Summary: Miss Parker and Broots are drawn into a deadly pretend with Jarod posing as a drug dealer to bring down a dangerous crime lord. Jarod questions the morality of his brand of justice. PG-13, violence, adult language and situations.

Pretend Game

By Allykat

Miami Beach, Florida

"Don't make me do this. I… I can't," Tamsin Lanie, drug dealer, sobbed, his thin shoulders shaking. He sat in a rickety wooden chair in the middle of his dingy apartment. A single lamp illuminated him, casting the rest of the room into darkness. He looked up at the silhouette of a tall man who had broken into his apartment. Tears ran down his bruised face and in his body quivered. He had tried escaping once but the big man was quick and brutal, and now one of his eyes had swelled shut and he guessed one of his ribs were broken. "Please don't. I'll do anything you ask. I—I can help you get Illario. "

"Too late," whispered the deep voice and the shadowed figure of the man gestured at the drug paraphernalia he'd placed in Tamsin's lap. "This is what I'm asking. There is the alternative." The man drew a 9mm with a silencer on the end of the barrel.

"No! No! Oh God, please," Tamsin cried. A string of spittle ran from the corner of his mouth.

"Do it," the tall man ordered.

Tamsin's hands shook as he picked up the length of surgical tubing and wrapped it around his upper arm. He put one end in his mouth and tightened the tubing. He paused, looked up, eyes pleading. The man stood quietly, almost patiently. Tamsin picked up the hypodermic needle filled with a lethal combination of heroine and crack. He jerked at the sound of the 9mm's slide clicking back. He pressed the needle into a fat vein in his forearm and pressed the plunger. His head jerked back, arms falling to his side, feeling the drug rush through his body, flushing his face and loosening his bowels.

Death came slowly but painlessly for the drug dealer. His head fell back, his fingers twitched and his eyes rolled up in his head. The shadowed man stood for a moment and watched Tamsin Lanie die; the only sound in the room was the man's quiet breathing. The drug dealer's death had been merciful compared to the demise of the kids he hooked, the man had almost wished the drug dealer had chosen the alternative. Almost…

"I decide who lives or dies," the shadowed man whispered before turning and leaving the apartment.

* * * *

Miss Parker watched Jarod stand on the beach and stare out over the Atlantic Ocean. A few bikini-clad women cast him
interested glances as they strolled by, but he paid them no mind. Ankle-high breakers foamed around his bare feet and the faint
breeze ruffled his dark hair, a lone lounge chair and small round table sat in the sand near him. In one hand he held a glass
containing ice and amber liquid, in the other hand, held between thumb and forefinger, was a fat cigar. She grimaced, when did
Jarod start drinking hard liquor and smoking cigars? And whoever picked out the gaudy Hawaiian shirt he wore should be shot, but he looked nice in the white slacks.

Despite the warm, humid air she had worn a linen outfit with a blazer to conceal her weapon. She looked around her at the
elegant beach hotel. Early diner's enjoyed food and drinks in an outdoor restaurant and a group of dancers cha-cha'ed to a
Latin band. At least he chose classy accommodations, probably on the Centre's bill, she reminded herself.

Time to bring Jarod home. Miss Parker loosened her gun its shoulder holster and walked across beach toward Jarod, her heels sinking into the sand, her short skirt brushing against her thighs. The sound of the ocean masked her approach.

"Hello Jarod. It's time to come home."

He stiffened, then turned and set the glass and the cigar on the table. Two thoughts came lightning quick to Miss Parker; the first was that
Jarod looked like hell, his face drawn and gaunt, and the second was that he didn't attempt to escape.

"What a surprise!" he said loudly, then grabbed her hand and pulled her into his arms. "I didn't expect you so soon." Without waiting for
a reply, he cupped her face between his hands and kissed her. Not a chaste peck, but a deep, sensuous,
desperate kiss that almost had to power to make her think of Jarod as something other then an assignment. She
resisted the urge to bring her knee up between his crotch.

"Jarod, you're delusional" she ground out between clenched teeth as she pulled back and reached for her gun. His hand
wrapped around her wrist in a crushing grip and he drew that arm around his neck. His smile appeared welcoming, but the expression in his eyes was anything but.

"You couldn't have picked a worse time to appear. Better start pretending and it better be convincing or we're both dead where
we stand," Jarod whispered as he nuzzled her ear. His fingers dug into her back. "Do it now!"

Reluctantly she wrapped her arms around his neck and returned another passionate kiss. She recalled their first tentative kiss
when they were both children, and there was no comparison. She had had a girlhood crush on Jarod and liked holding his
hand under the table and looked forward to their moments together. He had been her best friend. This was a man now, not a
boy who held her. It took all her willpower to remind herself that she was out to catch Jarod and bring him back to the
center.

"It's so nice to see you, dear," she managed loudly, though the words almost stuck in her throat. "I miss you when you're gone.
The place seems so empty without you." Jarod released her then slid his arm around her waist as he
turned to face the ocean, their backs to the hotel. "Who else is with you?" he whispered.

"Broots is somewhere on the hotel grounds."

"Just hope for his sake and ours that he doesn't find us."

"You better tell me what this is all about before I put a bullet in your foot," she ground out between smiling lips. "You deserve it
for that ridiculous assault."

"Now Miss Parker, I think any man would be offended that their best attempt at a passionate kiss was referred to as ridiculous."

"Then you obviously have a lot to learn, loverboy."

He swatted her butt and she dug her fingernails into his side, gaining some satisfaction when he winced.

"Do that again and I will shoot you," she said.

"I love the things you say to me," he said aloud for the benefit of whomever watched them. This time his smile was for real, and he
said under his breath: "I've never had you at my mercy Miss Parker."

"Enjoy it while it lasts," she returned.

Jarod's amusement dimmed. "I have a room in the hotel, we'll talk there."

Looking like a happy couple, they walked up the beach together toward the hotel. "There are two men, one in the restaurant and the other in the pool area," Jarod said quietly while maintaining a smile. "Don't look at them, just look happy as if I am the most important person in the world to you."

"Why Jarod, you are, didn't you know that?" she said pseudo-sweetly.

"Maybe you should tell me more often," he returned.

"I would if you were around more often, pookie." She purposely raked her heel of her shoe down the side of his bare ankle.
Jarod grimaced. "But you're always running away."

"Did I tell you how beautiful you look tonight, darling," he said as they walked through the pool area.

"I never thought you noticed." Miss Parker's eyes swept the pool area casually and noticed a man wearing dark glasses and
sitting in a lounger. He wore a lightweight jacket that wasn't needed in the warm tropical air. Most people wouldn't give the jacket passing notice, but to Parker it was a dead giveaway that he packed a weapon.

"I notice," Jarod returned. "You just so busy hanging around your friends at the Centre club that I never get a chance to talk to
you alone." At the edge of the pool area he slipped into a pair of deck shoes and picked up a towel and slung it over his
shoulders. "I don't think your friends liked me." Hand in hand they continued across the patio.

"They like you. They want you to have a permanent membership."

"We discuss this before. There are too many rules."

"I'm certain they'd lift some of restrictions just for my little snookums," she said sweetly.

They entered the hotel through the outdoor restaurant. Miss Parker spied the second man sitting by himself at a table with his
back to a palm tree, he held up a menu and over the top of it watched them cross the restaurant into the hotel. Jarod led her
across the lobby crowded with vacationers, suitcases, and bellboys, to a bank of elevators.

"Griffin!" a man said, coming up to them. His flat, cold gaze flicked to Miss Parker.

Jarod's hand tightened on her waist as he shook the man's hand and Miss Parker had a hunch that it was time to start
pretending. The man drew them off to a quiet corner.

"Illario, I didn't expect you for another day," Jarod said.

"Who's the chick," the man said without greeting. "I thought you were here alone." He was short, stocky, with the shoulders of a
line backer, and slicked-back dark hair.

Miss Parker was acquainted with more than a few men who led morally corrupt lives. Raines came to mind first, followed by
closely by Lyle. Neither of these men intimated her, but this man was on a level above either Raines or Lyle. She had a feeling
that if she made one misstep, said one thing out of character that this man would not hesitate to pull out the gun he probably had
hidden in his Armani silk suit and blow both her and Jarod away. Where Lyle and Raines were sneaky, this man was under no
such restraint.

"This is... Parker. I wasn't expecting her until after conclusion of our business." He leaned close to Illario. "She won't be a
problem."

"Just keep the bimbo out of the way." Illario grunted. "Hey honey, why don't you go and powder your face or something."

Jarod must have realized she was close to ramming the barrel of her gun up Illario's nose, for he swiftly pulled a room keycard
out of his pocket. "I'll meet you in the room, darling. Put on something nice for me."

Miss Parker bit her tongue, resisting the urge to tell both men to go to hell, then nodded and extracted herself from under
Jarod's arm. Heading into a crowded elevator, she pushed to the back and took a deep breath as the doors closed. The
confined space smelled of suntan lotion and sweat and she fought down a moment of claustrophobia. Damn, what the hell was
Jarod doing becoming mixed up with a man like Illario? She couldn't walk away; at least she wouldn't without Jarod in
handcuffs. She looked at the room card Jarod passed to her: Room 3023. She asked a woman up in the front to press the
button for the thirtieth floor.

Jarod's suite commanded a view across the Atlantic Ocean from a balcony beyond a sliding glass door in a separate bedroom.
To the left and right she could see the other resort hotels lining the coastline. She decided not to get comfortable, for if every
thing went as planned, she would be taking Jarod out of this hotel this afternoon.

To pass the time she searched his belongings and finding nothing more then more tasteless Hawaiian shirts, slacks and
oddly enough, several large bottles of imitation Almond extract. Maybe he was baking cookies, she thought. There was a
locked safe in the bedroom closet. The wet bar in the outer room revealed nothing except a half dozen
bottles of liquor and several bottles of soda pop. Having exhausted places to search, she sat on the bed and surveyed the
luxurious room. She wondered if Jarod would take this opportunity to run out, the opening door in the outer sitting room
answered that question as he stepped into the suite.

"What the hell is going on?" she ground out, stood and stalked to the doorway of the bedroom. "I'm not going
to be pulled into one of your ridiculous pretends. You may feel you have to save the world, but I do not share your delusions!"

Jarod ignored her, locked the door, strode across the room and closed all the curtains. He then returned to the bed and stood
her over. Even with her heels on, Miss Parker had to look up at him, and staring up into his face she realized this was one of
the few times she had seen Jarod angry. Well, he could throw his little tantrum on the Centre plane back to Blue Cove.

"Let's stop this farce. You're coming with me." She pulled her gun and a pair of handcuffs out of an inside jacket pocket.
"Turn around and put your hands behind your back--."

With an angry roar, he backhanded the gun from her hand, shoved her onto the bed and straddled her. He crossed his legs over
hers, pinning her while his hands on her wrists pushed them into the mattress. She struggled against him, but he outweighed her
by at least sixty pounds.

"Listen to me!" he said low and angry. "When you walked up to me on the beach, you became involved whether you liked it or
not."

"If you stayed at the Centre where you belonged, none of this would matter," she returned in the same tone. She tried to pull her
wrists from his grasp but couldn't. His faced lowered inches away from her own. He looked ready to strangle her and a tendril of fear
traveled up her spine. She had never been afraid of Jarod before--exasperated and angry, never afraid.

"I'm not going to get into this with you right now," he said, voice icy. "But suffice to say that if we walk out of here
looking anything other than a happy couple, and Illario has any suspicions that we might be the authorities or working for them,
he will not hesitate to shot us."

Miss Parker went still, her hands flexing against his grip. Jarod stared down at her and his face lowered to hers. "Miss Parker," he began, his lips almost touching hers. "Don't mess with me right now." Releasing her he stood up and walked over to where the gun lay on the floor, picked it up and popped out the clip. He tossed her the gun
and she caught it. He put the clip in his pocket.

"What the hell am I suppose to do with this?" She brandished the empty weapon.

"You wouldn't be asking that if you saw the situation from my end." The anger flowed out of him and he sighed and ran a hand
through it hair. The dim light of the room emphasized dark circles under his eyes and his shoulders sagged.

"You look like hell, Jarod."

"You would too if--." Jarod trailed off, cocked his head then exited the bedroom and stood quietly by the outer door for a
moment. He returned to the bedroom and held his finger to his lips as he crossed to the closet. She heard him fumbling with a key, probably to the safe, and appeared with a large envelope in his hand.

"I'm sorry about. I … apologize for my behavior," he said, gesturing toward the bed then ran a hand through his hair again. His shoulders slumped. "I haven't been sleeping much lately."

"Jarod apologizing?" She wondered what was in the envelope.

"Let's talk," he said, ignoring her comment and motioning her to the bathroom with the envelope. In the spacious bathroom he closed the door, reached over and turned on the water jets to a marble Jacuzzi. He sat on the edge of the Jacuzzi while she took a seat at a lighted vanity.

"Look at these and you'll see what I'm doing here." He took out a half dozen photos and passed them to her.

In growing horror Miss Parker flipped through the pictures, some were official police forensic photos, some looked like Jarod
had taken them. All of the photos, though, had one thing in common; the dead victims were young men and women in their
early to late teens. Some of them looked younger. Jarod pointed one photo out. A young girl, her light brown hair splayed in the
dirt and filth of an alleyway, lay in a curled position. Drug paraphernalia lay near her.

"This was Lisa." Jarod cleared his throat. "She was sixteen years old when she died a prostitute in an organization
headed by Illario. Most of the girls working for him are underage runaways that he brings in and then hooks on drugs-crack,
heroine, you name it-then to maintain their habit, they work for him." Jarod pointed to a gruesome photo of a young boy with a
bullet hole in the side of his head. "This is Derek. He was seventeen. Gender or age doesn't make any difference to Illario, he
supplies what his customers want and if the kids try to defy him, or try to get out, they die. I befriended Derek through Lisa.
After Lisa died, he became scared and was suppose to meet me. We were going to go to the police together. Derek died
before our meeting and if Illario knew who Derek was meeting, I'd be dead, too."

"How did you get involved?" Miss Parker asked, bile rising in her throat as she continued to flip through the photos.

"I was working in an ER when Lisa came in. She had been battered, her body covered with bruises old and new, and she
suffered from the effects of a drug overdose. I treated her then coaxed her into telling me what had happened to her. She
needed someone to talk to. She told me about Illario and the other kids under his control. After two days, I had to release her. I legally
couldn't keep her in the hospital any longer. A week later Miami police found her dead in an alleyway from an alleged drug overdose.
Illario had her killed." Jarod rubbed a hand over his face. "It's just as if I killed her myself by releasing her."

"Jarod, you can't blame yourself," Miss Parker told him, this was just like Jarod to internalize this kind of guilt.

"I do blame myself. I could have got her help instead of just releasing her back to the streets. Now you see why I have to do
something."

Miss Parker wondered if she could have turned her back if she had been in Jarod's place. Her own mother hadn't, she tried to
save the children the Centre had kidnapped and were using for their own purposes, and paid the price with her life. She closed
her eyes for a moment and sighed. She was crazy for allowing Jarod to involve her in this. Against good sense she asked: "What
are your plans?"

Jarod studied her for a moment before speaking. "Does this mean you're going to help?"

"Look Jarod, don't get any ideas of your crusade becoming mine". Catherine Parker made it her crusade to help children. Miss
Parker pushed those troubling thoughts away. "For now it serves my greater purpose to help you," she answered, not about to
tell him where her thoughts had taken her. "Maybe Raines would like to see me bring back your cold dead body, but pleasing
Raines has never been my aim."

"Thank you, I think," Jarod said. He cocked his head, stood and peered through the half closed door. "We have company," he whispered.
"Oh baby, do that again!" he said aloud, prompted her to do the same with a gesture of his hand.

"I missed you so much, Jarod."

"Start moaning," he said under his breath.

"I'm not moaning for that dumb bastard--."

"Oh baby!" Jarod said louder to drown out what Miss Parker had been about to say.

"Yes, I like that sweetiekins," Miss Parker said in a breathy voice.

"I didn't know you knew any words of endearment."

"You owe me for this," she whispered.

Jarod smiled. "Well, if anyone is listening as least they believe we missed one another." He leered at her, although judging by his unhealthy pallor and red-rimmed eyes, Miss Parker knew his gaiety was just a facade.

"You need to call Broots and warn him away," Jarod was saying. "If we pull in too many people, Illario
will become suspicious. Your sudden appearance could have killed the deal. I don't...." he began, and drew a breath, "I don't
think I could go through convincing him of my sincerity again." He began unbuttoning his shirt. "Let's get out of here so we can
talk without worrying about who might be listening."

"What the hell are you doing?" Miss Parker whispered furiously.

"Convincing our visitor that we are doing what he thinks we are doing."

"Where's some burlesque music when you need it," she said under her breath, and Jarod smiled faintly at her.

"I'm sorry that we don't have time for anything else."

"Lack of sleep has made you delusional," she replied, watching him undress. He left his white slacks on and Miss Parker didn't
know whether to be disappointed or thankful.

Jarod leaned over the sink, wet his hair and his chest and shoulders and draped a towel around his shoulders. "Get
undressed, then give me a few moments before you come out."

Miss Parker nodded and shrugged out of her blazer and began to unbutton her silk blouse. From without she could hear voices. Quickly she finished undressing and stepped into the shower, after her long trip the warm water felt good. She wished she had other clothes with her, but she had left an overnight bag in the Centre's jet still at Miami International Airport. She stepped out, toweled and wrapped the towel around her hair and another around her body, relieved that the towels were oversized.

She stepped out of the bathroom. "Oh, Jarod--," she began, then as though surprised, she stopped short at the sight of the
stranger standing next to Jarod in the outer room. "I didn't know we had company. I would have dressed more appropriate,"
she simpered, walked over to Jarod and ran a hand over his shoulder. Their visitor was the man she'd seen in the restaurant. She forced herself to smile at him as his eyes raked over the body.

"Nice," he said to Jarod as he stared at Miss Parker. She felt her skin crawl. He returned his attention to Jarod. "So, you got
that, Griffin?" he said, his voice held a hint of a threat. To Jarod's credit he didn't appear intimidated.

"I got it. Tomorrow night."

"One of our cars will collect you in front of the hotel."

The man glanced once more at Miss Parker then turn and left the suite.

"Get dressed, darling," Jarod said, "why don't we take a walk."

"Okay sweetie," Miss Parker answered.

"Miss Parker, you look good in a towel," Jarod said in a lower voice as he walked into the bedroom. "I think we should do this
more often."

"In your dreams, Jarod." She planted a hand on his shoulder, shoved him out of the bedroom and closed the door.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Miss Parker and Jarod strolled down a sidewalk that followed along the beach. Bars, nightclubs and open-air cafes lined
the opposite side of the road across a wide avenue. Bathing suit clad men and women roller-bladed in the warm early evening
air. Miss Parker stayed close to Jarod, her hand curled in the crook of his arm. Jarod seemed more relaxed now that they were
away from the hotel, though he still looked ready to collapse. She wondered what was bothering him, she was entitled to know some of it.

"So," she began, leaning closer to him and keeping her voice low, "I think I'm owed an explanation."

"Illario believes I'm Jarod Griffin, a drug dealer from California."

Miss Parker cast him a sideways glance of surprise. "Seeing first hand how suspicious he is, I'm impressed with your persuasive
abilities."

"It's taken more than you can imagine to convince him I'm the real thing."

"Like?" Miss Parker prompted.

Jarod stopped and drew a deep breath, his eyes shadowed for a moment before he shook his head and continued: "Illario's
been drawn up on drug trafficking charges twice before and once on child pornography but nothing sticks. His high-paid
lawyers get him off; they don't want their cash cow going to prison. And he has help from other sources as well."

"You think he has the police department on his payroll?"

"I know he has one insider in the department, maybe more. I can't point any fingers without hard evidence to back me up."

"If you think Illario has the Miami police department on his payroll, how did you plan to make certain anything you find on him
stick?" Miss Parker looked up at Jarod's grim face and saw her answer there.

"Since when did you become judge, jury and executioner?"

"I can ask the same thing of the Centre."

Miss Parker held his steady gaze for a moment then looked away. "Touchè'."

Jarod glanced over his shoulder. "We're being followed."

"One of Illario's goons?"

"I'm not certain. Keep walking." They strolled up the walk while making small talk. Jarod unconsciously patted the hand she had
tucked in his. He was nervous and edgy, unlike the Jarod she usually knew. "Over here," Jarod said, wrapped his hand around
her waist and pulled her into a shadowed front overhang of a closed clothing store.

A furtive figure stopped by the alcove. Jarod slipped by Miss Parker, his hand snaked out, grabbed the man, spun him around
and had him up against the wall with a forearm cranked up against his throat before he recognized the face.

"Jarod!" Broots said. "M--Miss Parker!" His nervous gaze darted between them. "How--how did you know I was following
you."

"Broots, the whole world probably knows you were following us," Miss Parker said and shook her head. "I told you to stay
away."

"I... I was, but I wanted to make certain you were okay."

"I can handle this myself."

Jarod took a deep breath and let Broots go. "I'm certain one of Illario's men saw him." Jarod gestured to Miss Parker. "You'll
have to give him your gun."

"Why, so he can shoot himself and save Illario the trouble?"

"I don't know how to handle a gun," Broots said.

"You're Miss Parker's new bodyguard," Jarod informed him. "And the gun isn't loaded."

"Bodyguard!" Broots burst out. "You're both crazy."

"There are men watching us who will not hesitate to shoot if they have any doubts about who we are pretending to be."

"And, uh, exactly who are we pretending to be?" Broots asked and swallowed as if knowing he wasn't going to like the
answer.

"Jarod is a drug dealer, I am his girlfriend and now you're my bodyguard."

"Jarod's--Jarod's girlfriend!" Broots burst out, slapped his knee and laughed. "Now that is funny..."

"Not as funny as you're going to look with a gun shoved up your ass, which is exactly what is going to happen if you don't look
convincing."

Broots' laughter died away. "This is for real."

Jarod nodded and Miss Parker listened as he briefly explained to Broots a condensed version of what he'd already told her.

"But... I don't know how a bodyguard is suppose to act."

"Look tough and stupid," Miss Parker said.

"Like this?" Broots pulled his brow down, frowned and hunched his back.

"You look like constipated monkey, you idiot," she ground out. "Just don't do anything but wander behind us and look alert."

"No, he doesn't look the part." Jarod pulled out his wallet and peeled some bills off a wad of money and held it out to Broots.

"Holy cow, Jarod, this is a thousand dollars," Broots said, counting the money.

"Take it Broots," Miss Parker said. "It probably belongs to the Centre anyway. I'll just take it out of your paycheck." Miss Parker snatched the money out of Broot's hand and shoved it into his shirt pocket. "Just go do as Jarod asks."

"There's a men's store up the street. Buy yourself a dark suit," Jarod said.

"And for God's sake, buy a pair of sunglasses," Miss Parker added. Perhaps that way he wouldn't look like such a geek.

"But--," he started and Miss Parker gave him a push.

"Broots, just go!"

At a sidewalk cafè, they sat and waited for Broots to return. Jarod ordered an ice tea while Miss Parker ordered a glass of wine.

"What happened to the scotch and the cigar?" she asked. Jarod looked confused for a moment before he realized she meant the
drink and the cigar he had on the beach.

"Props," he said.

"You mean you haven't yet succumbed to the same habits as the rest of us?"

Jarod stared hard at her for a moment. "Thanks to Lyle, I have. More than you know."

"What are you mixed up in Jarod? What are you doing?"

"I decide who... what needs to be done." He drew a breath and looked away into the passing pedestrians. "And someone needs to stop Illario."

"One day you'll need to face what Lyle did to you [Author's Note: See "Descent to Darkness" series] and come to terms with it, whatever it was. Playing dangerous vigilante games won't make it go away."

"And when did you become a psychoanalyst?" he returned her gaze steadily. His hands clenched on the table.

Their conversation ceased as Broots walked up.

"Oh no," she mouthed.

Broots looked pleased with himself. "How do I look?"

Miss Parker noticed Jarod ducked his head to hide a smile. She mentally rolled her eyes.

"Like a bad imitation of one of the Blues Brothers."

"But... but weren't they tough?"

"They were musicians you moron." For the first time wished she hadn't found Jarod on the beach.

Jarod stood up and held out a hand for her. She took it and allowed him to help her to her feet, then he turned to Broots.

"We're going back to the hotel. Just stay behind us and scan the crowd, try to recall how Sam acts."

Broots blinked rapidly as he tried to digest what Jarod just told him. "I think I know what you mean."

"If we all end up dead, we'll know you didn't," Miss Parker growled.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"Nighty-night," Jarod said to Miss Parker's unconscious form as he picked her off the floor and carried her into the bedroom.
Broots had passed out on the couch in front of the television. Jarod switched off all the lights and glanced at the luminous face
of his watch. They should be out for the rest of the night. He felt a little guilty about slipping them a mild narcotic in their food
and drinks, but what he needed to do tonight he had to do alone and knowing Miss Parker, she wasn't going to let him out of
her sight.

Jarod pulled out a key and opened the connecting door to the next suite. No one knew he had reserved this one as well and it
was where he kept his working gear: explosives, gunpowder, video equipment and a box of old fashion firecrackers.

In the bathroom, he began his transformation as he had every night for the past month, strategically applying dark makeup and
slipping in a pair of prosthetic teeth and finger combing a combination of mud and hair gel through his hair. Next he opened a
bottle of cheap whiskey and slapped some on his face like aftershave. Pleased with this phase of the transformation, he went
back into the bedroom, pulled some clothing out of a bag and slipped them on, put on an old coat, then shouldered a ratty
backpack. He went back into the bathroom and sprinkled more of the cheap booze over the clothing and caught his reflection in
the mirror.

"You stink," he told himself, then chuckled. He looked at his watch again. Illario should be finishing his dinner soon in his favorite
restaurant down the street. He quietly opened the door and slipped out of the suite to the outside hallway. Pulling a wool cap
low over his forehead, he slinked down the hall.

Time to get to work.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"Was he begging in the kitchen again!" the restaurant manager shouted. From his position just inside the doorway in the waiting
area, Jarod watched the manager gesture to a bouncer in the doorway of the bar area. He took a quick glance at the wall clock;
it was almost showtime. Jarod took a small object out of his pocket and palmed it loosely in his hand, preparing himself.

"Get him out of here before he stinks the place up," the manager ordered.

"Come on old fella, you can't stay here, what're the guests gonna think," the bouncer said, and slipped a hand across Jarod's
shoulders.

"I have my rights," Jarod slurred but allowed the man to help him to his feet just as Illario walked out of the dining room, he had
a toothpick in his mouth. He glanced toward the commotion, grimaced then tried to detour around, his henchmen following.

"Wait, my pack!"

"I'll get your pack," the bouncer told him.

Jarod wrenched away from the bouncer and collided into Illario taking down both him and one of his henchmen. The three of
them tangled on the floor. Jarod rolled to the side, pinning Illario's legs while he pressed a small square object with tiny sharp
pins to the bottom of one of his expensive Italian shoes. The second of Illario's bodyguards stepped over and kicked Jarod in
the ribs, then shove him away with the bottom of his foot.

The hotel manager ran over, wringing his hands. "I am so sorry Mr. Marsano, so sorry. It won't happen again.

Jarod groaned as he rolled to his hands and knees and scrambled to his feet, grabbing his pack as he did. Illario looked straight
at him with no glimmer of recognition in his eyes.

"Get this piece of crap out of my sight," he said as one of the bodyguards helped him to his feet. He straightened his jacket,
brushed off his pants and made his way to the limo waiting in the front of the restaurant.

"If I see him here again, you will be looking for another job," the manger yelled at the bouncer, then spun around and headed
back to the kitchen.

Jarod scrambled outside just as the limo pulled away from the curb. While in his homeless persona, he usually hunched over to
disguise his height, but this time he didn't have to feign it. The pain radiating up the side of his ribcage made breathing difficult,
and pressing his arm against his bruised ribs, he lurched down the walkway. He expected something like this. He had to take the
chance that Illario's bodyguards wouldn't do more than rough him up a little in plain view of the public. In any other
circumstance, they would have put a bullet in his head.

No one paid any attention to him, many looked away and others ignored him as he shuffled down the sidewalk along the very
same route he and Miss Parker walked earlier. He stopped at a bench and drew a paper bag out of his backpack. The whisky bottle
contained water, but no one would know. He took a swig and continued on and took a few turns down side streets away
from the waterfront and pedestrian traffic. Out of sight of the main thoroughfare, he wrapped an arm around his bruised ribcage
and jogged up three more blocks. On a quiet side street he stopped by a late model car, dug keys out of the pocket of his dirty
trousers, unlocked the car and climbed inside.

Out of the backpack he took a small device about the size of a hand-held game pad and pushed a slid switch with his thumb.
With a quiet whine the device booted up. A small plasma screen glowed in the darkness of the car and on the screen a 2D-grid
image of the Miami streets illuminated. On the street grid, a solid red light moved slowly. Jarod smiled and turned the key in the
ignition.

"Gotcha!" he said.

~~~~~~~~~~

Jarod followed the beacon to an old district of dilapidated, abandoned buildings and warehouses and chose a deserted canning
factory as his base. He cut a padlock on an overhead sliding door, and drove his car into the cavernous main room filled with
canning machinery. After a quick search of the factory, he found just what he needed, an old walk-in refrigerator. The door was
padlocked, but he cut it and walked in.

"Perfect," he said as he looked around at the old white walls.

He went out to his car and retrieved an armful of items from the trunk. He had a lot to accomplish before the night was over and
he needed to work quickly. He cleaned out the debris in the walk-in, pinned photos on the wall, setup projection equipment and
strung cable to loudspeakers that he mounted outside the warehouse under the eves. Last, he pulled a heavy pressurized tank
into the walk-in and set it to the side.

Next came the more dangerous stage of tonight's work. He backed the car out of the cannery then activated the tracking
device. With the car headlamps off, he drove through the narrow, unlit streets and followed the beacon to another warehouse
the next block over. He hid the car in an adjacent alleyway and camouflaged the car by arranging a pile of old cardboard boxes
over it. Backpack loaded with the items he needed he began a reconnaissance of the area.

In a crouch-walk, he circled the warehouse, peering in through dusty windows and getting an idea of the outside area and the
inside layout. At the west side of the warehouse, a metal stairway led up to a second story door. It was locked. He pulled a
penlight out of his jacket pocket and shinned it around the door and into the cracks between the door and the wall. Illario wasn't
stupid and wouldn't leave a door like this unguarded. The penlight illuminated a thin insulated wire running down the doorjamb.
It was an alarm wire. Jarod snipped it with a pair of nippers. He then extracted a needle-thin object from the pack and quietly
unlocked the door.

Jarod opened the door and entered an office. He could hear voices now and recognized Illario's voice. Maintaining a low
crouch-walk, he made his way to the inner office door.

In the middle of the main warehouse room Illario sat at the head of a table covered with sacks of white powered: Heroin. Four
of his henchmen stood behind him, and his lieutenant, whom Jarod recognized as a man named Remo, sat at the table with him.
Around the room on this second floor, a steel walkway followed the square circumference of the room, doors to other offices
led off the walkway. The set up was better than Jarod had hoped for. From his pack, he took out a digital camera, a recording
device and a voice amplifier that looked like a miniature inverted umbrella. He set up the equipment and pointed the amplifier
toward the men. Another man entered the warehouse and joined those at the table. Jarod smiled and his eyes narrowed.

"There's your cut, Matson," Illario said and handed the new comer a large envelope. Jarod snapped off some photos as the
crime lord continued: "Tomorrow's the night. Did you come up with anything on Griffin."

"Naw, he's clean and one ruthless son of a bitch, but what did you expect after he took out Tamsin Lanie for you? He left a note
of some kind that had the homicide crew scratching their heads."

"And what was that?"

"Shit, I don't remember. Though I know it was nothing about you and this deal." Matson drew a stack of bills from the envelope
and flipped through them, then returned them to the enveloped and stuffed it in an inside coat pocket. "I checked him through
the database at work, and everything he's told you checks out. Looks like he runs a clean organization."

Illario nodded. "I needed a distribution channel in California. Maybe Griffin's the man."

"Now this is a bonus, Sergeant Matson" Jarod said to himself, recognizing the man from the Miami police department, the vice
division if he remembered correctly.

Illario pointed to Matson. "You'll follow them tomorrow when they pick up Griffin, make certain they ain't being tailed." Illario leaned across the table. "Got it?" When he received affirmative nods he continued. "Now get the hell out of here, and you two boneheads," he pointed to two henchmen. "Let's pack all this up and get
it into the coffee crates."

Jarod watched as the men gathered the bags of heroine, storing them in coffee filled crates then vacating the warehouse. Two
men stayed behind to guard the good. That made his task difficult but not impossible, he'd just have to work around them.
He packed up his own equipment, stored the pack between stacks of crates and drew out the gunpowder, fireworks and
dynamite and a device that looked like an ordinary ink pen.

Staying to the shadows of the upper floor and hugging close to the wall, Jarod began to work. Dawn was only an hour away
when he finished. He left the car hidden underneath the cardboard boxes and began a long trek back to the hotel.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"You son of a bitch!" Miss Parker hissed in his ear as she grabbed his wrist when he walked into the hotel room. She jerked
him inside.

He was too tired to fight her. Earlier, he had stopped and ditched the clothing in a public restroom, and wore jeans and a
T-shirt, so at least he didn't look like a dirty homeless man.

Miss Parker spun him around, shoved him forward and with a well-placed kick in the back of his knees, he collapsed face-first
to the floor. That jarred his ribs and he groaned. She sat on top of him, gun in her hand, the end of the barrel indenting the area
behind his jaw. He turned his head as far as he could manage to look at her and judging by the pleased smirk on her face, it
appeared she had found the 9mm's clip. What worried him the most was a silencer she had snugged onto the barrel. Miss
Parker meant business.

"You drugged me." Without taking her eyes off him, she yanked one of his arms behind him and slapped one end of a pair on
handcuffs on his wrist. He grimaced at the pain shooting up his shoulder blade as she yanked around the other arm and slapped
the other handcuff on.

"I had to do it. I needed to work alone last night and I knew you wouldn't let me leave without you," his voice was hoarse and
he was desperately tired. "You have to let me finish this." He clenched his teeth. Miss Parker's knee dug into his ribs.

"I don't know exactly all that you're mixed up in, Jarod, but as far as I'm concerned, I'm saving you from yourself."

"Miss Parker, maybe we should listen to him," Broots said, standing behind them wringing his hands. "I think this Illario guy may
be dangerous."

"If I want your opinion Broots, I'll give it to you," she ground out without looking at him, her eyes never leaving Jarod.

"I think Jarod is hurt," Broots spoke up as he leaned over them.

"What's wrong?"

"My ribs," Jarod managed.

She moved off him and pulled up his shirt. An ugly purple bruise covered the right side of his ribcage. He hadn't looked at the damage, but
wasn't surprised given the force that Illario's bodyguard put behind that kick.

"You need a combination nursemaid and bodyguard to keep you out of trouble," she said, exasperation in her voice. She
unlocked the handcuffs. "Broots, help me get him on the bed."

Jarod felt Miss Parker grab his arms, Broots took his feet and half-dragged, half-carried him to the bed. His vision blurred and their voices grew
indistinct. He had to get some sleep; he had to be alert for tonight.

"Parker," he said, "I think I'm going to sleep now. Just make certain to wake me at 8pm."

"Don't you dare go to sleep, you have to explain..." she began, her voice trailing off.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"I hope you know what you're doing," Miss Parker said quietly to Jarod as a black sedan pulled up to the hotel. She, Broots
and Jarod stood outside the hotel. Jarod held a black briefcase. He hadn't spoke of its contents, and Miss Parker didn't want to
know. She already knew more then she wanted to.

Against better judgment, she had awakened Jarod at the appointed time of 8pm, and she and Broots helped him get dressed.
What convinced her to let him continue with this pretend game was another stack of photos she found in his backpack along
with a few other items she couldn't identify, some firecrackers and several empty bottles of the almond extract.

One of Illario's henchmen climbed out of the sedan's passenger seat. His hulking figure reminded Miss Parker of a Neanderthal,
he just lacked a big wooden club. As he approached them his gaze locked on Broots.

"Who the hell is this?" the man stared eye to eye with Broots. Miss Parker hid her surprise when Broots didn't blink and
managed to keep his tough-looking mien.

"My bodyguard," Miss Parker explained.

"I know Kung Fu, and five other dangerous words," Broots added under his breath as the man turned away to open the
backseat door for them. "Jarod, this isn't going to work," Broots continued.

"It is going to work," Jarod said, and ducked into the car "Trust me."

"Why doesn't your answer give me a warm fuzzy feeling," Miss Parker whispered joining him and Broots inside.

"Because you have a brother like Lyle and a father who married a woman who tried to kill him," he said. "If I had your family
history, I don't think I'd trust anyone either."

"At least I have a family history!" Miss Parker hissed.

The Neanderthal climbed into the front passenger seat and tossed them three black cloth bags. "Put these on," he ordered. "Better be glad I had extras or the bimbo and her bodyguard would have to stay."

"Hey, Illario doesn't trust his own customers?" Jarod asked.

"He don't trust no one," the Neanderthal replied. "Not even his own brother if he had one."

"If this messes up my hair and you're going to be floating face first in the Atlantic," Miss Parker grumbled.

Neanderthal smirked as he looked at them through the rearview mirror. "Yeah, honey? And whose gonna help you? The mouse
in your pocket."

Miss Parker gritted her teeth. She didn't care what Jarod did to the rest of these creeps, she just wanted to go toe to toe with
this Neanderthal jerkoff.

"This is just a precaution," the driver said, almost apologetic, as he pulled the sedan away from the curb and into traffic.

Jarod and Broots pulled the black hoods over their heads, and after a moment she drew a deep breath and followed. She didn't
like this, not at all. The ride was short. When the car halted, Miss Parker heard the door open and someone leaned in and pulled the bags off their
heads. She looked around her at the dilapidated state of the buildings.

"Not a very nice neighborhood," Broots commented. "I think I prefer the hotel."

"You and you," Neanderthal said, turning and pointing to Miss Parker and Broots, "stay in the car." He got out
and took a straddle-legged position near the front of the car.

Miss Parker hesitated, then settled back in the seat. For now she gained nothing from antagonizing him. Jarod retrieved the briefcase on
the seat next to him.

"Keep your heads low," he whispered, then flanked by Illario's men, he was escorted across the asphalt lot and into the
warehouse.

"What do you think he meant by that remark?" Broots asked, leaning down and watching through the window as Jarod
disappeared though a doorway.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Inside the warehouse, two men flanking the door stopped Jarod. One stood in front of him while the other patted him down.
Finding no weapons they allowed him to proceed to the table that he had seen the night before. Ilario smiled as he approached.

"Sorry about the formalities. I have to be certain, you know."

Jarod nodded. "No problem. Now let's get down to business." He sat down, popped open the briefcase and displayed its
contents and pulled out a stack of one hundred dollar bills that he passed to Illario. "Laundered, untraceable and
non-sequential."

"You're a prepared man, Griffin."

"Always," Jarod replied with a predatory grin. "Now lets see the merchandise."

~~~~~~~~~~~

Miss Parker sat in the car and stared out the window toward the warehouse. "I don't like this. I don't think Jarod knows what
he's gotten himself in to."

Broots fidgeted beside her. "Jarod knows how to take care of himself. I think I like it right here."

"Well, I think it's time I made a trip to the ladies room." She opened the door. As soon as she stepped out, Neanderthal
stepped forward, his hand creeping toward the inside of his suit jacket.

"What you want, honey?"

"I have to go to the ladies room," she said sweetly as she came up to him.

"What does this look like, a freakin' full service station? Get back into the car and shutup."

Miss Parker stepped forward and ground her heel into the man's foot. He grunted and bent over. She brought her knee up into
his face, feeling his nose crunch against her kneecap. He grabbed for his bleeding nose, and she brought her knee up again into
his crotch as she turned at the waist and elbowed him in the eye. With one hand holding his broken nose, the other his crotch, the
man fell to the ground. Miss Parker brought the butt of her gun down on the side of his head several times.

"Never say no to a woman who needs to go," she informed the unconscious man, then gave him a kick in the ribs. "That was for
Jarod."

Broots scrambled out of the car and stared at the man. "Is... is he dead?"

"Lucky for him he'll just have a big bump on his head, a black eye, a broken nose and a bruised groin."

"Huh?" Broots asked.

"Never mind," she said as she opened the man's jacket and found his gun. She passed it to Broots. "Take it! It won't bite." Then
she found the car keys. "Help me get him into the trunk."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Illario stood at the head of the table, a pleased grin on his face. "So Griffin, do we have a deal?"

"I think we can come to a mutually beneficial agreement." He took a pen out of pocket.

"What the hell you gonna do? Write a love letter?" Illario joked.

"This is my lucky pen," Jarod said, and clicked the pen twice.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

Miss Parker closed the sedan trunk door over the still unconscious body of the man. "Now let's see what Jarod is up to."

A blinding blast of fire lit up the sky as the abandoned warehouses around them exploded, and the concussion wave temporarily
deafened them. Miss Parker instinctively took cover against the sedan as debris showered around her. She looked for Broots
and saw him cringing near the car's front bumper. She expected him to be scared out of his wits, however, when he looked up
he had an odd smile on his face.

"Cool!" he shouted. "Now I know what Jarod meant by 'keep your heads low'."

~~~~~~~~~~~

"Oops, maybe I used an excessive amount of dynamite," Jarod said as the rear of the warehouse exploded and Illario's men
scattered. Burning debris fell around them and Illario and Matson dove under the table. Jarod laughed as a siren shrilled from
the direction of the neighboring warehouses. "Naw. Excess is never enough."

Upstairs, the firecrackers caught fire and started to pop. Illario's men, confused and disoriented, began wildly snap firing then
scattered. Jarod opened the suitcase, moved a top layer of the money to reveal a cutaway hole in the bottom layers that hid a
gun. He picked up the gun, leaned under the table and fired twice, catching Illario on the side of the neck and Matson in the
back, between his spine and shoulder blade.

In the distance Jarod could hear the sound of real sirens and he looked at his watch. "Perfect timing." Out of his pocket he
pulled the keys to the car he left in the alleyway. Time for Matson and Illario to take a short ride.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

The first siren that went off had startled Miss Parker, but quickly she realized it was faked and part of whatever plan Jarod had
concocted along with the explosion. The man had to be mad. Now, the sirens she heard in the distance were for real. She
crouched against the car and waited for Jarod to come out of the burning warehouse, they had to leave soon. When he didn't
appear, she knew he had either ditched her or was trapped inside. Covering her head with one arm, Miss Parker ran into the
warehouse. She saw yellow flames consuming the upstairs. No one was in sight. Broots stumbled behind her.

"Damn him!" Miss Parker fumed and stamped her foot.

"I don't think anyone is here," he said.

"No kidding, Einstein. I'm glad you're around to tell me these things. Help me look."

After searching the building as thoroughly as possible, considering the back was on fire and smoke filled the building, Miss
Parker concluded that Jarod had once again escaped. They ran out of the warehouse to the sedan. The sirens were closer now.
Probably not more than a few blocks away, she estimated, and she didn't want to be around to justify her involvement in this
mess to the police.

"I think we need to get back to Miami International." The Centre's jet would still be waiting to take her and Broots back to Blue
Cove. Her gaze fell on the black sedan. "And the Neanderthal's car is going to take us there."

"What Neanderthal?" Broots ask.

"Just get in." She sat in the driver's seat and started up the car. She heard a faint pounding noise coming from the back of the trunk. She smiled. "When we're safely in the air, someone will make an anonymous call to the long-term parking attendant."

~~~~~~~~~~~~

Illario groaned, opened his eyes and rubbed the side of his neck.

"Welcome back to the land of the living," Jarod said and gestured toward the red circular wound on his neck. "Tranquilizer dart.
It's going to be a little sore there for a few days."

"Where the hell am I?"

"An old walk-in refrigerator. You never know when they'll come in handy."

Illario tried to bring his hands up to his head but discovered they were handcuffed together behind to a wooden chair. "Griffin!"
Illario strained at the handcuffs. His ankles were also cuffed together. "What the hell are you doing?"

"Doing?" Jarod echoed innocently. "Can't you guess? Look around you."

Illario did, seeing for the first time the hundreds of photos pasted on the walls, faces of the children and teenagers he had killed.
Photos of him beating the victims, photos of him sitting at a table with bags of heroin, photos of him handing money to Matson,
photos of crates filled with coffee and containing the bags of white powder. Photos everywhere. Photos that Jarod had been
collecting for weeks while in disguise as a homeless man.

"Who the hell are you?"

"Now that's a question I've been asking myself for a long time and I still don't have the answer, but I can tell you that I'm not a
drug dealer," Jarod replied. "Oh look, it appears that Matson is waking up, too."

The cop, hog tied with wrists tied to ankles, lay to the side behind Illario. He groaned and opened his eyes as Jarod shoved him
with his foot.

"Wake up Sergeant Matson."

"What the hell?" he said, blinked, looked around then focused on Jarod.

"There you are Sergeant Matson." Jarod bent at the waist and looked down at him, his voice pseudo-friendly. "I'm glad you
could join the party. Sorry there's no finger food, but there's a movie staring you and Illario."

Jarod stood and hit the on button to the slide projector. It started clicking through all the photos, bloody photos, forensic photos
and the photos Jarod had taken, all projected onto the white wall on the back of the walk-in. Matson moaned when he saw the
photo of him taking money from Illario.

"What's wrong, Matson? You don't like family pictures?" Jarod asked.

Illario sneered. "You think you're gonna make me feel guilty for these worthless street rats, Griffin? They were nothing to me
except human merchandise."

"Oh, I forgot something," Jarod said pleasantly, quelling the rage building inside him. He reached over and rested a hand on the
valve knob on the pressurized tank. "How about some Hydrogen Cyanide with your slide show?"

"Hydrogen Cyanide?" Matson stuttered.

"It's just a deadly pest control substance," Jarod said and leaned down close to Illario, his voice rough in anger. "You never
know when you have to do some exterminating."

Matson's eyes bulged. Illario stared at the tank then at Jarod's face. "He's bluffing."

"You think? Let me tell you about Hydrogen Cyanide. It is a colorless gas, but has a distinct odor resembling bitter almonds,
and it is particularly dangerous because of its toxic asphyxiating effects on any life requiring oxygen to survive. That would
specifically be you two, in this case. You see, Hydrogen Cyanide renders oxygen unavailable to the tissues and causes death by
asphyxia. First, you're going to get a headache and feel a little dizzy. Then you're going to feel like you're suffocating and while
you gasp for breath, you're going to get nauseous. Then within, oh say forty minutes, you're gonna die." Jarod wrapped his
hands around his throat, stuck out his tongue and crossed his eyes. "Acckkk!" He gagged. "I just want you to remember the
faces of the innocent children that you murdered, remember each innocent life that you corrupted."

"No Griffin, wait! Griffin!" Matson screamed, fighting the ropes tied around his hands and feet. "I'll testify, if you grant me
immunity I'll testify. I know everything about Illario's organization. Everything! Griffin!" the man continued to scream in terror. "I know about all the kids he killed. I know about how he gets his drugs into Miami. I know who all his suppliers are."

"You should have thought of the consequences of your actions before taking that first payoff. Sorry, Matson." Jarod shrugged
and twisted the knob on the tank, releasing a rush of gas out of the needle valve. "Smell that bitter almond scent? I think that's
my cue to exit this little gathering." Jarod walked out of the refrigerator, closed the door and latched it. He listened to Matson's
amplified screaming coming from the loud speakers he had hooked up outside the warehouse. Through the dirt-crusted
window, he saw the revolving lights of the police cars and heard the door in the front of the warehouse burst inward, and the
sound of a multitude of running feet coming toward the refrigerator.

Jarod took a small recorder out his pocket and sat it on a workbench near the refrigerator. The police would have everything on
tape, too.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

Sydney sat at his desk checking the statistics on his latest project when the phone rang. He picked it up on the second ring.

"This is Sydney."

"Sydney, I need to talk to you."

"Jarod," Sydney said, pleased to hear from him, at the same time worried at the frantic tone of his voice.

When Miss Parker had returned from Miami several weeks ago, she mentioned in confidence that she had seen Jarod and he
didn't look well. And when he didn't hear from Jarod, he had begun to worry. Sydney maintained a neutral tone in his voice.

"It's been awhile since we last spoke," Sydney continued. "What is it you want?"

Jarod paused and Sydney heard him draw a deep breath before he spoke. "When you do something very wrong, but the
outcome from that wrong is good, does it all balance out?"

"Jarod, you've heard the saying 'Two wrongs don't make a right'. Have you done something... questionable?" There was a long
silence on the other end of the line and for a moment Sydney thought Jarod had hung up. When Jarod did speak, his voice was
thin and strangled sounding.

"I don't know, Sydney. I can't tell."

There was another long pause and this time Sydney broke the silence. "What does your conscious tell you? Ultimately, it will be
your own conscious that you have to answer to." He quelled the urge to ask Jarod to meet him. That would be too dangerous,
Lyle might have him followed. "Jarod, you have to learn that not everything we do is black and white, right and wrong, good or
bad, there are some gray areas in between, and that's when we have to stop and question ourselves and our motives. We have
to ask ourselves how the things we do will effect others."

Sydney realized as he spoke, that his words also applied to the questionable things he had done in his life. Perhaps if he had
heeded those words in an earlier era, Jarod would have been reunited with his parents. As it was, he helped create a man who
was desperately trying to find his place in a world that didn't hold a place for people like him.

"Jarod?" Sydney began again, but the line had gone dead.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Jarod hung up the phone and glanced across the street where Illario Marsano was on trial. News reports said a multiple
convictions on drug trafficking and murder were almost assured. Jarod opened up a newspaper that he had tucked under one
arm. He looked at the story on the second page. "Runaway's story has Happy Ending" read the headline. A picture of a young
girl accompanied the article. Her name was Judy, Jarod knew. She had been reunited with her parents, and would be going
home with them after life on the streets for almost two years. She had been working for Illario, and had been Lisa and Derek's
friend. Unlike them, she had survived. He also knew that though Marsano would be behind bars for years, not all the kids who
had been under his influence would enjoy happy endings to their lives. Some would go back to the streets into the same
situations.

Judy's story did end happy, but did that justify the things he had done? Jarod laid the newspaper to the side of the phone in the
phone booth, hunched his shoulders, stuck his hand in his pockets and shouldered through the multitude of people gathered
around the courthouse.

"Electrocute Marsano!" one man yelled, then a woman screamed, "The death penalty is the only justice!" The crowd began
chanting for Marsano's death.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"One of my researchers found this article in a month old Miami Herald newspaper," Raines rasped as he handed a copy to Lyle.

Lyle sat forward in his desk chair and took the article, scanning it, his eyes moving back and forth. "Tamsin Lanie, a prominent
drug dealer found dead of a self inflicted gunshot wound, drugs and money untouched." Lyle shrugged. "So another scumbag bites the dust. Long expensive trial skipped, sentencing phase over and in the process saving taxpayers money." He tossed the article to his desktop.

"We didn't think much of it until Miss Parker received this fax this morning." He handed Lyle two newspaper articles with
headlines reading 'Runaway's Story has Happy Ending' and 'Marsano convicted'. "She and Broots were in Miami during this
time."

"What is this leading to?" Lyle tried to keep impatience out of his tone.

"This is Tamsin Lanie," Raines said, then dropped several 5 x 7 photos on Lyle's desk. Lyle picked them up and looked them
over. A man sat slumped in a chair, drug paraphanalia on his lap and on the floor, surgical tubing around his arm. Raines pointed to a small note that had been pinned to the body's chest. "I don't think this scumbag's drug overdose was voluntary. Someone gave him a choice and the other choice was worse than a lethal combination of heroine and crack. I had this note enhanced." Raines handed Lyle another photo, and took a deep raspy breath. "A similar note was found with Marsano, though unlike Tamsin, he was found alive by police. He claimed some man tried to poison him with Hydrogen Cyanide. Turned out to be oxygen and almond extract. Sounds like Jarod's tricks to me."

Lyle looked at the photo for several minutes without speaking as he tapped a finger on his chin. "It has to be Jarod. I think he
may be cracking. It's imperative that we find him as soon as possible." He moved the photos to a desk drawer and locked it,
then stood. "We need to figure out his next move." He nodded toward a man seated in the back of the room. "Can we arrange
to have Sydney's phone monitored?"

"It can be arranged," answered the cultured voice.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

From the shadowed doorway in the hall, Angelo watched Lyle's office. The door opened and three men walked out. Lyle
turned and locked the door behind him and the three walked off toward the elevator. Angelo snickered as the elevator dinged
and the door opened. The three disappeared inside. He edged out of his hiding place and approached Lyle's office door. As if a
locked office, or for that matter a locked drawer, ever kept him out.

Angelo crept forward, pulled a slender instrument out of his trouser pocket and slipped it into the door. The lock mechanism
clicked opened and Angelo slipped inside. He quickly repeated the trick on the desk drawer and slid the drawer open, taking
the photos and scurrying out of the room, closing up everything behind him.

Climbing to safety inside the Centre ventilation system, Angelo looked at the photos, pausing at the enhanced photo of the note
found on Tamsin's body. He laid a finger on it. Angelo snickered, then laughed the sound rising to a hysterical, maniacal pitch.
He rocked back and forth and pressed the photograph to his chest.

"I decide who lives or dies!" he screamed. "I decide who lives or dies!"