“Agents Michaels and James.”
“Could you patch me through to Michaels?”
“One moment, please.”
Christine disappeared, to be replaced a few seconds later by Warren Michaels’s drawn features.
“Agent Ryan. What can I do for you?”
“I’m looking for AD Stern. He still there?”
“He left about forty minutes ago. Why?”
She hesitated. “He asked me to report in. I’m just trying to find him.”
“Tried his wristcom?”
“No, I thought I’d call you first, just to piss you off.”
Michaels raised an eyebrow, a slight grin twitching his mouth. “Yeah, dumb question, I suppose. I guess you’ve tried his home number too, in which case, I can’t help you.”
She bit her lip. Gabriel was fine when he’d left her at Han’s, which meant something must have happened on the way to the murder scene or at the scene itself.
“Did anything strange occur while he was there?”
Michaels snorted and rubbed his eyes. “If you can call discovering your sister was one of the victims strange, then, yeah, I guess it did.”
“What?”
“Yeah. He was shaken, as you would expect. Left pretty much immediately after.”
She rubbed her eyes. “You got an official ID?”
“Yeah. Miranda Stern, current address fourteen Hillsyde Street, Strathmore.”
Miranda, the sister he’d been desperate to find. Her name must have been on the list of Hopeworth adoptees. Christ, what a mess. “Who’s listed as next of kin?”
“A Jessie McMahon.”
“Got an address or number?”
“Yeah, hang on a sec.”
An almost fierce look of concentration came over his face. After a second, Jessie McMahon’s address and phone number appeared on the screen. While she had no right to call Jessie, she would if Gabriel remained unreachable.
“That go through okay?” he said. “I hate these things.”
She grinned. “It came through perfectly. What about the murders? Anything different from the first four?”
“Yeah, she’s getting more violent. She tried drugging her first victim, only it didn’t work. Both women put up a good struggle before they died.”
“What was the entry/exit point?”
“She came through an open back door and left through the bathroom window as the cops were breaking in the front door.”
“What was the first victim’s name?”
Michaels glanced down for a second. “Margaret Jones.”
Who wasn’t on their list of possible victims. Meaning, more than likely, she’d simply been in the wrong place at the wrong time. Either that, or their killer was going off on another tangent.
“Other than the violence, was there anything different in the murderer’s actions?”
Michaels scratched his chin. “Well, she had no time for a ciggy, that’s for sure. But she didn’t with the doc, either.” He hesitated, then frowned. “And she injured herself this time. Right hand. And pretty badly, if the constant flow of blood is any indication.”
“When you do an analysis on the blood, could you send me the results?”
“Sure thing.”
“Thanks, Michaels.” She hung up, then redialed SIU and got put through to Izzy.
“This is becoming a habit, sweetie. Don’t you ever sleep?”
She rubbed gritty-feeling eyes. “Not lately, I don’t. Iz, did you finish the search on Dr. Francis?”
“I surely did. She was born in New South Wales in 1987, the third child of a Meg and John Francis.”
Which made her sixty years old. Only slightly older than she’d guessed. “No relation to Emma Pierce, then?”
“No, honey child. Afraid not.”
Damn. Every clue they’d had pointed to Emma’s elusive sister. If Dr. Francis wasn’t the sister, how was she connected to the case? She was connected; of that Sam was sure. “Were you able to acquire the surveillance tapes from her building?”
“Yes.”
“Any visits from anyone connected to this case?”
Iz twirled the boa for several seconds. “Max Carter and Harry Maxwell were regulars until the time of Harry Maxwell’s death.”
She raised her eyebrows. Max had moved from his lair? How, given his sheer size? “What hospital is Max holed up in?”
“St. Vincent’s.”
“His condition?”
The boa twirled again. “Critical but stable.”
“Great. Iz, can you do a search of the case files and grab the list of children placed into Greenwood’s care?”
“Got it, sweetie.”
“Patch it through to my wristcom, will you?”
“Consider it patched.”
The wristcom beeped, indicating it was receiving information. “Thanks, Izzy.”
“Have a nice night, sweetness.”
She hung up, then glanced at her watch. It was nearly two in the morning. The hospital wasn’t going to let her interview Max at this hour, no matter how vital it might be. She’d have to wait several hours. All she could really do now was head home and get a few hours’ sleep.
—
Sam woke with a start. Her heart thundered with a rhythm that spoke of fear. Heat crawled over her skin, warning of danger. She glanced at the time. Four fifteen. She’d been home for nearly two hours, and asleep about half that.
She stared into the darkness that filled the living room. She’d fallen asleep on the sofa, as she did most nights. The TV had turned itself off, and the only sound to be heard was the wind sighing through the window she’d left slightly open.
So what had woken her so abruptly?
She wasn’t sure. Frowning, she rose and headed to the bathroom. But halfway there, she heard it—a slight beep outside her front door. An inconspicuous sound unless you knew what it meant. Someone was using a key-coder to break into her apartment.
The sensation of danger crawled over her skin, so intense it burned. But before she could move, the door handle turned. She stilled, barely daring to breathe, and hoped like hell the shadows would hide her.
The door opened slightly. A figure appeared, dressed in black, features covered by a mask. A woman.
She hesitated in the doorway, then threw something toward the bedroom. It landed with a soft thump, the impact obviously cushioned by the thick carpet. The woman stepped back and closed the door.
Sam stepped toward the object on the floor. It was round and metallic, and it had numbers that glowed into the darkness. Numbers that were counting down from ten…nine…eight…
A bomb. Another goddamn bomb. And she’d only just had the place rebuilt after the last one…
She dove for the window, as she had last time. There was little other choice. The bomb beeped and then exploded. Heat sizzled across her bare feet as she crashed through the window. Glass and flames followed her into the night as she tumbled down to the ground two stories below. Only, like a cat, she somehow landed not only on her feet, but unhurt. She wasted no time on reflecting how or why this was possible, running instead for the front of the building.
A car engine roared to life. She cursed and pounded around the corner. Lights cut into the darkness. She threw up her arm to protect her eyes, then she realized the lights were drawing close. The engine roared and tires squealed as the driver accelerated—directly at her.
She threw herself sideways, but not fast enough. The car swiped her side, and pain leapt like fire through her body. She hit the concrete with a grunt. Darkness surged through her and she knew no more.
—
Gabriel leaned back in his chair and rubbed his eyes. They ached, like the rest of him ached—and his heart most of all. But there was no time to rest, no time to contemplate what if. Not until he caught the bitch who’d murdered his sister.
Behind him, his father paced, his strides long and somehow furious. Grief was something that hadn’t fully hit the Stern
clan yet. Anger, and the need to find Miranda’s killer, were uppermost in everyone’s mind.
Which was why they were here. Though the Federation’s headquarters was supposedly on Collins Street, this small bomb shelter was its true heart—one of a dozen built within the city during the new millennium, when the Race Wars were at a peak. The shelter was a two-story-deep complex that housed the Federation’s information-gathering center. The SIU might pride itself on having an extensive network system, but the Federation had operatives in every government, every union, and every rebellious group currently on record. Though officially the Federation was not terribly active these days, it kept its finger on the pulse and was ready to intervene whenever and wherever needed.
Right now, those resources were concentrated on finding his sister’s killer.
The door behind them opened. Gabriel glanced around. Stephan walked to the table and dropped a sheaf of papers on the glass-topped desk.
“That’s everything we could find on Hopeworth and its projects.” He collapsed into a chair and rubbed his eyes. Though family members currently manned the center, the image Stephan retained as the head of the Federation was the image the world knew—black hair with green eyes rather than blue. This was the Stephan who was the image of their father rather than his true self, Gabriel’s nonidentical twin. Even here, in the true heart of the Federation, they had to be careful. “Our contact in Hopeworth wasn’t able to help. Security has been tightened since these murders began.”
Gabriel raised an eyebrow. “Since they began? Did he say why?”
“A security breach the day before the murders started, apparently.”
“Someone got into their system,” he mused. “That’s how the killer found out about the Generation 18 adoptees.”
“And probably why the general was so anxious to meet with you. He wanted to know how much SIU knew.”
Gabriel nodded, and glanced at his watch. “I’ll call Sam at seven and see how the meeting went.”
Stephan’s gaze narrowed. “Why not call her now?”
“Because it’s four in the morning, and she deserves to get a few hours’ sleep before I start hounding her again.”
“Miranda is dead. Doesn’t finding her killer take precedence?” There was an almost accusatory note in Stephan’s rich tone.
Gabriel clenched his fist and somehow restrained the urge to launch across the table and slug his brother. “I know Miranda is dead. I found her, remember?”
“Enough, both of you.” Charles slapped a palm down on the table. The sound ricocheted through the abrupt silence, as sharp as a gunshot. “Fighting among ourselves is not the answer. And as much as I want to find this murderous bitch, I agree with Gabriel. What young Samantha has discovered can wait until morning. I have a feeling that we have all the clues we need right here.”
He nudged the case reports with a finger. Gabriel stared at his twin for several seconds and saw the anguish and guilt in his eyes, which was no doubt a mirror of his own. Like him, Stephan felt he should have done more to prevent Miranda’s murder. He sighed and reached for the top folder. “We’ve been through these. There’s nothing here.”
Charles pulled a chair out and sat down. “How is the killer getting in and out of the murder scenes?”
“I think she’s a hybrid; one we haven’t got on record.”
Stephan raised an eyebrow. “The tests are pretty intensive. It’s doubtful that we missed one.”
“But it’s only in the last ten years or so that our tests have become so precise. Before that, it was hit-or-miss, with most hybrids being allocated shifter or changer status, depending on which was their stronger trait. Emma Pierce was fifty-six. So was her sister. There’s no record of Emma coming in for tests since puberty.”
Stephan frowned. “If she was part of Hopeworth, that’s not surprising. As for the sister, we haven’t been able to find anything on her yet.”
“A little too convenient, don’t you think?”
“Erasing records is not something an everyday hacker can achieve—not without setting off alarms.”
“If they got into Hopeworth, we’re dealing with someone a little more skilled than your average hacker.”
“True.” Stephan rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “You know, it might also indicate someone who has regular access to records. How else would they get into the system without raising alarms?”
“A government employee?” It was certainly a distinct possibility. As Stephan said, anyone without clearance hacking into the file system would have raised alarms. It was doubtful such a person could have erased data so completely without getting caught.
“You might even be looking for a cop,” Charles said, his deep voice somber. “They have access to all manner of records, and who would have a better understanding of how to avoid detection at a crime scene?”
Gabriel frowned. “If our killer was a cop, her hybrid status would have been picked up in the six-month checkups. As you said yourself, the tests are pretty extensive.”
“They never picked up Sam’s extra chromosome,” Stephan said, “so it might just be possible they’d miss this. Race is not something that is checked every six months, unless the officer has noted his or her desire to become a vampire.”
“True, but still…” Gabriel hesitated as the door opened.
Jessie walked in and dropped several sheets of paper on the table. “We traced the birth certificates for every one of the Greenwood adoptees. Emma Pierce is listed as birth mother for nine of them.” She hesitated, tears suddenly welling in her green eyes. “The killer is working straight down the list. Miranda…”
She broke off. Stephan stood, gathering her in his arms and holding tight. Gabriel reached for the papers. Emma Pierce’s children were highlighted. Miranda was number five of nine. He looked up.
“Then we know the next victim. Jeanette Harris is number six on the list.”
Charles smiled grimly. “Get protection on her right away.”
“Already done,” Stephan said. He handed Jessie a handkerchief, then met Gabriel’s gaze. “If our killer is a cop, she’ll know about the safety measures we’ve taken.”
“It won’t stop her. She’s a hybrid. If she’s in animal form, more than likely our people won’t even see her.” He hesitated. “But Sam might be able to.”
Charles studied him through narrowed eyes. “Why do you say that? I thought she didn’t have any talents.”
No talent or too much talent? He was beginning to think it was the latter. “Test results to date indicate no psychic inclination, but I’ve seen her in action. In certain situations, she can sense the presence of other nonhumans. She sensed the shifter who’d attacked Finley in the labs, for instance, even though no alarm had been given.”
“And didn’t she sense the fact that Mary was a vampire long before either of us were aware of it?” Stephan said.
Gabriel nodded. “And yet she didn’t know you were a shifter and that Martyn was also a vampire.”
“As if she could sense the evil in people more than what they were,” Charles murmured. “How very interesting.”
“And useful, if that is the case,” Stephan said. He glanced at Gabriel, his gaze hardening. “Assign her to Jeanette Harris immediately.”
Gabriel stared at his brother for several seconds, then reached for his wristcom. In that instant, pain hit—a sledgehammer that belted him sideways. He hit the floor hard, clutching his head, desperate to break the connection running fire up the left side of his body and into his brain.
“Gabriel!” Fear and confusion ran through his brother’s voice.
Hands grabbed him, touching his neck, feeling for a pulse. Darkness welled, a tide that threatened to overwhelm him. “I’m okay. It’s not me,” he managed to gasp out.
“Sam?” Stephan’s voice, close by his side.
He somehow managed to nod. In that instant, as fast as it had come, the pain eased, becoming a muted throb in the back of his mind. He took a deep
breath, shook off his brother’s grip and struggled to his feet.
“What the hell was that all about?” Charles demanded, his lean face pale.
“It appears Gabriel and Sam have formed a telepathic bond of some kind,” Stephan said. “What you just saw is him experiencing what has happened to her.”
Though Stephan’s voice was tightly controlled, Gabriel nevertheless felt his twin’s anger. It was as if the link being forced with Sam had somehow unfettered the link with his brother. Neither of which he wanted.
He tapped his wristcom again and quickly dialed her home number. No answer. He tried her wristcom, and got the same result. “She’s not answering.”
“I’ll arrange for a team to go and check her apartment.” Stephan’s phone beeped. He moved away slightly and answered it.
Jessie touched Gabriel’s arm, catching his attention. “You can use the link to find her, you know.”
He met his sister’s compassionate gaze and knew she could taste the worry in his mind. Jess had taken after their mother, and was both an empath and a clairvoyant. “What do you mean?”
Her quick smile was sad and, in some ways, an echo of the almost bitter smile Stephan had given him last night. “Your connection with this woman must be strong if a link has been forged despite your determination to avoid all such bonds.” She hesitated and tucked a wayward brown curl behind her ear. “If you open fully to the bond, you can use it to track her down.”
Once opened, never closed. He didn’t want that sort of closeness with anyone ever again. Coping with the death of a loved one was bad enough in itself, but when you could feel it within every pore and fiber of your being…
“Andrea was a long time ago,” she said softly.
A long time, yes, but still not forgotten. In the worst of his dreams he could still feel the bullet that had torn through her heart and shattered his world. Could still feel the hand of death as it reached for her soul.
Jessie touched his face gently, like a mother calming a frightened child. “Such fear was perhaps understandable when you were younger, Gabriel, but it is way past time you accept what has happened and move on with your life. Blocking the world out is never the answer—and you have hurt Stephan more than you can ever imagine.”