Penumbra (Spook Squad 3)

That was true. And it was definitely an idea they would have to investigate. Though given the tight security on all Hopeworth information and records, it was going to be nearly impossible to get any information there. But the base itself was an entirely diffe

rent proposition. They could certainly watch all the comings and goings. Gabriel shifted so that he was facing her full on, but he didn’t dislodge her grip on his hand. There was something almost comforting in her touch—comforting in a way that was sexual and yet not.

In the early morning light, her skin was almost as luminous as her eyes. With her fiery hair covered by the hood of her dark coat, she appeared almost ghostly. His grip on her hand tightened a little, and the fingers of his free hand itched with the sudden need to caress her cheek. To feel the softness of her skin. To reassure himself that she was real and here, and not already beginning to fade away into nothingness as Karl had warned.

“Why are you so positive about this?” he asked.

When she hesitated and looked away, he reached out and touched her chin, drawing her gaze back to his. She licked her lips, and he found his gaze drawn to the movement. Not good, he thought, and yet he couldn’t pull his gaze away.

“How the hell can I be sure?” She hesitated again. “But I’m right. I know I’m right.”

“Because you were at Hopeworth with the man who is now Sethanon?” The question came out of nowhere, and he had to wonder if it was an instinctive reaction to the pull he was feeling toward her.

And yet, at the same time, it was a natural question. She was obviously connected to Hopeworth, and there was definitely a connection to Sethanon somewhere along the line. Otherwise, why would the man have spent so much time over the years keeping an eye on her? Maybe even protecting her?

She gasped and jerked away from his grasp. Part of him regretted the loss of her touch. Part of him didn’t. And he couldn’t help noticing that, despite her reaction, there was no hurt in her eyes, no surprise, which suggested she’d contemplated the question herself, however lightly.

“That’s not true,” she said. Yet her eyes said, Please don’t let it be true.

“Sam, think about it. Your memories started at the age of fourteen. At that very same time, Sethanon made his first appearance. And, coincidentally, just before either event, a project named Penumbra was destroyed by a fire to the point that there were absolutely no records left. There wasn’t even enough DNA left to identify who, exactly, died in that fire. Normal fires don’t burn that hot. Not without help.”

She was staring at him, eyes wide and somewhat distant, like she was seeing things he couldn’t even begin to guess at. He wondered what she was remembering, wished that she’d tell him. But he’d done very little in recent months to encourage trust, and for the first time he regretted it. Truly regretted it.

“Fire is not my element.”

The words were said softly, almost automatically. He frowned. “Were they Joe’s?”

She blinked, and life came flooding back into her eyes. “Joe was never at Hopeworth. At least, the man I know now as Joe wasn’t. Joshua was.”

“What if Joe is a shapeshifter? He could have been there as someone else.”

“He’s a shapechanger. A crow. Are you saying he’s one of those rare types who is both shifter and changer?”

“Maybe.” And what if it went beyond that? You could be a multi-shifter and, on rare occasions, even a multi-changer, but he’d never heard of a multi-shifter-changer.

But then, up until Rose Pierce began killing off Hopeworth rejects, he’d never heard of a male-female shifter, either.

“Hopeworth doesn’t traffic in the normal,” she said.

“No, they don’t.” He hesitated. “Your dreams haven’t made any connections between Joe and Joshua, have they? Was Joshua one of the instructors?”

“No, and no.” Her sudden smile held very little warmth. “If I can believe the nanny, Joshua is actually my twin brother.”

He raised an eyebrow. “A test-tube twin, or the real thing?”

Sam shrugged. “Considering I have no idea about the manner of my birth, I can’t really comment. And Mary never said either way. Nor did I think to ask.”

“But what do your instincts say?”

“My instincts and my dreams make me believe that Mary is telling the truth—that he’s my brother. My real brother. The other half of me.” She hesitated. “But since I still don’t know whether my dreams can be trusted, I wouldn’t rely on them as the truth just yet.”

“But what if they are the truth?”

She stared at him for a moment, then looked away again—but not before he’d seen the sheen of tears in her eyes. “I don’t want them to be the truth. I don’t want to be just another product from some mad scientist’s production line.”

He gently forced her to look at him again. “Whether you are or not doesn’t matter, Sam. The scientists may have given you life, but they haven’t made you what you are.”

“And just what am I?” she said, and for the first time there was a hint of desperation in her voice. “Am I a military weapon gone wrong, or one that is merely waiting for the right trigger?”