After all that, it turned out that Miss Parker was right. Bright and early the next day, she got a call from Cox, asking that she and Jarod both return to Centre headquarters that evening. She was tempted, even, to laugh in Jarod's face when she broke the news.

"Cox did it," she crowed, unable to restrain a wide, manic grin.

Jarod froze in the act of chopping onions.

"Cox did what?"

Parker brandished her phone. "He just called. He wants us to make the trip back to Delaware tonight to pick up doses of the new-and-improved counteragent formula."

"Today?" Jarod nodded to himself. A certain gleam returned to his eye. If Parker were given to corny platitudes, she might have identified the gleam as hope. She wasn't, so she decided it was the onions. Jarod seemed to come to some decision. "Right. We need to get Gwen out tonight."

Parker blinked at the apparent non sequitur.

"But we don't need to," she protested. "We'll have more time now. We can keep her in Val-des-Soucis, spend more time bringing her to our side. She could even help win over the others."

Jarod seized a spare sketchbook from the pile of art supplies and spread it out on the counter in front of him.

"We can't afford to assume that. If we have time, great, we'll use it. If not, I still owe it to Gwen to get her to safety."

I, not we. Parker stared at his profile as he began jotting down ideas.

"Why are you so determined to be doomed?"

He sighed before reluctantly looking her way. "I'm not. I just want to be prepared with contingencies."

It had to be hard for Jarod to trust the man who'd engineered the ticking time bomb in his brain with the task of saving him. Parker understood that. Still, she hoped he was wrong.


Clint and Webster spoke up the loudest when the newest recruits to The Serene Few announced they were taking a day trip to the states.

"Jarod, I worry about you most," said Clint. He was leaning his head through the driver's-side window of Parker's car for some last-minute cajoling. "If you get a whiff of your demons, if you run into some of your old pals, that could be a real gong show. You could end up right back at square one."

Jarod patted Clint on the arm. "Thanks for looking out, but I've got Marcie to keep me on the straight and narrow. Don't I, babe?"

He kissed his handler on the cheekbone, making her tense up. She had grown used to all the casual displays of affection, all the quick kisses and squeezes and terms of endearment Jarod trotted out for the benefit of The Serene Few, but that had been before. Now, a kiss was enough to remind her of just how convincing Jarod could be.

Gwen watched from the doorway to her house, her arms wrapped around herself for comfort. She hadn't said goodbye. That was alright; they'd both see her soon. "Jarod and Marcie" had to be seen leaving without her, first. If they weren't, they'd be at the top of the suspect list when she vanished from Val-des-Soucis.

"You'll be back in time for… for the weekend, right?" said Charlotte.

"Long before then," Jarod reassured her. "We should be back tomorrow."

Jarod and Miss Parker still hadn't been officially looped in on the plan to set off explosives in the main manufacturing laboratories of Modesci Pharmaceuticals Canada. Presumably it would take more than a few weeks with The Serene Few for new members to be trusted with a terrorist plot. It was far from the cult's best-kept secret by now, however, and both Charlotte and Benji had referenced their big weekend plans more than once in Parker's presence.

"Don't do anything I wouldn't do," said Clint and, with clear reluctance, he backed up to allow the car to trundle off down the road. It was just past sundown, and the car soon disappeared into the gloom.

As soon as they were sure they couldn't be seen from any of the houses, Jarod found a blind invisible from the highway and parked. Now, to wait.

"Do you think she'll come along willingly?" said Jarod, once the engine turned off. "You know her better than I do."

"Not a clue."

This was the truth. Did Gwen trust Parker and Jarod much more than when they'd first arrived? Definitely. Would that trust be strong enough to pull her away from Clint? That was anyone's guess.

"I don't like the thought of kidnapping her against her will." Jarod's mouth squirmed. "It's terrifying, being taken from your home in the middle of the night, not knowing where you're going or if you'll ever come back."

If Jarod had a fatal flaw, it was the tendency to over-identify, to project his own demons onto others. Parker sniffed.

"Luckily for her, she'll miss the whole show. If she refuses to come willingly, you can use this." She handed over the tranq gun she'd been carrying for months now, to have on hand in case Jarod went quicksilver mad at an inopportune time. "It'll put her out like a light. No muss, no fuss."

Not strictly true. The sedative was fast, but not instantaneous. Jarod took the tranq gun and frowned at it like it had personally offended him, and they settled in to wait. As the thinking ran, if Jarod returned too soon, it would be too easy for The Serene Few to figure out that Jarod and Parker had merely doubled back.

As recently as a week before, finding something to do to while away the time when trapped in a car with Jarod would have been trivial. They hadn't tried sex in a car yet, and the thought of it made heat blossom between Parker's legs. Now that she had good reason to think Jarod had never wanted sex, however, or at least had felt coerced into it, she had mentally taken it off the table. Nevertheless, she couldn't deny she missed it, missed him.

He was right there next to her, and she missed him.

Whenever the hurt was keenest, a sex-deprived voice from the back of her skull would scream at her to just ask him! She never had, and she doubted she ever would. The problem was this, as she saw it: if she asked Jarod if he'd felt coerced into sex, there were two possible answers.

One, he could say yes. The thought alone of him admitting what she'd done to him made her guts twist and curdle. It was worse than their current impasse of mutual uncertainty.

Two, he could say no. If he did, at first she knew she'd arm herself with new certainty, drag him back into bed, and fuck him 'til neither of them could walk for a week. But. The certainty could never be absolute. Suppose Jarod had felt coerced, or had never wanted sex with her at all, or had to any extent been wary of what would happen if he refused her — suppose any of that. Jarod was just the sort of person who would hide the truth of that from her, just to make her feel better. Even if he said he hadn't felt coerced, she couldn't trust his word alone on that. Especially since he hadn't sought her out.

No matter his answer, there was no winning. There was no returning to how things had been.

So, she hadn't asked him. Instead, they somehow found a way to stew in excruciating silence for upwards of an hour. When the last slivers of rosy sunset melted into the horizon, leaving only the profound dark behind, Jarod zipped up his coat and hopped out of the car. Parker wished she could come too, especially when she thought of Gwen's inevitable anxiety at the idea of leaving her home and community behind. Unfortunately, the snow and ice encasing the landscape made the prospect of walking on a wobbly leg and cane into a recipe for a Stooge-esque face-plant. So, she stayed behind to shiver and wait, her eyes glued to the road to Val-des-Soucis.

She didn't have long to wait. Fifteen minutes later, two figures came over the crest of the hill, their silhouettes only slightly darker than the moonless night surrounding them. The short figure of Gwen trotted to keep up with the long-legged figure of Jarod. Parker breathed a sigh of relief — the tranq gun had not been necessary. That silver tongue of Jarod's had more than one use after all.

Parker got out of the car, careful to avoid planting her cane on black ice. Feeling foolish, she waved. Gwen waved back, froze, stopped in her tracks. She looked at Jarod, then Parker again. Then, without warning, she bolted in the opposite direction.

"Gwen!" Parker held back a yell at the very last moment, and the word came out as a whisper-shout. No need to draw attention to their escape attempt.

In inky silhouette, Jarod plunged his hand into the pocket of his coat, pulled something out, and pointed it at Gwen. Gwen made it a few more strides before falling forward. She slid a good three feet forward before coming to a stop.

Parker hobbled forward as fast as her cane would carry her (which, to be blunt, was not very fast). She caught up to Jarod just as he picked Gwen up in a fireman's carry. There was a dart sticking out of her neck, an impressive shot given that most of Gwen's body was armoured by an exceedingly puffy winter coat.

"What the hell happened?" she hissed.

Jarod winced. "I wish you hadn't waved." Gwen's thigh started to slip out of his grip. He hefted her up higher so she wouldn't fall. "I told her we were leaving, and she was sympathetic enough that she said she wouldn't tell anyone, but she wasn't sure she wanted to come. I lied and told her we had been in an accident, and you'd been hurt. Gwen being Gwen, she offered to come along and help. I guess when she saw you, she put together that you were fine, and that I had lied."

"Damn," said Parker under her breath. "Christ, Jarod, that's worse than if you'd just put her to sleep. Now when she wakes up, she's gonna carry a grudge against us for the lie and the tranquilizer."

"We don't need her to like us, we just need her home with her family."

For her part, Parker agreed; "Marcie", on the other hand, who had been Gwen's friend, was heartsick at the idea of Gwen discovering her betrayal. Jarod stashed Gwen in the back seat for the long drive back to Fredericton, where a chopper was waiting to take them south.

Back in Blue Cove, a small team of co-opted cleaners were ready to receive the QS-9300 field team and their insensible cargo. Parker waved off the cleaners' questions with a pointed word and directed them to take Gwen to Sydney's office. Sydney would surely have one of those shrink divans, and they could stash Gwen there until she woke up.

"You brought her back here?" said Brigitte when she met them in Sydney's office. Incredulity was writ large across her face.

"We needed to get her out fast, and she needs some deprogramming time," Jarod explained.

"Eesh. Right, well, it'll have to wait. Cox is waiting for you in the Renewal Wing with your shiny new shot," said Brigitte. Jarod headed for the elevators; Parker rose to follow. Brigitte held up a hand. "Not you, Miss Parker. Jarod's a big boy, he can get a shot by himself. I'd like you to be here when Miss Boyce wakes up. A familiar face might keep her calmer."

Parker had heard before about how difficult it could be to return to one's life after going undercover. She'd always thought it was an over-dramatized phenomenon, but just from these first few minutes back at the Centre, she thought she had an inkling of what it must be like. Everybody here knew her as Miss Parker, not the cautious, reserved, soft-hearted Marcie. Nobody expected her and Jarod to gravitate to each other's sides here, as they had by default when acting as a couple in Val-des-Soucis.

She missed it. Right away, and fiercely, in a way that scared her.

Jarod left with a quick backward look. Parker watched him go, then drew up a chair by Gwen's side to keep vigil. She had almost forgotten Brigitte's presence until the latter spoke up.

"How was it, pretending to be a Canadian?" She came around Gwen's other side and sat down. "I'll let you know right now, if you start saying 'sorry' at the drop of a hat, I'm going to get the heebie-jeebies."

Parker ignored her step-mother and smoothed a lock of hair off Gwen's face. Sprawled across Sydney's divan, the abducted girl didn't look particularly peaceful; if anything, she looked uncomfortable.

Brigitte tried again. "Your father would yell my ear off if I didn't tell you — he wants you to stop by as soon as you can. His words, not mine. Personally, I would recommend waiting until morning. He's not getting much sleep these days."

"Got it," said Parker. Something was different about Brigitte, but she couldn't quite put her finger on what. Too tired to notice, likely. "Did you get called in just for this?"

"Indeed I did," said Brigitte. "I don't mind. It's been downright dull without the pair of you around. Hm. I suppose you're disappointed that your job as handler isn't about to come to its natural end after all?"

It took a moment to track back Brigitte's line of reasoning.

"Am I disappointed Cox has found a way around Jarod going into permanent QSM?" she paraphrased. "No, I don't think 'disappointed' is the word I would use. Whatever our history, he doesn't deserve the alternative."

Brigitte shrugged. "Sure, nobody deserves that. But—" She leaned forward, the better to capture her step daughter's attention. "With a functionally useless Jarod, your obligation to the Centre would be over. You would have been free."

Parker stared back, unsure how to even begin to explain how this wasn't a route to freedom she could bear. She couldn't explain it, she decided, not without putting far too much of her heart on display. Happily, she was spared the chance to respond, as Gwen chose that moment to stir. Her shoulders shifted against the plush leather and her eyes slowly blinked open. She looked around at the room, stretching unselfconsciously, before her gaze landed on Parker.

"Marcie," she said, voice groggy with sleep. "What's going on, what is this place?"

Out of the corner of her eye, Parker saw Brigitte mouth "Marcie" to herself, and wished she'd thought to send the woman away. Nothing to be done about it now. Parker put a hesitant hand on Gwen's arm.

"Hey, Gwen," she said. "You're at… my office. We were worried about Clint, what Clint was going to do, so we brought you here."

Something sharpened in Gwen's eye. "Jarod shot me!"

Brigitte barked out a surprised laugh.

"He what?"

Parker scowled at Brigitte. "It was a tranq gun, calm down." She turned back to Gwen. "And he's very sorry about that. We needed to get you out of Val-des-Soucis in a hurry and there wasn't time to ask nicely."

Gwen narrowed her eyes.

"Why would you need to get me out in a hurry? Or get me out at all?"

It was a fair question, and the answer couldn't be "because the drug preventing Jarod from going homicidally insane was losing its effectiveness and then we were told about a more effective version of the same drug back home so we brought you along with us in case we couldn't come back". Parker suspected Gwen would have trouble getting past the part where Jarod was days away from going homicidally insane.

"We didn't want you to get mixed up in your group's plans for this weekend," she said, which was a nice middle-ground between the truth and a lie.

"What, the protest?" said Gwen. "I wanted to go to the protest, I believe in it. This — is this about my dad?"

Parker tilted her head, considering.

"It's not not about your dad."

Gwen's hands flew up. "I can't believe this. He hired you, didn't he? I bet he said I was brainwashed, too. Unbelievable. I'm fine, I'm happy and he and mum just can't understand that." She looked around again. "Are they here?"

"No, they're up north, back in Canada," said Brigitte, before Parker could stop her. Brigitte grinned in answer to her glare. "What? Faster's better."

Gwen coughed in surprise. "Wait, where are we? You said we were at your office—"

"In Delaware," Parker finished.

"I'm in America?" Gwen looked around again, like she was expecting to see some clear sign of the American nature of her surroundings. "You brought me across the border? I've never even been outside the country before! What the hell?"

"Listen, Gwen, you need to understand some things," said Parker. "The protest — it wasn't just a protest. They were going to — are going to plant explosives. At your father's workplace. That's why we needed to get you back early, so we would return in time to stop your friends."

Gwen laughed. "Explosives! Do you know what you sound like? I knew Dad was paranoid, but jeez. Yeah, we were bringing some scary-looking briefcases, but they're just a bluff. You should know, you helped empty them."

"Yes, I did. Before they were filled back up again with explosives. Jarod did the legwork, Gwen. Your husband is a very angry man, and he's not content with giving his least favourite pharmaceutical company bad PR. He wants fatalities."

There must have been something in Parker's expression to convince the girl that, at the very least, she believed what she was saying.

"They—" Gwen whispered. "They wouldn't."

"They would." Parker was firm and immovable. "Clint preys on people who could otherwise have seen progress with the help of a psychiatrist. He doesn't want you, or Sandra with her addiction issues, or anyone else to have the option."

A shape appeared in the doorway.

"Well said," said Jarod. Each face turned at the sound of his voice. He approached the divan. "Another hard truth: Clint would shed no tears if your father was one of the casualties in the planned explosions."

Gwen looked up at Jarod with undisguised fright. Her mouth opened, then closed.

"You saw him — you saw the explosives?" she asked. Her voice shook.

"Yes," said Jarod.

"Are you sure it's not a bluff? How can you be sure?"

"I have a background in bomb disposal. They're real, and they're ready to be loaded into the suitcases any day now."

If possible, Gwen now looked even more scared. "Bomb disposal? Does that mean… are you a cop? Am I going to go to jai—" She took in a great, wheezing inhale and tears gathered in her eyes. "To jail? For helping them?" Another wheeze.

Parker lost neither time nor dignity, but pulled Gwen into a hug.

"No, Gwen. You're fine, we aren't cops, you're not in trouble. Breathe along with me, okay?"

It did the trick. Gwen's fingers dug into Parker's shoulder blades and her breathing slowed, interrupted occasionally by hiccupping sobs.

Sydney announced himself with a tentative knock at the doorway.

"This is a lot for Miss Boyce. Would the rest of you kindly leave us be for a moment? For once, I flatter myself I am the most qualified to help."

Parker pulled away and gave Gwen a watery smile. "This is my friend Sydney. His job is talking to people who are having a rough time. He helps me all the time. He's safe to talk to, I promise. I'll be back soon, okay?"

Gwen looked between Parker and Sydney, back and forth, before nodding. The rest of the QS-9300 team filed out of Sydney's office. Parker's free hand closed over Jarod's arm.

"Did it wor—"

"So, Jarod," interrupted Brigitte, sizing him up. "Did Cox's new juice do the trick? Can I send you back in, or do we have to chuck you in the rubbish bin and start fresh with another asset?"

Jarod's expression registered a minuscule twitch of anger before he reined himself in.

"The 'rubbish bin' would be premature," he said. "I had Cox run my blood, and although it did not completely flush my system of quicksilver, I should have more time now. Cox seems to think he's figured out a way to prevent my system from developing an immunity to this new counteragent."

Parker let her breath out in an audible whoosh of air.

"That's good," she said, schooling her tone into something passably business-like. "That's good. We'll, ah. We'll be able to get more done."

"Miss Parker?"

"What?"

"You're hurting me."

She blinked at him, uncomprehending. In answer to her unvoiced question, he looked pointedly down at his arm, where her nails were digging into the underside of his forearm. She let go.

"If you're quite done using Jarod as a crutch, I need him for a debrief," said Brigitte. "You're free to go on home, if you like, Miss Parker. I'll see you tomorrow morning?"

"Why would you see me tomorrow morning?"

Brigitte tsked. "Your father, Miss Parker. Remember? He misses you."

Parker nodded, distracted. She didn't care to examine the fact that she hadn't thought about her father more than a handful of times since she'd first gone undercover.


Mr. Parker answered the door on the fifth ring of his doorbell, sporting pin-striped pyjamas and a scowl.

"Yes, what do you want?" The moment of recognition was delayed a half-second. "Oh, Angel. How good to see you! Sorry to leave you on the stoop, that wife of mine didn't seem to want to get off her hiney and answer the door. I've got to do everything around here!"

He retreated into the house, cradling his useless arm. Miss Parker followed him inside, looking around. Most of the lights were out.

"Where is Brigitte?" she asked.

Mr. Parker paused. "Well. Now that I think about it, I believe she's in the shower. Still." He lowered himself into his favourite chair in front of the fire. "I wasn't expecting you this morning, Angel. Did you clean up that whole business with the, ah. The fellow up in Quebec?"

"New Brunswick," corrected Miss Parker automatically.

Mr. Parker waved his hand impatiently. "Who can keep track? It makes no difference. Well, did you?"

"Not yet, Daddy. We got the girl home but—"

"Not yet? Not yet? My goodness, it's been months! I'm beginning to think this was all a terrible idea," Mr. Parker blustered.

"Months? It hasn't even been one month, Daddy. It's a longer assignment, yes—"

"Longer! I'll say! Stop correcting me, Angel, it's unbecoming and irrelevant besides," he snapped. Miss Parker shut her mouth like a rat trap and watched as her father picked up a glass of whiskey and swirled the liquid within aimlessly. "You know, this whole Kwik-E-Mart fiasco, I'm starting to think it's a wash." Quicksilver, Miss Parker translated in her head, not daring to correct her sleep-deprived father again. "It's only a matter of time before it all goes pear-shaped and the Triumvirate uses it against me. They're already doing that, you know. All this talk about the Tower bombing, they have the nerve to suggest I'm not the same as I was before. You've seen me since the attack, Angel, aren't I the same?" Once again, he failed to pause for an answer. "But they're saying I can't handle the running of headquarters. Didn't I make sure Rayner got a bullet in the head? Didn't I make sure Washington moved to the centre with their last governor pick? Didn't I bring in new contracts from the Russians? Everything that's gone wrong has been because Jarod can't seem to behave." He turned his scowl on his daughter. "Which is your job. Nothing to do with me. Is it really so hard to bring him to heel?"

He finally paused for breath, giving Miss Parker room to respond.

"There have been bumps along the way, yes," she said, trying to keep her tone measured. Her father didn't often directly reprimand her, at least not since she'd made it clear that her time with the Centre was finite. "But I think that stands to reason. He doesn't want to be doing this work, a little rebellion is only natural. I believe that he's becoming… resigned to working with us."

Too resigned, if you asked her.

"Yes, that's easy to say now," said Mr. Parker impatiently. "Until the next rebellion. The problem is not that he doesn't want to play. That's the whole point of the gland, to make him cooperative. The problem is, the gland's in the wrong person. We may need to have some conversations about starting fresh. Obviously, Cox would have to sort out this whole counter-thingy issue before we start. It looks like it's too late for Jarod. Shame."

This was going in a dangerous direction. Starting fresh? Putting a new gland in someone new? That could only mean giving up on Jarod altogether, and sticking her with some blunt instrument, someone who thought in straight lines instead of corkscrews. Someone who would never have thought of setting up his own counteragent production lab. Meanwhile… what would happen to Jarod?

"It's not too late," said Miss Parker, jumping in before her father got going again. "Cox developed an updated formula. Jarod will be ready for the next mission, and the next, it's all fine. It's too early to talk about starting fresh, Daddy." Gentle words, calming words. "Why are we talking about Project Quicksilver at all? Let's catch up. How have you—"

"Yes, you would want to change the subject." Mr. Parker sighed. "Fine. We finally caught Raines, did you hear? Dragged him out of a basement in Bangor. He's standing trial for the attack on the Tower next week. Bastard."

Brigitte came down the stairs in a bathrobe, towelling down her hair.

"Good morning, Miss Parker," she said, all sunshine and rainbows. "I'm glad you got a minute to stop by. Is the flight back to Canada waiting for you?"

In other words: you've had your moment to talk, now leave.

"I'm sure it is, but it won't leave without me," returned Miss Parker, equally chipper.

Mr. Parker frowned all the way through the insubstantial chit-chat ping-ponging over his head. When Brigitte swept off into the dining room, he tugged on Miss Parker's sleeve.

"I'm annoyed with that woman," he said.

"Oh? Trouble in paradise?" said Miss Parker, trying not to look too pleased. "What did she do?"

"That's just the thing," he grumbled. "I don't remember. Devil of a thing. She's definitely on my last nerve, though."


The welcome back to Val-des-Soucis was fraught, to say the least. Both Jarod and Parker took care to look appropriately shocked when they heard about Gwen's disappearance.

"In the middle of the night?" said Parker. This was in line with The Serene Few's understanding of events. Clint had not noticed her absence until around eleven, about six hours after her departure. If Gwen ever needed more evidence that Clint had been using her and hadn't really cared about her, Parker could think of a few salient points.

"Have you filed a missing person's report?" asked Jarod. They had all congregated in Clint's dining room, ostensibly for a reunion dinner, but it had turned into more of a news bulletin for everything Jarod and Marcie had missed.

"No," said Clint in a resentful grumble. "They'd just say she's an adult and can go where she likes. The cops don't like us up here. They can't stand that we're surviving on our own. I just hate to think what could have happened to her. She wouldn't have left on her own, not without saying something. I hate to think of her in the back of some perv's van."

Discounting the part about the perv, he wasn't too far off the mark.

"So you think she was kidnapped? Who would do that?" said Parker.

Clint pursed his lips. "I have an idea who might have." Once he was sure he had a captive audience, he continued. "Her dad."

"Her dad?" Charlotte parroted. "The guy who—" Her husband nudged her in the ribs. "Ow! Cut that out, Marcie should know. Jarod, too."

Jarod let the moment simmer while each of the Serene Few looked at each other. Mostly, they looked at Clint. Clint, who glared murder right back.

"Know what?" said Jarod, once the tension had stretched just shy of its breaking point.

"It's really Gwen's business to talk about, but… well, she's not here," said Clint. "My Gwen's been through a lot. Her parents both pressured her to rely on prescription drugs, and she only broke away from them when she came here. This is poisonous shit, shit she never needed and her dad only pushed on her because — oh, you'll love this — he's in the pharmaceutical industry. She was his walking ad for those toxic pills, and all the while, these pills are neutering her. Taking her passion away, her emotions, trying to make her into something she's not. She's an artist! You can't just medicate the pain away from an artist, right?"

"That's… horrible," said Parker in her best hushed, horrified voice. Privately, she thought: have you met Gwen? The girl's a bundle of nerves. What use is the passion for artistic endeavour when you're unhappy?

"So horrible," Sandra agreed. "I always felt for Gwen, since I've been through something very similar. Her dad, his company Modesci… the whole industry. They have a lot to answer for."

"And they will," said Webster. He reached out to rub his wife's shoulder in comfort.

"So you think he took Gwen," said Jarod. "Where would he have taken her?"

"Brampton," said Charlotte eagerly. "It's in Ontario. That's where her family is from. We don't hold it against her."

"So what are we waiting for?" said Parker. "We want Gwen back, we should go get Gwen back. Sounds like the cops couldn't stop us if she wants to come."

This was the critical moment. If she'd spooked them, they might not get another shot at an invitation to attend with the rest of the Serene Few that weekend.

You are cordially invited
to Celebrate the
Terrorist Attack on Modesci Pharmaceutical Labs!
This Friday
in Brampton, Ontario
RSVP by Thursday to reserve your spot!

"Yes!" Charlotte beamed. "That's exactly what we're going to do, since we'll be there, anyway. On Friday."

"Charlotte—" said Clint, his tone intended to warn.

"Whatever this is, we're ready," said Jarod. He dropped his head to Parker's shoulder briefly, a gentle nudge. "Right, love? We'll do whatever it takes to help bring her back."

The moment teetered on the edge of rejection and acceptance. Clint let out a long breath.

"Alright," he said. "We have something planned for Gwen's parents and her dad's company…"