Penumbra (15 page)

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-m
et-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.

She ignored the minister and added, “The kite might yet come after you and Lloyd and anyone else involved in those projects. We'd like to prevent that, and would appreciate the military's cooperation.”

“The military takes care of its own, Agent Ryan.” He tilted his head a little, his gaze intensifying, as if he were trying to see into her head and her memories without actually using his psi skills. Or maybe he was simply recalling the past and juxtaposing his memories of a flame-haired child against the woman who now stood in front of him. Comparing the two and drawing God knows what conclusions. “And my involvement in those projects was in the area of training, as I'm sure you're already aware.”

A chill prickled across her skin. His words were an indication that his comparison had drawn the obvious conclusion. But for now, it was one she had to let ride.

“General, getting information out of the military is harder than getting blood out of the proverbial stone. So no, I have no awareness of either your or General Lloyd's position in Hopeworth.”

“I would be surprised if that was the truth, Agent Ryan.” He glanced at Wetherton. “If you wish to discuss the funding matter any further, please call.”

Wetherton nodded, his expression still a mix of confusion, irritation and concern. And Sam had every intention of finding out why.

Blaine met her gaze again, gave her a remote smile that sent another bout of chills down her spine, then turned and walked out the door.

She didn't relax, and she didn't move. Not until she heard the soft ding of the elevator button and then the electronic hum of machinery as the elevator moved down.

“Would you care to explain what the hell was going on between you and General Blaine, Agent Ryan?”

“I'm afraid that would involve revealing details of an ongoing case, Minister, so no, I can't discuss it.”

He grunted, his expression suggesting he was far from happy.

“Well, come into my office and I'll give you my schedule for the next few weeks.” Then he spun on his heel and stalked back into the office. She followed him in. It was a huge expanse, filled with the latest chrome-and-glass furniture and plush leather sofas. The minister was a man with expensive tastes, obviously. His office was situated in one corner of the building, so two of the walls were all glass. The view over the city and the bay would have been truly amazing—a vista of fading sunlight, sparkling lights and blue-gray ocean—if not for the rain still sleeting down.

Wetherton stalked over to his desk and picked up a folder. “My schedule. You'll notice I have several important meetings at various restaurants in the evenings. During these events, you will keep an eye on proceedings from a distance.”

Which was standard procedure, but she wasn't about to point that out. What it did mean was that she might need to place a bug on Wetherton himself. He obviously had secrets he didn't want her to overhear. She stopped in front of the desk and accepted the folder. “Why was the general here?”

“As you probably heard, he was here to discuss military funding.”

“Did he ask anything else? Or mention anything else?”

Wetherton sat down on his plush chair and frowned. “What he and I discussed is really of no importance to you. You're my bodyguard, nothing more.”

Despite his arrogant tone, she gave him her politest smile—even if all she wanted to do was smack his dumb ass. But since she'd probably have to work with this man for several months, she knew she'd better play nice. At least for a little while.

“And as your bodyguard, I have the right to question you about certain people. General Blaine was with you last night, and yet he shows no obvious sign of injury. I think that's a little odd, don't you?”

Wetherton's frown deepened. “Not really. All it means is that he wasn't injured in the attack.”

She picked up the newspaper lying on his desk and threw it across to him. “So you're telling me that photo—the one that shows blood pouring from a wound on his head as he's carrying you away from the car—is fake?”

Wetherton picked up the paper and studied it. “It might not be his blood.”

“Minister, I was there last night. I was one of the two people who helped save your ass. I know for a fact that the general was injured. So, I ask you again, what was the general doing here and what did you talk about?”

“I told you—just the military budget.” Wetherton threw down the paper. But despite the calm assurance in his voice, the hint of concern in his eyes was stronger. Which meant that maybe he recognized something
had
happened here this afternoon, even if he didn't know what it was.

And did he not know because his memory had been erased? Blaine had been able to use his powers despite the deadeners, so that was more than likely.

“What time did he arrive this afternoon?”

“He had a five o'clock appointment.”

She glanced at her watch. “So, you discussed the military budget for just over an hour?”

“Yes.”

“And is that usual?”

Wetherton shrugged. “It all depends.”

On what? On how much information the general needed to siphon from him? Why could he not see that something was very wrong? Or could he see it and just wasn't about to admit it to her? And if that was the case, why not admit it when she was the person being paid to protect him?