Disclaimer in Part 1

Guilty
by imagine

part 25/?

"What do you know about the Centre?"

His eyes slid from Jarod to the demanding blue eyes of Miss Parker but he did not respond immediately. Instead, Mike held the woman's gaze while he carefully wiped the trace of blood from his lip. Then, in a deep, confident voice, he looked back at the Pretender and said, "Enough to know that I want all of you out of my house. Now."

Jarod stiffened, the muscles in his jaw flexing as he pushed himself from the wall and straightened his stance. He opened his mouth to speak but, before he could utter any words, Emma was tugging gently on her husband's arm. "Mike, calm down. Let's talk."

Though the man let himself be lead into the hall and through the doors opposite the living room, he never broke the eye contact he had initiated with Jarod.

"What was that all about?" Miss Parker asked, when the couple was gone.

Jarod shook his head and let his gaze slide to the brunette. "I don't know," he muttered softly. "Mike obviously knows more than he's letting on."

"Obviously," she sighed. "But, how is that possible?"

"He's a reporter," Margaret offered, moving beside her son. When all eyes were on her, she added, "And a very inquisitive one, at that."

"Mom, how do you know Mike is a reporter?"

"She's right," Stan interjected. "Mike is a correspondent for the AP. Now, why don't you tell me why he got so upset? What is the Centre?"

Jarod and Miss Parker looked at each other before the woman answered, "It's a think tank, of sorts."

"A think tank run by mercenaries, thieves and murderers," Jarod added, not bothering to hide the contempt in his voice. "They will do anything for anyone, for the right price."

"So, what does that make the two of you? Thieves or murderers?"

"Which would you prefer?" Jarod asked, a dark grin forming on his lips. His head tilted to the side and his right eyebrow rose higher than the left as he turned his gaze on his mentor. "I can be anyone you want me to be. Can't I, Sydney?"

"Jarod, please, this is not the time or place."

The Pretender frowned at the psychiatrist, then brought his gaze back to the other man. "Let's just say we are doing what we can to sever our ties to the Centre, and leave it at that, for the moment, Detective."

Stan hesitated. Jarod's tone had suddenly adopted a quality he couldn't quite identify but he did not have the time to decide whether or not he should push the man for a straight answer.

"The less you know, the better," Margaret interjected, drawing the Detective's attention away from her son. "The Centre is a dangerous organization with equally dangerous clients."

"I have dealt with dangerous . . ."

"Not like the Centre," she insisted sadly. "I guarantee that you have never felt the kind of pain and desperation that comes from their methods, Detective. They have the capability to rip your heart out while keeping your mind and body in tact."

"What does that mean?"

Margaret did not respond. Instead, she looked at Jarod and squeezed his hand. His dark eyes met hers and then moved to the Detective. "My family was torn apart for many years because of the Centre. We are only now beginning to come together. Unfortunately, they will do anything to prevent that from happening."

"And, Mike? What does any of this have to do with him or Emma?"

Jarod looked back at the door Emma and her husband had disappeared through as it opened. Emma stepped into the hall, glanced at the concerned faces in the living room, then dropped her eyes and closed the door. "Maybe we are about to find out."

The woman crossed to the threshold of the room, her arms wrapped around waist. Jarod watched as she came to a stop and took a deep breath, steeling herself for whatever it was she had to say.

"Emma, is everything all right?" Sydney asked.

She shook her head and forced an apologetic smile. "I have never seen him this way."

"What way?" Jarod asked, moving toward the woman.

Emma brought her gaze to the Pretender. When their eyes met, she whispered, "Frightened. I have never seen him so frightened. He won't talk to me about it."

Taking her hand, Jarod brought the woman to the sofa and sat beside her. "Emma, before we go, we need to know what Mike knows about the Centre. It is very important."

She shrugged sadly and raked her fingers through her hair. "Maybe he did a story that involved it. I don't know. I have never heard him mention the place before."

Jarod looked over her shoulder at the closed door. "Then I need to speak with him."

"He doesn't want to speak with you," she said, matching his movements as he rose to his full height. "He wants you out of our house. I'm sorry."

"I am, too," he sighed. "I promise, if I had known that your husband had knowledge of the Centre, I would never have let you, or him, become involved in our situation."

"How could you know?" she smiled. "I didn't know."

"It was my responsibility to find out, to make sure you were not already on the Centre's radar, before I sent my mother and Sydney to you. Because I failed to do so, I may have made the two of you targets," he admitted softly. "I want to try to make it right, Emma, and to do that, I must speak with Mike. I must know what he knows."

"What do you mean, they got away?"

"What part did you not understand?" Alex growled. Moving in front of the fire, he slowly removed his jacket and tossed it across the arm of the sofa. "The house was empty when we arrived. We searched it, while we waited but there was no sign of the scrolls."

"How could the house have been empty? When you called in, you said that you saw Jarod and Miss Parker."

"I did," he nodded, turning back to the fire. "But, right after I spoke with you, they left for a walk. Hand in hand."

"Interesting."

Alex grinned darkly as he stared at the flames. "After about two hours of waiting, I sent Victor out to look for them." He turned to face the other man and scowled. "By the way, he's not that bright, is he?"

"Never mind about Victor. Tell me what happened. How did you break your arm?"

"Jarod," he growled, absently running his good hand over the fresh cast. Pivoting away from the fire, he moved to the sofa and removed his hiking boots. "Jarod was hiding in the basement. I found him, after Victor was gone."

"Jarod was hiding? That doesn't sound like him. Are you sure . . .?"

"Who is telling this story, Cox? You, or me?" he snapped. When the older man stiffened and his mouth became a thin line, Alex nodded in satisfaction. "He was hiding behind an armoire. We fought. He broke my arm with a two by four and knocked me unconscious. When I came to, he was gone."

"And where was Victor through all of this?"

"Upstairs, unconscious," he sighed. "He claims he was about to capture Jarod and Miss Parker when someone ambushed him. From his description, it sounds like the Major."

"Major Charles is involved now?" the man grinned. "Excellent."

"I'm glad you're so pleased," Alex grumbled.

"Don't you see? If he is here, then his children must be with him."

"I hate to burst your bubble, but Victor didn't see anyone else."

Crossing his arms, Cox paced the length of the room, considering the implications of Major Charles coming to his son's rescue. Shaking his head, he waived a dismissive hand at Alex and smiled. "Just because Victor didn't see them, doesn't mean they aren't here."

"It doesn't mean that they are, either," the man pointed out.

"But, if they are . . ."

"Make up your mind, will you? You're giving me a headache. Are we going after Margaret and the scrolls, or are we going after Gemini and Emily?"

Facing Alex with a wide grin, Cox said, "I do not see any reason we can't go after it all."

When Jarod entered, Mike was at the window, staring at the street.

"The cars are gone," he said, without turning around. "They've been taken to the police station for questioning."

"I know."

Letting the curtain drop into place, he faced the Pretender as Jarod began moving around the room. His eyes scanned the framed articles so quickly, Mike wondered if he was actually reading the words.

"Very impressive," he said, motioning toward the mounted stories as he faced the other man. "I would like to read more of what you've written."

"I want you out of my house."

Jarod sighed and moved to the upholstered chair in front of the desk. "I know."

"Now."

"As much as I would love to accommodate you, Mike, we need to talk," he replied. "You need to tell me what you know about the Centre. It is the only way I can determine what measures are needed to keep you and Emma safe."

The reporter's face darkened at the words. Circling the desk, he stood in front of the still sitting Pretender and glared at him. "I am perfectly capable of keeping my wife safe. All I need is for you and your friends to get out of my house and leave us alone."

"Thirty minutes ago, I would have agreed with you. Thirty minutes ago, I did not know you and the Centre had already crossed paths." When Mike dropped his arms and turned away, Jarod stood and, in a calm voice, said, "Tell me what happened, Mike. I want to help."

"And, why should I trust you?" he dared, glaring at the Pretender over his shoulder. "For all I know, you are one of them and this is one big, elaborate test."

Jarod frowned. In the silence that followed, Mike shook his head and, keeping his back to the other man, stepped away. "Please, leave, Jarod."

"When I was a child, the Centre took me from my family," he murmured, as Mike dropped tiredly into the seat behind the desk. When the man looked at him, his eyes widened in shock, the Pretender continued in a soft but gravelly voice, "They isolated me so they could train me to be a Pretender. I can become anyone I want, with enough information, but, until a few years ago, I had no idea who I was."

"Why are you telling me this?"

Jarod slowly returned to the chair opposite Mike. "Because, before I can expect to tell me your story, it is only fair that I share mine."

"What if, after you've told me, I decide not to share?"

The Pretender smiled sadly. "I would not be telling you this, if there was the remotest possibility of that happening."

Sitting back, Mike took a deep breath and released it slowly, his fingers simultaneously digging into the leather arms of the chair. When his lungs were emptied, and his grip relaxed, he locked eyes with Jarod and murmured, "Okay, I'm listening."

"It's snowing again."

Emily looked up as her brother kicked the door closed behind him and crossed to the fireplace. Dumping an armload of wood beside the hearth, he chose two large logs and threw them into the flames before pulling off his gloves.

"Is it coming down hard?"

The young man shook his head. "No, it's just flurries right now."

"But, it will make the roads slick," the Major interjected as he moved toward the window to watch the falling snow.

Emily glanced at Drew, then stepped behind her father. "They're all right, Dad."

"I hope so."

"Jarod is an excellent driver," Broots offered. "He raced at Indy once."

The Major glanced over his shoulder at the balding man, but said nothing. When he felt his daughter slide her hand around his, he sighed and shifted his eyes to hers. "They should have been back by now. Something is wrong."

"We don't know that, Dad."

"Em is right," Drew interjected, moving beside his sister. "If something was wrong, we would have heard. Jarod would have gotten word to us."

"Don't borrow trouble," Emily warned her father, as he opened his mouth to speak. "They are not that late. Broots and Debbie have only been here twenty minutes."

"Twenty five," the Major corrected.

She smiled and, with her hand still wrapped around his, crossed into the main room of the cabin. "Okay, twenty five. The point is, Jarod is more than capable of taking care of himself."

"And he has Miss Parker to help him," Drew offered.

"I'd feel much better if I were with him," the Major replied, lowering himself to the couch.

"No, you wouldn't," Emily countered, firmly. "I know you. If you were with Jarod, you would be worrying about me and Drew."

"You are my children," he growled. "I will always worry about you."

"Well, you can't protect everyone, Dad. You have to start trusting that we can take care of ourselves."

The man looked from his daughter to the table, where Broots was sitting with Debbie. "My daughter makes it sound so easy, doesn't she?"

Broots smiled and looked from the Major to Emily, his eyes finally resting on Debbie. "Until they have kids of their own, they will never understand."

Jarod found that telling his story was not as easy as it should have been. Over the years, he had related parts of his history to a variety of people but this was the first time he had not only told everything but agreed to answer questions. His emotions got the best of him when memories of his abduction, Kyle's death and his relationship with Sydney and Miss Parker were questioned but, in each case, Mike was patient. When his relationship with his family was questioned, however, the Pretender found himself incapable of answering.

"I was separated from them for so long," he admitted, "I honestly don't know which of my emotions, as it pertains to them, are real and which are carried over from childhood fantasies."

"But you trust them?"

Jarod smiled shyly and nodded. "I know it sounds naive, but they are my family. I have to trust them."

Mike stared at him for a long moment then, stood and turned toward the window. "About eighteen months ago, I began researching a piece about the military and the US intelligence network. The deeper I dug, the more I found that the decisions that were made, and the tactics that were being developed, were based on information from highly paid consultants. I wanted to know who those consultants were and why they were so trustworthy."

"I doubt that information was easy to uncover."

"And you would be right. But, like you, I am very good at what I do, Jarod," he growled, facing the man. When Jarod nodded apologetically, Mike took a deep breath and continued in a calmer tone, "It took me a number of months to finally dig up the name 'The Centre' and find out where they were located. I believed that, once I had that information, everything else would fall into place."

Knowing the kind of security and secrecy that cloaked the place he'd spent most of his life, Jarod said, "It wasn't as easy as you anticipated, was it?"

"No. The more roadblocks I hit, though, the more determined I became. It was like an obsession and, no matter what information I turned up, it wasn't enough."

Jarod frowned. "What did you turn up?"

"At first, it wasn't much. I discovered the names of a few Board Members and low level employees. From there, I found a connection to organizations overseas that did similar consulting work for other governments," Mike told him. "It wasn't until I discovered the other clients and kinds of information being provided that I began to feel a sense of urgency."

The Pretender shifted uncomfortably in his chair before finally pulling himself to his full height. "How did you get the information, Mike? The Centre has a very advanced security system protecting their computers and . . ."

"I had informants. People who had been inside."

"Your informants were employees of the Centre?"

Mike shook his head. "No. I couldn't get any of them to talk to me. My snitches were inside our government as well as inside some of the other organizations that worked with the Centre."

"How many were there?"

He stared at Jarod for a long moment then, as if he were breaking himself from a trance, turned away. "It doesn't matter."

"Mike, it does matter," Jarod insisted, grabbing the man by the arm. "Anyone who goes against the Centre . . ."

"They're all dead."

Jarod's eyes widened and, as they did, his grip on Mike's arm loosened. "All of them?"

Mike nodded. "At the time, I told myself that it was up to me to make sure their deaths were not for nothing. Pompous, huh?"

Jarod had no idea what to say. "Mike, what happened to the story?"

"I started receiving threats from every branch of government as well as some particularly horrific ones from anonymous sources," he continued softly, ignoring the question. "But I could not let go of the story. I had documents, videos, even hand written memos from high ranking officials giving orders to engage the Centre on a variety of sensitive situations."

"Mike, what happened to the story?" Jarod pressed.

"I didn't know about the experiments or . . what did you call them?"

"Simulations."

He nodded. "That's it. Simulations. I didn't know how the Centre was gathering its intelligence but my gut told me it wasn't on the up and up. I kept digging until I found someone who could tap into the Centre's archives."

"You did what?"

He heard the fear and surprise in Jarod's voice and smiled. "I told you I was good at what I do."

"Mike, this isn't a joke. What happened to your notes? What happened to the story?"

"I killed it," he said quietly.

The Pretender let out a soft sigh and nodded. "You killed it to protect Emma."

Jarod frowned as Mike returned to the chair behind the desk and sat down. He watched, silently, as the man shakily rubbed the stubble that had formed on his jaw before bringing his eyes to Jarod's. "No. Not really. At the time, I thought I could keep Emma safe from anything."

"Then, I don't understand. Why did you kill the story?"

Lyle said nothing as he entered the police station. With a uniformed officer on each side of him, he let them lead him to the back of the station and sat quietly at the desk they indicated. He watched the activity around him, his men being ushered to chairs along the wall to await their turn at being processed.

"Name."

He smiled at the man behind the desk. "Lyle."

"Is that your first name or your last name?"

"Mister Lyle."

The officer raised an eyebrow at his prisoner then shrugged and typed the information into the computer.

"I need to make a phone call."

"After we're done here, you will be allowed . . ."

"Now," he growled. When the man looked up from the keyboard, Lyle offered the most feral of smiles and added, "It's important that I make the call now."

Miss Parker stopped pacing the moment the door opened. Her arms dropped to her side as Jarod and Mike appeared at the threshold.

"Get your things," the Pretender ordered softly. "We're leaving."

Her eyes darted from Jarod to the man beside him and then back again. "What happened in there?"

"I'll tell you later," he promised, as Emma slid her arms around Mike's neck. "Right now, we need to get out of here."

She looked at him uncertainly, then followed Mike with her eyes as he approached the detectives. Less than two minutes later, the men were sliding into their coats and out the door.

"What happened in there?" she repeated.

Jarod smiled. "Don't worry about it, now. Let's just go before something else happens."

TBC

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Note: I think most of you have been reading my stuff long enough to know that I don't dole out answers easily or quickly. But, I promise, as with all my stories, you will get answers eventually. Hope you enjoyed the chapter. ;-P