Penumbra (Spook Squad 3)

King was more than likely aware of that fact.

The heels of her boots hit the concrete noisily as she ran—a quick tattoo that spoke of speed and urgency, and one that at least had people scrambling to get out of her way. But however free her path was, however fast she was, King was faster. The farther away he got, the harder it was to see or smell him.

And then he disappeared altogether.

She swore softly as she slowed, then finally stopped. With her gun raised, she scanned the immediate area. They’d run far enough from the theater district that foot traffic was sparse. This end of Victoria Street was close to Market and Elizabeth streets, so there were still plenty of cars passing by. Their lights skimmed the sidewalks and nearby buildings, briefly illuminating the shadows. No one hid there, not even a shimmer. Sam continued to turn slowly. Movement caught her eye in nearby Leicester Street. It was nothing more than a flare of orange that died as quickly as it gained life, and yet the sight of it had her up-until-recently-dead psychic senses coming to life.

The enemy waited in the deeper shadows haunting that side road. And it wasn’t King.

She pressed the locator button on her wristcom again, then slowly, carefully, eased toward the road.

The closer she got, the more her skin crawled. Then the familiar wash of heat hit, bringing with it the certainty that the enemy who waited was a shifter—a shifter whose very essence felt malevolent.

And it was a malevolence she knew.

Her steps faltered, and her hands suddenly felt clammy against the grip of the laser. Not so much because of the thick sensation of evil, not even because she’d felt this particular baseness before.

But because Blaine—the enemy that waited in the shadows—was not alone.

He was here.

The man who had saved her life at least twice.

Joe.

And she wasn’t entirely sure whether he meant her good or ill. There was something almost…gloating in his aura. As if he’d waited for this moment for a very long time.

She took a shuddering breath and released it slowly. Her best option now was retreat. She’d be stupid to confront Blaine alone. There were two men ahead and the invisible King still floated about somewhere nearby. However much she wanted answers, however much she might want to grab King for shooting Wetherton, she wasn’t a fool. She was one against three, and while she might be an enhanced human, just like them, she was the only one who didn’t have full knowledge of her powers.

She retreated a step, but she stopped when something cold and hard pressed against her spine.

“I can’t allow you to do that.” King’s voice was so soft that she doubted the men ahead would even hear. “Move into the side street, please. No sudden moves.”

For all of a second she thought about spinning and knocking the weapon from his hand. Or maybe even twisting sharply to shoot him dead. But the latter had already proven impossible, and she had a sneaking suspicion he’d react faster than she ever could.

So she walked on, her arms by her side and the laser still secure in one hand. She doubted he’d forgotten its presence, and the fact that he let her keep it meant either that he had no fear of it or that she’d be dead long before she could ever press the trigger.

Neither thought was a pleasant one, so she concentrated instead on the road ahead, trying to pinpoint the men who still hid in the shadows.

Blaine moved out of them once she’d entered the street, stopping in the middle of the road, his expression pleased, almost amused.

“This is the last place I expected to find you, General,” Sam said, stopping several feet away from him. King didn’t object, and a covert glance over her shoulder uncovered why. He was no longer behind her. She scanned the immediate area but couldn’t spot him. Nor could she smell him. But then, the soft breeze could have been blowing his scent away from her. She was sure he hadn’t gone far.

Still, it was odd that he was here with Blaine. She’d been under the impression that he was Lloyd’s assistant, not Blaine’s.

“Maybe so,” Blaine said, voice all oily satisfaction, “but I must say it is extremely pleasing to see you, number 849.”

The number rang distant bells, and she had a sudden memory of a room filled with clear plastic cribs, each one not only possessing a wriggling, crying baby but a black card clipped to the front that carried a number and visual details. Hundreds of babies born to the cold sterility of a lab, many of whom were destined to die long before conscious thought or fear formed.

An odd mix of anger and apprehension shot through her, but she raised an eyebrow, trying for a calm she didn’t feel inside. “849? Sorry, General, but I have a name, not a number.”

He raised an eyebrow, his expression still one of condescending amusement. “Maybe now, but not when you were in Hopeworth, my dear.”

She knew it was useless to argue. He was too certain about her. Maybe he’d uncovered hidden files in Hopeworth. Maybe that brief moment between them in Wetherton’s office had given him information that he’d been able to use. Either way, it didn’t matter. She was never going to admit the truth. Not to him, anyway. “I’m afraid you’re barking up the wrong tree. I’ve never been near Hopeworth.”

“Forgetfulness is not surprising, given the horrible events of that night, but you are military in birth and in design and we both know it. And I have every intention of returning you to your birthplace and birthright.” He paused, then said, “Tonight.”

So he thought Penumbra’s destruction was an accident? That she’d escaped by chance rather than design? How could he? How could anyone in the military be breeding what they were breeding and have no true idea just what their creations were really capable of?