Miss Parker zipped the small suitcase closed and then straightened to look around her. The bedroom had become quite comfortable in the last week or so – a familiar refuge from memories and thoughts that belonged to a life she’d been forced to leave behind her. Even the clothing in the suitcase that Jarod had collected from her closet before spiriting her out of Blue Cove was only marginally “Miss Parker-ish” – other than her long, leather coat, there wasn’t a single killer miniskirt or pair of leather pants or stilettos in there at all. Dress pants, coordinating pastel shell blouses, a couple of sweaters and a couple of pairs of fashionably styled and labeled blue jeans were what Jarod had culled from her Blue Cove wardrobe. Slipped into side pockets were a pair of low slip-ons that had been chosen because they were a neutral color that coordinated with everything else that had been packed. On her feet, however, was a comfortable pair of sports shoes that had seen everything from the carpets in the living room to the barn floor.

Jarod had asked her to help out while she recuperated – and she had. She’d helped Margaret out in the kitchen preparing meals, done her turn with a dust cloth and washed dishes when her turn came up. She’d even had an opportunity to go horseback riding with Ethan and the Major to check the fences before the first real snows were expected, and then swung a hammer and held up barbed wire for others to affix to the repaired posts. All in all, it had been like a working vacation – doing tasks and chores that were either completely new and different or the same as she’d before but in a new and different locale.

Best of all, she’d gotten to know the Russell’s well enough during the last week to have grown genuinely fond of the entire clan. It had been a treat to finally be around her half-brother long enough to learn that he had a sly sense of humor combined with a true appreciation for the ridiculous and a tendency to enjoy pulling practical jokes on just about everyone. JD had been harder to get close to, but she’d become fond of the shier and more reserved version of Jarod in the day or so before he’d left for Montana. Major Charles, once he’d settled with the idea of her being in the house, had demonstrated stability and a cautious friendliness for her. Margaret, on the other hand, had not only thoroughly enjoyed having another woman in this house filled with men, but had enjoyed getting to know the daughter of a woman she’d once called “friend.”

And now, it seemed, it was time to leave – and she wasn’t all that thrilled about it. Yes, she dearly wanted to get back at the man who had ripped her so abruptly and completely from her former life. But for a week she’d had the chance to see how a family could be – a REAL family that openly cared for each other without abusing the relationships at all – and the thought of leaving that security was a cold one.

There was no help for it, though. In her purse she had the directions to the apartment Jarod shared with his sister Emily – as well as the address of the apartment several streets away that she’d be sharing with Evan as she started up a new and completely bogus life as Catherine Jamison, top notch security analyst. Jarod had told her that she needed to change her appearance, and so she’d borrowed the Major’s pickup to drive into Honesdale to have her hair cut, lightened to a dark gold and then styled so that the latent waves she’d battled for the better part of her adult life could be given free rein. That had been two days ago, and she still did a double-take when she passed a mirror.

“Are you ready, Melissa?” the Major called up the stairs at her. “If we’re going to get to Philadelphia before your little brother gets there, we need to get a move on…”

“I’m coming,” she called back, sighing as she took one last look at the flowered wallpaper and sheer curtains that had been her personal space for the last week. She took firm hold on the suitcase handle and grabbed up her jacket from where she’d laid it on the bed.

“Here, let me take this for you,” Major Charles told her as met her at the bottom of the staircase. He took the suitcase from her and then bent to kiss Margaret on the cheek. “I should be back later tonight, don’t wait supper for me. Knowing Em, she’ll probably insist on feeding me first.”

“You drive carefully,” Margaret warned him and then turned to her houseguest. “I’m going to miss you when you’re gone, Melissa,” she announced as she put her arms around the astonished woman to hug her closely and even deposit a kiss on her cheek. “Emily doesn’t come to spend a lot of time anymore – and it’s been nice to have another woman in the house.”

Miss Parker returned the hug. “I appreciate all you both have done for me,” she whispered sincerely. “I just hope that when everything is all said and done I might be able to come back for a visit once in a while…”

“If you don’t,” Ethan announced from behind her, “we’ll all be very disappointed.” He pulled Miss Parker from his mother’s embrace and right into a tight one of his own. “I don’t want to lose track of you again.”

“You won’t, I promise,” she vowed earnestly, closing her eyes to engrave the memory of her half-brother, whole and healthy, in her mind and heart. “Now that I know where to find you, count on seeing me again. And I hope when you do, you won’t mind playing uncle to an eight year old boy…”

“You betcha!” Ethan set her back and smiled impishly at her. “It will be good to see at least one Parker having a chance to have a somewhat normal childhood.”

“Come on, girl! The morning’s wasting!” Major Charles called from outside the farmhouse now.

“You’d better get going,” Margaret smiled and patted her on the back. “When Charles decides that it’s time to go, neither sleet nor snow will slow him down or get him to wait.”

Miss Parker smiled at her hostess and then at her brother again – and then walked out of the house that had become like another home to her. Major Charles was already behind the wheel of the pickup, with the passenger door left open invitingly. “Off to Philadelphia,” she stated as she settled herself into the passenger seat and reached behind her right shoulder for the seatbelt.

“Off to Philadelphia,” Major Charles repeated, putting the pickup in gear and heading down the gravel drive toward the narrow lane that would take them to the highway heading south.

~~~~~~~~*

“But Sydney,” Evan complained even as he stuffed clothing into a backpack at his guardian’s insistence, “I don’t know anybody in Philadelphia.”

“Yes, you do,” Sydney told him mysteriously from across the hallway, where he was slipping his suspenders up over his shoulders and then reaching for the sweater-vest that would help him stay warm during the trip.

“Who?” Evan demanded challengingly. “I’ve never even BEEN to Philadel…”

“I know that,” Sydney answered patiently. Now fully prepared for his turn as chauffeur, he walked from his bedroom over to where he could lean against the doorjamb of Evan’s room. “But you know this person very well.”

Evan shrugged the straps of his backpack over one shoulder and turned to face the old psychiatrist with an expression of impatience and frustration on his face. “Why won’t you tell me who it is?”

Sydney’s breath caught in his throat. He’d spent the better part of the whole night long lying awake in bed trying to figure out how to tell his charge – a young boy he loved as a grandson – he’d been lied to and his beloved sister HADN’T died. But despite knowing he had to tell Evan eventually – a task best accomplished long before they got anywhere near Philadelphia – he hadn’t thought of a good way to explain it yet.

Evan still got very emotional whenever he thought or spoke of his sister. Her death had hurt him desperately – in many ways reminding Sydney all too painfully of the hurt that had remained in Miss Parker’s eyes long after the purported death of her mother all those years ago – and Sydney had no doubt that Evan would feel just as betrayed and angry when he discovered the truth about this fabricated death as his big sister had in her turn. The only good thing in this whole situation, Sydney had comforted himself by thinking, was that Evan was too young to be wielding a Smith & Wesson as his sister had been on that day years earlier.

This was going to be a very long trip if Evan couldn’t find it in him to forgive him when he learned the reasons why it had been necessary for his sister to be assumed dead, but Sydney sighed and straightened. He could no longer postpone the inevitable. “Very well… Sit down, Evan,” he told he boy and pointed to the bed. “There are a few things we need to talk about before we leave.”

Evan’s eyes widened, and then he was shrugging his backpack onto the bed and sitting down next to it. He looked back up at Sydney with wary curiosity.

“A situation arose at the Centre where your sister… I… work… worked, Evan – a very dangerous situation,” Sydney began lamely. “Certain people were planning to do a very bad thing, and they were overheard talking one day and saying that…” Sydney swallowed. Telling the truth in simple terms so that a child could understand complex situations was never easy.

“What?” Evan wanted to know, “and what does this have to do with…”

“They said that the only person who could ruin their plans was your sister – and that if she got too close, she was to be killed.” Sydney closed his eyes. “And when the time came, and someone DID try to kill her, Sam and Broots and I called another friend of ours for help.”

“But they killed her anyway,” Evan choked out.

Sydney took a very deep breath, opened his eyes and then shook his head. “No, Evan, they didn’t. This friend we called made it look like she died, so that he could get her safely away and so that the bad people would quit trying to kill her – but your sister is very much alive. It’s she whom we’re going to see in Philadelphia.”

Evan’s eyes widened and his jaw sagged open in shock. “But…” The boy worked madly to wrap his mind around what he was hearing and what he’d been living through for the last ten days. “But we had a funeral… You were there – I saw you cry too…”

“That was to make it look real, Evan,” Sydney sat down on the bed next to his ward but didn’t dare reach out to him. “It was very important that everyone believe that she was dead so that nobody would start looking for her again.”

Storm-grey eyes that reminded Sydney far too much of Miss Parker blinked a few times again and then looked into his face accusingly. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Because,” Sydney sighed, “it was important to make the whole pretense seem real, Evan… If you knew…”

“You lied to me.” The statement was in a flat voice the like of which Sydney had heard before from two much older throats. Those four words were like daggers into his soul – a dagger he’d never dreamed would be passed along to a new generation to use on his all too stained soul. Once more a promise to one friend had done terrible injury to someone he cared about – and once more, he had no defense for his actions except for the feeble one offered by the truth.

“I had to,” he reasoned in self defense. “I didn’t want your sister to die after all, despite all our work to get her to a safe place. And I had promised not to say anything to you until…”

Evan’s eyes clouded, and he frowned in order to control his mind to think clearly. “Why didn’t SHE call me when the funeral was over – she could have told me then…” He looked back up into Sydney’s face, this time his sadness and betrayal was almost overwhelming. “She lied to me too.”

“She had to wait too, Evan, until the danger to her was past for you to know…”

“Do I HAVE to go to Philadelphia?” The flat tone was back – and Sydney had a suspicion that he wasn’t the only adult who was going to be reaping the bitter rewards of this duplicity.

He responded by taking a deep breath and pulling his psychiatric training and skill about him like mental shield. “Why don’t we go to Philadelphia – and after you’ve talked to her, THEN you can decide what you want and don’t want?”

Evan silently reached for his backpack and rose from the bed, and then gave Sydney a glance as he walked past with eyes that were expressionless. Sydney sighed again. Yes, it would be a very long drive to Philadelphia without Evan participating in any conversation along the way.

But at least the boy knew the truth now; and perhaps somewhere along the line someday, he’d forgive him – forgive them all – for hurting him so badly. Sydney doubted, however, that the forgiveness would come anytime soon. Painful experience had taught him otherwise. Jarod never HAD forgiven him, and his sister’s forgiveness had taken years…

~~~~~~~~~*

“I’m glad to see you again,” Jake McKenna waved graciously to his visitor. “And I can see you’re now convinced of the claims I’ve been making about the Centre…”

“Your claims were never that much in doubt,” Lula Mutumbo arranged herself regally in the comfortable chair. “But when we spoke on the telephone the other day, you were mentioning that your organization was getting ready to step up into taking over in an area of inquiry that the Centre had let lapse – and it was this that got my attention and curiosity going.”

Jake chuckled. “Yes, I’d imagine that would spark some interest – especially since it was one of the few really profitable endeavors the Centre had going for it for a very long time.”

Lula frowned, a tiny suspicion germinating in the back of her mind. “The Centre, for all its other faults, had a goodly number of very profitable endeavors, Mr. McKenna – or the Triumvirate would not have continued to pour money into the business for decades.”

“Which is, of course, why YOU sought ME out a few months ago,” Jake tossed back casually, with eyes that were anything but. He reached forward and pulled towards him a thin manila folder and then opened it. “I have here a copy of the report that you submitted to your fellow Triumvirate members wherein you list the many ways in which the Centre was no longer meeting its financial obligation…”

“Those were… are… private documents…” Lula sputtered.

Jake merely gave a subtle shrug and vague gesture. “I like to know about the people with whom I’m considering doing business,” he allowed without the slightest hint of defensive tone. “Don’t tell me that you don’t have a similar drawer in a file cabinet somewhere on me and my Foundation.”

Lula’s frown deepened, but she didn’t respond to the obvious bait. She did indeed have a rather extensive investigative report about the Foundation done long before she had decided that THIS was the firm to approach – the firm that stood the best chance of replacing the Centre in profitability and return on investment. “You were saying about something that the Centre had once been doing…” she began, heading back to the original topic of discussion.

“Yes.” Jake closed the manila folder he’d opened and placed it very conspicuously and carefully back where it had been. “It took my investigators a very long time to pinpoint just how and why the Centre always managed to come out ahead on so many projects that we were researching at the same time – up until about eleven years ago, that is. It seems the Centre had in its possession a genius of exceptional ability and remarkable training.”

“I’m well aware of Centre assets,” Lula told him sharply.

He nodded. “I’m certain you are, Mrs. Mutumbo. Just as I’m certain you understand that so much of the financial turmoil the Centre has recently endured is due to the fact that this genius they had in their possession decided to pull up stakes and leave – taking his talent with him.”

Lula’s dark eyes snapped. “Get to the point, Mr. McKenna.”

Jake rose and, with his hands clasped behind him, he strolled to his plate glass window and looked out over the inner courtyard of the Foundation property. “Mr. Parker, the Chairman of the Centre at the time, and Mr. Raines, his closest associate, weren’t going to let their entire company’s future depend on the continued access to one man. To do so would be to run the risk that any loss of this one genius would bankrupt the company – and these men were nothing if not forward-thinkers. Since so much of the research that the Centre was doing at the time was bio-medical, it was natural that the Centre become a leader – a pioneer, in fact – in the art of cloning.”

“Again, you’re not telling me anything I didn’t already know,” Lula announced edgily.

“Yes,” Jake glanced in her direction and then turned to walk toward her and then prop his behind on his desk casually – moving his hands to a clasped position in what would have been his lap had he been seated. “Their research was an unqualified success – eventually – going far beyond their wildest dreams. Where other bio-medical firms were experimenting with animal cloning – the infamous “Dolly”, for example – the Centre went that one step further. They had been working on the human genome – so they did what no one else would consider. They cloned their genius.”

Lula’s eyebrows rose slightly. “Oh? Really?”

Jake nodded. “They cloned him a total of twelve times over the years.”

Lula’s stomach turned. There had been only three copies of the reports that Raines had submitted just before announcing that his Duplicity project was almost ready to come on-line – so the number of people who could have known to tell the McKenna’s of what was going on was extremely limited. “How did you come by THAT information, if you don’t mind my asking?”

“Oh, you can ask,” Jake replied with a wide, toothy grin that reminded the African woman of pictures of a great white shark, “just don’t expect to get much by way of an answer. I have the information – and now I’ve made use of it.”

“What do you mean?”

Jake pushed himself away from his desk and stretched out a hand. “I’ll show you,” he said proudly. “Come with me.”

Lula rose, her face a study in confusion, only to have McKenna’s hand cup her elbow and pull her toward the office doorway. She held up a hand when her personal bodyguard bridled at the sight of his superior being manhandled in any way – and then pointed the man into his seat again. “I’ll be back in a moment,” she told him even as McKenna led her down the corridor. “Wait here.”

“Wise move,” Jake nodded as he bent toward her. “We don’t need any more people knowing OUR secrets than necessary – but since you know so many of the details of this one already, I don’t see the harm in letting you see it all.”

They paused in front of a locked set of doors that led off at an angle while Jake dragged his identification badge across a reader and punched in a security code. “What is this?” Lula demanded.

“We’re calling THIS particular little project “Purloined” – mostly because of how we came into possession of the project key,” Jake announced softly as he dragged Lula into a small room and then pointed to the window in an interior wall. “I’m certain you can recognize the key…”

Lula did indeed recognize the key – the young man who stood obstinate and unmoving in front of a white board on which strings of mathematical gibberish and chemical diagrams had been scrawled. “What have you done?” she breathed in surprise and consternation.

“We took away him from the Centre when it was at its most vulnerable,” McKenna announced proudly, “and then we made sure than nobody else in the world would ever be able to take advantage of the immense resources represented here. The facility where this young copy of a certifiable genius was once housed is now a pile of ash and debris in the middle of a Montana forest – and the Foundation is now in possession of the only known Pretender in the world.”

“You… YOU are responsible for what happened in Montana?” Lula gaped, knowing that if Shinse Olabi were to discover this connection between the firm she’d been advocating and the death of Ugo N’deka, her future in the Triumvirate would be anything but secure.

“Mrs. Mutumbo, meet the reason why you’re going to be GLAD to join the future of the Triumvirate with that of the Eire Foundation!” Jake preened, his pride in taking from the Centre that on which so much had depended making him blind to the dismay in his companion’s voice.

~~~~~~~~*

Stu Markham reached for the telephone. “Markham,” he answered in his usual crisp, professional tone.

“Hey Stu,” the cheery voice of Abner Wilmot sounded in his ear, “I finally got home from that conference in Dallas and got your message. What can I do for you?”

“Abner!” Markham breathed in relief. He’d put in a call to one of his old college buddies – a man who had continued in clinical psychology studying the varying levels of human intelligence – once he had been assured that the two foundling boys were finally placed in a foster situation where they’d be comfortable and appreciated. Laurel Goldstein had retired from the foster family program – but was easily enough convinced to take in two extraordinary fosterlings once he’d had a chance to talk to her. Now all he had to do was to get these boys situated in a learning institution that would challenge them properly. “Are you still looking into intelligence?”

Wilmot chuckled on the other end of the line. “That’s what that conference I just attended in Dallas was all about, Stu. Didn’t you get the pusher?”

“Oh yea…” Yes, now that he thought about it, he could remember tossing the pamphlet out in the trash because his busy schedule as school counselor and administrator simply didn’t make allowances for such things during the school year. “Well,” he started again, “that’s the reason I’m calling. I have a couple of boys here that I think you should consider taking a close look at.”

“Savants?” Wilmot asked absently.

Stu understood. Almost every clinical psychologist working on human intelligence was bombarded with requests to study – and sometimes work with – savants, who were people usually considered severely retarded having highly specialized skills with no corresponding training or understanding. “Nope. Although I’m not sure either or both of them couldn’t pull complex mathematical answers for you out of thin air, I’m talking unqualified genius here.”

“Genius?” Wilmot definitely sounded a little more interested this time.

“Yeah. Seems these two kids – one about sixteen, the other about fourteen – were found on the streets about a week or so ago. They say they know their first names – but no last name… and there are no police reports of missing or exploited children with their description…”

“Stu… Stu!” Wilmot interrupted the narrative. “What makes you think you have genius on your hands as compared to just very bright individuals?”

Markham shook his head and pulled toward him the file folder that contained the report from the testing facility that had administered the exam that had clued him in to the odd nature of his new students. “Verbal scores were very high-end for both boys, and their mathematical scores were perfect. PERFECT, Abner.”

“That’s certainly different,” Wilmot admitted, “but not outside the Bell Curve…”

“Bell Curve be damned. I think you need to come down to Philadelphia and interview these two,” Markham insisted. “I’ve never seen anything like them.”

“Stu… I just got back from Dallas, and if I don’t spend a LITTLE time around the house, Suz’s going to file for divorce,” Wilmot chided his friend, knowing that Markham would take the statement with the right amount of skepticism. Both men had dated Suzanne Ashford – but Wilmot was the grad student who’d managed to catch her eye and hold it. Suzanne was a gifted educator in her own right, but she also prized her home life enough that after about the fourth conference in a two-month period calling for her husband’s input, she’d begin to complain – and Wilmot would do anything to keep his wife happy.

“How about if I drive them up to you?” Markham suggested vehemently. He HAD to get these boys to his friend – Abner would know what to do with them, what direction to steer them to adequately and properly hone their gift. Hell, it was entirely possible that Wilmot could make a life’s study out of these two individuals – heaven knew HE would be tempted to do just that, if he were in a position to accomplish it.

“Well,” Wilmot hedged. Suzanne wouldn’t complain much if Markham showed up – she’d been saying just before he left for Dallas that they hadn’t seen much of their old school friend in the last couple of years. “Let me clear it with Suz, and I’ll get back to you this evening – how’s that? I know she’s been wondering what you’ve been doing with yourself since Cyn…”

“Great!” Markham broke in. He didn’t need to think about his own wife, Cynthia – now dead two years from cervical cancer. “I’ll talk to the foster mother and make arrangements to have the boys for the weekend. Don’t you and Suz worry about putting me up – I’ll get the boys and me a room at the local…”

“Don’t be silly! Suzanne would have my hide for sure if I let you do that!” Abner laughed out loud. “Look, Davie’s out of the house now – so we have essentially two guest rooms. Provided your supposed geniuses don’t mind bunking together for a night, we can handle the room and board issues.”

Markham shook his head and smiled to himself. Yes, getting away from Philadelphia to head up to Albany would be a good move for him. He’d buried himself in his work for the last two years – not taking vacations, helping out at a charter school with a curtailed budget pro bono – and perhaps the time had come to open up to friends he’d locked out of his life for fear they would remind him too much of Cynthia. “All right! All right! Give me a call at home tonight and confirm or deny, ok?”

“You’ve got it!” Abner sounded considerably more animated than he had at the beginning of the call. “It was good to hear your voice, man.”

“You too,” Markham agreed. He’d missed Abner – missed Suzanne too. This upcoming trip would do him real good on a number of levels. “Talk to you later then.”

Already his fingers were skipping through the crowded spindle of his desktop Rolodex, searching for the home phone number for Lauren Goldstein.

~~~~~~~~*

“Are you sure?” Em asked, noting down the information she’d just been given on her notepad and then looking up expectantly into the face of Clancy Thompson, the former Foundation janitor whom she had convinced to talk to her.

“I know what I saw, miss,” the elderly African nodded vehemently, “and what I heard. Mr. McKenna was very adamant that day that certain events were coming shortly that would mean that the Foundation would be the only firm of its kind on the entire East Coast. He was telling the man on the phone that plans had been set into motion – and that “heads would roll.” That’s what he said.”

“Did he give you any indication as to whose head would be rolling?”

The grizzled grey head shook slowly. “No, miss. I just heard a name of someone he was trusting to get things accomplished – “Bateman”. Thing is,” Thompson paused and thought for a moment. “Nope – I was right. I don’t remember any Bateman working there – at least, not in the areas where I was most often.”

“Bateman?” Em wrote the name down and circled it in her notes. “You’re certain that’s what it was?”

“My memory is just as sharp as it ever was, young lady,” Thompson chided her proudly, “and I’ve never had any problems with my hearing. “Bateman” is what I heard – and that must be the name of whoever it was that was going to be responsible for doing whatever it was to make those heads roll that Mr. McKenna was talking about.”

“And how long ago was this?”

“A month ago Thursday,” the elderly African answered with a tone of certainty. “I remember,” he added cagily, as if anticipating her next question, “because that was the day before I officially retired – and right after Mr. McKenna finished talking to this man on the phone, he was talking to me about how the pension plan had suffered some bad investments…”

Emily’s eyebrows shot up, and she was suddenly noting that little bit of information too. “Really? Had you heard anything about the Foundation being in any financial difficulty before then?”

“No, ma’am,” Thompson shook his head firmly. “But I’ve talked to a couple of my fellow retirees since then. They told me that their pension payments took a sudden nosedive about three months ago – and when they called, they got the same song and dance about the plan’s investments having taken a beating in the stock market during that last “adjustment”…” He shook his head again, this time as if in disbelief. “I listen to the financial reports, Miss Russell – I know how to read the newspaper and look things up on the Internet. I may have been a janitor, but I have kids who taught me a good deal while they were in college. I know when I’m being lied to.”

“Most pension or retirement fund companies send their clients periodic reports. Do you still have yours for the last, say, year or so?”

Thompson shrugged. “I could look for you…”

Em smiled at him. “That would be really appreciated, Mr. Thompson.”

The old man looked around the little corner diner that he’d chosen to be the meeting place with this reporter. There were no signs of the dark suits or sunglasses that seemed to be the uniform of Foundation Security – and besides, he’d not signed any non-disclosure agreement because his work had been of a specifically low-security nature. Even so, it wouldn’t pay to be seen hanging around a strange young white woman in a decided black neighborhood. “Is there anything else?” he asked, content to let his actions and tone communicate his desire to bring the interview to an end.

“Not at the moment.” Em closed her notebook and tucked it and her pen back into her large purse. “Can I call you if I have other questions that you might be able to answer?”

Thompson’s eyes narrowed. “You can – IF you tell me exactly what it is you’re looking for…”

Em’s dark head shook gently. “I don’t think that would a good idea, Mr. Thompson. If, as you say, Mr. McKenna was dealing with dangerous men capable of making heads roll, the last thing YOU want to do is become known for poking around where you don’t belong or asking questions you’d otherwise never have thought of.” Her dark chocolate eyes glowed with concern. “It’s as much for your own protection as anything else.”

Thompson continued to look the young woman reporter in the eye for a long time without discerning any remote hint of evasion or dissembling. “OK, Miss Russell. I wish you luck with your article – when do you think you’ll be publishing it?”

Now it was Em’s turn to shrug. “I’m not sure – but I’ll give you advanced copy to read and approve before I let anything hit the presses, OK?”

The old gentleman smiled at that. “Fair enough.” He rose and dug in his pocket. “Let me pay for the…”

“Let me,” Em insisted gently. “I’m the one with the expense account – a small one, but easily able to handle a cup of coffee or two here and there…” She smiled back at him. “Thanks for agreeing to talk to me.”

She watched Thompson walk briskly to the door of the diner and push through – the man still tall and straight of posture. There was a pride to the man that was admirable – she hoped that she’d have that same attitude when she was his age.

Then she shook her head again. So “heads would roll”, eh? Jarod would be glad to hear THAT little piece of information – along with the name Bateman…

Wait. Tonight was the night that Miss Parker landed in her apartment for a while – and then was escorted over to the new place that she’d live in with a pretend husband and son. Em sighed, then picked up the check for the two coffees and dug in her purse for her wallet. She still had an hour or two before she needed to head home. She could do an Internet search and maybe call one of her sources at the police department before then.

And one of these days, she’d have to start putting together an outline of the article, so that her editor would have some idea just what it was that had her turning down other, plum projects.

~~~~~~~~*

“Horace, it’s been over a week, and still not a single word! Are you SURE there’s nothing wrong with him?”

Horace looked across the small stretch of park lawn between where he sat on a bench with Sandi to where Peter crouched near a flowerbed, studying the blooms closely. The day had gone well up until then – he’d had three interviews that morning and early afternoon, and he was certain that one of the jobs was going to materialize in a very short time. That, in itself, would help relieve a good deal of the tension that the both of them had been feeling lately as their funding slowly dwindled.

But, as he thought about it, he’d seen this conversation coming over the last few days – even as Sandi slowly got to know her foundling son better. The continuing silence from the boy was troublesome – even he had to admit that. “I told you,” he nevertheless assured his wife, “everything I ever read about him said that he was a genius…”

“A genius who isn’t talking…” Sandi muttered, her concern for her new son plain in her voice. “He does what he’s told – he NEVER misbehaves. Horace, that simply isn’t normal – it’s starting to get downright spooky!”

“I never said he was normal, honey,” Horace reminded her sharply. “I said he was a genius – and that nobody would ever think to look for him because nobody knows he exists besides us. Look, you know he understands everything you say to him…”

“That’s not the point!” she whispered vehemently.

“I’ll talk to him, and maybe that will help,” Horace offered, putting a hand on his wife’s knee and pushing himself to his feet.

Sandi blinked in astonishment. “You think talking to him will do any good? He’s not an adult either!” she insisted. “He’s a three – maybe four – year old child…”

“He’s a three- maybe four – year-old child with an IQ of God-knows-what,” Horace interrupted. “Let me see what I can do?” He gazed down at her as if her permission was a necessity.

Sandi spread her hands wide and shrugged as she shook her head. “You’re crazy,” she told him honestly, but then caught at his hand and squeezed it. “But I love you anyway.” She cast a worried look in the boy’s direction. “And I’m starting to love him too.”

Horace squeezed her hand back and then freed himself to walk over to where Peter still squatted. Now he could see that the boy was carefully watching the actions of a honeybee as it worked its way across the collected blooms in the general area. He squatted down next to him and watched the bee for a long and quiet moment.

Peter didn’t flinch or move as the man – the Daddy – came close. He was getting used to the proximity of these people, who seemed determined that nothing bad happen to him. They were kind, soft-voiced, never demanding, fed him delicious things he’d never dreamed were possible, kept him clothed in comfortable and warm clothing and sleeping between sweet-smelling sheets on a soft and comfortable bed every night. They had done nothing to threaten the sense of safety and security they had built around him – and yet…

“I think I understand,” the Daddy said softly at last, finally drawing Peter’s attention. The Daddy’s eyes were kind – not angry – and that helped settle the quick sense of fear that had leapt forward. “You think this is going to end, don’t you? You keep waiting for someone to tell you the SIM is over, and it’s time to go back to your space.”

At last, Peter thought, he DOES understand. Slowly he nodded.

Horace reached out a hand and placed it carefully on the tyke’s back, as if attempting to gentle a wild and unpredictable creature. “It isn’t like that anymore. The place where you lived doesn’t exist anymore – remember? Remember the fire – the explosions – the ceiling falling on you?” In Peter’s eyes, he could see the memories being called forth – and the boy nodded again. “Your Mommy and I have taken you away from that now – far, far away – you don’t have to worry about going back. You’ll NEVER go back there – do you understand?”

Peter’s eyes widened, and he cast a quick glance at the Mommy, who was still sitting on the little bench across the green, watching the two of them. Did this mean… did this mean that the rules… He turned those wide and questioning eyes on the Daddy.

Again Horace nodded. Yes, now that he thought about it carefully, Peter had been continuing to live his life as if in the facility – speaking only when absolutely necessary, a situation that hadn’t actually arisen yet, and doing everything he was told without hesitation or question. He’d seen signs that even the youngest of the eleven had been abused into that mute and unquestioning obedience – but had never questioned the instructions from the Centre given to the mentors on the training of their charges. Nor had he truly appreciated the effect such training would have on the very young – until now. Peter didn’t KNOW it was safe to talk – he didn’t KNOW it was safe at all – and he was afraid of the consequences if he DID talk out of turn when it wasn’t necessary. So he hadn’t spoken, had obeyed without question or hesitation, as had been expected of him since infancy. The idea that those rules might not apply had obvious startled the boy. Perhaps he could build on that and unlock the precocious child behind the silent, stony façade that had been forced on him.

“She’s worried about you, you know,” Horace told the boy gently. “She thinks that something’s wrong with you because you won’t talk to her – and she’s starting to feel…” He stopped. The truth demanded he put everything in the open. “We’re both starting to feel very close to you – the way a real Mommy and Daddy would for their son. We’re a family now…”

Those beautiful and huge dark chocolate eyes blinked, and then a small voice sounded like a bell: “What is “family”?”

Now it was Horace’s turn to blink. “Don’t you know?” Leave it to a child to crack open his shell with a hard question to the outside world. At least he was talking – and with a depth of intelligence that was staggering.

“Nobody told me,” Peter answered bluntly. “What is “Mommy” and “Daddy?””

“A family,” Horace began, suddenly getting a glimpse of what life with a certifiable genius for a son could be like and feeling more than inadequate for the job, “is a group of people who belong together. Usually, a man and a woman become a Mommy and a Daddy – and they do that by getting together and making a baby. But sometimes they can’t have children of their own, so they adopt a little boy or girl who don’t have a family either and become Mommy and Daddy to that little boy or girl – and together they make a new family.”

Peter thought about that for a minute. “Like me?” he asked, his head tipped slightly.

Horace chuckled and reached out to ruffle the boy’s hair. “Yes, like you. We – Mommy and I – have accepted the responsibility for your safety and upbringing, just as if you were our own son. We’ve given you our name…”

“Peter?”

“No… well… yes, that too,” Horace admitted quickly. “But you have my last name now too – that says that you belong to our family. Now that we’ve adopted you, you, me and Mommy all have the same last name…”

The dark eyes widened again. “A last name?”

“Yes. Evanston – your name is Peter Evanston.”

“I have TWO names!” The mere thought of that was astounding.

“Yes. We all have two names…”

“But not before?” The dark eyes were piercing. “Why not before?”

Horace found it difficult to maintain eye contact, but he pushed himself. “I don’t know, Peter. That wasn’t my decision at the time.” He cleared his throat. “Listen - to do this properly, however, we’re going to have to agree never to talk about the before time again…”

“Where are my real Mommy and Daddy?”

“I don’t know,” Horace confessed very softly. “I’m sorry.”

“You… ‘dopted me?”

Finally Horace could face his foundling son’s gaze again. “Yes, Peter, we did.”

Peter’s gaze once more shifted to the Mommy, sitting over there with a sad but hopeful expression. “Mommy worried.”

“She’s worried because you haven’t said a word to her.”

“Not good.” Peter straightened and began walking across the lawn. Horace found himself straightening quickly and having to step lively to catch up to the boy, who walked right up to Sandi and stood before her. “Not worry, Mommy. I talk now.”

Sandi’s fingers flew to her lips, and her eyes quickly searched those of her husband before looking once more on her new son. “Oh, Peter!” she exclaimed and then reached forward to pull her son into her lap and into a tight hug.

Peter found himself truly enjoying the sensation of being held so close. So THIS was family – and it wasn’t a bad thing at all! He closed his eyes and let himself engrave the good feelings of the moment into his memory.

And then, unexpectedly and abruptly, from somewhere deep within where all the fears and worries about being taken back to the Other Place had been carefully packaged away, the tears came. Peter tensed, a conditioned response to the disapproval and chastisement all his previous emotional outbursts had earned him – and yet all that happened was that the arms around him got tighter and he felt her tuck her face into the top of his head and begin to rock him gently too and fro in a soothing rhythm. Then there was another arm around his back – as the Daddy sat down on the park bench and embraced both his wife and his new son.

Peter could hardly believe it. Even that restriction was lifted too? Maybe he really WAS safe – and this was real, and this was forever! He clung to the fabric of Sandi’s jacket with all his small might, giving over his trust that she and Daddy would keep him safe and warm in one huge, blind leap of emotion and faith. “Mommy…” he whimpered, for the first time hoping beyond hope that there would be an answer to the hollow feeling he’d held deep inside for so long, and that the answer he’d longed for now had a name.

“I’ve got you, Baby,” Sandi murmured softly as tears of joy rolled slowly down her cheeks, rocking her weeping child within the shelter of her husband’s arms and feeling complete for the first time in her life. “Mommy’s here.”

~~~~~~~~~*

“Come in, Miss Parker,” Em said graciously, pulling the door to her apartment open a little more to admit the expected guest. “You’re the first to arrive.” Then she smiled widely. “Hi, Daddy,” she beamed and embraced Major Charles warmly.

“Is Jarod here?” Miss Parker glanced around the small but tastefully decorated flat curiously.

“He’ll be another hour or so – he doesn’t like to leave work early so as not to draw attention to himself,” Em told her as she closed the door behind her guests. “He said it was a habit that was very handy while he was running from you.” She pointed. “You can put your suitcase here, behind the couch, for the time being.” She then turned to her father. “How long can you stay?”

“Just long enough to say hello to you and your brother,” the Major told her regretfully. “Your mother sends her love.”

Miss Parker stowed her small piece of luggage and then stood quietly aside as father and daughter chatted. If her time at the Russell farm had taught her anything, it was that it was both impolite and risky to interfere with a close-knit family relationship – and she had promised herself in bed just the evening before that once she put together a family relationship with Evan, it too would be just as close-knit and inviolable as the example she’d just seen in action.

“I have to admit, Miss Parker, you don’t look a lot like Jarod described you,” Em finally turned her attention from her father and gestured for both her guests to follow her into the dining/kitchen area. “He said you have dark hair.”

“I do. This is artificial stupidity,” Miss Parker quipped and was rewarded with hearing Major Charles snort his amusement. “This was also Jarod’s idea.”

Em opened her mouth to respond but was interrupted by another knock on the door. “Busy night,” she commented as she moved past her father to open the door. There she was faced with a distinguished, silver-haired gentleman and a young boy. “You two must be Sydney and Evan,” she nodded and stood aside.

Miss Parker turned in joy to greet her brother – who hesitated only a moment before flying into his sister’s arms. “Sydney said you were dead,” he told her brokenly.

“I’m sorry, little man,” she hushed at him. “It was…”

“And you didn’t call either.” Evan pushed himself back away to stand alone again.

Miss Parker glanced up into Sydney’s face – only to find it filled with sadness and resignation. “What is this?”

“Evan,” Sydney spoke softly and yet firmly, “this really isn’t the time to discuss this.” He turned his attention to the pretty young woman who had opened the door for him. “You must be Jarod’s sister - you look very much like him.”

“Sydney.” Major Charles was holding out a hand to a man he’d met very briefly many years ago, but who had made a lasting impression. He’d learned long ago to trust first impressions – and Sydney had been a genteel and gracious contrast to the monster he’d once envisioned as the man who had taken his place to raise his son. “Good to see you again.”

“Major.” Sydney found the handshake firm and warm. “The years have been kind to you.” He turned once more to Miss Parker and studied her – bemused by the subtle and yet striking changes she’d made in her appearance. “Parker…”

She looked back up at him with a stricken look on her face left over from her study of her little brother and then moved quickly into the Belgian’s embrace. “I’ve missed you, Syd.”

“And I you, believe me! Only once before in my life have I ever been asked to do anything quite so hard,” Sydney told her with feeling, holding her close to him and relishing the sensation of knowing her safe and sound at last, “or felt quite as guilty about keeping a promise to a friend.”

Miss Parker stilled in his arms, struck nearly dumb by the meaning of his words. In terms that were meaningful only to the two of them, Sydney was telling her that she had just done to Evan exactly what her mother had done to her – faked her death and then disappeared without any apparent thought to how that would affect a child. No WONDER Evan was such a hurt and angry boy at the moment. “Oh God!” she breathed softly.

“I trust you’ll be able to understand him then,” Sydney told her as he released her at last.

Her stomach turned even as she nodded. She understood her little brother suddenly all too well – and had a fair idea of what her old friend had once more been asked to experience for his own part. “I’m so sorry, Syd…”

Sydney shook his head. “It was necessary then, it was necessary now. There’s nothing to be sorry about.” His eyes were grave but his tone lightened some. “At least this time, when the truth came out, there wasn’t a gun involved…” As he’d hoped, Miss Parker chuckled through her distress and merely shook her head at his temerity.

Em cleared her throat, aware that the emotions from the Centre people were running far higher than she had expected they would. “Jarod will be home in about an hour,” she repeated for Sydney’s and Evan’s sake. “In the meanwhile, can I offer you…”

Once more, just as she was starting to speak, a knock came on the door. She gave Miss Parker a smile and made yet another trip to the door. “Yes?”

“Jarod asked me to come to this address…” Sam began lamely, not expecting the door to be answered by a pretty young woman.

“Then you’ve come to the right place,” Em sighed and opened her door yet again. “Good thing I was going to serve supper on paper plates…”

“Miss Parker! You look… different…” Sam exclaimed at first happily and then in bemusement. “If I didn’t know it was you, I would hardly recognize…”

“You knew too.” Evan’s tone was flat and angry, and it drew Sam’s attention. “You knew she wasn’t dead.”

“Yes, kid, I knew,” the sweeper admitted. “Didn’t make it easy – watching you be so sad and knowing we had to keep you in the dark for a while.”

“Evan…” Sydney cautioned the boy yet again.

“But when?” Evan whirled on his erstwhile guardian. “When will you talk about it?”

“Later, little man,” Miss Parker put her arm around his shoulders, “when we don’t have an audience who doesn’t know what’s going on.” She glanced up at Sydney. “You’ll at least stay the night before heading back, won’t you?”

Sydney could tell that not only was she looking for some moral support in dealing with Evan, but that it was possible that the two of THEM would be having a heart to heart talk about painful promises from the past as well. “I’m sure something can be arranged,” he allowed.

“So,” Em looked about the room at people whom she had only heard about from Jarod during those rare instances when he’d talked about his life in the Centre, “may I ask who the latest person to get here is?”

“I’m sorry,” Miss Parker started. “This is Sam Atlee, my personal sw… uh…. I guess you could call him a bodyguard. Sam, this is Em, Jarod’s sister, and Major Charles, Russell, Jarod’s father.”

Sam stuck a hand out to the Major and appreciated the strong, firm clasp he got in return. “Nice to meet you,” he said and then gave a quick nod to Em. “Ma’am.”

“As I was saying before,” Em stated with a chuckle, “Jarod won’t be home until…”

At that point, everyone could hear the key in the door lock, and the door soon opened to reveal the prodigal Pretender. “Good!” he beamed, taking in the somewhat crowded condition of his sister’s s living room. “You’re all here!”

“I thought you weren’t going to be home until…” Em protested, even as Jarod got a hearty hug from his father and then another from Sydney.

“I decided that with company coming into town from all over, I could take off a bit early – provided I don’t do it very often.” He looked around him again. “We have a lot to talk about.”

“Which can happen over a picnic supper,” Em announced quickly. “I’ve got cold meat, cheese, bread, salad makings, and chips on the counter – coffee will be ready in a few minutes and there are sodas for the young in the fridge.”

Jarod looked around him, finding the amalgam of his real family and the family of Centre operatives and their relatives an odd but comforting company. Em gave him a smile that looked like one the cat would give after eating the canary – and he suspected that she’d been using her newspaper resources to get more information for them all. This unlikely group of former-enemies-now-allies was going to be his ace in the hole – the way that he accomplished his greatest Pretend ever.

Now all he had to do was to get them to work well together – and avoid tipping off the Foundation before its downfall was all but assured.

Chapter Index: 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | 15 | 16 | 17 | 18 | 19 | 20 | 21 | 22 | 23 | 24 | 25 | 26 | 27 | 28 | 29 | 30 | 31 | 32 | 33

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