Penumbra (Spook Squad 3)

“They haven’t. I would have been informed,” Blaine said.

Gabriel frowned. Again, there was something very strange in the way Blaine said that. “But if there has been contact?”

“We shall investigate and let you know the results.” Lloyd held out his hand. “Thank you for your assistance, AD Stern.”

Gabriel shook his hand and again felt that tingle of power. But if the general was trying to read him, then it wasn’t through telepathic means. He would have felt any attempt to read his thoughts.

Blaine didn’t offer his hand, but just gave him a curt nod before following Lloyd from the room.

Gabriel watched them leave, unable to shake the feeling that Blaine knew him. Knew him and hated him.

Which meant that, somewhere in the past, their paths had crossed, even if he couldn’t remember it. He needed information on the man, and he needed it fast.

He glanced around as Illie came into the room. “Do a full search on General Blaine. I need to see whatever you can find.”

In the meantime, he’d contact his family and see if anyone had any memory of the man. Then he’d head to Federation headquarters and see if there were any files on him. Once all that had been done, he’d contact Sam. She needed to know that once again the Penumbra project had raised its head.

—

Sam repressed a yawn and wished, for the umpteenth time, that Wetherton would just shut up and go home. Night watch always took several days—or rather, nights—to get used to, and she was tired as hell.

Right now, it was two in the morning and they were in a nightclub situated right in the heart of the King Street club scene. The place was packed with wildly gyrating teenagers and adults, and the music was so damn loud her body vibrated with it. The air was filled with an array of perfumes, the source of which was both male and female. When combined with the odor of sweating bodies, the result was stomach-churning.

The one thing the place didn’t have was someone watching her. She’d spotted the man Gabriel had following her several times and had finally phoned Stephan about it. The big man had disappeared very quickly after that. As much as his presence had offered her some comfort, she’d meant what she said to Gabriel. She wanted this done, and if that meant Hopeworth snatching her, then so be it. She needed answers, because if there was one thing she was certain about, it was that she had to find her past before she could gain a future. Besides, she’d be damned if she’d allow someone to risk his life to protect hers. Especially when that someone was the husband of a woman she liked.

She stood in a corner opposite Wetherton’s table and idly rubbed her arm. For some reason it had started aching a few hours ago, and although the pain was now easing, it still niggled. It was the sort of pain that came with a decent skin laceration, although she hadn’t cut herself in any way, shape or form. It was just another piece of weird in a gathering pile of them. She look

ed around the room again. She was currently squashed between a pole and the wall, trying not to breathe too deeply. While uncomfortable, the position allowed her to watch both Wetherton and anyone who approached his table. Not that anyone had for the last four hours. She sipped on a juice and wished it were coffee. She had a feeling she was going to hit a wall soon, and at least the caffeine would have helped fend that moment off a little longer. But the bar didn’t serve the hot stuff. And as much as she wouldn’t have minded a mixer with the juice, her exhaustion and the fact that she hadn’t eaten much today meant it would more than likely go straight to her head.

Not a good thing when she was supposed to be protecting the minister.

Although that was most definitely not the only reason she was here. She glanced at the other man at the table. Wetherton’s meet was a tall, thin man who didn’t appear to be another politician. His brown suit was rumpled, his face haggard and unshaven, and there was nothing polished or practiced about the way he spoke. On first sighting him, she’d thought he was a reporter. But after watching him for the last four hours, she’d revised that to criminal. There was something very guarded about the way his gaze continually roamed the room.

There was also something oddly familiar about him, though she’d swear she’d never met or seen him before. It wasn’t even so much his looks as his feel.

If that made any sense.

She’d managed to grab a couple of shots of him with her wristcom and had sent them to Izzy, asking for a full search to be done. She figured the name he’d given her—Chip Braggart—was just a little too weird to be true. And she couldn’t remember seeing him listed among Wetherton’s known associates. Even as tired as she was, it was doubtful she’d forget a name like that.

And why was Wetherton, a government minister, meeting with the likes of Braggart? Was he a contact from the real Wetherton’s past, or was he a part of the clone’s very recent past? Or was he even, perhaps, the contact between the made man and the creator?

Very likely, she thought, studying the cold wariness in his dark eyes. This man was more than just a petty criminal. And there was something very familiar in the way he moved, the way he reacted.

She frowned, trying to chase down the feeling, but at that moment, the presence of evil crawled across her skin like foul electricity, making it hard not to react instinctively and draw her gun. She placed her glass on a nearby table and casually looked around.

For quite a few minutes she couldn’t see the threat. The main dance floor was too crowded, and the table-lined edges were too shadowed. Then the strobe lights pulsed, briefly illuminating a group on the far side of the room and flashing off the hair of one man, making it gleam like a beacon of molten red.

The hair color of Hopeworth’s creations. And the face of the man who had tried to kill both her and Wetherton last night.

Only it couldn’t be the same man, because he was dead. And although this man’s features were almost identical, his nose was just a little bit sharper.

Unlike the rest of the people in his group, he was neither talking nor drinking, but simply standing still as his gaze roamed the confines of the room. When his gaze neared where she stood, she ducked back into shadow, but she had an odd feeling he’d know she was there anyway—that he would feel her presence as easily as she felt his. When she risked another look in his direction, he was gone.

Fear shot through her. The hunt was on.

She pushed away from the wall and walked across to Wetherton. “I’m sorry, Minister, but we need to leave.”

Wetherton glanced up, his expression annoyed. “I’m not finished here yet.”