A/N: For those of you still following this story - thank you for your patience and emails asking for an update. I'm just sorry it took so long. Hope you like it.

Disclaimer in part 1

Guilty
by imagine

Part 24/?

"Dad, someone is coming."

In response to his daughter's words, Broots slid his eyes from the street to the rear view mirror. His hands tightened around the steering wheel then, just as quickly, relaxed. Without dropping his eyes from the reflection, he leaned forward, his right hand hovering over the ignition key as he watched the dark vehicle come to a complete stop behind them.

He felt the weight of Debbie's frightened gaze but could not bring himself to look at her. When Miss Parker ordered him to Emma's house, and then warned him to stay one block south because Lyle and his men were already on sight, he had followed the directive without question. Unfortunately, in the more than sixty minutes that had ticked by, his confidence in the brunette had begun to deteriorate into fear for his daughter's safety.

"Get down, Honey, and make sure your seat belt is fastened," he murmured, his hand tightening around the key as the driver's side door of the Suburban swung open. "We may have to leave very quickly."

Doing as her father asked, Debbie gripped the shoulder sash of her seatbelt with both hands. Her eyes darted from the side mirror of the car to her father, watching the muscles in his neck and shoulder tense. She knew he was trying to decide whether or not to start the engine.

"Miss Parker told us to wait for her, here, didn't she?"

When her father didn't respond, Debbie sighed, biting back the temptation to repeat the question.

"What are we going to do?" she whispered.

"I don't know," he hissed. "Please, let me think!"

The harshness of his voice was unexpected. Nodding silently, she swallowed and rolled her gaze back to the mirror as her father glanced in her direction.

"I'm sorry, Honey," he sighed, using a softer voice. "I didn't mean to snap at you. We're going to be all right. Just stay down."

Before she could respond, there was a loud knock against driver's window and the sound of someone pulling on the handle. Startled, she jerked her head toward her father but he had managed to resist the urge to look at the window beside him. Instead, he had started the car and his hand had moved to the gear shift.

"Dad! Wait!" Reaching out, she wrapped her hand around his wrist and motioned to his left. "It's Miss Parker."

"Unlock the damn doors!" the woman hissed through the glass. "NOW!"

His hands were shaking when he hit the button to release the electronic locks on all four doors. Seconds later, Miss Parker slid into the back seat with Jarod close behind.

"Cut the engine, Mr. Broots," Jarod said softly. "We don't want to attract attention."

Nodding nervously, the technician did as he was told. Then, taking a deep breath to steady himself, turned in his seat to face the newcomers. "I - I'm sorry. I didn't recognize the car. I thought . . ."

Jarod inhaled sharply and, despite the annoyed glare he shot at Miss Parker, he interrupted calmly, "It's all right, Mr. Broots. We should have told you we would be driving my father's car."

"Your father's car?" the man repeated, his eyes darting from Jarod to Miss Parker. "You mean the Major finally showed up?"

"Yes. He is waiting at the safe house, with Emily and Drew."

"I thought the safe house was . . . um . . . no longer safe."

"Well, thanks to my father, we have new accommodations."

Broots hesitated, unsure of whether he had actually heard an accusatory tone in Jarod's voice. Shooting a quick glance at Miss Parker, he saw her scowl at the Pretender then shake her head. Obviously, she had heard the same tone but, for whatever reason, she kept her response to herself.

"Um, don't you mean, thanks to Miss Parker?" he asked, turning his gaze on Jarod as a small smile graced Miss Parker's lips. "She is the one who contacted the Major and told him where to find you."

Ignoring the question, the Pretender reached over the seats and handed Broots a hand written map. "These are very detailed directions to the cabin. Your travel time should be no more than thirty minutes but, if you run into any trouble, my father's cell phone number is at the bottom. Do not lose this piece of paper."

The balding man nodded absently as he read the directions then handed it to his daughter.

"Aren't you coming with us?" Debbie asked nervously.

"If all goes as planned we will be only about ten minutes behind you," Jarod smiled. "First, we need to get my mother and Sydney out of the house."

"How are you going to do that, with Lyle watching?" Broots asked. "The minute he sees you . . ."

"We have it all worked out," Miss Parker interrupted. "All you need to do is wait for our signal."

"Signal?"

"Jarod and I are going to create a distraction. Once it starts, we will head into the house and you will drive away."

Broots looked at her, skeptically. "I hope this distraction of yours took into consideration that Lyle isn't alone. There is a second car parked around the corner."

"Don't worry, Mr. Broots," Jarod replied. "As Miss Parker said, we have it all worked out."

Debbie frowned as the brunette pulled out her cell phone. "What are you doing?"

"Getting the ball rolling," she answered, punching the necessary digits on the device. "The sooner we get started, the sooner we get out of here."

Then, raising her hand to stop Debbie or Broots from asking another question, she spoke into the phone. "I would like to report some suspicious behavior."

They listened, quietly, as Miss Parker identified herself as Samantha Ryan and recited the address across from where they were parked. Frowning, Broots shifted in his seat and motioned toward the Pretender. When Jarod leaned closer, the tech whispered, "Who is she calling?"

"The police," Jarod grinned.

"Without identification . . ."

"How many times do I need to tell you that my identification was lost when the car went over the bridge? It's probably at the bottom of the river," Margaret countered.

"Then we need someone to vouch for who you are."

Motioning behind the man, at where Emma and Mike were standing, Margaret pressed, "Emma has . . ."

"Emma has admitted that she did not meet you until after your son was released from the hospital," the man interjected. Shooting a quick glance at the nurse, who shifted anxiously under his inspection, he added. "She has no way of knowing if you are who you say are."

"Sydney was with Jarod at the hospital," the woman spat. "If you won't believe her, why won't you accept his word as to who I am?"

"We've been over this, several times already," the man sighed, rising from the sofa. "Without identification, the only person I can hand this case over to is your son."

"That's ridiculous. It's my case!"

Sydney frowned at the response. Judging by the tone of the man's voice, the discussion was nearing its end and Margaret was beginning to panic.

"I think this could all be resolved very simply." When the others in the room looked at him, the psychiatrist motioned toward Jarod's mother and continued, "Margaret is the only one who knows the contents of the case. She is also the only one who knows how to open it."

"We don't know that she is the only one," the Detective sighed and rose to his feet. "I am very sorry but rules are rules. Now, if you will excuse us, we need to be getting back to the station."

Sydney stood as Margaret made a move to do the same, quickly stepping between her and the other man. "I see. Obviously, this is not how we had hoped our meeting would end but we do appreciate the time you both took to talk with us."

The psychiatrist shook hands with the men, offering them each a congenial smile as they headed toward the door. They'd taken only a few steps when flashing red and blue lights suddenly reflected into the room. Moving to the window, they peered outside as a patrol car came to a stop in the middle of the street.

"There seems to be some trouble in front," Sydney commented.

"There is a car over here, too," Emma called.

Turning toward her voice, they found the woman holding back the curtains that draped a window that overlooked the side yard. A heartbeat after her words were spoken, muffled but demanding shouts could be heard from outside. Without hesitation, Mike moved to his wife's side and pulled her away from the window.

"Someone is coming up the walk," Margaret announced.

Shooting a quick glance at Emma and Mike, Stan asked, "Are you expecting anyone else?"

Before a verbal response could be uttered, however, the door swung open. In an instant, both police detectives had their guns drawn and pointed at the entrance. "Hands in the air!"

Coming to an abrupt halt behind Miss Parker, Jarod obeyed the command as he muttered in her ear, "I told you we should have rung the bell."

"Are you all right?"

"I'm fine, Mom," he promised. Her arm slid around his waist and, though the touch was gentle, he winced as she brushed against a bruised rib. When she looked up at him, and frowned, Jarod grinned and added, "Really."

"You know this man?"

Margaret turned to glare at the man with the gun. "What, exactly, was your first clue, Detective? Was it the fact that I stepped between him and your gun or the fact that he referred to me as 'Mom'?"

Though he did not verbally reprimand his mother for her tone, the Pretender gently squeezed her shoulder and took a step forward. "My name is Jarod."

He watched as the armed men glanced at Emma who smiled and nodded her confirmation of his identity. When the guns were sheathed, and the two men backed cautiously away, Jarod nodded and moved further into the room.

"Your mother told us you were badly injured."

Shooting his mother a disapproving look, Jarod replied, "I am feeling much better."

His eyes slid from face to face, offering each a quiet smile until he noticed the metal case on the floor. Taking a deep breath, he turned to face the strangers in the room.

"Miss Parker and I apologize for our abrupt entrance, but I am afraid we are in a bit of a hurry. Sydney, Mom, we need to leave. Now."

"No one is going anywhere. I have a few questions for you."

"About what?"

"Well, the metal case your mother is so interested in retrieving, for one."

"It is her case."

"Are you sure?"

Jarod glanced at his mother then, seeing her frustration, chuckled and faced the other man. "Yes, Sir. My mother has been very concerned about its whereabouts for some time. Do you have something we need to sign in order to take possession? As I mentioned, we are in a hurry."

"Why?"

The Pretender frowned but did not avert his gaze. "It's a family matter."

"I see, well, for the time being I think your family is safer here." Turning toward his partner, without breaking the heavy gaze he had on the Pretender, Stan said, "Mark, find out who dispatched the uniformed units and why."

"I can save you the trouble. The cars were dispatched because there was a call about suspicious activity in the area," Miss Parker announced, moving into the living room.

"And you know this because . . .?"

"I placed the call."

"Are you aware it is illegal to make a false report to the police, Miss Parker?"

"Of course," she sighed, moving around him.

"So, you admit . . ."

"Look, you moron," she snapped, spinning to face him. "If you had been paying attention, you would have noticed that this house has been under surveillance for hours. The moment there is no longer police presence, the lives of everyone here will be in danger."

Stan stepped in front of the woman, his arms folded tightly across his broad chest. "Why do you think there is a threat? What could the men in those cars possibly want from Emma and Mike?"

"It's not Emma or Mike that they're after," she hissed, her impatience getting the best of her. "Which is why we need to get out of here while they're preoccupied."

"Detective, considering our entrance, I understand your skepticism," Jarod interjected. "However, if they search the men outside, your officers will find that each is carrying a weapon."

Stan stared at the Pretender for a long moment then faced Mark to ensure that the man had overheard Jarod's words before turning his attention back on Jarod. "We will notify the units outside to proceed with caution. But, you have me curious, Jarod. If we search you and your friend, will we find that you are also carrying weapons?"

Jarod sighed, his eyes traveling from the man in front of him to Miss Parker and Sydney. Though he had anticipated some resistance to believe their claims, he had not prepared himself for the conversations to be so antagonistic. His eyes slid to his mother as she moved closer to the metal case. Before he realized he was doing so, the Pretender was wondering if the current attitude of the detectives had been influenced by their interaction with the woman.

"Stan, I think you're missing his point."

Surprised by the voice, Jarod turned to find Emma's husband standing at his side.

"Mike, I don't tell you how to research your articles, don't tell me how to conduct an police investigation."

"What, exactly, are you investigating?" the man insisted as he crossed his arms over his chest. "The only mistake made by Jarod or Miss Parker was coming through that door without knocking. For the record, neither Emma or I will be pressing charges."

"Can you honestly stand there and tell me you are not a little bit suspicious about this bunch? They are manipulating us so they can get their hands on that case," he growled. "I am just doing what I was trained to do, Mike. I am trying to find out the truth. I want to know what is so damned special about that case."

Mike hesitated, his eyes darting from his friend to Jarod. "Then, just ask them."

The Pretender's eyes widened for only a moment before he nodded silently at Emma's husband. The man was right. If they had any chance of getting out of this house before Lyle and his men could get to them, they needed to, at least, appear to be cooperative. Turning his gaze on Stan, while avoiding those of the others in the room, he said, "I will tell you what you want to know. First, I need you to do something for me."

They saw the reflection of the headlights on the far wall before they heard the sound of tires on the gravel driveway. Instinctively, Major Charles drew his gun and stepped behind the door, motioning for his children to move into one of the bedrooms. When Drew hesitated and took a step toward his father, the older man scowled.

"Get back," he hissed. "I can handle this."

The young man's eyes darted toward the sheer-covered window beside the door. "Dad, what if . . .?"

"I want you out of here, Drew," the man growled. "Now."

"Dad's right," Emily whispered. Wrapping her hand around her brother's arm, she pulled him toward the back of the house. "It's safer for everyone if we are out of the way."

"Safer for who?" he dared.

"Drew, don't do this," she warned, her eyes darting toward the front door. "Not now. Please."

With a heavy sigh, the young man looked from his sister to his father and then, reluctantly, let Emily lead him into the bedroom. But, when the door closed, he refused to step further into the chamber. Wrapping his hand around the knob, he pressed his ear to the wood and listened intently for sounds from the main part of the house.

"This is ridiculous," Emily muttered, moving beside him. "Dad can take care of himself."

"So can I."

Grabbing the young man under the chin, she brought his dark eyes to hers. "I never said otherwise."

"But Dad has, hasn't he?"

"No, he hasn't," she insisted, tightening her grip when he tried to pull away. "Believe me, Little Brother, Dad is well aware of your capabilities. He is your biggest fan."

Finally freeing himself of the woman's hold, Drew stepped away from the door and sat on the edge of the bed. His hands slid through his hair and, while he tried to find the words to explain what he was feeling, the mattress dipped beside him.

"Then why does he keep treating me like a child?"

"He doesn't treat you any differently than he treats me," she smiled. When Drew scowled, she let out a soft laugh. "Do you have a problem being treated the same as your sister?"

"This isn't funny, Emily. I want to help."

"You are helping."

"No," he growled. "Whenever there is the slightest sign of danger, Dad becomes Major Charles. He gives orders and refuses to listen. He sends me away. He tells me to trust him but he doesn't trust me."

"What?"

"Don't pretend you don't know what I'm talking about," he grumbled, his eyes darting toward the door. "Dad doesn't think I can stand up to them. He's afraid I won't be able to fight the Centre because they raised . . they created . . . me. He's afraid they have some kind of control over me, or that I feel some kind of loyalty to them."

"You're wrong."

"I wish I was."

His gaze dropped to his hand as Emily covered it with her own.

"Listen to me, Drew. I promise, you are wrong," she whispered. "Dad isn't afraid of you. He's afraid of them and what they could do ... what they've done ... to this family."

He brought his eyes to hers and opened his mouth to speak but Emily placed a finger over his lips and said, "The Centre cheated Dad out of being a husband or a father. Jarod was lost to him for almost forty years. I was out of his life for thirty. He hasn't seen Mom in nearly thirty five and he knows he will never see Kyle again. Do you have any idea what that does to a someone like our father? It slowly destroys him."

He stared at his sister openly, unsure of how to respond. Major Charles was definitely a proud man but, Drew suspected, the man he'd been before the Centre had been filled with more pride. The Centre had humbled him when they took Jarod, and then Kyle, but they had not destroyed him. Even his separation from Emily and Margaret were not enough to bring him to his knees. His father had once confessed that his determination to reunite his family had given him a strength he hadn't known has a younger man.

Listening to Emily, Drew wondered why she thought she was proving him wrong. The only explanation for the Major's refusal to include him in his battles with the Centre was trust.

"Dad isn't afraid of you betraying him, Drew," she said, as if she'd read his thoughts. "He is afraid of not being able to protect you. If something happened to you, if you were taken away from us, it would kill him."

It took him a moment to understand what she was telling him and, during his hesitation, she leaned forward and pulled him into a hug. Distracted by the embrace, he slowly slid his arms around her waist and closed his eyes.

"Be patient with him," she whispered. "Give his heart some time to admit you are a man and not a child."

Before he could formulate a response, Drew was startled by a loud crash, followed by a soft cry. Abruptly pulling out of his sister's embrace, he reached the door as his father's voice called out for him. Ignoring Emily's plea to be careful, Drew opened the door and disappeared into the next room.

"You want me to do something for you?"

Jarod nodded, including the sarcasm in the man's voice. "I will stay here and answer all your questions on the condition that you let Miss Parker leave with my mother and Sydney."

"No!."

"Mom, it's all right." Moving to his mother's side, the Pretender slid his arms around her shoulders and whispered, "Miss Parker will take you some place safe. I will be along as soon as I'm done here."

"Don't listen to him."

Startled by the voice, Jarod looked up to find Miss Parker standing behind his mother with her arms crossed. Her blue eyes, caught in the still flashing lights of the police cars outside, seemed to take on a firey quality as she returned the Pretender's stare.

"Parker, what are you doing?" he hissed.

"Saving your ass," she retorted. Then, glancing at his mother, she added, Not to mention hers, if you think she and I can be alone for more than a few minutes."

Still in her son's arms, Margaret turned toward the brunette. Though she would never be sure, for a moment, Miss Parker thought she saw a smile cross the older woman's lips before she pivoted away and pushed herself from Jarod's hold. "For once, Miss Parker and I agree on something. We are not leaving you behind."

"Mom . . ."

"I mean it, Jarod," she warned. Crossing to the sofa, she sat down and stared at her son. "If you are not leaving, neither am I."

The Pretender looked helplessly from one woman to the other, then slid his gaze to Sydney. In response, the psychiatrist shrugged and lowered himself to the nearest chair without saying a word.

"It seems your friends are not willing to let you make a unilateral decision," the detective remarked. When Jarod looked at him, he added, "So, why don't you just tell me what's going on? The sooner you tell me, the sooner you can all leave."

Jarod looked over the man's shoulder at the police cars in the street and shook his head. "We don't have time. Your officers are just about done questioning Lyle and his men. If we aren't gone . . ."

"Lyle? Lyle is one of the men out there?" Mike asked. When Jarod faced him in surprise and nodded, he stiffened and stepped in front of his wife.

"Mike, let it go."

"Like hell I will."

Turning away from the detective, Jarod faced Emma and her husband. "How do you know Lyle?"

"I don't, but she does," Mike barked.. "She lied to him for you."

Jarod's eyes widened. "What are you talking about?"

"Mike, calm down," Emma murmured, slipping her hand around his arm.

Ignoring the woman, Mike turned his glare on Sydney. "Tell him. Tell him how you used my wife to lie for you."

"Sydney, what is he talking about?" Jarod asked, his voice taking on a demanding tone.

"Lyle showed up at the hospital," the psychiatrist said, rising from the chair. "He was asking questions about you. It was only a matter of time before he discovered that your mother had been admitted."

Jarod listened intently as Sydney and Margaret took turns explaining how they had escaped Lyle's detection at the hospital. He paced the length of the room, his eyes briefly darting toward Emma only when Sydney admitted the part of his past that had been shared with the woman.

"Well, I guess now we know how Lyle ended up on the street where you live," Miss Parker sighed.

"Sydney, how could you?" Jarod whispered. "How could you put her in that kind of danger?"

"It was the only way to get your mother out of the hospital," Emma replied, confidently stepping beside the older man. "I would do it again, in a heartbeat."

Looking at the woman, Jarod shook his head. "I appreciate that you were willing to protect my mother, Emma. In fact, I am very grateful but, you have no idea how dangerous Lyle can be when he doesn't get what he wants."

"Let me guess. He wants your mother's case, doesn't he?"

Jarod released a heavy breath and nodded. "Yes, Detective, Lyle wants my mother's case . . .and me."

"Dad, are you sure you're all right?"

He smiled and nodded as he lowered himself to the hard wooden chair. "I'm fine, Honey."

"Jarod said we would be welcome here!" the girl shouted, turning to face the older man in the room.

The Major nodded apologetically, his eyes never leaving the girl's face. "You are, Debbie. I promise, you and your father are welcome to stay here."

"Then why did you ambush my father like that? You hit him from behind."

"I know, and I'm sorry," he said, shifting his gaze to the man in the chair. "I didn't know who you were. I thought the Centre had found us."

"You didn't even ask who he was or . . ."

"Debbie, that's enough," Broots scolded calmly. "The Major was just protecting his family. This was just as much my fault. I should have known better than to just walk in. I should have called him from the car, or knocked on the door before . . ."

"This was not your fault, Dad," she insisted, crouching beside her father. "He could have killed you."

"Oh, please, stop with the dramatics already, will you? He has a bump on the back of his head, not a bullet hole."

"Drew!"

"I'm sorry, Dad, but how many times is she going to accuse you? You've already apologized." Then, looking at Debbie as she stood and moved between him and her father, he said, "Let it go."

"And if I don't?" she dared. "What are you going to do?"

"All right, that's enough," Emily ordered, pulling her brother back so she could move in front of him. "Both of you knock it off."

"Em . ."

"I said, knock it off!" she growled at her brother. "Debbie has a right to be upset. Unless you can, honestly, tell me that you would not have reacted the same way, if the situations were reversed, you need to keep your trap shut."

"Finally. Someone who . . ."

"And, you need to let it go, too," she said, not bothering to soften her tone as she turned on the younger woman. "I know you got scared but your father was not seriously hurt and he's already accepted my father's apology. Move on."

Her eyes widening at the reprimand, Debbie glanced at her father who nodded in agreement and reached out for her hand. Taking a deep breath, the girl moved to his side and swallowed the words that would have continued the altercation with Jarod's family.

"All right," Emily sighed, nodding at the silence in the room. "Now that we've settled that, I'd like to know where Jarod and Miss Parker are. When was the last time you saw them?"

Broots glanced at his watch and shrugged. "They said they'd be about ten minutes behind us. Looks like they're running a little late."

Frowning, the Major moved to the door and crossed his arms. "I hope that's all it is."

"What do you mean, they want you?"

Jarod shook his head and crossed to the window. With his arms crossed in front of him, he stared out at the police cars for a moment, then turned to face the detective. "It's a long story. One we don't have time to get into, right now."

"Make the time."

"Jarod is right," Miss Parker interjected. "The moment your men leave is the moment we become trapped in this house."

"Then, if I were you, I would talk fast."

"Detective, please, at least tell your officers to detain Lyle and his men a little longer," Margaret insisted. "My son has already told you that they're concealing weapons. Would it hurt to check it out?"

"We already have." The room turned their eyes on the younger detective. When he had their attention, he looked at Stan and said, "The weapons are registered to a corporation in Delaware. While we check it out, those men aren't going anywhere except to the station."

"Mark, did you say the guns were registered to a corporation in Delaware?" Mike repeated. "What corporation?"

Looking down at this notes, the man replied, "A place call the Centre."

"The Centre? What the hell did you get us involved in?" Mike demanded, pivoting away from the detective. Crossing the room, he grabbed Jarod by the shirt and pushed him against the wall. "No more riddles, Jarod. I want to know what the hell is going on and what you have to do with the Centre. I want to know now."

The attack was unexpected, setting off a chain reaction of small bursts of pain throughout Jarod's body. His hands instinctively wrapped around Mike's wrists and gripped them tightly, but he did not push the man away. Instead, he took a deep breath and released it slowly, waiting for the discomfort he'd become accustomed to over the past few weeks to return.

In unison, Emma and Miss Parker crossed to where the two men were continuing their silent struggle.

"Mike, stop it!" Emma yelled, tugging on the man's right shoulder. "Let him go. Can't you see he's hurt?"

There was something about the woman's tone that made her husband loosen his grip. In that split second, the muscles of his captive tensed and, with one explosion of energy, Jarod pushed the man away. Mike stumbled then, his face hardening, lunged at the Pretender. This time, though, Margaret's son was ready for the attack and greeted Mike with a hard fist to the gut and another to the jaw.

"That's enough!"

The men looked up, the frustration etched on their faces melting away as Miss Parker and Emma moved between them. The brunette glared at Jarod, then at Mike. In a quiet, but demanding voice, she asked, "What do you know about the Centre?"

TBC

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