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Disclaimer: Ditto the disclaimer in the last chapter.
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Seizing Destiny
Part 9
By Phenyx
09/28/04
-
Miss Parker waited for the water to run cold before she stepped from the shower. She wrapped herself in a warm robe and tried not to think of how it had looked on Jarod’s body. Drying her hair with half-hearted enthusiasm, she left it in a tangled mess rather that bothering with the effort to comb it.
These last few weeks had been exhausting. Keeping a constantly antagonistic attitude toward her father caused a tension that was nearly palpable whenever they were in the same room together. And Lyle, slimy weasel that he was, did nothing to help the situation.
Parker’s twin did everything in his power to stay neutral in every confrontation. Why her father and Raines didn’t notice the reduced backstabbing between the siblings, Parker wasn’t sure. Perhaps it was because the mutual dislike between them was still so readily visible.
Parker couldn’t blame Lyle for straddling the fence. Until the seat on the troika was actually appointed to one of them, there existed the chance that this could all blow up in their faces. For Parker, there was no going back. She had burned her bridges. But Lyle had managed to step away from the current sphere of Centre influence just enough to be barely noticeable. When Jarod’s trap was sprung, Lyle would be ready for the coup. However, if something should go wrong, Lyle could easily smooth over his involvement and slip back into his old role.
It wasn’t an easy line to walk. Yet, Lyle balanced it like an expert performing on the high wire. He was a true connoisseur of the game, an aficionado of treachery. Not to say that Parker feared a betrayal from her brother. The reality was that if Jarod’s plan worked the way they hoped, Lyle would find himself in a position of power undreamed of under Raines’ regime. Lyle stood to profit as much as the rest of them. And frankly, profit was the only thing Lyle was after.
With a sigh of fatigue, Parker wandered through the darkened house, wondering if she should try to find something to eat. Reaching the livingroom, she detoured from the path leading toward the kitchen and went to the liquor cabinet instead. Food wasn’t what she wanted. Pouring a healthy serving of gin into a glass, she gulped it down in one long swallow and then poured herself another.
“Can I have one of those?” a deep voice asked softly.
Parker wasn’t really surprised when Jarod appeared, seeming to materialize from the shadows in the far corner. He had been doing that a lot lately. During the first weeks of their partnership, Jarod had startled her badly with his silent, unexpected approach. She’d nearly shot him on more than one occasion.
But with time, Parker had grown accustomed to the pretender’s coming and going. He appeared and disappeared with equal stealth. She had no idea where he went when he left. He usually didn’t bother say goodbye. As with the phone conversations they shared, Jarod simply terminated the conversation and was gone when Parker turned to look for him.
Parker didn’t nag Jarod about where he was going or when he would be back. She never questioned him, but instead waited for him to volunteer information. And he invariably did.
It was an exercise in trust. The subtle ebb and sway of Jarod’s confidence was a tender and vulnerable thing. It needed to be coaxed, carefully tended in order to become strong. As a result, Parker didn’t keep tabs on him, letting him know that she didn’t see him as her subject. She didn’t give him orders, but preferred to debate with him until they could find a compromise.
Most importantly, Parker did her best to show Jarod her confidence in him. Once she had made the decision to join forces with her old rival, Parker had ceased to doubt him. He had never lied to her, not really, and she knew without reservation that he would not start. She believed in him completely. Jarod would do anything for her and Parker knew it. The trick was getting Jarod to realize that she would gladly do anything for him in return.
Parker poured a second drink and held it out to her old friend. She watched him over the edge of her glass as she sipped the clear liquid. Jarod sniffed his glass before taking a swallow. As he tried to hide a grimace, Parker smiled. He was such a child at times.
They stood in silence for several minutes. “I’ll be leaving for Paris tomorrow,” Jarod said finally.
“Already?” Parker asked with surprise. “It’s only been three weeks. You said it would take a month to get Diego ready.”
Jarod shrugged. “He’s an intelligent young man. Learned quickly.”
Parker nodded. It was more likely that Jarod had been pushing the kid harder than he wanted to admit. Diego was an attractive young man. Barely twenty-years-old, the kid looked younger. He had wavy hair so black that it shimmered blue and his large round eyes were the epitome of puppy dog brown.
Three weeks ago, Jarod and Lyle had returned from Brazil with Diego in tow. A bit too thin and a little mouthy, the young man had spent every moment since then learning to be what was required of him. Like a real life version of “Pretty Woman”, Jarod had changed this prostitute into a suave playboy.
Parker had only met Diego twice, for Jarod had whisked his pupil off to some unknown location for training. But the results had been all but miraculous. It was hard to recognize the sophisticated young man as the same ragged creature she’d first met.
Of course, Diego had plenty of incentive to do well. If the young man did his job well, he would be given a very large nest egg with which to start a new life. With plenty of money and an educated persona to match, Diego’s life would be irrevocably changed for the better.
Jarod sighed heavily and sat down on Parker’s couch. He dangled his half empty glass between his knees and stared solemnly at the floor. He seemed so tired, so worn.
“Are you okay?” Parker asked.
With a shrug Jarod answered, “Not sure.”
Gliding across the floor, Parker carefully sat beside him and folded her legs beneath her. She didn’t touch him, but sipped quietly at her drink for a minute. “Do you want to talk about it?” she asked finally.
“Not really,” was the reply. Jarod straightened abruptly and tossed down what remained in his glass. The burning trail left in his throat forced him to suppress a cough. “I have to go.”
“What’s the rush?” Parker asked.
“I still need to let Lyle know I’m leaving,” he answered.
Parker frowned. “I can tell him,” she said.
Jarod shrugged again. “He asked me to keep him informed personally.”
“He’s playing you,” Parker said, unable to keep the derision from her tone. “You know that don’t you? He’s being nice to you in order to lure you into a false sense of security. He’s trying to make you believe that he is your friend.”
Dark brown eyes gazed at Miss Parker. “Isn’t that what you are doing as well?” he asked forlornly.
Parker blinked. She was surprised at how much Jarod’s question hurt. It took all her resolve not to lash out in self-defense. “Is that what you really believe?” she asked quietly.
Something flashed across the dark, chiseled features. An emotion, so briefly revealed that Parker nearly missed it. She caught just enough to be able to identify it. Pain. Gut-wrenching, soul-rending misery had been written all over Jarod’s face for the briefest of moments.
“What I believe, or want to believe, really doesn’t matter anymore. Does it?” he asked.
“Yes,” Parker urged. “Yes, it does matter.”
Silence reigned for several long minutes as the two stared at each other. “I’m sorry, Parker,” Jarod whispered. “I never really understood.”
Parker tilted her head at him questioningly.
“All those years,” Jarod went on. “I pushed and prodded at your greatest vulnerabilities. I thought that if I pushed hard enough, I’d find the girl I once knew, hidden beneath the hardness. I believed your heart still held the child I had adored so much.”
Jarod shook his head sadly. “I didn’t realize how badly you had suffered. I couldn’t comprehend the truth.”
“What truth is that?” Parker asked. She felt the tears scratching at her throat, but she would not let them fall.
Jarod reached out and caressed her cheek with his fingertips. “When the heart is wounded badly enough, it leaves behind something far worse than scars. If the pain runs deep enough, that tortured part of our being atrophies. The hardness isn’t a mask. It is a means of survival.”
Without another word, Jarod stood and strode away. When he had reached the front door and yanked it open, Parker found her voice. “Jarod,” she called. He stopped and turned to look back at her. “The hardness comes from burying the pain. Eventually it eats away at you until there is nothing inside but the rigid shell. I know it hurts. But you have to let it out, allow yourself to grieve properly. Trust me, it is the only way you’ll ever heal.”
Jarod’s dark gaze met hers. “Maybe I’m tired of hurting,” he said. “Maybe I’m looking forward to becoming as strong and hard as you. Maybe Lyle is right and his way is easier.”
“You are not like us,” Parker whispered. “You still have your soul.”
“Not for long,” he replied quietly.
Jarod closed the door behind him as he left. Parker watched him go, staring at the blank wooden door. It wasn’t until she had heard the car pull out of the driveway that she allowed the tears to flow.
Sobs shook her body as Parker buried her face in a pillow and wept. She cried for the agony Jarod was suffering. She cried for the innocent man he had been and could never be again. She cried for the girl who had once loved him.
As her tears began to dry, Parker felt her grief begin to change. Anger followed and was rapidly replaced by determination. Jarod had been one of the few beacons of goodness in her life. He was in fact the only one still alive. Her mother and Thomas had both been keepers of Parker’s conscience in a way, but now they were dead. Only Jarod remained. She could not allow his soul to slip into darkness. If she did, she would eventually be lost as well.
Parker wiped her cheeks on the arm of her robe and sniffled loudly. Saving Jarod from his grief would not be easy. She knew only too well what it would require of her. She would have to give Jarod something that she had denied for a long time. She would have to admit that her heart wasn’t as empty as she led others to believe.
It was time to face the truth. Jarod needed someone to care for him, not just anyone. He needed her. - Almost as much as she needed him.
-
-
Jarod stood on the corner and gazed across the street without really seeing what was there. Red and blue lights flashed through the night, giving everything a strobe-like eeriness. He watched the policemen wander about helplessly as the paramedics came from the building. A black shrouded body encased in a plastic body bag, rode on a gurney, rocking grotesquely as the officials slid it into the waiting ambulance.
In a strange, disconnected fog, Jarod pulled his cell phone from his pocket and punched a button. It had been more than two weeks since he’d spoken to Miss Parker. He’d wanted to contact her about a dozen times since then, but he had chosen instead to focus on his mission. His concentration had paid off even better than he had imagined.
The phone rang only once on the other end of the line, even though it was barely 5 A.M. in Blue Cove. “What?” Miss Parker barked in her typical tone.
“Yvette Guimard killed herself tonight,” Jarod said without preamble.
Silence answered.
Jarod closed his eyes and tried to keep his body from shaking. The last ten days had gone just as planned. Jarod and Diego had flown to France and had begun a determined effort to seduce Mr. Guimard. Diego had done well, catching the other man’s eye just as Jarod had instructed him to do so. A few well-arranged coincidences in conjunction with an ecstasy-like drug designed by Jarod, had allowed Diego to get into the Guimard mansion. When Yvette Guimard had come home, it had been to find her new husband in bed with another man.
Pictures of the tryst had found their way to the public, causing a scandal within the society pages. Mrs. Guimard’s background with her daughter re-surfaced and she was labeled a homophobe by the press. Adding insult to injury, new evidence had been found, linking Guimard to the murder of her first husband.
It had all been carefully planned. Information had been leaked at just the right times to maximize trauma. Jarod had even arranged an ugly encounter between Guimard and her daughter, just when the older woman was at her lowest point.
As a matter of fact, Jarod had been standing in this very spot, watching the apartment where Yvette Guimard had tried to hide from the media. He had been watching and waiting when the sound of a gunshot had echoed through the neighborhood. Of course, nothing could connect him to the suicide. Diego was long gone by now, his part in the assault over as soon as the photographs had been developed.
“She blew her brains out,” Jarod reiterated into the still silent phone connection.
There was a long pause then Parker asked, “Are you okay?”
Perhaps it was the gentleness in her voice. Perhaps it was the way her concern seemed to reach through the line and touch him. Perhaps it was because his self-control was little more than a slender thread. Regardless of the reason, Parker’s simple question was enough to shatter Jarod’s restraint.
“No,” he gasped. His body wouldn’t stop shaking. He had never killed in this manner before. He had never attempted to disgrace someone to the point of madness, which had been his original intent. Yet during the course of his simulations, Jarod had realized that this was a possible outcome to the scenario. He had known and pursued it just the same. Jarod slumped against a nearby wall and slid to the ground. “No,” he repeated.
“Jarod.” Parker’s voice was warm with understanding. For a moment, Jarod felt as though her arms were around him, even though they were separated by thousands of miles. “Jarod, listen to me,” Parker commanded.
Jarod took a shuddering breath and tried to focus on what Parker was saying.
“Its almost over,” she told him. “You can get through this. Just hang on a for a little longer.”
Jarod nodded though Parker could not see his response.
“Jarod?” Parker asked. “Jarod, what do we do next?”
Jarod heaved several deep breaths, reining in his emotions. He pressed the heel of one hand against his eye and sighed. “We go to Africa. There will be an emergency meeting of the Triumvirate. The three of us need to be there.”
“Get on a plane,” Parker ordered. “Take the next flight if you can. Lyle and I will meet you in Uganda.”
Jarod nodded again.
“You’ll be okay, Jarod. I promise I’ll get you through this,” Parker added softly.
“How?” Jarod moaned sadly.
“Let me worry about that,” Parker urged. “You just get on that plane.”
“I will.”
“See you soon, Pez-head,” Parker said. “Hang in there.”
-
End part 9
Author’s Note: Let the angst abound! Thank you again, Jarrod.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Seizing Destiny
Part 9
By Phenyx
09/28/04
-
Miss Parker waited for the water to run cold before she stepped from the shower. She wrapped herself in a warm robe and tried not to think of how it had looked on Jarod’s body. Drying her hair with half-hearted enthusiasm, she left it in a tangled mess rather that bothering with the effort to comb it.
These last few weeks had been exhausting. Keeping a constantly antagonistic attitude toward her father caused a tension that was nearly palpable whenever they were in the same room together. And Lyle, slimy weasel that he was, did nothing to help the situation.
Parker’s twin did everything in his power to stay neutral in every confrontation. Why her father and Raines didn’t notice the reduced backstabbing between the siblings, Parker wasn’t sure. Perhaps it was because the mutual dislike between them was still so readily visible.
Parker couldn’t blame Lyle for straddling the fence. Until the seat on the troika was actually appointed to one of them, there existed the chance that this could all blow up in their faces. For Parker, there was no going back. She had burned her bridges. But Lyle had managed to step away from the current sphere of Centre influence just enough to be barely noticeable. When Jarod’s trap was sprung, Lyle would be ready for the coup. However, if something should go wrong, Lyle could easily smooth over his involvement and slip back into his old role.
It wasn’t an easy line to walk. Yet, Lyle balanced it like an expert performing on the high wire. He was a true connoisseur of the game, an aficionado of treachery. Not to say that Parker feared a betrayal from her brother. The reality was that if Jarod’s plan worked the way they hoped, Lyle would find himself in a position of power undreamed of under Raines’ regime. Lyle stood to profit as much as the rest of them. And frankly, profit was the only thing Lyle was after.
With a sigh of fatigue, Parker wandered through the darkened house, wondering if she should try to find something to eat. Reaching the livingroom, she detoured from the path leading toward the kitchen and went to the liquor cabinet instead. Food wasn’t what she wanted. Pouring a healthy serving of gin into a glass, she gulped it down in one long swallow and then poured herself another.
“Can I have one of those?” a deep voice asked softly.
Parker wasn’t really surprised when Jarod appeared, seeming to materialize from the shadows in the far corner. He had been doing that a lot lately. During the first weeks of their partnership, Jarod had startled her badly with his silent, unexpected approach. She’d nearly shot him on more than one occasion.
But with time, Parker had grown accustomed to the pretender’s coming and going. He appeared and disappeared with equal stealth. She had no idea where he went when he left. He usually didn’t bother say goodbye. As with the phone conversations they shared, Jarod simply terminated the conversation and was gone when Parker turned to look for him.
Parker didn’t nag Jarod about where he was going or when he would be back. She never questioned him, but instead waited for him to volunteer information. And he invariably did.
It was an exercise in trust. The subtle ebb and sway of Jarod’s confidence was a tender and vulnerable thing. It needed to be coaxed, carefully tended in order to become strong. As a result, Parker didn’t keep tabs on him, letting him know that she didn’t see him as her subject. She didn’t give him orders, but preferred to debate with him until they could find a compromise.
Most importantly, Parker did her best to show Jarod her confidence in him. Once she had made the decision to join forces with her old rival, Parker had ceased to doubt him. He had never lied to her, not really, and she knew without reservation that he would not start. She believed in him completely. Jarod would do anything for her and Parker knew it. The trick was getting Jarod to realize that she would gladly do anything for him in return.
Parker poured a second drink and held it out to her old friend. She watched him over the edge of her glass as she sipped the clear liquid. Jarod sniffed his glass before taking a swallow. As he tried to hide a grimace, Parker smiled. He was such a child at times.
They stood in silence for several minutes. “I’ll be leaving for Paris tomorrow,” Jarod said finally.
“Already?” Parker asked with surprise. “It’s only been three weeks. You said it would take a month to get Diego ready.”
Jarod shrugged. “He’s an intelligent young man. Learned quickly.”
Parker nodded. It was more likely that Jarod had been pushing the kid harder than he wanted to admit. Diego was an attractive young man. Barely twenty-years-old, the kid looked younger. He had wavy hair so black that it shimmered blue and his large round eyes were the epitome of puppy dog brown.
Three weeks ago, Jarod and Lyle had returned from Brazil with Diego in tow. A bit too thin and a little mouthy, the young man had spent every moment since then learning to be what was required of him. Like a real life version of “Pretty Woman”, Jarod had changed this prostitute into a suave playboy.
Parker had only met Diego twice, for Jarod had whisked his pupil off to some unknown location for training. But the results had been all but miraculous. It was hard to recognize the sophisticated young man as the same ragged creature she’d first met.
Of course, Diego had plenty of incentive to do well. If the young man did his job well, he would be given a very large nest egg with which to start a new life. With plenty of money and an educated persona to match, Diego’s life would be irrevocably changed for the better.
Jarod sighed heavily and sat down on Parker’s couch. He dangled his half empty glass between his knees and stared solemnly at the floor. He seemed so tired, so worn.
“Are you okay?” Parker asked.
With a shrug Jarod answered, “Not sure.”
Gliding across the floor, Parker carefully sat beside him and folded her legs beneath her. She didn’t touch him, but sipped quietly at her drink for a minute. “Do you want to talk about it?” she asked finally.
“Not really,” was the reply. Jarod straightened abruptly and tossed down what remained in his glass. The burning trail left in his throat forced him to suppress a cough. “I have to go.”
“What’s the rush?” Parker asked.
“I still need to let Lyle know I’m leaving,” he answered.
Parker frowned. “I can tell him,” she said.
Jarod shrugged again. “He asked me to keep him informed personally.”
“He’s playing you,” Parker said, unable to keep the derision from her tone. “You know that don’t you? He’s being nice to you in order to lure you into a false sense of security. He’s trying to make you believe that he is your friend.”
Dark brown eyes gazed at Miss Parker. “Isn’t that what you are doing as well?” he asked forlornly.
Parker blinked. She was surprised at how much Jarod’s question hurt. It took all her resolve not to lash out in self-defense. “Is that what you really believe?” she asked quietly.
Something flashed across the dark, chiseled features. An emotion, so briefly revealed that Parker nearly missed it. She caught just enough to be able to identify it. Pain. Gut-wrenching, soul-rending misery had been written all over Jarod’s face for the briefest of moments.
“What I believe, or want to believe, really doesn’t matter anymore. Does it?” he asked.
“Yes,” Parker urged. “Yes, it does matter.”
Silence reigned for several long minutes as the two stared at each other. “I’m sorry, Parker,” Jarod whispered. “I never really understood.”
Parker tilted her head at him questioningly.
“All those years,” Jarod went on. “I pushed and prodded at your greatest vulnerabilities. I thought that if I pushed hard enough, I’d find the girl I once knew, hidden beneath the hardness. I believed your heart still held the child I had adored so much.”
Jarod shook his head sadly. “I didn’t realize how badly you had suffered. I couldn’t comprehend the truth.”
“What truth is that?” Parker asked. She felt the tears scratching at her throat, but she would not let them fall.
Jarod reached out and caressed her cheek with his fingertips. “When the heart is wounded badly enough, it leaves behind something far worse than scars. If the pain runs deep enough, that tortured part of our being atrophies. The hardness isn’t a mask. It is a means of survival.”
Without another word, Jarod stood and strode away. When he had reached the front door and yanked it open, Parker found her voice. “Jarod,” she called. He stopped and turned to look back at her. “The hardness comes from burying the pain. Eventually it eats away at you until there is nothing inside but the rigid shell. I know it hurts. But you have to let it out, allow yourself to grieve properly. Trust me, it is the only way you’ll ever heal.”
Jarod’s dark gaze met hers. “Maybe I’m tired of hurting,” he said. “Maybe I’m looking forward to becoming as strong and hard as you. Maybe Lyle is right and his way is easier.”
“You are not like us,” Parker whispered. “You still have your soul.”
“Not for long,” he replied quietly.
Jarod closed the door behind him as he left. Parker watched him go, staring at the blank wooden door. It wasn’t until she had heard the car pull out of the driveway that she allowed the tears to flow.
Sobs shook her body as Parker buried her face in a pillow and wept. She cried for the agony Jarod was suffering. She cried for the innocent man he had been and could never be again. She cried for the girl who had once loved him.
As her tears began to dry, Parker felt her grief begin to change. Anger followed and was rapidly replaced by determination. Jarod had been one of the few beacons of goodness in her life. He was in fact the only one still alive. Her mother and Thomas had both been keepers of Parker’s conscience in a way, but now they were dead. Only Jarod remained. She could not allow his soul to slip into darkness. If she did, she would eventually be lost as well.
Parker wiped her cheeks on the arm of her robe and sniffled loudly. Saving Jarod from his grief would not be easy. She knew only too well what it would require of her. She would have to give Jarod something that she had denied for a long time. She would have to admit that her heart wasn’t as empty as she led others to believe.
It was time to face the truth. Jarod needed someone to care for him, not just anyone. He needed her. - Almost as much as she needed him.
-
-
Jarod stood on the corner and gazed across the street without really seeing what was there. Red and blue lights flashed through the night, giving everything a strobe-like eeriness. He watched the policemen wander about helplessly as the paramedics came from the building. A black shrouded body encased in a plastic body bag, rode on a gurney, rocking grotesquely as the officials slid it into the waiting ambulance.
In a strange, disconnected fog, Jarod pulled his cell phone from his pocket and punched a button. It had been more than two weeks since he’d spoken to Miss Parker. He’d wanted to contact her about a dozen times since then, but he had chosen instead to focus on his mission. His concentration had paid off even better than he had imagined.
The phone rang only once on the other end of the line, even though it was barely 5 A.M. in Blue Cove. “What?” Miss Parker barked in her typical tone.
“Yvette Guimard killed herself tonight,” Jarod said without preamble.
Silence answered.
Jarod closed his eyes and tried to keep his body from shaking. The last ten days had gone just as planned. Jarod and Diego had flown to France and had begun a determined effort to seduce Mr. Guimard. Diego had done well, catching the other man’s eye just as Jarod had instructed him to do so. A few well-arranged coincidences in conjunction with an ecstasy-like drug designed by Jarod, had allowed Diego to get into the Guimard mansion. When Yvette Guimard had come home, it had been to find her new husband in bed with another man.
Pictures of the tryst had found their way to the public, causing a scandal within the society pages. Mrs. Guimard’s background with her daughter re-surfaced and she was labeled a homophobe by the press. Adding insult to injury, new evidence had been found, linking Guimard to the murder of her first husband.
It had all been carefully planned. Information had been leaked at just the right times to maximize trauma. Jarod had even arranged an ugly encounter between Guimard and her daughter, just when the older woman was at her lowest point.
As a matter of fact, Jarod had been standing in this very spot, watching the apartment where Yvette Guimard had tried to hide from the media. He had been watching and waiting when the sound of a gunshot had echoed through the neighborhood. Of course, nothing could connect him to the suicide. Diego was long gone by now, his part in the assault over as soon as the photographs had been developed.
“She blew her brains out,” Jarod reiterated into the still silent phone connection.
There was a long pause then Parker asked, “Are you okay?”
Perhaps it was the gentleness in her voice. Perhaps it was the way her concern seemed to reach through the line and touch him. Perhaps it was because his self-control was little more than a slender thread. Regardless of the reason, Parker’s simple question was enough to shatter Jarod’s restraint.
“No,” he gasped. His body wouldn’t stop shaking. He had never killed in this manner before. He had never attempted to disgrace someone to the point of madness, which had been his original intent. Yet during the course of his simulations, Jarod had realized that this was a possible outcome to the scenario. He had known and pursued it just the same. Jarod slumped against a nearby wall and slid to the ground. “No,” he repeated.
“Jarod.” Parker’s voice was warm with understanding. For a moment, Jarod felt as though her arms were around him, even though they were separated by thousands of miles. “Jarod, listen to me,” Parker commanded.
Jarod took a shuddering breath and tried to focus on what Parker was saying.
“Its almost over,” she told him. “You can get through this. Just hang on a for a little longer.”
Jarod nodded though Parker could not see his response.
“Jarod?” Parker asked. “Jarod, what do we do next?”
Jarod heaved several deep breaths, reining in his emotions. He pressed the heel of one hand against his eye and sighed. “We go to Africa. There will be an emergency meeting of the Triumvirate. The three of us need to be there.”
“Get on a plane,” Parker ordered. “Take the next flight if you can. Lyle and I will meet you in Uganda.”
Jarod nodded again.
“You’ll be okay, Jarod. I promise I’ll get you through this,” Parker added softly.
“How?” Jarod moaned sadly.
“Let me worry about that,” Parker urged. “You just get on that plane.”
“I will.”
“See you soon, Pez-head,” Parker said. “Hang in there.”
-
End part 9
Author’s Note: Let the angst abound! Thank you again, Jarrod.
