Generation 18 (Spook Squad 2)

Power surged—a lightning flash that poured from her fingers to him. He jerked, mouth open in shock, as electric fingers of light swam across his body.

The storm-held power wrenched his weight from her, shattering his cover of darkness as it flung him across the room.

The laser light flashed again. Two beams, a deeper blue this time. Orrin landed near the base of the stairs, a gaping black hole where his face had been.

He was dead. Thank the gods, he was dead.

Relief stirred, but she didn’t. It was all she could do just to gulp in great gasps of air. Her throat burned, as if his fingers were still around it, digging deep. But she’d survived. With the power of the storm, and a little help from Gabriel, she’d done the impossible.

She’d survived Orrin Whittiker.

Footsteps drew close and Gabriel appeared, his movements stiff and slow, like those of an old man. His face was white and etched with pain. His hair was matted, black with sweat and stiff with blood.

He knelt beside her, then reached out to touch her bruised cheek. “I’ve seen you look healthier.”

“And here I was thinking you’d never looked better.” Her voice came out as little more than a harsh whisper. It didn’t matter. She knew he’d understand her, even if no words came out.

He raised an eyebrow in surprise. “Oh yeah?”

“Yeah,” she said. “You’re alive.”

A smile twitched his lips. “How did you find me?”

“With those psychic abilities I don’t have.”

His smile grew. With one finger, he gently traced the line of her cheek to her chin, his touch like fire against her skin. Awareness surged between them, and just for a moment, she saw the desire in his eyes. The longing. Then his gaze hardened and the warmth disappeared, right along with his touch.

Anger fired through her. She was sick of playing these games, sick of being shoved into a shoe box and being told to stay. Sick of his words and actions saying one thing, yet his reactions saying another. He didn’t want her as a partner, and, truth be told, he probably wouldn’t have her as anything else.

Fine, then. Let him win the war, if that was what he really wanted.

It was time she started taking control of her life. And part of that was not only finding her past, but creating a future as well. If Gabriel wanted no part of that future, then fine. It was time she accepted the fact and just moved on.

“Stephan’s calling an ambulance for us both,” he said, his voice all cool efficiency. “And organizing a cleanup team.”

“Rose?” Her voice was still scratchy, but it was filled with barely controlled annoyance.

“Dead. Stephan shot her.”

“Good.” She rolled sideways and carefully climbed to her feet. The effort left her head swimming, and for several seconds she rested her hands on her knees and gasped for breath.

“What the hell are you doing?”

He reached out, perhaps to steady her, perhaps to stop her, but she jerked away from his touch and saw the flicker of surprise on his face. “I’ve told you before, I don’t like hospitals. I’m going home.” Or, at least, to the motel she’d booked into for the night.

He frowned. “You should get checked out first. Besides, what have you got to go home to?”

Nothing—the same as ever. And that was just something else she’d have to change. Placing her trust, and her need for friendship, in the hands of her partners had been nothing short of stupidity. And in the end, it had only led to grief. All her life she’d been longing for friends, for family. Maybe she couldn’t do anything about the second desire, but she could certainly get off her ass and do something about the first. Life was there to be explored—and it was about time she started doing that.

It was a pity she hadn’t realized that before Jack had come along. Though in many ways, he had perhaps saved her. She was no longer content to drift. She wanted—needed—something more out of life. “What does it matter to you what I have and haven’t got to go home to?”

His gaze briefly searched hers, then he shrugged and said, “It’s your life.”

“That it is,” she muttered, and turned away.

She could feel his gaze on her back, curious, and perhaps a little angry.

“Sam,” he called softly after a few seconds.