Something in his eyes suggested he didn’t believe her. “If he hasn’t reported in by this evening, I’ll be in contact.”
Her frown deepened. That sounded almost like a threat. “Yes, sir.”
“Oh, and Agent Ryan?”
“Yes?”
“We got Dr. Francis. She’s currently in holding, and will be charged with attempted murder, at the very least.”
“Good.” One crazy bird off the radar, one to go.
Stephan signed off and she leaned over to collect her bag from beside the desk. Time to go collect a man mountain.
—
Awareness returned slowly. At first, Gabriel felt nothing beyond the pounding ache in his head. Gradually, though, he became conscious of something sharp under his side, digging into his ribs. Became aware that his shoulders burned, as if stretched back too long and too hard. He tried to shift into a more comfortable position, but couldn’t, mainly because he was trussed up tighter than a roast for Sunday’s dinner.
He opened his eyes. The room in which he lay was enclosed in darkness. There were no windows, meaning there was no chance of light getting in or him getting out. The air was still, and it tasted almost foul.
As his eyes adjusted to the darkness, he found the door. Heavyset and metal, it looked like something you’d find on a commercial refrigerator. Then he looked around his prison again and saw the rails above him, hung with empty hooks. He was in a meat storage locker. No wonder the air held a mix of death and fouled meat.
He shifted his legs. The object under his ribs dug deep, biting into his flesh, and he swore and jackknifed away. It was glass, not stone or rubble, as he’d presumed. Probably the remnants of some drunk’s cheap wine bottle. Judging by the amount of glass surrounding him, the drunk had spent a fair amount of time here. Obviously, the building in which the meat locker was housed had been abandoned long enough for street people to consider it a refuge.
Unless they were in the same building that he’d followed Dr. Francis into, the chance of immediate rescue was next to zero.
But the glass itself might provide a means to escape, if he could manage to grab a piece. He shifted his shoulders and arms, trying to work some slack into the ropes. After a good ten minutes, he had to rest. Whoever had tied him had done a damn fine job. He could barely breathe, let alone move.
The sharp tattoo of footsteps came from beyond the confines of his prison, and then the metal door screeched open. Brown leather boots appeared. He looked up and found himself staring into Emma Pierce’s face. The sister, he thought. The elusive Rose Pierce.
“Good to see you’re finally awake, Assistant Director.” She stopped a good three feet away and stared at him with an expression that wavered between contempt and caution.
“What are you doing, Rose? None of this will bring Emma back. Especially not killing innocent adoptees.”
Her smile was cold. “Especially when one of them was your sister, huh?”
Anger flashed through him, but it was useless, given the circumstances. He could no more attack her than he could fly right now. “What’s the point of all this? We know who you are. We know who your next victims will be. You’re insane if you think we’re going to let you get anywhere near them.”
She began to pace. Her walk was long and powerful, almost masculine. “You may think you’re clever, AD Stern—and you certainly put two and two together far faster than I might have wished or hoped—but believe me when I say you have no idea exactly what I’m capable of.”
Oh, he had a pretty good idea. The question right now, however, was why was he still alive? What did she intend to do with him? “Taking me hostage will get you no closer to your victims. The SIU doesn’t bargain.”
Her smile was a slash of contempt. “I know that. I have no intention of going down that road, anyway.”
“Then what do you intend?”
“You’ll see soon enough.” She hesitated, studying him almost too intently. “What, no other questions?”
She wanted him to talk, though he wasn’t entirely sure why. He could see no harm in obliging, though, especially if it gave him some answers. “Why are you killing these people? If you hold a grudge, it should be against Hopeworth, not the innocent by-products of their experiments.”
“I have no grudge against the adoptees. I’m only carrying out my sister’s final wish.”
“Emma wanted her children dead?”
Bitterness ran across her face. “These aren’t her children. They were never conceived by her, never grew to life in her womb. They’re an aberration of nature, something that should not exist. So they must die, as Emma wished.”
“How did Emma find out about the adoptees in the first place?” He was pretty confident Hopeworth wouldn’t have told her.
“A chance encounter with a reject from another project gave us the clue, though I reckon Em might have had her suspicions anyway. We formed a pact with the reject. We helped him, and he helped us.”