Stephan sighed. “Fine. See you tomorrow night.”
Gabriel nodded and clicked off the link. The computer hummed softly. “You have a call.”
“Patch it through, then get Karl on the line for me.” He hesitated slightly before adding, “And run a background check on Samantha Ryan. I want all the personal details that can be found.” Finley’s check on her would run to the academic side of her life rather than the personal. And as one of the SIU’s assistant directors, his system had access to a greater range of data.
The better he knew her, the closer he might get to some answers.
And he had a very bad feeling that he was going to need those answers pretty damn quick.
SAM LAY ON THE SOFA, staring up at the ceiling. Night had fallen over two hours ago, encasing the small living room in darkness. And yet, despite her exhaustion, she couldn’t sleep. The moment of Jack’s death played itself over and over through her mind—a nightmare from which there was no escape. Nor could she escape wondering if there was something, anything, she could have done except pull the trigger.
Yet every time, the answer was the same. Given the chance, Jack would have killed her. She was certain of that, if nothing else.
But then, she had to be certain; otherwise her actions would destroy her. Not so much job-wise, but emotionally. Mentally.
Outside, the rain still pounded, the sound almost soothing when compared to the bass-heavy thumping drifting up from the apartment below. Obviously, Becky and Matt were out again, and their two teenagers were making the most of it. Normally she didn’t mind, but at the moment, the noise grated against her nerves.
She glanced at the clock. Nine-twelve. Sighing, she climbed off the sofa and walked across to the kitchen.
“Coffee, black,” she said softly.
The autocook hummed to life, and almost instantly the rich aroma of coffee filled the room. But it was an illusion. They’d long ago stopped using real coffee beans, at least in the stuff she could afford, and it almost never tasted as good as it smelled. When the timer chimed, she opened the door and grabbed the steaming mug. She then wandered over to her computer desk and sat down. If she couldn’t sleep, she might as well put her time to good use and have a look at the transcripts she’d uploaded from Jack’s computer.
“Computer on.”
As she waited for the screen to blink to life, she stared at the framed drawing sitting next to the computer. It was a sketch she’d done as a child of a woman she could no longer remember. A woman with red hair, blue eyes, and freckles across her nose. Mommy, the childish writing at the bottom proclaimed. Apparently, she’d been clutching the drawing when they’d found her on the steps of the state-run children’s home. Even now, it was the only true clue to her mother’s identity.
“You have mail, Earthling.”
She glanced at the screen. Marvin the Martian gl
ared back at her. “Secure files, then open.”
The computer hummed for several seconds, and then Marvin was back. “Completed. Files opening.”
Split screens appeared. The one on the right listed phone calls; the other, diary contents.
“Trace these.” She marked the two unrecorded phone calls Jack had made the day he disappeared. The screen went blank, and for several seconds, nothing happened. She swore softly, fervently hoping the department hadn’t discovered the illegal lines Jack had set up for her. She needed the unregistered access to their main computers, if only to continue the search for her identity.
Then Marvin blinked back onto the screen. “Tracing.”
She sighed in relief and opened the diary. Jack had made two appointments for the tenth. One was with a Frank Mohern, and the other with a J. C. Dodd. She didn’t recognize either name. She touched their names and ordered another trace.
The doorbell buzzed into the silence, making her jump. “Security cam,” she murmured, taking a quick sip of coffee to calm the sudden attack of nerves. “Front door view.”
Anyone would think she was a rookie on her first day, given the way she was beginning to jump at shadows. Yet after last night’s events, it was natural, wasn’t it? God, it wasn’t every damn day that her missing partner showed up and tried to kill her. But she certainly wasn’t going to talk to the psych guys about it. Knowing them, they’d probably put it down to guilt—or something worse.
The com-screen flickered, briefly showing the rain-swept pavement outside the building before it centered on the man standing at the door. He was big, at least six four, and heavyset. He was also what she’d term extremely hirsute. His dark brown hair curled wildly around a beard so thick it hid his features. He was no one she knew, that was for sure.
She leaned forward and pressed the comlink. “Can I help you?”
“I’m looking for Samantha Ryan.”
“Why?”
White teeth flashed briefly through the forest of brown hair. “I have a message.”
She frowned. Alarms were ringing in the back of her mind, and she didn’t understand why. But it was a warning she’d long ago learned to heed. Flicking the sound off, she leaned back and snagged her bag off the coffee table, then dug around until she found Jack’s wristcom. The computer hummed as she attached the two. “Computer, download all files to link 1045.” She hesitated, and then added, “Send search results to outlink 1097b.”