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From beneath hooded eyelids, Xander Huntington stared desultorily through weary eyes- - at nothing in particular- - while his best friend, Detective Jake Spencer accessed the state of the art security feed that had been installed during the structure's construction. "Hurry, Jake." Xander murmured. "Please."
 
"I'm working as quickly as I can, Xan." Jake returned.

Jake Spencer was former FBI, and, like Xander, was slender, tall, with broad, chiseled shoulders. The private detective wore a permanent frown and his dark hair combed back from his forehead to reveal a perfectly square, and perpetually freshly shaved, face.

"You know", he attempted to assuage; his voice was pitched an octave or two higher and carried an inflection of hope that Xander found rather startling. Parker's fiancé threw a wan, expectant glance at the detective. "It's possible that she pressed the panic button by mistake, or by accident."
 
"In her heightened state of terror, she had the foresight and courage to communicate with me- do not disparage her intelligence. She punched out the entire façade (which was located on the underside of the bed frame), kicked in the speaker grill and punctured the sub-woofer in the process. Don't tell me it was a mistake or an accident! One simply doesn't accidentally smash a twelve thousand dollar security feature! She must have been terrified to inflict that much damage." Xander groaned. "My God! Some animal came into my home and took her- took her from my bed!"
 
"All right, I'm in." Jake announced. "All the video feeds were somehow disabled- just as we suspected, but the battery-powered audio feature that you and I installed is still intact. "Volume is maxed", he said, "here we go."
 
They listened intently and then both men frowned. "There was a struggle. It's all muffled. Can you isolate?"
 
"As we speak." Jake answered, "Damn it. No. It's impossible."
 
"Try another frequency." Xander ordered, and then eagerly looked on as his friend tapped out several strings of code and toyed with the treble and bass, and finally, a weak voice filled the security room:
 
"I'll give you a-"
 
"There!" Xander cried and then ejected himself from the leather chair. "Right there. Did you hear that?" He asked. "She was pleading with the abductor!" Xander exclaimed and then pushed his trembling fingers through his disheveled and positively manic hair. "Anything. I'll give you anything- that is what she was trying to convey when she was silenced. Oh, my God, Jake, she was taken!"
 
"Calm down, Xan."
 
"Easier said than done." Xander hissed and continued his frantic pacing. "She was abducted!" He yelled, and then overturned several pieces of equipment, each of which were worth a small fortune.
 
"I'm afraid so" Jake agreed, grimly. "and the assailants knew what they were doing. Alarms were disabled, all surveillance scrambled, there are no prints, no tracks, absolutely no evidence, aside from duct tape residue on the matress", he continued with a grimace, "and the four guards who were on duty saw nothing. There isn't so much as a strand of thread out of place or, by the same token, a strand of DNA that doesn't belong to either you or her. Look, Xander: I think it's time to call the police."
 
"I can't call the police! If the monsters that took her find out that I've involved the police they will-" Xander choked up suddenly, pressed a palm to his mouth and then shook his head. "I can't lose her, Jake."
 
"All right, I'll call in a few favors."
 
"No expense spared, Jake." Xander blurted. "Hire some men. The best. As many as it takes. Professional and low key. Also: I want you to withdraw everything from my offshore accounts. When the bastard calls with his ransom demands, I will be ready."
 
"Xander, you can't possibly be thinking of paying-"
 
"I'll give them anything!" Xander vowed. "Money, stocks, services, the franchises, my homes. Material things are of little consequence. We do this clean, Jake." He demanded, his face rigid, his brows arched high. "No mistakes."
 
"And you?"
 
"It has to be me that answers the phone when they call."
 
"Will you be all right? I can install a few more men on the premises or-"
 
"No. I just want her back. I can't for the life of me understand why anyone would take her, and not me. It's my money, after all! My God." He exclaimed. "Who would do such a thing?"
 
 

"Jarod." Nia attacked upon her husband's arrival. "What have you done to her?" The woman's voice was emotional contralto, her cadences crippled and weak. She observed the unconscious woman with several deep creases of concern stretched across her forehead. Jarod knew where the concern originated. His wife had been beaten and raped as a child. She couldn't imagine her own husband asserting his authority or dominance, didn't want to believe him capable of forcing anyone to do anything. Power is such a slippery slope. "She has a needle in her hand." Nia observed, was simply attempting to assimilate the events. "It looks like it hurts."
 
"It's a cannula, to deliver fluid and sedatives." He whispered. "She's not in any pain, Nia, I assure you."
 
"Mi corazón" Nia breathed and then crossed herself. "I-I just- I don't-" Nia stammered.
 
"Nia, I had to sedate her."
 
"She resisted. She fought you." Nia's voice dropped to a whisper. Gingerly, she lifted her fingers towards his face with the intention of soothing the bruises and abrasions; her hand stopped short, however, and she took a compensatory step away from her husband. "She didn't want to come here, she didn't want this and you- you-" Forced her. Just like I was forced. By monsters. 
 
Jarod observed as his wife paled, talked sub voce to herself. In Spanish.
 
"Nia", he said gently, aware that he was treading on unstable ground. She shook her head resolutely. "How could you do this?"
 
"Nia, please, don't-", Jarod whispered weakly and fixed her with a morose expression, "Cariño", he pleaded, "don't look at me like that. Please! You know who I am, you know I'd never hurt you."
 
Nia wasn't systematically biased against- - or frightened of- - men in general, only men who were in positions of power and authority, and particularly men who flaunted and abused that authority. "I'm doing this for you." He added, and they both knew it was a lie.
 
Jarod advanced slowly. "You have to understand-" How could he explain it to his wife, explain the innumerable indignities and stones that he and Parker had prodigally cast at one another?

Explain such an esoteric relationship, and that he wasn't marginalizing Parker as a woman, but rather, marginalizing her status, stripping her of control in an attempt to reach a peaceful resolution? He had been forced to utilize the same tools the Centre used, to employ the only method Centre personnel were able, or perhaps willing, to comprehend: control.
 
Left to their own devices, he felt it was quite possible that he and Parker could sort out the mess the Centre had made of their lives, but not while she was within the confines of her comfort zone, in her home, while at the helm of the Centre, and with the Triumvirate navigating the entire squalid ship. He recognized the futility in even flirting with such a notion.
 
Messy discourse was a given; there was bound to be difficulties altering the deeply entrenched perspectives. In fact, Jarod knew there was little hope of fostering homogeneous rationale; to wit: Nia would never be swayed, would never share his attitude.

Even if he could explain it, his wife wouldn't understand. "I can't." She said, and then whispered a prayer and a litany of obscenities in her native tongue. "You- you abducted her and-"
 
"The Centre abducted me!" He countered angrily.
 
"The Centre. The Centre did that to you. She didn't."
 
"You're comparing me to the Centre? Nia, unlike the Centre, and the way they hurt me, I- I would never hurt her." He vowed and observed as his wife's face crumpled. "Because you're in love with her." Words carried on an unbidden, piteous sob.
 
Jarod's jaw unhinged in response to the accusation; he wanted to immediately contradict her words, wanted to swear on his life and hers that the accusation was patently untrue. "Of course he isn't." Margaret chimed in with a snort of disapproval. "He loves you, sweet heart- that's why he married you. He married you." She repeated and then draped an arm across Nia's shoulders. "Nia, honey, you're trembling."

Jarod's mother directed the accusation at Jarod and then smiled sweetly at her daughter-in-law. "Let's get out of this chilly basement and get you some tea, dear."
 
Tea.

Jarod snapped his eyes closed, clenched his jaw. He refused to be transported into the past, to allow that memory to haunt his soul. He would need to simply find some way to do what must be done and move on with his life and allow Parker to move on with hers.
 
With Xander. Xander. A fucking pretty boy with muscles and a tan and a tight ass and several rather hefty bank accounts and a net worth that would put that of Bill Gates' to shame. It was such a cliché.

Xander. What the hell kind of name is that anyway?

"What are you going to do now, Jarod?" Ethan's inquiry shook Jarod from his reverie.
 
"Relax, Ethan", Jarod crooned as he parked a hand on his brother's shoulder, "I'm not going to hurt your sister." Jarod smiled, observed his half brother's gaze fixed solidly on Parker. "Ethan?" Jarod asked. "Ethan, are you all right?"
 
"That looks painful."
 
"It was either the cannula or multiple needle sticks."
 
"Multiple. Why?"
 
"I know your sister. She's going to refuse to eat and drink and it's possible that I will have to sedate her again- especially if she reacts violently to the hypnosis." He said with a single brow raised in contemplation. "With the cannula, I have the delivery system in place already."
 
"You wouldn't force fluids on her, Jarod? Or hypnosis? My god, that's- that is-" Criminal. Sadistic. What am I saying? He's already forced sedation on her, taken her against her will.

Ethan feared that it wasn't a question of "what would Jarod do?", but rather, "what wouldn't Jarod do?"
 
"Had you rather I allow her to become dehydrated, starve to death?" Jarod asked and then observed as Ethan grimaced. "I- Jarod, maybe this isn't a good idea. She wasn't aware of the attack in Estonia; she hasn't been searching for us, she- Jarod, she typed up the directive that dispatched the disposal team to Raines' forest home."
 
"Yes, and I'm certain her reasons for doing so were purely selfish just as everything else she has ever done. Tell me, Ethan: why did she fawn over her father all those years? She knew he was a monster and turned a blind eye, she knew everything, she knew he'd given Raines the green light to lobotomize my brother!"
 
"She loved him, Jarod. He was her father."
 
"And you love her, Ethan; you're loyal to her- I understand that, but you need to understand something too: love and loyalty can blind you to the truth."
 
"What truth, Jarod?"
 
"Your sister won't be happy until she's captured every single one of us. Now, I'm going to need you to back me up on this, on every decision. You can not, under any circumstance, undermine my authority. We must be a united front-"
 
"Against my sister?" Ethan asked, incredulously. "What if your decisions are not in her best interests? I love her, Jarod. She's alone and afraid and I will not turn my back on her. It's unfair of you to even suggest-"
 
"That's not what I am suggesting-"
 
"Then why didn't-"
 
"I had no other recourse-"
 
"You didn't exhaust all other-"
 
"Sons!" Major Charles intervened after bounding down the steps and through the gate that Jarod had installed to prevent Parker's escape. "That's enough bickering."
 
"Oh, let them duke it out," Parker murmured thickly, to which the three men responded by snapping their heads around to where she lay. "My money", she continued without opening her eyes, "by the way, is on Ethan."
 
The younger of the men smiled at that and dropped to a low crouch and placed a hand atop Parker's. "How are you feeling, sister?"
 
"Mm", she groaned, "like I was sedated." Parker intoned dryly and then moistened her lips and clasped her brother's hand. "Where are we?"
 
"He can't tell you." Jarod informed her smugly, slowly enunciating each word.
 
Perturbed as she was by his speaking out of turn, his speaking period, Parker swallowed- - and nearly choked- - on the barb. As tempting as it was to launch into attack, launch shafts of piercing misanthropy and stinging derision, she believed it was neither the time nor the place for her serrated tongue. There would be a chance later, perhaps a final parting shot in passing. Later.
 
"Right." She whispered. "I suppose a telephone call is out of the question."
 
Animated quite suddenly, Jarod pressed a palm to his forehead in mock astonishment; Parker believed him to be a rather repugnant caricature of himself. "And they said I was the genius." Jarod's sardonic retort, his words were a bitter, incisive blade.
 
"What do you expect to gain from this?" Parker inquired softly.
 
"Drop the act!" He hissed. "Damn you, Parker! If you knew anything about this", Jarod snarled, drew in ragged breath, "then God help you." Parker observed the muscles in his face, his jaw clenching. "What do I expect?" He asked. "What do I expect?" He yelled. "You know damn well what I expect."
 
"What?" Parker asked and then turned her gaze towards Major Charles and Ethan. She searched the three forlorn faces, observed as Ethan grimaced; she was certain their collective behavior portended horrific news. It wasn't curiosity but rather fear that prompted her to inquire once more: "What?" She asked again, this time, however, with a measure of fear coloring her voice. "What do you want?"
 
"I want my child." Jarod answered. "Where are they keeping her?" Jarod asked and then scrutinized his huntress: Parker's knitted brows lifted, her eyes widened, her lips parted, an expression of abject horror and genuine surprise was etched across her features.
 
Jarod felt certitude wither, and that was prior to her halting: "I wasn't even aware that your wife and you had a child- uh until-" She shook her head, "until now." Parker frowned. "Your wife must be terrified. Oh, my God." She murmured. "Mm, ordinarily, I'd funnel money from obscure Centre accounts, but given the circumstances, I suggest distancing ourselves from the Triumvirate's oversight committee. Xander." Parker said. "Xander will give the abductors anything-"
 
Jarod wore an expression of disbelief. "You really don't know." He groaned.
 
"Know what?"
 
"She's my daughter. Mine. Not Nia's." He clarified and then continued in halting breaths, "The Centre. Raines!" Jarod vomited the name, and exhaled a ragged breath. "My semen was used, was cultured with a number of ova collected from only God knows who and then-" Jarod drew a tremendous breath, "t- the ova were submitted to intracytoplasmic sperm injection; the fertilized embryos were then transferred to a surrogate's uterus, to several surrogates as a matter of fact!" He exclaimed and then waited for Parker to either confirm or deny.
 
"Broots is investigating several unsubstantiated claims that were made regarding Raines and some clandestine activities, eyes only projects, however, there have been no rumors about another Mirage project."
 
"Broots was." Jarod corrected. "He's been moved."
 
Parker looked up in suprise. "Moved?"
 
"Yes. He's been-" Jarod paused meaningfully, "reassigned."
 
"You took Broots!" Parker exclaimed. "What about Debbie?" She inquired. "You can't-"
 
"I can", Jarod interrupted, "I already have. Now", he continued authoritatively, "hypnosis will save us a great deal of time and trouble."
 
"No!" Came the unequivocal assertion. "No." She repeated, a bit more civilly. "I'm going to need a computer, a secure connection."
 
"It seems that you've forgotten how this works", he said and then held his hands up, palms facing her, "but that's all right; I'll remind you: I am the kidnapper", Jarod informed Parker, "you are the prisoner- and that", he continued in flagrant condescension, "means that I make the demands."
 
"You're the kidnapper. You?" Parker shook her head. "I never thought I'd ever hear you say those words to anyone."
 
"Desperate times, Madame Chairwoman, call for desperate measures, and know this: I will go to any measure to retrieve my child."
 
"Telephone my fiancé. He will give you whatever you need to-"
 
"I already have." Jarod interrupted brusquely. A roguish grin tugged at his lips as he recalled the conversation:

"How much do you want?"

"Oh, it's not money that I want, Mr. Huntington."

"Stocks? Services? I'll give you anything! I will give you everything I own", he cried, "you can have everything but please, please-"

"You will listen to me if", Jarod had paused at the man's sob, and then continued matter of factly, harshly ,"if you want to see your fiancé again. Alive."

"Then she is alive! She's- you haven't hurt her? Please", he sobbed, "tell me you haven't hurt", Xander sniffled and then whimpered her name.

Her name!

Jarod had recoiled at that, had nearly forgotten to stay in character; it was as if he'd been punched. Sucker punched. Parker had shared that part of her soul with that man? With another man!

"Listen to me." Jarod had ordered. "You are going to want to follow my instructions to the letter, Mr. Huntington or you will never see her again."

"And?" Parker asked eagerly, expectantly.

"He was rather disappointed that he couldn't trace, I'm sure." Jarod opined and then answered with a rather sinister grin plastered on his face. "Let's just say that I persuaded him follow my instructions."
 
"Then, you have what you want."

"No", Jarod countered, "no, not quite."
 
"I don't understand." Parker said.

"Of course you don't so I'm going to come to the crux of this and make this a great deal easier for both of us." Jarod said and then dragged a chair towards the cot where Parker lay and unceremoniously dropped his weary form into it. He leaned forward, forearms on his legs, his finger steepled.

"You have my attention." Parker said through clenched teeth.

Jarod nodded. "I think the most natural course of action-"
 
"You are not going to hypnotize me, Jarod." She interrupted. He raised his head as if to nod. "Yes, of course." He whispered, "I've no doubt you're strong enough to resist hypnosis; I, however, have ways of weakening that resistance." He explained and then displayed a glass bottle and syringe. "This is going to happen."
 
Parker recoiled at that, and swallowed- swallowed hard. "Is this what constitutes justice now?" She asked. "Breaking and entering, restraints, forced sedation, abduction, forced hypnosis?"
 
"Jarod, she doesn't know anything." Fletcher intervened.
 
"People repress memories", Jarod directed the words towards Parker, "now don't they, Madame Chairwoman?" He intoned rather smugly and then observed as her gaze dropped to her lap, as she shifted uncomfortably in her restraints.
 
"What are you talking about, son?"
 
"The secrets, the lies", Jarod answered his father, however, he continued to study his huntress, and delighted in how the tables had turned, "your mother's supposed suicide?" He sang. "Her beating?"
 
"People can only repress an event that they actually witness." Parker pointed out. "Raines wouldn't have trusted me- not with a secret of this magnitude. You know as well as I do that Raines didn't survive for more than fifty years inside the Centre and then slither his ghoulish carcass into the Chairman's seat by allowing loose ends to lie around untied."

Jarod averted his gaze suddenly and stared off into the distance at some amorphous picture taking shape. And then he blinked absently, dropped his gaze and studied her hand.
 
Parker observed his apparent discomfit with an arched brow and then swung a questioning gaze to a bemused Ethan, who simply shrugged. Jarod offered no explanations, Parker posed no questions. The latter simply observed in silence as the former removed the cannula and applied fresh dressing to the already bruised injection site.

When the restraints were severed, she grimaced and then massaged her limbs and stiff muscles, and finally stood and stretched and announced that she was starving.

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Major Fletcher Charles sidled up to his eldest child and fashioned a toothy grin. The men followed the woman with their eyes: she opened cabinets and drawers, sliced up shallots, peppers, and tomatoes, all the while unapologetically snacking.
 
"You actually believed you were going to have to force fluids on her?" Major Charles said.
 
"You can't blame Jarod, Dad," Emily interjected. "When I was younger," Emily continued, her hand loosely cupped over her mouth, "I was certain that no one inside the Centre ingested food- not the way we do anyway."
 
"We?" Jarod asked.
 
"Humans," Emily clarified. Jarod revolved his eyes, gestured dismissively. "I thought they were blood sucking alien ticks," Emily snorted over her coffee cup. "Y'know? I was afraid they'd feed off of our blood and organs."

The trio collectively straightened and discontinued their antics when Parker pivoted suddenly. She chose a chair, sat primly, and with a sinister smile addressed her abductor, "I'd say that was a rather valid fear, wouldn't you, Jarod?" 

"Parker," Jarod cautioned.
 
"Jarod, what is she talking about?" Emily asked. "A Centre project?"

Bobby. She's talking about Bobby.

Parker averted her eyes, and said coolly, "You can tell the others that breakfast is ready now."
 
"It looks and smells delicious. Really, it does," Emily said softly.
 
"Ah, well," Parker purred with a noncommittal shrug, "it's not raw liver and a goblet of cord blood, but I suppose it'll have to sustain me until I'm allowed to return to my colony."

Jarod's sister stopped mid-stride. "I didn't mean to-"

"Of course you didn't, Emily," Parker said flatly, stabbing her omelet with a fork, "no one in your family ever does."

Her words would later return to haunt Jarod.

While they breakfasted, Broots was hundreds of miles away sifting feverishly through the Centre's numerous databases in search of any information regarding Jarod's child.

Neither Jarod nor Parker were aware of the global team Broots had assembled to help him.

Schematics and blueprints arrived in Jarod's inbox with clinical data files that Broots hoped would aid Jarod in identifying the mother of his child.

Jarod was back at his computer analyzing those when travel itineraries and various communiqués arrived. Broots included a hastily composed missive that informed Jarod We're getting closer to a location. I can feel it.

Jarod didn't know who, exactly, Broots had unintentionally referred to, and soon forgot to care enough to even inquire.

"You wanted to see me," Parker said.

"Yes," Jarod answered thickly, looking up from the small table. "Please, have a seat," he invited softly with a gesture to indicate the chair opposite his.

"When do we leave," Parker groused as she fetched herself a glass of water, "because if I have to spend another hour on the Walton farm I will snap someone's spine."

Jarod sighed, observed as she swallowed two Excedrin and drained the water and then placed the glass in the sink. "Well?" She snarled. Jarod dropped his gaze, stared absently at the files.

He wanted to defuse the acrimony before it began; as loath as he was to admit it, her cooperation was crucial; in fact, if his suspicions were indeed true, his daughter's happiness would be hinged on Parker's assistance, her involvement.

Motivated by a child he had not yet met, and resolved to give that child a life she deserved, Jarod straightened in his chair, tugged off his spectacles and met Parker's quizzical gaze. "We aren't," he answered softly. "It'll just be the men."

"Why? You said we're rendezvousing with Xander-"
 
"Miss Parker," Jarod breathed.

"What is it?" came her impassioned inquiry. "Has something happened to him?"

"Uh, no. Both the Triumvirate and the Tower believe that Xander whisked you away on his jet to a private island. He is en route to his position as we speak, and everything is going as planned on his end. I promise you that no harm will come to him," Jarod vowed and, again, indicated the chair. "Please, have a seat," Jarod instructed, and observed as Parker stood rigid, her shoulders squared, her jaw jutted in defiance.

"Tell me," she growled. 

"Miss Parker, the files Mr. Broots sent an hour ago suggest-" Jarod drew a fortifying breath, fashioned a mask of indifference, and began again. "Several of the ova in question were taken-- uh, were harvested from your ovaries."
 
Parker's eyes widened; that and the harsh, wavering inhalation were initially the only external indicators that she'd comprehended his grim announcement.

She arched a brow, and then pursed her lips judiciously. "This," She exhaled raggedly, paled considerably, and reached behind her with an unsteady hand to seek out the chair, which she unceremoniously slumped into, "this i--is just suspicion, isn't it," she asked, swinging an expectant gaze at Jarod.
 
Jarod answered with a faint nod. "Raines went to great lengths to conceal the project; in fact, he didn't even name the project. He told no one about it. Now, I've discovered that my daughter was born approximately twenty months ago, and has been managed, to date, in a private, maximum security subsidiary constructed under Raines' directive."

Twenty months. Parker sat in abject consternation, stared absently in wide-eyed contemplation, considered all the implications. Twenty months. A baby. Just a baby.

"H- her handler?" Parker inquired when she recovered her voice.

"A nanny who was loyal to Raines and who has presumably grown quite attached to my daughter. Look, I wanted to be certain of the circumstances and of my daughter's medical history. It was also imperative to ascertain whether or not there were burgeoning pockets of resistance to your chairmanship, unsavory factions with a grudge against your surname holding my daughter for ransom or collecting bids- either for experimentation or- or with perhaps other nefarious ventures in mind and we are both aware of the long standing contracts the Centre has had with known felons and the right wing militia, hostile guerrillas, the Yakuza, terrorists and other militant and often times hostile organizations: Five-Tier, Black Halo, Echelon Zwölf, Crimson Sphere- just to name a few."

"Strange bedfellows indeed," she commented off hand, neither denying nor confirming his words, nor attempting to justify herself or the Centre to Jarod. There was little doubt in Parker's mind that Jarod loathed each of the aforementioned organizations; there was even less doubt that much enmity was directed towards her as well. "Your point?"

"First and foremost, I'm up to speed now on the ousted bedfellows; I was in the process of compiling data, vague references, the Centre's financials records, and even resorting to simulations and past studies as a sort of basis for extrapolating projections.

At first I didn't believe my own eyes. You gutted the machine, canceled contracts, and shelved my sims. As a matter of fact, your first official act as Chairwoman was to slash funding to those organizations whose practices were morally questionable, and reallocate a large percentage of funds to research and development, to cures and a higher performing armor for our soldiers. I admit: I was displeased to learn about the on-going clandestine operations, surveillance, espionage, counter intelligence. You still hold contracts with the CIA. Corrupt leaders and international trouble-makers are still being murdered in the Centre's infamous red zone down in the Disposal Department of SL-26."

"I'm a problem solver, Jarod," Parker said simply. "The world is a safer place when we divert a meteor from its trajectory with earth, when the intel we gather enables us to thwart a terrorist attack, when we can weed out corrupt leaders before hundreds of innocents are massacred. It's about balance."

"The lesser of the two evils," he ventured.

"Perhaps."

"Please take this under advisement: the lesser evil is still an evil." 

"I'm aware of that. The world's security is tenuous, fragile."

"Your grasp of the Centre is equally tenuous. There must be at least one disgruntled employee who'd love nothing more than to usurp your authority, who is vying for your position."

"To date, there has been nothing to indicate an uprising."

"That is subject to change, as I'm sure you know."

"Of course I do," She said and then stared blankly and spent many troubling intervals disoriented, deluged by anxiety, introspection, moral scrutiny. She was startled when Jarod spoke: "I'm simply saying that if you are indeed the mother of my child, you might want to consider maybe abdicating your seat, and perhaps making some other minor adjustments to your lifestyle."

"Excuse me," intoned Parker sharply, her brows arched high. Her decisions were her own, her life was hers, was sacrosanct, and Boyscout Jarod, her captor, for fuck's sake, was not in any position to judge her. However, prior to her defensive volley, she had been staring absently, cogitative and silent, and overwrought, judging herself, her decisions, her path.

A baby? My god.

She found the potential ramifications positively staggering and couldn't dispute the truth in his words: a positive DNA test would certainly raise several questions regarding both her professional and personal life. She didn't want to contemplate the future, didn't want to consider what, if any, changes would have to be made, or speculate on the complications or whether or not she'd even participate in the child's life. She prayed for a negative result.

"Pardon my candor, Miss Parker, but I can not, in good conscience, allow my child to be a party-"

"Haranguing me about my personal life is rather premature," Parker interrupted brusquely.

"You're right," he conceded, sheepishly, "we'll cross that one when we come to it."

"If we come to it," Parker corrected harshly, hastily.

"If," Jarod agreed with a pensive sigh. "I misjudged you; I was wrong." He shrugged. "And I'm rarely, if everm wrong." He added with a tight smile, "I was going to hypnotize you against your wishes in an attempt to extract answers that you do not have. I apologize. I should have listened to Ethan; he insisted that my argument, my belief that you had knowledge of the Centre's continued endeavors to create more children, via cloning or otherwise," Jarod shook his head remorsefully, "and the very premise of my assertion was illogical. I acted on conjecture alone, on a faulty premise, defective logic, presupposition."

"Well,"  Parker purred, "Mother Mary I am not, but I happen to agree with my mother's stance regarding playing God." She shook her head, swallowed hard. "Cloning, bio-piracy, the theft of genetic material, forced parenthood," she murmured in disgust. "My God," she whispered, "it's- it's inconceivable, disgusting."

"I remember your reaction when you discovered that the Centre was protecting Sammy Tanaka, when they kidnapped Emma Barrett after he killed her son. You were revolted. You've never condoned abduction or cloning or any of the Centre's unethical and amoral practices and there was no evidence to indicate otherwise. I reduced myself to Centre standards and I'm ashamed. I became the very monsters that pulled me from my bed."

"Enough groveling," Parker said with a dismissive gesture. "Now, where were we," she inquired with a coquettish, pretentious smile, "before your unwarranted and malapropos digression?"

"Uh, right. My point is this: I wasn't privy to the Centre's altruistic endeavors when I asked Mr. Broots to search a second time, to be more thorough, to hack into the Centre's mainframe, personnel records-- into your personal files specifically," here, his voice dropped to a whisper, "into your personal life. I was angry. I suspected that you were complicit in the creation of my daughter. I believed that you sacrificed her, sacrificed her freedom and quality of life to usurp Raines, to launch a coup d'état, and gain the chairmanship.

And, although I was wrong, and I admit it, I am grateful that I suspected you; Broots stumbled across some- some anomalies in Raines' data, discovered and decrypted a file that otherwise would have gone undetected. This particular file bore a ten digit code, one that I was certain I had seen before. I asked him to cross-reference it and-"

"Let me guess: it's the same ten digit numerical designator found in the eight red file."

"Yes," Jarod confirmed, "yes, it is. Your file. Look, I'm not sure how I feel about this right now. I've dreamed of having a family, raising children, teaching my child to ride a bike, toss a ball; however, in my dreams, I watched my wife grow my child inside her, and give birth to my child. I feel violated, stripped of something elemental. I certainly don't know how you feel about this or how you are going to feel when the results have been analyzed and I confirm that you either are or are not her mother and-"

"No. My feelings are irrelevant."

"You can't mean that. Even if you aren't her mother, there will likely be psychological repercussions. You don't remember the procedure, or what it entailed or-"

"We have to get her out of there."

Jarod shook his head. "Not you. Please don't think me unreasonable. If we all go in and we are all captured, I will likely never be presented with another opportunity to bring her home. The person holding her will most likely move, go underground. And if we are captured, we won't be helped. My mother, my sister and my wife will have no idea how to help. It's quite possible that we will be shot on sight."

"You believe that your daughter is being raised by a militant nanny?"

"I don't know. Presumably, she's an operative so I'm guessing the woman is armed, afraid, paranoid; however, I can neither confirm nor deny that until I see for myself, and I think you'll agree that it's unwise to act on assumption alone," he added, alluding to his mistakes with a faint simper tugging at his lips. "For all we know, another operative inside the Centre could have become privy to Raines' extracurricular activities, and as you well know there is the potential for Triumvirate or Tower involvement. You are my fail-safe, Miss Parker, mine, Ethan's and Julian's. Hopefully, Dad, who will be manning the get-away car, will follow contingency measures and return here to plot my rescue with you."

"Doubtful," Parker murmured. "He's even more stubborn than you are."

"Then, you understand why you must stay here. If you won't do it for me or my family, do it for my daughter- do it because she may very well be your daughter." His eyes filled with tears. "Do it because I don't want my little girl to grow up like that, to be raised by monsters," he continued, his voice liquid, pained, "I don't want her t- to-" He stammered tremulously and then abruptly fell silent and averted his gaze.

"To grow up to be like me," Parker supplied. "Neither do I," she added, her voice a low snarl of malcontent.

"Please," he implored, whispering her name, "if I am captured don't search for me, don't allow my father to search for me- not until my daughter is safe. I want every resource directed to her rescue. Promise me," he whispered, averting his intense gaze only after Parker nodded her agreement.

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"You're anxious," Nia announced after observing the formidable woman pace across the floor for half an hour. Upon closer inspection, she realized that her husband had been correct: the woman wasn't invincible.

Presently, in fact, she looked downright vulnerable, perplexed, terrified. Her carriage wasn't quite as steady in those heels she wore and her pallor was pasty. She wore no make-up and her hair tumbling loose and wild over her shoulders.

"It's stifling in here," Parker said without ceremony, adding brusquely, "and I have other places to be."

Nia offered a sympathetic smile. "You're afraid of what the test results will reveal."

Parker stopped mid-stride to gape at Jarod's wife, observed as Nia dipped her head fractionally in a sort  of semi-curtsy. "It's okay to be honest," Nia assured her. "I'd promise not to tell him, but Jarod knows already that you are. He said you're good at hiding your emotions, that you would never admit to being afraid, but you are, and even I can see that."

Parker exhaled her discontent- it wasn't a snort or huff, but rather a raspy breath. "He also said that you'd run and he advised me not to stop you," Nia continued matter-of-factly, "and I won't, but I hope you'll stay."

Parker gestured to herself, somewhat operatically. "I'm still here."

"Because you know he'll bring you back here again. If she is your child, he'll want you to see her, he'll want you to be her mother."

Parker shook her head, worried her bottom lip. "After everything I've done Jarod should know, better than anyone, that I am not parent material."

"Maybe you aren't. But you can try to be. She's a child. You and I both know what it's like to grow up without a mother."

"Let's not get ahead of ourselves here," Parker cautioned darkly, her dark brows arched high above startling incisive eyes- eyes that feared and beseeched, fulminated and were vulnerable. Eyes that contused, dissected. Nia refused to avert her gaze, close her eyes, hide from Parker.

It was Parker who turned away, declined her head. "He still has to retrieve his daughter and run tests."

"Yes, but he has a feeling," Nia said, "and his feelings are usually right."

"A feeling?" Parker inquired indignantly.

"A gut feeling," Nia clarified. "He said there were extenuating circumstances, reasons Raines would have harvested additional ova from you and not the others, reasons why he would want to ensure success with at least one child- one with your and Jarod's combined genes. Something about the DNA."

The inner non-sense. Jarod's innate skills.

"I know this is a sensitive subject and-"

"Do you?" Came the dry, embittered inquiry.

"Jarod said it would be difficult for you and-"

"Let's just hope that Raines was unsuccessful," Parker interrupted, hotly.

"Are you afraid of children?" Nia posed the question gently. "Or is it that you're afraid only of sharing children with Jarod?"

"I have a lot on my mind," Parker answered brusquely. "Children." She shook her head. "You know," she said softly, "when children misbehave, or babies wail, I- I consider referring couples to planned parenthood. In fact, I actually have on two occasions." Parker pivoted, gazed out the window. "I like the idea of children, I suppose. But not my children."

"I don't understand. Why not your children?" Nia inquired genially and observed patiently as the other woman knitted her brow and contemplated the question with a muted snort. "My life has been comprised of career goals, shattering glass ceilings, engaging in deadly games of survival, scouring the country for your husband. I don't know how to be maternal."

"Didn't you ever want children?"

"No. And I still don't. The world is a dark place." Parker whispered the words unconsciously. "A cold, dark place."

She murmured so softly that Nia had to strain to hear, and then, as if confirm those words, the memories fled their shallow graves, clawed through dirt, extended their decomposed appendages, and snatched her into the past.

Her mother's beating. Her mother's seemingly lifeless body, twisted and bloody on the floor of an elevator. The training. Little Miss Parker, at the tender age of five, raising the pistol, squeezing the trigger. She wasn't going to divulge those horrors to another soul. She wasn't going to tell Nia, or anyone else for that matter, that she'd had two confirmed kills before she'd learned to ride a bicycle, that her first victim had been the assistant instructor at a summer camp.

He'd been authorized to punish her, he'd explained urgently, his voice tremulous with want, with must. He'd held her tightly on his lap, so tightly that she'd had to struggle to simply draw breath. He'd thrust his face between her slender legs and kissed her panties, the ones with the tiny pink flowers. She'd fought against the intrusion, struggled to scream with his large hand pressed against her lips, and two thick fingers deep inside her throat. She'd tried futility to escape; he was stronger, however, and he didn't care. He didn't care that she was upside down, though that was her own fault, she supposed, for trying to flee, and he didn't care that her skull had collided with the floor, or that her neck was bent uncomfortably beneath the pressure of his hand or that her eyes were fixed on the pistol that he'd hidden beneath his desk. No, he didn't care at all about her. So why should I care about him?

Her fingers fondled the cold metal. His fingers fondled her, sought out the flesh concealed by the panties. Oh, how she longed to remove that perpetual sneer from his thin lips, and make him go away, make the nastiness go away. She resigned herself, briefly stopped struggling, and gripped the gun with both hands. She allowed him to force her legs wide apart; she wasn't keen on the notion of shooting own leg, after all.

Resolute and terrified, she lifted the gun quickly, and squeezed the trigger. And squeezed her eyes closed. She slipped to the floor, frightened but physically unscathed.

"You ARE afraid," Nia accused. Parker continued to stare abstractedly at the floor, prompting Nia to repeat herself, this time with faint concern coloring her voice. Parker blinked absently, cleared her throat. "You can't be too thrilled yourself," Parker returned with a softness that suggested genuine camaraderie.

"I'm not afraid," Nia answered. "I'm prepared."

"Prepared for what?"

"For anything. He- Jarod's different. With you, he's different." Nia shrugged, attempted to make her chin stop trembling. She didn't want to fight, didn't want to be coerced to battle this woman. She feared that any victory would be a Pyrrhic one.

Nia's trust had come undone. Jarod had been committing adultery in his mind, in his dreams, for years. Nia had been tolerant, patient. But then Jarod had committed adultery with his mouth, kissed the other woman, broken his vows. It was a misstep that Nia couldn't abide. They'd yet to discuss the kiss, his feelings. Nia feared that conversation, feared the decision that she knew she had to make if she intended to keep her self-respect intact. Their marriage would collapse beneath the weight of Jarod's denial and fall as hard beneath the weight of his admission, his feelings for Parker. The prospect of living with a liar, and a man she evidently didn't really know at all, was perhaps even more unendurable than living with an adulterer.

"He won't tell me what he feels," Nia continued forlornly. She'd felt it the day she'd first seen Parker, felt that her presence, and that of the gentleman with the distinguished air and accent, had been an augur of things to come, misfortune perhaps. The woman's job, after all, had been to capture Jarod and that was rather appropriate, Nia opined, considering the woman had done precisely that. Parker had captured Jarod years ago, effortlessly. She owned his heart. "He doesn't want to talk about you."

"That's probably because I am a non-factor in his life, in your lives."

"Were you two," Nia inquired gingerly, discreetly, "ever- ever-" Nia faltered, her cheeks reddened.

"No," Parker answered with an expression of incredulity etched across her face. "Jarod and I were never intimate."

"Only friends then?"

"Mm," Parker hummed rather cynically, "about a million years ago. And even that began as another Centre lie. Simulation," Parker hissed. "I was supposed to befriend him, flirt," Parker confessed with a knitted brow. "Kiss him."

"That won't matter to Jarod. He will want to have a permanent relationship with the mother of his child."

Parker believed that to be a rather myopic and patriarchal notion. Even if she were the child's mother she had no intention of residing under the same roof as Jarod.

"Nia, the mother of Jarod's child, at latest estimates, could be any of the one hundred forty-two test subjects whose ova were harvested. She could be dead, she could be a stranger, she could be-"

"You," Nia interjected bluntly, "She could be you."

Parker recoiled from the words, and from all that those words entailed. She pushed it from mind, chose to burn off the negative energy and anxiety with a two hour work-out.

It wasn't Xander's gym by any stretch of the imagination. There was no pool, no elaborate gym, and perhaps even more disconcerting: no Xander. There was, however, a battered, weight bench and free weights. She made the most out of the limited space and equipment and then, feeling stronger, feeling centered, and perhaps Centre-d and quite again her former self, she drank two glasses of water and showered. Immediately upon emerging from the guest bathroom, Parker was swept into a frenzy of activity, of chaos.

The constant wail too closely resembled the Centre's lock-down alarms: intense, deafening, visual as well as aural, and Parker saw red. And then reacted accordingly. "What in the hell is going on in here?" She demanded angrily, and then sought out and found the source: a tiny human on the opposite side of the room was literally attempting to climb the door, or rather tunnel through the door, and screaming at a decibel that Parker felt certain was too loud to be measured, a decibel that shouldn't have been humanly possible to achieve, let alone maintain.

Presently, the tiny creature's screams ceased, a clipped liquid finish to a tantrum that had most likely commenced when she was taken from the only home she'd ever known by four strange men. Parker observed as the child turned to gape at her in disbelief and reverence, and then, from the girl's throat, erupted a small, piteous hiccup.

The girl seemed to be waiting for something, waiting for Parker to give her some sort of instruction; Parker did just that. She said what seemed to be the only logical thing to say: "Let's get you something to drink."

Jarod and his family looked on in awe as the girl plopped a thumb past her pouty lips and into her mouth and then, grudgingly, defiantly and with tears standing in her blue eyes, tottered unsteadily towards Parker and reached up with a small hand that was marred with fresh scratches.

Parker swallowed, swallowed hard. Gulped audibly. Instead of grasping the injured hand, she gathered the child in her arms and carried her into the kitchen. Jarod followed slowly at a safe distance, observed from the shadows as Parker fetched a child's cup, dropped two cubes of ice into it and filled it with water. She then popped the lid on the cup and offered it to the little screamer.

The child angrily wrenched the cup from Parker, a demonstration of her hearty defiance, no doubt, and  gulped loudly as she drank greedily. She emptied the cup, and then parted her lips to release a rather satisfied and unrepentant belch after which she fixed Parker with an expectant stare.

"Would you like more?" Parker's inquiry was met with a hesitant nod. The child was deposited gently into a chair when her thirst was quenched; she gazed up curiously and observed as Parker knelt to visually assess her hand.

"Me owie," The girl explained matter of factly between several fretful hiccups.

"Yes, I can see that," Parker agreed. "Did you make all of these owies by yourself?" She inquired softly and observed the just barely detectable nod of head. "Well," Parker murmured contritely, "I don't know much about owies, but I know someone who does." The girl turned her wary gaze to dark haired man. "His name is Jarod," Parker explained, "and he wants to help you." The girl listened intently and then her eyes narrowed in disbelief.

"Bad," she classified him indignantly, without compunction or doubt.

"No, he isn't," Parker countered gently. "He brought you here because he wants to help you."

"Needles owie."

"No. No needles," Parker assured softly. "He only wants to see. Will you let him?"

Jarod was permitted with yet another nod. Parker observed as he approached the girl tentatively and then, intending to give daughter and father their privacy, she pivoted.

She didn't get far: the girl thrust a hand out and clutched Parker's arm in a tight grasp and then whimpered and began that god-awful hiccuping again. "It's all right," Jarod assured his daughter jovially. "Miss Parker isn't going anywhere." He chuckled, a bit nervously, and then with his eyes pleaded with Parker to stay.

But to what end?

Paker speculated while Jarod attempted to engage his child in light conversation, ascertain favorite colors, foods. He believed it was wise to only look at the wounds, to do nothing more than he'd initially been permitted to do.

He took a supervisory role, made suggestions, fetched the alcohol and tweezers. Naturally, Parker was supremely displeased that she'd been appointed to play doctor; Jarod, however, insisted and observed as she cleaned the superficial wounds and removed the splinters, took the temperature and then swabbed the girl's cheek for the DNA test.

Parker took it in her stride, accomplished the duties and was rather relieved that the child hadn't so much as whimpered during the ordeal.

But then, she realized that where children were concerned, the duties never truly end: it was Parker who removed the soiled diaper and assisted the child at the dinner table and with a much needed bath, and pajamas and bedtime- and what a fucking fiasco!

Parker stared, exhausted and impatient and with Goodnight Moon in hand, as the girl restlessly tossed and turned and kicked off her blankets only to retrieve them once again. Finally, however, the child breathed a long, slow sigh and then closed her eyes. And Parker closed her as well, briefly.

What are you doing here? And why? Why are you still here? Jarod.

Jarod was indeed responsible, but only to a certain extent. He had drugged and abducted her, but no one was forcing her to stay. Parker opened her eyes, shook her head once in discontent. "I hope you have a beautiful life," She whispered softly.

With her Manolo Blahnik pumps dangling from her hand, and an overnight bag tossed over her shoulder, Parker entered the quaint den, certain that her quick, purposeful strides would lead her to the front door and back to her life. And Xander. I'll be in his arms by morning.

She might have indeed been in his arms by morning too, had Jarod been in bed. Where he is supposed to be!

"Is she all right," he inquired when he glimpsed Parker scurrying past the kitchen/make-shift laboratory. Damn it. So close. And yet, so far. His words brought her bare feet to an abrupt halt.

"Miss Parker?"

"What," Parker hissed breathlessly in evident perturbation, wearily returning to the kitchen. She observed as Jarod made adjustments to the microscope. "Is she," Jarod repeated.

"For now. Yes. She's asleep," Parker answered, somewhat abstractedly.

"No more tears, I hope," he murmured, studying the slides.

"No," she answered softly. "Listen, I know it's none of my business and I know that you had to get her as far away from that place as fast as you could but did either you or your siblings or your father even attempt to console her?"

"Of course we did," Jarod answered softly. The subtle inflection in his thickening voice indicated he'd taken offense. "We offered her something to eat and drink. Our efforts to placate her caused her to become even more agitated."

"So, she screamed for four and half hours?"

"I can't be certain. I'd love to tell you that she only cried for four and half hours, and protect you from the truth even if it means prevaricating or outright lying to you. Under the circumstances, however, it's in her best interest if we make a real effort to communicate and maintain transparency."

Parker frowned. She wasn't required to communicate with him, period, unless of course he knew something that she didn't know, and why, if he longed for transparency, hadn't he answered her question?"

"I don't understand."

"Neither do I," Jarod said, his voice thick with emotion, his eyes on his work, his mind on a hundred different things. "She was screaming when we arrived at the compound. In fact, it was her screams that led us to the room that she'd been locked inside of for- for only God knows how long. She was alone, the compound was deserted. I don't know why, and as you can imagine, we felt it wasn't in her best interest to investigate further."

Parker grimaced, shook her head. The girl had been left there. Alone.

"And it is your business," he corrected, gently, withdrawing from the microscope, rising, and removing his spectacles. Impatience, raw and nascent, grew, became stifling, and yet, Parker simply stood. She waited, sought out premonitory hints, extended intuitions. He was somber, but no more than he had been since rescuing his child from the clutches of evil. Jarod pinched the bridge of his nose where two tear-shaped indentations remained, a result of the eye-glasses he'd worn, and walked the length of the kitchen.

"I- I was about to come find you when I heard you sneaking past the door. I can't say I'm thrilled that you were considering leaving without saying goodbye but I have a feeling that you would've realized your mistake and returned before she could miss you."

"A feeling?" came the rather mocking query.

"Yes," Jarod replied, studying the expression of vague malevolence she wore. He decided, for once, not to rise to the occasion by injecting his benign, albeit nettlesome, brand of facetiousness. "You don't possess a capacity for cruelty, and even if you do, I'm quite certain that your capacity for cruelty is limited; it doesn't extend to children."

"You sure about that?"

"Yes," he answered rather smugly, "yes, I am. You see: I know that you have a reason for pushing people away, some sort of twisted logic that compels this-" Jarod shrugged, "this impetuosity, and that, in your mind, you truly believe that walking away is the right thing to do.

You believe that you'd be doing her and me and my family a huge favor by taking off and never looking back. In a few hours, however, your heart will have had some time to catch up with your mind, and you will know that you came dangerously close to making a tremendous mistake."

"Oh?"

"Tell me that I'm wrong," Jarod said, rather simply. "Can you?"

Parker conceded with a dismissive wave. There was no point in arguing, not this time. She vividly recalled the incessant warnings, the telephone calls.

Don't let them take away your happiness. You picked a fight with him didn't you? This isn't what you want. Tell him. Let your heart win the war.

Jarod was the supreme authority on Parker arcana, he had become quite acquainted with her heart and her brain, and he knew that each seemed to exist in different time zones, but he felt certain that she would make the right choice.

Jarod recalled Simone, Davy, Ethan, recalled her reluctance to get involved, to assist, and then, unsurprisingly, her determination to help, to stop fighting with him and fight, instead, beside him. Parker's heart had never been beyond reason; it had only been tardy in arriving to reason.

"Let's sit," he suggested soflty, and observed as Parker immediately chose a straight back. Jarod relapsed into the chair he'd recently vacated and then quietly studied her- studied her until finally, she met his gaze.

"Tell me," Parker demanded.

"The markers indicate-"

"In English, Jarod," Parker commanded brusquely. He offered her a sympathetic smile. "Like I said earlier, it is your business. She is very much your business. You are her mother."

Parker closed her eyes, knitted her brows, pursed her lips. "And- uh, you're-" she stammered, pushed a hand through her dark tresses and met his gaze, "you're certain?"

"Yes," He answered. "I know this is abrupt, and it's not a path that we chose to take. And I know that the two of us- well, I know that it's complicated and-"

"I can't be a mother," she averred. "You said yourself, Jarod, that you didn't want her to grow up to be like me."

"No," Jarod corrected sternly. "I didn't say that. You did. I-I don't want her to grow up in captivity, a prisoner of misplaced loyalty, I don't want her to ever feel unloved or not good enough, to be neglected, or abused. I-I don't want her to be manipulated by a narcissistic, lying monster, or trained, forced to become a monster. Your father failed you," Jarod contended. "He failed you."

The Pretender repeated the words, observed as Parker folded her arms, and drew a breath with such force that her entire being shuddered. 

"Fortunately," he continued, "he also failed to turn you into him. You are not your father. And by now, even you should know that. The way you were with her today- that was amazing. You were amazing," he lauded effusively. "That was not your father's influence. It was your mother's. Don't tell me that you can't be a mother. You already are. You were a mother today."

"Jarod, I didn't even know that you had returned and- " Parker shook her head, "my God. She's my daughter and the first words out of my mouth-" Parker ejected herself from the chair, paced across the floor.

"Like you said," Jarod called after her, "you didn't know that she was here, but you did what needed to be done. She trusts you implicitly. In fact, it's as if she somehow instinctively knows that you are her mother. We all tried and failed to pacify her, but she- she trusts you. Please, don't abandon her now."

Parker pivoted, fixed him with a morose, incredulous expression. "I can't stay here."

"Why not?"

"This is your life, Jarod; my life is-"

"Where?" Jarod asked. "At the Centre? You can't seriously be thinking of going back, of leaving her-"

"Don't," a rather incensed Parker hissed through clenched teeth. Jarod studied the woman carefully, decided that she was more frightened than furious. And why wouldn't she be? He was asking her to embrace a tenebrous future, an amorphous future, with him and a child that, until several hours earlier, she hadn't even known existed, and there was nothing that he or anyone could say or do to allay her feelings of betrayal and pain, or the abounding fears and anxieties.

Parker thrust a finger at him, fixed him with an expression of consummate malevolence. "Don't you dare use our little girl to control me! She is not a pawn in one of your twisted games, you-"

"No, she isn't a pawn, and this," he gestured, operatically, "isn't a game." Jarod summoned up the restraint to simply close his mouth and allow her a moment to process.

"I don't want to argue. And I- I don't believe that it's what you want either," Jarod said softly, and observed Parker's contrite shake of head. "This- this incessant upbraiding has to end. Like it or not, this is our reality now. We share a child, and her needs have to come first. The Centre could already be searching for her. My family and I might even have to go underground. I have to know, Miss Parker: will my daughter and I be running with you, or from you?"

"Your?" Parker stammered, "Your daughter?" Came Parker's indignant inquiry. "She's my daughter too!" Hers was a simple and incontrovertible attestation, the roar of a lioness.

Mama bear has awakened.

"Yes," he agreed with a nod of head and a toothy grin, "she is, and it's a relief to know that she will have you as both an ally, and a mother."

Jarod observed with raised brows and a sympathetic smile as Parker relapsed wearily into the straight-back.

"Are you feeling overwhelmed by the prospect of raising a toddler," he asked, "or is- is something else troubling you?"

Parker chuckled, mirthlessly. "What could be more troubling than the prospect of someone like me being responsible for, and having influence over, a child?" Parker asked, incredulously, and observed Jarod's quirk of brow and tilt of head. The Pretender frowned, drew a breath, was no doubt one moment away from answering the question by rather nonchalantly, and pensively, outlining the various psychological consequences involved in their daughter's conception, all of which, in his opinion, were much more troubling than the prospect of Parker's role in their child's life.

The woman had been subjected to an invasive, painful procedure without her knowledge or consent. And Raines, her mother's killer, had most likely extracted the ova himself. Worse still: the surgeries had been not only permitted, but orchestrated as well, by Mr. Parker.

Daddy. Oh, Daddy, how could you? How could you let them do that to me?

Parker smiled, shook her head, wished she could shake the blot from her mind, as a child shakes an etch-a-sketch, and make it all go away. She was feeling much too vulnerable and tetchy to engage in a round of pyschological navel-gazing with wonderboy. 

"I didn't even get nine months to study for this," Parker added with a discordant, one-note laugh, in an attempt forestall him. Jarod noted the evasive tactic, the just-barely-detectable waver of her voice, and swallowed his words.

The woman was intransigent, an adroit liar, debater. A Pretender. He believed it was pointless to broach the topic at this juncture, when her father's betrayal and the pain was still raw, inchoate.

He wanted to ask, commiserate, give her an opportunity to unburden herself; he preferred to do that when the mask was off.

Jarod nodded his understanding. "True," he agreed, "however, you seem to have a natural talent with her. Don't underestimate yourself, Parker; I certainly don't."

"Oh hush," Parker said. "I suppose you have a plan."

"I have a few ideas but I wouldn't dare make a decision about our daughter's future without first consulting her mother."

"Out with it then, geniusboy."

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