She nodded her thanks and walked out. The hall beyond the two rooms was quiet. She turned left and headed for the bathroom. Once she found the correct door, she opened it and peered inside. No one was there. Frowning, she turned and listened, trying to get some feel for where Mary might have gone.
She could hear the men talking—not so much their words, but the gentle rhythm of their voices. Water cascaded to her left, a soft sound that failed to soothe. Above her head, a board creaked. Was someone walking up there, or was it just the inherent noise of an old house? She didn’t know, but the feeling of wrongness seemed to be coming from that direction.
She continued on down the hall until she found the stairs. Placing her foot on the bottom step, she paused and looked up. Nothing but shadows waited above—yet the sense of dread was getting fiercer. Something was very wrong, and she couldn’t shake the feeling that if she didn’t hurry, they would all die. Was there really danger upstairs, or was this weird certainty of death a sign that the stress of the last few days had finally pushed her over the edge? Probably the latter, she thought grimly.
Still, it couldn’t hurt to keep investigating. She kept close to the wall as she climbed, her gaze scanning the darkness, watching for any sign of movement.
Nothing.
She reached the landing and stopped. The floor was in darkness, except for a thin strand of light coming from a room midway down the hall. She licked dry lips and headed in that direction.
Once near the door, she stopped and reached back for the laser. Maybe it was an overreaction, but she still felt safer with the weight of the weapon in her hand. She reached out with her free hand and slowly pushed the door open.
The room held a large autocook and little else. Heat itched across her skin, a warning that someone, or something, was near. The sensation of danger grew, pricking across her skin like stinging bites, though she could see nothing that presented an obvious threat.
She edged into the room. The com-unit attached to the autocook hummed softly, and cool air washed across her fevered skin. The room was fairly big, and shadows lurked in the far corners. There was also vomit, if the acidic, almost sour scent in the air was anything to go by.
Gun raised, she eased past the autocook. Mary wasn’t hiding in the far corners. Nothing was, beyond two small desks and another com-unit—this one attached to security screens. Obviously, this room also doubled as a security center.
She clicked the safety on and clipped the weapon back onto her belt. There was nothing here that could possibly be a threat to anyone’s safety. Maybe she was misinterpreting the weird sensations flowing over her. She turned, and out the corner of her eye she caught a flash of light. Frowning, she bent and looked under the desk. Green numbers glowed back at her. A timer, counting down.
Fear leapt into her throat and squeezed tight. She edged closer and got down on her hands and knees. On the back wall, held off the floor by tape and almost totally hidden by the position of the desk, sat two small, dust-covered plastic cylinders. White wires joined them, and these were connected to a small plastic timer.
Her heart seemed to shudder to a stop. She’d seen something like this once before. The bombs were touch sensitive and almost impossible to defuse once they’d been set. The one time she’d seen someone try, it had blown half a city block apart. Someone wanted to make very sure of their deaths.
Air stirred, brushing past her face. She glanced up. The door was swinging shut.
“No!”
She leapt up and ran for the door, but it closed too quickly. She grabbed the handle, twisting it. Locked. “Mary! Open up.”
There was no answer. Nor did the door open. She pounded the panel in frustration, but her fist sank deep. It wasn’t wood, but an imitation used to soundproof rooms. She felt the wall—it, too, was spongy. Great. Just great. Stepping back, she unclipped the laser and fired it at the lock. Nothing happened. She glanced down at the weapon and saw the red light flashing. Great, the damn thing needed to be recharged.
She swung around and stared past the autocook to the desk. The bomb had obviously been hidden there a while, which in turn suggested that Stephan didn’t have regular sweeps for this sort of thing. But why would he, when he had all the other security measures in place? And even if they did do sweeps, most didn’t detect this sort of bomb, as it had no metal parts. As far as she knew, they were still working on a detector for this type.
Had Mary placed it here? And if so, why set it off now? What had happened in the last hour that had made her flip the switch?
Not that the answers to those questions mattered now. She had to find a way to warn Gabriel and get everyone out of here. With the room soundproofed, the door locked and the damn laser out of action, her only real option was to try her com-unit. Maybe she could find his cell phone number and call him. If that failed, she could call State and alert them.
She dug the com-unit out of her bag and sat down, positioning the unit on the floor so she could keep an eye on the timer. A small light on top of the com-unit flashed—a warning that the solar batteries were low. Hoping like hell the power would last, she opened up the unit. Marvin glared at her.
“Satlink unavailable, Earthling.”
She glanced at the lightly glowing numbers. Five minutes and twenty-four seconds to live. She swallowed heavily. She’d have to use a land link and hope like hell the lines weren’t clogged.
She dove across to the com-unit attached to the autocook and disconnected the landline. Then she grabbed her com-unit and quickly connected it, waiting impatiently for Marvin to react.
“Landline available.”
“Find the cell phone number of Gabriel Stern, assistant director SIU.”
Marvin crossed his arms and tapped his foot. She glanced across to the timer. Four minutes, fifty-three seconds.
“No number available.”
She swore. “What about his home number?” Maybe he diverted his private calls to his cell phone.
Marvin stopped tapping again. “No number available.”
Her gaze went to the timer again. Four minutes, twenty-two seconds. Sweat began to bead her forehead. “Damn it, try calling the SIU switchboard.”
It seemed to take forever to get a response. In reality, it was precisely eighteen seconds.
“Special Investigations. How may I help you?”
The softly feminine voice was deceptive, as was the image of the dark-skinned beauty on the screen. The SIU, like most major government departments, had gone completely computerized some ten years ago. “I need to get a code four-one message to Assistant Director Gabriel Stern.” She only hoped the SIU system would recognize the State’s officer in danger call sign.
“Assistant Director Stern is not currently in his office.”
Sweat trickled down her nose. She swiped at it with her sleeve and glared impatiently at the woman on the screen. “I know. I repeat, this is a code four-one message. Put me through to his cell phone.”
The computerized image was silent for a moment. “Unable to process request without Assistant Director Stern’s consent.”
“Well, for heaven’s sake, contact him.”
She glanced at the lightly glowing numbers. Three minutes, forty-five seconds. She sat back on her heels and closed her eyes. There was nothing else she could do now but wait.
And pray.
WHEN SAM LEFT THE ROOM, Gabriel leaned back and waited for the questions to start. While he hadn’t really expected Mary or Martyn to relax in her presence, he certainly hadn’t expected the current depth of their hostility. Nor had he counted on Lyssa’s reaction—that, above everything, made little sense.
Martyn leaned forward, gray eyes intense. “What the hell happened to your face?”
Gabriel raised an eyebrow. It wasn’t the question he’d expected from Martyn. “I was following a lead and got ambushed by four men.”
“How unlike you.” Martyn’s dry tone was edged with a note of amusement. “Was your attention diverted by yo
ur little cop killer?”
“Clone killer,” he retorted. “Kazdan himself is very much alive. We have a meet tomorrow night.”
“Is that wise?” Stephan rested bony arms against the table, his expression one of concern. “Kazdan’s already tried to kill Ryan twice. This may be just another setup.”
“Maybe. But we have something he wants.” He met his brother’s eyes and saw the warning there. Don’t say too much. He wished he’d had the chance to ask Stephan who was powerful enough to intimidate Hanrahan, but with Martyn and Lyssa there, now was definitely not the time. “It also gives us an ideal opportunity to tail him.”
Martyn snorted. “If he’s a vampire, he’ll sense anyone that gets too close.”
“It’s still worth a chance.” Besides, Kazdan wouldn’t sense a shapechanger flying high. Nor would he expect it, unless forewarned.
“You realize, of course, that this whole thing with Ryan might be a setup.” Martyn leaned back in his chair. “She might be nothing more than a plant, a means for Kazdan, and therefore Sethanon, to learn more about the Federation.”
“She might.” But he personally didn’t believe it. He’d seen the need to know, the need to understand what had happened to Kazdan, in her eyes. That couldn’t be faked, no matter how good an actress she might be.
“But you believe in her?” Stephan asked softly.
He looked at his brother. “I’ve bet all our lives on it.”
“Why, I do believe you like the girl.” Lyssa’s voice was gently mocking.
He frowned at her. When had Lyssa become such a bitch? Or was it merely the pregnancy messing with her hormones? “That has nothing to do with my reasons for trusting her.”
“Right. Just remember that she shot her last lover. Don’t get too close.” Her soft voice held a cynical edge.
“I have no intention of doing so.” Even if he was oddly drawn to her. His cell phone vibrated against his side. He pushed his chair back and rose. “Sorry, I have a call.”
Mary walked through the door as he neared, her face pale, as if she’d been sick—which wouldn’t have been a surprise, given the way she’d bolted down her food. He waited for her to pass, then stepped into the semidarkness of the next room. He flipped open the phone. SIU’s digital secretary smiled at him. “Yes, Christine?”
“I have a code four-one call from a Samantha Ryan on the line. Do you wish to accept it?”
Code four-one. State-speak for officer in trouble. His heartbeat accelerated. “Yes.”
Sam’s image came onto the small screen. “You have to get … friends … of here …”
Her image was fading in and out, and her voice was going with it. “Sam, repeat message.” Why the hell was she calling him? And why was the transmission fading in and out?
She licked her lips. Even on such a small screen, he could see the fear on her face.
“Bomb … house. Upstairs … Cook …”
Her image faded as the connection cut out. He swore and spun around, racing back to the dining room. “Stephan, get everyone out of this house. Now,” he added, as his brother opened his mouth to ask why. “We haven’t got much time.”
Stephan nodded and rose. Gabriel ran for the stairs. “Cook” had surely meant autocook. Though why the hell would she go in there? He took the stairs two at a time and headed down the upstairs hall. The room holding the autocook was locked. He quickly punched in the code, and the door clicked open.
She all but fell into his arms. “We have less than two minutes to get out of here.”
His gaze swept the room behind her. “That should be more than enough time to defuse a bomb.”
“Not this fucker.” She grabbed his arm and pulled him away from the door. “It’s touch sensitive. We have to get out of here.”
He couldn’t ignore the plea in her eyes or the urgency in her voice. And she’d been with State long enough to have seen a bomb or two. He had no choice but to trust her judgment. Grabbing her hand, he ran for the front door.
As they exited the house, he saw Stephan and the others ahead of them, running for the front gate.
“Come on!” She tugged him forward, desperation evident in her every movement.
They were halfway to the gate when thunder rumbled ominously, a low sound that rapidly gained momentum. Then there was a flash and heat, terrible heat, as the world around them went momentarily red. The ground rose in a wave of grass and dirt, surging past their feet, chased by a wind that was fast and furious. He dove toward Sam, pushing her to the ground, covering her body with his.
The actual sound of the explosion hit last and was accompanied by the debris and dust, jettisoned through the air by the blast’s force. Bricks and glass and deathly sharp bits of wood became missiles that rained around them. He cocooned her against him, her body shuddering against his and her heart racing as fiercely as his own. Yet she didn’t make a sound, keeping the fear he could almost taste tightly leashed. Several large chunks of inner wall speared the ground, one so close to their heads it plunged several strands of Sam’s red-gold hair deep into the earth. Another shaved his calf muscle, drawing blood as it smacked into the earth near his feet.
Then silence fell. For a long moment, he didn’t move, wanting to be certain it was over, that it was safe. Then he rolled to one side and stared. Devastation lay behind them.
A crater lay where the mansion had once stood. Whoever had set the bomb had sure as hell wanted to be certain there was nothing left, not even bits for the bomb squad to find.
“Someone really hates your friend, don’t they?” she said quietly.
He glanced at her. Her cheek was grazed, a wound that contrasted starkly against her pale features. He felt a surge of protectiveness and reached out, gently brushing some dirt away from the weeping sore. But she flinched away from his touch, so he let his hand drop and glanced back to the ruins. “How did you find the bomb?”
“I was following Mary. I thought she went into the autocook room, but when I went in, it was empty.” She shrugged lightly. “Someone locked me in. Someone who’d vomited in that room only moments before.”
Mary was the only one to leave the room, the only one who had an opportunity to set a bomb and lock the door. And she’d certainly looked as if she’d been ill when she came back into the dining room. But why would she do such a thing? And why come back into the dining room if she had set the bomb? That amounted to suicide and simply didn’t make sense.
“How well do you know Mary?” she asked.
He shrugged. “We all grew up together.”
“But she’s a lot older than the rest of you.”
He nodded. “By about fourteen years. She was more a babysitter than a friend, at first.”
“How long has she been a vampire?”
He glanced at her sharply. “She’s not. She’s human. Martyn’s the only vampire in the group.”
She frowned, her blue eyes uncertain. “When I first walked into that room, I sensed a shapeshifter and a vampire. I thought Martyn looked like a bloodsucker, but it was Mary I sensed.”
Was the answer that simple? Was it Mary, one of the two people he would have sworn it couldn’t be? He closed his eyes for a moment, listening to the approaching footsteps, knowing four people walked toward them but hearing the steps of only two. Vampires carried themselves lightly. Martyn and Mary weren’t making any sound.
And yet, as youngsters, they’d often teased Mary that her footsteps were heavy enough to register on the Richter scale. The change must have been recent; surely either he or Stephan would have noticed it otherwise. So who had she shared blood with? Who had performed the ceremony and supervised her first steps into the world of the night? If it had been a vampire aligned with the Federation, they would have heard about it.
And why would she want to kill Stephan? Had that been the price of becoming immortal?
It didn’t make sense. But none of this was making sense—not the attempt on Stephan’s life, nor the attempts on Sam’s.
/>
He stared at the smoking ruins for several seconds, and then ran a hand through his hair, prying free several twigs. “Stephan is the shifter you sensed.”
Confusion flitted across her face. “I thought he was the human.”
He frowned. “What?”
“Lyssa’s the shifter I sensed, not Stephan.”
His frown deepened, even as a feeling of dread began to build in his gut. “Lyssa’s a changer. Her other form is a cat.”
“Then why—” She hesitated. “I’m getting the same sort of feeling from her that I got from that shifter who took Finley’s form in the lab.”
No, he thought. No! “You’re wrong.”
“Maybe.” She shrugged and shifted her gaze away from his. “After all, this talent, or whatever it is, is fairly new. Maybe I’m just reading it wrong.”
But she’d been right about the kites, about Kazdan’s clone, and about the shifter in the lab. Odds were she was right about this, too. He closed his eyes again. Lyssa wasn’t Lyssa—what other explanation could there be for Sam sensing a wrongness about her? God, this could shatter his brother’s spirit. Completely. “Are you sure it’s saying Lyssa is a shifter rather than a changer?”
“As sure as I was about the others.” She hesitated again, concern flaring deeper in her eyes. “Why, is something wrong?”
Everything, he thought bleakly, then shook his head. “No, nothing.” Nothing beyond the fact that the woman his brother loved, the woman who was now carrying his brother’s child, was not the woman he’d married.
Somehow, he had to separate them, had to find out what had happened to the real Lyssa. There was always the chance, however slight, that she was still alive.
“You two okay?”
Like a soothing breeze in the heat of the night, Stephan’s voice rose out of the darkness. Gabriel glanced up. His brother had stopped a pace away and was wraithlike in the darkness.
“Someone wants to make very sure you’re dead, Stephan.” He let his gaze rest on Lyssa for a moment. She’d stopped just behind his brother, face pale and eyes haunted. Either she was a very good actress or she hadn’t known about the bomb.