by Keri Arthur
“I did. I couldn’t find a thing.”
“Then keep looking. There has to be some information about him somewhere.”
Izzy’s boa twirled faster. “Darlin’, I can only do so many things at once.”
“Izzy, you’re a computer, not a human.”
“That doesn’t mean I’m without limits.”
She grinned. They were definitely making these things too real. “You’ll live, Iz. Let me know when you find anything.”
She closed the screen and set the com-unit to one side, then lifted her feet onto the glass-and-chrome coffee table. Without really meaning to, she dozed.
A soft sound woke her. She blinked, briefly noting that it was still night as she glanced sideways at the clock on the wall. Four o’clock. She’d been asleep just about an hour.
She frowned, listening to the silence, feeling guilty about sleeping on the job and wondering what the hell had woken her. Then she heard it again—a whisper-soft bump of something against metal. It came from the direction of Wetherton’s room.
She rose, reaching for her weapon as she padded toward the door. After grasping the handle, she carefully inched the door open. Wetherton was a blanket-covered, unmoving lump in the bed who made no noise.
She frowned and pushed the door open a little more, quickly peering around the corner. Nothing unusual. No reason for the sound she’d heard.
Pressing her fingertips against the door, she pushed it all the way open. The room was still and dark, and Wetherton’s aftershave—a spicy, musky scent that was far too powerful for her liking—filled the air.
She stepped quietly into the room and looked around. Still no noise. No indication that anything was wrong.
Half wondering if the noise she’d heard was nothing more than a figment left over from stolen sleep, she took another step forward.
And realized it wasn’t Wetherton in the bed, but pillows bunched together to take on the appearance of a sleeper if anyone happened to look in.
The man himself was nowhere to be seen.
She raised her gun and cautiously approached the walk-in closet, all senses alert. Another duck around the door frame revealed that Wetherton wasn’t hiding in there, either.
What the hell…? She lowered her weapon and looked around the room, then up at the ceiling. No trap doors, no windows. No Wetherton.
A man his size couldn’t just disappear…
Her gaze went to the vent. It was open.
“Shit.” She dropped to her knees and peered into the dark hole. Fear rose, threatening to engulf her, but she ignored it the best she could and listened.
From far down came another thump and the soft squawk of a bird. Then silence.
She pulled back from the hole and sat on her heels.
Wetherton wasn’t just a clone; he was a shapechanger.
But if he was so afraid for his life, why would he leave this apartment—and her protection—so abruptly? Why put himself in danger like that?
Unless, of course, he needed to report to his master and this was the only way he could do it without raising suspicion. After all, the real Wetherton was human, not changer. And this Wetherton had been in a mighty hurry to get her out of the room so he could sleep.
She rose and left, closing the bedroom door behind her. Whatever his reasons, it was obvious that he didn’t want her to know he was gone. And it certainly played better for her if he didn’t know that she knew.
After shoving her gun away, she flopped back onto the sofa and opened the com-unit again. Izzy’s fuzzy face came online instantly. “And here I was thinking you were sleeping.”
“I was. Can you send an urgent email to Director Byrne? Tell him Wetherton is a changer. Tell him I need a tracer sent in with Jenna Morwood this morning, if possible.”
“Request sent. Still waiting on search results.”
“Ta, Iz.” Sam shut the com-unit down and settled back to wait. It was an hour before she heard the soft sound of movement in the bedroom. After a few seconds, the door opened and Wetherton’s tousled head appeared.
“Anything wrong, Minister?” she inquired politely.
“I thought I heard something,” he said, in the best just-woken-from-sleep voice she’d ever heard.
“Nothing’s moving. I’m struggling to keep awake, in fact.”
“Make sure that you do,” he snapped, and closed the door.
Ass, she thought, and wondered how the hell she was going to get through months of this tedium.
With a sigh, she leaned back against the sofa and watched the dawn break slowly across the night-held sky. Jenna arrived just before her shift started. She was a pretty woman of Spanish descent.
After checking her ID, Sam let her in and introduced herself. Jenna smiled, the merry twinkle in her dark eyes belying the hint of steel in her handshake. “Director Byrne sent this for you,” she said, handing her an interoffice envelope. “What’s Wetherton like?”
Sam glanced at the still-closed bedroom door. “He’s a politician.”
Jenna grimaced. “Says it all, doesn’t it?”
“Yeah.” Sam tore open the envelope. Inside were two small plastic packets. Stephan wasn’t taking any chances—he’d sent two tracers, one for each of them. She got one out and handed it to Jenna. “He’s also an unrecorded changer. He disappeared on me last night, but he doesn’t know that I know. Keep an eye on him, and try to place the tracer on him without alerting him.”
Jenna nodded, pocketing the packet quickly as Wetherton came out. When his gaze fell on Jenna, his whole demeanor lightened. Sam didn’t know who she felt sorrier for—Jenna for being placed on a twelve-hour watch with a lecher, or Wetherton if he actually tried to harass her.
Though personally, she wouldn’t have minded seeing Jenna kick his sorry ass to kingdom come.
She made the introductions, then donned her jacket, grabbed her bag and com-unit and got the hell out of there.
And discovered Gabriel waiting for her outside the building. She stopped briefly as surprise and something else—something close to excitement—ran through her.
He was leaning against one of the concrete columns, arms crossed, and looking as tired as she felt. “What’s wrong?” she asked, stopping a few feet away from him. His scent ran around her, spicy and warm, stirring her longing.
And steeling her earlier resolve to pursue whatever it was between them. Whether or not she succeeded didn’t matter. If she didn’t do something, if she simply sat back and accepted his statement that his heart belonged to someone long dead, she’d regret it.
“I heard you requested information about a General Blaine.” He shifted his hand, revealing a manila folder. “I thought you might like to share why over breakfast.”
She raised an eyebrow. “Breakfast doesn’t get you out of lunch, you know.”
A wry smile touched his lips. “I guessed that. But this is a business breakfast, not an apology.”
Of course. He wouldn’t be here, otherwise. “Why are you curious about my interest in Blaine?”
“Because I met him last night. Since you saw him when the Wetherton attack went down wrong, I wanted your opinion of him.”
He motioned her forward, and then pressed his hand lightly against her spine to guide her toward his car. The warmth of his touch trembled across her skin. Yep, she had it bad. But if he noticed her reaction, he didn’t say anything. Didn’t react in any visible way himself.
“I know this sounds catty, but why does my opinion of the man matter?”
He slanted her a look as he opened the car’s passenger door for her. “Because you have an innate skill for sensing evil in people. I want to know if you sensed it in him.”
She waited until he’d climbed into the car before replying, “Yes and no.”
He started the car and pulled out smoothly into the early morning traffic. Then he flicked on auto-drive and programmed it to head to the hotel where she’d been staying. She certainly hadn’t told him she was staying there,
so he’d obviously dug it out of her personnel file. If she wasn’t so tired she might have felt annoyed, but right now all she felt was vague amusement.
“What does that mean?” he asked.
“It means that when Wetherton’s car was attacked and I was trying to save his ass, I felt no sense of evil from Blaine. Yet yesterday afternoon, as he was coming out of Wetherton’s office, my skin fairly crawled at the sight of him. And oddly, he had no trace on him of the wounds he had received in the bombing.”
Gabriel frowned. “What time was that?”
“A little after six. Why?”
“Because when I saw him a little before seven, there were definitely traces of wounds on his face then.”
Sam felt a shiver run up her spine. “So what are you saying, that there are two different Blaines? Like a clone?” Though it certainly made sense, given her differing reactions to the man.
“Or a shifter impersonating Blaine,” Gabriel added. “Do you know why he was visiting Wetherton?”
“Something to do with military funding. But why would someone bother to impersonate Blaine just to beg for money? If your Blaine had the wounds and was with Lloyd—who presumably would be able to spot a fake—then clearly he was the real Blaine.” So why was her Blaine—the fake Blaine—the evil one? It made no sense. Then she frowned. “And why were they both turning up at a murder scene, anyway?”
“Because the woman murdered was Kathryn Douglass, director of the Pegasus Foundation, which has strong military ties.”
“But that doesn’t explain why Lloyd and Blaine would turn up.”
“Many of the projects Pegasus was involved in came from Hopeworth. Blaine was Douglass’s military contact.”
“But…” Sam hesitated, mulling over the little she’d heard or read about Pegasus. “Don’t they make big hardware, like fighter planes and stuff?”
“Yes, but they also work on smaller, more experimental weapons for Hopeworth. Illie and I were called in there yesterday to investigate a break-in.”
“Illie being your new partner?” Meaning he didn’t have something against partners, just against her?
Gabriel scowled. “Not by choice, I can assure you.” His gaze met hers for a long moment, and she saw not only annoyance but a loneliness and a longing that was as deep as anything she’d ever felt.
If ever she needed encouragement to carry on with her crazy seduction plan, that was it. The problem was, how far should she push? And how soon? Given the situation—and her reassignment—it wasn’t going to be easy, no matter what she decided.
Which meant that maybe she needed to seduce him sooner rather than later—and hit him hard and fast. Give him no time to think, just react.
She looked out the window and wondered if she could even do that. Wondered if she’d do nothing more than make a fool of herself. Lord, she hadn’t even kissed the man, and here she was, thinking of full-blooded seduction. And she had only her hormones and his sister saying that he was interested. Because while she might see loneliness and need in his eyes, it didn’t actually mean that either was aimed at her.
“Sam?”
She jerked out of her thoughts and met his gaze. “Huh?”
He studied her again, his gaze shrewd and almost judgmental. “I said the problem was, Illie wasn’t the partner they were hoping to see.”
She frowned. “Meaning they wanted me? Why?”
“According to Illie, it was some sort of test.” He hesitated. “A test they went through with regardless.”
Alarm ran through her. “Why would they do that? What sort of test was it?”
“There was an explosion, followed by a fire hot enough to melt the walls and damn near kill the both of us.”
The alarm got stronger. In her dreams, they’d tested her against fire, too. She swallowed heavily and said, “How did you survive?”
“We were lucky—the room had several fireproofed cabinets.” His gaze met hers. “Why would they want to test you against fire, Sam? Do you have any idea?”
“No.” She paused. “But in a recent dream, someone was trying to force me to control fire.”
“Who?”
Sam hesitated, but something in the way he was looking at her suggested this was a pivotal point in their relationship. That if she lied about this, she could forget about the future and whatever plans she might have. “I don’t know who they all were, but I recognized one of them—Blaine.”
“How?”
“From my dreams.”
His eyebrow rose. “And what was he doing in those dreams?”
She blew out a breath, battling a sudden reluctance to talk about it. What if the dreams were false? What if they were nothing more than images of an overactive imagination?
What if they weren’t?
If she wanted to know the truth, she had to start trusting someone with her nightly journeys. Someone other than Joe, whom she might not be able to trust.
“They were training me to use gifts I don’t appear to have.”
“Hopeworth was?”
“I can’t say for sure it was Hopeworth, because the dreams never included a location. It was just a room—or rather, an arena—with the scientists in an observation room above me.”
“And was it just you in the dream?”
“In the training arena? Yes.” She hesitated. “But I am never alone in the dreams. Joshua is always with me.”
“And is Joshua this Joe Black you mentioned earlier?”
“In all honesty, I don’t know. Joe looks nothing like the boy in my dreams. His coloring is completely different, for a start.”
“But he could be?”
“I guess so. Anything is possible, especially when I don’t even know if the dreams are real or a figment of a warped imagination.”
He considered her, his hazel eyes shuttered. “Is Joe real?”
“I’ve already said yes to that question. But I do know Joe is not his real name.”
“Do the dreams feel real?” Gabriel asked.
“Yes.” Too real and too painful—even if she didn’t entirely believe them.
Or maybe that should be even if she didn’t entirely want to believe them.
“If you are so sure, why have you never mentioned them?”
Sam hesitated. “Just because they feel real doesn’t mean they are real. For all I know, they could have been planted in my subconscious for some nefarious reason.” She looked ahead as the car began to slow and saw that they were nearing the hotel. She returned her gaze to his. “That’s what you were thinking, isn’t it?”
A smile fleetingly touched his lips. “At first, yes. But I think it’s becoming increasingly obvious you’re from one of the Hopeworth projects, though whether that project is Penumbra or something else is anyone’s guess. That being the case, you’ve obviously slipped their noose until now. Which means you had help.”
“Because a teenager could not escape the might of the military alone.”
“A normal teenager, no. But you are not normal, Sam.”
“And if that wasn’t apparent before, it sure is now.” She smiled to counter the bitterness in her tone. “But even so, my memories—or lack thereof—and the fact that there has been a careful ‘refinement’ of my past suggests that someone, somewhere, knows who and what I am. And they have gone to great lengths to conceal it.”
“Yes.” Gabriel paused. “Have you asked this Joe about it?”
“He says I will remember when I need to remember.”
“Helpful.”
“Yeah. And when I’ve asked who he is, I get the same response.”
“Then perhaps you need to find another source.”
She raised her eyebrows. “You don’t think I’ve been trying?”
“I meant another Hopeworth source. Have you ever gone back to see that woman who claimed to be your nanny in Hopeworth? The one who called you Josephine?”
“No.”
“Then perhaps we should.”
“What? Now
?”
“Is there anything else you particularly want to do?”
“How about sleep?”
He looked at her for a moment, then he laughed a little sheepishly. “Yeah, I guess you would. How about I come back later this morning?”
How about you come join me in bed? She rubbed a hand across her eyes and tried to ignore the impulse to say the words out loud. For all that she wanted this man, it wasn’t the right time for a seduction. And in all honesty, her planned lunch probably wasn’t the best time, either, though she had a feeling there was never going to be a “good” time.
But if she wanted to know for sure whether that something between them was more than just a side effect of genetics, of breeding, then she had better force her reluctant feet forward and at least try, wrong time or not.
“No. Let’s do it now; then I can sleep for the rest of the day.”
He raised his eyebrows. “And the apology lunch?”
“Can become an apology brunch. Unless you are willing to take a rain check.” She leaned forward and programmed the nursing home’s address into the auto-drive. The car shot back into traffic and drove on.
He didn’t comment, just nodded. She wasn’t getting much from him at the moment—not even little insights via body language, which meant he was controlling himself very tightly.
No surprise, really. He’d been doing that from the first time they’d met.
“So,” she continued, “what did you learn about Blaine?”
“Not a great deal. Basic information on family and education. Information that all but ceased when he went into the military at eighteen.”
“Did he go straight into Hopeworth, then?”
“No. Records show he enlisted in the army and went through basic training. The records are listed as high security after that, though.”
“I thought Stephan’s security listing was high enough to get access to such records.”
“He has access to everything but Hopeworth. That is a law unto itself.”
Sam snorted. “I’m thinking that’s not exactly wise.”
Gabriel grimaced. “The military would argue that, given the sensitive nature of much of their research, it is a necessity.”