Desert Rose
By: Karisma
Section Two
Rated: R (For adult subject content, language, and allusions to sexual 
matters)
Genre: General Fiction; Romance, Alt
Karisma456@hotmail.com
Standard Disclaimers Apply
AN: Many of you may not like the portrayal of Serena in this story.  No 
other way to say this: Tough noogies. If you don't like it, don't read it. 
(Ppl vs. Larry Flynt!)But please do not flame me for the way I write these 
characters. However, if you like the story in any way shape or form please 
don't hesitate to drop me a line. :) Thank you and enjoy! PS- Serena does 
get a whole lot better as the novel progresses.

Memories
Silicon Valley, California 2001

     Serena Jenkins groaned silently as the judge's gavel struck down with a 
heavy thud. One year. She resisted the temptation to childishly stick her 
tongue out at the beady-eyed hag.
     The fifty year old Judge Cynthia Wallace permanently looked as if she 
had bit into a lemon, her small face was constantly puckered into a scowl of 
utter disdain. She had never been considered an attractive woman, but she 
had keen acumen that held zero tolerance for insolent youth. Serena Jenkins 
was a prime example of that. All Cynthia had to do was look at the exposed 
midriff and nose ring of the young woman to calculate a prison time of 
twelve months. She would have liked very much to sentence her to more, but 
considering the little criminal hadn't cost her victims too much money, it 
wouldn't be fair to make her do three years.
     And Cynthia was nothing if not fair.
     Serena blew out her breath as soon as she was led outside the 
courtroom, her only silver lining being that she managed to keep the bigger 
criminal out of the police's hands. Gavin wouldn't do well in prison, and 
there was no way Serena would sell a friend out. Not one she literally owed 
her life to.
     When her handcuffs were taken off, she rubbed her wrists and 
immediately lifted her hand to finger the pendant she always wore. Instead, 
her hand came in contact with her bare skin. Sighing, she remembered all her 
jewelry had been confiscated. Even the small, silver hoop she wore in her 
right nostril. The cell was empty except for her and a heavy-set woman 
snoring loudly with her back turned away from her.
     Running an agitated hand through her raggedly cut hair, she plopped 
down on threadbare cot and made herself as comfortable as possible. After 
all, she would be there for a while, thanks to that bitch of a judge. Maybe 
Wallace hated blondes. Maybe she hated women. Serena shook her head when she 
recalled the glare she had been privy to. The look that was supposed to put 
her in her place, make her feel as if she was gum that was scraped off shoes 
in disgust.
     But Serena took pleasure in reminding herself that she was probably 
smarter than Wallace. Even though Wallace had to be rather intelligent to 
compensate for her naturally spinsterish qualities, Serena Jenkins prided 
herself in having an IQ most people dreamed of.
     When the orphanage down in Georgia had been required to give her the 
test in high school, she had scored unbelievably high. Her teacher found it 
so implausible that the school's most apathetic student actually stored gray 
matter between her ears that he had made her take the test again. When the 
same results came back, he immediately took pride in her, babbling off a 
wide queue of colleges that would gladly accept her if only she took 
schoolwork seriously from that point on.
     Her response had been terse and spoke volumes. After her eloquent 'fuck 
that', she walked out of the classroom, blowing a bubble with her gum and 
not bothering to shut the door behind her. From there she had walked to the 
cyber café where she worked part time. The pay was mediocre, but it gave her 
a chance to be with, and on a slow day, use, the sole machine that had kept 
her company when solitude was inevitable.
     Serena Jenkins loved computers. She loved knowing how they worked, how 
such power was engineered and available with the click of a few keys. Of 
course, most of the dim-witted morons that came in to check their e-mail 
didn't know half of what lay at their fingertips. Neither had Serena. But 
she had been different; she had been determined to learn. And no hoity-toity 
school was going to teach her in four years what she had ached to discover 
for five years. No, it was quite certain that her only option had been to 
leave Georgia and move to the heart of the technology: the Silicon Valley.
     She took off the day after she graduated high school. Freshly eighteen, 
the feel of independence and discovery had given her a heady feeling the pot 
she was offered everyday could not match. She had made the move with 
pleasure, taking the money she had earned from the deplorable job down at 
Chit Ch@t and taking the Greyhound to California. There, she had met Gavin, 
who taught her everything he knew, sans a few tricks he opted to keep to 
himself. That was fine with Serena, what Gavin did school her in made her 
more knowledgeable than most crackers wished to be.
     Cracking had always been more of a game to her than anything else. Some 
made a living out of breaking into databases and selling information. Serena 
did it purely for the excitement of achieving. It was her way of flouncing 
in the faces of those who had mocked her long ago for the reticence. Back 
then, machines had been the only company for her. Years and many 
conversations later, she still wasn't one to desert her only "friend".
     Even when Gavin scored her some jobs that would have bestowed her 
dwindling surplus a hefty present, Serena did it more for the hell of it 
than anything to do with a monetary gain.
     The thrill of it is what landed her here in the cell that was home for 
the next year, if she was lucky. When Gavin had come home late one night, 
wheezing from his sprint up the two flights of stairs, Serena had known 
something was up. After he had taken a shot from the inhaler he pretended 
not to own, he managed to control his breathing enough to tell her the 
exciting news that had him willing to sacrifice his lungs.
     Apparently, some hotshot bigwig would be willing to spend a shitload of 
money to find out what his competitor's new, secret item was. Serena really 
hadn't see what the big deal was, but Gavin practically had a hard-on just 
talking about it. His slim fingers had flailed wildly as he gestured to her 
the importance of this job. When he was done talking, Serena had realized 
how she was involved. Gavin had promised his on again, off again girlfriend 
a real vacation. That meant Serena would be holding up the fort of their 
casual "business" alone for the next two weeks. The job needed to be done by 
then. Which meant, in short, Serena would do the work and reap half of the 
rewards.
     It was a shitty deal and she hadn't failed to tell him so. What was the 
big deal about such a tiny job? They had done a few of them before and none 
of them had had Gavin this worked up. When he voiced the amount they would 
be given, her jaw had dropped...and stayed there. Gavin had then proceeded 
to tell her that in the wake of this new project, they would be bestowed 
with all sorts of "toys".
     The thought of receiving new equipment on top of the gargantuan salary 
had been enough to give *her* a hard-on, had she been blessed with the right 
apparatus.
       "Hot damn," she had whispered, still shell-shocked.
      Gavin had simply grinned and leaned against the couch, his head 
supported by his hands.
      "Do you know what this means?"
      "We get the fuck outta this hell-hole."
      "Jesus."
      "I assume I have your approval?"
      "Hot damn!" She had repeated again, jumping up and staring down at his 
nonchalant pose with more zest and life than Gavin had seen in a long time. 
"Get off your ass and help me!"
      He had laughed and together they had compiled enough information to 
make it a piece of cake for Serena while he was gone.
      Or so they had thought.
      When the police had barged through the frail door of the hole in the 
wall place they inhabited, Serena had just sent the company the valuable 
information they had requested. The only thought she had while was being 
read her rights, was the smug realization that Gavin would still get the 
money. They could trace the source she had given the information to, but 
they could deny all ties with her and she would not contradict them.
     Not for two hundred thousand dollars.
     And so she was here, with a loud woman whose nasally sinus rhythm had 
the distinct musical quality of someone sleeping off enough alcohol to float 
a navy fleet.
     Rolling her eyes, she settled down on her back and stared up at the 
peeling paint on the ceiling. It wasn't hard to fall asleep she had slept in 
worse places than this, and when slumber finally overtook her, her only 
thought was of Gavin's reaction when he came back and found her in the 
slammer.

Late Night, Work Sucks

     Darien pinched the bridge of his nose with his thumb and forefinger, 
pausing from the briefs in front of him long enough only to squeeze his eyes 
shut. When he reopened them, the world was a bit bleary. Lack of sleep and 
dim lighting would do that to a man. Picking up the clear-rimmed glasses he 
had discarded earlier, he adjusted them on his tired face and resumed where 
he had left off.
     A shoplifting charge. A dumb teenager with more balls than brains 
hefted a pack of smokes from a small convenience store. The camera had 
caught him, the terrified young man had confessed, a testimony which was 
later deemed inadmissible. The juvenile sixteen year old normally would not 
have had anything to do with a prestigious firm like Bendell & Associates, 
but the delinquent's father was a seasoned doctor whose malpractice suits 
had given Thomas Bendell a great source of income for the past decade. 
Returning the favor, Thomas Bendell, esquire had dumped the sorry excuse for 
a case on Darien, the new guy.
      Technically, he had been the "new guy" for over two years. Now, as a 
junior partner, he had been elevated a bit, but not much. He was still too 
"inexperienced" to deal with the important cases that sent California to the 
television to watch with jaws agape at the heinous crimes Bendell's clients 
committed.
      No, he was stuck with getting a pilfering, post-pubescent teenager 
whose daddy saw more money after one operation than Darien did in six 
months. The case was open and shut. Travis Cross would look at the judge 
with wide eyes and he'd get a slap on the wrist and maybe some community 
service.
     Sighing, Darien let out a terse curse when he saw that the folder was 
missing the last few pages. Loosening his tie even further, he got up to the 
nearest filing cabinet in the miniscule room that passed for his office. 
Turning the air blue at the sorry excuse for an intern whose job was to file 
neatly and accordingly, Darien slammed the metal drawer shut when his hands 
turned up empty for the documents.
     Running a hand through his dark hair, he walked through the open door 
and into the central room where clients came in to wait. All the partners' 
offices, even the large conference room, were connected to it, circling the 
tastefully furnished area to give a personal environment. Clients liked 
seeing the lawyers smile courteously at them while they moved around, 
shuffling papers and making arrangements to save their clients' asses from 
inevitable doom. They liked thinking that lawyers weren't the blood-sucking 
leeches that cocktail jokes made them out to be.
     Law school had been grueling as hell and half as rewarding. Seven years 
of school had shoved him out into the real world with book smarts and a 
naiveté that he hated. Of course, three years of hands on experience at a 
private firm had taken care of that faster than a whore's timer went off. He 
was good at what he did, damn good. And Bendell knew it, he just didn't want 
to admit it. And the only way to prove to the senior partners how competent 
he was, was to bid his time and wait until his outstanding track record was 
noticed.
     On that note, he opened Bendell's cabinet with a metallic whoosh. 
Flipping through the files that were immaculately filed, he grumbled 
something about Thomas Bendell hiring one secretary to keep him organized 
and another to keep him laid. Finally making it to the J section of the 
neatly labeled folders, Darien muttered the names he passed in order to get 
to his destination.
     "Jacobs, Janison, Jeffers, Jenkins, Jilman..." His deft fingers 
backtracked quickly and found the folder labeled: Serena Jenkins.
     He simply stared at the yellow file for a while before pulling it out, 
his original intent forgotten. He did not bother to take the package back to 
his own desk, opting instead to sit at his boss' mahogany desk and pore over 
the already processed information. Most of the facts he already knew about, 
there were even the same newspaper articles attached as he had kept in his 
bedroom. He swallowed tightly when he found a picture of her at nine years 
of age. Her luminous blue eyes took up most of her face and although the 
girl was obviously young, her solemn expression and drawn face made her 
look...
     Darien rubbed his eyes and mentally scolded himself. Here he was, a 
grown man, making sentimental poetry over a twelve-year old picture. He 
angrily flipped the page, desperately needing to get the black and white 
photograph out of his sight. It was only then that he noticed the unusual 
thickness of the file. Rather than the rudimentary facts, there was an in 
depth analysis. It included her life prior to her mother's death, the 
doctors' physical and mental assessment of her well-being, even her IQ was 
listed. Which led to him to the next obvious question, why the hell would 
Bendell be carrying around a twelve year old profile of a case his firm had 
never been in charge of?
     The answer to that was as elusive as cotton candy and not nearly so 
sweet.* change this!!!!!!
     He reread the article he had once memorized from constant viewing. It 
was the final article that the newspapers had published on Kathleen Jenkins' 
unfortunate demise. It simply stated that the killer simply had left a cold 
trail and officials could find no leads that would guide them to the 
perpetrator. That was that. It was supposed to be the end of it all. All the 
madness. All the mayhem. All the conflicting and utterly ridiculous emotions 
that had him wired up as a teenager, lashing out at anyone who made a crack 
or bad joke about the unusual circumstances surrounding the child and her 
dead mother. It was supposed to have ended there.
     Then he turned the article and realized it had never truly ended.

Face-to-Face

     Prison. Christ, how on earth had she ended up there? Darien thumped the 
steering wheel in frustration at the relenting traffic. Actually, this was 
the perfect excuse to back out and postpone the entire trip. But he knew if 
he turned away now, he'd forget the whole goddamn idea. Maybe he should 
forget it. This was utter madness, going after a girl he had never met.
     But he felt like he'd known her forever.
     Shit, it was that kind of crazy, sentimental thinking that was going to 
get him screwed in the first place. Point blank, he did not know Serena 
Jenkins. He had only seen a few pictures of her as a kid. For all he knew, 
she could be a drugged out hippie who was in jail because she felt clothes 
restricted her id and decided to start a movement against garments in Grand 
Central. Or maybe she was a murderess cum prostitute.
     Rolling his eyes at the ludicrous notions he was cooking up, Darien 
pressed down on the gas pedal and inched forward. When he was out of the 
imminent danger of getting rear-ending, he allowed his thoughts to focus 
back on the file he had discovered in Bendell's office. He knew his 
half-cocked thoughts about hippies and whores was false; he had read what 
she was serving time for: hacking. He knew that was no small feat, it took 
intelligence. Which she had plenty of, according to the off the chart IQ he 
had read.
     Damn it all, why had Bendell had that folder? Between the chaos that 
was tormenting his mind and this asinine plan to see a woman who didn't even 
know him, Darien hadn't really thought out that particular conundrum.
     He lost all semblance of thought as he turned off a ramp and met with 
the sight of a gray building that was clearly the women's prison he had been 
looking for.
     The infamous catcalls and grabbing hands were something that he had 
expected. However, he was met with only a sleepy guard informing him that he 
had to sign in a sheet. He complied and soon he was led into a room filled 
with a few other people all talking to either crying or cussing women on the 
other side of a thick glass. When he informed the guard whom he wished to 
speak with, the plump woman snorted and yawned repeatedly while reciting a 
speech that told him his conversation could be recorded.
     He sat down in the less than comfortable chair and waited with bated 
breath at the first sight of his teenage obsession.

Not-So-Glorious Technicolor

     Serena looked up in surprise when the ward informed her of her visitor. 
Gavin had just spoken with her and there was no one else who gave a damn 
about her, let alone know she was in here. Running a hand through her blonde 
hair, she followed the short woman as she waddled over to the visiting room 
and shoved her into a chair.
     When she looked up into the eyes of her guest, she nearly choked. 
Turning around, she called to the waiting guard. "There's some mistake, I 
don't know this yuppie."
     Darien was shocked as well, this woman with an attitude was such a far 
cry from the quiet child with expressive eyes that his mind reeled. He 
hadn't been so naïve as to expect an adult version of the innocence he had 
seen years before, she was a criminal after all, but this! After all those 
years of harboring an ideal in his mind, he was amazed to see the woman 
before him, real and in not-so-glorious Technicolor.
     "Well, yuppie, you gotta name or do I just get to stare at your pretty 
mug all day?" She cupped her face in her hand as her elbow leaned against 
the scratched table surface. As she stared at him expectantly, Darien could 
see the fine bone structure that had been prevalent in her mother's 
white-collar family. Her large eyes were the same electrifying blue, though 
now they were tinged with a caustic layer that the young pictures had failed 
to capture. Her nose and cheekbones were nice slopes and clean planes that 
gave away her pedigree if one looked too closely. Her tousled and badly 
layered hair was the only feature that detracted from her attractiveness. If 
it were not for it's unflattering style, Serena Jenkins would have been 
considered one beautiful woman.
     Masking his disturbingly high opinion of her efficiently, Darien picked 
up the black phone on his side of the glass. He looked at her once more 
before deigning to speak. Why hadn't he planned on what to say? How could he 
not think that far ahead? "Well, Miss Jenkins, you obviously don't know me-"
     She snorted. "Obviously."
     He ignored her and continued as if she had not interrupted. "I'm a 
lawyer and rather interested in your case."
     She narrowed her eyes a fraction. "What case?"
     "The way I understand it, you're in here for hacking into some 
database?"
     "Cracking."
     "Pardon me?"
     "I didn't hack anywhere, I cracked into the database." She looked 
disgusted for a moment. "There's a difference."
     He gave her a long look that summarized how much the intricate 
difference mattered to him. She rolled her eyes in response.
     "In any case, I feel that with proper legal counsel you could be out of 
her and on probation and a stern warning. This is your first offense, am I 
correct?"
     "Yes," she said sweetly, her grin saccharine. "You are correct."
     "All right, then." He once again ignored her attitude. "I'll bail you 
out and we'll get the judge to hear your apology to the court and society."
     "Mm-hmm."
     He slammed his fist on the table in a movement that was like 
quicksilver. He derived pleasure from the involuntary jump she made. "Just 
what the hell is your problem?" He hissed. "I'm doing you a favor here; I'm 
taking this case pro bono. That means you don't pay a damn nickel!"
     "Oh, right, in money I don't pay," she sneered, her blue eyes flashing 
hotly which barely concealed disdain.
     "Care to explain further, or do I just get to stare at your pretty mug 
all day?"
     "Don't be cute, you sick bastard."
     Darien took immediate umbrage and his eyes turned to a shade of steely 
gray. "Are you this nice to everyone who tries to help you?"
     "No, only the ones who think I'm a whore."
     "In the entire length of our conversation, did I ever call you a whore 
once?" He leaned forward, his voice low, underlining the harsh and angry 
contours of his face.
     "I'm not going to sleep with you in exchange for you getting me out of 
here."
     Well she was certainly blunt, wasn't she?
     "First of all, did I ever ask you to? Secondly, don't flatter 
yourself."
     "Then why?"
     "Look, I know about your mother," her eyes grew venomous here, "And I 
thought that maybe after all the shit life's handed you, you could use a 
break."
     His nonchalant demeanor made her relax and lean back in her seat. Just 
as long as he didn't pity her, she could take it.
     There was a pause.
     He said quietly, meeting her stare with an eloquent look, "I am sorry 
about your mother."
     She nodded curtly.
     He knew that was a signal to let well enough alone. But he pressed on. 
"I, as much as anyone, know how busy detectives are, and how new homicides 
really stretch them thin; they don't get paid nearly enough. But sometimes, 
especially in your case, I wish that something could be done about opening 
new cases up for investigation."
     Her head snapped up. Her face was flushed, her eyes wild. "What did you 
say?" She whispered.
     He looked at her strangely. "What?"
     She shook her head impatiently. "About opening old cases."
     He shrugged. "I said how I'd like detectives to be able to solve old 
murders as well as new."
    She pretended to relax against her chair, but Darien could see the 
tension outlining her slim form. Her stringent posture gave away her 
attentiveness to his answers.
     "Well, I suppose sometimes it's just too late."
     Darien shook his head. "No, but we don't have a statute of limitation 
on murders for a reason, it's to-"
     She jumped back to the position she was previously in. One wide spread 
hand pressed firmly against the cold table. She was hunched over, letting 
the other clenched hand compress the phone to her ear as if it were a 
lifeline. "There's no statute of limitation on murders?" Her voice was small 
and thin, contrasting her aggressive stance.
     He looked puzzled. "No, I-"
     "Shit!" She hissed, fury in her tight voice. The curse was barely 
audible and Darien thought he had imagined it. But her next words dispelled 
that theory. "That cocksucking son of a fucking bitch!"

Sweet Nothings

     "Excuse me?" Darien demanded, his dark brow furrowed deeply. What he 
wouldn't give to know what was racing through her mind at that exact moment. 
Unfortunately, the hefty guard had decided it was time for their little 
rendezvous to end. She clamped an iron fist around Serena's surprisingly 
strong upper arm and yanked her up out of the chair.
      Serena put up a fight long enough to hiss her final words at him. They 
stayed with him long after she was dragged out. They kept him company on the 
ride back to his empty apartment. They remained with him as he got ready for 
work the next morning.
      He could hear them in his head, low and steely.
      *Get me out of here*