---

Silence, oppressive and thick, hung between them. Jarod interrupted it with an anguished grumble, grievances too cumbersome to swallow. Stunned, and with deliberate, sluggish movements he released Parker's ankle and shoulder, meticulously smoothed the silk blouse, and with infuriating tenderness returned everything to its proper place.

Already flattened against the wall, Parker withdrew further from Jarod's efforts, and with a reproachful glare pushed his hands away. "Uh, sorry," he whispered, asking, solicitously, "Are you all right?"

"Of course," Parker answered irritably. "But Broots isn't."

"You've never needed any assistance squeezing a trigger before, so you're asking me to -- what? Fake his death?"

"I can pay you half a million dollars."

"Tempting," Jarod said. "I don't want your money."

"I don't know what else to do."

"Or who else to ask," Jarod said for accuracy's sake. "Does Broots know?"

"No," Parker answered softly, pushing herself off the wall. She felt stiff and numb, disconnected from reality, distant from herself. And oddly unsteady. She recalled a table surrounded by U-shaped seating, off the kitchen, and ambled slowly in that direction, attributing the vertigo to the boat. "I don't have a plan yet."

"It has to be one hell of a plan," Jarod contended, following Parker. "Flawless."

"I'm aware," Parker agreed somberly. "And only one person can pull that off."

"Me," Jarod drawled bitterly.

"I don't know how else to save him," Parker confided ruefully, exhaling a weary breath. Arriving at the uncluttered dining area, she promptly sat, and folded her hands in her lap. "The Centre arbitrarily renegotiated Broots' contract three years ago. They consider him a liability, and won't honor his initial retirement date until he agrees to memory expungement."

"Ah, expungement, so that's what they're calling it now."

"The procedure is-- delicate," Parker said crisply, "and Broots fears he won't survive, but staying isn't option. He's always been anxious, but now," Parker's voice dissolved into silence, startling Jarod.

"But now?" Jarod prompted gently.

"Lyle has always terrorized Broots, occasional bullying, pranks. Three months ago he sort of abducted Debbie."

"Sort of?" Jarod asked, squinting with skepticism.

"Lyle lured Debbie and her fiancé Sergio away from their law firm," Parker clarified. "Debbie didn't refer to it as abduction. She said Lyle was charismatic, gracious. He told her he and Broots were colleagues, and that he wanted to surprise him with a trip to Paris-- fly him out to meet her and Sergio there, all expenses paid."

"Lyle succeeded," ventured Jarod blandly.

"That's understating. Broots was thoroughly surprised—nearly to death—when he received the zoom call from Lyle. Debbie was thrilled, couldn't wait for him to join them. Lyle knew how it would look. A Paris hotel room, Sergio nowhere in sight- not during the call. Broots was frightened Lyle had seduced her, intended to kill her. He collapsed, stopped breathing."

"Takotsubo cardiomyopathy," Parker answered bleakly. "We almost lost him."

Jarod sat opposite Parker, and listlessly murmured, "Broken heart syndrome."

"Sydney would be here," Jarod snarled, his voice strained, his eyes hard suddenly, "and Angelo, too, if the Centre hadn't killed them."

"Killing is what they do, and Broots is next," Parker asserted indignantly, struggling to preserve equanimity. Her voice was fierce; her eyes, nevertheless, filled with tears. She felt obscurely and inexplicably responsible for both Angelo and Sydney, and for Lyle's sins. She was wholly unsuited to the role of proverbial brother's keeper, and believed that if she couldn't protect her own people from him she sure as hell couldn't protect the next dark web special he purchased. "A week ago he hinted at ending his life. Debbie abandoned her career, fiancé, put her house on the market, and moved back in with Broots. I have one chance to do this right, and you're the only person I know who has successfully pulled this off."

"If I had successfully pulled it off," Jarod countered with a quiet, fleeting laugh, "we wouldn't be sitting here right now." Parker's presence confirmed that his stratagem had been an abject failure. "What gave me away?"

"Not what," Parker answered with a taut grimace.

"Who," Jarod murmured speculatively. "Your mother," he whispered reverently.

"Mom isn't alone," Parker confessed uneasily, her voice wavering with the strain of speaking those words, the force of the truth piercing the air, its impact. Jarod inhaled a sharp breath. "Ethan," he said, and observed Parker's modest affirming nod.

"I'm assuming this a recent development," Jarod inquired softly.

"That's a fair assumption," Parker remarked amiably.

"Fair," Jarod repeated thinly. "Is it an accurate assumption?"

"What," Parker asked with a throaty, hollow laugh, "do you think I knew you were alive all this time, and where to find you and your family?"

"That does seem rather preposterous," Jarod said lightly, adding with cynical leer, "So, you knew the entire time huh?"

"Time," Parker asserted, "is something Broots doesn't have. If you're afraid of compromising yourself and your family I'll understand, but you should tell me now."

"Hmm, and if I refuse you know where to find me and my family, right?" Jarod watched Parker's face, the sudden surprise, suggesting she hadn't considered issuing ultimatums. There was a brief flicker of self reproach, malevolence. On the verge of a retort, Parker's lips parted, but quickly closed in resignation, and Jarod imagined the discomfort that accompanied the final whisper of pride slipping down her throat, particularly considering that she'd fled from a turning point, from him, only to return, two decades later, on her knees, at his feet, and at a breaking point, to ask for his help.

Jarod imagined, too, how Broots and Debbie felt knowing they were loved so fiercely by Parker.

"Am I wrong?" Jarod pressed.

"Happens to the best of us," Parker answered dimly. "Evidently. I didn't want to come," she confessed what Jarod had already deduced. The forced smiles, strained civility, and mute entreaties had been rather painful for her. She was all business, economical with words, careful not to stray from specifics. "Mom and Ethan insisted," Parker said, rising. "I guess they were wrong, too."

"No, I'll do it," Jarod announced, and observed Parker reluctantly return her hands to her lap, as if she believed he'd reconsider.  Ignoring the pang of guilt, and vowing to play no more games, Jarod said neutrally, "You seem awfully set on homicide. Any particular reason why?"

"A fatal accident or suicide mere months from retirement is awfully convenient, would raise suspicions; I can't afford an investigation."

Jarod nodded resolutely, and rose. Parker observed him pluck the kettle off the stove, and fill it with water. He returned it promptly, and scooped coffee into a press.

"Do you disagree?" Parker asked.

"Only with that last part," Jarod answered, turning to meet Parker's gaze.