by Keri Arthur
There was no way to be certain. But if this dream were to be believed, then she had not only killed, but she’d enjoyed it. Nor was it the first or the last time it had happened.
And she’d been no more than seven years old at the time.
“Lights on,” she murmured, wanting to banish the shadows and the last remnants of the dream.
Brightness flooded through the hotel room. She sat up, drew her knees close to her chest and hugged them tightly. If Joshua was in fact her brother, as the dreams insisted, why did he call her Samantha? According to Mary Elliot, the woman who’d supposedly looked after the two of them in Hopeworth, Joshua’s sister had been called Josephine.
And why was she dreaming of a scientist with gray eyes when all the scientists who had dealt with the Penumbra project were dead?
Or were they?
They’d had only Allars’s word on that, and Allars was an old man whose memories might well have been altered by the military. No matter how reliable his information had seemed, no matter how much it had jelled with other sources, they had to take everything he said with a grain of salt.
She rubbed her arms and looked at the time. It was nearly eleven. Wetherton would be leaving the theater soon and heading home. According to the file, the vampire would attack just before Wetherton climbed into the car.
The theater was only four blocks down from her hotel. If she hurried, she just might make it there in time to see what happened. She had a horrible suspicion that things would not go as Stephan had planned.
And investigating was certainly better than sitting here in this hotel room, trying to stay awake in an effort to avoid the dreams that made no sense, and yet terrified her.
—
Gabriel swiped his credit card through the cab’s slot and climbed out. Illie had offered to drive him home, or even here, to his sister’s, but he’d had more than enough of his new partner. At least Sam had been able to appreciate moments of silence—not to mention being a whole lot easier on the eyes.
Not that he’d ever admit either to her.
He scrubbed a hand through his hair and wished he could just stop thinking about her. Damn it, he’d gotten what he wanted—and what was best for both of them.
So why did he feel so damn depressed about it?
Maybe it was just exhaustion. He and Illie had spent an hour in the med center at Pegasus being poked and prodded. Then they’d wasted another three hours viewing the security tapes and talking to the evasive Kathryn Douglass. Whatever secrets the woman hid, she wasn’t giving them away easily. Even Illie had trouble reading her.
Right now, he wanted nothing more than to go home, have a drink and go to bed. But he couldn’t—not until he’d looked after the woman he couldn’t stop thinking about.
He climbed the front steps and reached out to press the doorbell, but the door opened before he could. His sister stood before him, green eyes concerned despite her welcoming smile.
“A visit from my little brother at this hour of the night? Things must be bad.” Her voice was soft as she rose on her toes to kiss his cheek.
Gabriel smiled and kissed her back. “I need help.”
“I gathered that. Head on through to the kitchen. Alain’s making coffee.”
He made his way down the shadowed hall, his boots echoing loudly on the wooden floors. Alain, Jessie’s brown-haired, large-limbed husband of six months, stood near the sink, pouring hot coffee into three mugs.
He glanced around as Gabriel entered, giving him a quick look over before his lips split into a wide grin. “Man, you look like shit.”
Gabriel smiled and dragged out a chair. “That’s a pretty accurate description of how I feel.”
Alain placed a mug in front of him and sat opposite. The scent of coffee wafted up, teasing him.
“Things not going well?”
Though there was a sympathetic edge in Alain’s voice, amusement crinkled the corners of his brown eyes. Gabriel had an odd feeling he wasn’t actually referring to work. What had Jessie been telling him?
“Yeah, you could say that. I almost got blown up this afternoon.”
“Tough days at the office are the pits.”
“But you’re not here for sympathy, are you?” Jessie said, as she sat down and leaned her shoulder against Alain’s.
Loneliness swirled through Gabriel. If only briefly, he found himself wanting what most of his siblings had—someone to lean on. Someone to come home to. He rubbed a hand across his eyes. God, he definitely needed some sleep if he was thinking that. Besides, his chance at such a life had slipped away when Andrea died. “No, I want you to help me guard Sam’s back.”
Jessie shared a look with her husband, concern evident. Alain leaned forward, interlacing his long fingers. “Stephan’s not going to like that.”
“Stephan doesn’t have to know.”
Jessie smiled slightly. “You can’t keep secrets from Stephan. None of us can. He has a nose for secrets.”
Well, this was one secret he’d better keep his nose well out of or there would be hell to pay. “Look, Stephan’s assigned Sam to the Wetherton case. He’s hoping her presence will draw Sethanon out. But I think it’s more likely to draw out Hopeworth.”
Alain’s frown deepened. “Why would Hopeworth be interested in her?”
“Hopeworth’s been playing in the genetic sandbox for years, and Sam is more than likely one of their creations. And even if she’s not, she’s caught their interest.”
Jessie picked up her mug and regarded him steadily over the rim. “Why didn’t you just keep her as a partner? You wouldn’t have had this problem then.”
“My partners have a bad habit of dying.” He hesitated and rubbed his eyes again. Andrea might have died by an assassin’s bullet, but Mike’s death had been his responsibility. He’d fired the killing shot. “I prefer to work alone. You know that.”
A small smile touched her lips. “What I know, brother dearest, is that you’re using your fear as an excuse.”
He raised an eyebrow. “An excuse for what?”
“I remember a man holding the woman who was both his girlfriend and his partner in his arms and vowing to never let another woman come so close to his heart. A promise he has kept, until now.” She hesitated, green eyes regarding him steadily. “Sam threatens that vow because you know, deep down, that she is the one for you. That’s why you got rid of her.”
Though an empath, his sister could sometimes be surprisingly off base. He frowned and sipped his coffee. There was some truth in her words, though. He did have a connection with Sam, and he was definitely attracted to her. But as much as he might occasionally hunger for it, he really didn’t want emotional complications of any kind in his life. That was part of the reason he continued to block Stephan’s thoughts. Why he was so comfortable with Sandy, another SIU officer and his sometime lover. She wanted no commitment, no emotion, beyond friendship.
As for Sam being the one…He put down his mug and tried to ignore the ache in his heart.
“Andrea was my destiny, my life mate. Not Sam. Whatever I feel for Sam, it could never evolve into something that lasts. My heart died with Andrea.”
“Are you so sure, lad?” Alain said, his deep voice holding a touch of compassion.
“Yes.” At least Alain understood. Jess, and the rest of his family, probably never would. They weren’t shapechangers, and weren’t cursed with the knowledge that there could be only one permanent mate for them—ever.
Jessie sniffed. “Andrea was your first love, Gabriel. Don’t be so certain that what you felt then was life-altering.”
“Look, I came here to ask for help, not to be emotionally dissected.”
Jessie placed a hand on his, squeezing gently. “I’m sorry.” She hesitated, her face losing animation, her green eyes suddenly clouded, distant. “Sam is one half of a force—light to his shade. You are her anchor, her reality. Push her away and you force her into his circle of influence.”
“Whose ci
rcle?” Gabriel said softly.
Jessie blinked. Warmth returned to her face and her eyes. She rubbed her arms and smiled ruefully. “I’m sorry. The vision’s gone.”
Gabriel cursed silently. Perhaps he shouldn’t have spoken. Her visions were fragile at the best of times. “Will you help me?”
She glanced at Alain and nodded. “But I wouldn’t hold much hope of keeping this from Stephan for too long.”
“Let me worry about Stephan.” Gabriel gulped down the rest of his coffee and rose. “I’ll head to the office now and grab a copy of Wetherton’s schedule. I’ll email the roster once I work it out. Hopefully, between the three of us, we can keep her out of Hopeworth’s hands.”
—
Sam shoved her hands in the pockets of her jacket and leaned a shoulder against the bus shelter wall. Across the width of Exhibition Street, people were beginning to file out of Her Majesty’s Theatre, and reporters jostled with spectators for the best position to view the exiting celebrities. Limos lined the curb, waiting for their passengers.
It was the perfect place to attempt an assassination. With the noise and the milling crowd, it was unlikely anyone would notice anything until it was too late. As yet, though, there was no sign of anything untoward.
The latest teen sensation came into sight, his blond head promptly disappearing amongst the crowd of waiting paparazzi and fans. Two seconds later, Wetherton came into view and was greeted by resounding indifference.
He wasn’t happy about it, either, if the look on his face was anything to go by. He hovered near the doors for several minutes, then roughly grabbed the woman by his side and guided her away. Three others followed in their wake—two men and another woman—as Sam pushed away from the bus shelter wall. Wetherton’s chauffeur hadn’t been quick enough to grab a good position, so he was waiting half a block away.
Sam ran across Exhibition Street and fell into step several yards behind them. Though she kept an eye on the shadows surrounding the nearby buildings and shop fronts and listened to the sigh of the wind, there didn’t seem to be anything out of place. No sign of the vampire, no sensation of evil haunting the night.
And yet, something was here—a presence that itched at the back of her mind. A memory waiting to surface.
She frowned and eyed Wetherton’s group uneasily. The sensation was coming from their direction for sure—but what it implied was anyone’s guess.
Frown deepening, Sam tore her gaze from them and checked the night again. They were now distant enough from the theater and the crowd. So why hadn’t the vampire attacked? If they went much farther, there would be no witnesses, no press. No point.
A chauffeur climbed out of a white limousine when Wetherton’s group approached it. As the chauffeur walked around to open the passenger door, Wetherton stopped and looked around. His gaze fell on Sam before she could avoid it, but quickly moved on. Easily dismissed, she thought wryly, but stepped into the shadows of a nearby shop entrance anyway. She wasn’t supposed to be here, so it was better if she kept out of sight as much as possible.
Once the chauffeur had opened the car door, Wetherton climbed in, followed quickly by the two women and one of the men. The last man hesitated, one hand on the roof, his gray hair gleaming silver under the wash of the streetlights as he turned to study the night in much the same manner as Wetherton had.
His blunt-nosed profile sent shock crashing through her.
He was the man from her dream.
The evil man with the dead gray eyes.
FOUR
SAM PRESSED THE EAR STUD, quickly activating it. “I want a search done on the man with the gray hair,” she murmured. “All details, ASAP.”
The man in question hesitated a bit longer, then climbed into the car. The chauffeur walked back to the driver’s side and, within seconds, the car purred to life and was jockeying for position in the jam of other cars attempting to leave the theater district.
So much for Stephan’s spectacular attack. What the hell was going to happen now? Without the attack, there was no reason for her to become one of Wetherton’s bodyguards. No reason that wouldn’t look suspicious, anyway.
And that, in turn, meant a return to the broom closet.
“There’s never a vampire around when you bloody need one,” she muttered, as she stepped from the shadows, eyeing the car that now had its nose out into the street. “Someone had better contact me and tell me if this assignment is still a go.”
She touched the transmitter and switched it off. Then she resolutely turned away. A return to her hotel was her only option now.
She’d barely taken three steps when an explosion ripped through the night. As her heart leapt to the vicinity of her throat, a wave of heat hit, sending her staggering. She swore loudly, but the words were lost under the sound of screaming. She caught her balance and swung around.
What lay before her seemed more like a scene out of an action movie than something that could happen on a Melbourne street.
Wetherton’s car was up on two wheels, skidding through the line of cars under the force of the explosion. It spun the two closest away, then crashed into a car parked on the right side of the road and thumped back down, the back wheels on fire and the flames spreading fast.
People were scattering—some running back inside the theater and others running down the street through the line of now-halted cars—most of them screaming and obviously terrified. The paparazzi were in a frenzy, cameras flashing as they jostled for the best position. Wetherton had finally gotten the attention he’d missed earlier.
Had he lived to bask in it?
The chauffeur scrambled from the car, blood pouring down his face from a cut above his eye. Then a line of blue light bit through the night and hit him in the chest, and he dropped like a stone out of her sight.
Laser fire.
He’d been hit with laser fire.
That certainly wasn’t a part of Stephan’s plans. Sam drew her weapon and ran forward, using the cars as cover as her gaze swept the surrounding rooftops. The laser shot had come from the top of a building to the right of the theater, but the light glaring from the many signs prevented her from seeing if the shooter was still up there.
Only there was no reason to believe he wasn’t.
She glanced at the limo. There were no movements from inside. Maybe the occupants had seen what had happened to the driver and were staying put, despite the dangerous fire. Or maybe they were unconscious.
Or dead.
The answers to those questions were something she had to find out—fast. But the closer she got to the car, the more the heat lashed at her skin. Oddly enough, the heat seemed to concentrate on one side of her face—it almost felt as if she’d been burned. The smell of burning rubber damn near choked her, and thick smoke spun through the night. If Wetherton and his people were alive and didn’t get out soon, the fumes and the heat would kill them. Not to mention the growing danger of the gas tank exploding.
From across the road, a familiar voice yelled at people to get back, that everything was under control. She smiled grimly. Briggs—someone she’d worked with and trusted.
But she hoped like hell that Briggs wasn’t the only one Stephan had sent in, because right now she had a feeling they were going to need every agent they could get.
Sam hesitated at the nose of the last car before the burning limo. A few feet of free space now separated her from the wreck. She blew out a breath, glanced up at the rooftop, then sprinted forward.
Blue light nipped at her heels, melting the asphalt before a secondary wave of kinetic energy sent jagged asphalt pieces exploding upward. Not a laser, but rather a plasma weapon, which ionized matter and projected it with sufficient force to cause secondary impact damage in addition to the initial high thermal damage. She swore and dove behind the burning car, ripping her jeans down to her skin. She swore again and rose on one knee, squinting against the smoke and the heat as she scanned the rooftops. She could see little through the thick, s
oupy haze.
Coughing as the smoke began to catch in her throat, she edged forward and knelt down by the chauffeur, feeling for a pulse. Nothing. Though with a hole the size of her fist burned through his chest, that wasn’t too surprising.
She closed his eyes, then shifted position. Flames were beginning to lick at the underbelly of the limo, and, this close, the heat was intense, almost suffocating. Every breath burned and the sweat sliding down her forehead seemed to sizzle. She had to get out of here—had to get Wetherton and his people out—before they were either fried or suffocated or the gas tank exploded.
Sounds whispered through the crackling of flames—quick footsteps, approaching from the front of the limo. She swung and sighted her laser, only to recognize the blonde who approached. She lowered her weapon hastily and said, “What the hell is going on, Briggs?”
Briggs stepped over the chauffeur’s body and squatted near her. “I don’t know. The vamp was supposed to attack as Wetherton was coming out of the theater. This wasn’t part of the plan, believe me.”
“Were you the only agent assigned?”
“Yeah. We’re only talking about one vamp, and he’s little more than a kid, at that.” Briggs hesitated, a grim smile touching her lips. “Dead easy. Or it should have been.”
Should being the operative word. “Our first priority’s getting Wetherton out.”
“You check, and I’ll cover.”
Sam nodded. Smoke and flames enveloped almost every part of the car now. The paint had begun to peel, tearing away like sunburned skin. She pulled the sleeve of her jacket over her hand and opened the back door. Smoke boiled out, pungent and black. Inside the car, someone coughed. At least one of them was alive, though how, she had no idea.
Another blue beam bit through the night and the rear window of the car shattered, spraying bright shards of glass everywhere. Briggs rose and fired several shots at the rooftop of a café to the left of the theater.
Heat itched across Sam’s skin—heat that whispered secrets and had nothing to do with the flames. It wasn’t a vampire up there firing at them, but a shifter. Obviously, the vamp had done a runner, and others were in control here tonight. But who? Still, if there was one thing she’d learned over her years as a cop, it was that things rarely went the way they were planned. Mainly because all the various players were usually following a different script.
