Generation 18 (Spook Squad 2)

“She had a rare muscle cancer. Ate away at her until she couldn’t walk. She could barely even move.”

Gabriel drew a small container out of his pocket and pressed it into Sam’s hand. Painkillers, she saw with surprise. So much for covertly rubbing her forehead. “Thanks,” she murmured.

He nodded, his gaze meeting hers briefly before returning to Allars. “So who looked after Emma when she lived at Melton?”

“Her sister, of course.”

“Emma Pierce was an only child.”

Allars snorted. “The only child who survived the accident, but definitely not the only child. Rose had heart trouble and was in the hospital at the time. The family was on their way to see her when the accident happened. Both became wards of the state and were adopted separately. The two sisters never caught up with each other until Emma was at Hopeworth, and by that time, they couldn’t admit to the relationship. Em would have been thrown out had they known she had relatives.”

Sam frowned at him. “Why would having relatives make any difference?”

“Hopeworth policy. I guess they wanted to make sure no one could sue them if the tests went wrong.” A shudder ran through Allars’s slight frame. “Which they did, quite frequently.”

“Can you tell us anything about the sister?”

“Not really. But she was the spitting image of Em, that’s for sure. Looked about the same age, too. I only met her the once.”

“I don’t suppose you have any idea of her adopted name, or where she lived?”

Allars shook his head.

Gabriel swore softly. “And you really can’t tell us anything else about the project Emma was on?”

“As I said, we didn’t dare talk about what we were involved in. But why don’t you go have a chat with Haynes or Cooper, if either of them is still alive?”

“Were they involved with Emma?” she asked.

“Those two—as well as White, Benson and Lyle—were the men in charge of Generation 18.”

“Then we’d better get to them before our murderer does,” Gabriel said, and immediately tapped the interface of his wristcom.

Sam studied Allars for a moment. The old man was staring at the photo again. He had the look of a man who’d seen more than enough of one lifetime. The look of a man who waited for death.

Then she frowned, remembering what he’d said earlier. “You said the military took her away. Do you know why?”

He shrugged and wiped his eyes again. “Precautionary measures. They said the lesions could be contagious.”

“But how did they know about them? Did either you or Meg tell them?”

He studied her for a long moment, his rheumy gaze intense. “No. We didn’t.”

And yet the military had known. Either the house was wired, or Meg and Allars had been. She was betting on the latter. “Would you mind standing up for a moment?”

The old man considered her request, then nodded and climbed slowly to his feet. She rose and lifted his grimy sweatshirt.

“What you looking for, girlie?”

She raised a finger to her lips. His gaze narrowed slightly, but he nodded. Maybe it was a stupid precaution, especially after all they’d asked, but right now, it was better safe than sorry. Besides, Allars was the one who’d said all military personnel were microchipped—and if they were chipping employees, why not ex-employees involved in important projects?

“I’m looking for something to squash that great big spider about to run up the arm of your chair,” she said, just in case there were listeners.

She carefully pinched the skin along his left side, working her way up toward the armpit. His flesh hung loosely from his skeletal frame, indicating he’d lost a lot of weight recently. Perhaps premature aging wasn’t the only issue he had.

Then she found it—something round and hard just under the skin near his armpit. She glanced at Gabriel.

“What?” he said.