Penumbra (27 page)

The enemy waited in the deeper shadows haunting that side road. And it wasn't King.

She pressed the locator button on her wristcom again, then slowly, carefully, eased toward the road.

The closer she got, the more her skin crawled. Then the familiar wash of heat hit, bringing with it the certainty that the enemy who waited was a shifter—a shifter whose very essence felt malevolent.

And it was a malevolence she knew.

Her steps faltered, and her hands suddenly felt clammy against the grip of the laser. Not so much because of the thick sensation of evil, not even because she'd felt this particular baseness before.

But because Blaine—the enemy that waited in the shadows—was not alone.

He
was here.

The man who had saved her life at least twice.

Joe.

And she wasn't entirely sure whether he meant her good or ill. There was something almost…gloating in his aura. As if he'd waited for this moment for a very long time.

She took a shuddering breath and released it slowly. Her best option now was retreat. She'd be stupid to confront Blaine alone. There were two men ahead and the invisible King still floated about somewhere nearby. However much she wanted answers, however much she might want to grab King for shooting Wetherton, she wasn't a fool. She was one against three, and while she might be an enhanced human, just like them, she was the only one who
didn't
have full knowledge of her powers.

She retreated a step, but she stopped when something cold and hard pressed against her spine.

“I can't allow you to do that.” King's voice was so soft that she doubted the men ahead would even hear. “Move into the side street, please. No sudden moves.”

For all of a second she thought about spinning and knocking the weapon from his hand. Or maybe even twisting sharply to shoot him dead. But the latter had already proven impossible, and she had a sneaking suspicion he'd react faster than she ever could.

So she walked on, her arms by her side and the laser still secure in one hand. She doubted he'd forgotten its presence, and the fact that he let her keep it meant either that he had no fear of it or that she'd be dead long before she could ever press the trigger.

Neither thought was a pleasant one, so she concentrated instead on the road ahead, trying to pinpoint the men who still hid in the shadows.

Blaine moved out of them once she'd entered the street, stopping in the middle of the road, his expression pleased, almost amused.

“This is the last place I expected to find you, General,” Sam said, stopping several feet away from him. King didn't object, and a covert glance over her shoulder uncovered why. He was no longer behind her. She scanned the immediate area but couldn't spot him. Nor could she smell him. But then, the soft breeze could have been blowing his scent away from her. She was sure he hadn't gone far.

Still, it was odd that he was here with Blaine. She'd been under the impression that he was Lloyd's assistant, not Blaine's.

“Maybe so,” Blaine said, voice all oily satisfaction, “but I must say it is extremely pleasing to see you, number 849.”

The number rang distant bells, and she had a sudden memory of a room filled with clear plastic cribs, each one not only possessing a wriggling, crying baby but a black card clipped to the front that carried a number and visual details. Hundreds of babies born to the cold sterility of a lab, many of whom were destined to die long before conscious thought or fear formed.

An odd mix of anger and apprehension shot through her, but she raised an eyebrow, trying for a calm she didn't feel inside. “849? Sorry, General, but I have a name, not a number.”

He raised an eyebrow, his expression still one of condescending amusement. “Maybe now, but not when you were in Hopeworth, my dear.”

She knew it was useless to argue. He was too certain about her. Maybe he'd uncovered hidden files in Hopeworth. Maybe that brief moment between them in Wetherton's office had given him information that he'd been able to use. Either way, it didn't matter. She was never going to admit the truth. Not to him, anyway. “I'm afraid you're barking up the wrong tree. I've never been near Hopeworth.”

“Forgetfulness is not surprising, given the horrible events of that night, but you are military in birth and in design and we both know it. And I have every intention of returning you to your birthplace
and
birthright.” He paused, then said, “Tonight.”

So he thought Penumbra's destruction was an accident? That she'd escaped by chance rather than design? How could he? How could anyone in the military be breeding what they were breeding and have no true idea just what their creations were really capable of?

She took a step back, and this time King didn't stop her. “Sorry, General, but I'm not who you think I am, and there is no way in hell I'm going anywhere with you.” She raised the laser, letting him see it for the first time. “Move and I'll shoot.”

His sudden laugh sent a chill skittering over her skin. There was nothing sane in that cold sound. “You could never hit me with the laser, child. I am faster than the wind, and lighter than shadow. You can't kill a shadow—don't you know that? Didn't your precious nanny teach you anything?”

She blew out a breath. What was the point of going on with the pretense that she didn't know what he was talking about? All he had to do was get her back to Hopeworth and the truth would be revealed. She
wasn't
a creature of natural selection, so what she should concentrate on now was escaping both this man
and
Hopeworth.

“My nanny taught me lots about humanity, General, and for that I owe her more than I can ever repay.” Sam paused. “Why did you want Mary Elliot dead?”

“I wanted her knowledge, but the mere fact that you came to see her was enough to satisfy my uncertainties.” He gave her a cold smile. “And in the end, you walked into my trap much more easily than I ever dreamed possible. King, get the laser from her.”

She tensed, waiting for some sound, some sensation, some feeling that King was obeying his master's orders.

But King didn't answer. Blaine frowned. “King? Did you hear me?”

“I heard.” The answer came about half a dozen steps away from Blaine's left shoulder. If she squinted, she could just make out the slight shimmer of his position. But with Blaine so close, she didn't dare squint for long.

“I gave you an order, son. Obey it.”

“King is not yours to command, General.”

The voice came from behind Blaine, but it wasn't King's.

It was Joe's.

G
ABRIEL GRIPPED
M
OHERN'S ARM TIGHTLY
as he rushed him through the sterile halls of the SIU. Technically he wasn't a prisoner, so he wasn't cuffed, but Gabriel had a feeling the petty thief had begun to have more than a few second thoughts about “singing like a bird” during the car ride here.

And though it was unlikely he'd get very far away in the monitored and tightly secured halls—not to mention Briggs keeping a close eye on him from behind—Mohern had escaped Sethanon's clutches for many months and therefore had to have more native cunning than what he was currently showing.

They reached one of the interview rooms and Gabriel punched in a code. Then he pressed his hand against the print pad. The machine hummed to life, a blue light sweeping his prints before the door clicked open. He waved Mohern inside, then turned to Briggs as she stopped beside him. “Give him coffee and a meal, and then take his statement.”

“What about my new ID?” Mohern said from the center of the sparsely furnished room.

“That'll be under discussion after you sign the statement.” Gabriel looked back at Briggs. “If he doesn't sign it, keep him here until he does.”

“Hey, you can't do that. It's against the law.”

Briggs grinned. “We're SIU. A law unto ourselves.”

“Great,” Mohern muttered, as he sat down.

Gabriel kept his amusement to himself. “Get him to do a photo ID of all the men present at both Wetherton's murder and Kathryn Douglass's.”

Briggs nodded. Gabriel turned and headed for the elevator. His phone rang before he got there. “Assistant Director Stern,” he said, as he punched the elevator's call button impatiently.

“Mitchell from Monitoring, sir. Agent Ryan just pressed her wristcom's alarm button, and we've also received a priority call from an usher at Her Majesty's Theatre. Apparently he called on Agent Ryan's orders.”

Gabriel's gut clenched. He should have known something had happened when she'd hung up so abruptly. And yet she had to be all right, because he would have sensed anything else. “What did the usher say?”

“That she has a priority-one situation and wants a med team and backup. The man she was with has been shot. She's gone after the suspect.”

Which under normal circumstances she undoubtedly could have handled. But given just who Wetherton might have been involved with, as well as who might have wanted him dead, it was better not to take chances.

“Send two teams immediately.” Gabriel hesitated. “Has she hit the locator?”

“Yes, sir.” Mitchell paused. “Victoria Street, near Leicester.”

“Tell the teams to take control of the situation at Her Majesty's. I'll back up Agent Ryan.”

“Yes, sir.”

The elevator door opened. Gabriel stepped inside and punched the button for the rooftop. The fastest way to get there was by flight.

And he had a growing feeling that he had better get there
damn
fast indeed.

There was no sense of movement. One minute, the night behind Blaine was empty, and the next Joe was standing there. It was almost as if he could wear the night like a veil, shucking it off or using it as cover where necessary. Very much like she could do herself, though she had a lot less control over the ability.

He hadn't changed that much since she'd last seen him, sitting in the chair of a sidewalk café and sipping coffee while avoiding direct answers to her questions. His appearance was still that of a street bum, his thick, overly long hair and beard disheveled and apparently unwashed. But his brown eyes were intense and somewhat sad, and he held himself like a soldier—purposeful, balanced, powerful.

A man ready to move, to fight, at a second's notice.

Blaine swung around so that he was able to see both of them. “Who the hell are you? And how the hell did you get through the cordon of my men?”

“Who am I?” Joe repeated the question, his voice apparently amused. But she knew him through her dreams, and she could almost taste the fury he wasn't showing. “I am many people, General. Joe Black and Chip Braggart are the most common of my nonmilitary aliases, but they are not the ones I use most.”

No wonder she'd sensed an odd sort of familiarity whenever she'd been near Braggart—it had been Joe, in another form.

“A shifter.” Blaine's voice was disdainful. “I gather you were here beforehand, because there is no other way you could have gotten past my men.”

“You think so?” A smile touched Joe's lips, though she couldn't say how she knew this when the forest of his beard covered his mouth. “There are a number of ways anyone with skill could have. But perhaps it is better if I show you. King, watch him.”

“Yes, General.” King stepped out of the shadows. In his hand was the biggest damn gun Sam had ever seen. It was similar in size to a rifle, but wider, with an oddly shaped flat end.

Blaine's eyes widened, the arrogant confidence seeming to falter. “Where the hell did you get that? You don't have the authority—”

“No, but you do, General.” The voice was Joe's, but his hirsute countenance had gone, replaced by a replica of Blaine himself.

And suddenly one large piece of the puzzle fell into place.

“It was you,” Sam said. “I pulled
you
out of Wetherton's car that night, not the real Blaine.” Which was why she kept getting different reactions in his presence. Her senses
knew
Joe—and obviously they saw him as no threat, no matter what form he took.

The real Blaine was a totally different story.

And right now, Blaine's eyes were narrowed and dangerous looking. She shifted, her finger tightening just a little around the laser's trigger. He might be confident that she couldn't hit him with it, but if he moved in
any
way, she'd damn well try.

But she had a horrible feeling he was working up to something bigger than a laser could handle.

Tension ran through her, and her finger tightened on the laser's trigger reflexively. A soft hum ran across the momentary silence, and Blaine gave her a quick look. There was no fear, no concern. Just amusement.

“Yes, it was me,” Joe answered. “Unfortunately, that was the night the military began to realize they might have a problem.”

“Those newspaper images of me carrying an unconscious Wetherton were something of a revelation, given I wasn't even there.” Blaine paused and studied his double for a moment. “Who are you?”

“Guess, General. Let's see how clever you really are.” Joe's glance ran past Blaine and met Sam's. Something trembled deep inside. She knew that gaze, knew the fierce hardness behind it, even if the eyes were currently the wrong color. “The general thinks he's calling in the troops. He doesn't realize he's already let them go.”

Blaine snorted. “My men would not be fooled so easily.”

“Your men have been fooled for years, General. And to continue the ruse, you must die. King?”

“No!” Sam said.

She raised the laser and fired, without even thinking about it. She had no real desire to protect Blaine, especially since he intended to take her back to Hopeworth. But the cop in her just couldn't stand here and let a murder happen.

King fired at Blaine at the same time she fired at King. This time her laser found its target, burning a hole through King's hand and into the weapon he held. It made a sizzling, popping sort of sound, and smoke began to rise. King swore and threw it away.

The weapon exploded before it hit the road, sending shards of metal and energy skimming through the night.

Deadly, but not as deadly as the beam that had hit Blaine.

His mouth was open, as if he were screaming, but no sound came out. His body was shimmering, moving, bubbling, as if water boiled under his skin. He didn't move, just stood there, statue-like, as his skin gradually began to darken and then peel and drift away on the gentle wind, like paper held too close to a fire. And then the boiling water began to bubble out, running down his body and splashing across the roadside. Only it wasn't just water, but blood and flesh and God knows what else.

Her stomach rose and she spun away, heading for the nearest curb. By the time she'd finished heaving the little bit of food she'd eaten that day, the splashing had stopped. The only sound to be heard on the whispering wind was the distant beat of traffic.

King was gone again. She couldn't say why she was so sure of that, especially when she had a hard time getting any real sense of his presence.

But Joe was here. Watching. Waiting.

She wiped a hand across her mouth, took a deep, shuddering breath and turned around. He still wore Blaine's form.

“You killed him to take his place?”

“I've been taking his place for years. It was useful, while it lasted.”

She remembered a teenager saying, in that same sort of dead voice,
I have plans for him, never fear.

The same teenager who said he had every intention of going back to that place once he'd taken care of her, because there was still too much to be done at Hopeworth.

A chill that was soul deep ran through her. Yet she kept her thoughts to herself, saying only, “Why did you kill Kathryn Douglass?”

His smile was gentle, amused. “Douglass had contacted the military about reviving the Penumbra project. I have no idea where she found the notes, but I couldn't let that happen. I
did
give her fair warning. We are unique, Sammy, and I intend to keep it that way.”

“Why go back as Blaine afterward? To gloat?”

“Partially. I also wanted to see how Lloyd took the warning.” His sudden grin was fierce. “Neither he nor the military took it well.”

“But that Lloyd is not the real Lloyd.” She hesitated. “I killed him the night Penumbra was destroyed.”

“If you remember that, then you should remember that
that
Lloyd was yet another replica. The real general donated his body for scientific purposes on his death years before, and his replication became the military's first real success.”

But not their last. “And what were we, Josh? Their fourth? Tenth? Fiftieth?”

“We were never considered a successful creation,” Josh said. “More of a frustrating one. They never could control us—not totally.”

He smiled, and this time it was a smile she remembered. A smile that echoed all the way through her, bringing tears to her eyes.

He began to change, to shift, his body seeming to fade into the night for several heartbeats before it regained form. Became an older version of the boy who'd haunted her dreams for so long.

Part of her was fiercely glad to see him again.

Part of her feared him, because she suddenly remembered the conversation she'd had with Gabriel in the car. Her comment that Sethanon was waiting for Hopeworth to breed him an army. His comment that Sethanon was someone she knew in Hopeworth, someone who had been involved in the project.

No, no, no,
she thought.
Not Josh. Not my brother.
She closed her eyes for a moment, then said softly, “Are you Sethanon?”

“Yes.”

She stared at him, uncertain whether she was more angry or scared. “So why tell me Sethanon was not a name you'd ever called yourself?”

“Because it isn't. But I never denied others might have called me that.”

“Who? Not the SIU, from what I can gather.”

“No.” He half shrugged. “It started with the scientists. The day they took that book off me—”

“The day you scared the hell out of Mary?”

“Yes.” He smiled again, but it was a cold thing that sent chills down her spine. “Some of the scientists took to calling me Mad Seth under their breath. I simply ran with the name when it became beneficial to do so.”

“Like when you were attacking the SIU?”

“A strong SIU is a hindrance to my plans, so attacking them as Sethanon not only decimated their numbers, but had the side benefit of them chasing someone who doesn't exist.”