Karl considered her for a moment, his brown eyes curious and friendly. “Actually, no. I’m more interested in the fact that you may have Shadow Walker blood in you.”
She blinked. She’d wanted honesty, and Karl was certainly giving it. “Shadow Walker? What the hell is that?”
“A race that died out some fifty years ago.”
“If it died out, how can I have it?”
“Maybe someone kept it alive.”
Maybe it was the alcohol, but his answers weren’t exactly making sense. “What do you mean?”
“I’m not really sure myself.”
He wasn’t trying to avoid an answer—he simply didn’t know. Both his body language and her own innate ability to sense a lie told her as much. And yet that same innate ability was telling her something was very wrong. She shifted and tried a different tack. “So what is a Shadow Walker?”
“It’s a very rare race that is said to be vaguely related to the vampires, without possessing their need for blood to survive.”
She hastily swallowed more scotch, then asked, “Why are they called Shadow Walkers?”
“Because, like vampires, they could disappear into shadows.”
Which was definitely something she could not do. “Why the hell do you think I might have Shadow Walker blood in me?”
“Because of your eyes.”
She raised her brows. “My eyes waver between blue and gray. Nothing special in that.”
“Walkers supposedly had eyes the same as yours.”
She snorted. “So does half the population of Melbourne. Blue eyes are very fashionable at the moment.”
“Maybe.” He shrugged. “Are you prepared to take the tests?”
“Why the hell not?” It couldn’t hurt, and maybe one of these damn tests might eventually give her some clues to her past.
“Good. We’ll start them in the morning.”
“Why not now?” Morning was only a few hours away.
He smiled. It made his almost fierce features look gentle, fatherly. Yet there was a haunted light in his kind brown eyes. “Because, my dear, you look dead on your feet, and you’re bleeding onto my sofa. You need a shower, some patching up and sleep. In that order.”
She glanced down. Blood was oozing from the graze on her arm, dripping steadily onto the sofa. She shifted her arm, letting it drip onto her clothes. “Sorry.”
He shrugged. “Come on, let’s get you sorted out.” She watched him rise and move into the next room. The sense of wrongness was growing, and though she didn’t understand why, it was something she couldn’t ignore. Biting her lip, she grabbed the disks and the wristcom from her bag, then rose and walked around to the bookcase. Kneeling, she carefully slipped them behind the dust-laden fiction books on the bottom shelf. Maybe it was a silly precaution. Maybe she was just being paranoid, but she felt safer with both items hidden. With a final look to ensure she’d left no telltale smudge near the books, she turned and followed Karl into the next room.
GABRIEL PUSHED HIS WAY THROUGH the large crowd of people and ducked under the yellow police tape. Before he’d taken two steps, a young police officer caught his arm and hauled him around.
“I’m sorry, sir, but no one’s allowed any closer.”
He bit down on his impatience and flashed his badge. “Any word on casualties yet?”
“Not that I’ve heard. But they’ve set up a temporary headquarters over near those vans.” The young officer pointed toward several white vans parked half a block down from the smoking building.
“Thanks,” he said, and strode past the emergency vehicles and the fire-hose-armed men and women who poured water onto the flames. The night was warm, as if the explosion had blasted the chill from the air, and a trickle of sweat ran down his cheek. The red and blue emergency lights cut through the white of the spotlights, washing color across the white-clad backs of men and women who were still helping survivors from the damaged building. Thankfully, there seemed to be plenty of emergency workers. But an eerie silence still hung over the entire area, as if everyone working here feared a raised voice would bring on yet another disaster. His gaze traveled the long line of ambulances.
Stephan had sensed it when Gabriel was kidnapped, had known enough to send Karl to the rescue. Surely if Stephan were dead, he would feel the sudden emptiness, the loss, deep inside. It shouldn’t matter what form that death had found him in—be it as his twin brother, as the fair-haired leader of the Federation, or the hound-dog figure that was Hanrahan. Surely he should know.
Mike Reynolds, Hanrahan’s secretary, glanced up as he approached.
“Any news on Hanrahan yet?” He stopped and studied the screen in front of Reynolds. It was a list of missing persons. Hanrahan and Finley were both on the list.
Reynolds shook his head. “Hanrahan apparently got a warning and called an emergency evac about three minutes before the bomb exploded. He ordered all his personal staff out, but he refused to leave himself until he was sure the building was clear.”
How very much like Stephan. He scrubbed a hand across his eyes. “What about Finley?”
“We know most of the lab staff got out, but their exit points are around the other side of the building. I’m still waiting for a report on them.”
“Do you know anything about the bomb itself?”
Reynolds laughed sourly. “Yeah, it went off.”
But the building still stood. Surely that was a good sign that injuries would be far lower than the men behind this bombing had intended. Damn it, why did he feel nothing but a peculiar emptiness when it came to Stephan? Did that mean his brother’s life was over and his afterlife had begun? He shoved his hands into his pockets. “Any idea where the bomb was placed?”
“It was a car bomb. A couple of State boys noted the driver acting suspiciously. When they tried to question him, the guy simply took off. He drove his vehicle through the security gates, into the parking garage and right into a side wall.”
Which would explain why one side of the building seemed to have taken the brunt of the damage. “How badly were the SIU floors damaged?”
“The parking garage and the first three SIU levels mirror what’s happened above ground, but the rest seem in reasonable shape.”
Stephan’s office was on the third of the underground levels. He scrubbed a hand through his hair. “Is the building structurally sound?”
“First reports say yes, because the bomb hit the middle of the wall, rather than the core or one of the main outside supports. They’re still in there checking, though.”
Gabriel nodded. “Have they set up a morgue?” Not that he actually wanted to visit such a place—but with the emptiness that resided inside him, he might just have to.
Reynolds shook his head. “They’re ferrying the dead to hospitals. Michaels is checking for identities as they’re being loaded into ambulances, though.” He hesitated and handed Gabriel a sheet of paper. “These are the confirmed deaths.”
He scanned the list of names. There weren’t many, thank God, maybe twelve in all. Hanrahan wasn’t among them. “No unidentified?”
“A couple, both women.” Reynolds grimaced. “We’re lucky we got that warning. It saved a lot of lives.”
He just had to hope it had saved the one life that mattered to him. “Any idea who the warning came from yet?”
Reynolds shook his head. “It went directly to Hanrahan’s office, apparently. It would have been recorded but, as yet, we can’t access the network.”
If Sethanon was behind this bombing, why had there been a warning? There hadn’t been one in any of the other SIU bombings. To give one now didn’t make any sense.
A phone rang, and Reynolds answered it. After a few minutes of arguing with whoever was on the other end, Reynolds hung up and looked at Gabriel.
“They’ve just helped a heap of people from the Lang’s Lane exits. The fool in charge won’t send me the list of names until he clears it with his boss. Don’t suppose you want to head over a
nd check it out for me?”
It was a better option than waiting here for some sign of his brother. “I’ll give you a call back with the names.”
He made his way out of the van. The night air, despite its residue of heat, seemed crisper, cleaner. Or maybe it just seemed that way because Hanrahan wasn’t yet on the confirmed dead list. There was hope yet.
He walked around to Lang’s Lane. Thirty or more people huddled near the end of the lane, watched by two officers in black. He frowned, wondering why they weren’t being taken straight to an ambulance. A good third of them were bleeding or looked dazed, and one of the men was supported by a woman half his size. All were wearing the SIU gray, though none were faces he recognized.
He approached the more senior-looking of the two State officers and flashed his badge. “What’s the problem, Officer? Why aren’t these people being taken for medical help?”
“There’s been a report of a gas leak up near Spencer. They’re shifting the medical teams to a new position. We’ve been told to wait, as this position is fairly secure.”
“There’s no medical unit that can come down to help these people?”
The officer shook his head. “They’ve called for more medical staff; I know they’re sending teams over from St. Vincent’s and the Freemason’s. Even the Mercy is sending help. Until they get here, and until they tell us the leak is clear, we have to stay put.”
“Over on King Street we have a doctor checking the identities of the wounded and dead as they’re being loaded into the ambulances. Call your people and tell them you’re moving there.” He hesitated, and then added, “Some of these people need help urgently.” The officer looked set to argue, but he glanced at the people behind them and nodded. Gabriel moved across to the second officer. “These were the only people to come out of this exit?”
The towheaded officer nodded. “These are the last, we think, but until they give us an all-clear from the gas leak, we can’t go back in to check.”
He nodded. If there was a gas leak, then they had to stop it quickly, especially with the small fires still burning inside the building. “Do you have the names and badge numbers of these evacuees? I need to send a copy to our people.”
The young officer hesitated. “We’ve been told all requests for information have to go through headquarters, but I guess these are your people …” He glanced furtively at his partner, then quickly showed Gabriel the list.
He scanned it through to Reynolds, then smiled his thanks at the young officer as his partner approached.
“They’ve given us the okay to move them. We could do with your help, sir, if you aren’t too busy. As you said, a couple of them are in pretty bad shape.”
He nodded. “I’ll take the man being supported by the woman. You two help the others.”
The woman glanced up as he approached. Her face was a mess, the entire left side raw and bleeding, her eye was shut and swollen and her lips were split and puffy. Her body didn’t look much better. Her gray suit was torn and stained black by dirt and dried blood. Even the arm that supported her companion was bloody and bruised. But for all that, there was a look of intense elation in her gray eyes. Staring death in the eye and escaping had that sort of effect on you.
“Agents Layton and Byrne, from the Director’s office,” she said, her mellow voice cracked and edged with pain.
Gabriel’s heart rate leapt. “See any sign of Hanrahan?” he asked, trying to remain calm as he slipped a shoulder under Byrne’s, taking his weight off Layton’s injured arm.
Layton shook her head. “But Byrne here was with him, last I saw him. Maybe he can tell you what happened once he’s lucid.”
It was the closest he’d come to finding his brother, and hope soared. The two officers began moving the others off. “You okay to walk, Layton?”
Her sudden grin was cheerful. “I just escaped a bombing attempt basically unharmed. Believe me, I think I could fly right now.”
Byrne groaned softly as Layton moved away. Gabriel shifted his grip, and then glanced down.
And found himself staring into very familiar green eyes.
“Don’t react,” Stephan whispered urgently. “I’ll explain when we’re alone.”
Don’t react? When he’d been half convinced he’d find his twin under concrete? The sheer stupidity of the request made him shake his head. For an instant he wasn’t sure whether to hug Stephan fiercely or throttle him. In the end, he did neither. Stephan knew how he felt. He could see the relief and love reflected in his twin’s eyes.
“You’d better explain,” he muttered. He shifted his hold again and followed the two officers.
“And so had you, brother. So had you.”
Stephan’s voice faded. Gabriel wondered what he’d meant. His twin’s eyes were closed, his breathing shallow. Sweat beaded his forehead and ran down the side of his face, scouring clean channels across his blood-smeared chin. Fighting not the pain of his injuries, Gabriel knew, but rather for the strength to maintain Byrne’s image.
But why Byrne’s? Why not Hanrahan’s, an image his body was used to?
Frowning, he dug out his cell phone and quickly dialed. “Michaels, I’m bringing across some wounded. With the gas leak being investigated, you’re the closest medical help I can think of.”
Michaels almost looked relieved. “I’d rather treat the living than check the dead, I can tell you. I’ll be waiting.”
“We’re on our way.” He shoved the cell phone into his pocket and hurried on.
“As I’ve said before, I’m not going to die on you,” Stephan said quietly. “Stop worrying.”
“Like you wouldn’t, if the situation were reversed?” He kept his voice low, his gaze sweeping the people in front of them.
Stephan’s smile was a mere ghost, something Gabriel felt deep in his heart rather than actually saw. “I’m the oldest. It’s my job to worry.”
He snorted softly. “Yeah, right.”
It took what seemed like hours to reach Michaels. Gabriel curbed his impatience, watching Michaels tend to the two more seriously injured women before waving him over to look at Stephan.
“What’s the verdict?” he said, once Michaels had given his brother the once-over and bandaged him up.
“Like the rest of them, he’s lucky. His right arm’s broken, his legs are severely bruised and his ankle’s either badly sprained or broken—can’t tell without X-rays. There’s nothing wrong with him that a few days in the hospital won’t fix, though.”
“No hospital,” Stephan muttered, eyes still closed.
Probably hiding the fact that they were green rather than Byrne’s natural blue. No matter what Michaels said, the stress of the injuries had to be bad if it was preventing Stephan from doing a full shapeshift. And if he couldn’t fully shift, he had no option but to avoid the hospital and the ever-prying doctors.
Michaels frowned. “Sorry, Byrne, you’ve got no choice. That ankle needs looking at.”
“No hospitals,” Stephan repeated. “Stern, make sure they don’t take me there.”
“The man has a morbid fear of hospitals,” Gabriel explained apologetically. “It’s all in his file.” It wasn’t, but who was going to check? The whole com system was down right now … he stopped the thought cold. They wouldn’t attempt to bomb a whole building just to prevent him from getting Sam’s test results … would they?
Maybe, just maybe.
He scrubbed a hand across his jaw. The day was getting worse, not better.
“If you don’t get that ankle fixed he may never walk properly again,” Michaels continued.
“Only if it is broken.” Besides, Stephan was a shapeshifter. His body retained the memory of itself, and it could heal any number of broken bones, no matter how shattered, a whole lot faster than any doctor possibly could. “I have a friend, a physician. Retired, but still willing to keep his hand in. I’ll take him there.”
Michaels glanced over his shoulder as a string of ambulances came around th
e corner. “I guess we have no choice. He’s obviously lucid, so we can’t take him anywhere against his will. He’s all yours.”
“I’ll go get my car. Take care of him until I get back.”
Michaels nodded. Gabriel squeezed his brother’s shoulder, then rose to fetch Karl’s car.
GABRIEL BOOKED A HOTEL ROOM in the middle of St. Kilda, a trendy district that held a dark heart of criminal activity. The manager asked no questions, and he turned a blind eye to Stephan’s condition—the main reason he’d chosen to come here.
Given the dilapidated state of the place, he had no doubt that if someone came looking for them, it would take only a buck or two for the manager to spill his guts. But it didn’t matter, because they wouldn’t be here all that long. Just a day or so, until his brother regained his strength.
He lowered Stephan to the bed, then locked the door and crossed to the window. The hotel fronted the esplanade, and their room looked out over the bay. It also had a damn good view of the hotel’s front entrance. He checked the street, drew the blinds closed and dragged a chair up close to the bed.
“We safe?” Stephan asked, without opening his eyes.
“Safe as we can be.”
Stephan sighed, a soft sound full of relief. His body began to shimmer, to blur, and for an instant resembled Play-Doh being molded by invisible hands.
Then the shimmer died away, and his brother’s familiar face stared back at him. “You don’t know how good that feels.”
“I can imagine,” he said wryly. “Now tell me why all that was necessary.”
Stephan shrugged. “For a while I’ve felt that the usefulness of Hanrahan’s image was coming to an end. Too many people were beginning to suspect he was my alter identity—especially since both Hanrahan and I appeared to be suffering the same mysterious ailment. There was only so long Hanrahan could legitimately claim to be losing weight.”
Gabriel propped his feet on the end of the bed and leaned back in the chair. “Who, precisely?” Certainly he’d never heard any whispers about it.