Routine
A Pretender story
by Jill Kirby

This is set at some point after "Island of the Haunted," but no specific spoilers. Rated PG (and that's being paranoid).

It's been a while since I've written much, and even longer since I've finished anything; it's been a long road. Many thanks to Karen and AJ, my fearless betas and good friends, who know just how long the road was. Thanks to Betsy, as well, for Peru. And much love to Mandy, just because.

Be nice: please do not reproduce in print. Please do not archive. Archive links to my website are welcome. I didn't create and don't own these characters or the premise of the show. This story is for entertainment purposes only, no infringement is intended, and absolutely no money is being made from this.

Who doesn't love feedback? You can send it to kirbyfest@yahoo. com.

*** *** *** ***

Tuesday morning, after the marketing meeting, she notices him for the first time. He's down the hall, leaning against the marble like it's actually comfortable, talking to Davis. She doesn't know the man, and that's an unacceptable risk.

He doesn't even look at her as she walks by. That is also unacceptable.

**

"Tall. Balding, dark hair, glasses. Thin. Good posture." When Broots continues to look like a complete moron, Parker takes a deep breath to stop herself from throwing the file folder at him. "Who is he, Broots?"

"I don't..." He pauses, pales, swallows. "I'll find out."

He's back in less than 20 minutes, and she should feel bad that he's out of breath. "His name is Yenkach. He's working for Raines." When she raises one eyebrow, Broots takes another deep breath and seems to find some semblance of a spine. "All I know is he's some kind of a consultant. Now, if you'll excuse me, I need to go finish this report for Mr. Lyle." He gulps. "If that's all right with you, Miss Parker."

Parker flicks a hand at him and turns away as he leaves. The view from her window hasn't changed in years, but it's suddenly fascinating.

She fucking hates consultants.

**

Parker meets Yenkach eventually, at one of those forced after-work functions that's supposed to help workers bond. Parker could give a shit about bonding with anyone; everyone's afraid to talk to her anyway. She goes, though, because there's free wine. It's good wine, at that.

Yenkach is polite, but either doesn't know or doesn't care about the Parker name, and he turns away to someone else without offering to fill her empty glass.

Broots' excellent internal information network has provided little new data, but Parker doesn't need to be told what Yenkach was brought in to do: he'd been brought in to find the scrolls, or Jarod, or both. Probably both.

**

Lyle's been in Singapore for two weeks but he's in her office within an hour of landing. "Who's this Yenkach asshole?" he asks, not bothering to ask how she is. They abandoned pleasantries long ago.

Parker shrugs, concentrating harder on the screen in front of her than is strictly necessary. "Some kind of consultant."

"For who?" She glances up at him. He's nervous-- his pallor isn't just due to jet lag. Parker wonders briefly if there's a workplace, anywhere, where the arrival of a consultant isn't met with a negative response. Perhaps she should look into consulting as her next career.

She doesn't answer him, but cuts three million dollars from someone's budget, keys clicking beneath her fingers.

**

They're two hours behind Jarod in Lima, and Parker can feel the sweat beading on her skin almost before they leave the depths of the church; the cool of the limousine is a relief. She tells the driver to take her somewhere with good security so she can have a drink without having to share a table with sweepers.

As they wait at a light, heading towards Larcomar, she's not surprised to glance over and see Yenkach sitting at a small red table at a sidewalk café. He's talking to a slender woman with enormous dark eyes, their faces inches from one another. His hand is on her knee.

The ring of her cell phone pulls her attention away from the tableau. "What?"

"Who the hell is that?" Jarod sounds out of breath, still.

Parker hits the button, raising the window between her and the driver. "His name is Yenkach. He's a consultant."

"I hate consultants. " She can hear something rustling in the background. "He's good. He almost caught me."

"But he didn't."

"He was closer than you were."

Parker wipes a sheen of sweat from her forehead. "But no cigar."

"He's screwing up our routine."

"Maybe he'll finally catch you."

His chuff of laughter prickles her skin. "Ah, Miss Parker. Don't you know? You're the only one who has permission to catch me."

The silence between them drowns out the noise of the city, and she ends their call with a flick.

**

Brussels, then San Diego. Both times Yenkach is there long before anyone else from the Centre. In San Diego, he actually has Jarod cornered for several minutes, until another one of Jarod's lost souls saves Jarod's ass. Parker might feel sorry for the consultant-- she's been there-- but she doesn't have time to waste on pity, and if she did it wouldn't be for Yenkach.

Raines is energized, almost manic now that the search is going well; he looks even more like a monster from a silent film than usual. Raines obviously thinks Jarod's capture is just around the corner. While she and Lyle both technically still have the Jarod pursuit on their docket, they're given other projects. Some are small and humiliating. Inappropriate.

Parker doesn't bother to complain, but watches Raines and Yenkach out of the corner of her eye. She doesn't want to be Raines' fair-haired girl, but she wants to live, and she wants other things she doesn't let herself think about while she's inside Centre walls. Yenkach is getting in the way, and she's staring at a half-empty bottle of water, turning over options in her head, when the phone rings.

"Three times is two times too many," Jarod says without preamble.

She knows what he means, and doesn't pretend otherwise. "Thanks to you, he's a popular guy around here these days. You're getting sloppy."

"No, I'm not. He's just good."

"You're supposed to be better."

"So far, I am. I'm going to have to do something about this." They're both quiet for a moment; Parker thinks she hears a dog in the background. "I meant what I said before."

"What?"

"That you're the only one allowed to catch me."

Parker shuts her eyes. There's definitely a dog in the background, and it sounds seriously pissed off in the long moments before she speaks again. "Why are you calling me, Jarod?"

This time, he hangs up on her.

**

The next near-miss is in a tiny town in Louisiana, barely more than a one-pump gas station. Parker's thrown when she realizes Yenkach wasn't there, and hasn't been.

She calls Broots immediately. "Where the fuck is Yenkach?" she hisses, not wasting time on pleasantries.

For once, it doesn't take him his usual 30 seconds to collect himself enough to speak. He's bubbling over with words. "Something's going on with him. I heard from Bob who works in the mailroom and is dating Suzanne..."

"Oh, for Christ's sake, Broots. I'm not interested in the Centre version of match dot com here. Tell me what the hell is going on."

"I don't have all the details yet, but there were sweepers in his office boxing things up. They took his computer, too."

Parker flips her phone shut, and wonders.

**

There's no memo, no goodbye party with cake, but Broots brings her the news Thursday morning: Yenkach is gone. His office (too large for someone so new) was cleared out overnight, and they've put three of the auditors in there to get them out of a conference room. Space is at a premium at the Centre, as always.

Broots is pathetically delighted to be able to bring her this news, and Parker rewards him with a half-smile and a dismissal that might, in some circles, be considered pleasant.

There are whispers of irregularities, Lyle tells her later. His face is smug and relieved, all at once.

**

They miss Jarod in Fort Collins, and again in Miami; it's the familiar pattern.

Leaving South Beach, Parker sends the sweepers to the airport. There's another tail, of course, but she loses it with little effort, and is far from the city by nightfall. She makes good time.

The roar of the ocean is music as she walks up the path, slipping off her shoes as she goes inside. Jarod's sound asleep on the lanai, his legs long and tan against the garish flowered fabric of the chaise lounge. There's not really enough room for two, but she slides in anyway, throwing one leg over his, settling into the curve of his arm.

He tastes of pineapple, and he needs a shave.

"You run, I chase." she whispers against his lips.

His voice is rough with sleep. "I told you that you were the only one allowed to catch me, Parker."

***

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