideways from step to step. Soon, the wall opened in front of her and the basement came into view.
Mangled furniture, and the tarps that once covered them, took up the center of the chamber. Around them, splinters of wood, and dark shards of glass mixed to make a gruesome mosaic. The wall beneath the cracked window was smeared with blood. Broken and ripped boxes were tucked into the corners of the room while a roll of carpet was propped at an uneven angle against the stairs.
While her heart and mind screamed for her to call out for him, her instincts told her to remain silent. Stepping over an axe at the foot of the stairs, and then a broken shovel, she kicked at the tented pieces of cardboard in front of her. When they collapsed, she moved around them, lifting tarps and carefully sifting through the rubble of furniture.
She found him in the corner under the staircase. Somewhere between crouching and standing, he was holding his right arm just below the elbow and leaning heavily against the brick wall. He forced a smile but, when the cut on his lip began to bleed, he let the grin fade. When she reached for the large gash in the sleeve of his jacket, Jarod pulled away.
"You're hurt."
"It's just a flesh wound," he answered, glancing thoughtfully at the injury. Then, with a grin, he looked up at her and added, "Besides, you should see the other guy."
The moment the words were spoken, her body stiffened. Raising one eyebrow, she tightened her hand around the knife. "I'd love to. Where is he?"
"Relax," he chuckled, sliding his good hand around the one she used to hold the blade, "Alex isn't in any shape to . . ."
"Alex did this to you? I knew it! Where is he?" she hissed, turning as she spoke to look around the room. When her eyes came back to him, she demanded, "Why the hell didn't you keep your promise? You were supposed to stay put."
"I kept my promise, Parker. Alex found me. I did not go looking for him."
She stared at him, trying to determine if the Pretender was manipulating her or if, in fact, he was actually telling the truth. Suddenly, she couldn't be certain.
"So, where is he?"
Jarod nodded toward the back of the basement. "Under the boxes."
Turning, she crossed to the area he indicated, shooting Jarod a curious glance over her shoulder as she moved. Leaning heavily on the brick wall, he nodded again and used his injured hand to point to her left.
Carefully, she pulled at the remnants of broken crates that blocked her path. Underneath, she found Jarod's attacker, unconscious and laying on his side in a small puddle of water. The man was gagged and handcuffed to the base of a water pipe. His left arm, bent at an awkward angle, was trapped under the weight of his body.
"Did you break his arm?" she asked, glancing at Jarod.
"As much as I would love to take the credit, believe it, or not, he slipped," the man replied dryly. "He was too busy swinging the axe to see that the pipe was leaking. Of course, once he fell, I took full advantage."
"He came after you with an axe?"
"I had a two-by-four," Jarod shrugged. Adding pressure to the wound, he moved toward the steps, "Maybe he thought that made us evenly armed."
"What happened to his flunky? Victor."
"The last time I saw him, he was climbing out the window to search for us in the woods," he shrugged. "When I heard you coming down the stairs, I thought it might be him. Maybe he got lost."
"We can only hope," she sighed, glancing at the window.
"Or maybe he's . . ."
Jarod's words came to an abrupt halt as he stumbled and, immediately, Miss Parker was at his side. Grabbing his strong arm with one hand and pressing the other against his back, she guided the Pretender the last few feet to the stairs. "Sit down before you collapse."
When he looked up at her, she couldn't help but think he had paled. The purplish bruise forming below his eye and the blood stains on his chin seemed more pronounced. Reaching out, she gently slid her hand across his face. Lovingly, Jarod turned into the touch and allowed his lips to brush against her palm.
Before she even realized she was moving, Miss Parker sat beside the man and slid her arms around his neck. Though she could not find the strength to tell him how worried she had been, the moment she felt his arms circle her waist, she drew Jarod into a tight embrace. Even after she felt him squirm, shifting his body into a less painful position, she refused to loosen her hold.
"You were supposed to lay low," she finally murmured. "You were supposed to . . ."
"It's okay," he whispered. "I'm okay."
Victor stepped out of the woods and started toward the house, silently cursing Alex. It angered him that he was freezing his extremities, looking for Miss Parker and the Pretender, while Alex was sitting comfortably in the house. Besides, he should be the one giving orders, not Alex. If you took into consideration that the other man had only recently gone from being a Centre project to a Centre employee, Victor had seniority.
His mind, when it was not reeling with how unfair his life had become, was still trying to make sense of the disappearance of the van. There had been no signs of anyone, other than Miss Parker, being near the vehicle but he could not convince himself that the woman might have left without the Pretender.
Trudging through the high drifts, he made every effort to walk in the tracks he'd made previously while considering solutions to the problem. His gut was telling him that they were both long gone but if Jarod was as injured as Alex claimed, there was no way he could make it up the steep incline to the van.
Stopping in his tracks, halfway between the cabin and the tree line, Victor turned and stared up the hill. His eyes searched the darkening woods for some sign of life. When he found nothing, the sweeper sighed and started back toward the cabin. After only a few steps, though, he stopped again, and then turned toward the trees that shielded the house from the road, positive he had heard an engine. Though it could have been nothing more than someone passing by, his Centre training told him otherwise. Hesitantly, he continued toward the cabin, his eyes darting between the road and the building.
When his eyes dropped to the basement window he'd used as an exit, and he realized it was now shattered. Victor reached for his gun. Forgetting about the traffic he'd heard on the sparsely used road, he continued slowly toward the house.
In the stillness, murmured voices floated through the broken pane. Though he was still too far away to make out the words, there was no doubt that the tone of the conversation was soft and familiar. It took only a few more steps before he was able to identify the voices and, in that instant of recognition, Victor felt his heart beat accelerate.
Tightening his grip on the weapon, he crouched beside the window and peered at the two as they sat on the basement steps.
Her head rested against his shoulder, her arms were wrapped around his neck and, for a moment, it seemed as if the rest of the world had disappeared. She was trembling slightly, in his arms, but Jarod's lips easily found her forehead, her cheek and, finally, her mouth.
The kiss was tender and, though it began as a reassuring gesture, Miss Parker suddenly pulled abruptly away. Her eyes, wide and sharp, held his for a moment then darted around the room as she rose from the step.
"We have to go," she said, reaching for the knife, she slid her free hand under his arm. "Now."
Numerous questions came to mind, but Jarod was silent as he stood. He knew Parker well enough to know that her instincts could be trusted.
When the couple began up the steps, Victor let out a soft curse and quickly moved around the house. Though he wondered, briefly, where Alex was, the Sweeper was more focused on the career opportunity that had presented itself. Despite the knowledge of those who had failed at the attempt before him, Victor was confident that he would succeed in capturing the Centre's elusive Pretender and catapult himself into a position at the Delaware headquarters.
As he rounded the corner of the structure, he saw the van parked in the driveway. A quick hand on the hood, as he moved to the porch, told him the engine was still warm. Immediately, his mind decided that the sound he'd heard was Miss Parker's arrival at the cabin, via the van, and he smiled.
At the top of the steps, she led him to a kitchen chair and ordered him to sit. Though he obeyed, Jarod's stared at her in confusion. When she started to move away, he grabbed her hand and pulled her back to his side.
"Where are you going?"
"Upstairs," she said motioning toward the steps. "I need my gun."
"They searched the place, Parker," he said, tightening his hand around hers. "I heard them."
"Maybe they didn't find it."
He smiled and shook his head. "I'm not the only one who would think to look under your pillow, you know."
Frowning, she pulled her hand from his and started toward the stairs.
"Stay here," she ordered. "I'll be right back."
He opened his mouth but swallowed the words of protest. Shaking his head, he crossed to the foot of the steps and watched her ascent. When she disappeared into the room she had occupied, Jarod sighed and turned away. From where he stood, he had a clear view of the kitchen, living room and dining room, as well as the hall that housed the entrances to both his and his mother's rooms.
For the first time, in hours, his thoughts floated back to his mother and he found himself regretting letting her leave in pursuit of the case. Despite Sydney's promise to keep her safe, and Parker's promise she would return, Jarod had a nagging feeling that he was never going to see the woman again.
Slowly, Jarod moved across the floor and stopped in front of his mother's room and placed his hand on the door. A sense of deja vu came over him, a feeling that he was invading her privacy and, instinctively, the Pretender took a step back.
"Go on," she urged him.
Swinging to his left, he found Parker standing beside him, her hand wrapped around the butt of her automatic. She glanced down at the weapon then brought her eyes back to his, the hint of a smile gracing her lips.
"Don't gloat," he warned. "It isn't becoming."
"Yet it never stopped you," she retorted. Then, letting her smile fade, she slipped the firearm into the waistband of her jeans and nodded toward the bedroom door. "Are you going in?"
He shook his head. As he started to move away, though, Miss Parker slid her hand around his arm. When he came to a stop, he kept his eyes trained on something directly in front of him. "Leave it alone, Parker."
"Don't tell me what to do," she warned. Moving in front of him, she waited until Jarod looked at her then, softening her tone, asked, "Why won't you go inside? What are you afraid you're going to find?"
"It's just not right. The door is closed. My mother is entitled to her privacy."
"She's not here."
"Exactly."
Scowling at him, she moved to the door and twisted the knob. Pushing it open, she watched Jarod for a reaction as it slammed against the wall.
"Now the door is open," she snarled. "Stop being such a baby and go inside."
He stared at the room a moment then shook his head. "We don't have time."
"Of course we do."
"You said we had to leave."
Lifting her shirt high enough to remind him of the gun holstered in her jeans, she tilted her head to the side and smiled, "Our situation has changed."
Victor moved onto the porch and, silently, twisted the knob on the door. Afraid of being seen, he kept his body low and only allowed the door to open a few inches. He could see them standing at the edge of one of the bedrooms and felt his heart begin to pound in anticipation. The fact that Alex was nowhere in sight only added to his excitement. He was about to make a name for himself at the Centre. He was about to capture the Pretender, singlehandedly.
Reluctantly, Jarod stepped across the threshold, into the dark room. His hand slid along the wall, easily finding the light switch. The moment he flipped the switch into the "on" position, however, he wished he hadn't.
"Looks like my room wasn't the only one they searched," Parker murmured from behind.
Lowering his hand from the wall, he curled it into a fist as he stared at the mess Alex and Victor had created in his mother's room. Drawers were hanging out of their bases, the ashes from the fireplace had been spilled onto the floor, and the braided rug that had run alongside the bed was crumpled in the corner. The sliding closet door was off its hinge, revealing the fact his mother's clothes had been pulled from their hangers, and the mattress was dangling over the edge of the box spring.
"Do you think they found what they were looking for?"
Jarod shook his head and slowly moved to the edge of the bed. Crouching beside the night stand, he slid his hand under the bed.
"Did your room look like this?"
Surveying the destruction in the room, Miss Parker thought about his question then shook her head. "No, come to think of it, they didn't destroy anything."
"And they didn't take your gun. What did they take?" he asked, pulling his hand back.
Glancing toward the door, she frowned. "I don't know."
"My guess is that they weren't looking for anything specific," he said, rising to his feet. "They were waiting for us and got bored. They made the mess, in hopes my mother would see it when she returned."
"How can you be so sure?"
Moving toward her, Jarod extended his arm and opened his hand. Inside, was the ring Parker found by the river, the ring Margaret claimed she always wore.
"Because, beside the metal case - which they knew she did not have in her possession - this was the most valuable thing my mother owned and they showed no interest in it."
Parker raised an eyebrow and watched as the Pretender slid the ring into his pocket. "And, yet, she left it behind."
"Yes, she left it behind," he smiled.
She watched him move to the edge of the bed and lean against the footboard, his eyes focused on the ring "Am I missing something?"
"Don't you see, Parker? She left it behind," he grinned. Glancing at the open closet, he added, "She left everything behind."
Suddenly, the brunette understood what he was telling her. Moving to where he stood, she slid her hand under his chin and raised his eyes to hers. "Is that why you were afraid of coming in here? You were afraid of finding everything gone?"
Nodding sheepishly, he looked back at the ring. "I really thought she was gone, for good, Parker."
"I told you I wouldn't let her leave."
Just as he was about to respond, there was a loud crash from the other room. Startled, Jarod rose to his full height and stepped protectively in front of the woman.
"Stay here," he murmured, slipping the ring into his pocket.
"Like hell I will," she spat. Grabbing his arm, she pulled the man back a few steps. When he glared at her, she pulled her gun from her waistband and showed it to him. "I have the gun, remember?"
Annoyed, Parker released Jarod and moved around him as a cacophony of sounds emanated from the next room. Though neither of them could make out the words, the shouts of at least two distinct voices could be heard among the sounds of breaking glass and cracking wood.
Raising her gun, she stepped through the door in time to see Victor being shoved violently against the kitchen table. The man that held him in place had a knife to the sweeper's neck and, despite the angle from which she saw him, Parker immediately recognized the man. Lowering her gun, she looked over her shoulder at the Pretender and grinned.
"I told you, I wouldn't let her leave," she repeated.
Stunned, Jarod looked at the woman, then brought his eyes back to the skirmish in the kitchen.
"Dad?"
Sydney slowly paced from one end of the living room to the other, his mind racing with possible consequences to their actions. He was more than aware that he was being watched but, despite his attempts to do so, he could not make himself relax.
"When will they arrive?" Margaret asked, doing her best to ignore the psychiatrist.
Emma glanced at her husband who, in turn, looked at his watch.
"They said they would be here by nine," he replied. "So, they should be here at any minute. But, you do realize that they're not going to just hand it over to you. They're going to need some details."
"I understand, Mike," Margaret replied. "But, you have to understand that the contents of that case are extremely important. My son's life depends on me retrieving it."
"Your family Bible is that important?" he asked. "That is what you said was inside, isn't it?"
"Among other things," she grinned. Shaking her head, she added, "I've already told you, it's safer if you don't know what else is inside."
"Safer for whom?"
"You."
Mike sat forward in his chair, his arms resting on his knees as he looked at the woman. "How so?"
Margaret smiled, but did not respond. Instead, she sipped at her tea, watching the younger man over the rim of the cup.
"Tell me, Margaret, if you don't plan on telling anyone what is inside the case, how do you plan to prove it belongs to you?"
"I am the only one who can open it."
"And, I suppose you're going to expect us to leave the room while you do so."
"Mike, that's enough," Emma chastised. Rising from the sofa, she moved the fireplace and folded her arms across her chest. "Margaret is a guest in this house, not one of your informants. Please, remember that."
"Emma, don't worry, it's fine. I am not insulted," Margaret answered, her eyes still trained on Mike. "Considering his occupation, I would guess that, even under ordinary circumstances, your husband is naturally inquisitive. The fact that a situation this far from ordinary is playing out in his house probably does nothing but add to his curiosity."
"Does that mean you're going to answer my questions?" the man asked.
"No," she answered, matching his grin. "It just means I understand why you're being so persistent."
"What are you doing here?" Jarod asked, releasing the older man from a tight hug.
"Are you complaining?"
"No, of course not. It's just . . . I thought we decided that it was safer if we kept our distance."
"Relax, Jarod," Miss Parker interjected. "Your father is here because I asked him to join us."
The Pretender's eyes widened as they darted from the brunette to the Major. Taking a step back, he shook his head, and let out a nervous laugh. "You're kidding, right?"
"Am I laughing?"
"Son, we'll explain later. Right now, we need to get out of here before our friend regains consciousness," he said, stepping over Victor's still form.
"I'll take care of Victor," Miss Parker volunteered. Pushing the unconscious man to his belly, she pulled his arms to his back. "I'll meet you outside in a few minutes."
Taking Jarod by the arm, Major Charles ushered the Pretender toward the door. "Jarod, let's go. Your brother and sister are waiting down the road and . . ."
"Wait a minute. Emily and Jake are here, too?"
Nodding, the Major pointed toward a black Suburban parked at the edge of the road. Hidden in the shadows, the vehicle was barely visible. If the occupants had not flashed the headlights as he and his father stepped into the doorway, Jarod was not sure he would have seen it.
"Someone had better tell me what's going on," he demanded. Pulling from his father's grip, Jarod faced Parker with narrowing eyes. "Why did you bring them here?"
"Jarod, we'll explain later," she breathed, pushing herself to her feet. "Just go with your father. I'm going to get Broots' lap top and . . ."
"No, you'll explain now," he growled. "I want to know why they're here, why you've taken it upon yourself to put my entire family in danger."
"Jarod, relax. It's all right," the Major promised, stepping between his son and the brunette.
"No, it's not. We've been playing tag with the Centre for weeks," he snapped. Then, facing the woman, he hissed, "Why did you bring them into this? Why did you contact them, at all? If Raines found out Jake was this close to one of the Centre safe houses, and that Emily was with him, he would do whatever was necessary to bring them in."
"Jarod, calm down."
"No, Dad, you don't understand," he growled, his eyes still trained on the crystal blue orbs of the woman. "She had no right."
"Jarod, stop it! Miss Parker brought us here because she was trying to help," the Major growled. Pushing against Jarod's chest, he forced the Pretender to take a few steps back and glared at him. "She was trying to make our family whole."
Suddenly, the anger in Jarod's dark eyes was replaced with uncertainty. Shifting his gaze from his father to Miss Parker, he asked in an accusing tone, "Is that true? Did you bring them here, now, because you thought it was what I wanted?"
The brunette stiffened at the question. Sliding her hand through the handle of the lap top, she pushed past Jarod, stopping on the porch. Then, turning in place, when he called out to her, she glared at him.
"We don't have time for this, Jarod. The longer we stand here, the more time we waste and the greater the danger for everyone," she spat. "Now, stop looking at me like I just shot your dog and let's get out of here."
He watched from the porch as she descended the steps, unsure of what to say. When she slid into the driver's seat of the van, he started down the stairs, leaning heavily on his father. With a flip of his wrist, the Major signaled his younger children and, almost immediately, the black Suburban started toward the house.
"We've been staying at a house not far from here," he announced, as Miss Parker rolled down the window of the van. "It shouldn't take more than ten minutes to get there. Do you have a way of contacting the others?"
"Broots and his daughter are at a restaurant in town, waiting for my call. I told him that if he didn't hear from me, or if he sensed any danger, to leave and not look back.," she said, glancing at Jarod. "As for Sydney, and Margaret, they're safe for the night, but we can call them when we get to the house."
Major Charles nodded and stepped toward the Suburban. With his hand on the handle of the driver's side door, he watched Jarod, waiting to see what the Pretender was going to do. When Miss Parker started the engine of the van and roll up the window, he sighed. A moment later, without a word, Jarod moved to the black vehicle and slipped into the passenger seat.
Lyle ordered the driver to pull the car to the curb while he stared at the house. The lights in the front and back were on but he saw no movement. Glancing down at the sheet of paper that held Emma's address, he confirmed he was in the right location and looked back at the house.
He was about to order his men out of the car, and to the back of the building, when a vehicle pulled into Emma's driveway. Watching from behind tinted windows, Lyle cursed softly as the doors opened and two police officers stepped from the unmarked car. Though he was curious about the visit, and even more curious about the metal box the larger man carried, the last thing he wanted to do was deal with local law enforcement.
"What do we do now?" the driver asked.
Sitting back in his seat, Lyle replied, "We wait."
TBC
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