Penumbra (Spook Squad 3)

“Shit.” She dropped to her knees and peered into the dark hole. Fear rose, threatening to engulf her, but she ignored it the best she could and listened.

From far down came another thump and the soft squawk of a bird. Then silence.

She pulled back from the hole and sat on her heels.

Wetherton wasn’t just a clone; he was a shapechanger.

But if he was so afraid for his life, why would he leave this apartment—and her protection—so abruptly? Why put himself in danger like that?

Unless, of course, he needed to report to his master and this was the only way he could do it without raising suspicion. After all, the real Wetherton was human, not changer. And this Wetherton had been in a mighty hurry to get her out of the room so he could sleep.

She rose and left, closing the bedroom door behind her. Whatever his reasons, it was obvious that he didn’t want her to know he was gone. And it certainly played better for her if he didn’t know that she knew.

After shoving her gun away, she flopped back onto the sofa and opened the com-unit again. Izzy’s fuzzy face came online instantly. “And here I was thinking you were sleeping.”

“I was. Can you send an urgent email to Director Byrne? Tell him Wetherton is a changer. Tell him I need a tracer sent in with Jenna Morwood this morning, if possible.”

“Request sent. Still waiting on search results.”

“Ta, Iz.” Sam shut the com-unit down and settled back to wait. It was an hour before she heard the soft sound of movement in the bedroom. After a few seconds, the door opened and Wetherton’s tousled head appeared.

“Anything wrong, Minister?” she inquired politely.

“I thought I heard something,” he said, in the best just-woken-from-sleep voice she’d ever heard.

“Nothing’s moving. I’m struggling to keep awake, in fact.”

“Make sure that you do,” he snapped, and closed the door.

Ass, she thought, and wondered how the hell she was going to get through months of this tedium.

With a sigh, she leaned back against the sofa and watched the dawn break slowly across the night-held sky. Jenna arrived just before her shift started. She was a pretty woman of Spanish descent.

After checking her ID, Sam let her in and introduced herself. Jenna smiled, the merry twinkle in her dark eyes belying the hint of steel in her handshake. “Director Byrne sent this for you,” she said, handing her an interoffice envelope. “What’s Wetherton like?”

Sam glanced at the still-closed bedroom door. “He’s a politician.”

Jenna grimaced. “Says it all, doesn’t it?”

“Yeah.” Sam tore open the envelope. Inside were two small plastic packets. Stephan wasn’t taking any chances—he’d sent two tracers, one for each of them. She got one out and handed it to Jenna. “He’s also an unrecorded changer. He disappeared on me last night, but he doesn’t know that I know. Keep an eye on him, and try to place the tracer on him without alerting him.”

Jenna nodded, pocketing the packet quickly as Wetherton came out. When his gaze fell on Jenna, his whole demeanor lightened. Sam didn’t know who she felt sorrier for—Jenna for being placed on a twelve-hour watch with a lecher, or Wetherton if he actually tried to harass her.

Though personally, she wouldn’t have minded seeing Jenna kick his sorry ass to kingdom come.

She made the introductions, then donned her jacket, grabbed her bag and com-unit and got the hell out of there.

And discovered Gabriel waiting for her outside the building. She stopped briefly as surprise and something else—something close to excitement—ran through her.

He was leaning against one of the concrete columns, arms crossed, and looking as tired as she felt. “What’s wrong?” she asked, stopping a few feet away from him. His scent ran around her, spicy and warm, stirring her longing.

And steeling her earlier resolve to pursue whatever it was between them. Whether or not she succeeded didn’t matter. If she didn’t do something, if she simply sat back and accepted his statement that his heart belonged to someone long dead, she’d regret it.

“I heard you requested information about a General Blaine.” He shifted his hand, revealing a manila folder. “I thought you might like to share why over breakfast.”

She raised an eyebrow. “Breakfast doesn’t get you out of lunch, you know.”

A wry smile touched his lips. “I guessed that. But this is a business breakfast, not an apology.”