Miss Parker sighed as she turned off the ignition key and extinguished the headlights in the dim carport, and then she leaned her head against the headrest. It had been a long day – a day made even longer by the suspicion of the new Chairman of the Foundation. She would never forget the look of surprise and almost anger at finding her hard at work when he had barged into her office late that afternoon – and then immediately demanded to know where she had been all day and what she’d been doing. Had it not been for the fact that the previous Chairman had managed to find her a computer technician almost immediately after her meeting with him that morning – a technician who had been at her side rifling through all of the access date/time stamps on secured memos for the better part of five hours – she no doubt would have discovered what it meant to be on the bad side of the Foundation hierarchy.

Jim’s extreme attitude had subsided somewhat when Simon, the tech who had been assigned to her, had insisted that she’d been with him all day, in fact. With a hissed threat that promised her that his suspicion had only been slightly derailed but not entirely allayed, Jim had exited and left her to finish the task Jake had given to her. When the rumor mill had finally gotten word to the two of them about an hour later about the Jake’s assassination, she’d finally understood the paranoia – especially given that she knew Jake to be already suspicious of her.

It was now late – with everything that had happened, just about everyone working at the Foundation had been held over late that day – and she was surprised that Sam hadn’t already at least tried to reach her by cell phone to find out where she was. No doubt Evan would be beside himself with worry if she didn’t show up again at the appointed time – his working through his abandonment issues was far from over. She pulled herself from behind the steering wheel, reached back in for her briefcase, and was just turning to walk to the elevator when her cell phone began to chirp.

Smiling at the idea of Sam calling to check up on her, as well as happy she’d be able to reassure someone who’d believe her at least once that day, she pulled out the device – and then frowned when she saw who was calling. “What?” she answered sharply in consternation.

“I thought you’d finally learned not to do that,” Jarod’s voice taunted her.

“Surprise, surprise. Some habits die hard,” she sighed. “What’s up?”

“I saw him, Parker. He’s OK – at least, from what I could gather.”

Miss Parker’s brows furrowed. “Saw who?”

“Sydney. He’s at the Foundation – in that high-security wing I told you about that I found the SIM Lab in.”

“Sydney? He’s HERE?” Miss Parker’s steps had halted and she stared into space. “At the Foundation?”

“I had my suspicions – and they were confirmed today. The Foundation must have snatched him to help them work with the Duplicity subjects.” Jarod allowed the disgust to show through his own relief.

“They must be having a hard time getting the boys to work for them.”

“Very likely,” Jarod agreed. “It isn’t quite as easy to get a trained Pretender to go through his or her paces as one might think, you know...”

She ignored the barbed reminder of his earlier life. “But how did they know to snatch Sydney, of all people?” she wanted to know. “His name wasn’t plastered all over the news when things started to fall apart…”

“No, but there WAS a story that told what the Centre had done about a project code-named Pretender – and it named me, you, Broots, Sydney…”

Miss Parker’s mouth dropped. “Damn.”

“Yeah.” Jarod hadn’t been unhappy to see some of that information finally made public – but now, in retrospect, he could see where it now posed a danger. He seemed to pull himself out of a reverie. “Well, I just thought you’d want to know – set your mind at ease at least a little bit.”

Miss Parker nodded. “Thanks,” she said simply and then drew her free hand through her hair in a habitual gesture. Jarod was right – it WAS a relief to at least know where Sydney was and that he was relatively safe, for the time being at any rate. “What do we do now to get him out of there?”

“I’m working on it, Parker,” Jarod reassured her. “It will take a day or two yet to get all our ducks in a row – but we’ll get him out, safely.”

“You’re sure?”

“Hey!” She could hear the smile in his tone. “I’m a Pretender, remember? My brain and planning power were in high demand back in the day. Trust me, I know what I’m doing.”

This was Sydney’s life they were discussing, Parker realized. She had no doubt that Jarod’s plan for prying Sydney free of the Foundation’s grasp would not only be fool-proof, but would go off without a hitch. Jarod wasn’t the type to play games with the lives of those who mattered to him. And despite everything, she suspected that Sydney still mattered to Jarod as much as Sydney mattered to her. “OK,” she allowed finally. “Thanks again for calling.”

“No problem. See you tomorrow at work.” The line between them disconnected. She thrust the little device back in her jacket pocket and pushed the button for the elevator again. It was a relief to know that Sydney was safe – or at least as safe as it was possible to be in the clutches of an organization like the Foundation – she thought as she relaxed against the faux wood handrail that circled the little metal car as it rose. She’d have to tell Sam – and then they could figure out together how to tell Evan that his Pretend Grandpa might NOT make it back for the weekend.

“I’m back – at last! Miss me?” she called out as she pushed the door open – and then frowned. The apartment interior was completely dark. “Sam? Evan?”

She hesitated and then listened carefully before stepping any further into the apartment. Nothing moved – nothing even seemed to breath within. She carefully bent down, deposited her briefcase against the wall just inside the door and then adopted a martial arts stance. Her job no longer provided her with a firearm – and for the first time in a VERY long time, she missed that chrome Smith & Wesson she’d carried for the better part of fifteen years.

Every sense was alert in a manner that she’d not needed to adopt in months – and she moved silently and slowly toward the heart of the apartment after silently closing the door behind her. The light from outside – dim moonlight and streetlight halos – made it just possible to make out features after her eyes had adjusted to the dark. She could hear the hum of the fridge in the kitchen kick on, a tiny noise that made her jump slightly. Her eyes systematically swept back and forth, lingering only a moment on the motion of the evening breeze making the draperies shift in the living room.

She had almost made it to the kitchen doorway when she heard rattling at the door – and then the front door to the apartment swung open. Spinning on her heel, she was out of the direct line of sight and into the kitchen immediately, pressing her back against the wall and holding her breath.

“What the…” Sam frowned, seeing the apartment completely dark and reaching for the light switch at the right of the door. The halogen floor lamp near the couch illuminated the room. “Cat?” he called out cautiously, a hand on Evan’s chest to hold the boy back in the hallway. “You here? You OK?”

Miss Parker had never been so glad to be able to drop her defenses in her life. “I’m here,” she called back, taking a deep breath before stepping out into the light from the lamp. “And you’re late…” She frowned again. An unfamiliar man was standing with Evan in the hallway, obviously waiting. “Who’s that?”

“Oh.” Sam turned and gestured for Evan and Jarek to enter the apartment finally. “This is my partner from work – Les Jarek. My wife, Catherine.” His gesture with his arm spawned yet another hard spike of pain in his side, and he flinched.

“Sam?” Miss Parker was stepping closer. “What’s wrong?”

“He got hurt, Mom,” Evan filled in for Sam when the former sweeper was slow on the response time. “We’re just back from the hospital.”

“Hospital? Sam?” By now she was close enough to see that Sam’s face was actually pale.

“It’s nothing,” Sam assured her reluctantly. “A broken rib and a couple of bruised ones…”

“He helped take down a suspect trying to knife me – and took a hard hit in the ribs,” Jarek explained simply. “He’s going to be on desk duty for a bit – but he’s otherwise intact.”

“I’d have thought you would have called me by now,” Sam added, easing himself down onto the couch and letting his right arm hold his side protectively. “I’d have thought you’d have been worried…”

“I just got home a little bit before you did,” Miss Parker defended herself. “We had our own share of excitement today –and it meant that I had to work late…” She looked up at Jarek and then stuck out her hand. “I’m sorry – I don’t mean to be rude. Nice to meet you, Les.”

“You too, Cathy…”

“Dad calls her Cat,” Evan supplied helpfully.

“Cathy’s fine, Evan,” Miss Parker smiled at her little brother. “Can I get you anything – some tea…”

“No thanks,” Jarek had his hand up. “I gotta get back to the precinct to collect my own car. I just wanted to make sure Sam and Evan got home OK – and brought his car home as well.” Catherine Jamison was certainly acting the part of a policeman’s wife – she was concerned about her husband, but not frantic over a non-life-threatening injury. “I was telling Sam a while back that maybe me and my boys should get together with you folks to get to know each other a little better – maybe this weekend?”

Miss Parker pulled herself from watching Sam’s obvious discomfort to nod. “Let’s see how Superman here feels after the rest of the week – but it sounds like a good idea.”

“Good.” Jarek nodded contentedly. This seemed to be a fairly tight and secure family unit Sam had – he was leaving his partner in good hands. “Well, nice to meet you, Cathy – and you take it easy, Evan.”

“Thanks, Mr. Jarek,” Evan offered his hand and was pleased when the other detective shook it seriously.

“I’ll be in to do paperwork tomorrow morning,” Sam insisted yet again. And before Jarek could open his mouth to restart the mild argument they’d had in the car, he added, “I can be miserable AND productive, instead of just miserable. Besides, you can’t be that fond of doing all the paperwork by yourself…”

“OK, OK,” Jarek shook his head and then aimed a look at Miss Parker. “Keep an eye on him, Cathy. The sawbones filled him up with painkillers – and I’m not so sure he should be thinking of driving.”

“Les…” Sam ground out, hazarding a glance at Miss Parker. The absolute LAST thing he wanted was for his boss to have to baby sit him.

“I’ll take good care of him, I promise,” Miss Parker answered with a quick smile. “Thanks again.”

Jarek closed the door behind himself, and Miss Parker stood over Sam. “A broken rib, eh?” Sam squirmed, which just made his side hurt more. “Stop that – moving only makes rib injuries hurt worse.”

“Detective Jarek let me ride in the police car with them, Mom,” Evan reported brightly. “I got to see Dad’s desk at the station before we came home.”

“That’s good, Evan,” Miss Parker ruffled her little brother’s hair. “Do you mind if I talk to Sam alone for a bit?”

“No.” Evan gave Sam a smile and then trotted up the stairs to his room, his backpack now drooping off of one elbow.

Sam wished he dared sigh. “I know what you’re thinking,” he began, his hands raising defensively.

Miss Parker smiled and decided to let the poor guy off the hook. She seated herself next to him on the couch. “So you saved your partner’s bacon, eh?”

Sam glowered. “Something like that.” Damn it, she WAS going to chew him out for getting hurt. After all, how could she expect him to be able to protect her…

“Good enough – but I don’t think you need to go getting yourself laid up doing so,” she shook her head at him. “Not just to sell the role.” She watched him for another silent moment. “Did you get the bad guy?”

He looked at her in surprise. “Yeah, we got the bad guy.”

“Good.” She nodded quickly. “I could tell that you were bothered by what you’ve been looking into. I’m glad it’s over.”

“Look, Cat, this is only a rib – and it won’t hamper me that much, and not for that long…” Sam tried again. “I know that sweepers…”

“Look,” Miss Parker leaned closer and lowered her voice. “Being a cop is a dangerous job – I know that. And THAT’S what you’re supposed to be now, Sam – a cop, and not a sweeper. Cops back up their partners and sometimes get hurt in the process. You know – and I know – that while you may be tough, you aren’t impervious.” She could see the look of disbelief in his eyes, and couldn’t really blame him. In another lifetime, Miss Parker would have been reaming him a new asshole – sweepers didn’t get themselves hurt like that. But this was Now – and not Then. She put out a supportive, comforting hand to his left shoulder – the shoulder furthest from his obviously injured right side. “I’m just glad you weren’t hurt any worse than you were. Putting yourself out of action would throw a serious monkey-wrench in what we’re trying to accomplish here.”

Sam’s eyes widened. She really WASN’T angry? “I’m really sorry…”

“Don’t be. Besides, I should be feeling reassured that after all this time out of the saddle, your reflexes haven’t slowed any. You still have what it takes to watch someone’s back effectively.” She stood. “Have you eaten?”

Sam shook his head slowly.

“When do you take your pain pills next?”

“Just before bed.”

“Then you just sit there and get yourself as comfortable as you can. I’m tired, so we’re going to have to do with sandwiches and warmed-up canned soup for supper…” she tossed over her shoulder as she headed toward the kitchen again. “I’ll call you when it’s ready.”

“That’ll be fine,” Sam replied, watching her with gratitude and a new appreciation for the depths to which his former boss was willing to take her role in this Pretend – even in private – and then he shook his head as if to clear the cobwebs. Don’t be an idiot – she’s just being nice to keep the Pretend on track, in case we have an unseen audience. One day, probably long after this fiasco is all said and done, you’ll hear what she REALLY thinks of a personal sweeper who goes and breaks a rib taking down a less-trained civilian. Some bodyguard YOU are…

~~~~~~~~~*

JD stared into his wineglass while Jarod and Em watched him closely. “It was pretty awful,” he said finally, answering the question that had been on both Jarod and Em’s minds ever since they knew their younger brother had returned from Montana. “If they weren’t crushed, they were burned – all of them.” JD’s dark eyes looked up and searched those of his brother. “Some of them were so small, Jarod…”

Jarod swallowed hard. “How many did you say were missing in the end?”

“Four children and one adult,” JD responded and took another sip of his wine. “That’s IF our information was correct, and there were eleven Duplicity subjects housed there.”

“Broots found enough evidence before the Centre closed to confirm eleven subjects,” Jarod told his younger brother gently. “And I think I’ve found at least one, if not more of the ones that were missing.”

JD nodded tightly. “That’s why I’m here – I want to tie those bastards up into knots and give you enough distraction that you can break them out…”

“We’re aiming at more than that,” Jarod replied just as tightly. “The stakes have been upped – even more than that, and even more than the attempt on Miss Parker’s life before the Centre closed.”

“What now?”

“They took Sydney,” Em told her brother with a shrug. “From all appearances, they may not be having the best of luck getting the Duplicity subjects to cooperate and be good little Pretenders.”

“Shit!” JD rose quickly and stalked over to the window overlooking the street. “Then again, I suppose that means that at least one of the subjects is here in Philadelphia…”

“More than one, I hope,” Jarod confirmed with a sigh of relief.

“So…” JD turned and walked back to the dining table and sat down. “Any advice on how to be a thoroughly disruptive IRS agent?”

Jarod began to chuckle. “Just be yourself, Little Brother – and get ready to pick through the accounts with a fine-toothed comb. I’ve had Broots do a little creative financial “rearrangement” of the accounts – enough that any IRS agent worth his salt would have plenty to uncover and drag out.”

“And be prepared for it to be a fairly hostile place tomorrow morning,” Em added as she began to pile up the plates for the dishwasher. “The second part of my story hits the papers in the morning.”

“What about Miss Parker? What’s she up to?” JD wanted to know.

“Well, she’s supposed to be analyzing the security protocols – and taking note of any flaws that we can exploit or weaknesses we can take advantage of when the time comes. Besides, keeping her like a viper in the bosom of the firm that tried to do away with her is one of the best ways to make sure she stays safe.”

“It’s a risk…”

“Yeah, but she wanted in on it – on all of it. I think Duplicity hit her hard too.”

“But she’s a Parker…” JD started and then stopped. She had also been the one trying to comfort him years ago, when he was still held by the Centre. “OK – maybe she isn’t as bad as that…”

“She’s a hidden resource for us,” Jarod put firmly. “She’s in the right place to give us a real hand when and if the time comes.”

“You boys better call it an evening – sounds like you’ll both have a fairly busy day in the morning,” Em chided gently. “We’re all running a little late today – I’m going to get the dishes started and then call it a night myself…”

“It was a long drive,” JD admitted. “And with this wine, I can hear the sofa calling my name.”

“Don’t be surprised if Angelo prowls the place at night,” Jarod told him quietly, with an eye aimed into the living room where his old friend had already retreated from the serious talk. “The city makes him restless – but he insists that he needs to be here.”

JD turned his head and watched the strange little man who had been silent through the entire meal. Angelo was walking back and forth between the two windows in the room, talking to himself in a soft sing-song. “You say he’s harmless?”

“As harmless as anybody Raines ever came in contact with can be,” Jarod commented sadly and then rose. “I have a few phone calls to make and a bit of Internet chasing to do before I can call it a night – so I’d better get to it…”

~~~~~~~~~*

“Here we are,” Suz announced as she pulled the minivan into the driveway next to Abner’s gas-saving hybrid. “Home at last.”

She didn’t even bother looking at the faces of either of her passengers – she was already too familiar with the vague and nearly identical looks of discomfort and disbelief that washed over them whenever she made mention of anything pertaining to home, family or permanency. She had worn herself out talking most of the way back to Albany – talking about her son, talking about family outings and vacations, talking about Abner, talking about herself. She’d done her level best to introduce herself and her husband to these two young men – boys, really – whom she’d just invited into her keeping.

Neither boy had reciprocated – but then, she hadn’t expected it of them. They’d been as polite as they’d been that past weekend, occasionally asking questions when something in the narrative caught their attention and curiosity. But mostly they remained quiet listeners, offering no vignettes about their former lives in return for the barrage of stories from her. Neither boy had slept in the car on the way either, as she HAD expected – both had remained awake and alert and scrupulously observant both of what was being said and of the scenery floating past them on the interstate.

“Do you want us to stay in the same room as before?” Leo asked with a stretch.

“Would you prefer separate rooms for privacy instead?” she asked back. “Wouldn’t you both want your own space?”

This time, the look that washed over their face was frank astonishment. “Privacy?” Virgil repeated cautiously and with some trepidation. All of his life, he’d been alone – except for the ever-present surveillance cameras – the very idea of being put back into a place where he’d be completely alone again was unexpectedly frightening.

Suz looked at Leo and saw the same surprise tinged with fear. “You don’t have to if you don’t want to,” she hurried to assure them. “If you two want to room together – if that’s what you’re used to…”

“You don’t mind?” Virgil jumped at the chance to keep his “brother” with him in the night.

“Yes, please!” Leo chimed in at the same time.

“Of course I don’t mind,” Suz shook her head and put her arm around Virgil, who was still sitting in the seat next to her. “I promise you, this isn’t going to be as bad as you two seem to think it’s gonna be…”

“We don’t…” Leo started, then waited for Virgil to turn and tell him with a facial expression if continuing the thought was wise.

“We don’t know what to expect,” Virgil filled in for his brother when he heard the hesitation. “We’re still getting used to everything out here.”

“I understand,” Suz said – but didn’t. They spoke of being with her as “out here” – and Laurel Goldstein had told her enough while the boys were packing to make her truly wonder in what kind of cloistered life they had spent their childhood. “Why don’t you pop the trunk and take your stuff inside?”

Virgil blinked. “Pop the trunk?”

Instead of explaining, Suz reached out herself to push the button that released the latch on the minivan’s hatchback door. “Go on inside and settle in a bit. Get your pajamas out – you both could use a good night’s sleep. We’ll see about starting your new life in the morning, OK?”

Both boys moved immediately to unlatch their seatbelts and climb from the vehicle, while Suz waited for them to retrieve their two meagerly empty suitcases that held little more than two changes of clothing, pajamas and a few toiletries. It was almost uncanny how much alike the two looked, she decided as she watched them. Virgil waited for his little brother so that the two could march toward the house shoulder to shoulder pressing against the other just a bit. It was twin-like behavior that had little place in a relationship between siblings of different ages.

“You’re home!” Abner Wilmot exclaimed as he opened the front door. “I thought I heard your car!” He opened his arms to his tired wife and gathered her to him, not caring if the two boys were watching. “How was the trip?”

“Long,” Suz replied. “I did a lot of talking, and they did a lot of listening, didn’t you, boys?”

“Yes, ma’am,” they answered in unison.

“Can we go inside now?” Leo asked in a small voice.

“Sure thing!” Wilmot nodded. “You remember your way, don’t you?”

“Yes, sir,” Virgil replied and, with but a glance at Leo, headed into the house.

“How are they?” Wilmot asked quietly.

“I think they’re scared to death,” Suz answered truthfully. “I don’t think they believed half of what I told them about us – about our family – and I’m not sure they don’t think they’re going to be expected to “do problems” or some other such insane work as the people who kept them before made them do.” She hugged her husband again. “How are you?”

“Tired,” Wilmot replied. “I’ve been spending most of my time away from work searching the Internet for any signs of that Jarod I told you about. I think I found something – but the story is almost too fantastic to be believable. Still, in so many ways, what I was reading was like what Stu was telling us that the boys told him…”

“We’d better get in,” Suz tugged at him, her arms not budging from around his waist. “I have a hunch that we’ll need to make at least one more appearance tonight to get them settled into their new home. You can tell me all about what you’ve uncovered later.”

“Still think this was the right thing to do?” Wilmot wanted to know.

Suz stared into the house as her husband pulled the door open for her. “I’m not sure yet – but I think so. I just think we’re going to have our work cut out for us earning their trust and friendship.”

“Well, we have the time for that,” Wilmot responded, tightening his hold on his wife’s shoulder.

~~~~~~~~~*

Shinse Olabi pushed the button on his intercom. “Yes?”

“A Mr. Imsi Londele on line two for you, sir,” the secretary’s voice announced calmly.

“Thank you, Oma,” he said and then picked up the receiver and connected to the proper line. “Mr. Londele.”

“It’s done,” Londele announced with no preamble. “I’m at the airport, waiting for my flight home.”

“Good. Did you have any trouble?”

Londele shook his head with a smile. “Everything went just as I’d planned – not a single hitch.”

“Excellent!” Olabi exhaled in satisfaction. “I will look forward to seeing you when you arrive back here in Nairobi.” He disconnected the line and carefully replaced the receiver in its desktop cradle – then leaned back in his chair.

Once more, the Triumvirate had made its mark on the corporate power hierarchy – which was now officially dominated in the areas of research and development by a new American firm known as The Eire Foundation. It would take time to take what had been a necessary disciplinary action and transform it into a working business partnership similar – but more profitable than – the one they’d had for decades with the Centre, but the effort would be worth it. The Foundation was on firmer financial ground than the Centre had been for years – that in itself recommended it as worthy of investment.

But first, there would be a few loose ends to take care of.. He leaned forward and punched the intercom button. “Oma, is Mr. Adin available?”

“I’ll contact him for you, Mr. Olabi,” was the immediate response.

“I need to see him right away. Make sure he understands the urgency.”

“Yes, sir.”

Olabi sat back again to wait for his assistant’s arrival. Imsi Londele, by doing exactly what had been required of him, had just made himself a liability and would have to be dealt with accordingly. The question before him was whether to give the man the money he was promised – and the bonus – and trust that a professional assassin wouldn’t succumb to the temptation to blackmail the ones who hired him; whether to simply put him on the Triumvirate payroll and keep him suitably occupied in whatever corner of the world needed the Triumvirate touch; or whether to simply have him removed from consideration entirely the moment he set foot on African soil again.

The knock on the office door was a familiar, soft one – and then Siskele was walking in. “You asked to see me, sir?”

Olabi gestured toward the chair in front of his desk. “Sit down, old friend. We have a decision to make.”

“Sir?”

“What to do about Imsi Londele.”

“Ah.” Siskele seated himself and made himself comfortable. “Did you ever inform Mr. Matrenga about what you asked him to do?”

“No.” Olabi’s voice was flat and firm. “It was a matter left over from a time where his input was neither desired nor necessary. And as for Mrs. Mutumbo…” Olabi shifted a single sheet of paper across his desk.

Siskele picked it up and read the police report of the shooting. He looked back up again, a wide smile on his face. “This is rich! Found dead with an armed Foundation operative standing over her?”

Olabi’s grin was blatantly predatory. “Indeed. I see in that circumstance an opportunity to make ourselves useful to the Foundation and perhaps show them a more benign face of the Triumvirate – as a prelude to opening business negotiations with them later on. But first things first.” He leaned back in his chair and leaned his chin into an open hand. “What to do about Imsi Londele.”

Siskele shrugged. “From where I sit, we have two options – kill him ourselves, or make him so dependent upon us that it would in his own best interests to keep his mouth shut permanently.”

“Or trust that he won’t turn on us with the information he’s gathered about us in the time he’s spent in our employ over the years. He has a reputation for integrity that speaks to that – but I like your second option,” Olabi pointed out. “Do you think he’s the kind of man who would give his loyalties over to the Triumvirate completely and make himself available to our calls on a continual basis?”

“Does the Triumvirate need to have the services of a professional assassin to the extent that having one on retainer is desirable – would the benefit justify the expense that would be involved?”

Olabi rubbed beneath his nose and then nodded. “Good question. I’d imagine Mr. Londele’s services would call for a rather expensive retainer’s fee.”

“No doubt.” Siskele steepled his fingers in front of his chest. “And it is entirely possible that Mr. Londele would be a very difficult man to kill – and the kind of man one would NOT want as an enemy.”

“Very true.” Olabi’s face showed his dissatisfaction at having that pointed out. “That really leaves us with only the first and the final options, doesn’t it?”

“We fulfill the contract with him, as agreed upon, and then trust that his reputation for integrity is well-founded.” Siskele voiced the remaining option almost as a question.

“I don’t like that one,” Olabi said finally. “The Triumvirate needs to be a little more in control of the situation than just turning the man completely loose.”

“Agreed.” Siskele settled his hands in his lap. “So you’ll be negotiating a retainer’s fee with him when he gets back?”

Olabi nodded. “Having a skilled assassin on call wouldn’t be such a bad idea – especially as we begin to open new negotiations with the Yakuza and the Russians.”

“So… What are we going to do about the Eire Foundation operative then?”

The older man began to smile. “Here’s what I was thinking…”

~~~~~~~~~*

Jarod reached into his breast pocket and pulled out the paper that held the telephone number that Broots had given him earlier in the day. It was getting quite late in the evening, and if he wanted to call Susan Granger anytime soon, it would have to be now or else he’d have to wait until morning – and from what Broots had said, the man that had found him had made it very clear that Susan considered his getting in contact a matter of great urgency.

Susan Granger – how that name brought back memories! He’d contacted her only a few months after his escape, looking for his parents. She’d been a sympathetic listener and had taken his money and started her investigation with very little to go on. God only knew now what had been in the envelope she’d tried to deliver to him that day – the envelope that the Centre had managed, as usual, to steal from him and then destroy. In the months and years that followed, he’d stayed far away from her – the Centre had followed his trail to her, and no doubt would have kept her under surveillance in case he tried to contact her again.

At least, it probably had until it had closed its doors for good. She was free now – as was he.

Slowly he punched the buttons on his cell phone and then held the device to his ear to listen as the call was routed through to its destination. It rang three times on the other end before being picked up. “Hello?” a familiar woman’s voice answered.

Jarod hesitated, but not long enough to make her wonder if this were a crank call. “Hello, Ms. Granger. This is Jarod. You wanted to speak to me?”

“Jarod!” He could hear the relief flood into her voice. “Thank God! I was starting to think that maybe I’d finally given Ray a job he couldn’t do. Did he tell you anything?”

“I didn’t speak to your associate myself,” Jarod admitted. “He found a friend of mine who knew how to contact me and gave him your number. But he did manage to convince my friend that it was urgent that I call you…”

“Yes.” Susan’s voice sobered noticeably. “Listen, Jarod, the other day a young woman came to me looking for you…”

“Looking for ME?” Jarod frowned. “And she wanted YOU to tell her? What young woman? Did she give a name? How in the Hell did she link you to me?”

“I haven’t got a clue how she figured that I’d know anything about you, Jarod. And for what it’s worth, she didn’t give me a name. But there was something seriously wrong with this lady,” Susan told him quickly. “She wouldn’t hear that I hadn’t spoken to you since our last face to face encounter – and to be honest, I think she genuinely intended to do me harm for a while. I’m still not entirely certain how it was that I got away from her. She had a gun on me – and suddenly she was ordering me out of the car.”

“OK, OK…” Jarod could see that whatever had happened had seriously upset the previously unflappable investigator. “Why don’t you describe her to me – maybe I’ll know who you’re talking about then.”

“OK…” Susan closed her eyes and calmed herself so that she could remember that horrible day. “She has red hair – very curly. She’s fairly young, slender, blue eyes…”

Jarod closed his eyes, getting a horrible feeling in the pit of his stomach. “Tell me about the car. Was it a convertible – pink?”

“Yes! You know her then?” Susan demanded.

“I may. Are you all right though? She didn’t hurt you…”

“She just scared the living Hell outta me, more than anything else,” Susan answered shakily. “All I could think about was that you needed to be warned about her. She’s dangerous…”

Jarod shook his head. Zoë? No – it couldn’t be. Zoë was a gentle woman who’d never hurt a fly. She HATED guns! “I know someone I can call – see if it is the person I’m thinking of.”

“Be careful, Jarod. From the look in her eye, she’d been hunting for you for a while – and God only knows what she intended to do when she found you.”

“I’ll be careful – I promise. And thank you for going through all the trouble to find me to warn me…”

“I mean it, Jarod,” Susan pressed. “She had a desperate air to her – and God knows how many others she had talked to before she talked to me, or what shape she left them in when she was done with them. The lady was seriously disturbed!”

“Trust me, Ms. Granger, I know how to take care of myself,” Jarod assured her. “Do you want my phone number – in case she contacts you again?”

Susan thought for a moment and then answered. “No, with all due respect and nothing personal, I don’t think so. Trouble seems to follow very closely on your heels – and this makes two times now that I’ve been intimidated or threatened for something having to do with you. I kept my promise to the Centre never to reinvestigate and collect the information I gave to you again – and I intend to keep my promise even now that they’re gone.”

“I’m sorry I’ve brought you such trouble, Ms. Granger,” Jarod told her with real regret. “I didn’t mean to cause you any pain or…”

“Just take care of yourself,” Susan said, and then thought for a moment. “But before I let you go, you can answer me one question.”

“Shoot.”

“Did you ever find them – your parents, I mean?”

Jarod smiled gently into the phone. “Yes, Ms. Granger, I did find them eventually. Thank you.”

“Good luck to you then, Jarod – something tells me you’re going to need it.”

“The same to you, Ms. Granger. Take care of yourself.”

He disconnected the call and frowned. This was something he’d not counted on at all. Zoë knew better than to try to search him out – he’d told her time and time again that he didn’t’ dare stay in one place, and that when he had the time, he’d call her. She’d been staying at her Gram’s since her cancer had gone into remission, hadn’t she?

He closed the cell phone and walked over to where his personal laptop sat waiting. With a flick of his finger, he brought the device out of hibernation mode and clicked on the address book feature of the email client. If anybody would know where Zoë was, it was her insomniac grandmother for whom a late-night call wouldn’t be an interruption. Gram had always had a soft spot in her heart for him – even after she learned that he wasn’t married to her granddaughter – and she was more than likely to tell him anything she knew. As the only relative that Zoë got along well with, Gram would know more than anyone else what was going on with her granddaughter.

And then he’d spend some time on the Internet to see if anything had bubbled up in the news about people he’d known from his earlier Pretends. God – he’d told Zoë so many stories over the course of their relationship – and for the life of him, he couldn’t remember just how many names and places he’d told her about.

He shuddered. This was all he needed!

~~~~~~~~~*

Zoë shook out her hair and walked through the door of the one and only bed and breakfast place in Mercury. It had been a long drive, and she was both physically tired and tired of running all over the map. The detective hadn’t been THAT much ahead of her – and considering there was no other place in Mercury to get a room for the night, chances were that the man was probably right here.

“Hi there!” she said brightly to the middle-aged woman who answered the bell at the front desk. “Please tell me you have a room for the night?”

“Of course,” the woman replied, turning a clipboard around and pushing it across the desk at the redhead. “Just for tonight?”

“Yeah.” Zoë smiled and began filling out the information on the form. “Say – tell me. Did a good-looking guy register tonight too?”

The woman’s brows rose. “Someone you know?”

Zoë thought fast and put on an expression of chagrin. “Yeah. My boyfriend. He was coming to look up a friend of his, and we had an argument just before he left. I thought I’d surprise him – you know…” She blinked coyly. “…maybe make up with him?”

The woman thought for a moment, and then a slow smile spread across her face. “Mr. Carlisle IS a good looking fellow,” she admitted. “You had a fight with him, you said?”

Zoë scuffed her toe in the carpet. “I know better – I really do. I just…” She looked up again. “I need to make it right with him.”

The woman nodded knowingly and then hung up the key that she’d already chosen back on the board and chose another. “Here, dear. This room is right across the hall from his. Just… keep the noise level down, all right? You don’t want to be waking up the other roomers.”

Zoë signed her name with a flourish and pushed the form back across the counter. “Thanks! This means a lot to me!” She produced a credit card from her purse, which the woman took, swiped and then returned after the amount cleared.

“Good luck,” was the parting words of the clerk as Zoë shouldered her backpack and began trudging up the stairs with her key in her hand.

The hallway was well lit, with a total of six doors that opened onto it. The door at the end of the hall was marked “Bath”, and Zoë quickly figured out that her room was the one immediately to the right of the bath. That meant that HIS room was the one immediately to the left.

Schooling back her impatience, she unlocked the room that she’d rented for the night and turned on the light. The décor and furniture reminded her of the room Grandma kept for her – old fashioned and neat as a pin, with what looked like a home-made quilt covering the four-poster bed and an embroidered runner covering the top of the chest of drawers on the opposite wall. She closed the door, threw her backpack on the bed and reached inside for the gun – and the fingernail file.

She’d picked the locks at her grandmother’s house often enough that she knew getting through the lock on the door across the way would be child’s play. Still, knowing the woman to be awake, she seated herself on the edge of the bed to wait for another couple of hours. Her breaking in on the unsuspecting detective needed to happen in the dead of night – when there would be little chance of anyone observing her trying to get into a room other than her own.

The problem was, the man she was following was going to lead her to Jarod – and she was SUPPOSED to kill Sydney first. But then, did it matter if Sydney died after she found Jarod? After all, Sydney was supposed to be the one to lead her to Jarod – and then die after he’d given over his information. But if she knew where Jarod was from someone else, then did Sydney even matter?

Of course he did! Sydney had to die too – that was the way things were supposed to be. Whatever else happened, it had to be Sydney first – and THEN Jarod.

Wait…

Was Jarod supposed to die too? But… she loved Jarod, didn’t she?

Tormented by a portion of her mind that refused to stay silently locked away in a small, dark and forgettable corner, she wrapped her arms around herself with the gun hanging limply from her right hand and rocked back and forth on the edge of the bed. “I decide who lives and dies! I do!” she whispered to herself in fierce affirmation. “I do!”

~~~~~~~~~*

“Thanks, Faye – and I’m sorry about the trouble I’ve caused you lately,” Jarod said into the cell phone, his stomach twisting at what he’d heard.

“It’s OK, Jarod – I’ll be fine,” Faye answered, her eye running down the bar to assess if any of her late night patrons were looking too inebriated to continue. “Just do me a favor and let me know if you ever figure out who did this, OK?”

“I will, I promise,” he swore solemnly. He’d be making it his business to call both Faye O’Donnell AND Susan Granger once he got to the bottom of what was going on with Zoë. “You take good care now, you hear?”

“And you too, Jarod. Thanks for calling.”

Jarod hung up and carefully put the cell phone down on the night stand before putting his face in his hands. It was Zoë – it had to be. When he’d called her, Zoë’s Gram had been downright puzzled and concerned by her granddaughter’s fixation on Jarod during her short visit – and had made mention of how Zoë’s entire bearing seemed to have changed since she’d returned from getting a second opinion about her remission. Her worry had only gotten much worse when, a day after Zoë had left again, she received a phone call from the physician’s office Zoë was supposed to have visited, fresh lab results in hand, for that second opinion. It seemed that Zoë had been a no-show – where Zoë had been and what she’d been up to while she SHOULD have been at a clinic in Atlanta was anybody’s guess. The clinic wanted to reschedule the examination – and now Gram wanted to find her granddaughter.

The biggest question in Jarod’s mind was why? The attack on Faye O’Donnell had happened before the Centre had fallen – and Nia’s murder had happened days before that. What had set Zoë off to turn her from a sweet young woman into a killer? What could have happened to her during this missing time that could have changed her so radically?

Jarod sighed. He didn’t have either time or opportunity to look into this right now. He was in the middle of a sensitive time in this Pretend – and just as with Sydney’s disappearance, his leaving now would undo months of careful preparation both on his part as well as on the part of others involved. He had his hands full – coordinating the behind-the-scenes sabotage Broots was wreaking, the law enforcement suspicion that would be the inevitable consequence of Em’s articles, and aiming the chaos JD was about to unleash. On top of all that, there was the investigating and compiling evidence in the murder of Bob Rogers and the attempted murder of Miss Parker, finding and rescuing Sydney and whatever Duplicity subjects were in Foundation custody, and ultimately bringing down the Foundation in much the same way the Centre was brought down. What was more, he had a hunch that time was beginning to run in short supply.

No, the matter of Zoë would just have to wait until the Pretend had run its course.

Unless Zoë found him first – and then, he was afraid, all bets were off.

~~~~~~~~~*

Abner Wilmot carried his fresh mug of decaffeinated coffee back to his office and sat himself back down at his computer, moved the mouse enough to deactivate the screen saver that had come on during his absence, and resumed his perusal of the search engine results on “Dr. Lazlo Broots.”

The results on “Melissa Parker” and “Dr. Sydney Green” had been spectacularly disappointing – and disturbing. Both of these people had had something bad happen to them in the past few weeks – the Parker woman had been killed in a drunk driving accident a little over a month and a half earlier, and Dr. Green had been reported missing a few days ago. Stories in the Dover newspaper had been given little column length to explain the circumstances – but it seemed just a bit too coincidental to Wilmot that these events clustered around the exposé and closure of the Centre.

The search on Dr. Lazlo Broots brought forth the usual: a couple of biographies – one at the somehow still intact Centre website – a listing of his published works at a textbook seller’s site, and a MySpace site that disclosed the slightly off-kilter humor of the man in question. A white pages site turned up a telephone number for Dr. Broots in Blue Cove, Delaware – the home base of the Centre, coincidentally enough – but calling the number had disclosed that it had been disconnected.

Wilmot sat back in his chair and thought – then brought back the biography webpage to read a little more thoroughly. Dr. Broots would be in his late thirties by now, had a daughter… At least there were no news stories detailing anything bad happening to him.

Wait a minute… a daughter?

A daughter meant school records, just in case the closure of the Centre had meant a relocation to accommodate new employment. School records would have to be transferred – and that meant a way to track down this computer genius whose trademark had been quietly put on a very popular form of corporate operating system software package marketed by the Centre.

Wilmot sighed. The very last thing he wanted to have to do was hack into a school’s computer system – and doing so would require help. He was no computer genius.

But he knew one – a rather bedraggled young man currently enrolled in one of his statistical analysis classes. Considering the number of times he’d “loaned” the young man money for lunch over the last semester, and the number of times the young man had been accused of illegal computer activities since his grammar school days, Wilmot had no doubt that Lloyd Cavanaugh would be open to being convinced to give an assist.

Tomorrow, he promised himself. Tomorrow he’d uncover where this mysterious Jarod had gone – a man whose story matched that of the two boys now asleep upstairs.

Satisfied, he turned off the computer, drained the rest of his coffee and headed back to the kitchen to put the mug in the dishwasher. It would be good to have Suz next to him in the night again – he’d missed her.

~~~~~~~~~*

Something was tickling his nose.

Sam roused to brush the nuisance away, then groaned and came more awake as the movement brought forth a stab of pain in his right side. His right hand hesitated in the air and then brushed at his nose to chase away whatever it was – and found it to be hair. He forced himself to wake up more completely – and then closed his eyes and wished he hadn’t.

With his right side injured, he’d not been able to roll away toward his edge of the bed as he normally did, but rather had settled down on his back. It wasn’t his favorite sleeping position, but it would do for him until he felt better. He’d not counted on his bed-hogging roommate, however, and her habit of cuddling up to him in the middle of the night.

Normally he would wake up with her spooned against his back – and he had simply forced himself to get used to waking up and acting as if nothing had happened. Tonight, however, his change of position had resulted in a most compromising situation where, when Miss Parker had rolled toward him in her sleep, she’d ended up snuggling up onto his left shoulder – with his unwittingly complicit arm stretched out beneath and beyond her.

His surprised shifting roused her slightly, and she merely pressed herself more firmly into his side and stretched an arm out across his belly. And once more he suddenly had hair tickling his nose. When he carefully and more slowly moved his right hand to brush the hair away, the hand ended up smoothing the hair back down onto her head with a move that became much more of a caress than he’d intended. Indeed, he had to fight the very real temptation to stroke her hair back repeatedly.

This was NOT fair! Here he was with a beautiful woman – for all intents and purposes, his WIFE – in his arms, fast asleep, and he didn’t dare twitch in response – although with that very thought, his body responded in an instinctual tightening that he knew would be definitely unappreciated if acted upon. And yet, what could he do? Dumping her back into her pillows in the middle of the night was bound to start something he really didn’t want to face – not to mention that the movement would hurt like Hell. Even trying to slip away from her to take a trip to the bathroom to fix the problem would awaken her.

While his mind spun, searching for a viable option, Miss Parker moved again against him and her hand across his belly tightened slightly. With that, Sam conceded the battle. Come what may, SHE was going to have to face some of what HE’D been dealing with ever since this latest phase of the Pretend had gotten started. His left arm came up and looped around her shoulder gently, holding her closer to him, and his right hand settled on the side of her head, holding the hair down and out of his nose. Her hair smelled of the apple-scented shampoo, and her breath of minty toothpaste. Sam brushed his lips across her forehead very softly, surprising himself with the depth of feeling that was bubbling forth.

She was his boss – well, his former boss, anyway! He wasn’t supposed to be having feelings for her like this… He was supposed to be watching her back, like always – and these night-time collisions were supposed to be of no import or meaning. This entire thing was Jarod’s fault – insisting that they take their roles as man and wife seriously in case of covert surveillance. She didn’t feel anything for him – did she?

Did it matter anymore? No matter how it had come about, they were living as husband and wife – and she was behaving, in bed and asleep anyway, as if that really were the case. And it was driving him nuts, this having her snuggle in close in the night and his supposed prohibition from responding or reacting in the least.

To Hell with this! He hurt, and he could no longer NOT respond. She was beautiful, and she was not only in his bed willingly but pressed against him – embracing him in the night. However she treated him in the light of day, something was pushing her closer to him in the dark – and he wasn’t going to deny it or deny himself the pleasure of having her in his arms, even if only while she was fast asleep.

When morning came, by heavens, and she awoke to find herself in his embrace, they would finally have to talk about what was going on – because something was going to have to give sooner or later. After all, he was a man of flesh and bone, not stone. She couldn’t cuddle up to him night after night as if they were intimate for real and not expect him to react. Something was happening between them – something unspoken, something they had both managed to avoid acknowledging even to themselves – and it needed to be discussed before it caused worse problems or jeopardized the Pretend and their goals in putting themselves in this position.

In the meanwhile, however, he would simply go back to sleep again. Maybe. Eventually.

Probably not.

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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