Generation 18 (Spook Squad 2)

He glanced at his twin. “I know. But blocking him out has become such a habit that I’m not even aware of it anymore.”

“Until this Sam of yours came along.”

“She’s not my Sam.” Why did people keep calling her that? Shit, the truth was, they barely even knew each other. “She’s my partner—and if I have my way, won’t even be that for much longer.”

Jess raised a dark eyebrow. “Are you denying your attraction?”

“When you can read the truth in my mind?” He smiled a little grimly. “I’m not that foolish. But it’s an attraction I have no intention of following through on. I don’t want to lose another partner.”

“Such things cannot always be controlled, Gabriel. As evidenced by this bond you’re forming.”

“If I can cut my twin from my thoughts, I can cut an unwanted connection with Sam, believe me.”

Her smile became a little sad again. “You will end up a very lonely old man if you’re not careful, Gabriel.”

He briefly cupped her cheek with his palm. “How will I end up lonely when I have a sister who’ll nag me senseless?”

“You’re hopeless, little brother.” She leaned forward and placed a light kiss on his cheek. “And soon you will learn to watch what you wish for.”

Gabriel glanced up sharply. She met his gaze with a cryptic smile and stepped back as Stephan approached.

“That was headquarters.” His face was grim. “Sam’s apartment has just been bombed. Again.”

Jessie gasped softly. “Is she all right?”

“A question Gabriel can no doubt answer.”

He ran a hand through his hair. “She’s alive. She wasn’t caught in the bombing—that much I know.”

“Then you’d better figure out how to find her. She’s probably our best shot at stopping this murderous bitch fast.” Stephan glanced across the room. “Meantime, Dad and I will search the State Police recruitment records and see if we can find anything suspicious.”

He watched the two men leave the room and then looked at his sister. “How do I use the link to find her?”

—

Sam groaned and held her head. There were a thousand tiny madmen in there, all intent on beating drums out of sync with each other. The headaches she’d experienced before had nothing on this. The noise created by the madmen vibrated through every nerve, every cell—it even seemed to gain form and dance around her. Her whole body thrummed to the beat of its tune. Then slowly, she realized the noise was real, not imagined. And she realized she was not alone.

She lifted her head. Dr. Francis, the vet she’d taken her borrowed cat to, stood four feet away, her arms crossed and a contemptuous look on her face. Behind her, though cloaked in darkness, Sam could make out a series of tumbledown brick walls. No light broke the darkness, and the air had a stale smell. All around them, noise hummed. Machinery, she realized. They were on a building site.

But what kind of site operated in the middle of the night?

“You should be dead,” Dr. Francis said. Her voice was still polite, still disinterested. “First you managed to overcome a lethal dose of Jadrone, and then you somehow survived a car accident that would have killed most.”

“You were the budgie in Max’s office,” Sam murmured. The men in her head were beginning to find some rhythm, making a semblance of thought possible. “Why did you think Jadrone might stop me?”

“Because a colleague of mine said it would.” A smile fluttered across the doctor’s brightly painted lips. “She can sense others of our kind, as you also appear able to do.”

If she and her colleague thought Sam a changer, that at least explained the dose of Jadrone. “Your colleague’s name wouldn’t happen to be Rose, would it?” When Dr. Francis merely smiled, Sam added, “So why did you try to kill me? And Max?”

“Max was nothing more than a weak fool.” Contempt dripped from the doctor’s voice. “He would have told you of our partnership, would have implicated me in Harry’s murder. With Max all but dead, I thought I was safe until you showed up at the office.”

So the doctor had known who she was and had simply played along. She must have followed her to O’Hearn’s and then home. Obviously, the doc had no idea that Harry’s murder was tied in with a serial killer. Maybe she didn’t read the newspapers.

Sam tried to ease the ache in her left leg by shifting her weight slightly and realized she couldn’t even move. Her legs were wrapped in something cold and heavy. Chains.

Fear rose, but she thrust it away. There was no time for fear, only escape. And if she didn’t do that soon she would die, of that she was certain.

“How were you involved with Harry?”