Penumbra

by Keri Arthur

  Lightning split the wet darkness—a blinding, ragged streak whose power seemed to echo right through him. He frowned. When he’d stepped out into the storm earlier, he’d felt the energy in the night. It was a sensation similar to walking underneath high-voltage power lines—the crackle of electricity was very audible, and static had caressed his hair and skin. If he had been standing under high-voltage lines, and if he were stupid enough to climb the pylons, he could have touched all that power, felt it running through him. And died in the process.

  The storm had felt like that—power that was both enticing and dangerous. Power he could reach out and touch if he wanted to. Power that would kill him if he tried.

  He glanced at his hands. There were no burn marks, despite the fact that he’d shoved them into the middle of the lightning strike. Neither he nor Sam had been hurt, and that in itself was a miracle.

  Or maybe it wasn’t. Maybe it was just another sign that Karl was right. She’d used the storms before and was certainly no stranger to that sort of power running through her. Maybe touching her had somehow protected him.

  Or maybe, as Karl had stated, he and Sam had a bond in which the storms were a major component—one they couldn’t yet understand, and maybe never would.

  For someone who didn’t want bonds of any kind, he seemed to be gaining more than his fair share. And there wasn’t much he could do to stop it. Ignoring the bond—and trying to push her away—hadn’t worked.

  Actually, he pretty much suspected that, despite her words to the contrary, he’d only made her more determined to force the issue.

  And he wasn’t actually sure how he felt about that.

  He didn’t want bonds of any kind; he’d been telling himself that for half his life. Yet part of him now hungered for it. Hungered for the closeness his brother and sisters had.

  Maybe the lightning had affected him. Short-circuited a brain wire or two.

  He hurried inside the small café where Alain had settled. His brother-in-law sat at a table to the left of the entrance, out of immediate sight but with a full view of the road and Wetherton’s building. Gabriel took off his coat and shook it out as he walked over. Droplets of moisture scattered over the nearby chairs and tables, but since the café was almost empty, it didn’t really matter.

  “I ordered you a coffee,” Alain said, sliding one of two steaming cups across the table.

  “Thanks.” Gabriel slung the coat over the spare chair and sat down. “You saw what happened?”

  Alain nodded. “It was pretty damn scary, too.” He glanced down, his gaze skimming Gabriel’s hands. “You don’t appear to be suffering any side effects from the strike. How did Sam fare?”

  “Much the same.” Gabriel shrugged, not wanting to get into explanations when he really didn’t have them. “But we have a bigger problem.”

  “What?”

  Alain picked up his coffee and sipped it, but there was the faintest touch of amusement in his brown eyes. Which, knowing the man as well as he did, suggested to Gabriel that his next comment would come as no surprise. “Sam knows we’re following her. She wants you both to stop, or she says she’ll call Stephan.”

  “So what are you planning to do?”

  “Nothing. I want you and Jess to keep watching as planned. Except for tomorrow. I’ll take over the day shift.”

  “Will she go through with her threat if she sees us?”

  “Most likely, so you need to be careful.”

  Alain raised a bushy eyebrow. “Stephan will not be happy if he discovers what we’ve been up to.”

  “Undoubtedly.” Gabriel picked up his coffee and gulped down some of the steaming liquid. “But I don’t care.”

  “So, basically, you’re saying the only thing you do care about is Sam’s safety.” Alain paused, a grin stretching his lips. “One could take that as an indication of emotional interest.”

  “Or professional interest. Especially if she proves to be our link to Sethanon.”

  Alain put down his cup and crossed his arms. “And do you believe that she is the link? After all these years of successfully avoiding us, do you seriously think Sethanon will come out of hiding for one woman?”

  “Seriously? Yes.”

  “Why?”

  “Because I don’t believe he would have placed a watch on her if she was of no use to him.”

  “True.” Alain paused. “But he might have intended to cultivate her, as he had her partner.”

  “No. Kazdan’s orders were to watch her, to keep her safe. That implies interest, not cultivation.”

  “And yet Kazdan was trying to recruit her.”

  “For himself, for his own takeover bid. Not for Sethanon.”

  “You can’t be sure of that.”

  Yes, they could, because that was exactly what Kazdan had told Sam. She believed it, and so did he. Still…“We can’t be sure of anything until we know for sure who she is and where she came from.”

  “Is that why you won’t admit to feeling anything for her?”

  Gabriel snorted softly. “No, I’m not admitting anything because there is nothing to admit.” And even if that wasn’t the entire truth—even if there was destined to be a bond between them—he’d successfully contained the link with his twin and he had every intention of doing the same with Sam. No matter how much a part of him might wish it otherwise.

  The truth was, while he couldn’t deny his attraction—at least to himself—he would not break his vow to never get involved. He wouldn’t do that to someone ever again. And if, as Jessie predicted, he became a sad and lonely old man, so what? He could at least rejoice in the fact that he’d actually lived long enough to become sad and lonely. That another human being hadn’t been killed simply because he had made her a target.

  “So,” Alain said thoughtfully, “that look of horror and panic on your face when she was hit by lightning had absolutely no emotional basis whatsoever?”

  “None at all.” Gabriel couldn’t actually remember much about that moment, because when the lightning hit her, it had echoed through him, burning away all thought and emotion. He’d reacted instinctively, without really knowing what he was doing or saying until his hands had touched her.

  But before he could actually reply further, his wristcom rang. He breathed a silent prayer of thanks for the timely intervention. No matter how he answered Alain, his brother-in-law would have twisted his words.

  He retrieved his phone from his coat pocket and hit the receive button. “Agent Stern.”

  “Hey, Boss.” Illie’s usually cheerful expression looked subdued. “We’ve got a problem.”

  “Just one? That would be a minor miracle.” Gabriel rubbed his eyes wearily. “What’s up?”

  “You remember Kathryn Douglass?”

  “It was only yesterday that we visited the Foundation, Illie. I may be older than you, but I am not senile.”

  His would-be partner snorted. “Yeah, well, the SIU just received a call from the State boys. It appears Kathryn Douglass has been murdered.”

  “What?”

  “Yeah. It happened last night, at her home. State called us because there was no entry or exit point. They’re saying there’s clear nonhuman involvement.”

  Gabriel glanced at his watch. “I’ll meet you there in fifteen minutes. Did you manage to interview Pegasus’s security guards?”

  “Some, but they weren’t able to add anything to what we already know.”

  “Have you scheduled time with the others?”

  “I have. See you in fifteen.” And Illie hung up.

  Gabriel looked at Alain. “I’ve been called to a murder scene. Make sure you keep out of Sam’s sight.”

  Alain gave him a grin that held very little humor. “I’ve been doing this for more years than she’s been alive.”

  “Yeah, but she’s a whole lot cleverer than most of our usual targets.” Gabriel drained his coffee and stood. “If anything happens, call me immediately.”

  “Don’t worry. I w
on’t let anything happen to your lady.”

  Gabriel didn’t dignify the comment with an answer. He just turned around and headed back out into the weather.

  —

  Sam leaned against the elevator wall and watched the numbers roll by. Wetherton, despite his supposed fear of heights, had moved his office from the third floor to the twenty-fifth floor, claiming a good third of the top floor for his boardroom, office and waiting area. If anyone in the government or press thought this was outrageous—or out of character—they weren’t saying anything. Maybe they were just so used to the excesses of government ministers that they simply didn’t bother questioning them anymore.

  Or maybe Wetherton was simply paying off the right people. It certainly wouldn’t be the first time something like that had happened.

  The elevator stopped and she walked out. The standard blue carpet in the lobby gave way to a plusher, more luxurious plum once she’d pushed through the doors leading into the minister’s suite.

  A buxom blonde looked up and gave her a practiced but totally false smile. “Good afternoon. How may I help you?”

  Sam dug out her badge and showed it to the woman. “Samantha Ryan, SIU. I have an appointment to see the minister.”

  “Ah, yes. If you’ll just have a seat, I’ll let him know that you’re here.”

  The blonde picked up the phone. Sam sat on the nearest pale lemon couch and let her gaze roam. The first thing she noticed was the security camera in the corner to the left of the reception desk. It was pointed at her rather than at the doorway, meaning that someone was probably watching her.

  Or maybe all visitors were scrutinized this intently. Paranoia surely was uppermost in the life of a clone who was trying to masquerade as the genuine object.

  Or did the clone actually think he was original?

  If, as she and Gabriel had theorized, someone had successfully found a way to transplant a brain, then it was certainly possible—especially if you believed the brain was the center of not only personality and memory, but also the soul. Maybe the real Wetherton was inside that clone somewhere.

  But if he was, why the abrupt change in personality?

  It was certainly a line they needed to explore—particularly since it was obvious that whoever was making these clones had successfully traded one of his creations for an original, and had tried to do the same with the Prime Minister himself. If Sethanon was involved with Hopeworth, as Gabriel and the Federation presumed, then these attempts to replace government ministers weren’t going to end here.

  Sam let her gaze move on, studying the two other doors leading off this main room. One was a standard door, the other a double set with plusher handles. Wetherton’s office, obviously.

  But as her gaze rested on those doors, the feeling hit. A wash of heat, followed by the certainty that there was a shifter inside—a shifter whose very essence felt malevolent.

  A tremor ran through her—and not so much because of the thick sensation of evil, but because she’d felt this particular brand of filth before.

  In her dreams of Joshua and fire.

  The man with the gray eyes was in the room with Wetherton.

  Her heart accelerated and her stomach began to churn. She licked her lips and tried to get a grip. Damn it, she’d seen Gray Eyes last night, had even interacted with him, and she hadn’t felt anything close to this.

  So why now and not then?

  It didn’t make sense. Maybe her psychic wiring had been short-circuited by the lightning strike. Or maybe there’d been too much other shit happening last night and she simply hadn’t had the time to notice the psychic sensations.

  “The minister won’t be too long,” the blond secretary said into the silence.

  Sam jumped, just a little, but managed to fake a smile of thanks. God, this was ridiculous. Anyone would think she was a green trainee, not a cop with years of experience. She crossed her legs, tapping her foot impatiently as she waited.

  After another five minutes or so, the doors opened and two men walked out, both of them wearing that happy-to-have-met-you smile that was obviously as fake as the secretary’s.

  Gray Eyes was dressed in military blue that made his silver hair stand out all the more. Just watching him—watching the calm, assured way he moved—sharpened Sam’s perception of evil until it felt like her entire body burned with his wrongness. Looking at him was making her physically ill, but she wasn’t entirely sure whether it was a result of psychic distaste or a reaction left over from her dreams.

  Wetherton stuck his hand out to Gray Eyes and said, “I’ll certainly mention your concerns when the matter comes up in Parliament, General Blaine. Thank you for speaking with me today.”

  General Blaine? It wasn’t a name she’d heard before, but then, given the security surrounding the military base and its projects—old or new—that wasn’t really surprising.

  So was Blaine one of the scientists involved in the Penumbra project, as her dreams seemed to indicate? And if so, how had he escaped the fire that had killed nearly everyone else?

  And why was there no sign of a cut or burn marks on the left side of his blunt features? Last night, when he’d climbed out of the car with the woman, the wound on his head had looked nasty—and if the amount of blood that had been pouring down his face was anything to go by, it had been deep. Wounds like that didn’t disappear overnight. Not without a trace, anyway. Shapeshifters and shapechangers did have the ability to heal wounds fast, but even they were usually left with scars.

  Her gaze flicked to Wetherton. His spudlike face bore several nasty scrapes, and he had an egg-sized lump near his right temple. No anomalies there, at least.

  Gray Eyes nodded and shook Wetherton’s hand. “I appreciate that, Minister. The military cannot afford to have our funds cut for the third year in a row. Several projects vital for national security could be in jeopardy if they are.”

  “I’ll put your case forward, General. I can’t promise more at this time.”

  Blaine nodded and turned for the exit. Then his gaze met Sam’s and he paused. Deep in those gray, soulless depths, she saw surprise. Maybe even shock.

  The sort of shock that came when you suddenly and unexpectedly met someone you knew but hadn’t seen for a very long time.

  Which again didn’t make sense, given the events of last night. If he did somehow recognize her, if he did know her from the projects, why hadn’t he reacted last night?

  “Do we know each other?” he asked, eyes narrowing slightly.

  Yeah, she wanted to say. I helped save your ass last night. But something inside stopped her from uttering the words. Instead, she simply said, “I don’t believe so.”

  He stepped closer and she resisted the urge to sink back into the sofa. This close, the sensation of his evil was so strong that her insides felt like they were trying to claw their way out of her body.

  “Are you military? Ex-military?”

  Energy crawled around her—a sensation wholly different from the evil of his soul but just as sickening. That pressure seemed to build around her, as if the energy were trying to crawl into her mind. Telepathy, she realized. He was trying to read her thoughts.

  And while the fact that she couldn’t actually feel him in her mind suggested he wasn’t having any immediate luck, she wasn’t about to give him the time to succeed, either.

  “No, I’ve never been in the military, General.” She rose, retrieved her badge from her pocket and flipped it out for him to see. “Samantha Ryan, SIU. If you have questions, please ask them. I do not appreciate your attempts at mind reading.”

  “Mind reading?” Wetherton said, voice all bluster despite the quick flick of concern he cast the general’s way. “This office is fully shielded against such intrusions, so you must be mistaken, Agent Ryan.”

  “No,” she said, her gaze not leaving Blaine’s. “And shielding is not always one hundred percent effective.”

  Wetherton’s expression didn’t give much away, but she had the
distinct feeling, just from the way he was looking at the general, that the news that the general could read minds horrified him. Which meant that maybe Wetherton did have secrets he had no wish for the military to uncover. It also meant that there was a whole lot more going on here than what Stephan and the SIU presumed.

  The general’s smile was slow and cold. “No, psi shields are never one hundred percent effective. But you are wrong, Agent Ryan. I was not trying to read your thoughts.”

  So what the hell had he been trying to do? She shoved her badge back into her pocket and decided to tackle Blaine head on. “So, General, do you work in the same division as General Frank Lloyd?”

  He raised his eyebrows. “You know General Lloyd?”

  “Yes. I had a brief conversation with him about some former military employees that were getting murdered.”

  “Ah, yes, the retired scientists.”

  “And the retired specimen donors. Don’t suppose you know anything more about the projects they were involved in, do you?”

  “No. I was never involved in that side of the operation.”

  “Then what were you involved in?”

  “Why do you want to know?” he countered. “You caught and killed the people involved in those murders, correct? So the case is now closed.”

  “Actually, no, it’s not, because one of the murderers is still loose. The kite.” It was risky mentioning it, because few people had any idea they existed. The SIU hadn’t yet released an all-points about their existence.

  “Kite? What the hell is a kite?” Irritation was very evident in Wetherton’s voice. He had no idea what was going on, and he didn’t like it one bit. But if he was the military’s puppet, shouldn’t he have had some clue? “Beyond something flown on a string, that is.”

  Blaine didn’t react to the mention of the kite. He didn’t do anything more than stare at her in that flat, calculating way. Either he knew about the kite and wasn’t about to give her any information or he didn’t know anything and wasn’t going to admit it.