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Chapter or Story 
Chapter or Story
Truth and Consequences - by MMB
Chapter 6: Testing Limits
"Hold on, willya? I'm coming, already!" Jarod called toward the front door and whoever it was that was pounding - Ethan, most likely.
"What did I do, drag you out of bed?" the younger Russell grinned at his brother's yawn as the door was unlocked and opened.
"The coffeepot's not even done yet," Jarod growled at him as he closed the door and gestured for his brother to go on into the depths of the house. "And I haven't quite made the switch to Pacific Time yet."
"Poor baby!" Ethan sympathized with no small amount of humor. "What's for breakfast, anyway?"
"Toast and coffee - unless you want to fry yourself an egg, in which case you know where the frying pans are..." Jarod pulled a loaf of bread, butter and jelly from the fridge and hauled it to the table. "You know me - when I don't have any of my favorite sugar-laden..."
"Figures that Mom wouldn't have restocked you with stuff you WANTED," Ethan grinned and went over to the cupboard and extracted two mugs that he then carried over to the coffeepot.
Jarod had two slices of bread into the toaster and was slicing the butter into thin pats that would melt easier. "Em must have had her hands more than full," he commented with a small shake of his head. "I don't remember Mom being so needful..."
"She was still in shock pretty much when you took off," Ethan reminded his older brother. "When she came out of it and found that you'd taken off - not to mention WHERE you'd gone - she darned near flipped out on us. I genuinely thought she'd understood what you'd told her, but evidently everything just slipped through the cracks and was completely forgotten."
"How did Em manage?" Jarod asked, his bread forgotten for the moment.
"She called Jay - he hadn't started his university term yet - and he moved onto her couch for a while and helped her keep an eye on things." Ethan saw that the coffeepot was finished trickling and so poured two mugs of wake-up and carried them over to the table. "Sammy came down with the flu about then, and Mom pitched in to help take care of him - and that kept her contented, more or less, for a while. She was depressed, but she hid it from the rest of them."
"I'm thinking that we need to start thinking about a grief counselor for her," Jarod turned back to the toaster and flipped the two pieces onto a plate, put butter on them to soften, and replaced two more slices of bread into the device. "I mean, I knew Dad would worry about her to me every once in a while, but this..." He waved his hand in front of his face. "But enough of that. Bring me up to date - how's the case load lately?"
"About the same as it was before you ducked out, big bro," Ethan said with a shrug, snatching one of the pieces of toast for his own plate and spreading the softened butter carefully. "I've called in Chuck from Social Services a few times when the emergency calls started to stack up, but for the most part, the parents have been pretty flexible."
"I'm worried about Ginger - that new foster home doesn't seem to be doing her any good." Jarod spread his own butter and then reached for the newly toasted slices and doctored them like before. He slipped the second piece onto Ethan's place without being asked.
"I know - and since that display yesterday, I've been considering calling in Child Protective Services and get her moved to another home before that... woman..." Jarod could see his brother was thinking several other descriptive nouns instead. "...undoes any more of all our hard work."
"Did you file the paperwork getting her case formally assigned to you after I left?"
Ethan nodded. "The Thatcher woman was on me to get my paperwork in order post haste so that she could get reimbursed for the gas." He picked up his coffee and sipped from the mug carefully. "What WAS that all about, that you needed to NOT be the therapist of record for her..."
Jarod's face grew somewhat chagrined. "I've broken one of the first rules of successful counseling," he admitted as he reached for the bottle of jelly. "I fell in love with a patient."
Ethan looked at his older brother, first in shock, then in wary assessment. "Oh, God - here comes another set of gooey eyes..." he quipped, not entirely in fun. "What does my half-sister think of THIS?"
"I haven't told her all of it yet," Jarod admitted. "We had so much else going on, it just never got talked about..."
"You'd better take the time to find out the legalities first, my friend," the younger man cautioned him. "After all, you're intending to be here only long enough to close down your life here, and then you're going to be on the other side of the country. I don't how well the California foster care laws will take such a move with a ward of the state."
"I'm hoping, if Parker will agree, to have moved past a simple foster care situation," Jarod said slowly, speaking his intentions aloud for the first time. "I'm thinking adoption."
"You're crazy!" Ethan shook his head at his brother. "What is so special about that little girl - other than she's cute as a bug's ear and so wounded?"
"She reminds me of all the things that could have gone wrong with either me or Parker - or even you - when we were small like her," Jarod looked up at his brother, his passion for preventing even this mild reminder from going any further burning brightly in his chocolate gaze. "All she needs is a little constancy in her life - and a lot of love. I'd like a chance to give it to her."
"Would you be thinking this way if you WEREN'T heading back to Delaware?" Ethan asked quietly.
Jarod looked at his brother evenly. "I was starting to think this way before I ever left."
"You'd better talk to a lawyer," Ethan advised, then took a bite of toast.
"I intend to," Jarod replied, washing a bite of toast down with a sip of coffee. "But enough about Ginger until I have a few more facts. With me leaving the practice, you need to decide if you want to keep this place going, or if you want to join another existing practice and take your caseload with you."
"What will you do about your patients?"
"I'll be handing out recommendations for new therapists for them," he answered easily, "or hand them over to you, if your load isn't already too heavy for you."
"I can take some of them," Ethan admitted, "but not all of them. Actually, I think putting out the word that I'm looking for a new partner for the practice is the way I want to go. I'm comfortable here. Besides," and Jarod saw his half-brother's eyes begin to twinkle, "I recently met someone..."
"Oh-HOH!" Jarod chortled triumphantly. "NOW who's making with the gooey eyes here?"
"Oh shut up," Ethan grumped at him, then grinned. "Although I can start to appreciate why you get them..."
"Well, are you going to tell me anything about her, or do I have to SIM you?"
Ethan smiled at his brother. "Oh, don't tempt me!" he quipped, then relented. "Her name's Janine, and I met her at the library about a week after you left for Delaware. We've been seeing each other ever since." He popped the rest of his toast in his mouth and chewed.
"Oh, c'mon! You can tell me more than that," Jarod urged with a teasing smile.
"She's cute, intelligent, has a great sense of humor... What more do you need to know?" Ethan asked after he'd downed some more coffee to wash down the toast.
"Looks like the nesting instinct is contagious," Jarod joked, thinking about how he felt about Parker and Davy - and Ginger.
Ethan shot him a thoughtful look. "Enough about me," he waved his hand after another long sip of coffee. "We have some business that needs settling here. So, what do you think - where are we going to advertise for another shrink to take your place?"
Jarod polished off the rest of his coffee and set his mug down on the table with a thump. "I have a few ideas..." He glanced at the kitchen clock. "I can run a few of them past you now, before we both have to start running - and maybe we can review and look at the others over lunch?"
Ethan nodded and sat forward to lean his chin into his hands and listen.
~~~~~~~~
Stewart Berringer frowned as the telephone on his nightstand began to ring just as he was reaching for his hotel doorknob. He lifted his hand to glance at his watch, then hurried to pick up the receiver. "Berringer here..."
"It's Eddie," came the broad voice of his friend and associate. "I'm back in Vegas, and just finished a meeting with the old man. I have your answer for you and that Flores guy."
Berringer blinked. "That was quick," he commented in honest surprise. "I figured we wouldn't hear from you for..."
"Yeah, well, I didn't want to sit on this one," Santini told him, looking up and at Antonio Torzulo, the capo of the Torzulo family syndicate and his boss, as the elderly man listened with care to the phone call on the speakerphone.
"Well, then, what's it to be?" Berringer's voice was schooled to careful neutrality.
"Mr. Torzulo wants no part in what your Mr. Flores was suggesting," Santini told his associate with a shrug. "Considering the contacts your parent organization has with federal law enforcement and in the various legislatures, participating in anything remotely resembling the coup you presented would be taking too much of a risk for us." Santini saw his boss nod in satisfaction. "We will continue in our current association with you, Stu, but that will be it for the time being."
"Damn," Berringer swore softly then recovered. "Thanks for calling, Eddie, and I appreciate the hearing you gave us."
"Don't mention it," Santini sighed in relief. The job of letting his friend down was now finished. "Keep in touch, OK?"
"I will." Berringer hung up the phone and sat down on the edge of the bed, suddenly very tired.
Flores was going to hit the roof, he just knew it. And very quiet, personal contacts with several of the other supervisors who had nodded agreement with him during that first meeting had yielded few willing co-conspirators. Miss Parker had met with several of them already, and was presenting a completely new and possibly profitable framework for Centre operations from now on - and many were tired of having to worry about discovery and possible jail time for the things they'd been overseeing.
To be honest, he had enjoyed the adrenaline rush of some of the more exciting projects that had passed over his desk through the years of the Raines administration. But running a covert operation designed to destabilize his own meal-ticket was beginning to lose its appeal - especially with the font of allies drying up right before his eyes. What was worse, having a loose cannon like Flores capable of setting off all kinds of unfortunate fireworks made the success of such a scheme questionable in the first place.
He sighed, got back to his feet and headed back toward the door. Miss Parker, or one of her minions, had called another general meeting of the satellite supervisors over lunch again. He had an hour to get to the Centre annex conference room.
There was a twenty-five minute drive from Dover to the Centre. Berringer decided that he'd use that time to assess the wisdom of continuing to work with Flores, or of stepping back and into line with the new policies - or mapping his own strategy to the Chairman's office. After all, he thought with narrowed eyes, he'd been a supervisor longer than Flores had...
~~~~~~~~
Sydney poured himself another mug of hot water, then dropped in the tea bag and dunked it time and again until the contents were drenched and stayed put. He looked out across the yard outside his kitchen window to where Davy's legs once more dangled below the wooden platform that was the floor of the tree house in his old oak tree. Miss Parker had given him a tight hug that morning when she'd dropped off the boy, along with a "you haven't lost your touch, it seems," accompanied by a knowing smile.
"Thank God it's not a touch I need very often," he had replied as he'd returned the hug. "Jarod called last night, and when I told him what had happened, he accused me of having a “nice, quiet Inquisitor's voice” and a “lethal bad guy/good guy” routine."
That had gotten her chuckling. "That's actually not a bad description," she had agreed heartily. "And I can see how effective it was. I don't think he's been quite that helpful and apologetic before."
He had gestured toward his coffee maker. "Do you have time for a cup of coffee?"
She had shaken her head. "I wish, Syd, but I have an eight-thirty with Sam and Tyler and a nine o'clock with the construction people again."
"Problems?"
"No, I'm hoping I'll get an update on how soon we can get into the sublevels." She had sighed. "I want to get those archives up into the light of day."
"Oh, that reminds me." Sydney had let her go and reached toward the floor for the briefcase Jarod had left for him. "I've been through these now - and they're sorted into "keep", "shelve" and "toss" envelopes." He had shaken his head. "I think I deliberately tried to forget just how close my department would skate to the line between the ethical and unethical before. Some of this I was MORE than glad to put an end to."
She had taken the briefcase and then leaned in for another quick hug before taking off for work. Davy had taken to the tree house when Kevin seemed more interested in whatever it was that he was searching on the Internet than he was in a rematch on the video game.
And now Sydney stood in a kitchen feeling frustrated. For the past few days, he'd felt at least a little bit useful as he'd pored carefully and deeply into each and every project his department had been involved in. He might have been working at his own kitchen table, but he'd been assisting in the reorganization effort. Now, with the Psychogenics Department projects list duly sorted and prioritized, he was at loose ends again.
He sipped at his tea without tasting it, cursing the ever-present ache in his side that was all that was left of the agony of the bullet wound. He hated being forced to sit on the sidelines. He let his tea mug hit the counter again with a thud - damned if he was going to be put COMPLETELY on the sidelines!
He reached for the telephone and dialed. "Good morning, Kate, this is Sydney..." He smiled at the surprise in the voice of his personal assistant. "No, no, I'm still at home. The doctor hasn't released me to come back yet. I'm just getting bored and wanted to know how things are going there. Any fires burning anywhere?"
He reached for the mug now with the other hand and leaned carefully into the counter as his assistant began bringing him up to speed on matters that had essentially been piling up since he'd been hurt.
~~~~~~~~
Jarod poked his head from his office door. "Give me a few minutes before sending the next patient back, Cindy, OK? I have a telephone call I want to make."
"Sure thing, Doctor Jarod," the receptionist chimed, swinging her head and making the golden beads clatter softly together.
The Pretender went back to his desk and flipped through his Rolodex until he reached the card he wanted and then dialed. "Law offices of Gerald Cochran," came the efficient voice on the other end of the line.
"This is Dr. Jarod Russell. I'm wondering if I could make an appointment to see Mr. Cochran sometime today or tomorrow." He took a deep breath. Time to put this process into motion.
"And this would be regarding?"
"I am looking to adopt a little girl currently in foster care," Jarod told the woman quickly. "I would like some advice and assistance."
"We have an opening this afternoon at around four," she informed him after a short pause. "Will that be satisfactory?"
Jarod noted the time. "I'll be there," he agreed and hung up. Then he rose and walked out of the office and to the desk. "Do I have anything after three- thirty?"
Cindy ran her manicured finger down the appointment page. "Nope. Ethan has a four o'clock, but your book is clear after your three o'clock finishes."
"Good." Jarod smiled. "I'll be out of the office then after three-thirty and for the rest of the day."
"Gotcha." Cindy used a marker and drew a line through Jarod's appointments for the day after his last one. "Anything else?"
"Pamela here yet?"
"Nope."
"I'll be in my office," he told her and headed for the coffee maker, took down the cup that had been his for as long as the office had been open, quickly rinsed it in the sink, filled it with coffee, then retreated into his sanctum. He'd call Parker after he'd spoken to the lawyer - that would be the best way.
~~~~~~~~
Berringer jerked his head towards the sidelines of the group, and Flores left his conversation with Bennet from New Orleans to join his friend. "What's up?"
"I heard from Santini," Berringer said softly, and then noted how Flores' eyes began to glow.
"And..."
He shook his head. "Not interested. Old man Torzulo wants no part of it."
"SHIT!" Flores burst out, drawing quite a bit of startled attention to himself as his face grew increasingly red.
"For God's sake, Gil," Berringer hissed, grabbing his associate's arm in a painful grip and pulling the man just a little further away from the group. "Control yourself before you have Miss Parker's goons landing on you for your tantrum right here."
"Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit!" Flores spat in a bitter whisper. "What excuse?"
"Too much risk, considering the contacts the parent organization has with those the Torzulos want no truck with," Berringer growled. "What the hell did you think would be the reason?"
Flores spun away from his associate in fury, then twisted back just as fast. "Damned cowards..."
"Shut up, will you?" Berringer reached out and jerked Flores back and forth painfully.
Flores looked Berringer up and down derisively. "What IS this - you afraid of the bitch and her watchdogs?"
Berringer stared at the Hispanic. "You're damned right I am - and if you were in your right mind, you would be too."
"Fuck you," the LA supervisor spat very softly and with careful fingers peeled Berringer's hand from his arm. "I'll do this myself then."
"Gil," Berringer shook his head. "You're being an ass and a jerk - and you're going to screw up."
"Gentlemen," both men heard announced from behind them, "this way. The meeting will start in five minutes. Please take your places..."
"Like I said, fuck you," Flores glared at Berringer with undisguised loathing. "You haven't got any more balls than your Torzulo bitches do. Stand back and watch how a REAL man con cojones does things!" He straightened his jacket and tie and stalked away toward the conference room, pulling his cell phone from his pocket, connecting with someone and talking in a low but forceful tone. From the looks of things, he was issuing orders, but the Nevadan couldn't be sure.
Berringer sighed and looked around the room, his eyes briefly contacting those of a somber-faced man standing a distance away from him against a wall - a man who seemed very familiar for some unknown reason. With a vague frown as he tried to remember where he'd seen the fellow before, and not all that long ago, Berringer followed his irate companion towards the conference room and the meeting to follow.
Miss Parker was already there - as were her two faithful watchdogs and their assorted husky assistants placed strategically about the perimeter of the room as before. There was a hushed sense of expectation through the gathered men as they settled into the chairs behind their name cards and turned their attention to the woman at the head of the long table. She continued to sort through her papers for a moment after the group had finally grown silent, knowing that doing so would throw just the slightest sense of imbalance into the situation. Finally, arranging her papers carefully in front of her, she stood.
"This meeting has been called in order to address a growing problem. It seems that there have been a number of you who weren't too terribly happy about the instructions you received the last time you were here." Storm-cloud grey sought out and skewered Stewart Berringer and Gilbert Flores, although only the former bothered to squirm. She then shifted her gaze to several of the silent ones who had supported the vocal Flores during the last meeting, all of whom suddenly found reason to look down at the table in front of them. "Yes, I see most of you know exactly whom I'm talking about."
Now she let her eyes sweep the room, making contact with each and every man seated at the table. "I may have promised a “kinder, gentler” Centre, but it would be extremely unwise for any of you to forget that I grew up and was groomed for this Chair under some of its most forceful and totalitarian leadership. The fact is, gentlemen," and she leaned forward and put her hands on the table, "I SURVIVED those administrations with my wits, health and power base intact. The fact is, gentlemen, that out of all of you, the Triumverate chose ME to take this Chair."
She straightened. "So let me repeat myself, in case you didn't believe my instructions the first time you heard them. All the contracts currently in force will be executed as agreed, regardless of client - but there will be NO negotiating new contracts with the Yakuza, the mob, or the Triumverate. Our government contracts will not be anything less than Congressionally approved - no more black ops projects. We will cease to use illegal activities ourselves as of immediately - if a contract requires it, then the one committing the illegal act will be from the contracting agency, NOT Centre personnel. Am I absolutely, completely crystal clear?" She stared around the room, daring any to speak up in opposition to her.
Flores was glaring at her, silent but challenging her nonetheless. Berringer, on the other hand, was looking at the table in front of him. Somehow, she wasn't that surprised. Sam had told her that Berringer was beginning to get a clue as to just how much an agent of chaos Flores was proving - it looked as if Las Vegas was having second thoughts about being a part of whatever had been in the works.
She took another deep breath and looked down at her papers. "I realize that I haven't completed all the interviews yet, but there are a few announcements that need to be made at this time." She picked up the paper. "The following people will be escorted from this room by a security team: Bennett from New Orleans, Chandler from Miami, Hudson from Seattle, Berringer from Las Vegas, Jergenson from Chicago and Flores from Los Angeles. Gentlemen, if you will go with these sweepers..."
Sam had opened the conference room doors to let a team of over a dozen sweepers into the room. Each pair bracketed one of the named gentlemen and waited for them to rise. One sweeper immediately frisked the supervisor, and then with both arms firmly in hand, the supervisors were removed from the room.
"What was that all about?" demanded Bryce from New York.
Miss Parker raised her finger to delay her answer as yet another sweeper slipped into the room and reported directly to Sam - knowing that whatever he was hearing was important. She bent toward her Security Chief. "What is it?" she whispered to him.
"The tap on Flores' cell phone that we JUST put in place just gave us our first real piece of evidence against him," Sam frowned. "He called Andrew Duncan from just outside this room and told him, and here I quote, “Do it.” Just what he was telling him to do is anybody's guess at this point - we didn't catch onto the cell phone trick until just this morning."
"Where's Duncan?"
Sam shook his head. "We haven't been able to locate him."
"Damn!" Miss Parker sighed deeply. "Find him," she ordered vehemently, then turned back to her meeting while Sam rose and quickly exited the room.
"You want to know what that was all about," she repeated for all still present, and watched several heads nod.
"Tyler, why don't you explain to the folks here why we just segregated six of our quote/unquote “best” supervisors..."
Tyler rose as Miss Parker resumed her seat. "Many of you heard Mr. Flores and Mr. Berringer's disputing the new direction the Chairman is going to take the Centre," he began. "What most of you don't know, however, is that they attempted to solicit outside help to destabilize the organization to the point that they could wrest control of the Centre from Miss Parker."
Several exchanged sharp glances. "Yes, Mr. Pence," Tyler said, nailing one of those gentlemen, the supervisor of Albuquerque, by name, "we're also aware that several of you had shown at least initial interest in what Mr. Flores was proposing - that you were not thrilled with upsetting the status quo. The only reason you are still sitting here and not pinned between another pair of sweepers in a room elsewhere, however, is because you and others like you saw the drawbacks to such an attempt and ultimately refused to be a part of it. A couple of you," and here Tyler's eyes sought out a couple more of the group, "actually attempted to report the conspiracy. Your reward for your loyalty is that you will be continuing in your jobs. The gentlemen no longer with us will not be."
"What will happen to them?" came a voice from somewhere.
"While you gentlemen are here with us," Miss Parker answered in a quiet voice that all strained to hear, "the others are being taken elsewhere while sweepers will be going through and removing all Centre property from their possession at their hotel. They will then be held incommunicado until after I receive a call from the FBI regarding a raid on the Los Angeles satellite office and other California facilities. Since Mr. Flores was the principle mover behind the conspiracy, it stands to reason to have his base of operations scrutinized first."
"You called in the feds?!" Bryce was shocked.
"Absolutely," Miss Parker shrugged. "Earlier this morning I handed over to the FBI all the evidence I had collected in the past few days linking Mr. Flores specifically, and a few of the others by implication, with organized crime across the country. I explained that I was trying to clean house, as it were, and asked for their assistance. The special agent in charge that I spoke to was most gracious in offering the resources of the FBI." She smiled - after several tense and unproductive interviews with Mr. Gillespie since the bomb blast, it had been a real pleasure to turn over something substancial to the man.
"What about us?" another asked quietly.
"You will all be returning to your stations within a day or so," Tyler assured them. "You will find, of course, that the major number of your ancillary personnel has been changed - sweepers and secretaries have been replaced with those from the head office here in Blue Cove - but you will otherwise continue in the jobs you've been performing all along."
The silence from the men at the table was profound. Miss Parker's answer to the challenge to her authority had been brazen and straightforward, consistent with the way she had stated she intended the Centre to run from now on. Amid the brooding astonishment were more than a few beginning smiles of satisfaction - and Parker gave Tyler a nod and a look for him to note down THOSE names this time. Loyalty was going to have it's rewards in this administration as well.
"And now, gentlemen, I have some information I would like to share with you. Our overseas remote attendees should be receiving a fax transmission about now, and we will adjourn until all copies of the report and document being transmitted has been received in all stations." Miss Parker smiled at her supervisors. "Tyler, please pass out the proposals regarding financial reorganization and stock issuance. Gentlemen, we will take a fifteen minute break for you to scan through the documents in front of you, and then our meeting will proceed to the more important matters before us."
~~~~~~~~
Sam scowled. "I don't care if you need four men - I know that Andrew Duncan didn't come to Blue Cove with his boss, so he's somewhere between LA and here. I want him found, and I don't want to hear any excuses. Just Do It."
He put the telephone back on the cradle with extra care. Something told him that NOW was not the time to be losing his temper. He had a bad feeling about the phone call Flores had made, and he wanted Duncan where he could keep an eye on him. There WAS one person who knew where Duncan was, however. Sam began to smile coldly. It was about time that bastard started to appreciate the forces he'd set in motion.
With a crook of a finger, the Security Chief had four more burly assistants in tow as he headed for the annex building next door to which the newly fired supervisors had been taken. It had been used as a dormitory at one time, ideal for temporary security accommodations. Each man had been assigned a room and summarily installed after a thorough search and removal of all possessions other than basic clothing.
He stopped at the desk at the end of the corridor to check on the room assignments, and then stalked with his security team down to the end of the hall and threw the door open.
"What the hell do YOU want?" Flores asked from the cot, where he sat slumped against the wall, one foot propped up in front of him, the other stretched out straight in front of him.
Sam gestured, and two of the sweepers descended on the prisoner and hauled him roughly to his feet to face him. He walked slowly into the room and then bent down very obviously to look the Hispanic in the face, emphasizing the vast difference in both height and bulk. "You made a call a little earlier," he said in a quiet and very patient-sounding voice. "You called Andrew Duncan."
"Big fat hairy deal," Flores spat. "He works for me. Calling my assistant is a crime?"
"When you tell the man to “do it,” you make me nervous," Sam continued in his tame and patient voice. "So maybe you might find it to your advantage to tell me what it was that you ordered Duncan to “do” - and where he is right now."
"Fuck you," Flores hissed in the same voice he'd used to curse Berringer with identical words. "I ain't telling you shit."
Sam nodded to the other two sweepers. "Take it all out, gentlemen." At his word, the sweepers immediately set to work stripping the room of all its furnishings. Then one sweeper pulled a strap with a wire antenna from his pocket and bent in front of Flores and wrapped the strap tightly about the man's ankle - then drenched the top of the velcro with Super Glue and held it in place until the glue was fast.
Once that was accomplished, the Security Chief turned back to the rebellious supervisor. "Very well. You will stand until you decide to talk. You will not sit on the floor, you will not lean against the wall. This device," Sam pulled a small controller from his pocket, "will administer a very small and painful shock every time you attempt to rest." He then pointed to the one-way window. "My men will be observing you from now on from there - and administering shocks as needed. When you're ready to talk, all you'll have to do is raise one finger like this..." He demonstrated. "Once we have Duncan in custody, you'll be allowed to rest."
"So much for the Centre not engaging in illegal activities..." Flores taunted bitterly.
Sam shrugged. "I trained under Mr. Parker, Mr. Flores, but I am Miss Parker's loyal man. You threaten her and what she's trying to accomplish - and provided that whatever I do to you leaves little or no mark, she's willing to let me use my imagination to get the job done." He smiled very coldly at the Californian. "Allow me demonstrate what is in store for you should you try to remove the strap or rest in any way." He pushed the little red button briefly, and Flores jumped with a shocked squeak as the muscles in his leg cramped - hard.
"I will see you later, sir," Sam told the supervisor and then, with a nod of his head, cleared the room of everyone but the prisoner. "Here," he handed the controller to his own assistant, who was one of the sweepers he'd called. "You heard the terms - make sure he gets no rest until he tells us what we want to know."
"Yes, sir," the man said, then sat down in his chair and trained his eyes on the man behind the glass who was pacing.
Sam watched the tableau for a moment, then headed back for the administrative annex to report on his actions. Hopefully Miss Parker wouldn't be too shocked by the measures he'd taken - and if she was, hopefully he could communicate his fears well enough to make her understand their necessity. And finally, hopefully, Flores would prove to be easily broken.
He really didn't want to think of the possibilities if the man stayed stubbornly mute.
~~~~~~~~
Deb waved jauntily to Curt in his car and walked happily toward the front door of Sydney's home, swinging the bag of lunch ingredients back and forth with her gait. Her entire morning had been buoyed by the thought of her dinner plans with Tyler, and her trip to Dover that afternoon would include a shopping excursion for a new and slightly dressier top for dinner at a steak house. "Hi!" she called out into the house as she pushed through the front door.
"Hey there!" Kevin greeted her with a happy smile. "How was work today?"
"Incredible," Deb grinned even wider, and then saw her grandfather rise from an easy chair in the living room after putting down the psychiatric journal he'd been digesting. She walked to him quickly and gave him a quick and tight hug that brought the greying eyebrows up.
"You're in a good mood, ma petite," Sydney smiled. It was the first time that he'd seen that bounce and sparkle in her since her father had been injured. "Something interesting happen today?"
"Yeah," Deb grinned and sashayed with her groceries now towards the kitchen. "I'm going out this evening."
"Indeed?" Sydney followed her curiously without failing to note the sudden expression of wary apprehension crossing Kevin's face. "With whom?"
"Tyler," she answered easily, dropping her purse and keys on the kitchen table and putting the bags on the counter. "He came in for coffee this morning and asked if I would like to go to a steak house with him for dinner. I told him yes."
"So you're not visiting your father until later today?" Sydney asked, watching Kevin's face fold into outright indignation.
"Uh-unh. I'm going in as usual - then doing a little shopping and coming straight home. Tyler said he wants to do the driving this evening." Deb opened the new loaf of sandwich bread and set out six pairs of slices to be made into lunch - knowing that Curt, if not his colleague Don, were starting to know that she'd make them something for lunch too. "What do you want on your sandwich, Kevin?"
"I'm not hungry," the younger Pretender growled and stomped off toward the den and his still fruitless search for any signs on the Internet of where to begin looking for his family.
Deb stared after him, startled by his belligerent tone, then turned to Sydney. "What did I do?"
The older man moved to put a fond arm around his granddaughter. "You accepted an invitation to dinner with Tyler," he informed her in a tone that clearly told her that he knew she already understood this.
"So?" she asked rebelliously, twisting off the top of the mayonnaise jar with restrained frustration. "Is there something that says I CAN'T go out with Tyler?"
"Of course not. But Deborah, you know that Kevin feels... quite strongly... for you." Sydney hoped that his using her formal name would give her cause to pause.
She sighed. "I know," she admitted reluctantly, training her gaze carefully on her task of spreading mayonnaise on the bread. "It's just that... He doesn't own me, ya know?"
"I know," he squeezed her shoulder and then let her go. "But you can expect some of this, cheri. He's jealous, and won't know how to deal with it for a while yet. He doesn't even understand his own emotions - just dealing with girls at all is new to him, remember?"
"I know," she sighed again. "But I just can't limit my life to what HE'D want..."
"You don't need to limit your life, ma petite," he told her gently. "Neither your father nor I expect you to. Don't you dare start to feel guilty for wanting to lead your own life. If you were at Amherst, like you'd planned, this wouldn't even be an issue, now, would it?" He watched her shake her head slowly. "There you go, then. Kevin needs to learn how this part of social interaction works too - and this will probably be one of the less pleasant lessons he has to master. He will have to learn to appreciate what he has, and how clinging too tightly can drive a person farther away rather than bring them closer. And until he does, you'll have to just shrug off little scenes like this one." He watched her work over the sandwiches again for a bit. "Kevin likes mayonnaise, and I like mayonnaise and a little mustard. You make the sandwich for him, I'll get him to eat."
"Where's Davy?"
"Out in the tree house again. I'll go call him for lunch - you just take care of stuff in here."
"Grandpa?" Sydney halted and turned toward her expectantly. "Thanks."
He simply smiled at her and kept going toward the arcadia doors. He doubted he'd have to use any bluff to get his grandson out of the tree today, which was a good thing. Every morning he knew that he was feeling better - but he still was in no shape to climb trees.
~~~~~~~~
Margaret found her regular seat on a bench beneath a tall eucalyptus tree that was close enough to the little neighborhood park's play equipment area that she could keep an eye on Sammy while still giving him a little distance and the illusion of liberty. She sighed and cast an eye over her shoulder at the red tiled roof that was just visible behind the shrubbery and trees that surrounded Jarod's property, and then turned back to keeping a casual eye on her grandson.
She just couldn't understand her oldest at all - and now that inability of hers was starting to become an obstacle between her and her daughter. She and Emily had had a very heated discussion about the proper role of parents as their children grew older and more self-sufficient. When she tried to use Jarod as an example, a near-argument had happened. She was amazed and more than a little concerned to discover that her daughter reluctantly supported Jarod in his plans to return to Delaware. Worse, Em had been willing to defend her older brother's right to choose his path - even if it meant returning to the Centre and that Parker woman who had hunted him from one end of the country to the other.
As she watched, Sammy climbed to the pinnacle of the tallest slide and called to his grandmother to watch his act of bravery in sliding down the twisting plastic slide on his stomach. Without warning, she found herself wondering about this new grandson of hers - Davy. He'd sounded very sweet and polite when she'd spoken to him on the telephone, just a little shy and hesitant but brave enough to want to make contact. Another innocent life that tied her to that damned place in Delaware. She tried to summon resentment against the boy, but failed miserably.
He was her flesh, her blood - Jarod's son, a son he loved dearly enough to abandon the life he'd worked so hard to build to be with. On one level, she understood him completely - and this understanding was probably the most painful part of her suffering. She herself would have done anything to be with her children, and Jarod had moved heaven and earth to put their family together again once they'd all been found. She knew how she felt when she'd been introduced to Charles' son by Catherine - another child never meant to be in the first place - and how her love for the young man had grown quickly despite his upbringing. Jarod was so much like her in that respect.
"Hi, Mom."
Margaret turned and smiled at her youngest - which was the way she thought of Jay. He was as much her son as Jarod was, so like his brother in some ways and so dislike in so many others. "No school today?"
"The new term doesn't start until next Tuesday," Jay reminded her for at least the third time in three days. "You folks are stuck with me until Sunday night." He watched his mother nod, accepting the information with no guarantee that it would remain in memory very long and then turn her gaze back to Sammy as the little boy swung expertly from first one handhold to the next. "Penny for your thoughts..."
"Mmmm," she responded at first, marshalling her scattered thoughts. "Just thinking about Jarod and his plans..."
"Thought so," he commented dryly, then sat down next to her to watch Sammy with her. "I never thought I'd see the day."
"Me either," Margaret agreed, shoving the understanding she'd just been wrestling with to the back of her mind and summoning the frustration at thinking that Parker woman had more influence with her son than SHE did. "To just walk away from his family..."
"Well..." Even Jay wasn't that blind. "He DID say that he and Miss Parker have a little boy together..."
"Still..."
"I know..." He sat quietly next to her for a long moment, knowing that she was feeling very conflicted. "What are you going to do?" he asked her finally.
She shrugged. "I don't know, Jay. I'd like to take hold of him and shake some sense into him - but I'm starting to think that the more I complain, the more I'm driving him away."
"That makes sense," he agreed in a soft tone. "I talked to Em this morning too, you know. She told me some things..." He sighed. If he were to tell his mother all that Em had spilled into his ear that morning, he knew he'd hurt her - and right now, she didn't need that extra burden.
"I don't want to lose my son again," she said very softly, a tear swimming in her brilliant cerulean eyes.
"I know, Mom," he sympathized and put his arm around her shoulder to draw her close. "I know you don't want to lose him to the Centre again - but this time, I don't know if you're going to be able to protect him. He WANTS to go and be with them there. I think we're going to have to trust him when he says that the Centre isn't the same as it used to be."
Margaret closed her eyes and leaned against her youngest son's shoulder. Jay looked and sounded so much like Jarod now that only the differences in their tastes in clothing and personal grooming habits gave clues as to just which man one was speaking. But she knew both of them now - and subtle body movements and gestures were as clear to her as the fact that one wore a beard and the other didn't was to others. "You won't ever want to go back there, will you?" she asked him suddenly, as if out of the blue.
"Don't be ridiculous!" Jay burst out and shook his head vehemently. "My home is here, with you and Em - and with Ethan, even though he is HER half-brother too."
"I want to hate her for stealing him away from me again," Margaret sighed and straightened, her eyes seeking out and finding Sammy now swinging strongly, "I really do."
"I know you do, Mom," he consoled her. "It's understandable." He closed his eyes and saw again the pretty lady who had come into his cell at Donoterase and been so kind and comforting to him - and tried to summon forth any antagonism toward her. As much as he tried, he simply couldn't do it.
Even for him, Miss Parker didn't represent the evil of the Centre - and never would. She was a victim of it, just as he and Jarod and Ethan had been, if what Jarod had told them about how their son had come into being was true. He could harden his mind against Sydney - with difficulty - he HAD been a much kinder, milder mentor than Raines had been. Jarod kept reassuring him that Sydney had played an active role in freeing him from the Centre originally, all but blackmailing Mr. Parker to put HIM in charge of the project in order to help Jarod free him. But all Jay could remember when it came to Sydney was that the older psychiatrist had been quite obviously cooperating with the balding ghoul. He could forgive, but he couldn't forget.
"He's MY son, dammit!"
"I know, Mom..."
~~~~~~~~
Kevin looked up as Sydney carried his sandwich on a plate into the den and put it down next to the computer keyboard, then turned his eyes deliberately back to the monitor screen. "I'm not hungry," he grumbled again without looking at the mentor again.
"Kevin, you need to eat," the older man urged at him gently. "Not eating isn't going to solve your problem."
"She shouldn't..." the younger Pretender started, then glowered.
"Why not?" Sydney asked him quietly, moving to the easy chair not far from the desk and parking himself on the edge of the seat.
"Because!" Kevin burst out angrily. "I was... She..." He stuttered to silence and looked at Sydney guiltily. "I was thinking... we..." He looked down. "She let me... hold her... once..."
"And you think that means that she's decided to settle down with you? Is that it?" the older man probed without much surprise.
Kevin glanced at Sydney again. "Well, Jarod said that Miss Parker was the first girl HE ever met, and the two of them..."
Sydney smiled sadly. "Kevin, it took Jarod and Miss Parker over twenty years to finally make a go of their relationship. For seven years before this latest, we didn't even know where he was - and for five years before that, Miss Parker was actively working to find and bring Jarod back to the Centre. They were barely friends for a very long time."
"Yeah, but..."
"No," he shook his head. "Their situation is quite different from yours. Jarod and Miss Parker were good friends as children, then very much at odds as adults - and it was only when they discovered that Davy was really their son that they tried to put things together again. You and Deb have only known each other a few weeks - she likes you, but you don't have the proper foundation built for anything more than just a friendship yet."
"But..." Kevin struggled to put his feelings into words. "When I'm with her, I feel... so good... And I thought..."
"I know you do, son," Sydney commiserated with the young man. "Some ladies can make a man feel like he can fly." His voice got a distant quality that told the younger man that the mentor was remembering from his own past. "But that doesn't mean that she's going to stay with you forever. Things happen..."
"I thought when Deb decided not to go away to school that... I'd have a chance to get to know her better..."
Sydney pulled his mind from memories of Michelle and the love they had shared all those many years ago and back to his newest protégé's naivete. "Nothing in her going out to dinner with Tyler is going to stand in the way of that, you know."
Kevin looked down at his hands laying still on the keyboard. "I'm just afraid that... she'll stop wanting to spend time with me - that..."
"That she'll choose him over you?" Sydney finished the statement as a question, then watched the sandy head nod slowly and sadly. "Kevin, she knows Tyler even less than she knows you. And it IS only a dinner date. Would you take away her right to have friends of her own - take away her freedom to choose her own friends?"
"No, but..."
"If not, then you have to give her the space to make her own decisions." Sydney's voice was gentle but firm. "If you try to hold her too tightly, you will drive her away from you. Just as the way the Centre held onto you eventually drove you to seek YOUR freedom elsewhere."
Kevin's clear blue eyes connected with Sydney's warm chestnut, and the young man knew that the older man knew intimately of what he spoke. "I don't want to lose her."
"You won't," the psychiatrist soothed, "at least, not for a very long time yet. And by then, if you do, you'll know WHY. Take life one day at a time, let things follow their own path, and don't borrow trouble."
"Borrow trouble?" Kevin's brows furled. "I don't understand."
Sydney gave a cross between a sigh and a chuckle. "You're worrying about something that hasn't even happened yet - and something which you don't even know when or if it ever will happen. That's what's meant by 'borrowing trouble.'"
"Oh." The younger man studied his hands again for a long moment. "Then I shouldn't feel so badly..."
"I seriously doubt that one can just turn jealousy off like a water faucet, Kevin," the psychiatrist said kindly.
"Jealousy? Is THAT what this is?" The blue eyes gazed into his sharply.
Sydney nodded. "That's EXACTLY what this is."
The young face folded into a frown. "I don't think I like it."
Sydney stood and put a gentle hand on the seated lad's shoulders. "Nobody does, Kevin. I promise you."
~~~~~~~~
Special Agent in Charge Thomas Gillespie sat back in his chair from his perusal of the many photos and reports that the evasive and previously uninformative Miss Parker had suddenly handed over to him. He had been surprised to receive her call, and even more surprised to find her asking him to meet with her in her office. He had all but given up getting anything resembling a straight answer from the Centre hierarchy.
"My people have uncovered something that we decided would be best handled by letting your people deal with it," she had said after gesturing him to a seat in her almost Spartan office. "The Centre has had a certain... reputation..." she suggested uneasily.
"For being willing to work both sides of the street?" he'd filled in for her sharply, earning himself a startled stare from those glorious grey eyes of hers.
"Something like that," she'd admitted then, and then pushed a very fat and ungainly file folder across her desk toward him. "My intent in taking over this job is to alter that reputation substantially. In particular, to eliminate the instances of “working the other side of the street,” as you so eloquently put it."
He had simply let the folder sit untouched on the desk for the time being. "Why?" he'd asked simply. "The previous policy has made the Centre a power to be reckoned with in Washington. Why change stripes now, Miss Parker?"
Storm-cloud grey had stared pointedly into his as if attempting to penetrate his thoughts. Then she had nodded as if coming to a decision. "Because I grew up under that previous policy, Mr. Gillespie, and watched it do immeasurable harm without a single qualm - and I won't be a part of that kind of attitude anymore."
"And this," he had gestured to the overstuffed folder, "is your way of beginning to turn that around?"
She had simply looked at him without responding, her silence telling him that she had neither the time nor the patience for stupid questions. Gillespie had sat forward slowly and pulled the folder into his grasp. "What's in here?" he had asked finally.
"Evidence regarding the open and blatant collaboration of one of my satellite supervisors with various organized crime syndicates. I would imagine that there's enough there in that folder to convince a judge to issue a warrant to search the Centre's LA offices - and enough there to make a serious dent in illegal activities across the board." She had held his gaze firmly with hers.
Even so, he had frowned. "Let me get this straight, Miss Parker," he had tipped his head to one side thoughtfully, "you WANT us to raid your LA offices?"
"What I want or don't want is irrelevant," she had waved her hand in a dismissive gesture. "You will do what you feel is best with the evidence, I'd hope - AND I'd also hope you will remember that it was I who brought this information to your attention. My office will cooperate with your people completely from here on out."
He'd kept his frown - getting the vaguest impression that she had an underlying agenda in handing over what amounted to an incredible number of skeletons from the Centre's closet. And now that he'd had a chance to browse through the photos and transcripts of recordings, he knew she'd been correct in saying there was more than enough information here to convince even the most hidebound judge to issue a search warrant for the LA office of the Centre.
There was no question of his next move. He leaned forward and punched a button. "Sarah, get me the DC office and connect me with the Director's office. NOW."
Centre bombing nothing. What Miss Parker had handed him held the potential to make his career in the FBI skyrocket. He felt used, but decided that he could live with the feeling - provided that enough bad guys went down for this. Any maybe, NOW, he could use his better position with her to get straight answers about the bombing.
~~~~~~~~
"Sam?"
The ex-sweeper looked up from his paperwork and then waved Miss Parker into his office. "How'd it go after I took the rotten apples away?"
She slouched into the chair in front of his desk. "Better than I thought it would, actually. The idea that issuing part of the stock directly to the supervisors as an incentive package to make the Centre remain profitable was inspired." She ran her fingers through her hair and dragged it back from her face. "How goes it with our mutineers?"
"I've got teams going through their hotel rooms as we speak - haven't heard back from any of them. Most everybody is sitting tight in their individual little boxes and sweating out what will be found." Sam took a deep breath. "Flores, however, we're pushing - hard."
"What do you mean?" she asked, sitting forward with increased attention.
"I mean we're using psychological and physical “enticements” to convince him to spill what the subject of his phone call was - and the location of Andrew Duncan." Sam watched her face carefully.
Miss Parker blinked, then looked directly into his eyes. "What kind of “psychological and physical enticements” are we talking about here?"
"Electro-shock therapy to keep him on his feet until he talks," he answered her bluntly. "I have a bad feeling about what he set in motion with that phone call, and I want to get to the bottom of it as soon as possible."
"The shock therapy will leave marks," she reminded him in a soft voice.
"Very small ones - the electrodes are placed just in the right place to make the calf muscle cramp hard. Every time Flores tries to rest against a wall, or sit on the floor, he'll get a shock." Miss Parker stared at her friend and colleague for a long moment, and Sam just gazed back at her. "We need to know, and we need to know NOW - before the feds demand custody of him. We don't have time to be nicey-nice. I doubt he'd hesitate to use the same tactics on us if he thought he could get away with it."
"I wish..." she started with a slight frown.
"I do too, Miss Parker," Sam assured her vehemently. "But wishes ain't horses, as the poet said."
She sighed very deeply and rose to her feet. "Keep me informed," she said finally. "And as soon as he spills..."
"He'll be treated well, I promise." Sam finished her statement for her, aware that his feet were crossed beneath the desk and finding the fact disquieting.
~~~~~~~~
Ikeda sighed as he walked down the narrow steps from the commuter jet to the asphalt of the Dover airport. He straightened the strap of his duffel bag on his shoulder and walked steadily and without hesitation through the gate and toward the front of the terminal, where he knew a few taxis loitered in hopes of a fare. In a tired voice he told the cabby, "Dover Regency" in what he hoped was intelligible English and then settled back into the less than comfortable back seat and watched the scenery without any real interest.
He'd been wrestling in his mind over and over just what he was going to do once he got here - and now here he was without anymore of a clear agenda than he'd had over an hour ago. If he wanted to talk to Miss Parker that day, he'd not be able to rest at all, but would have to rent a car and head directly off for Blue Cove. On the other hand, if he intended to “drop by” the hospital and “visit” Ngawe-san, he could take an hour or so to freshen up first. As tired as he was, he decided he'd freshen and talk to Ngawe first - THEN head for Blue Cove in the morning, after a good night's sleep.
The cab delivered him in front of the sizeable hotel in good time. Ikeda walked into the lobby and up to the reservation desk. "I would like a room for the evening," he said in very real exhaustion.
"Yes, sir," the receptionist smiled at him and handed him a ready clipboard for him to fill out. Ikeda took his time and filled the form out in a clear and concise hand that would have made his calligraphy sensei very proud of him, then handed it back. "I've put you in room 348 - go left from the elevator and to the end of the hallway. Enjoy your stay," she said in a pleasant voice, handing him his key card in a small paper wallet with the hotel logo prominently printed.
Ikeda bowed to her without thinking, then turned to head for the elevator after opening the paper wallet and finding his room number. He was tired enough that he was beginning to function in a fog, and having people chattering to him in a language other than his native tongue wasn't helping. Twenty hours it had taken him to get from Tokyo to Delaware - twenty hours to go from home into exile. His ebony eyes stared out into the lobby as he waited for the elevator door to slip closed, all emotion viciously disciplined into submission to the inevitability that he would never again see the sights or smell the smells of Nippon again.
And if Miss Parker ultimately wanted no part of what he had to offer, he would be a dead man.
~~~~~~~~
Jarod nodded his appreciation to the lawyer's secretary as she watched him walk to the solid door and open it. "Come on in," Gerald Cochran said, his eyes still on some paperwork on his desk at which he was madly writing. "Have a seat - I'll be with you in just a moment."
The Pretender found a comfortable chair opposite the man's desk and settled down to observe the lawyer for a quiet moment while he finished whatever it was that had him so rapt. Cochran was a very dignified and balding man with eyes such a light blue that their color was startling. He was long and thin of body, and his face had a chiseled and weathered look to it beneath wisps of looked to be blonde hair.
Finally he set the pen he'd been wielding madly aside and then moved the legal pad he'd been working on to one side and drew another, fresh, one to in front of him. "What can I do for you, Mr..."
"It's Dr., actually," Jarod corrected him carefully. "Russell. I'm hoping that you can give me some advice and maybe representation in an adoption."
"I see," the thin lawyer made notations at the top of the yellow sheet. "Name and age of child?"
"Ginger O'Bryan. She's seven."
"Orphaned, relative?"
"Currently in foster care after being abandoned by both parents."
"Parents are..."
"Currently both in jail for drug-related offenses and child abandonment," Jarod remembered the details of Ginger's case very well.
"How long has she been in foster care? Any idea?" Cochran asked, looking up at the tall and darkly handsome doctor with some curiosity. He carried himself as a professional man himself - an incredibly intelligent professional at that.
Jarod thought for a moment. "I started seeing her professionally about two years ago - and I believe that was about six months after she'd been placed the first time."
"“Saw her professionally”?" Those incredibly light blue eyes were wide.
"Yes, I'm a pediatric psychiatrist," Jarod explained patiently. "Ginger had been abused before being abandoned by her parents, and then ended up in an equally abusive foster care situation." He leaned forward. "I terminated my professional relationship with her about two months ago, before I took a leave of absence from my practice here in town. Now that I'm back, and I can see that her current foster situation is becoming difficult..."
"You'd like to petition to become a foster parent yourself?" Cochran asked easily.
"With an eye to adopting her as soon as possible," Jarod finished for him with a firm nod.
"Are you married?"
"Engaged to be married." Jarod hesitated slightly. "We will be living in Delaware - and I will be making that move relatively soon, the legalities of the adoption permitting."
"Hmmm," Cochran gave him an assessing gaze, then noted down a few more things on his pad. "Well, Dr. Russell, let me do some research and see if the parental rights on this girl have already been terminated first. I can also get some of the background checks on you and your future wife in the works to expedite things a bit."
He rose and ambled over to his file cabinet and pulled out a folder and sorted several papers from it which he then handed to Jarod. "You can fill these out today and get the ball rolling - you have a number of things to fill out aside from the application to become a foster parent. You'll also see a financial statement, another is permission for a case worker to come to your home to see if it is appropriate to place a child with you. The final one - really one of the more important of them all - is a rather complete and detailed personal history that will require you give an extensive list of personal references, including people who knew you as a child and so on. You should warn anybody you list that they WILL be contacted by Social Services."
Jarod looked down at the sheaf of papers in his hand. "I can do that. When will I know..."
"That depends, my friend, on what your case worker finds in your financial statement and the home inspection - and if there's anything in the personal history statement that needs clarification." Cochran tipped his head. "Is there any kind of rush?"
"Mrs. Thatcher, Ginger's current foster mother, is starting to talk institutionalization in front of the girl - and I'd like to be able to at least have her with me as soon as possible," he answered honestly. "And, like I said, I'm planning to move back to Delaware, where I'm from originally, as soon as I finish things up here - help my partner find someone else to help with the practice, sell my house, and so on..."
Cochran gazed at his new client with a hand slowly rubbing at his chin thoughtfully. "You're aware that this process prefers that the applicants demonstrate a certain measure of stability - a non-bohemian lifestyle..."
"I've had my practice for over four years, I own a home here in town - and my fiancé has been living in the same place in Delaware for over twelve years, and working for the same firm for nearly twenty." Jarod held his head high. "We're not exactly flighty people, Mr. Cochran. As a matter of fact, my fiancé adopted a boy about seven years ago. I would imagine all the information and references for her are still on file in Delaware..."
"Interesting," Cochran noted down that piece of information. "That may help matters in the long run, actually. In the meanwhile, however," he gestured to the desk in front of him, "you're welcome to fill those out here while I make a few telephone calls on your behalf to Child Protective Services."
Jarod scooted his chair forward so that he could begin the long job of filling out the forms.
~~~~~~~~
"So NOW what do we do?"
"We work with what we've got." Andrew Duncan sat in his car overlooking the darkening sea from a small hill between Blue Cove and Dover. He turned to the man in his passenger seat. "We'll need you guys to start immediate surveillance on those two addresses Flores gave us earlier today."
"Do ya think the boss wants pictures and the whole nine yards?"
"I'd imagine what he especially wants is any semblance of a regular schedule of activity," he nodded. "We'll be making our move as soon as we discover all the openings and weaknesses in the setup."
"Not a problem."
"Not so fast," Duncan warned him. "I have a feeling you'll be tripping over Centre staff from headquarters right and left. Don't let them know that they're being watched too - understand?"
"We watch the two places and don't tip off the Centre staff. Anything else?"
"That should do it for now. I expect to hear from you in three days."
"Got it." The dark faced man in the passenger seat looked out the window absently for a while. "When are we supposed to get further instructions?"
"Any time now. You know Flores, if there's a bottle of tequila within a hundred yards, he'll talk to IT first..."
"True..."
Duncan ran his hand over his sandy buzz cut hair thoughtfully and with no small amount of concern. Flores had said that he'd call with further instructions later in the day - it was now nearly dark, and he'd still had no word from his boss. And despite what he'd told his underling, Flores had never been known to start drinking during daylight hours.
Something was wrong.
Chapter 6: Testing Limits
"Hold on, willya? I'm coming, already!" Jarod called toward the front door and whoever it was that was pounding - Ethan, most likely.
"What did I do, drag you out of bed?" the younger Russell grinned at his brother's yawn as the door was unlocked and opened.
"The coffeepot's not even done yet," Jarod growled at him as he closed the door and gestured for his brother to go on into the depths of the house. "And I haven't quite made the switch to Pacific Time yet."
"Poor baby!" Ethan sympathized with no small amount of humor. "What's for breakfast, anyway?"
"Toast and coffee - unless you want to fry yourself an egg, in which case you know where the frying pans are..." Jarod pulled a loaf of bread, butter and jelly from the fridge and hauled it to the table. "You know me - when I don't have any of my favorite sugar-laden..."
"Figures that Mom wouldn't have restocked you with stuff you WANTED," Ethan grinned and went over to the cupboard and extracted two mugs that he then carried over to the coffeepot.
Jarod had two slices of bread into the toaster and was slicing the butter into thin pats that would melt easier. "Em must have had her hands more than full," he commented with a small shake of his head. "I don't remember Mom being so needful..."
"She was still in shock pretty much when you took off," Ethan reminded his older brother. "When she came out of it and found that you'd taken off - not to mention WHERE you'd gone - she darned near flipped out on us. I genuinely thought she'd understood what you'd told her, but evidently everything just slipped through the cracks and was completely forgotten."
"How did Em manage?" Jarod asked, his bread forgotten for the moment.
"She called Jay - he hadn't started his university term yet - and he moved onto her couch for a while and helped her keep an eye on things." Ethan saw that the coffeepot was finished trickling and so poured two mugs of wake-up and carried them over to the table. "Sammy came down with the flu about then, and Mom pitched in to help take care of him - and that kept her contented, more or less, for a while. She was depressed, but she hid it from the rest of them."
"I'm thinking that we need to start thinking about a grief counselor for her," Jarod turned back to the toaster and flipped the two pieces onto a plate, put butter on them to soften, and replaced two more slices of bread into the device. "I mean, I knew Dad would worry about her to me every once in a while, but this..." He waved his hand in front of his face. "But enough of that. Bring me up to date - how's the case load lately?"
"About the same as it was before you ducked out, big bro," Ethan said with a shrug, snatching one of the pieces of toast for his own plate and spreading the softened butter carefully. "I've called in Chuck from Social Services a few times when the emergency calls started to stack up, but for the most part, the parents have been pretty flexible."
"I'm worried about Ginger - that new foster home doesn't seem to be doing her any good." Jarod spread his own butter and then reached for the newly toasted slices and doctored them like before. He slipped the second piece onto Ethan's place without being asked.
"I know - and since that display yesterday, I've been considering calling in Child Protective Services and get her moved to another home before that... woman..." Jarod could see his brother was thinking several other descriptive nouns instead. "...undoes any more of all our hard work."
"Did you file the paperwork getting her case formally assigned to you after I left?"
Ethan nodded. "The Thatcher woman was on me to get my paperwork in order post haste so that she could get reimbursed for the gas." He picked up his coffee and sipped from the mug carefully. "What WAS that all about, that you needed to NOT be the therapist of record for her..."
Jarod's face grew somewhat chagrined. "I've broken one of the first rules of successful counseling," he admitted as he reached for the bottle of jelly. "I fell in love with a patient."
Ethan looked at his older brother, first in shock, then in wary assessment. "Oh, God - here comes another set of gooey eyes..." he quipped, not entirely in fun. "What does my half-sister think of THIS?"
"I haven't told her all of it yet," Jarod admitted. "We had so much else going on, it just never got talked about..."
"You'd better take the time to find out the legalities first, my friend," the younger man cautioned him. "After all, you're intending to be here only long enough to close down your life here, and then you're going to be on the other side of the country. I don't how well the California foster care laws will take such a move with a ward of the state."
"I'm hoping, if Parker will agree, to have moved past a simple foster care situation," Jarod said slowly, speaking his intentions aloud for the first time. "I'm thinking adoption."
"You're crazy!" Ethan shook his head at his brother. "What is so special about that little girl - other than she's cute as a bug's ear and so wounded?"
"She reminds me of all the things that could have gone wrong with either me or Parker - or even you - when we were small like her," Jarod looked up at his brother, his passion for preventing even this mild reminder from going any further burning brightly in his chocolate gaze. "All she needs is a little constancy in her life - and a lot of love. I'd like a chance to give it to her."
"Would you be thinking this way if you WEREN'T heading back to Delaware?" Ethan asked quietly.
Jarod looked at his brother evenly. "I was starting to think this way before I ever left."
"You'd better talk to a lawyer," Ethan advised, then took a bite of toast.
"I intend to," Jarod replied, washing a bite of toast down with a sip of coffee. "But enough about Ginger until I have a few more facts. With me leaving the practice, you need to decide if you want to keep this place going, or if you want to join another existing practice and take your caseload with you."
"What will you do about your patients?"
"I'll be handing out recommendations for new therapists for them," he answered easily, "or hand them over to you, if your load isn't already too heavy for you."
"I can take some of them," Ethan admitted, "but not all of them. Actually, I think putting out the word that I'm looking for a new partner for the practice is the way I want to go. I'm comfortable here. Besides," and Jarod saw his half-brother's eyes begin to twinkle, "I recently met someone..."
"Oh-HOH!" Jarod chortled triumphantly. "NOW who's making with the gooey eyes here?"
"Oh shut up," Ethan grumped at him, then grinned. "Although I can start to appreciate why you get them..."
"Well, are you going to tell me anything about her, or do I have to SIM you?"
Ethan smiled at his brother. "Oh, don't tempt me!" he quipped, then relented. "Her name's Janine, and I met her at the library about a week after you left for Delaware. We've been seeing each other ever since." He popped the rest of his toast in his mouth and chewed.
"Oh, c'mon! You can tell me more than that," Jarod urged with a teasing smile.
"She's cute, intelligent, has a great sense of humor... What more do you need to know?" Ethan asked after he'd downed some more coffee to wash down the toast.
"Looks like the nesting instinct is contagious," Jarod joked, thinking about how he felt about Parker and Davy - and Ginger.
Ethan shot him a thoughtful look. "Enough about me," he waved his hand after another long sip of coffee. "We have some business that needs settling here. So, what do you think - where are we going to advertise for another shrink to take your place?"
Jarod polished off the rest of his coffee and set his mug down on the table with a thump. "I have a few ideas..." He glanced at the kitchen clock. "I can run a few of them past you now, before we both have to start running - and maybe we can review and look at the others over lunch?"
Ethan nodded and sat forward to lean his chin into his hands and listen.
~~~~~~~~
Stewart Berringer frowned as the telephone on his nightstand began to ring just as he was reaching for his hotel doorknob. He lifted his hand to glance at his watch, then hurried to pick up the receiver. "Berringer here..."
"It's Eddie," came the broad voice of his friend and associate. "I'm back in Vegas, and just finished a meeting with the old man. I have your answer for you and that Flores guy."
Berringer blinked. "That was quick," he commented in honest surprise. "I figured we wouldn't hear from you for..."
"Yeah, well, I didn't want to sit on this one," Santini told him, looking up and at Antonio Torzulo, the capo of the Torzulo family syndicate and his boss, as the elderly man listened with care to the phone call on the speakerphone.
"Well, then, what's it to be?" Berringer's voice was schooled to careful neutrality.
"Mr. Torzulo wants no part in what your Mr. Flores was suggesting," Santini told his associate with a shrug. "Considering the contacts your parent organization has with federal law enforcement and in the various legislatures, participating in anything remotely resembling the coup you presented would be taking too much of a risk for us." Santini saw his boss nod in satisfaction. "We will continue in our current association with you, Stu, but that will be it for the time being."
"Damn," Berringer swore softly then recovered. "Thanks for calling, Eddie, and I appreciate the hearing you gave us."
"Don't mention it," Santini sighed in relief. The job of letting his friend down was now finished. "Keep in touch, OK?"
"I will." Berringer hung up the phone and sat down on the edge of the bed, suddenly very tired.
Flores was going to hit the roof, he just knew it. And very quiet, personal contacts with several of the other supervisors who had nodded agreement with him during that first meeting had yielded few willing co-conspirators. Miss Parker had met with several of them already, and was presenting a completely new and possibly profitable framework for Centre operations from now on - and many were tired of having to worry about discovery and possible jail time for the things they'd been overseeing.
To be honest, he had enjoyed the adrenaline rush of some of the more exciting projects that had passed over his desk through the years of the Raines administration. But running a covert operation designed to destabilize his own meal-ticket was beginning to lose its appeal - especially with the font of allies drying up right before his eyes. What was worse, having a loose cannon like Flores capable of setting off all kinds of unfortunate fireworks made the success of such a scheme questionable in the first place.
He sighed, got back to his feet and headed back toward the door. Miss Parker, or one of her minions, had called another general meeting of the satellite supervisors over lunch again. He had an hour to get to the Centre annex conference room.
There was a twenty-five minute drive from Dover to the Centre. Berringer decided that he'd use that time to assess the wisdom of continuing to work with Flores, or of stepping back and into line with the new policies - or mapping his own strategy to the Chairman's office. After all, he thought with narrowed eyes, he'd been a supervisor longer than Flores had...
~~~~~~~~
Sydney poured himself another mug of hot water, then dropped in the tea bag and dunked it time and again until the contents were drenched and stayed put. He looked out across the yard outside his kitchen window to where Davy's legs once more dangled below the wooden platform that was the floor of the tree house in his old oak tree. Miss Parker had given him a tight hug that morning when she'd dropped off the boy, along with a "you haven't lost your touch, it seems," accompanied by a knowing smile.
"Thank God it's not a touch I need very often," he had replied as he'd returned the hug. "Jarod called last night, and when I told him what had happened, he accused me of having a “nice, quiet Inquisitor's voice” and a “lethal bad guy/good guy” routine."
That had gotten her chuckling. "That's actually not a bad description," she had agreed heartily. "And I can see how effective it was. I don't think he's been quite that helpful and apologetic before."
He had gestured toward his coffee maker. "Do you have time for a cup of coffee?"
She had shaken her head. "I wish, Syd, but I have an eight-thirty with Sam and Tyler and a nine o'clock with the construction people again."
"Problems?"
"No, I'm hoping I'll get an update on how soon we can get into the sublevels." She had sighed. "I want to get those archives up into the light of day."
"Oh, that reminds me." Sydney had let her go and reached toward the floor for the briefcase Jarod had left for him. "I've been through these now - and they're sorted into "keep", "shelve" and "toss" envelopes." He had shaken his head. "I think I deliberately tried to forget just how close my department would skate to the line between the ethical and unethical before. Some of this I was MORE than glad to put an end to."
She had taken the briefcase and then leaned in for another quick hug before taking off for work. Davy had taken to the tree house when Kevin seemed more interested in whatever it was that he was searching on the Internet than he was in a rematch on the video game.
And now Sydney stood in a kitchen feeling frustrated. For the past few days, he'd felt at least a little bit useful as he'd pored carefully and deeply into each and every project his department had been involved in. He might have been working at his own kitchen table, but he'd been assisting in the reorganization effort. Now, with the Psychogenics Department projects list duly sorted and prioritized, he was at loose ends again.
He sipped at his tea without tasting it, cursing the ever-present ache in his side that was all that was left of the agony of the bullet wound. He hated being forced to sit on the sidelines. He let his tea mug hit the counter again with a thud - damned if he was going to be put COMPLETELY on the sidelines!
He reached for the telephone and dialed. "Good morning, Kate, this is Sydney..." He smiled at the surprise in the voice of his personal assistant. "No, no, I'm still at home. The doctor hasn't released me to come back yet. I'm just getting bored and wanted to know how things are going there. Any fires burning anywhere?"
He reached for the mug now with the other hand and leaned carefully into the counter as his assistant began bringing him up to speed on matters that had essentially been piling up since he'd been hurt.
~~~~~~~~
Jarod poked his head from his office door. "Give me a few minutes before sending the next patient back, Cindy, OK? I have a telephone call I want to make."
"Sure thing, Doctor Jarod," the receptionist chimed, swinging her head and making the golden beads clatter softly together.
The Pretender went back to his desk and flipped through his Rolodex until he reached the card he wanted and then dialed. "Law offices of Gerald Cochran," came the efficient voice on the other end of the line.
"This is Dr. Jarod Russell. I'm wondering if I could make an appointment to see Mr. Cochran sometime today or tomorrow." He took a deep breath. Time to put this process into motion.
"And this would be regarding?"
"I am looking to adopt a little girl currently in foster care," Jarod told the woman quickly. "I would like some advice and assistance."
"We have an opening this afternoon at around four," she informed him after a short pause. "Will that be satisfactory?"
Jarod noted the time. "I'll be there," he agreed and hung up. Then he rose and walked out of the office and to the desk. "Do I have anything after three- thirty?"
Cindy ran her manicured finger down the appointment page. "Nope. Ethan has a four o'clock, but your book is clear after your three o'clock finishes."
"Good." Jarod smiled. "I'll be out of the office then after three-thirty and for the rest of the day."
"Gotcha." Cindy used a marker and drew a line through Jarod's appointments for the day after his last one. "Anything else?"
"Pamela here yet?"
"Nope."
"I'll be in my office," he told her and headed for the coffee maker, took down the cup that had been his for as long as the office had been open, quickly rinsed it in the sink, filled it with coffee, then retreated into his sanctum. He'd call Parker after he'd spoken to the lawyer - that would be the best way.
~~~~~~~~
Berringer jerked his head towards the sidelines of the group, and Flores left his conversation with Bennet from New Orleans to join his friend. "What's up?"
"I heard from Santini," Berringer said softly, and then noted how Flores' eyes began to glow.
"And..."
He shook his head. "Not interested. Old man Torzulo wants no part of it."
"SHIT!" Flores burst out, drawing quite a bit of startled attention to himself as his face grew increasingly red.
"For God's sake, Gil," Berringer hissed, grabbing his associate's arm in a painful grip and pulling the man just a little further away from the group. "Control yourself before you have Miss Parker's goons landing on you for your tantrum right here."
"Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit!" Flores spat in a bitter whisper. "What excuse?"
"Too much risk, considering the contacts the parent organization has with those the Torzulos want no truck with," Berringer growled. "What the hell did you think would be the reason?"
Flores spun away from his associate in fury, then twisted back just as fast. "Damned cowards..."
"Shut up, will you?" Berringer reached out and jerked Flores back and forth painfully.
Flores looked Berringer up and down derisively. "What IS this - you afraid of the bitch and her watchdogs?"
Berringer stared at the Hispanic. "You're damned right I am - and if you were in your right mind, you would be too."
"Fuck you," the LA supervisor spat very softly and with careful fingers peeled Berringer's hand from his arm. "I'll do this myself then."
"Gil," Berringer shook his head. "You're being an ass and a jerk - and you're going to screw up."
"Gentlemen," both men heard announced from behind them, "this way. The meeting will start in five minutes. Please take your places..."
"Like I said, fuck you," Flores glared at Berringer with undisguised loathing. "You haven't got any more balls than your Torzulo bitches do. Stand back and watch how a REAL man con cojones does things!" He straightened his jacket and tie and stalked away toward the conference room, pulling his cell phone from his pocket, connecting with someone and talking in a low but forceful tone. From the looks of things, he was issuing orders, but the Nevadan couldn't be sure.
Berringer sighed and looked around the room, his eyes briefly contacting those of a somber-faced man standing a distance away from him against a wall - a man who seemed very familiar for some unknown reason. With a vague frown as he tried to remember where he'd seen the fellow before, and not all that long ago, Berringer followed his irate companion towards the conference room and the meeting to follow.
Miss Parker was already there - as were her two faithful watchdogs and their assorted husky assistants placed strategically about the perimeter of the room as before. There was a hushed sense of expectation through the gathered men as they settled into the chairs behind their name cards and turned their attention to the woman at the head of the long table. She continued to sort through her papers for a moment after the group had finally grown silent, knowing that doing so would throw just the slightest sense of imbalance into the situation. Finally, arranging her papers carefully in front of her, she stood.
"This meeting has been called in order to address a growing problem. It seems that there have been a number of you who weren't too terribly happy about the instructions you received the last time you were here." Storm-cloud grey sought out and skewered Stewart Berringer and Gilbert Flores, although only the former bothered to squirm. She then shifted her gaze to several of the silent ones who had supported the vocal Flores during the last meeting, all of whom suddenly found reason to look down at the table in front of them. "Yes, I see most of you know exactly whom I'm talking about."
Now she let her eyes sweep the room, making contact with each and every man seated at the table. "I may have promised a “kinder, gentler” Centre, but it would be extremely unwise for any of you to forget that I grew up and was groomed for this Chair under some of its most forceful and totalitarian leadership. The fact is, gentlemen," and she leaned forward and put her hands on the table, "I SURVIVED those administrations with my wits, health and power base intact. The fact is, gentlemen, that out of all of you, the Triumverate chose ME to take this Chair."
She straightened. "So let me repeat myself, in case you didn't believe my instructions the first time you heard them. All the contracts currently in force will be executed as agreed, regardless of client - but there will be NO negotiating new contracts with the Yakuza, the mob, or the Triumverate. Our government contracts will not be anything less than Congressionally approved - no more black ops projects. We will cease to use illegal activities ourselves as of immediately - if a contract requires it, then the one committing the illegal act will be from the contracting agency, NOT Centre personnel. Am I absolutely, completely crystal clear?" She stared around the room, daring any to speak up in opposition to her.
Flores was glaring at her, silent but challenging her nonetheless. Berringer, on the other hand, was looking at the table in front of him. Somehow, she wasn't that surprised. Sam had told her that Berringer was beginning to get a clue as to just how much an agent of chaos Flores was proving - it looked as if Las Vegas was having second thoughts about being a part of whatever had been in the works.
She took another deep breath and looked down at her papers. "I realize that I haven't completed all the interviews yet, but there are a few announcements that need to be made at this time." She picked up the paper. "The following people will be escorted from this room by a security team: Bennett from New Orleans, Chandler from Miami, Hudson from Seattle, Berringer from Las Vegas, Jergenson from Chicago and Flores from Los Angeles. Gentlemen, if you will go with these sweepers..."
Sam had opened the conference room doors to let a team of over a dozen sweepers into the room. Each pair bracketed one of the named gentlemen and waited for them to rise. One sweeper immediately frisked the supervisor, and then with both arms firmly in hand, the supervisors were removed from the room.
"What was that all about?" demanded Bryce from New York.
Miss Parker raised her finger to delay her answer as yet another sweeper slipped into the room and reported directly to Sam - knowing that whatever he was hearing was important. She bent toward her Security Chief. "What is it?" she whispered to him.
"The tap on Flores' cell phone that we JUST put in place just gave us our first real piece of evidence against him," Sam frowned. "He called Andrew Duncan from just outside this room and told him, and here I quote, “Do it.” Just what he was telling him to do is anybody's guess at this point - we didn't catch onto the cell phone trick until just this morning."
"Where's Duncan?"
Sam shook his head. "We haven't been able to locate him."
"Damn!" Miss Parker sighed deeply. "Find him," she ordered vehemently, then turned back to her meeting while Sam rose and quickly exited the room.
"You want to know what that was all about," she repeated for all still present, and watched several heads nod.
"Tyler, why don't you explain to the folks here why we just segregated six of our quote/unquote “best” supervisors..."
Tyler rose as Miss Parker resumed her seat. "Many of you heard Mr. Flores and Mr. Berringer's disputing the new direction the Chairman is going to take the Centre," he began. "What most of you don't know, however, is that they attempted to solicit outside help to destabilize the organization to the point that they could wrest control of the Centre from Miss Parker."
Several exchanged sharp glances. "Yes, Mr. Pence," Tyler said, nailing one of those gentlemen, the supervisor of Albuquerque, by name, "we're also aware that several of you had shown at least initial interest in what Mr. Flores was proposing - that you were not thrilled with upsetting the status quo. The only reason you are still sitting here and not pinned between another pair of sweepers in a room elsewhere, however, is because you and others like you saw the drawbacks to such an attempt and ultimately refused to be a part of it. A couple of you," and here Tyler's eyes sought out a couple more of the group, "actually attempted to report the conspiracy. Your reward for your loyalty is that you will be continuing in your jobs. The gentlemen no longer with us will not be."
"What will happen to them?" came a voice from somewhere.
"While you gentlemen are here with us," Miss Parker answered in a quiet voice that all strained to hear, "the others are being taken elsewhere while sweepers will be going through and removing all Centre property from their possession at their hotel. They will then be held incommunicado until after I receive a call from the FBI regarding a raid on the Los Angeles satellite office and other California facilities. Since Mr. Flores was the principle mover behind the conspiracy, it stands to reason to have his base of operations scrutinized first."
"You called in the feds?!" Bryce was shocked.
"Absolutely," Miss Parker shrugged. "Earlier this morning I handed over to the FBI all the evidence I had collected in the past few days linking Mr. Flores specifically, and a few of the others by implication, with organized crime across the country. I explained that I was trying to clean house, as it were, and asked for their assistance. The special agent in charge that I spoke to was most gracious in offering the resources of the FBI." She smiled - after several tense and unproductive interviews with Mr. Gillespie since the bomb blast, it had been a real pleasure to turn over something substancial to the man.
"What about us?" another asked quietly.
"You will all be returning to your stations within a day or so," Tyler assured them. "You will find, of course, that the major number of your ancillary personnel has been changed - sweepers and secretaries have been replaced with those from the head office here in Blue Cove - but you will otherwise continue in the jobs you've been performing all along."
The silence from the men at the table was profound. Miss Parker's answer to the challenge to her authority had been brazen and straightforward, consistent with the way she had stated she intended the Centre to run from now on. Amid the brooding astonishment were more than a few beginning smiles of satisfaction - and Parker gave Tyler a nod and a look for him to note down THOSE names this time. Loyalty was going to have it's rewards in this administration as well.
"And now, gentlemen, I have some information I would like to share with you. Our overseas remote attendees should be receiving a fax transmission about now, and we will adjourn until all copies of the report and document being transmitted has been received in all stations." Miss Parker smiled at her supervisors. "Tyler, please pass out the proposals regarding financial reorganization and stock issuance. Gentlemen, we will take a fifteen minute break for you to scan through the documents in front of you, and then our meeting will proceed to the more important matters before us."
~~~~~~~~
Sam scowled. "I don't care if you need four men - I know that Andrew Duncan didn't come to Blue Cove with his boss, so he's somewhere between LA and here. I want him found, and I don't want to hear any excuses. Just Do It."
He put the telephone back on the cradle with extra care. Something told him that NOW was not the time to be losing his temper. He had a bad feeling about the phone call Flores had made, and he wanted Duncan where he could keep an eye on him. There WAS one person who knew where Duncan was, however. Sam began to smile coldly. It was about time that bastard started to appreciate the forces he'd set in motion.
With a crook of a finger, the Security Chief had four more burly assistants in tow as he headed for the annex building next door to which the newly fired supervisors had been taken. It had been used as a dormitory at one time, ideal for temporary security accommodations. Each man had been assigned a room and summarily installed after a thorough search and removal of all possessions other than basic clothing.
He stopped at the desk at the end of the corridor to check on the room assignments, and then stalked with his security team down to the end of the hall and threw the door open.
"What the hell do YOU want?" Flores asked from the cot, where he sat slumped against the wall, one foot propped up in front of him, the other stretched out straight in front of him.
Sam gestured, and two of the sweepers descended on the prisoner and hauled him roughly to his feet to face him. He walked slowly into the room and then bent down very obviously to look the Hispanic in the face, emphasizing the vast difference in both height and bulk. "You made a call a little earlier," he said in a quiet and very patient-sounding voice. "You called Andrew Duncan."
"Big fat hairy deal," Flores spat. "He works for me. Calling my assistant is a crime?"
"When you tell the man to “do it,” you make me nervous," Sam continued in his tame and patient voice. "So maybe you might find it to your advantage to tell me what it was that you ordered Duncan to “do” - and where he is right now."
"Fuck you," Flores hissed in the same voice he'd used to curse Berringer with identical words. "I ain't telling you shit."
Sam nodded to the other two sweepers. "Take it all out, gentlemen." At his word, the sweepers immediately set to work stripping the room of all its furnishings. Then one sweeper pulled a strap with a wire antenna from his pocket and bent in front of Flores and wrapped the strap tightly about the man's ankle - then drenched the top of the velcro with Super Glue and held it in place until the glue was fast.
Once that was accomplished, the Security Chief turned back to the rebellious supervisor. "Very well. You will stand until you decide to talk. You will not sit on the floor, you will not lean against the wall. This device," Sam pulled a small controller from his pocket, "will administer a very small and painful shock every time you attempt to rest." He then pointed to the one-way window. "My men will be observing you from now on from there - and administering shocks as needed. When you're ready to talk, all you'll have to do is raise one finger like this..." He demonstrated. "Once we have Duncan in custody, you'll be allowed to rest."
"So much for the Centre not engaging in illegal activities..." Flores taunted bitterly.
Sam shrugged. "I trained under Mr. Parker, Mr. Flores, but I am Miss Parker's loyal man. You threaten her and what she's trying to accomplish - and provided that whatever I do to you leaves little or no mark, she's willing to let me use my imagination to get the job done." He smiled very coldly at the Californian. "Allow me demonstrate what is in store for you should you try to remove the strap or rest in any way." He pushed the little red button briefly, and Flores jumped with a shocked squeak as the muscles in his leg cramped - hard.
"I will see you later, sir," Sam told the supervisor and then, with a nod of his head, cleared the room of everyone but the prisoner. "Here," he handed the controller to his own assistant, who was one of the sweepers he'd called. "You heard the terms - make sure he gets no rest until he tells us what we want to know."
"Yes, sir," the man said, then sat down in his chair and trained his eyes on the man behind the glass who was pacing.
Sam watched the tableau for a moment, then headed back for the administrative annex to report on his actions. Hopefully Miss Parker wouldn't be too shocked by the measures he'd taken - and if she was, hopefully he could communicate his fears well enough to make her understand their necessity. And finally, hopefully, Flores would prove to be easily broken.
He really didn't want to think of the possibilities if the man stayed stubbornly mute.
~~~~~~~~
Deb waved jauntily to Curt in his car and walked happily toward the front door of Sydney's home, swinging the bag of lunch ingredients back and forth with her gait. Her entire morning had been buoyed by the thought of her dinner plans with Tyler, and her trip to Dover that afternoon would include a shopping excursion for a new and slightly dressier top for dinner at a steak house. "Hi!" she called out into the house as she pushed through the front door.
"Hey there!" Kevin greeted her with a happy smile. "How was work today?"
"Incredible," Deb grinned even wider, and then saw her grandfather rise from an easy chair in the living room after putting down the psychiatric journal he'd been digesting. She walked to him quickly and gave him a quick and tight hug that brought the greying eyebrows up.
"You're in a good mood, ma petite," Sydney smiled. It was the first time that he'd seen that bounce and sparkle in her since her father had been injured. "Something interesting happen today?"
"Yeah," Deb grinned and sashayed with her groceries now towards the kitchen. "I'm going out this evening."
"Indeed?" Sydney followed her curiously without failing to note the sudden expression of wary apprehension crossing Kevin's face. "With whom?"
"Tyler," she answered easily, dropping her purse and keys on the kitchen table and putting the bags on the counter. "He came in for coffee this morning and asked if I would like to go to a steak house with him for dinner. I told him yes."
"So you're not visiting your father until later today?" Sydney asked, watching Kevin's face fold into outright indignation.
"Uh-unh. I'm going in as usual - then doing a little shopping and coming straight home. Tyler said he wants to do the driving this evening." Deb opened the new loaf of sandwich bread and set out six pairs of slices to be made into lunch - knowing that Curt, if not his colleague Don, were starting to know that she'd make them something for lunch too. "What do you want on your sandwich, Kevin?"
"I'm not hungry," the younger Pretender growled and stomped off toward the den and his still fruitless search for any signs on the Internet of where to begin looking for his family.
Deb stared after him, startled by his belligerent tone, then turned to Sydney. "What did I do?"
The older man moved to put a fond arm around his granddaughter. "You accepted an invitation to dinner with Tyler," he informed her in a tone that clearly told her that he knew she already understood this.
"So?" she asked rebelliously, twisting off the top of the mayonnaise jar with restrained frustration. "Is there something that says I CAN'T go out with Tyler?"
"Of course not. But Deborah, you know that Kevin feels... quite strongly... for you." Sydney hoped that his using her formal name would give her cause to pause.
She sighed. "I know," she admitted reluctantly, training her gaze carefully on her task of spreading mayonnaise on the bread. "It's just that... He doesn't own me, ya know?"
"I know," he squeezed her shoulder and then let her go. "But you can expect some of this, cheri. He's jealous, and won't know how to deal with it for a while yet. He doesn't even understand his own emotions - just dealing with girls at all is new to him, remember?"
"I know," she sighed again. "But I just can't limit my life to what HE'D want..."
"You don't need to limit your life, ma petite," he told her gently. "Neither your father nor I expect you to. Don't you dare start to feel guilty for wanting to lead your own life. If you were at Amherst, like you'd planned, this wouldn't even be an issue, now, would it?" He watched her shake her head slowly. "There you go, then. Kevin needs to learn how this part of social interaction works too - and this will probably be one of the less pleasant lessons he has to master. He will have to learn to appreciate what he has, and how clinging too tightly can drive a person farther away rather than bring them closer. And until he does, you'll have to just shrug off little scenes like this one." He watched her work over the sandwiches again for a bit. "Kevin likes mayonnaise, and I like mayonnaise and a little mustard. You make the sandwich for him, I'll get him to eat."
"Where's Davy?"
"Out in the tree house again. I'll go call him for lunch - you just take care of stuff in here."
"Grandpa?" Sydney halted and turned toward her expectantly. "Thanks."
He simply smiled at her and kept going toward the arcadia doors. He doubted he'd have to use any bluff to get his grandson out of the tree today, which was a good thing. Every morning he knew that he was feeling better - but he still was in no shape to climb trees.
~~~~~~~~
Margaret found her regular seat on a bench beneath a tall eucalyptus tree that was close enough to the little neighborhood park's play equipment area that she could keep an eye on Sammy while still giving him a little distance and the illusion of liberty. She sighed and cast an eye over her shoulder at the red tiled roof that was just visible behind the shrubbery and trees that surrounded Jarod's property, and then turned back to keeping a casual eye on her grandson.
She just couldn't understand her oldest at all - and now that inability of hers was starting to become an obstacle between her and her daughter. She and Emily had had a very heated discussion about the proper role of parents as their children grew older and more self-sufficient. When she tried to use Jarod as an example, a near-argument had happened. She was amazed and more than a little concerned to discover that her daughter reluctantly supported Jarod in his plans to return to Delaware. Worse, Em had been willing to defend her older brother's right to choose his path - even if it meant returning to the Centre and that Parker woman who had hunted him from one end of the country to the other.
As she watched, Sammy climbed to the pinnacle of the tallest slide and called to his grandmother to watch his act of bravery in sliding down the twisting plastic slide on his stomach. Without warning, she found herself wondering about this new grandson of hers - Davy. He'd sounded very sweet and polite when she'd spoken to him on the telephone, just a little shy and hesitant but brave enough to want to make contact. Another innocent life that tied her to that damned place in Delaware. She tried to summon resentment against the boy, but failed miserably.
He was her flesh, her blood - Jarod's son, a son he loved dearly enough to abandon the life he'd worked so hard to build to be with. On one level, she understood him completely - and this understanding was probably the most painful part of her suffering. She herself would have done anything to be with her children, and Jarod had moved heaven and earth to put their family together again once they'd all been found. She knew how she felt when she'd been introduced to Charles' son by Catherine - another child never meant to be in the first place - and how her love for the young man had grown quickly despite his upbringing. Jarod was so much like her in that respect.
"Hi, Mom."
Margaret turned and smiled at her youngest - which was the way she thought of Jay. He was as much her son as Jarod was, so like his brother in some ways and so dislike in so many others. "No school today?"
"The new term doesn't start until next Tuesday," Jay reminded her for at least the third time in three days. "You folks are stuck with me until Sunday night." He watched his mother nod, accepting the information with no guarantee that it would remain in memory very long and then turn her gaze back to Sammy as the little boy swung expertly from first one handhold to the next. "Penny for your thoughts..."
"Mmmm," she responded at first, marshalling her scattered thoughts. "Just thinking about Jarod and his plans..."
"Thought so," he commented dryly, then sat down next to her to watch Sammy with her. "I never thought I'd see the day."
"Me either," Margaret agreed, shoving the understanding she'd just been wrestling with to the back of her mind and summoning the frustration at thinking that Parker woman had more influence with her son than SHE did. "To just walk away from his family..."
"Well..." Even Jay wasn't that blind. "He DID say that he and Miss Parker have a little boy together..."
"Still..."
"I know..." He sat quietly next to her for a long moment, knowing that she was feeling very conflicted. "What are you going to do?" he asked her finally.
She shrugged. "I don't know, Jay. I'd like to take hold of him and shake some sense into him - but I'm starting to think that the more I complain, the more I'm driving him away."
"That makes sense," he agreed in a soft tone. "I talked to Em this morning too, you know. She told me some things..." He sighed. If he were to tell his mother all that Em had spilled into his ear that morning, he knew he'd hurt her - and right now, she didn't need that extra burden.
"I don't want to lose my son again," she said very softly, a tear swimming in her brilliant cerulean eyes.
"I know, Mom," he sympathized and put his arm around her shoulder to draw her close. "I know you don't want to lose him to the Centre again - but this time, I don't know if you're going to be able to protect him. He WANTS to go and be with them there. I think we're going to have to trust him when he says that the Centre isn't the same as it used to be."
Margaret closed her eyes and leaned against her youngest son's shoulder. Jay looked and sounded so much like Jarod now that only the differences in their tastes in clothing and personal grooming habits gave clues as to just which man one was speaking. But she knew both of them now - and subtle body movements and gestures were as clear to her as the fact that one wore a beard and the other didn't was to others. "You won't ever want to go back there, will you?" she asked him suddenly, as if out of the blue.
"Don't be ridiculous!" Jay burst out and shook his head vehemently. "My home is here, with you and Em - and with Ethan, even though he is HER half-brother too."
"I want to hate her for stealing him away from me again," Margaret sighed and straightened, her eyes seeking out and finding Sammy now swinging strongly, "I really do."
"I know you do, Mom," he consoled her. "It's understandable." He closed his eyes and saw again the pretty lady who had come into his cell at Donoterase and been so kind and comforting to him - and tried to summon forth any antagonism toward her. As much as he tried, he simply couldn't do it.
Even for him, Miss Parker didn't represent the evil of the Centre - and never would. She was a victim of it, just as he and Jarod and Ethan had been, if what Jarod had told them about how their son had come into being was true. He could harden his mind against Sydney - with difficulty - he HAD been a much kinder, milder mentor than Raines had been. Jarod kept reassuring him that Sydney had played an active role in freeing him from the Centre originally, all but blackmailing Mr. Parker to put HIM in charge of the project in order to help Jarod free him. But all Jay could remember when it came to Sydney was that the older psychiatrist had been quite obviously cooperating with the balding ghoul. He could forgive, but he couldn't forget.
"He's MY son, dammit!"
"I know, Mom..."
~~~~~~~~
Kevin looked up as Sydney carried his sandwich on a plate into the den and put it down next to the computer keyboard, then turned his eyes deliberately back to the monitor screen. "I'm not hungry," he grumbled again without looking at the mentor again.
"Kevin, you need to eat," the older man urged at him gently. "Not eating isn't going to solve your problem."
"She shouldn't..." the younger Pretender started, then glowered.
"Why not?" Sydney asked him quietly, moving to the easy chair not far from the desk and parking himself on the edge of the seat.
"Because!" Kevin burst out angrily. "I was... She..." He stuttered to silence and looked at Sydney guiltily. "I was thinking... we..." He looked down. "She let me... hold her... once..."
"And you think that means that she's decided to settle down with you? Is that it?" the older man probed without much surprise.
Kevin glanced at Sydney again. "Well, Jarod said that Miss Parker was the first girl HE ever met, and the two of them..."
Sydney smiled sadly. "Kevin, it took Jarod and Miss Parker over twenty years to finally make a go of their relationship. For seven years before this latest, we didn't even know where he was - and for five years before that, Miss Parker was actively working to find and bring Jarod back to the Centre. They were barely friends for a very long time."
"Yeah, but..."
"No," he shook his head. "Their situation is quite different from yours. Jarod and Miss Parker were good friends as children, then very much at odds as adults - and it was only when they discovered that Davy was really their son that they tried to put things together again. You and Deb have only known each other a few weeks - she likes you, but you don't have the proper foundation built for anything more than just a friendship yet."
"But..." Kevin struggled to put his feelings into words. "When I'm with her, I feel... so good... And I thought..."
"I know you do, son," Sydney commiserated with the young man. "Some ladies can make a man feel like he can fly." His voice got a distant quality that told the younger man that the mentor was remembering from his own past. "But that doesn't mean that she's going to stay with you forever. Things happen..."
"I thought when Deb decided not to go away to school that... I'd have a chance to get to know her better..."
Sydney pulled his mind from memories of Michelle and the love they had shared all those many years ago and back to his newest protégé's naivete. "Nothing in her going out to dinner with Tyler is going to stand in the way of that, you know."
Kevin looked down at his hands laying still on the keyboard. "I'm just afraid that... she'll stop wanting to spend time with me - that..."
"That she'll choose him over you?" Sydney finished the statement as a question, then watched the sandy head nod slowly and sadly. "Kevin, she knows Tyler even less than she knows you. And it IS only a dinner date. Would you take away her right to have friends of her own - take away her freedom to choose her own friends?"
"No, but..."
"If not, then you have to give her the space to make her own decisions." Sydney's voice was gentle but firm. "If you try to hold her too tightly, you will drive her away from you. Just as the way the Centre held onto you eventually drove you to seek YOUR freedom elsewhere."
Kevin's clear blue eyes connected with Sydney's warm chestnut, and the young man knew that the older man knew intimately of what he spoke. "I don't want to lose her."
"You won't," the psychiatrist soothed, "at least, not for a very long time yet. And by then, if you do, you'll know WHY. Take life one day at a time, let things follow their own path, and don't borrow trouble."
"Borrow trouble?" Kevin's brows furled. "I don't understand."
Sydney gave a cross between a sigh and a chuckle. "You're worrying about something that hasn't even happened yet - and something which you don't even know when or if it ever will happen. That's what's meant by 'borrowing trouble.'"
"Oh." The younger man studied his hands again for a long moment. "Then I shouldn't feel so badly..."
"I seriously doubt that one can just turn jealousy off like a water faucet, Kevin," the psychiatrist said kindly.
"Jealousy? Is THAT what this is?" The blue eyes gazed into his sharply.
Sydney nodded. "That's EXACTLY what this is."
The young face folded into a frown. "I don't think I like it."
Sydney stood and put a gentle hand on the seated lad's shoulders. "Nobody does, Kevin. I promise you."
~~~~~~~~
Special Agent in Charge Thomas Gillespie sat back in his chair from his perusal of the many photos and reports that the evasive and previously uninformative Miss Parker had suddenly handed over to him. He had been surprised to receive her call, and even more surprised to find her asking him to meet with her in her office. He had all but given up getting anything resembling a straight answer from the Centre hierarchy.
"My people have uncovered something that we decided would be best handled by letting your people deal with it," she had said after gesturing him to a seat in her almost Spartan office. "The Centre has had a certain... reputation..." she suggested uneasily.
"For being willing to work both sides of the street?" he'd filled in for her sharply, earning himself a startled stare from those glorious grey eyes of hers.
"Something like that," she'd admitted then, and then pushed a very fat and ungainly file folder across her desk toward him. "My intent in taking over this job is to alter that reputation substantially. In particular, to eliminate the instances of “working the other side of the street,” as you so eloquently put it."
He had simply let the folder sit untouched on the desk for the time being. "Why?" he'd asked simply. "The previous policy has made the Centre a power to be reckoned with in Washington. Why change stripes now, Miss Parker?"
Storm-cloud grey had stared pointedly into his as if attempting to penetrate his thoughts. Then she had nodded as if coming to a decision. "Because I grew up under that previous policy, Mr. Gillespie, and watched it do immeasurable harm without a single qualm - and I won't be a part of that kind of attitude anymore."
"And this," he had gestured to the overstuffed folder, "is your way of beginning to turn that around?"
She had simply looked at him without responding, her silence telling him that she had neither the time nor the patience for stupid questions. Gillespie had sat forward slowly and pulled the folder into his grasp. "What's in here?" he had asked finally.
"Evidence regarding the open and blatant collaboration of one of my satellite supervisors with various organized crime syndicates. I would imagine that there's enough there in that folder to convince a judge to issue a warrant to search the Centre's LA offices - and enough there to make a serious dent in illegal activities across the board." She had held his gaze firmly with hers.
Even so, he had frowned. "Let me get this straight, Miss Parker," he had tipped his head to one side thoughtfully, "you WANT us to raid your LA offices?"
"What I want or don't want is irrelevant," she had waved her hand in a dismissive gesture. "You will do what you feel is best with the evidence, I'd hope - AND I'd also hope you will remember that it was I who brought this information to your attention. My office will cooperate with your people completely from here on out."
He'd kept his frown - getting the vaguest impression that she had an underlying agenda in handing over what amounted to an incredible number of skeletons from the Centre's closet. And now that he'd had a chance to browse through the photos and transcripts of recordings, he knew she'd been correct in saying there was more than enough information here to convince even the most hidebound judge to issue a search warrant for the LA office of the Centre.
There was no question of his next move. He leaned forward and punched a button. "Sarah, get me the DC office and connect me with the Director's office. NOW."
Centre bombing nothing. What Miss Parker had handed him held the potential to make his career in the FBI skyrocket. He felt used, but decided that he could live with the feeling - provided that enough bad guys went down for this. Any maybe, NOW, he could use his better position with her to get straight answers about the bombing.
~~~~~~~~
"Sam?"
The ex-sweeper looked up from his paperwork and then waved Miss Parker into his office. "How'd it go after I took the rotten apples away?"
She slouched into the chair in front of his desk. "Better than I thought it would, actually. The idea that issuing part of the stock directly to the supervisors as an incentive package to make the Centre remain profitable was inspired." She ran her fingers through her hair and dragged it back from her face. "How goes it with our mutineers?"
"I've got teams going through their hotel rooms as we speak - haven't heard back from any of them. Most everybody is sitting tight in their individual little boxes and sweating out what will be found." Sam took a deep breath. "Flores, however, we're pushing - hard."
"What do you mean?" she asked, sitting forward with increased attention.
"I mean we're using psychological and physical “enticements” to convince him to spill what the subject of his phone call was - and the location of Andrew Duncan." Sam watched her face carefully.
Miss Parker blinked, then looked directly into his eyes. "What kind of “psychological and physical enticements” are we talking about here?"
"Electro-shock therapy to keep him on his feet until he talks," he answered her bluntly. "I have a bad feeling about what he set in motion with that phone call, and I want to get to the bottom of it as soon as possible."
"The shock therapy will leave marks," she reminded him in a soft voice.
"Very small ones - the electrodes are placed just in the right place to make the calf muscle cramp hard. Every time Flores tries to rest against a wall, or sit on the floor, he'll get a shock." Miss Parker stared at her friend and colleague for a long moment, and Sam just gazed back at her. "We need to know, and we need to know NOW - before the feds demand custody of him. We don't have time to be nicey-nice. I doubt he'd hesitate to use the same tactics on us if he thought he could get away with it."
"I wish..." she started with a slight frown.
"I do too, Miss Parker," Sam assured her vehemently. "But wishes ain't horses, as the poet said."
She sighed very deeply and rose to her feet. "Keep me informed," she said finally. "And as soon as he spills..."
"He'll be treated well, I promise." Sam finished her statement for her, aware that his feet were crossed beneath the desk and finding the fact disquieting.
~~~~~~~~
Ikeda sighed as he walked down the narrow steps from the commuter jet to the asphalt of the Dover airport. He straightened the strap of his duffel bag on his shoulder and walked steadily and without hesitation through the gate and toward the front of the terminal, where he knew a few taxis loitered in hopes of a fare. In a tired voice he told the cabby, "Dover Regency" in what he hoped was intelligible English and then settled back into the less than comfortable back seat and watched the scenery without any real interest.
He'd been wrestling in his mind over and over just what he was going to do once he got here - and now here he was without anymore of a clear agenda than he'd had over an hour ago. If he wanted to talk to Miss Parker that day, he'd not be able to rest at all, but would have to rent a car and head directly off for Blue Cove. On the other hand, if he intended to “drop by” the hospital and “visit” Ngawe-san, he could take an hour or so to freshen up first. As tired as he was, he decided he'd freshen and talk to Ngawe first - THEN head for Blue Cove in the morning, after a good night's sleep.
The cab delivered him in front of the sizeable hotel in good time. Ikeda walked into the lobby and up to the reservation desk. "I would like a room for the evening," he said in very real exhaustion.
"Yes, sir," the receptionist smiled at him and handed him a ready clipboard for him to fill out. Ikeda took his time and filled the form out in a clear and concise hand that would have made his calligraphy sensei very proud of him, then handed it back. "I've put you in room 348 - go left from the elevator and to the end of the hallway. Enjoy your stay," she said in a pleasant voice, handing him his key card in a small paper wallet with the hotel logo prominently printed.
Ikeda bowed to her without thinking, then turned to head for the elevator after opening the paper wallet and finding his room number. He was tired enough that he was beginning to function in a fog, and having people chattering to him in a language other than his native tongue wasn't helping. Twenty hours it had taken him to get from Tokyo to Delaware - twenty hours to go from home into exile. His ebony eyes stared out into the lobby as he waited for the elevator door to slip closed, all emotion viciously disciplined into submission to the inevitability that he would never again see the sights or smell the smells of Nippon again.
And if Miss Parker ultimately wanted no part of what he had to offer, he would be a dead man.
~~~~~~~~
Jarod nodded his appreciation to the lawyer's secretary as she watched him walk to the solid door and open it. "Come on in," Gerald Cochran said, his eyes still on some paperwork on his desk at which he was madly writing. "Have a seat - I'll be with you in just a moment."
The Pretender found a comfortable chair opposite the man's desk and settled down to observe the lawyer for a quiet moment while he finished whatever it was that had him so rapt. Cochran was a very dignified and balding man with eyes such a light blue that their color was startling. He was long and thin of body, and his face had a chiseled and weathered look to it beneath wisps of looked to be blonde hair.
Finally he set the pen he'd been wielding madly aside and then moved the legal pad he'd been working on to one side and drew another, fresh, one to in front of him. "What can I do for you, Mr..."
"It's Dr., actually," Jarod corrected him carefully. "Russell. I'm hoping that you can give me some advice and maybe representation in an adoption."
"I see," the thin lawyer made notations at the top of the yellow sheet. "Name and age of child?"
"Ginger O'Bryan. She's seven."
"Orphaned, relative?"
"Currently in foster care after being abandoned by both parents."
"Parents are..."
"Currently both in jail for drug-related offenses and child abandonment," Jarod remembered the details of Ginger's case very well.
"How long has she been in foster care? Any idea?" Cochran asked, looking up at the tall and darkly handsome doctor with some curiosity. He carried himself as a professional man himself - an incredibly intelligent professional at that.
Jarod thought for a moment. "I started seeing her professionally about two years ago - and I believe that was about six months after she'd been placed the first time."
"“Saw her professionally”?" Those incredibly light blue eyes were wide.
"Yes, I'm a pediatric psychiatrist," Jarod explained patiently. "Ginger had been abused before being abandoned by her parents, and then ended up in an equally abusive foster care situation." He leaned forward. "I terminated my professional relationship with her about two months ago, before I took a leave of absence from my practice here in town. Now that I'm back, and I can see that her current foster situation is becoming difficult..."
"You'd like to petition to become a foster parent yourself?" Cochran asked easily.
"With an eye to adopting her as soon as possible," Jarod finished for him with a firm nod.
"Are you married?"
"Engaged to be married." Jarod hesitated slightly. "We will be living in Delaware - and I will be making that move relatively soon, the legalities of the adoption permitting."
"Hmmm," Cochran gave him an assessing gaze, then noted down a few more things on his pad. "Well, Dr. Russell, let me do some research and see if the parental rights on this girl have already been terminated first. I can also get some of the background checks on you and your future wife in the works to expedite things a bit."
He rose and ambled over to his file cabinet and pulled out a folder and sorted several papers from it which he then handed to Jarod. "You can fill these out today and get the ball rolling - you have a number of things to fill out aside from the application to become a foster parent. You'll also see a financial statement, another is permission for a case worker to come to your home to see if it is appropriate to place a child with you. The final one - really one of the more important of them all - is a rather complete and detailed personal history that will require you give an extensive list of personal references, including people who knew you as a child and so on. You should warn anybody you list that they WILL be contacted by Social Services."
Jarod looked down at the sheaf of papers in his hand. "I can do that. When will I know..."
"That depends, my friend, on what your case worker finds in your financial statement and the home inspection - and if there's anything in the personal history statement that needs clarification." Cochran tipped his head. "Is there any kind of rush?"
"Mrs. Thatcher, Ginger's current foster mother, is starting to talk institutionalization in front of the girl - and I'd like to be able to at least have her with me as soon as possible," he answered honestly. "And, like I said, I'm planning to move back to Delaware, where I'm from originally, as soon as I finish things up here - help my partner find someone else to help with the practice, sell my house, and so on..."
Cochran gazed at his new client with a hand slowly rubbing at his chin thoughtfully. "You're aware that this process prefers that the applicants demonstrate a certain measure of stability - a non-bohemian lifestyle..."
"I've had my practice for over four years, I own a home here in town - and my fiancé has been living in the same place in Delaware for over twelve years, and working for the same firm for nearly twenty." Jarod held his head high. "We're not exactly flighty people, Mr. Cochran. As a matter of fact, my fiancé adopted a boy about seven years ago. I would imagine all the information and references for her are still on file in Delaware..."
"Interesting," Cochran noted down that piece of information. "That may help matters in the long run, actually. In the meanwhile, however," he gestured to the desk in front of him, "you're welcome to fill those out here while I make a few telephone calls on your behalf to Child Protective Services."
Jarod scooted his chair forward so that he could begin the long job of filling out the forms.
~~~~~~~~
"So NOW what do we do?"
"We work with what we've got." Andrew Duncan sat in his car overlooking the darkening sea from a small hill between Blue Cove and Dover. He turned to the man in his passenger seat. "We'll need you guys to start immediate surveillance on those two addresses Flores gave us earlier today."
"Do ya think the boss wants pictures and the whole nine yards?"
"I'd imagine what he especially wants is any semblance of a regular schedule of activity," he nodded. "We'll be making our move as soon as we discover all the openings and weaknesses in the setup."
"Not a problem."
"Not so fast," Duncan warned him. "I have a feeling you'll be tripping over Centre staff from headquarters right and left. Don't let them know that they're being watched too - understand?"
"We watch the two places and don't tip off the Centre staff. Anything else?"
"That should do it for now. I expect to hear from you in three days."
"Got it." The dark faced man in the passenger seat looked out the window absently for a while. "When are we supposed to get further instructions?"
"Any time now. You know Flores, if there's a bottle of tequila within a hundred yards, he'll talk to IT first..."
"True..."
Duncan ran his hand over his sandy buzz cut hair thoughtfully and with no small amount of concern. Flores had said that he'd call with further instructions later in the day - it was now nearly dark, and he'd still had no word from his boss. And despite what he'd told his underling, Flores had never been known to start drinking during daylight hours.
Something was wrong.
