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Chapter or Story 
Chapter or Story
Truth and Consequences - by MMB
Chapter 17: By The Light of Day
Mei Chiang pushed the button on the intercom, and the moment her boss responded announced, "Your four o'clock appointment is here." Her almond eyes gazed with no small amount of interest at the two men who stood at her desk. The one was dressed in a very expensive suit and carried himself in a way that communicated his being accustomed to being catered and deferred to in all things. The second man was American military - Mei Chiang wasn't quite sure which branch of service, but the patch of colored pieces of cloth that adorned his uniform breast was huge and impressive. He held himself stiffly erect, barely deigning to look down on her, a mere secretary.
Determined not to let the autocratic and arrogant manner of either man get to her, Mei Chiang rose with the greatest amount of grace her training in classical Chinese dance could afford her. She moved like the wind through the wisteria blooms to open the door to Miss Parker's office and bow the men through with gentility and poise that came with thousands of years of tradition.
Miss Parker's eyebrows danced a couple of steps up her brow when she saw the stiff and forbidding faces of her government clients bouncing apparently harmlessly from her secretary's attitude. For a moment, Mei Chiang reminded her of her old "Ice Queen" routine, but with warmth and charm as defensive tools rather than cynicism and aggression -and she decided she'd congratulate her secretary on a job well done that afternoon. But that could wait. She rose from her chair and extended a hand to each of the gentlemen in turn. "Senator Burns, Colonel Harris." She gestured. "Please be seated." She sat down and waited for her guests to settle down. "Now, what can I do for you?"
Burns, a short and swarthy man, pulled a folded paper from his inner coat breast pocket and stretched to hand it to her across her desk. Miss Parker opened the paper and read for a moment before looking up. "Your point being?" she asked in a terse voice.
"Your organization was contracted..." Burns began, but Miss Parker put her hand up to interrupt him.
She leaned and pulled a file folder from a neat organizer holding several like it, and opened it. "Do you know what these projects entail, Senator?"
"Miss Parker," Colonel Harris bristled and interrupted his congressional companion, "what the projects were about is immaterial. That you have a contract..."
"I hardly think researching new formulas for nerve gas and drugs to use to interrogate people are the kinds of things that would play well in open committee on Capital Hill," she snapped back. "I did my research, gentlemen - and one of the things I began to notice was that there was a consistent LACK of approval from normal oversight committees with all of the projects I see you mentioning here." She aimed her storm-grey gaze at the military man. "Specifically in regards to those projects commissioned by “The Pentagon,” I see no document that the Joint Chiefs are even aware of the projects being carried out here supposedly at their behest."
"The Joint Chiefs are too busy to be bothered by the nuts and bolts of military research, Miss Parker," Colonel Harris harrumphed coldly. "Like all good hierarchies, those on top depend and trust that their underlings know what they're doing when they commission..."
"Uh-huh," Miss Parker closed her folder. She turned to the Senator. "In other words, the projects that you two are here to complain about having shut down are the ones that you'd just as soon your superiors know nothing about. Correct?"
"Miss Parker," Senator Burns tried again, this time with a much more amenable tone of voice, "Washington and the Centre have been on good terms for many, many years. It would be a shame to see us have to review the rest of the projects that you've been contracted to do for us."
Miss Parker leaned back in her chair and smiled a toothy grin. "Nice try, Senator, but no go. You're used to dealing with a Centre so up to its earlobes in similar projects of its own that a few more unethical research efforts here or there wouldn't be noticed at all. But I have decided that the Centre under my leadership will be a socially responsible scientific research and development corporation, so you can understand that I will NOT allow it to continue to be a lapdog for hawks in Congress with delusions of empire at all costs." She let the smile on her face die. "Make no mistake about it, Senator. My Centre will not fall in fiscally if you withhold further payments on on-going projects. As a matter of fact, I wouldn't suggest that as a coercive technique at all."
"Just who the Hell do you think to be telling us what we can or cannot do?" Burns blustered, his face growing red. "You seem to be forgetting who you're talking to."
"I don't think so," Miss Parker responded far more mildly than she really wanted to. Instead she reached for another folder and opened it. "Harold Burns, 52, three-term Senator from Florida. You've used your influence to see to it that several very lucrative military contracts were awarded to your brother's electronics manufacturing business in Tallahassee. You have a son and a daughter, both of whom have positions as lobbyists on Capital Hill. You recently divorced your wife of thirty years to marry that secretary you'd been boffing for the last three - not bothering to tell the NEW Mrs. Burns about the law clerk over at Justice that you've been seeing for even longer than you saw her." Miss Parker's finger slid down the page until something she saw made her eyebrows climb her forehead. "And lest we forget, there are unanswered questions about the disappearance of a certain environmental activist who had been making trouble for your brother's firm back home - something about his dumping toxic chemicals into the Everglades..."
"Enough!" Burns was glaring at her and trying to ignore the look of startled alarm on the face of the Colonel sitting next to him. "You've made your point."
"Have I? Are you sure?" Miss Parker placed her hand on the paper she'd been reading. "You see, gentlemen, I just took over administration of this organization a couple of weeks ago. In that time, I've been cleaning house in a number of ways. I am taking this corporation into the direction it was meant to go in - which precludes participating in any questionable or unethical projects for ANYbody, including the government. Any monies not already spent on discontinued projects will be refunded, and all reports and notes about those projects will be surrendered without protest. From now on, however, when dealing with government contracts, a document specifying that approval has come through proper channels WILL accompany any proposal, or the Centre will simply not do business with the government. Period. End of statement."
"You do not want to stand up to us," Colonel Harris stood up abruptly.
"Ah yes, let's see who I'm talking to this time," Miss Parker flipped a page in her folder and began reading. "Colonel Gerald Harris, 58, graduate of Harvard pre-medical studies and currently assistant commander of Homeland Security, or whatever the Hell they're calling it now. You served in Vietnam, Grenada and Kuwait before being attached to the Pentagon. You were disciplined in each of those three theatres of operation for use of excessive force in achieving your mission objective, the last time only barely managing to avoid a court marshal. I have one report from a superior officer that alleges that you threatened the men under you with exposure to a nerve agent when those men lodged an official complaint regarding your treatment of a civilian you were SUPPOSED to be liberating. You have written several papers attempting to justify the continued development and stockpiling of chemical weapons by the US in direct violation of several international treaties." She shifted the paper aside to read the one beneath it. "I also see documentation here that you were directly responsible for supplying several human subjects for Centre experimentation in recent pharmaceutical studies prior to receiving DEA approval to enter that phase of research." She looked up and could see that the military man had now grown as uncomfortable and nervous as his congressional cohort. "Shall I continue?"
"You still are playing a very dangerous game, Miss Parker," the Colonel said as he shook his head. "I'm speaking for any number of others like me who have legitimate concerns we want investigated that wouldn't exactly stand up to scrutiny from anybody with a political agenda."
"I see. Let's put our cards on the table, shall we?" Miss Parker asked calmly. "Are you threatening me?"
The Colonel's clear blue gaze impacted Miss Parker's storm-cloud grey like a train wreck. "I'm just pointing out that the U.S. government - congress and military - is a helluva lot bigger than one damned corporation. That's something that you might just want to keep in mind a bit more often."
"I'll take your suggestion under advisement," Miss Parker stated coldly, "but my decision to round-file these projects stands. The specific refund checks are being cut as we speak and will be delivered by courier to your offices within the day, along with all the research materials pertinent to those projects. The delivery and specific contents thereof will be witnessed, and a notarized affidavit detailing the contents provided for each project. And that, gentlemen, is what is going to happen. You've given me no justifiable reason to reconsider my decision."
"You'll regret that decision," Senator Burns now rose from his chair. "It isn't wise to spit in the eye of the government."
"Good day, gentlemen. I think our meeting is concluded." Miss Parker nodded in the direction of her door. "I think you can find your own way out."
She waited until the government officials had closed the door behind them and then put her forehead in her hands. Raines certainly had made his arrangements with people just as ruthless and unprincipled as himself - and had somehow had a real talent for finding people like that within the ranks of governmental bureaucracy with the same ease he'd found them among the likes of the Yakuza. Somehow, she had a sinking feeling that this was not the last she'd hear from these two - or the shadowy forces they represented within the legitimate government.
She punched in an extension number and waited for Tyler to pick up the phone in his office. "Go over to Security for me and have the surveillance tape of the meeting that just took place in this office transferred to DSA and DVD media, then bring both disks here to me." And for the first time, she was grateful for whatever wisdom had motivated Sam to object to removing the cameras from her office - and grateful for the quiet whisper in the back of her mind that had convinced her to order their activation to record the meeting just finished.
~~~~~~~~
"Have you ever been here before?" Konde Hiro asked his associate, Sato Masao, as the two Japanese disembarked from the aircraft that had brought them the last leg of their journey from New York to Dover.
"I've stayed mostly in Los Angeles since I came over," Sato answered, looking around himself. "For a long time, Los Angeles was strange enough." He glanced at his associate. "How come you never learned English?"
Konde shook his head. "I just don't have an ear for other languages," he admitted. "I'm better with a gun than with my tongue anyway."
"And Ueda-sama wants us to do WHAT with this ninja when we find him - TALK him into going back to Tokyo with you?" Sato's voice was disrespectfully sarcastic.
"We are to do whatever it takes to make sure that Ikeda-san accompanies me back to Japan," Konde frowned at his younger associate. "I would imagine that if the man simply won't be convinced, that we'll have to make sure that his time here in the US is properly shortened.
Sato stared at his companion. "Did Ueda-sama tell you anything about Ikeda before you left?" he asked in total shock.
"Only that he's an assassin - one of our better ones, good enough that when sent out to kill someone, that person generally doesn't live much past the first few seconds of their acquaintance."
"Of course they don't," Sato shook his head. "I've heard of him before, though. This Ikeda is ninja-trained. Are you?"
Konde looked at his associate with shock and something approaching fear in his wide, dark eyes. "You mean to tell me I was sent to bring a REAL ninja back, willing or no?" He shook his head. "I thought they were just joking - calling him a “so-called ninja” only because his job was as an assassin, and that's what ninja DO."
Sato leaned over and claimed the bag that was his from the rotating baggage carousel. "If I were you, my friend, I'd be starting to think about my death-poem - because I honestly don't think you'll be the one doing the convincing. And I'm sure that if Mayeda-sama had known who it was you were seeking, I wouldn't be here either. Ueda-sama's a fool - and a puppet of the other bosses in Japan."
"Mayeda-sama would do what Ueda-sama told him," Konde narrowed his eyes angrily as he too made a lunge for his luggage as it slipped past. "Ueda-sama wants Ikeda-san back. And we are Ueda-sama's servants in all things. REMEMBER?"
Sato breathed out a puff of frustration and slipped his shoulder beneath the wide strap of his luggage. "Let's go get ourselves a hotel room and try to figure out just what we're going to say or do to a ninja to make him listen to what we have to say."
"I need a drink," Konde grumbled, suddenly not at all enthused about his mission at all.
~~~~~~~~
Claire Jackson studied the medical chart for the young woman she'd been called in to see. Deborah Broots showed all the physical and emotional signs of sexual molestation - but there were indications of deeper emotional issues that were making her reaction more acute. The dark brows pulled together as her eyes found the phrase "kidnap victim" written in the ER doctor's notes. No wonder she was reacting so severely - she was already psychologically overwhelmed by all the other things that had been happening to her. No doubt she would be going through a full-blown episode of Post-Traumatic Stress, and that could account for much of her inability to process her current situation.
The petite and dynamic psychologist and counselor closed the chart and carefully folded her pert face into an expression of neutral friendliness and pushed into the ICU unit. There was only one young woman in the unit, and she lay very still and obviously very sunburned against her pillows. Two plastic bags hooked to an IV control unit were slowly dripping their contents into her veins, and the monitor above her head were quietly reading out a heart rate and blood pressure. There was a metal frame at the foot of the bed - probably to shield her injured foot from the pressure of the covers. Deb herself had her eyes closed and her face half-turned away from the door.
"Miss Broots?" Claire called out gently in a voice trained at rousing patients without giving them much of a start.
The young woman stirred against her pillows and then, finally, opened her eyes and sought out the person who had called for her.
"My name is Claire Jackson," Claire introduced herself, pulling one of the visitor's chairs up close to the bed and seating herself not far from the young woman. "Doctor Ramsey probably told you that he was going to ask me to come talk to you..."
A look of utter desolation and fear came over Deb's face, and then she was shaking her head.
"It's OK," Claire patted the hand that was lying on top of the blankets. "You don't have to do any talking today. Today I thought I'd just tell you a little about what we'll be doing as time goes on."
"Go away." The voice was little more than a whisper, but the terror and rejection in it were unmistakable.
Claire shook her head. "I don't think so. There are a few things that you probably should know - about your condition, most importantly. You do know that you were bitten..."
"No, I missed that part," the whisper was acid.
Claire ignored the attitude, realizing it to be nothing but a self-defense mechanism. "The good news, however, is that you weren't raped. You don't have to worry about HIV or pregnancy. That should help put your mind to rest at least a little bit."
"Please..." Deb squeezed her eyes shut against a new flush of tears that never seemed to be very far away anymore. "I don't want to talk about any of it. Please stop..."
"Debbie... is it OK if I call you Debbie?" Claire asked and then was satisfied when the young woman at least nodded her permission for the name fairly quickly. "Debbie, I know how hard this is for you - but..."
"You have no idea," the whisper was fierce. "No idea at all what I'm going through."
"Maybe I don't have all the details, but I've been where you are." Those dark and expressive eyes grew even darker with memories. "I know that right now you'd just as soon everybody leave you alone so that you could forget - but every time you close your eyes, you feel those hands on you again."
Tears trickled down the side of Deb's face. "Stop..." This woman was right - every time she closed her eyes, she could almost feel herself hoisted over that man's shoulder, and his hand thrusting itself between her legs, or when he had bent over her and bit her while his hands were moving inside her pajama bottoms... "Please..."
"Listen to me!" Claire grasped Deb's hand between hers and squeezed tightly. "I know you've been through something truly horrible - but the most important thing that you need to remember right now is that it is OVER. You are safe, and there are people here - myself included - who are willing to do whatever we can to help you understand that you ARE safe now. What is making you miserable right now are memories - and this isn't going to be something that you're going to be able to just forget. Locking those memories away where even you can't get to them won't be doing you any favors. I know." Those dark eyes flashed. "I tried that - it didn't work. The nightmares you get from locking memories away are very, VERY bad ones."
"But I don't want to remember," Deb sighed, the tears flowing down her face in a constant stream.
"I know you don't," Claire soothed, hanging onto the hand tightly. "But you're going to have to work with yourself. Every time you catch yourself putting yourself back through that Hell, you need to just step back and remind yourself that it is OVER - that you're safe and far away from the man who did this to you."
"What if he comes back?" Deb whispered, unable to prevent herself from giving voice to her worst fear.
"With an FBI agent sitting just outside your door?" Claire pointed out, then nodded in the direction of the double doors near the nurse's station. "I seriously doubt anybody is going to get in here to get at you."
"But later..."
Claire shook her head. "My understanding is that you have a guard assigned to you 24/7. You're safe, Debbie. Nobody's going to get at you here. You have to keep telling yourself that you made it - you got away and you're still alive." She looked at the young woman with understanding and compassion. "And most importantly, you need to know that it's OK to cry. As a matter of fact, it's one of the healthiest things you can do for yourself right now is to allow yourself to feel hurt and angry and frightened. Locking those emotions away won't do you any favors either."
"But if I'm really safe, I shouldn't feel scared..."
The psychologist shook her head. "Emotions aren't logical, Debbie. They don't follow the rules. Besides, who said anything about what you should or shouldn't feel? Nobody here is going to look down on you for having a very human, emotional reaction to everything you've been through."
"I..." Deb's blue eyes were growing confused. "But..."
"It's OK," Claire said firmly, shaking and squeezing Deb's hand for emphasis. "It really is OK."
Those blue eyes stared deeply into the understanding dark one and then filled with tears again. Deb's hand turned in Claire's until the younger woman was clinging to the counselor with every ounce of strength she possessed as the sobs that she'd been struggling against ever since she'd regained consciousness could no longer be denied. Claire returned the tightness of the clasp on Deb's hand, and moved her other hand so that she was stroking the top of Deb's head and smoothing back hair from her face as the young woman finally let herself express her shock and outrage for the first time.
"It's OK," the psychologist soothed from time to time, stroking and smoothing hair back. "Go ahead and cry, Debbie. It's OK."
~~~~~~~~
Tyler gave Mei Chiang a jaunty wave and went straight to Miss Parker's door, knocking and then letting himself in the moment he heard her call out for him to enter. He reached into the pocket of his sports jacket and brought forth the little plastic case that held within it the DVD she'd requested, as well as the smaller, unlabelled DSA. "Here you go," he said as she took them from his fingers and immediately put them in her briefcase. "I take it the meeting went well?"
Startled and then frustrated grey met his sarcastic dark gaze. "As well as one could expect of government people accustomed to being fawned over and kiss-assed suddenly having someone telling them things they don't want to hear," she responded in a dry tone, snapping the briefcase shut and thrusting it back under her desk at her feet. "I want you to take personal responsibility for seeing to it that the contents of each discontinued government project's research materials is double-checked and get the affidavits with the contents notarized before turning everything over to the courier. I want similarly notarized duplicates of the affidavits - and we will document each and every contact we have with ANY government representative from now on."
Tyler's dark brows raised. "You trust them that much?"
Her dry and sharp cough of a chuckle was all the response he needed to that one. "I'm just about finished here - are there any points that we need to go over before I take off for California?"
Her assistant shook his head slowly. "I don't think so - we're waiting for the Delaware folks to rule on the new corporate bylaws and authorize the issuance of the stock certificates. We have all the supervisors on board with us, and most of them either have already headed home or will have by tonight now that you've met with Jake Swanson..." He gave her a gaze that was far calmer than he was feeling on the inside. "Basically, all I have to do is just watch the pots on the stove and make sure none of 'em boil over and ruin the porcelain."
"You'll have my cell number - call me if you have any questions anytime. Within reason, that is," she added as his brows shot up. "I intend to do a little resting and catching up on my sleep on the jet tonight."
"You sure you want ME to be doing this?" Tyler asked, sitting down and deciding that this was important enough that he wanted to be sure of himself. "I mean, I know I'm not to sign anything in your place, but..."
Miss Parker glanced at her assistant and folded her hands on her desk. "This is just another of those challenges I told you about back when I offered you a chance to climb up out of the morgue, Tyler. You've proven to me over the last couple of weeks that you're more than up to handling things for me. I wouldn't even be able to think of making this trip if I didn't think you were ready..."
"Yeah, but..." Tyler's dark eyes weren't flinching from her even grey gaze, "I just never imagined that one of the “challenges” you intended to throw my way within mere weeks of my taking this new job would be to run the Centre for you. I mean..." he paused then plunged ahead, "this is one helluva big place, with lots going on all the time that I'm just now starting to even know about..."
"Cody," she leaned forward toward him. "I'M just starting to get a real handle on everything going on in this place myself. And barring something as big as another bomb going off in the neighborhood, you should be able to just tend the fires until I get back - and I'm not going to be gone for long, just two nights and a day. You also have Sydney around to help if you need it. You may not know him very well, but he knows almost as much about this place and the way it works as any of us - if not more than all of us put together. He's been here in the heart of things ever since I was a baby. He may not be able to come into the Centre itself, but I can warn him to expect you to call him first if you get in a bind - how's that?"
"That helps some," he admitted. "I dunno - I guess I just never thought this country boy would ever get into a position like this."
Miss Parker leaned back in her chair again. "I think this country boy needs to have someone believe in him just a little more than he believed in himself." She crossed her arms over her chest. "You were utterly wasted down there in that crypt, Sir Edmund, and you'd know it if you let yourself think about it. It isn't bragging if it's true," she reminded him as she watched his cheeks turn red.
The dark eyes came up and connected with hers with an expression of deep admiration and loyalty. "It's been a long time since I've had anybody so solidly in my corner, Miss Parker. I promise I'll live up to the trust you're placing in me."
"I know you will," she said gently. "Use my office while I'm gone, and let Mei Chiang give you a hand keeping yourself organized. She's really good at that." That was right, she reminded herself, she was going to want to talk to her Chinese secretary before she left for the day as well. "Any more jitters you want to talk through?"
"No, ma'am," he responded, rising. "Thanks for not..."
"You forget, I just took this job myself not all that long ago. I know what it feels like to be standing on the edge and KNOW that you have to pick up the reins in just a bit, and wonder whether you have all it will take to hold it together." She shivered. "Then, believe it or not, what happens is that you pick up the reins and the thing just carries you right along with it. Use Mei Chiang, and Sydney - and call me if you need to." Her eyes began to twinkle. "Tell you what: I'll make you a bet, country boy..."
Tyler's eyes began to sparkle back. It was good to see Miss Parker begin to display her sense of humor again. "What kind of bet you talkin' about, Lobsang?"
"I'll bet you ten bucks that you don't call me once, and that you don't call Syd more than twice over the entire time I'm gone."
"Ten bucks?" Tyler pretended to think it over. "OK - you're on. Ten bucks says that I call you at least once for help."
"And with a genuine problem - not just to win the bet," she reminded him. "You on?"
He extended his hand and shook hers firmly. "I hope you win, to be honest."
"I know I will," she told him as she stood and retrieved her briefcase out from under her desk again. "I generally don't make a bet unless I'm fairly sure I've already won."
"What time should I tell the pilot to have the jet ready for take-off?" he asked before he turned to leave.
"Tell him I'll be wanting to leave no later than nine." She smiled at him. "See you in two days."
"Have a good trip, Miss Parker," he responded before he left the room.
~~~~~~~~
Jarod stood in the doorway of his office and waited patiently while Cindy made the next appointment for little Timmy Samson, then caught his receptionist's eye. "How are things going out here?" he asked, suddenly aware that he could no longer see the top of Ginger's head over the counter.
The beaded head jerked for him to come closer and around the end of the counter. Then one manicured finger pointed to the empty space on the floor behind the counter and under the desk. Ginger had a clipboard and a set of colored markers and was sitting very comfortably, with her back against the wall, drawing. She looked up as her new guardian peeked around the corner and smiled the first, tiny smile that Jarod had seen on her face since he'd gotten back from Delaware.
"So, Sprite," he said, leaning against the post that was the end of the counter, "you got tired of folding and stuffing envelopes?"
"Tired nothing, Doctor Jarod," Cindy said, her voice warm, "she finished all the ones that I had ready for her already. I gave her some of our colored markers, and she's been very happy drawing pictures for me."
"Can I see?" Jarod asked, curious as much from a professional standpoint as anything else. "Is it OK if Cindy shows me some of your pictures?" he asked his charge. Cindy handed him a trio of papers when the dark little head nodded permission.
The psychiatrist in him immediately sat up and took notice when he started paging through the colorful drawings. Ginger had drawn her life - in eloquent if simple line drawings and stick figures making clear the tragedy of her life. The first was of her with her parents - enormous and angry-looking figures with what looked like flames coming out of their hands. Cigarettes, he realized, especially when he saw that Ginger had put herself in the picture as someone very tiny and sad surrounded with flames too. She still wore the scars from that stage of her life, scars that had caught him off-guard the night before and upset him more than he'd ever imagined.
The next picture was hard to look at, for again the adults in her life were huge figures, with the biggest the man who was bending over a tiny and sad-looking Ginger lying in her stick-bed. Ginger's case file with him, as a matter of fact, began soon after she'd been removed from this first foster situation when it was discovered that the foster father had been molesting her for over a year. She had stopped speaking altogether by the time she'd been released from the hospital and hadn't said much of anything since to anyone. Jarod had worked very long and very hard in play therapy to earn her trust when she'd spent the better part of her first appointment with him curled into a knot in the corner of the sofa pressed tightly against Mrs. Thatcher.
The third picture told the story of what had happened eventually in the Thatcher home. Again the adults figured prominently in the picture, with Ginger making herself small and sad again. This time, however, it was a clear description of life in the Thatcher home. The adult male was sitting in front of a box that was obviously a TV while the adult female had an angry face and wide-open mouth out of which Ginger had drawn black lines erupting at the tiny depiction of herself. This visual confirmation of verbal abuse made Jarod's blood boil, especially since he'd not been able to protect her from it when things finally got bad.
He felt a tug on his pant leg, and looked down to see Ginger offering up her latest masterpiece to him. He took it and immediately took in a deep breath of raw emotion. There were only two figures in this final picture - himself and Ginger, and both of them had smiles on their faces and were holding hands. He handed the stack of drawings back to Cindy and then bent to pick up his foster daughter and hold her against him tightly. "I love you too, Sprite," he whispered into her ear, then felt her arms wind around his neck tightly and hug him back.
"Pediatric Counseling Services," he heard Cindy answer the telephone behind him. "Yes, ma'am, he is. Can you hold a moment?" The receptionist touched him on the arm. "Are you wanting to talk to a Miss Parker?"
"Parker?" He shifted Ginger in his arms and reached out his hand for the telephone. "Missy? Is everything alright?"
"I'm sorry to bother you at work, but I wanted to give you a head's up before I took off." Miss Parker leaned back against the headrest of her car. "I'm on my way to California this evening - I'll be getting there around dawn and going straight to the hospital to be with Davy."
"Do you want me to meet you there?" Jarod asked, suddenly very aware of the child he was holding in his arms.
"No," came the response almost immediately. "But I thought you'd like a little warning that I was thinking that I - and Davy, if he's released from the hospital tomorrow - would be stopping by to see you and maybe spend the night tomorrow evening before flying home in the morning."
Jarod started smiling widely. "Really?" Ginger shifted as the tone of voice her guardian was using changed nature. "Listen," Jarod told Miss Parker suddenly, "can you hold on a second. I need to change phones."
"Sure." Miss Parker closed her eyes and took a deep breath. He'd sounded happy to hear that she was coming. Even if it was only for one evening, it would be good to have her family whole and complete around her again. Just thinking of that was a relief, and the time while the line sat dead seemed to pass in an instant.
Jarod kissed Ginger on the cheek gently and handed her back down to Cindy again. "I'll take the call in my office," he told her. "I'd rather have no interruptions - so delay my next appointment until I'm done, OK?" He smoothed Ginger's hair down. "See you in a bit, Sprite."
He moved quickly into his office, closing the door after him, and then sat down at his desk and picked up the phone again. "I'm back," he announced. "So, you're coming here?"
"Yeah." He could hear the fatigue in her voice, but the relief as well. "Sam said that Davy's doing well enough that he might be released tomorrow."
"How's Deb doing?"
"Better, but still in ICU and obviously not well enough to get sprung yet at last report," she answered. "I'll know more when I see her too. Sam said she was awake now, but still quite ill from the infection in either her foot or where that animal bit her."
"How's she doing emotionally?" he wanted to know. "If she was molested..."
"I know, Jarod. I'm going to make sure that she's getting some help on that score while I'm there, and I'm sure Sydney will want to be involved in her treatment when she finally comes home."
"Missy, there's something you need to know..." Jarod began, not exactly knowing how to break the news to her.
"About what?" She frowned. Very few times in her life had someone started a sentence with those words that hadn't ended with something disturbing or tragic. "You're OK - Ethan's OK - right?"
"We're fine, Missy - really. I just thought it would be better if you knew NOW that I have custody of that little girl I have been talking about, and that you heard it from me first before finding out she's with me when you walk through my front door," he finished lamely. There was a long silence from the other end of the line. "Missy?"
"You went ahead with this anyway? Even after you and I talked..." She had her forehead in her hands and her eyes closed, trying to keep from getting very angry.
He could hear the growing frustration in the back of her words. "It was an emergency situation, I swear. The foster-mother flipped out on her, began to verbally assault her to the point that the police were called and ALL the children were taken away from her. I got the call because I had already submitted some preliminary paperwork, asking if I would be willing to take her immediately." He paused, unable to sense the reaction his words were getting over three thousand miles of telephone wire. "God, Missy, they had to drag her out from under a bed like a wild animal, she was so terrified..."
"How long have you had her?" Miss Parker's voice was very calm, although she was anything but inside. She should have known that Jarod, having decided to “save” this little girl, wouldn't have been able to say “no” when asked to take her under such circumstances. That was, after all, half of what she loved most about him: once he gave his heart, he was loyal no matter what came later. Still, what about Davy? What about HIS feelings?
"Only since last night," he answered, his voice subdued and a little unsure. "Missy? I know we hadn't really talked about this enough before she was placed with me, but..."
"I really wish that you'd have waited until we could talk this over face to face," she said finally. "I'm not sure, considering everything we've all been through lately, that I'm ready to take on the job of mothering a very hurt and damaged little girl..." She sighed. "God knows what shape Davy's going to be in when we get him home, Jarod..."
"I know, Missy, but if you'd had the chance to go back in time and take care of Angelo - to take him away from Raines and try to undo everything that had been done to him..."
"That's not fair, and you know it!" Miss Parker complained sharply. "He was my brother - my twin! If I'd known that..."
"But even if you hadn't known, and being the person you are now, would you have been able to just walk away?" Jarod closed his eyes and prayed that he hadn't pushed her too hard. He didn't want to have to choose between her and Ginger - of everything he'd been through, that stood the best chance of killing him emotionally.
Miss Parker threw her head back against the headrest of her seat. "Oh, God, Jarod, I don't know. Maybe..."
Jarod held his breath. That “maybe” was a chink in her armor that hadn't been there before. "Then come and meet her, and see if you'd be able to walk away from her either." He paused and let his words sink in without trying to rub them in. "When do you expect to be in Monterey?"
He heard her sigh as he carefully changed the subject before he'd genuinely made her angry. "Probably around six or seven in the evening. I'll have a Centre limo waiting at the airport to haul me to and from your place."
"I love you," he offered tentatively.
"I love you too," she replied. "Even when you make me the angriest, I still love you."
"Tell Davy that I love him and will see him soon," he breathed a deep sigh of relief. The first hurdle to getting her to at least give his little girl a chance was behind him now. "Give him a great big hug from me when you first see him."
"I will, Jarod. And Jarod?"
"What?"
"You aren't planning to adopt any more kids, are you?"
"No," he told her with the beginnings of a smile on his face. "Just this one little one, I swear."
"Good." She nodded. "I'll see you tomorrow evening. Be sure to tell Ethan that I'd love to get a chance to say hello in person again after all these years."
"I will," he promised. "Have a safe trip, sweetheart."
"Talk to you later."
"See you."
He leaned back in his chair for a moment, breathing easier than he had in a while. She was coming, Davy would come too - and they would meet Ginger. He smiled, remembering his dream from the night before. With any luck, the first steps toward making that dream a reality had just been taken.
~~~~~~~~
"Where do you want me to start?" Kevin called back toward the den where he'd left Sydney reattached to his therapy machine. He stared around him at a living room with cardboard packing boxes stacked behind the couch three high.
"Just grab one and bring it in here," Sydney called back. "Unless there are some kind of markings on the boxes to tell you which one is number one..."
"Not that I can see..."
"Then just pick whichever one is the most convenient." Sydney stretched up behind himself carefully, mindful of stitches that were taking far too long to heal for his liking, and adjusted the beam of the reading lamp behind him while waiting for his protégé to return. Kevin came back through the door sideways, the packing box too long to go through the door with his hands on both ends. "On the coffee table." The psychiatrist pointed to the table that they had carefully cleared before strapping him back into his “gizmo.”
Kevin deposited the heavy box on the table and then pulled the lid away to lean it against the wall out of the way. He reached in and pulled out a thick stack of file folders held together with a substantial rubber band. "Yours or mine?"
Sydney held his hand out. "Mine. You take the next one." He settled the packet on his lap and carefully undid the rubber band, then slipped all but the top folder off the side of his lap to stand between his thigh and the back of the couch. Kevin, he saw, lifted an equally bulky bundle of folders and carried it over to the small table he'd arranged on the other side of the reading lamp. The young Pretender carefully undid his rubber band and then piled all but the top folder in a neat stack. He looked up and over at his mentor before he did any more.
"Guess we might as well dig in, huh?" Kevin asked the obvious question.
"Yell if you find anything interesting," Sydney responded and proceeded to open the folder in his hand. The first document was a piece of official Centre stationary - an order signed by Charles Parker initiating Project Echo as a contracted research project to be carried out by Pharmaceuticals. The initials of the department chairman were in the requisite box, indicating that the document had been read and a team assigned. He set that page aside and began reading the project prospectus, and immediately was engrossed in preliminary observations.
Both men were so wrapped up in the complicated material they were reading that neither heard the front door open and shut. But both heads came up quickly in startled surprise when Miss Parker walked into the room and said without preamble, "Hard at it already, huh?"
"Did you see the stack of boxes in the living room?" Kevin asked her. "This is going to take forever!"
"You don't have to read and absorb it all," she reminded him. "Just figure out if the project has valuable information that might be helpful later on to other investigations. Or, if you're just going through piles of memos, see if there's information included that might shed light on something else."
"How much of this is still in the Centre computer?" Sydney asked, his finger saving his reading place amid a thick folder of documents.
"Most of it ISN'T in the computer - or at least, it isn't anymore. Some of what you'll be deciding is how much will be re-entered to rebuild the information database." She sighed. "Interesting reading so far?"
"I'm not entirely conversant in some of the chemistry behind what was going on here," Sydney lifted his folder, "but the theory behind the research is intriguing."
"Same here," Kevin answered.
"Well, it's good to see that you two will not lack for something to do while I'm gone," she sighed and finally moved back into the kitchen to drop her purse on the counter.
"You're leaving, then?" Sydney asked, pleased. "How soon?"
"Tonight - as soon as I eat something and get packed."
Kevin glanced down at his watch and then rose quickly, leaving his folder open and the document he'd been studying available. "I did some shopping for us on the way back from the hospital. How does salad sound?"
"Just about right," Miss Parker answered. "How was Broots today, Syd?"
"Sounding more like himself, and glad to have something to think about besides Deb, for one thing," he answered gently. "He had that computer on and was getting into the Centre before Kevin had a chance to set the case down practically."
She chuckled at the verbal imagery - and found the idea of her dear friend and tech going right back to work from a hospital bed not at all surprising. "What about you? What did the doctor say?" She came back into the den far enough to be able to see him again.
He held a hand out to her. "I'm “progressing nicely” right on schedule, he says. But I can tell you, the physical therapy I get there makes this gizmo a walk in the park!" He grimaced in remembrance. "I'll be so damned glad..."
"Good. Then I can take off for a couple of days and not worry about you so." She took his hand and held it tightly, then let go again and headed back to the kitchen and the stairs beyond. "Kevin, I'll be down in a bit when I'm packed."
Kevin stepped back into the den for a moment. "Sydney? Where's she going?"
"California," the psychiatrist answered a bit absently, having reopened his folder and begun reading again.
"Is she bringing Davy and Deb home, then?"
Sydney sighed and closed his folder again. "Davy, very likely. Probably not Deb - she's in worse shape, I understand." He ached for Deb and what she must be going through. And he felt frustrated in that if it weren't for his knee, he could be going along and being there for her. His poor, beautiful granddaughter...
"Sydney..." Kevin moved closer to his mentor. "What are you not telling me? What's wrong with Deb?"
The older man looked up at his new protégé with sympathy and sighed. "Deb had it a lot harder than Davy did, Kevin. For one thing, she has a cut on one foot that got badly infected - and that made the dehydration and exposure just that much more dangerous for her. For another..." He could see that the news was very upsetting - and remembered the sinking feeling he'd gotten when the reality of Deb's condition and how she'd come to it had been brought home. "Sit down, Kevin. There's something else you need to know."
"What?" Now Kevin WAS worried, so he moved the box on the coffee table aside just enough so he could park his behind on the edge.
"The men who took them... one of them, anyway... he..." There simply was NO easy way to break the news. "She was molested, Kevin - sexually."
"What?" Kevin's brows furrowed deeply. "I don't understand."
Sydney sighed. This was not a topic he really wanted to teach his new protégé so newly exposed to the outside world. "Some men get a great deal of satisfaction in taking sexual liberties with women by force," he attempted lamely. "Sometimes it just involves words and innuendo, sometimes it gets to the point of touching a woman's body inappropriately - sometimes it goes so far as to force her to have sex against her will. The latter is called rape."
"Deb was raped?" Kevin was aghast. The idea of any man touching her like that against her will...
"No, but she was touched - hurt - sexually. The man bit her, in fact..." Sydney swallowed hard because telling this was far more painful than he'd imagined. "...on the breast. That bite has also become infected."
Kevin sat staring at his mentor in shock, trying to understand such behavior. "Why?" he finally asked in a stricken tone.
Sydney could only shake his head. "Because the man felt he could, because it made him feel... powerful... to overpower her in that way... for any number of insane reasons." He shook himself mentally. "But the result is that Deb's physical condition is far worse than Davy's - and most likely her mental health isn't doing very well either at the moment."
"What's going on?" Miss Parker asked from the door of the den, seeing the serious look on Sydney's face and the agonized expression on Kevin's.
"Kevin wanted to know why Deb wouldn't be coming home with Davy," Sydney told her, still keeping a close eye on his protégé. "I had to explain it to him."
"Oh." She took a moment to observe the dynamics flowing between the two men and decided to stay out of it. "I'll finish making the salad then." She fled back into the kitchen and shut down her hearing so that she wouldn't eavesdrop on the rest of their discussion. She'd already had it explained to her and then had to turn around and explain it to others. She didn't need to hear it rehashed again at the moment, or be a witness to the pain of both the telling and the discovery.
"Will she be all right?" Kevin asked after finding even the slightest attempt to put himself in Deb's shoes to be excruciatingly painful.
"I honestly don't know," Sydney replied sorrowfully. "A lot depends on Deb - what she remembers and what all happened to her. But part of the Deb we knew is gone - this experience will have changed her in a way that can never change back. She'll need our love and support and understanding more than she ever has before now - even if she pulls back and won't let us get close anymore."
"She'd do that?"
He shrugged "Maybe - maybe not. You'll need to be ready for her to do that, and know that it isn't personal but just a defensive reflex reaction." Sydney could see how much this was hurting Kevin - that the young man was devastated at the thought. "And maybe she won't be able to talk about it to you. You'll need to let her handle things at her own speed - and bring your questions to me instead."
Kevin nodded. He took a deep breath and stifled the emotion that was threatening tears before getting to his feet. "I think I'll help Miss Parker get the salad around."
Sydney nodded and watched him walk away, his shoulders slumped and his steps almost dragging. The older man closed his eyes. The news had had to be delivered sometime...
~~~~~~~~
Siskele entered his uncle's hospital room with a wide smile on his face. For one thing, he had managed to find a decent suit for his uncle to wear when he was released - one appropriate to his station in life and the authority he wielded within the Triumvirate. The best part, however, was that he'd finally received his shipment from Nairobi - the one that would assure that his uncle would be properly attired when he was wheeled finally from this American place.
"You look like the hyena that ate the gazelle," Ngawe commented from his shiny, new wheelchair. He gestured at both the suit and the chair. "What do you think - do we look properly ready to get out of here?"
"Not quite," the young man grinned even wider and then opened the thin box he'd carried with him. "One thing is missing."
Ngawe looked into the box and then up at his nephew. "Thank you," he said simply, touched that the young man would have gone to all the trouble to get a replacement shoulder drape from home - and one with the triple tri-colors of the whole Triumvirate in accord with his position of authority and not just the Kenyan trio. "We won't forget this," he promised.
"Allow me." Siskele carefully removed the woven drape from its tissue cocoon and laid the symbol of authority across his uncle's left shoulder, then straightened it properly. "There, sir. NOW you're presentable."
"Is the jet ready at the airstrip?" Ngawe asked, feeling just a little light without the heavy luggage with his personal belongings - all of which had been irretrievably lost in the explosion that had stolen his ability to walk as well.
"Yes, sir." Siskele's tone soured a bit as Gillespie came through the door to join them.
"I understand you're ready to leave," the FBI agent commented dryly. "I'm here to see you to your transportation home."
"Then let us depart," Ngawe said in a lofty tone. "We don't want to inconvenience you any more than necessary." He turned to his nephew again. "What about the limousine?"
"Miss Parker was very cooperative, sir. It should be waiting for us in front of the hospital now."
Gillespie groaned inwardly. There was a convoluted and almost unintelligible thread that connected the Centre and all of the other organizations - legitimate and otherwise - involved in the bombing and the murders. From the tone she'd used the one time he'd gotten her to talk about Mr. Ngawe, he hadn't expected for Miss Parker to give the man the time of day, much less the use of a limousine. Something told him that, if he wanted to delve into it deeply enough, the study of the interconnectedness of these organizations could be a task to occupy his free time until long after retirement.
The FBI agent signaled for a second agent to join him in walking about three paces behind the wheelchair and trio of very husky black bodyguards that seemed to have come out of nowhere to surround their boss. Together, they made a rather impressive display of power moving smoothly and swiftly down hospital corridors, out the front door of the lobby into the twilight, and then to the open doors of the limousine.
"Uh," Gillespie tapped one of the burly black bodyguards as he prepared to climb into the limousine with his boss. "For the purposes of the American government, I am to ride with Mr. Ngawe to the airstrip. My agent there is ready to drive you there as well, but I don't think you'll be riding in here."
The huge black man straightened and stared down into the hard and inflexible expression of the American agent with ebony eyes used to being able to intimidate with a glance. He then glanced into the limousine and, at a shrug from Ngawe, moved aside and allowed Gillespie to climb in instead. He shut the door and then stormed over to where the mere sedan also sat at the ready, the agent Gillespie had summoned already behind the wheel.
"Our men are used to staying close to us," Ngawe explained autocratically as the limousine moved smoothly forward.
"You can cut the verbal posturing," Gillespie sighed. "It sounds downright stupid and, frankly, it makes me even less impressed."
Ngawe's eyes narrowed. "You are unwise to speak to us in that manner."
"Bullshit. You're being escorted to an airfield, to an aircraft under orders to carry you away from the United States. You have no passport, and are now officially listed as “persona non grata” so that you will not be allowed to enter the US again." Gillespie smiled at the older man coldly. "I can speak to you whatever way I damned well please."
The one husky bodyguard that had managed to get into the limousine bristled, but was held back by a single glance from Ngawe. "You have behaved with most consistent hostility towards us. Since we are, as you say, on our way out of your country, perhaps you will enlighten us as to what the reason is for your attitude?"
Gillespie's hazel eyes narrowed. "Your organization has close ties to organizations that I believe to be generally criminal in nature - which makes me think that judging your group by the company it keeps may not be such a bad idea. I have no idea what part you may have played in what happened here a few weeks ago, but I'm betting it wasn't a small part. Your leaving means a lot fewer headaches for me."
"At least you're honest," Ngawe nodded. "We admit we don't find ourselves as constrained in the “company we keep,” as you put it, as you would have us be. We are businessmen, and profit is profit. We were caught up in this unfortunate event, just as you were."
"Uh-huh," Gillespie said darkly, not believing the elderly African for a moment. "And you've done nothing wrong." His tone communicated clearly just how much he DIDN'T believe his own statement.
"Nothing," Ngawe said firmly, meeting the agent's hazel gaze firmly with his own. "We regret that we have somehow raised your suspicions so dramatically."
The two men glared at each other for a long moment, then each turned away from the other and stared out the darkened windows into the dimly lit scenery. Silence reigned until the limousine turned a sharp corner and started down an unpaved road leading to the Centre's private airstrip.
The long car pulled up alongside a sleek jet with a strange corporate logo painted high on the tail. The massive bodyguards from the second car erupted onto the tarmac and had both the doors and trunk of the limousine open almost the moment the car came to a halt. Gillespie quickly climbed from the limousine and watched patiently as Ngawe was helped into his wheelchair. The African gestured to his nephew to push him over to the two agents. "Farewell, gentlemen."
"Have a safe trip," Gillespie found himself wishing despite himself. "Just don't let me see any of you back here again."
Ngawe's eyes narrowed, but he gestured for Siskele to move him now in the direction of the little jet. The wheelchair was carefully lifted up the stairs with Ngawe obviously uncomfortable with the manhandling, and then all five Africans were inside the jet, the limousine driving away, and the jet engines warming up for take-off.
"Think we've seen the last of those guys?" Gillespie's associate asked in curiosity.
"I sure as hell hope so," Gillespie answered, feeling as if half of the answers to the puzzles that still faced him were flying out of reach with the African. He waited and watched until the little jet had thrown itself into the sky before turning to the waiting sedan and his ride back into Dover.
~~~~~~~~
Jarod leaned against the bedroom doorjamb, pleased to be able to stand and watch while Ginger sat contentedly on the floor of her room playing with her new toys. A quick trip to a toy store before it closed had netted the little girl a plastic pony with hair that she could brush and braid, a new lamp for the side of her bed that was a ceramic tumble of clowns, a Barbie with a selection of clothing that had made the little girl's eyes widen, a huge box of crayons and several coloring books. Still, the teddy bear that had been her constant companion since being given to her the evening before sat right next to her, and Ginger sometimes seemed to be showing the bear something as if sharing her booty with a friend.
He straightened as he heard his doorbell chime, and with a backward glance at the thoroughly rapt child, he moved to peek through the security peephole and then open the door. "Mom!" he greeted Margaret with a warm hug. "And I haven't seen you for ages," he chuckled at Ethan standing behind her.
"So, where is she?" Margaret demanded, looking around the living room and seeing not the slightest sign that there was even a child in residence. "Where's my new grandchild?"
"She might be a bit shy," Jarod warned her as he put a finger to his lips and led the way back down the hall to the open doorway. "And it isn't official yet, so..."
"As if you have any doubts that it won't be eventually," Margaret chuckled, impressed by the protective air her son was taking toward this child. She peeked in, and her blue eyes widened. "Oh, Jarod - she's darling!"
"Hey, Sprite," Jarod called gently and moved past his mother and into the room. Ginger raised her head to look at her guardian, then caught sight of the others in the doorway and grabbed immediately for her teddy bear. "Now," Jarod soothed, reaching his girl and crouching next to her with a comforting hand on her shoulder, "you know Doctor Ethan, don't you?" The dark eyes turned to him as she nodded seriously, but then turned back to study the stranger. "Well, this lady is my mother. Can you say hello to her? She came over just to see you."
"You called her 'Sprite?'" Margaret asked as she moved very slowly into the room and stopped the moment she saw the little one flinch and reach for Jarod.
"Short for “wood sprite.” It's my fault, I'm afraid," Ethan explained quietly. "We were discussing her, and I called her that - and I think Jarod took it and made it into a nickname for her."
"Her name's Ginger," Jarod let his little girl come up and seek protection in his arms without picking her up and carrying her over to the stranger. "As you can see, we went shopping today a little bit." He wrapped his arms around the girl and let her continue to watch the new person suspiciously.
"What nice toys," Margaret said softly, her fingers reaching out to very tentatively touch the silken hair of the pony.
Jarod felt Ginger start in his arms as if ready to move to protect her toys. "She's not going to hurt your pony," he whispered into her ear. "She's really a very nice lady. She's MY mom."
Margaret could feel the hesitancy and distrust in that somber, dark gaze. "I have a grandson just a little younger than you are," she told the girl, moving one step closer and then halting again before the next flinch could even begin. "He comes over to my house all the time and plays in my back yard. Maybe sometime Jarod can bring you over and you can play there too."
Ginger glanced up at her guardian with obvious questions in her eyes. "You can go over there sometime, if you want," he told her. "I'm sure Grandma Margaret..."
"Maggie," Margaret corrected her son quickly. "It's easier to say."
"OK," Jarod nodded. "I'm sure Grandma Maggie would like it very much to see you sometimes."
Margaret put out a hand toward the child, palm up. "Won't you please come and say hello?" she invited in the softest, gentlest voice she could manage.
Again Ginger glanced up into Jarod's face. "Go on," he urged her quietly. "I'm right here, making sure it's OK."
The doorbell rang again, and Ethan straightened from where he'd been leaning against the doorjamb. "I'll take care of it," he said and disappeared.
Jarod loosened his arms so that Ginger could move if she wanted to. Clutching her teddy bear to her tightly, the little girl took one hesitant step toward the older woman - and then another. Margaret held very still, her hand still outstretched, as the wary child came yet another step closer with one eye on the hand and the other on the woman's expression. Finally she was within touching distance, and Margaret moved her hand very slowly and carefully to brush the backs of fingertips against the soft skin of her face. Ginger glanced back one more time for a little more support from the one person in her life that she trusted completely and found him smiling gently and nodding approvingly. With a sigh she finally stepped that one step closer and found herself gathered very gently into the soft arms of a woman who smelled of flowers and sweet soap.
"What a precious girl you are!" Margaret cooed into Ginger's ear softly, her hands smoothing the braids against her back, holding her but not tightly enough to be perceived as confining.
"Unka Jarod!" echoed a happy and demanding young voice from the living room.
Ginger whimpered and looked longingly toward her guardian. Margaret immediately let go, and the child ran back to Jarod's trusted arms. "That's Sammy," Jarod whispered at her. "He's not even as big as you. I bet he'd like to play with you. Want to meet him?"
She shook her head vehemently and hid her face in Jarod's neck. "I'll go talk to him," Margaret told her son, rising to her full height. "Em brought supper for us all, so maybe if your little Sprite here could be talked into coming to the table to eat, things might go easier for her."
"Thanks, Mom. I'll be out in a bit," Jarod told her, then focused his attention on his shivering and clinging little girl. "Hush now, sweetheart. You're safe. My family came over tonight to meet you because you're going to be a part of us from now on, and they want to get to know you a little bit." He wrapped his arms around her and held her close while she trembled. "Nobody here is going to hurt you at all. These are all very special people." He bent and kissed the top of her head. "I know you're scared. And I know it's a lot of people to meet all at once. Maybe it wouldn't be so bad if everybody was sitting down and eating." He cupped her face in his hand and moved so he could look into the little face. "Are you hungry yet?"
Her head turned and she listened for a moment to the happy voices in the other room, then turned back to her guardian with dark eyes wide. She chewed her lower lip, not knowing how to answer. She really was hungry - but the idea of having so many new people around was frightening.
"How about if you stayed in my lap with me at the table? We can put your plate next to mine..." Jarod suggested gently. "Would you feel safer that way?"
The little head nodded and then Ginger wrapped her arms around her guardian's neck very tightly, dangling the teddy bear down his back and hiding her face in his neck. Jarod rose to his feet with the little girl caught to him tightly. "We're going out now. You ready?" She shuddered, but nodded.
"Unka Jarod! Unka Jarod!" Sammy began bouncing when his tall uncle appeared in the hallway. "Who's that?" he demanded, dashing over to his uncle and touching Ginger's foot.
Ginger whimpered and tried to draw herself into the tiniest bundle she could. Jarod looked down at his nephew indulgently. "Unka Jarod has a little girl, Sammy. Her name's Ginger, but she's really very shy and a little afraid with all these new people for her. What do you think we can do to make her feel better?"
The little boy's bright dark eyes sparkled. "I can share my new truck with her," he suggested, holding up a plastic fire truck.
"How about we sit down at the table and give Ginger a chance to get used to us a little bit instead," his mother suggested instead, remembering when Sammy had been a shy and retiring eighteen month old. "Maybe then, after supper, she might want to play."
"But I want my swing," the little boy pouted. He always looked forward to his Unka Jarod swinging him way high up in the air to greet him - and even sometimes letting him sit on a shoulder.
"Not tonight," his father shook his head. "Maybe when Ginger isn't quite so shy, she can share your Uncle Jarod with you again. But right now, she needs to be with Jarod so she can feel safe. C'mon, Sammy, put your truck on the coffee table and come to the table."
"Oh, all right..." He sounded disappointed, but the little boy trotted obediently to the coffee table to leave his new toy there and then rejoined the adults around the dining table. Jarod noticed that Em had already enlarged the table to hold the increased number of people. He sat himself down at his normal place at the head of the table - the spot he had inherited on his father's death - and balanced Ginger on his knee. Margaret placed herself to his left, close to Ginger as she twisted on her guardian's knee to face the table a little more. Ethan found a seat to Jarod's right, making the people closest to the little girl just a little more familiar than the others. Margaret set about dishing up Ginger's plate, asking her what she wanted in a soft voice and then waiting for the tiny nods that were her answer before putting anything down for her.
As the meal commenced, Ginger alternated between leaning forward to eat for a while and then slumping back against Jarod, cuddling her teddy bear closely like a shield. The family simply enveloped her and surrounded her with contented and happy conversation, soft laughter and many smiles. Jarod could sense her bewilderment when she was neither ignored nor made the center of attention, but merely included the way everybody else was. Finally, however, the events of the day and all the excitement took their toll, and she snuggled back against Jarod sleepily.
Sammy had essentially inhaled his food and then scurried from the table to get back to his new fire truck, having apparently forgotten both his lack of getting a swing from his uncle and a potential new playmate. Nathan had been watching Jarod with the child, and now grinned at him companionably. "How's it feel to be a daddy?" he asked.
"Feels fine," Jarod responded easily, feeling Ginger snuggle down against him and fall completely asleep at last. "But then, I've been Davy's dad for weeks now - I was surprised how quickly I started feeling the same way about this little wood sprite."
"Tell us about her a little bit," Em said, leaning back comfortably and sipping at her soda. "How old is she, where did she come from, when did you meet her - you know, the whole works."
Jarod's eyes touched Ethan's briefly. "I met her when she was brought to me for treatment," he began, and then carefully outlined Ginger's story, leaving out the more graphic descriptions of the abuse she'd survived. The little he told them was enough to raise both sympathy and outrage.
"How could anybody do that to such a pretty child?" Em was aghast.
"I'm glad you have her now," Nathan agreed with his wife. "She sounds like she needs to be with people who love her."
"Have you discussed her with Parker finally?" Ethan's question was more pointed.
Jarod gave his younger brother a quick nod. "When she called to tell me she'd be here tomorrow night, I told her. She wasn't exactly happy, but..."
"Miss Parker's coming here?" Margaret cringed slightly. "Tomorrow?"
"She's stopping by - and hopefully she'll have Davy with her." Jarod told her, watching her expression carefully, then returned his gaze to Ethan. "Incidentally, she told me she wouldn't mind getting a chance to see you again - that she hoped you'd stop by while she was here."
"I'll be here, by all means," Ethan smiled widely. "I've missed her, and I'm glad the channels of communication are open again. Besides, I want to meet Davy." He turned to his foster mother. "I can pick you up and bring you too, if you want..."
Margaret's gaze flitted between her two sons and then settled on the dark head of the sleeping child in Jarod's lap. She had another grandson to meet yet - and demons of the past to begin to put to rest. She raised her eyes to Jarod. "I'd like to come too, if you don't mind having me here."
Jarod's happy smile made for an eloquent answer.
Chapter 17: By The Light of Day
Mei Chiang pushed the button on the intercom, and the moment her boss responded announced, "Your four o'clock appointment is here." Her almond eyes gazed with no small amount of interest at the two men who stood at her desk. The one was dressed in a very expensive suit and carried himself in a way that communicated his being accustomed to being catered and deferred to in all things. The second man was American military - Mei Chiang wasn't quite sure which branch of service, but the patch of colored pieces of cloth that adorned his uniform breast was huge and impressive. He held himself stiffly erect, barely deigning to look down on her, a mere secretary.
Determined not to let the autocratic and arrogant manner of either man get to her, Mei Chiang rose with the greatest amount of grace her training in classical Chinese dance could afford her. She moved like the wind through the wisteria blooms to open the door to Miss Parker's office and bow the men through with gentility and poise that came with thousands of years of tradition.
Miss Parker's eyebrows danced a couple of steps up her brow when she saw the stiff and forbidding faces of her government clients bouncing apparently harmlessly from her secretary's attitude. For a moment, Mei Chiang reminded her of her old "Ice Queen" routine, but with warmth and charm as defensive tools rather than cynicism and aggression -and she decided she'd congratulate her secretary on a job well done that afternoon. But that could wait. She rose from her chair and extended a hand to each of the gentlemen in turn. "Senator Burns, Colonel Harris." She gestured. "Please be seated." She sat down and waited for her guests to settle down. "Now, what can I do for you?"
Burns, a short and swarthy man, pulled a folded paper from his inner coat breast pocket and stretched to hand it to her across her desk. Miss Parker opened the paper and read for a moment before looking up. "Your point being?" she asked in a terse voice.
"Your organization was contracted..." Burns began, but Miss Parker put her hand up to interrupt him.
She leaned and pulled a file folder from a neat organizer holding several like it, and opened it. "Do you know what these projects entail, Senator?"
"Miss Parker," Colonel Harris bristled and interrupted his congressional companion, "what the projects were about is immaterial. That you have a contract..."
"I hardly think researching new formulas for nerve gas and drugs to use to interrogate people are the kinds of things that would play well in open committee on Capital Hill," she snapped back. "I did my research, gentlemen - and one of the things I began to notice was that there was a consistent LACK of approval from normal oversight committees with all of the projects I see you mentioning here." She aimed her storm-grey gaze at the military man. "Specifically in regards to those projects commissioned by “The Pentagon,” I see no document that the Joint Chiefs are even aware of the projects being carried out here supposedly at their behest."
"The Joint Chiefs are too busy to be bothered by the nuts and bolts of military research, Miss Parker," Colonel Harris harrumphed coldly. "Like all good hierarchies, those on top depend and trust that their underlings know what they're doing when they commission..."
"Uh-huh," Miss Parker closed her folder. She turned to the Senator. "In other words, the projects that you two are here to complain about having shut down are the ones that you'd just as soon your superiors know nothing about. Correct?"
"Miss Parker," Senator Burns tried again, this time with a much more amenable tone of voice, "Washington and the Centre have been on good terms for many, many years. It would be a shame to see us have to review the rest of the projects that you've been contracted to do for us."
Miss Parker leaned back in her chair and smiled a toothy grin. "Nice try, Senator, but no go. You're used to dealing with a Centre so up to its earlobes in similar projects of its own that a few more unethical research efforts here or there wouldn't be noticed at all. But I have decided that the Centre under my leadership will be a socially responsible scientific research and development corporation, so you can understand that I will NOT allow it to continue to be a lapdog for hawks in Congress with delusions of empire at all costs." She let the smile on her face die. "Make no mistake about it, Senator. My Centre will not fall in fiscally if you withhold further payments on on-going projects. As a matter of fact, I wouldn't suggest that as a coercive technique at all."
"Just who the Hell do you think to be telling us what we can or cannot do?" Burns blustered, his face growing red. "You seem to be forgetting who you're talking to."
"I don't think so," Miss Parker responded far more mildly than she really wanted to. Instead she reached for another folder and opened it. "Harold Burns, 52, three-term Senator from Florida. You've used your influence to see to it that several very lucrative military contracts were awarded to your brother's electronics manufacturing business in Tallahassee. You have a son and a daughter, both of whom have positions as lobbyists on Capital Hill. You recently divorced your wife of thirty years to marry that secretary you'd been boffing for the last three - not bothering to tell the NEW Mrs. Burns about the law clerk over at Justice that you've been seeing for even longer than you saw her." Miss Parker's finger slid down the page until something she saw made her eyebrows climb her forehead. "And lest we forget, there are unanswered questions about the disappearance of a certain environmental activist who had been making trouble for your brother's firm back home - something about his dumping toxic chemicals into the Everglades..."
"Enough!" Burns was glaring at her and trying to ignore the look of startled alarm on the face of the Colonel sitting next to him. "You've made your point."
"Have I? Are you sure?" Miss Parker placed her hand on the paper she'd been reading. "You see, gentlemen, I just took over administration of this organization a couple of weeks ago. In that time, I've been cleaning house in a number of ways. I am taking this corporation into the direction it was meant to go in - which precludes participating in any questionable or unethical projects for ANYbody, including the government. Any monies not already spent on discontinued projects will be refunded, and all reports and notes about those projects will be surrendered without protest. From now on, however, when dealing with government contracts, a document specifying that approval has come through proper channels WILL accompany any proposal, or the Centre will simply not do business with the government. Period. End of statement."
"You do not want to stand up to us," Colonel Harris stood up abruptly.
"Ah yes, let's see who I'm talking to this time," Miss Parker flipped a page in her folder and began reading. "Colonel Gerald Harris, 58, graduate of Harvard pre-medical studies and currently assistant commander of Homeland Security, or whatever the Hell they're calling it now. You served in Vietnam, Grenada and Kuwait before being attached to the Pentagon. You were disciplined in each of those three theatres of operation for use of excessive force in achieving your mission objective, the last time only barely managing to avoid a court marshal. I have one report from a superior officer that alleges that you threatened the men under you with exposure to a nerve agent when those men lodged an official complaint regarding your treatment of a civilian you were SUPPOSED to be liberating. You have written several papers attempting to justify the continued development and stockpiling of chemical weapons by the US in direct violation of several international treaties." She shifted the paper aside to read the one beneath it. "I also see documentation here that you were directly responsible for supplying several human subjects for Centre experimentation in recent pharmaceutical studies prior to receiving DEA approval to enter that phase of research." She looked up and could see that the military man had now grown as uncomfortable and nervous as his congressional cohort. "Shall I continue?"
"You still are playing a very dangerous game, Miss Parker," the Colonel said as he shook his head. "I'm speaking for any number of others like me who have legitimate concerns we want investigated that wouldn't exactly stand up to scrutiny from anybody with a political agenda."
"I see. Let's put our cards on the table, shall we?" Miss Parker asked calmly. "Are you threatening me?"
The Colonel's clear blue gaze impacted Miss Parker's storm-cloud grey like a train wreck. "I'm just pointing out that the U.S. government - congress and military - is a helluva lot bigger than one damned corporation. That's something that you might just want to keep in mind a bit more often."
"I'll take your suggestion under advisement," Miss Parker stated coldly, "but my decision to round-file these projects stands. The specific refund checks are being cut as we speak and will be delivered by courier to your offices within the day, along with all the research materials pertinent to those projects. The delivery and specific contents thereof will be witnessed, and a notarized affidavit detailing the contents provided for each project. And that, gentlemen, is what is going to happen. You've given me no justifiable reason to reconsider my decision."
"You'll regret that decision," Senator Burns now rose from his chair. "It isn't wise to spit in the eye of the government."
"Good day, gentlemen. I think our meeting is concluded." Miss Parker nodded in the direction of her door. "I think you can find your own way out."
She waited until the government officials had closed the door behind them and then put her forehead in her hands. Raines certainly had made his arrangements with people just as ruthless and unprincipled as himself - and had somehow had a real talent for finding people like that within the ranks of governmental bureaucracy with the same ease he'd found them among the likes of the Yakuza. Somehow, she had a sinking feeling that this was not the last she'd hear from these two - or the shadowy forces they represented within the legitimate government.
She punched in an extension number and waited for Tyler to pick up the phone in his office. "Go over to Security for me and have the surveillance tape of the meeting that just took place in this office transferred to DSA and DVD media, then bring both disks here to me." And for the first time, she was grateful for whatever wisdom had motivated Sam to object to removing the cameras from her office - and grateful for the quiet whisper in the back of her mind that had convinced her to order their activation to record the meeting just finished.
~~~~~~~~
"Have you ever been here before?" Konde Hiro asked his associate, Sato Masao, as the two Japanese disembarked from the aircraft that had brought them the last leg of their journey from New York to Dover.
"I've stayed mostly in Los Angeles since I came over," Sato answered, looking around himself. "For a long time, Los Angeles was strange enough." He glanced at his associate. "How come you never learned English?"
Konde shook his head. "I just don't have an ear for other languages," he admitted. "I'm better with a gun than with my tongue anyway."
"And Ueda-sama wants us to do WHAT with this ninja when we find him - TALK him into going back to Tokyo with you?" Sato's voice was disrespectfully sarcastic.
"We are to do whatever it takes to make sure that Ikeda-san accompanies me back to Japan," Konde frowned at his younger associate. "I would imagine that if the man simply won't be convinced, that we'll have to make sure that his time here in the US is properly shortened.
Sato stared at his companion. "Did Ueda-sama tell you anything about Ikeda before you left?" he asked in total shock.
"Only that he's an assassin - one of our better ones, good enough that when sent out to kill someone, that person generally doesn't live much past the first few seconds of their acquaintance."
"Of course they don't," Sato shook his head. "I've heard of him before, though. This Ikeda is ninja-trained. Are you?"
Konde looked at his associate with shock and something approaching fear in his wide, dark eyes. "You mean to tell me I was sent to bring a REAL ninja back, willing or no?" He shook his head. "I thought they were just joking - calling him a “so-called ninja” only because his job was as an assassin, and that's what ninja DO."
Sato leaned over and claimed the bag that was his from the rotating baggage carousel. "If I were you, my friend, I'd be starting to think about my death-poem - because I honestly don't think you'll be the one doing the convincing. And I'm sure that if Mayeda-sama had known who it was you were seeking, I wouldn't be here either. Ueda-sama's a fool - and a puppet of the other bosses in Japan."
"Mayeda-sama would do what Ueda-sama told him," Konde narrowed his eyes angrily as he too made a lunge for his luggage as it slipped past. "Ueda-sama wants Ikeda-san back. And we are Ueda-sama's servants in all things. REMEMBER?"
Sato breathed out a puff of frustration and slipped his shoulder beneath the wide strap of his luggage. "Let's go get ourselves a hotel room and try to figure out just what we're going to say or do to a ninja to make him listen to what we have to say."
"I need a drink," Konde grumbled, suddenly not at all enthused about his mission at all.
~~~~~~~~
Claire Jackson studied the medical chart for the young woman she'd been called in to see. Deborah Broots showed all the physical and emotional signs of sexual molestation - but there were indications of deeper emotional issues that were making her reaction more acute. The dark brows pulled together as her eyes found the phrase "kidnap victim" written in the ER doctor's notes. No wonder she was reacting so severely - she was already psychologically overwhelmed by all the other things that had been happening to her. No doubt she would be going through a full-blown episode of Post-Traumatic Stress, and that could account for much of her inability to process her current situation.
The petite and dynamic psychologist and counselor closed the chart and carefully folded her pert face into an expression of neutral friendliness and pushed into the ICU unit. There was only one young woman in the unit, and she lay very still and obviously very sunburned against her pillows. Two plastic bags hooked to an IV control unit were slowly dripping their contents into her veins, and the monitor above her head were quietly reading out a heart rate and blood pressure. There was a metal frame at the foot of the bed - probably to shield her injured foot from the pressure of the covers. Deb herself had her eyes closed and her face half-turned away from the door.
"Miss Broots?" Claire called out gently in a voice trained at rousing patients without giving them much of a start.
The young woman stirred against her pillows and then, finally, opened her eyes and sought out the person who had called for her.
"My name is Claire Jackson," Claire introduced herself, pulling one of the visitor's chairs up close to the bed and seating herself not far from the young woman. "Doctor Ramsey probably told you that he was going to ask me to come talk to you..."
A look of utter desolation and fear came over Deb's face, and then she was shaking her head.
"It's OK," Claire patted the hand that was lying on top of the blankets. "You don't have to do any talking today. Today I thought I'd just tell you a little about what we'll be doing as time goes on."
"Go away." The voice was little more than a whisper, but the terror and rejection in it were unmistakable.
Claire shook her head. "I don't think so. There are a few things that you probably should know - about your condition, most importantly. You do know that you were bitten..."
"No, I missed that part," the whisper was acid.
Claire ignored the attitude, realizing it to be nothing but a self-defense mechanism. "The good news, however, is that you weren't raped. You don't have to worry about HIV or pregnancy. That should help put your mind to rest at least a little bit."
"Please..." Deb squeezed her eyes shut against a new flush of tears that never seemed to be very far away anymore. "I don't want to talk about any of it. Please stop..."
"Debbie... is it OK if I call you Debbie?" Claire asked and then was satisfied when the young woman at least nodded her permission for the name fairly quickly. "Debbie, I know how hard this is for you - but..."
"You have no idea," the whisper was fierce. "No idea at all what I'm going through."
"Maybe I don't have all the details, but I've been where you are." Those dark and expressive eyes grew even darker with memories. "I know that right now you'd just as soon everybody leave you alone so that you could forget - but every time you close your eyes, you feel those hands on you again."
Tears trickled down the side of Deb's face. "Stop..." This woman was right - every time she closed her eyes, she could almost feel herself hoisted over that man's shoulder, and his hand thrusting itself between her legs, or when he had bent over her and bit her while his hands were moving inside her pajama bottoms... "Please..."
"Listen to me!" Claire grasped Deb's hand between hers and squeezed tightly. "I know you've been through something truly horrible - but the most important thing that you need to remember right now is that it is OVER. You are safe, and there are people here - myself included - who are willing to do whatever we can to help you understand that you ARE safe now. What is making you miserable right now are memories - and this isn't going to be something that you're going to be able to just forget. Locking those memories away where even you can't get to them won't be doing you any favors. I know." Those dark eyes flashed. "I tried that - it didn't work. The nightmares you get from locking memories away are very, VERY bad ones."
"But I don't want to remember," Deb sighed, the tears flowing down her face in a constant stream.
"I know you don't," Claire soothed, hanging onto the hand tightly. "But you're going to have to work with yourself. Every time you catch yourself putting yourself back through that Hell, you need to just step back and remind yourself that it is OVER - that you're safe and far away from the man who did this to you."
"What if he comes back?" Deb whispered, unable to prevent herself from giving voice to her worst fear.
"With an FBI agent sitting just outside your door?" Claire pointed out, then nodded in the direction of the double doors near the nurse's station. "I seriously doubt anybody is going to get in here to get at you."
"But later..."
Claire shook her head. "My understanding is that you have a guard assigned to you 24/7. You're safe, Debbie. Nobody's going to get at you here. You have to keep telling yourself that you made it - you got away and you're still alive." She looked at the young woman with understanding and compassion. "And most importantly, you need to know that it's OK to cry. As a matter of fact, it's one of the healthiest things you can do for yourself right now is to allow yourself to feel hurt and angry and frightened. Locking those emotions away won't do you any favors either."
"But if I'm really safe, I shouldn't feel scared..."
The psychologist shook her head. "Emotions aren't logical, Debbie. They don't follow the rules. Besides, who said anything about what you should or shouldn't feel? Nobody here is going to look down on you for having a very human, emotional reaction to everything you've been through."
"I..." Deb's blue eyes were growing confused. "But..."
"It's OK," Claire said firmly, shaking and squeezing Deb's hand for emphasis. "It really is OK."
Those blue eyes stared deeply into the understanding dark one and then filled with tears again. Deb's hand turned in Claire's until the younger woman was clinging to the counselor with every ounce of strength she possessed as the sobs that she'd been struggling against ever since she'd regained consciousness could no longer be denied. Claire returned the tightness of the clasp on Deb's hand, and moved her other hand so that she was stroking the top of Deb's head and smoothing back hair from her face as the young woman finally let herself express her shock and outrage for the first time.
"It's OK," the psychologist soothed from time to time, stroking and smoothing hair back. "Go ahead and cry, Debbie. It's OK."
~~~~~~~~
Tyler gave Mei Chiang a jaunty wave and went straight to Miss Parker's door, knocking and then letting himself in the moment he heard her call out for him to enter. He reached into the pocket of his sports jacket and brought forth the little plastic case that held within it the DVD she'd requested, as well as the smaller, unlabelled DSA. "Here you go," he said as she took them from his fingers and immediately put them in her briefcase. "I take it the meeting went well?"
Startled and then frustrated grey met his sarcastic dark gaze. "As well as one could expect of government people accustomed to being fawned over and kiss-assed suddenly having someone telling them things they don't want to hear," she responded in a dry tone, snapping the briefcase shut and thrusting it back under her desk at her feet. "I want you to take personal responsibility for seeing to it that the contents of each discontinued government project's research materials is double-checked and get the affidavits with the contents notarized before turning everything over to the courier. I want similarly notarized duplicates of the affidavits - and we will document each and every contact we have with ANY government representative from now on."
Tyler's dark brows raised. "You trust them that much?"
Her dry and sharp cough of a chuckle was all the response he needed to that one. "I'm just about finished here - are there any points that we need to go over before I take off for California?"
Her assistant shook his head slowly. "I don't think so - we're waiting for the Delaware folks to rule on the new corporate bylaws and authorize the issuance of the stock certificates. We have all the supervisors on board with us, and most of them either have already headed home or will have by tonight now that you've met with Jake Swanson..." He gave her a gaze that was far calmer than he was feeling on the inside. "Basically, all I have to do is just watch the pots on the stove and make sure none of 'em boil over and ruin the porcelain."
"You'll have my cell number - call me if you have any questions anytime. Within reason, that is," she added as his brows shot up. "I intend to do a little resting and catching up on my sleep on the jet tonight."
"You sure you want ME to be doing this?" Tyler asked, sitting down and deciding that this was important enough that he wanted to be sure of himself. "I mean, I know I'm not to sign anything in your place, but..."
Miss Parker glanced at her assistant and folded her hands on her desk. "This is just another of those challenges I told you about back when I offered you a chance to climb up out of the morgue, Tyler. You've proven to me over the last couple of weeks that you're more than up to handling things for me. I wouldn't even be able to think of making this trip if I didn't think you were ready..."
"Yeah, but..." Tyler's dark eyes weren't flinching from her even grey gaze, "I just never imagined that one of the “challenges” you intended to throw my way within mere weeks of my taking this new job would be to run the Centre for you. I mean..." he paused then plunged ahead, "this is one helluva big place, with lots going on all the time that I'm just now starting to even know about..."
"Cody," she leaned forward toward him. "I'M just starting to get a real handle on everything going on in this place myself. And barring something as big as another bomb going off in the neighborhood, you should be able to just tend the fires until I get back - and I'm not going to be gone for long, just two nights and a day. You also have Sydney around to help if you need it. You may not know him very well, but he knows almost as much about this place and the way it works as any of us - if not more than all of us put together. He's been here in the heart of things ever since I was a baby. He may not be able to come into the Centre itself, but I can warn him to expect you to call him first if you get in a bind - how's that?"
"That helps some," he admitted. "I dunno - I guess I just never thought this country boy would ever get into a position like this."
Miss Parker leaned back in her chair again. "I think this country boy needs to have someone believe in him just a little more than he believed in himself." She crossed her arms over her chest. "You were utterly wasted down there in that crypt, Sir Edmund, and you'd know it if you let yourself think about it. It isn't bragging if it's true," she reminded him as she watched his cheeks turn red.
The dark eyes came up and connected with hers with an expression of deep admiration and loyalty. "It's been a long time since I've had anybody so solidly in my corner, Miss Parker. I promise I'll live up to the trust you're placing in me."
"I know you will," she said gently. "Use my office while I'm gone, and let Mei Chiang give you a hand keeping yourself organized. She's really good at that." That was right, she reminded herself, she was going to want to talk to her Chinese secretary before she left for the day as well. "Any more jitters you want to talk through?"
"No, ma'am," he responded, rising. "Thanks for not..."
"You forget, I just took this job myself not all that long ago. I know what it feels like to be standing on the edge and KNOW that you have to pick up the reins in just a bit, and wonder whether you have all it will take to hold it together." She shivered. "Then, believe it or not, what happens is that you pick up the reins and the thing just carries you right along with it. Use Mei Chiang, and Sydney - and call me if you need to." Her eyes began to twinkle. "Tell you what: I'll make you a bet, country boy..."
Tyler's eyes began to sparkle back. It was good to see Miss Parker begin to display her sense of humor again. "What kind of bet you talkin' about, Lobsang?"
"I'll bet you ten bucks that you don't call me once, and that you don't call Syd more than twice over the entire time I'm gone."
"Ten bucks?" Tyler pretended to think it over. "OK - you're on. Ten bucks says that I call you at least once for help."
"And with a genuine problem - not just to win the bet," she reminded him. "You on?"
He extended his hand and shook hers firmly. "I hope you win, to be honest."
"I know I will," she told him as she stood and retrieved her briefcase out from under her desk again. "I generally don't make a bet unless I'm fairly sure I've already won."
"What time should I tell the pilot to have the jet ready for take-off?" he asked before he turned to leave.
"Tell him I'll be wanting to leave no later than nine." She smiled at him. "See you in two days."
"Have a good trip, Miss Parker," he responded before he left the room.
~~~~~~~~
Jarod stood in the doorway of his office and waited patiently while Cindy made the next appointment for little Timmy Samson, then caught his receptionist's eye. "How are things going out here?" he asked, suddenly aware that he could no longer see the top of Ginger's head over the counter.
The beaded head jerked for him to come closer and around the end of the counter. Then one manicured finger pointed to the empty space on the floor behind the counter and under the desk. Ginger had a clipboard and a set of colored markers and was sitting very comfortably, with her back against the wall, drawing. She looked up as her new guardian peeked around the corner and smiled the first, tiny smile that Jarod had seen on her face since he'd gotten back from Delaware.
"So, Sprite," he said, leaning against the post that was the end of the counter, "you got tired of folding and stuffing envelopes?"
"Tired nothing, Doctor Jarod," Cindy said, her voice warm, "she finished all the ones that I had ready for her already. I gave her some of our colored markers, and she's been very happy drawing pictures for me."
"Can I see?" Jarod asked, curious as much from a professional standpoint as anything else. "Is it OK if Cindy shows me some of your pictures?" he asked his charge. Cindy handed him a trio of papers when the dark little head nodded permission.
The psychiatrist in him immediately sat up and took notice when he started paging through the colorful drawings. Ginger had drawn her life - in eloquent if simple line drawings and stick figures making clear the tragedy of her life. The first was of her with her parents - enormous and angry-looking figures with what looked like flames coming out of their hands. Cigarettes, he realized, especially when he saw that Ginger had put herself in the picture as someone very tiny and sad surrounded with flames too. She still wore the scars from that stage of her life, scars that had caught him off-guard the night before and upset him more than he'd ever imagined.
The next picture was hard to look at, for again the adults in her life were huge figures, with the biggest the man who was bending over a tiny and sad-looking Ginger lying in her stick-bed. Ginger's case file with him, as a matter of fact, began soon after she'd been removed from this first foster situation when it was discovered that the foster father had been molesting her for over a year. She had stopped speaking altogether by the time she'd been released from the hospital and hadn't said much of anything since to anyone. Jarod had worked very long and very hard in play therapy to earn her trust when she'd spent the better part of her first appointment with him curled into a knot in the corner of the sofa pressed tightly against Mrs. Thatcher.
The third picture told the story of what had happened eventually in the Thatcher home. Again the adults figured prominently in the picture, with Ginger making herself small and sad again. This time, however, it was a clear description of life in the Thatcher home. The adult male was sitting in front of a box that was obviously a TV while the adult female had an angry face and wide-open mouth out of which Ginger had drawn black lines erupting at the tiny depiction of herself. This visual confirmation of verbal abuse made Jarod's blood boil, especially since he'd not been able to protect her from it when things finally got bad.
He felt a tug on his pant leg, and looked down to see Ginger offering up her latest masterpiece to him. He took it and immediately took in a deep breath of raw emotion. There were only two figures in this final picture - himself and Ginger, and both of them had smiles on their faces and were holding hands. He handed the stack of drawings back to Cindy and then bent to pick up his foster daughter and hold her against him tightly. "I love you too, Sprite," he whispered into her ear, then felt her arms wind around his neck tightly and hug him back.
"Pediatric Counseling Services," he heard Cindy answer the telephone behind him. "Yes, ma'am, he is. Can you hold a moment?" The receptionist touched him on the arm. "Are you wanting to talk to a Miss Parker?"
"Parker?" He shifted Ginger in his arms and reached out his hand for the telephone. "Missy? Is everything alright?"
"I'm sorry to bother you at work, but I wanted to give you a head's up before I took off." Miss Parker leaned back against the headrest of her car. "I'm on my way to California this evening - I'll be getting there around dawn and going straight to the hospital to be with Davy."
"Do you want me to meet you there?" Jarod asked, suddenly very aware of the child he was holding in his arms.
"No," came the response almost immediately. "But I thought you'd like a little warning that I was thinking that I - and Davy, if he's released from the hospital tomorrow - would be stopping by to see you and maybe spend the night tomorrow evening before flying home in the morning."
Jarod started smiling widely. "Really?" Ginger shifted as the tone of voice her guardian was using changed nature. "Listen," Jarod told Miss Parker suddenly, "can you hold on a second. I need to change phones."
"Sure." Miss Parker closed her eyes and took a deep breath. He'd sounded happy to hear that she was coming. Even if it was only for one evening, it would be good to have her family whole and complete around her again. Just thinking of that was a relief, and the time while the line sat dead seemed to pass in an instant.
Jarod kissed Ginger on the cheek gently and handed her back down to Cindy again. "I'll take the call in my office," he told her. "I'd rather have no interruptions - so delay my next appointment until I'm done, OK?" He smoothed Ginger's hair down. "See you in a bit, Sprite."
He moved quickly into his office, closing the door after him, and then sat down at his desk and picked up the phone again. "I'm back," he announced. "So, you're coming here?"
"Yeah." He could hear the fatigue in her voice, but the relief as well. "Sam said that Davy's doing well enough that he might be released tomorrow."
"How's Deb doing?"
"Better, but still in ICU and obviously not well enough to get sprung yet at last report," she answered. "I'll know more when I see her too. Sam said she was awake now, but still quite ill from the infection in either her foot or where that animal bit her."
"How's she doing emotionally?" he wanted to know. "If she was molested..."
"I know, Jarod. I'm going to make sure that she's getting some help on that score while I'm there, and I'm sure Sydney will want to be involved in her treatment when she finally comes home."
"Missy, there's something you need to know..." Jarod began, not exactly knowing how to break the news to her.
"About what?" She frowned. Very few times in her life had someone started a sentence with those words that hadn't ended with something disturbing or tragic. "You're OK - Ethan's OK - right?"
"We're fine, Missy - really. I just thought it would be better if you knew NOW that I have custody of that little girl I have been talking about, and that you heard it from me first before finding out she's with me when you walk through my front door," he finished lamely. There was a long silence from the other end of the line. "Missy?"
"You went ahead with this anyway? Even after you and I talked..." She had her forehead in her hands and her eyes closed, trying to keep from getting very angry.
He could hear the growing frustration in the back of her words. "It was an emergency situation, I swear. The foster-mother flipped out on her, began to verbally assault her to the point that the police were called and ALL the children were taken away from her. I got the call because I had already submitted some preliminary paperwork, asking if I would be willing to take her immediately." He paused, unable to sense the reaction his words were getting over three thousand miles of telephone wire. "God, Missy, they had to drag her out from under a bed like a wild animal, she was so terrified..."
"How long have you had her?" Miss Parker's voice was very calm, although she was anything but inside. She should have known that Jarod, having decided to “save” this little girl, wouldn't have been able to say “no” when asked to take her under such circumstances. That was, after all, half of what she loved most about him: once he gave his heart, he was loyal no matter what came later. Still, what about Davy? What about HIS feelings?
"Only since last night," he answered, his voice subdued and a little unsure. "Missy? I know we hadn't really talked about this enough before she was placed with me, but..."
"I really wish that you'd have waited until we could talk this over face to face," she said finally. "I'm not sure, considering everything we've all been through lately, that I'm ready to take on the job of mothering a very hurt and damaged little girl..." She sighed. "God knows what shape Davy's going to be in when we get him home, Jarod..."
"I know, Missy, but if you'd had the chance to go back in time and take care of Angelo - to take him away from Raines and try to undo everything that had been done to him..."
"That's not fair, and you know it!" Miss Parker complained sharply. "He was my brother - my twin! If I'd known that..."
"But even if you hadn't known, and being the person you are now, would you have been able to just walk away?" Jarod closed his eyes and prayed that he hadn't pushed her too hard. He didn't want to have to choose between her and Ginger - of everything he'd been through, that stood the best chance of killing him emotionally.
Miss Parker threw her head back against the headrest of her seat. "Oh, God, Jarod, I don't know. Maybe..."
Jarod held his breath. That “maybe” was a chink in her armor that hadn't been there before. "Then come and meet her, and see if you'd be able to walk away from her either." He paused and let his words sink in without trying to rub them in. "When do you expect to be in Monterey?"
He heard her sigh as he carefully changed the subject before he'd genuinely made her angry. "Probably around six or seven in the evening. I'll have a Centre limo waiting at the airport to haul me to and from your place."
"I love you," he offered tentatively.
"I love you too," she replied. "Even when you make me the angriest, I still love you."
"Tell Davy that I love him and will see him soon," he breathed a deep sigh of relief. The first hurdle to getting her to at least give his little girl a chance was behind him now. "Give him a great big hug from me when you first see him."
"I will, Jarod. And Jarod?"
"What?"
"You aren't planning to adopt any more kids, are you?"
"No," he told her with the beginnings of a smile on his face. "Just this one little one, I swear."
"Good." She nodded. "I'll see you tomorrow evening. Be sure to tell Ethan that I'd love to get a chance to say hello in person again after all these years."
"I will," he promised. "Have a safe trip, sweetheart."
"Talk to you later."
"See you."
He leaned back in his chair for a moment, breathing easier than he had in a while. She was coming, Davy would come too - and they would meet Ginger. He smiled, remembering his dream from the night before. With any luck, the first steps toward making that dream a reality had just been taken.
~~~~~~~~
"Where do you want me to start?" Kevin called back toward the den where he'd left Sydney reattached to his therapy machine. He stared around him at a living room with cardboard packing boxes stacked behind the couch three high.
"Just grab one and bring it in here," Sydney called back. "Unless there are some kind of markings on the boxes to tell you which one is number one..."
"Not that I can see..."
"Then just pick whichever one is the most convenient." Sydney stretched up behind himself carefully, mindful of stitches that were taking far too long to heal for his liking, and adjusted the beam of the reading lamp behind him while waiting for his protégé to return. Kevin came back through the door sideways, the packing box too long to go through the door with his hands on both ends. "On the coffee table." The psychiatrist pointed to the table that they had carefully cleared before strapping him back into his “gizmo.”
Kevin deposited the heavy box on the table and then pulled the lid away to lean it against the wall out of the way. He reached in and pulled out a thick stack of file folders held together with a substantial rubber band. "Yours or mine?"
Sydney held his hand out. "Mine. You take the next one." He settled the packet on his lap and carefully undid the rubber band, then slipped all but the top folder off the side of his lap to stand between his thigh and the back of the couch. Kevin, he saw, lifted an equally bulky bundle of folders and carried it over to the small table he'd arranged on the other side of the reading lamp. The young Pretender carefully undid his rubber band and then piled all but the top folder in a neat stack. He looked up and over at his mentor before he did any more.
"Guess we might as well dig in, huh?" Kevin asked the obvious question.
"Yell if you find anything interesting," Sydney responded and proceeded to open the folder in his hand. The first document was a piece of official Centre stationary - an order signed by Charles Parker initiating Project Echo as a contracted research project to be carried out by Pharmaceuticals. The initials of the department chairman were in the requisite box, indicating that the document had been read and a team assigned. He set that page aside and began reading the project prospectus, and immediately was engrossed in preliminary observations.
Both men were so wrapped up in the complicated material they were reading that neither heard the front door open and shut. But both heads came up quickly in startled surprise when Miss Parker walked into the room and said without preamble, "Hard at it already, huh?"
"Did you see the stack of boxes in the living room?" Kevin asked her. "This is going to take forever!"
"You don't have to read and absorb it all," she reminded him. "Just figure out if the project has valuable information that might be helpful later on to other investigations. Or, if you're just going through piles of memos, see if there's information included that might shed light on something else."
"How much of this is still in the Centre computer?" Sydney asked, his finger saving his reading place amid a thick folder of documents.
"Most of it ISN'T in the computer - or at least, it isn't anymore. Some of what you'll be deciding is how much will be re-entered to rebuild the information database." She sighed. "Interesting reading so far?"
"I'm not entirely conversant in some of the chemistry behind what was going on here," Sydney lifted his folder, "but the theory behind the research is intriguing."
"Same here," Kevin answered.
"Well, it's good to see that you two will not lack for something to do while I'm gone," she sighed and finally moved back into the kitchen to drop her purse on the counter.
"You're leaving, then?" Sydney asked, pleased. "How soon?"
"Tonight - as soon as I eat something and get packed."
Kevin glanced down at his watch and then rose quickly, leaving his folder open and the document he'd been studying available. "I did some shopping for us on the way back from the hospital. How does salad sound?"
"Just about right," Miss Parker answered. "How was Broots today, Syd?"
"Sounding more like himself, and glad to have something to think about besides Deb, for one thing," he answered gently. "He had that computer on and was getting into the Centre before Kevin had a chance to set the case down practically."
She chuckled at the verbal imagery - and found the idea of her dear friend and tech going right back to work from a hospital bed not at all surprising. "What about you? What did the doctor say?" She came back into the den far enough to be able to see him again.
He held a hand out to her. "I'm “progressing nicely” right on schedule, he says. But I can tell you, the physical therapy I get there makes this gizmo a walk in the park!" He grimaced in remembrance. "I'll be so damned glad..."
"Good. Then I can take off for a couple of days and not worry about you so." She took his hand and held it tightly, then let go again and headed back to the kitchen and the stairs beyond. "Kevin, I'll be down in a bit when I'm packed."
Kevin stepped back into the den for a moment. "Sydney? Where's she going?"
"California," the psychiatrist answered a bit absently, having reopened his folder and begun reading again.
"Is she bringing Davy and Deb home, then?"
Sydney sighed and closed his folder again. "Davy, very likely. Probably not Deb - she's in worse shape, I understand." He ached for Deb and what she must be going through. And he felt frustrated in that if it weren't for his knee, he could be going along and being there for her. His poor, beautiful granddaughter...
"Sydney..." Kevin moved closer to his mentor. "What are you not telling me? What's wrong with Deb?"
The older man looked up at his new protégé with sympathy and sighed. "Deb had it a lot harder than Davy did, Kevin. For one thing, she has a cut on one foot that got badly infected - and that made the dehydration and exposure just that much more dangerous for her. For another..." He could see that the news was very upsetting - and remembered the sinking feeling he'd gotten when the reality of Deb's condition and how she'd come to it had been brought home. "Sit down, Kevin. There's something else you need to know."
"What?" Now Kevin WAS worried, so he moved the box on the coffee table aside just enough so he could park his behind on the edge.
"The men who took them... one of them, anyway... he..." There simply was NO easy way to break the news. "She was molested, Kevin - sexually."
"What?" Kevin's brows furrowed deeply. "I don't understand."
Sydney sighed. This was not a topic he really wanted to teach his new protégé so newly exposed to the outside world. "Some men get a great deal of satisfaction in taking sexual liberties with women by force," he attempted lamely. "Sometimes it just involves words and innuendo, sometimes it gets to the point of touching a woman's body inappropriately - sometimes it goes so far as to force her to have sex against her will. The latter is called rape."
"Deb was raped?" Kevin was aghast. The idea of any man touching her like that against her will...
"No, but she was touched - hurt - sexually. The man bit her, in fact..." Sydney swallowed hard because telling this was far more painful than he'd imagined. "...on the breast. That bite has also become infected."
Kevin sat staring at his mentor in shock, trying to understand such behavior. "Why?" he finally asked in a stricken tone.
Sydney could only shake his head. "Because the man felt he could, because it made him feel... powerful... to overpower her in that way... for any number of insane reasons." He shook himself mentally. "But the result is that Deb's physical condition is far worse than Davy's - and most likely her mental health isn't doing very well either at the moment."
"What's going on?" Miss Parker asked from the door of the den, seeing the serious look on Sydney's face and the agonized expression on Kevin's.
"Kevin wanted to know why Deb wouldn't be coming home with Davy," Sydney told her, still keeping a close eye on his protégé. "I had to explain it to him."
"Oh." She took a moment to observe the dynamics flowing between the two men and decided to stay out of it. "I'll finish making the salad then." She fled back into the kitchen and shut down her hearing so that she wouldn't eavesdrop on the rest of their discussion. She'd already had it explained to her and then had to turn around and explain it to others. She didn't need to hear it rehashed again at the moment, or be a witness to the pain of both the telling and the discovery.
"Will she be all right?" Kevin asked after finding even the slightest attempt to put himself in Deb's shoes to be excruciatingly painful.
"I honestly don't know," Sydney replied sorrowfully. "A lot depends on Deb - what she remembers and what all happened to her. But part of the Deb we knew is gone - this experience will have changed her in a way that can never change back. She'll need our love and support and understanding more than she ever has before now - even if she pulls back and won't let us get close anymore."
"She'd do that?"
He shrugged "Maybe - maybe not. You'll need to be ready for her to do that, and know that it isn't personal but just a defensive reflex reaction." Sydney could see how much this was hurting Kevin - that the young man was devastated at the thought. "And maybe she won't be able to talk about it to you. You'll need to let her handle things at her own speed - and bring your questions to me instead."
Kevin nodded. He took a deep breath and stifled the emotion that was threatening tears before getting to his feet. "I think I'll help Miss Parker get the salad around."
Sydney nodded and watched him walk away, his shoulders slumped and his steps almost dragging. The older man closed his eyes. The news had had to be delivered sometime...
~~~~~~~~
Siskele entered his uncle's hospital room with a wide smile on his face. For one thing, he had managed to find a decent suit for his uncle to wear when he was released - one appropriate to his station in life and the authority he wielded within the Triumvirate. The best part, however, was that he'd finally received his shipment from Nairobi - the one that would assure that his uncle would be properly attired when he was wheeled finally from this American place.
"You look like the hyena that ate the gazelle," Ngawe commented from his shiny, new wheelchair. He gestured at both the suit and the chair. "What do you think - do we look properly ready to get out of here?"
"Not quite," the young man grinned even wider and then opened the thin box he'd carried with him. "One thing is missing."
Ngawe looked into the box and then up at his nephew. "Thank you," he said simply, touched that the young man would have gone to all the trouble to get a replacement shoulder drape from home - and one with the triple tri-colors of the whole Triumvirate in accord with his position of authority and not just the Kenyan trio. "We won't forget this," he promised.
"Allow me." Siskele carefully removed the woven drape from its tissue cocoon and laid the symbol of authority across his uncle's left shoulder, then straightened it properly. "There, sir. NOW you're presentable."
"Is the jet ready at the airstrip?" Ngawe asked, feeling just a little light without the heavy luggage with his personal belongings - all of which had been irretrievably lost in the explosion that had stolen his ability to walk as well.
"Yes, sir." Siskele's tone soured a bit as Gillespie came through the door to join them.
"I understand you're ready to leave," the FBI agent commented dryly. "I'm here to see you to your transportation home."
"Then let us depart," Ngawe said in a lofty tone. "We don't want to inconvenience you any more than necessary." He turned to his nephew again. "What about the limousine?"
"Miss Parker was very cooperative, sir. It should be waiting for us in front of the hospital now."
Gillespie groaned inwardly. There was a convoluted and almost unintelligible thread that connected the Centre and all of the other organizations - legitimate and otherwise - involved in the bombing and the murders. From the tone she'd used the one time he'd gotten her to talk about Mr. Ngawe, he hadn't expected for Miss Parker to give the man the time of day, much less the use of a limousine. Something told him that, if he wanted to delve into it deeply enough, the study of the interconnectedness of these organizations could be a task to occupy his free time until long after retirement.
The FBI agent signaled for a second agent to join him in walking about three paces behind the wheelchair and trio of very husky black bodyguards that seemed to have come out of nowhere to surround their boss. Together, they made a rather impressive display of power moving smoothly and swiftly down hospital corridors, out the front door of the lobby into the twilight, and then to the open doors of the limousine.
"Uh," Gillespie tapped one of the burly black bodyguards as he prepared to climb into the limousine with his boss. "For the purposes of the American government, I am to ride with Mr. Ngawe to the airstrip. My agent there is ready to drive you there as well, but I don't think you'll be riding in here."
The huge black man straightened and stared down into the hard and inflexible expression of the American agent with ebony eyes used to being able to intimidate with a glance. He then glanced into the limousine and, at a shrug from Ngawe, moved aside and allowed Gillespie to climb in instead. He shut the door and then stormed over to where the mere sedan also sat at the ready, the agent Gillespie had summoned already behind the wheel.
"Our men are used to staying close to us," Ngawe explained autocratically as the limousine moved smoothly forward.
"You can cut the verbal posturing," Gillespie sighed. "It sounds downright stupid and, frankly, it makes me even less impressed."
Ngawe's eyes narrowed. "You are unwise to speak to us in that manner."
"Bullshit. You're being escorted to an airfield, to an aircraft under orders to carry you away from the United States. You have no passport, and are now officially listed as “persona non grata” so that you will not be allowed to enter the US again." Gillespie smiled at the older man coldly. "I can speak to you whatever way I damned well please."
The one husky bodyguard that had managed to get into the limousine bristled, but was held back by a single glance from Ngawe. "You have behaved with most consistent hostility towards us. Since we are, as you say, on our way out of your country, perhaps you will enlighten us as to what the reason is for your attitude?"
Gillespie's hazel eyes narrowed. "Your organization has close ties to organizations that I believe to be generally criminal in nature - which makes me think that judging your group by the company it keeps may not be such a bad idea. I have no idea what part you may have played in what happened here a few weeks ago, but I'm betting it wasn't a small part. Your leaving means a lot fewer headaches for me."
"At least you're honest," Ngawe nodded. "We admit we don't find ourselves as constrained in the “company we keep,” as you put it, as you would have us be. We are businessmen, and profit is profit. We were caught up in this unfortunate event, just as you were."
"Uh-huh," Gillespie said darkly, not believing the elderly African for a moment. "And you've done nothing wrong." His tone communicated clearly just how much he DIDN'T believe his own statement.
"Nothing," Ngawe said firmly, meeting the agent's hazel gaze firmly with his own. "We regret that we have somehow raised your suspicions so dramatically."
The two men glared at each other for a long moment, then each turned away from the other and stared out the darkened windows into the dimly lit scenery. Silence reigned until the limousine turned a sharp corner and started down an unpaved road leading to the Centre's private airstrip.
The long car pulled up alongside a sleek jet with a strange corporate logo painted high on the tail. The massive bodyguards from the second car erupted onto the tarmac and had both the doors and trunk of the limousine open almost the moment the car came to a halt. Gillespie quickly climbed from the limousine and watched patiently as Ngawe was helped into his wheelchair. The African gestured to his nephew to push him over to the two agents. "Farewell, gentlemen."
"Have a safe trip," Gillespie found himself wishing despite himself. "Just don't let me see any of you back here again."
Ngawe's eyes narrowed, but he gestured for Siskele to move him now in the direction of the little jet. The wheelchair was carefully lifted up the stairs with Ngawe obviously uncomfortable with the manhandling, and then all five Africans were inside the jet, the limousine driving away, and the jet engines warming up for take-off.
"Think we've seen the last of those guys?" Gillespie's associate asked in curiosity.
"I sure as hell hope so," Gillespie answered, feeling as if half of the answers to the puzzles that still faced him were flying out of reach with the African. He waited and watched until the little jet had thrown itself into the sky before turning to the waiting sedan and his ride back into Dover.
~~~~~~~~
Jarod leaned against the bedroom doorjamb, pleased to be able to stand and watch while Ginger sat contentedly on the floor of her room playing with her new toys. A quick trip to a toy store before it closed had netted the little girl a plastic pony with hair that she could brush and braid, a new lamp for the side of her bed that was a ceramic tumble of clowns, a Barbie with a selection of clothing that had made the little girl's eyes widen, a huge box of crayons and several coloring books. Still, the teddy bear that had been her constant companion since being given to her the evening before sat right next to her, and Ginger sometimes seemed to be showing the bear something as if sharing her booty with a friend.
He straightened as he heard his doorbell chime, and with a backward glance at the thoroughly rapt child, he moved to peek through the security peephole and then open the door. "Mom!" he greeted Margaret with a warm hug. "And I haven't seen you for ages," he chuckled at Ethan standing behind her.
"So, where is she?" Margaret demanded, looking around the living room and seeing not the slightest sign that there was even a child in residence. "Where's my new grandchild?"
"She might be a bit shy," Jarod warned her as he put a finger to his lips and led the way back down the hall to the open doorway. "And it isn't official yet, so..."
"As if you have any doubts that it won't be eventually," Margaret chuckled, impressed by the protective air her son was taking toward this child. She peeked in, and her blue eyes widened. "Oh, Jarod - she's darling!"
"Hey, Sprite," Jarod called gently and moved past his mother and into the room. Ginger raised her head to look at her guardian, then caught sight of the others in the doorway and grabbed immediately for her teddy bear. "Now," Jarod soothed, reaching his girl and crouching next to her with a comforting hand on her shoulder, "you know Doctor Ethan, don't you?" The dark eyes turned to him as she nodded seriously, but then turned back to study the stranger. "Well, this lady is my mother. Can you say hello to her? She came over just to see you."
"You called her 'Sprite?'" Margaret asked as she moved very slowly into the room and stopped the moment she saw the little one flinch and reach for Jarod.
"Short for “wood sprite.” It's my fault, I'm afraid," Ethan explained quietly. "We were discussing her, and I called her that - and I think Jarod took it and made it into a nickname for her."
"Her name's Ginger," Jarod let his little girl come up and seek protection in his arms without picking her up and carrying her over to the stranger. "As you can see, we went shopping today a little bit." He wrapped his arms around the girl and let her continue to watch the new person suspiciously.
"What nice toys," Margaret said softly, her fingers reaching out to very tentatively touch the silken hair of the pony.
Jarod felt Ginger start in his arms as if ready to move to protect her toys. "She's not going to hurt your pony," he whispered into her ear. "She's really a very nice lady. She's MY mom."
Margaret could feel the hesitancy and distrust in that somber, dark gaze. "I have a grandson just a little younger than you are," she told the girl, moving one step closer and then halting again before the next flinch could even begin. "He comes over to my house all the time and plays in my back yard. Maybe sometime Jarod can bring you over and you can play there too."
Ginger glanced up at her guardian with obvious questions in her eyes. "You can go over there sometime, if you want," he told her. "I'm sure Grandma Margaret..."
"Maggie," Margaret corrected her son quickly. "It's easier to say."
"OK," Jarod nodded. "I'm sure Grandma Maggie would like it very much to see you sometimes."
Margaret put out a hand toward the child, palm up. "Won't you please come and say hello?" she invited in the softest, gentlest voice she could manage.
Again Ginger glanced up into Jarod's face. "Go on," he urged her quietly. "I'm right here, making sure it's OK."
The doorbell rang again, and Ethan straightened from where he'd been leaning against the doorjamb. "I'll take care of it," he said and disappeared.
Jarod loosened his arms so that Ginger could move if she wanted to. Clutching her teddy bear to her tightly, the little girl took one hesitant step toward the older woman - and then another. Margaret held very still, her hand still outstretched, as the wary child came yet another step closer with one eye on the hand and the other on the woman's expression. Finally she was within touching distance, and Margaret moved her hand very slowly and carefully to brush the backs of fingertips against the soft skin of her face. Ginger glanced back one more time for a little more support from the one person in her life that she trusted completely and found him smiling gently and nodding approvingly. With a sigh she finally stepped that one step closer and found herself gathered very gently into the soft arms of a woman who smelled of flowers and sweet soap.
"What a precious girl you are!" Margaret cooed into Ginger's ear softly, her hands smoothing the braids against her back, holding her but not tightly enough to be perceived as confining.
"Unka Jarod!" echoed a happy and demanding young voice from the living room.
Ginger whimpered and looked longingly toward her guardian. Margaret immediately let go, and the child ran back to Jarod's trusted arms. "That's Sammy," Jarod whispered at her. "He's not even as big as you. I bet he'd like to play with you. Want to meet him?"
She shook her head vehemently and hid her face in Jarod's neck. "I'll go talk to him," Margaret told her son, rising to her full height. "Em brought supper for us all, so maybe if your little Sprite here could be talked into coming to the table to eat, things might go easier for her."
"Thanks, Mom. I'll be out in a bit," Jarod told her, then focused his attention on his shivering and clinging little girl. "Hush now, sweetheart. You're safe. My family came over tonight to meet you because you're going to be a part of us from now on, and they want to get to know you a little bit." He wrapped his arms around her and held her close while she trembled. "Nobody here is going to hurt you at all. These are all very special people." He bent and kissed the top of her head. "I know you're scared. And I know it's a lot of people to meet all at once. Maybe it wouldn't be so bad if everybody was sitting down and eating." He cupped her face in his hand and moved so he could look into the little face. "Are you hungry yet?"
Her head turned and she listened for a moment to the happy voices in the other room, then turned back to her guardian with dark eyes wide. She chewed her lower lip, not knowing how to answer. She really was hungry - but the idea of having so many new people around was frightening.
"How about if you stayed in my lap with me at the table? We can put your plate next to mine..." Jarod suggested gently. "Would you feel safer that way?"
The little head nodded and then Ginger wrapped her arms around her guardian's neck very tightly, dangling the teddy bear down his back and hiding her face in his neck. Jarod rose to his feet with the little girl caught to him tightly. "We're going out now. You ready?" She shuddered, but nodded.
"Unka Jarod! Unka Jarod!" Sammy began bouncing when his tall uncle appeared in the hallway. "Who's that?" he demanded, dashing over to his uncle and touching Ginger's foot.
Ginger whimpered and tried to draw herself into the tiniest bundle she could. Jarod looked down at his nephew indulgently. "Unka Jarod has a little girl, Sammy. Her name's Ginger, but she's really very shy and a little afraid with all these new people for her. What do you think we can do to make her feel better?"
The little boy's bright dark eyes sparkled. "I can share my new truck with her," he suggested, holding up a plastic fire truck.
"How about we sit down at the table and give Ginger a chance to get used to us a little bit instead," his mother suggested instead, remembering when Sammy had been a shy and retiring eighteen month old. "Maybe then, after supper, she might want to play."
"But I want my swing," the little boy pouted. He always looked forward to his Unka Jarod swinging him way high up in the air to greet him - and even sometimes letting him sit on a shoulder.
"Not tonight," his father shook his head. "Maybe when Ginger isn't quite so shy, she can share your Uncle Jarod with you again. But right now, she needs to be with Jarod so she can feel safe. C'mon, Sammy, put your truck on the coffee table and come to the table."
"Oh, all right..." He sounded disappointed, but the little boy trotted obediently to the coffee table to leave his new toy there and then rejoined the adults around the dining table. Jarod noticed that Em had already enlarged the table to hold the increased number of people. He sat himself down at his normal place at the head of the table - the spot he had inherited on his father's death - and balanced Ginger on his knee. Margaret placed herself to his left, close to Ginger as she twisted on her guardian's knee to face the table a little more. Ethan found a seat to Jarod's right, making the people closest to the little girl just a little more familiar than the others. Margaret set about dishing up Ginger's plate, asking her what she wanted in a soft voice and then waiting for the tiny nods that were her answer before putting anything down for her.
As the meal commenced, Ginger alternated between leaning forward to eat for a while and then slumping back against Jarod, cuddling her teddy bear closely like a shield. The family simply enveloped her and surrounded her with contented and happy conversation, soft laughter and many smiles. Jarod could sense her bewilderment when she was neither ignored nor made the center of attention, but merely included the way everybody else was. Finally, however, the events of the day and all the excitement took their toll, and she snuggled back against Jarod sleepily.
Sammy had essentially inhaled his food and then scurried from the table to get back to his new fire truck, having apparently forgotten both his lack of getting a swing from his uncle and a potential new playmate. Nathan had been watching Jarod with the child, and now grinned at him companionably. "How's it feel to be a daddy?" he asked.
"Feels fine," Jarod responded easily, feeling Ginger snuggle down against him and fall completely asleep at last. "But then, I've been Davy's dad for weeks now - I was surprised how quickly I started feeling the same way about this little wood sprite."
"Tell us about her a little bit," Em said, leaning back comfortably and sipping at her soda. "How old is she, where did she come from, when did you meet her - you know, the whole works."
Jarod's eyes touched Ethan's briefly. "I met her when she was brought to me for treatment," he began, and then carefully outlined Ginger's story, leaving out the more graphic descriptions of the abuse she'd survived. The little he told them was enough to raise both sympathy and outrage.
"How could anybody do that to such a pretty child?" Em was aghast.
"I'm glad you have her now," Nathan agreed with his wife. "She sounds like she needs to be with people who love her."
"Have you discussed her with Parker finally?" Ethan's question was more pointed.
Jarod gave his younger brother a quick nod. "When she called to tell me she'd be here tomorrow night, I told her. She wasn't exactly happy, but..."
"Miss Parker's coming here?" Margaret cringed slightly. "Tomorrow?"
"She's stopping by - and hopefully she'll have Davy with her." Jarod told her, watching her expression carefully, then returned his gaze to Ethan. "Incidentally, she told me she wouldn't mind getting a chance to see you again - that she hoped you'd stop by while she was here."
"I'll be here, by all means," Ethan smiled widely. "I've missed her, and I'm glad the channels of communication are open again. Besides, I want to meet Davy." He turned to his foster mother. "I can pick you up and bring you too, if you want..."
Margaret's gaze flitted between her two sons and then settled on the dark head of the sleeping child in Jarod's lap. She had another grandson to meet yet - and demons of the past to begin to put to rest. She raised her eyes to Jarod. "I'd like to come too, if you don't mind having me here."
Jarod's happy smile made for an eloquent answer.
