Late Friday night

Jarod and Sam’s eyes met in the dim light of the bedroom as the sound of breaking glass from somewhere below reached their ears. Sam’s eyes glinted dangerously as he reached into his shoulder holster and hauled out his Smith and Wesson – despite the sound of a siren slowly moving in their direction in the distance.

Jarod eyed the gun and then looked back up at the sweeper. “We’ll use that only as a last resort,” he instructed quietly. “The police will be here soon. Hopefully we only need to surprise and intimidate and restrain – not shoot.”

“Police be damned,” Sam growled. “This is going to end…”

“Jarod’s right,” Sydney whispered from where he was sitting on the bed next to Miss Parker. “Use the help that’s been summoned, Sam – just neutralize any intruder. We don’t need to have to spring you from a jail cell…”

Sam’s face closed down into a grimace, but finally he nodded his reluctant cooperation. He waved the gun beckoningly. “C’mon then, Lab Rat – we have a skunk to catch.”

“Lock the door behind us, Sydney,” Jarod directed. “If nothing else, it will give you a few extra seconds to figure out a way to defend yourself and her.”

Sydney rose and followed the men – then closed and locked the door once they’d slipped out into the hallway. He tiptoed back to the bed and sat down next to Miss Parker again, his hand unable to resist the temptation to smooth her hair back from her forehead over and over in a rhythmic caress. Jarod’s skill with the surgical needle had been obvious – and the wounds had bled very little once they’d been stitched closed. The only danger now was the blood loss she’d suffered before the makeshift surgery – and infection.

His gun – the one part of his association with the Centre that he’d always loathed and avoided – was in the master bedroom. Here, in the guest room, there was little with which he could defend a helpless invalid, much less himself. He’d have to pray that Sam and Jarod were successful in keeping whoever it was that was already in his house with murderous intent from getting close.

On second thought, he rose and went to the nightstand, bent down and unplugged the lamp and then wrapped the cord around the base so as not to trail behind and trip him. It would make a good bludgeon – IF it came down to that. Sitting back down on the bed, he put the lamp in easy reach and resumed his watch over Miss Parker. Until the danger was past, he dared not allow her to make any noise – and preventing that would mean keeping a sharp eye out for any signs of her returning to consciousness.

~~~~~~~~~*

Willy gestured with his drawn weapon for Hank to follow him into the old psychiatrist’s home through the broken arcadia door. The house was quiet – easily as quiet as the Broots house had been just a little while earlier – and the sweeper found himself wondering if Miss Parker’s team had been even more on the ball than Lyle had anticipated. He heard a crunch of a shoe sole on the broken glass behind him. “C’mon,” he hissed in a low whisper, rattled by the way the siren seemed to be drawing closer and closer. “This is YOUR job, you know…”

The squeal of tires, however, broke through Hank’s torpor – and he stopped dead in his tracks as if stunned. What was he doing here? He blinked a few times as if trying to dislodge the cobwebs from his mind.

Willy heard the steps behind him falter, and turned angrily to growl, “Listen to me, asshole! You decide who lives and dies.” His voice put a determined and forceful emphasis on the phrase that the nameless assassin had been brainwashed to respond to and then follow instructions without question. He couldn’t lose control of the test subject now!

Hank’s face immediately lost all tension and confusion – but the eyes were wary as the sound of pounding at the front door and muffled, “This is the Blue Cove Police Department,” sounded through the thick oak.

Willy would have moved to grab Hank by the collar and haul the reluctant assassin forward to take the lead in searching the house, but froze when the cold metal of a gun barrel was suddenly pressed into the side of his neck. “Open the door for them,” he heard a sickeningly familiar voice order – and then his eyes widened as an even more familiar silhouette moved from the shadows near the base of the staircase to head toward the door.

Only Willy heard the sound of crunching glass that told him that his current assignment, the test subject, had headed back out of the house at the first sign of trouble – and then his attention was taken by the sight of five uniformed policemen, their guns drawn and obviously ready to fire, swarming through Sydney’s front door. “Hands where we can see them!” the first officer demanded – and immediately Sam raised his gun into the air. Willy’s weapon fell to the floor at his feet as he raised his hands a little more slowly.

“He’s with me – trying to help me protect the lady he’s been pursuing,” Jarod insisted immediately, pointing at Sam. “I’m Jarod Russell – I’m the one who called you.”

Sam heard it then – the sound of a soft footstep in the rear of the house. “There’s another intruder, damn it!” he yelled and motioned with his arms, forgetting entirely that he still was holding his nine millimeter. “Out the back!” The sound of a rifle chambering a round as it pointed to his head had him with his hands up again and motionless in short order. “Oh, for God’s sake…”

“See to it,” the officer in charge, an older man by the name of Hoffmann, directed two of his officers and then turned to Jarod. “Where’s the woman?”

“Upstairs,” Jarod replied, reaching for and turning on the lights and then pointing at Sam again. “He’s with me – helping me keep her safe.”

“With a gun?” Hoffmann demanded with raised brows.

“I have a permit,” Sam told him in a very steady voice. “Here, take my weapon – and then look in my wallet. It’s in my right back pants pocket…”

“Traitor!” Willy hissed as Hoffmann nodded for one of his men to frisk Sam, relieving him of his weapon, and then to check out his story. “I have a permit too, for that matter…”

“But you don’t have permission to break into people’s houses with a gun drawn, obviously intending to do them harm,” Jarod countered heatedly. “I’m sure the man who owns the home here will be more than happy to press charges.”

“That’s for sure!” The police officers whirled to see Sydney descending the stairs. “My name is Doctor Sydney Green. I own this house – and that man there broke into my home. Jarod and Sam there…” He pointed to the two men named. “…were here to help me take care of the woman who was shot.”

The pair of officers returned from the kitchen and reported with a shake of the head, “No sign of anyone else in the house, Sarge.”

“But I heard…” Sam complained.

The one female officer glared up into the tall sweeper’s face. “We didn’t see or hear anything that indicated the intruder wasn’t alone.”

Hoffmann didn’t allow the disagreement to interrupt his thinking. “Do you need an ambulance?”

“No,” Jarod assured him quickly. “I’m a doctor, and we have everything in hand otherwise. Thanks.”

“You need to report gunshot wounds,” Hoffmann reminded Jarod pointedly.

“You’re here, and you know about it, right?” Sam interjected tightly. “She was shot, called Dr. Green here for help – and he called me. When we got to her house, there was someone in the house – not this guy. This guy was white – I saw his hands…” He pointed at Willy. “Anyway, I gave chase while he went upstairs and found her unconscious. He got in touch with Dr. Russell here – and considering that someone was out to make sure they’d finished the job, we brought her over here. Once Dr. Russell had Miss Parker stabilized, he called you folks – and you know the rest.”

“Lyle is going to be very upset with all of you,” Willy commented in a quiet tone that served as a threat only to those who were associated with the Centre.

“And you think I give a damn about that?” Sam retorted hotly.

“If you would like to take down a report of a gunshot victim here, that’s fine with me,” Jarod broke in, stepping in front of Sam to keep him from lunging at Willy. “But as it is, as soon as I know she’s stable, we’re going to be transporting her to the hospital where I work.”

“So she IS going to be hospitalized?” Hoffmann busied himself with hauling first one and then the other of Willy’s hands behind him and then securing them there with plastic tie handcuffs pulled nicely tight.

“Absolutely,” Jarod nodded. “She has suffered a significant blood loss and will need supervision during the initial stages of recuperation.”

“And you don’t want her to do it closer here – in Dover, perhaps?”

Jarod exchanged a glance with Sydney. “Unfortunately, we believe that there are others who might wish to do her harm – such as the person Sam claims to have heard coming in the back that your officers couldn’t find. I want to get her as far away and as safe as I can as quickly as I can – I hope you can understand…”

“How long will it take for me to press charges and give a statement?” Sydney asked, walking toward his front door and the coat tree there than held both a warmer sweater and his beret. “I assume it needs to happen at the police station?”

Hoffmann obviously didn’t appreciate being rushed. “We’ll need you gentlemen’s names and addresses, in case we need to get in contact with you again – and then we’ll be ready to transport the suspect here to the stationhouse.”

Sydney glanced up the stairs, and Jarod could hear the older man’s thoughts. It was time for someone to go upstairs and tend to Miss Parker. “Here,” he said and reached into a pants pocket to pull out a small holder from which he drew a business card for the hospital where he’d been working. He turned it over and wrote his home address and cell phone number on the back. “This should be everything that you need from me – I work at Mercy General, but I’ll answer my cell phone quicker.”

Hoffmann took the card and studied it for a moment before slipping it into his shirt pocket. “Thank you, Dr. Russell.” He turned to Sam. “Your turn…”

~~~~~~~~*

Hank huddled beneath the window at the side of the living room and listened to the conversation going on inside. Mercy General was the hospital HE worked at in New York City – a place with which he was intimately familiar. He could use his mentor’s car and get there before the others – get in a position so that he would be able to take care of his target once and for all, along with all the others around her. That was what the mentor had told him that he needed to do – and that was what he’d do.

Briefly he wondered if his mentor would want him to try to free him – but he’d had no indication of that so far. He’d wait, however – follow the police cars to the station and see if his mentor would give him some sign. Then and only then – when either his mentor was beyond reach or once again free – would he head north toward New York. His target still lived – and his work wasn’t going to be finished until he’d taken care of that little fact.

I decide who lives and dies, he told himself with mindless rote concentration. I decide who lives and dies.

~~~~~~~~*

Mr. Cox blinked as the rude jangling of the lab telephone broke through his slumber. Had he really fallen asleep, he wondered, or merely dozed while waiting for the latest session in the conditioning room to finish? No matter – a glance at the clock on the wall told the story. It was three AM – when most who would be calling a Centre research laboratory were making time with their pillows. “Cox here,” he answered and then yawned.

“Your process has its flaws,” Lyle’s voice announced curtly. “For one thing, failing a quick kill on the first attempt results in confusion for the subject…”

Mr. Cox shook his head vehemently. “If the mentor follows up the in-lab process precisely, using the techniques and chemical reinforcements I explained to you properly, there will be no confu...”

“He screwed up,” Lyle snapped angrily. “She’s still alive – and from what my sweeper told me, on her way to a regular hospital in New York City. This is your fault…”

“You’re assuming the test subject has bolted,” Mr. Cox understood immediately. “I built a failsafe mechanism into the process. Eliminating the initial target is seen as the one task that MUST be fulfilled before the subject can allow himself to rest. Protecting the mentor – since that is the one connection between the subject and the Centre – is next highest on the list.” Cox pulled his notes closer. “Tell me what happened.”

“What should have been an easy assignment was botched from the very beginning,” Lyle complained. “It should have been a clean kill – one shot through the window – but there was no way to make sure the target had been eliminated before others began interfering. They transported the target to a secondary location – and in the process of trying to infiltrate and neutralize the target a second time, the mentor was captured.”

“But the test subject remains at large?” Mr. Cox asked anxiously.

“To the best of my knowledge,” Lyle admitted begrudgingly. “But here I am, having to go down to the Blue Cove police station in just a few hours to see if I can’t bail my personal sweeper out of jail…”

“I’m telling you that the subject’s programming is most likely still in place,” Mr. Cox assured the man he definitely wanted in the Chairman’s seat when everything was all said and done. Lyle would be the one to be handing out that Tower office, after all – Miss Parker would see him not only unemployed, but most likely deported. “Then, even if the mentor has been taken out of the picture, the subject will still be driven to complete his assigned task – and let nothing stop him along the way.”

“You’d better hope that this pans out the way you keep promising me it will,” Lyle hissed his threat. “I’ve got a lot riding on this Hydra’s Teeth project other than just the potential for future financial solvency for the Centre. If it fails, YOU are going to be the one I’m going to hold responsible – do you understand me?”

“Absolutely.” Cox’s blood was running cold. “I have every confidence in my process, however. The test subject WILL kill his target.”

The soft click in his ear told him that Lyle had hung up on him. Mr. Cox swore softly in Afrikans and looked up to check the clock on the wall again. Three more hours to go. He ran his hand down his face to try to clear both the cobwebs and the outlandish idea that his pet project – the sole focus of attention for him for nearly three years now – could possibly fail.

Still, he’d been around the Triumvirate and the Centre long enough to know that often blame was attached to the most convenient target rather than the real culprit in any failure. After all, Miss Parker had borne the brunt of the failure of her team – and every other search team, including Lyle’s – to capture and return the elusive Pretender Jarod to his predestined task in life. Sydney and Broots had been held to blame only very peripherally, and somehow Lyle had managed to elude being held accountable in the least.

That meant that, in this instance, HE would bear sole responsibility for the failure of the very first test subject to terminate his target effectively. Cox’s eyes narrowed. That meant that Lyle would most likely come for HIM – and that couldn’t be allowed.

He’d have to take on the job of training this next subject himself, it seemed.

He leaned over his computer terminal and called up the personnel records. He might not be able to get a cardboard cut-out of Lyle, but a target with Lyle’s face on it would do just as well. And THAT would only take shipping an enlargement of his employment photo to a printer capable of handling that sized print.

At least he wasn’t completely without resources…

~~~~~~~~*

Saturday morning

“Maricella?”

The accented voice on the other end of the line sounded tired. “Jarod? Is that you?”

“Yeah, it’s me. Listen…”

“Have you found Hank?” she demanded immediately.

Jarod sighed. “No, I haven’t – but I think I may have set things in motion for him to BE found.”

“What do you mean?”

“Look,” Jarod sighed again and cast a glance into the rear view mirror, where he could see into the back seat where Sydney was sitting with Miss Parker’s head in his lap. “I don’t have a lot of time to explain this – but I need a favor.”

The Hispanic voice seemed to brighten. “What’s up?”

“I’m bringing a woman in – and she’s been shot. I need to suppress the report of a gunshot wound – just for a day or so.”

“Jarod?” Maricella’s voice was sounding hesitant and wary. “What have you gotten yourself into?”

“Believe me, trying to find Hank and the people who took him…”

“TOOK him?”

“…has been a twisted journey,” he finished. “I’ll tell you all about it when I get back to New York…”

“Where the Hell are you?” she demanded.

“On the interstate,” he told her truthfully. “I’ll be there in about two hours. Just have a room ready, plenty of B negative blood on standby in case she needs it, and sleep the gunshot report for me.”

Maricella was silent for a long moment. “She’s that important to you, this woman?”

Jarod would have loved to have sought out his mentor for a little moral support, but held his gaze steadily on the road ahead of him. The early morning hours were always a very dangerous time to be traveling long-distance – so many of those on the road with him would be driving under the influence of sleep deprivation, just as he was. “She’s that important to a lot of people, Maricella. Please…”

“Fine,” she capitulated suddenly. “Give me her name, and I’ll have her registered long before you get here.

Now Jarod did sneak another glance into the mirror at Sydney’s dozing face, and then over at Sam in the seat next to him seated in stony silence. “Melissa Parker, aged 38. Thanks, Maricella – you’re a doll.”

“You say that now,” she quipped in a wry tone and then sighed. “Two hours ETA?”

“Yup.” Jarod glanced at the glowing numbers of his watch. “That should have us there sometime around seven-thirty.”

“You’re lucky I’m still pulling double shifts making up for your not being here as well as Hank,” she reminded him archly.

“I owe you,” he lowered his voice. “I swear I’ll make it up to you.”

“Just get your ass in here, Jarod,” Maricella told him. “I’m suffering from friend deprivation – and you know how cranky I can get.”

“See you soon,” he chuckled at her and disconnected the call.

“Everything’s set?” Sam asked in a tightly controlled voice from the passenger seat.

“As much as I can get it from here,” Jarod answered, tucking the little cell phone back into his shirt pocket. “Face it, she need access to better medical care than I can give her by myself out here in the sticks – and a more public place where it will be harder for anybody to come at her.”

“A hospital?” Sam’s voice was mocking. “They are one of the most insecure places around.”

“Only if the patient doesn’t have a bodyguard in the room with her. That’s where you come in,” Jarod countered with more patience than he felt. “And while you and Sydney make sure nothing untoward happens to her, I go back and continue trying to figure out…”

“Yeah – just what the Hell were you doing driving back to Blue Cove in the first place?” Sam demanded harshly. “You’d think you’d know better than to get close…”

“It’s a long story…”

“And you just said we have two hours,” Sam reminded him sharply. “Should be a good way to make the time pass faster.”

Jarod took a good look at the sweeper’s face next to him – and saw the determination on it. If Sam were anything like either Sydney or Miss Parker, he knew he’d have no peace until he’d at least superficially explained himself. “It started about two weeks ago…”

~~~~~~~~*

Sydney roused to the sound of Jarod’s and Sam’s voices in the front seat of the mini-SUV, the road noises just a little too loud in his ear to be able to make out clearly what was being said. Jarod was doing most of the talking, and it was evident that Sam was asking questions about whatever was being discussed. It was interesting to watch two men who otherwise would be having very little if anything at all to do with each other interact without any overt animosity from either side.

He turned his attention then to the woman whose head lay still and wan in his lap. His fingers found her carotid artery with a practiced touch, grateful to feel the slow and steady pulse just beneath the skin. A brief furling of the brow indicated that she was beginning to come around – perhaps his taking her pulse had roused her.

“Just lie still,” he said to her, bending down so that his face was closer to hers. “We’re taking you to a hospital.”

“Mmmmmnng… she managed as she struggled against the darkness that had held her for an indeterminate length of him. The sound of his voice was a comfort – if he were with her, things couldn’t be all bad. “Sssssydney…”

“Hush,” Sydney soothed and with gentle fingers straightened hair away from her face. “You’re safe.”

Slowly the grey eyes blinked themselves open, and took and equally long time to finally focus on the face hovering so close above hers. Awake now, she was aware of the deep ache that radiated from her left shoulder “Shot?” she asked when she’d summoned the energy again. That’s right – she could remember that now. She’d been shot – and she’d called him…

“Yes,” he confirmed, his concern very obvious in his gaze. “Sam and I got there just in time.”

She groaned and reached for her shoulder with her free hand – only to have it captured by Sydney before it could find its target. “No – don’t touch it. Jarod did the best he could under the circumstances, but we don’t want to do anything that will start the bleeding again.”

“Jarod…?” She tried to stir, but then had to bite back a cry as the sharp ache in her shoulder became a stab of agony.

“Yes, Jarod,” Sydney soothed again. “Just lie still – we’re heading to New York City and a hospital there. Hopefully Lyle won’t be able to find you…”

The grey eyes closed and then opened again, focusing and diving into Sydney’s warm chestnut gaze. “You think…” she began, summoning her strength, “Lyle did this?”

“It seems likely – he’s as determined as you are to win this little game of one-up-man-ship you two are playing, and far less likely to stick to just political moves and simple white-collar sins to do so.”

Miss Parker closed her eyes again and tried to relax against the grinding pain. That Sydney had found her and evidently summoned enough help that she was still alive was a relief – that it had been Jarod to once more ride to the rescue after all this time of staying completely out of the Centre’s reach was almost beyond belief. She’d wonder about that one when she had more strength to focus on anything other than the bare essentials. “Where’s Sam?”

“Right here, Miss Parker,” she heard her sweeper respond and then felt a brief touch on her knee. “Up front here with Jarod – making sure the Lab Rat doesn’t kill us on the road.”

“Try to rest, Miss Parker,” Sydney’s gentle and hypnotic voice flowed over her like a warm breeze. “You’re going to be all right.”

She turned her head slightly so that she could lean her face against the soft abdomen of her old friend. “Promise?” she managed, struggling against the seductive darkness again as the throb in her shoulder was becoming almost too much to bear. If Sydney promised, then maybe – just maybe – she had it in her to trust him.

She felt gentle fingers caress her cheek. “I swear.”

With a soft sigh she ceased her struggles and slid beneath the darkness again, finding a refuge from the agony of consciousness.

“How’s she doing, Sydney?” Jarod called back in a business-like tone.

Sydney’s gaze came up and met his former protégé’s in the rearview mirror. “I’ll be glad when she’s in that hospital,” he admitted truthfully.

“So will I,” Jarod replied and glanced once more next to him, only to see Sam nodding agreement. “The sooner the better.

~~~~~~~~*

“That’s the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard!” Lyle sputtered.

Officer Finley merely shrugged. “I’m sorry, sir, but until Mr. Grant can be arraigned on the charges pending against him, there is no possibility of posting bail.”

“I need his help…”

Finley shrugged again and turned away. “I’m sure you do – but there’s very little I can do to help you. It’s up to the judge to set bail in a case like this, where the suspect was arrested inside the property into which he’d broken.”

“Can I talk to him, at least?”

“Visiting hours are from ten in the morning until four in the afternoon,” the officer told him over his shoulder. “Come back then.”

Lyle knew he could stand there spitting and fuming, but that all of his effort would be wasted. Damned small town police departments anyway! Or at least, damn Mr. Raines for not making sure the entire department was safely and comfortably on the Centre payroll as well! He’d have to work from whatever little information he’d managed to get out of Willy during the phone call – and pray that Cox was right, and that the assassin sent after his twin wouldn’t rest until she was as cold as a cucumber in a morgue somewhere.

He stomped out and climbed back into his sleek Corvette – and then slammed his hands on the steering wheel. Jarod had returned, of all people! Willy had said that the escaped Pretender had been right there, with Sydney and Sam. Where had he been for the last few years – and why did he have to choose NOW to wriggle out of the woodwork?

There was no alternative – he might as well go to the Centre and set things in motion to get Willy sprung and then sit and wait. Going to New York would accomplish nothing – the assassin didn’t know HIM. If he showed up at Mercy Hospital, Sam would recognize him immediately – and the hospital was just too public, damn it! Not too public for a nameless assassin to walk in, do his job, and then get himself caught – but certainly too public for him to have an open spat with Sam, Sydney or, God forbid, Jarod!

Knowing Jarod, the damned Lab Rat was capable of calling the cops on him for the murder of his brother if for no other reason than to embarrass and make life hard for him – and he refused to give the man the chance. Knowing Sam – even just in terms of running into him when his interests conflicted with his sister’s – he’d not last more than about a minute before the big man would have him on the floor in a whimpering heap. And Sydney would happily drug him as talk to him reasonably.

No, it would have to be Willy. With this latest incident on the books, it would be logical to say that Willy had become obsessed – that he’d followed Miss Parker to New York to do her more harm. It would be tricky, but letting Willy continue to take point on directing the Hydra’s Teeth assassin would maintain the Centre and its administration of any blame.

Feeling just a little better for having at least the framework for his actions over the next few hours all mapped out, Lyle slipped the key into the ignition and started up the powerful engine. He revved the engine, delighting in the sound of power and the sensation of the rumbling surge of restrained motion through his body despite the comfortable padding and leather upholstery. Impudently and rebelliously he pulled away from the curb, leaving black streaks and the sound of screeching tires behind him in his wake.

God, but he needed coffee!

~~~~~~~~*

Gabe Watson was a patient man – and nothing could convince him more of the rightness of his attitude than the kind of event that had just happened. It wasn’t often that he was summoned into the Assistant Director’s office – and it was even more rare that he was handed the thing he wanted most as if on a silver platter. But that was the way he’d felt walking away from the Federal Building in New York City, two slender documents in his pocket. One gave him the authority to detain and hold one Lyle Parker for questioning in the disappearance of Hank Kellogg and several other homeless men – and the other gave him the right to search the premises of the Centre facility in Blue Cove for any signs of their whereabouts.

It was a dream come true – and Watson could imagine the many arguments that had taken place in the upper echelons of the FBI. He’d known this case – odd and disturbing, with eyewitnesses identifying Mr. Lyle Parker as one of the ones taking part in the kidnappings – had had the potential to break the enforcement agency free from those who seemed determined to keep the Centre above the law. This case had already begun to surface in the newspapers and on the broadcast news – and no doubt the pressure from any number of public agencies to start uncovering answers was growing in geometric proportion.

He climbed into his car and relaxed against the headrest. All he had to do now was assemble a team and travel down to Blue Cove, Delaware, to execute those warrants. He tipped his wrist to check the time and then drew out his cell phone. The phone number for that city detective who had broken the case wide open was in his notebook – and he’d promised to call him and tell him when movement against the Centre in Delaware was imminent.

“Jarod Russell,” came a tired-sounding response.

“Detective,” Watson let his satisfaction fill his voice. “This is Special Agent Watson.”

“Special Agent…” the detective’s voice had roused with both warmth and curiosity. “I didn’t expect to be hearing from you this early in the morning…”

“I just thought you would be interested in knowing that I have in my possession the warrants to detain this Lyle Parker and search the Centre premises for any kidnap victims,” Watson announced proudly. “I’m putting my team together as we speak – and I’ll be coordinating with the FBI office in Dover. If all goes well, we should have at least some of our answers within the next few hours.”

“That IS good news,” Detective Russell responded with a similar measure of satisfaction. “You’ll keep me abreast of any new developments in the case?”

“Absolutely, sir.” Watson knew the detective really had no place to be asking such a thing, but his involvement in bringing this earth-shaking case to light couldn’t be taken lightly. “I should be updating you some time this evening.”

“I look forward to your call, then,” the detective replied, “and thanks for the update. Good luck.”

“Keep up the good work, detective,” Watson smiled and reached with his thumb toward the disconnect button.

“Oh, and Special Agent?”

Watson’s brows furled. “Yes?”

“Keep in mind that the Centre’s physical plant in Blue Cove is ten times larger underground than it is above ground.”

“Underground?”

“Twenty-seven stories underground, to be precise…”

“And just how did you come about this information?” Watson demanded.

There was a slight hesitation on the other end of the line. “I have an informant inside the corporation who has been telling me a great deal of what goes on there.”

“Your informant…”

“Isn’t one I think I can share,” Jarod answered quickly. “But I thought, just in case, you should be aware…”

Watson didn’t know whether to be angry at the lack of answers or grateful at the additional information. “Well, thanks again, detective. I’ll be in touch.”

Watson frowned as he tucked the cell phone into his pocket. An underground facility, carefully disguised with enough of an above-ground facility that most would never suspect. How much like the Centre that sounded!

He dragged out the two blue-covered warrants and re-read the text of the search warrant, then folded it contentedly. It was non-specific enough to cover a top to bottom search -–whether above-ground or below.

Something told him the day was going to be a VERY interesting one.

~~~~~~~~*

Hank calmly shot the gas station attendant and walked around the counter to start up the gas pump. Nothing and nobody could be allowed to stand in his way to getting to New York and taking care of terminating the target – not even teenaged boys trying to make enough money to be able to take out their latest girlfriend to the movies.

He’d tried several times to call his mentor – but there was no answer at the number he’d memorized in order to contact the man who knew what he was supposed to be doing. It had been hours since his last contact – and he felt torn. The mentor was important – seeing to his welfare being only second to finishing his assignment. And right now, that meant that he had to get to New York. He’d come back to Blue Cove and help the mentor when he was done.

It was, after all, the proper order of things. Go to Mercy Hospital, kill the target and all who surrounded her, and go back to Blue Cove and the mentor.

Once more the tiny voice began to shriek in the very darkest corner of his mind – trying to tell him that his friend had been there with the target, that Mercy Hospital was FULL of friends. That same corner of his mind cringed from the memory of the teenaged boy crumpled on the floor of the convenience store in a puddle of his own blood. For the briefest of moments, his hand lifted from the gas pump.

No! I decide who lives or dies! I decide!

Hank put the pump handle back, tightened up his gas cap and climbed back into the comfortable black sedan. His hand was steady as it reached for the ignition.

Only an hour or so more, and he could rest.

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