Generation 18: The Spook Squad 2 (15 page)

Frowning—unsure why she was sensing
some
changers and shifters, but not others—and certainly not understanding what the hell her senses were trying to tell her, Sam headed inside.

After filling in a bunch of forms, she sat down. The cat, safely parked two seats away, had a claw through one of the airholes and seemed intent on shredding the seat.

“Dr. Francis will see you now,” the receptionist said after a few minutes.

Sam collected the box, ensured the killer claw was pointed away from her body, and walked through the door indicated by the white-haired receptionist. Dr. Francis, like the woman out front, was in her mid-fifties. She wore what Sam called a power suit under her unbuttoned white coat—a tight-fitting, no-nonsense outfit that acknowledged her femininity but said hands off. Her hair was a rich chestnut, and undoubtedly dyed. Her face was natural, unmarred by makeup or face-lifts. A woman proud of her looks and her age.

A woman whose very presence itched at Sam’s skin.

“And what can we do for you and Kahn today?” The vet’s voice, like her looks, was striking and powerful.

Sam placed the box on the table and carefully pulled the cat out. It continued to growl its displeasure. “He’s overdue for his shots.”

The doctor nodded and walked across to the cupboard. “I haven’t seen either of you here before, have I?”

“No. We just moved here.”

“Oh yes? Where from?” The doctor’s voice was flat. Making small talk through habit, not interest.

“Elwood.” Sam hesitated. The doctor slipped a white glove on and moved back to the table. “Park Street. You know it?”

“Lovely area,” Dr. Francis murmured, bending to examine the squirming, hissing feline.

Sam regarded her steadily. No reaction whatsoever to the location or street name. She’d have to push a bit harder. “I used to think so. But a neighbor of mine was murdered the other day.”

The doctor glanced up. The shock in her face didn’t quite reach her eyes. “How horrible! Did you know him well?”

Sam raised her eyebrows. “Yes, I did. I have an interview with the cops tomorrow.”

The vet continued to examine the cat. “Nasty.”

“Yeah, I’m not looking forward to it.”

“Nor would I. Kahn’s in excellent condition.”

“That’s good. He’s been a little off his food. Not impressed by the change of housing, I think.”

“Just keep him inside a while and he’ll be fine. Hold him down, will you?” She took a needle out of the cupboard. “Why do the police want to interview you?”

Sam grabbed the cat by the scruff of the neck. It responded by trying to twist around and shred her hand. “Routine, I think. I was just unlucky enough to be in the building at the time.”

“Did you see anything?”

“No.” She hesitated again and frowned. The doctor watched her almost too carefully. “Though I saw the postman arrive. I swear he had something live in one of the parcels. I could hear it scratching around.”

“It’s illegal to send animals through the post. They should hang the person who did that.”

“They’ll probably get a pat on the head and a warning not to do it again.”

“Yeah, the courts don’t seem to care these days.” The vet injected the growling cat, somehow avoiding the razor-sharp claws it flung her way.

“That’s it. If you both head back to reception, I’ll write up the bill and send it out.”

Sam nodded and put the squirming feline back into the box. It was easy to see why this particular cat hadn’t had any recent shots. Kahn was definitely a killer. She just had to hope the box would hold up until she got him back to his owner.

She headed back to reception and paid the fee. All the while, the back of her neck itched. Someone was watching her. Someone with death on her mind.

After seat-belting the cat carrier into the backseat, Sam climbed into the front and tapped the wristcom. The SIU’s digital receptionist answered on the second ring.

“Christine, could you patch me through to workstation 1934?”

Izzy appeared onscreen. “This is a new experience, sweetie.”

“I’d hate for you to be bored, Iz. Listen, do a search on Dr. Francis. I want a complete history—and if she lives in an apartment, include surveillance tapes from her home if you can get hold of them.”

“Will do. And you have a six-thirty appointment with Dr. O’Hearn.”

O’Hearn certainly didn’t waste time. Sam glanced at her watch. She’d have just enough time to return the cat and get there. “Thanks, Izzy.”

“Have a nice evening.”

Sam started the car and headed out of the parking lot. And all the while, the eyes watched, burning into the back of her skull.

G
ABRIEL LEANED BACK IN HIS
chair and glanced at his watch. Seven-thirty. He wondered how Sam was doing with O’Hearn. He’d phoned the doc earlier, calling in a favor and getting Sam squeezed in. He just hoped O’Hearn could discover the reason for Sam’s continuous bout of headaches.

“Search completed,” the com-unit intoned.

Gabriel rubbed his eyes and then studied the com-screen. “Results?”

“All four victims were adopted from the same State care center. All four victims were placed in care on the same day.”

Coincidence? Not likely. “Did you find the birth certificates for Harry Maxwell and Carmen Brandon?”

“Yes.”

“Who’s listed as the mother?”

“Emma Pierce.”

So Emma
was
the link. “Is there a complete list of all children handed into State care that day?”

“Searching. One moment, please.”

Gabriel tapped the desk and watched the blank screen. And couldn’t help thinking a pink fuzz-ball twirling a purple boa would definitely be more interesting.

“Seventeen children were entered into the care of the Greenwood center that day.”

He shook his head. Seventeen children and no one had thought that odd? “Get me the complete list of names, their adoption records, birth certificates and current location.”

“List and adoption records onscreen. Searching for birth certificates and location.”

The list was in alphabetical order, with the adoption details beside each name. Gabriel scanned through the list. One name, halfway down, jumped out at him. The air left his lungs, as suddenly as if someone had punched him in the gut. Miranda Jones, now Miranda Stern. His sister.

He reached for the wristcom and quickly dialed Stephan’s secure number.

“Byrne speaking.”

Obviously he wasn’t alone in the office, or he would have used the vid-screen. Gabriel swore softly. “We need to find Miranda, quickly.”

“Why?”

“I just discovered all four murder victims had Emma Pierce listed as their mother, and they were adopted from the Greenwood State Care Center. Miranda’s one of seventeen children that came in on the same day.”

“She’s moved. Charles will know where she’s at.” Though there wasn’t the slightest change in his voice, he could feel his brother’s sudden alarm. Felt it because it was in him as well.

“Maybe not. The reason Miranda moved in the first place was the almighty argument she had with him.”

“Give him a call, then let me know. This meeting will be finished in ten.”

“Will do.” Gabriel hung up and quickly dialed his old man’s number.

“Stern residence.”

His father’s familiar, suntanned features came online. Though close to a hundred years old, he barely looked fifty. His skin, like his still-black hair, showed little sign of aging. It was only when you looked deep into his green eyes that you saw the truth. They were the eyes of a man who’d seen too much death, too much destruction, for one normal life span.

“Father, I need Miranda’s new address and phone number.”

The welcoming smile faded. “What’s wrong?”

“Stephan’s updated you on our current investigations, hasn’t he?”

Charles nodded. “Several days ago. There wasn’t anything we’d consider a Federation matter, though, so it wasn’t in-depth.”

“I’ve just discovered a link between our murder victims. They were all fosterlings at the Greenwood State Care Center. Miranda came into care the same day as the others.”

“And you think she’s in danger?”

“I sure as hell don’t want to take that risk.”

Charles rubbed his chin. “I haven’t heard from her in over a week.”

That didn’t surprise him. Miranda could hold a grudge with the best of them. She’d once gone two months without saying a word to
him
—just because he’d had the audacity to call her date an idiot, which she had been, as Miranda had admitted later.

“What about Mom?”

“She’s still in New York. Flights out of Kennedy have been delayed by storms. I’ll phone her and see. If not, Jessie will know.”

Jessie was his oldest sister, and she had been something of a surrogate mother to the much younger Miranda. “I want full protection on her.”

“That goes without saying. I’ll contact you when I have the address.”

The vid-screen went blank. Gabriel leaned back in his chair and scrubbed his chin. He didn’t like this. They might not know where Miranda was, but that didn’t mean the killer wouldn’t. She’d been ahead of them every step of the way so far.

The com-unit beeped. “Director Byrne on vid one.”

“Display.”

Byrne’s familiar features came online. “How’d you do?”

There was a slight buzz overriding Stephan’s voice. He had the scramblers up, just to ensure no one listened in. “He didn’t know, and Mom’s still overseas.”

“I thought she was due back yesterday.”

“Yeah, she was. He’s contacting Jessie.”

“She’ll know.” Stephan ran a hand through his hair. “I can’t go look myself. I promised Lys I’d be home early tonight.”

“Nor can I. Sam and I have a meeting with a General Frank Lloyd of Hopeworth Military Base at eleven.”

Gabriel glanced at his watch. And if he didn’t get moving, he’d be late to pick up Sam. He wanted to ensure they arrived at Han’s well before the general. He had an uneasy feeling about this meeting. Given the security surrounding Hopeworth’s activities, the general had been too quick in agreeing to meet them.

“Hopeworth? How does that tie in with the murders?”

“Emma Pierce used to work with them. She was listed as the mother of all four victims, even though Hopeworth took her ovaries for tests. From what we’ve learned, Hopeworth’s been experimenting in genetics.”

“I’ve heard whispers of that over the years. Nothing concrete, though.”

“I’d like to know if the kites are a by-product of their experiments.”

“We would have been advised, especially given the spate of recent attacks.”

Somehow, Gabriel doubted that. The military were not inclined to admit to mistakes, just to get rid of them. “Have we got enough manpower available to put watch teams on the remainder of the Greenwood fosterlings?”

“I’ll have to pull some teams off other work, but yeah, we can manage. Send the list through and I’ll arrange it.”

The com-unit beeped. “You have a call on vid-line two, Assistant Director.”

“Hang on a minute.” Gabriel switched lines. His father’s features reappeared. “Did you get hold of Jessie?”

“Yes. Miranda’s living in a house out in Strathmore. Jess and Alain are heading over there now.”

Alain was Jessie’s shapechanging husband of six months, and, quite literally, a bear of a man. “You told them to bring her back to the compound?”

“Kicking and screaming, if they have to.”

“Let me know what happens.”

The old man nodded. “Take care, son.”

Gabriel switched back to Stephan. “Jess and Alain are picking up Miranda.”

“Good. At least she’ll be safe at home. You have any idea how the murderer is getting in and out of the victims’ homes yet?”

“I’ve several ideas. Nothing concrete yet.”

“Well, you’d better start finding something concrete. Our killer seems to have accelerated her schedule.”

Like
that
was something he wasn’t fully aware of. He held back the surge of annoyance. “I’ll send the list through now. The quicker we can get surveillance teams on these people, the better it will be.”

“Keep me informed.”

“I usually do.” The retort held a hint of hostility. He scrubbed a hand against his jaw. Getting angry with his brother wouldn’t achieve anything. “How’s Lyssa?”

“The herb Karl suggested is working. She only threw up once last night.”

At least that was an improvement. “Send her my love. I’ll be in touch.”

He broke contact and glanced at his watch. Ten to eight. He’d better get going. He collected his jacket and headed down to the car.

An hour later, he ran up the stairs to Sam’s second-floor apartment. He’d showered and changed, but he still felt like shit. What he needed was a good night’s sleep. Something that wasn’t likely to happen until they caught the murderer.

“Door’s open,” Sam yelled from inside.

He raised an eyebrow. It could have been anyone coming up those stairs. Maybe he’d have to sit her down and explain the basics of security—though as a former cop, with over ten years’ experience, she should know all that. He pushed the door open and entered the apartment. It was starker than he’d remembered. The walls were bare of paintings, and she’d yet to replace the shelving and knickknacks lost in the bombing. He wondered whether she still had all the books in the bedroom.

“You’re late,” she said, her voice coming from the direction of the bathroom.

“Working on the case.” He walked across to the window and stared out over the ocean. If he ever moved, it would be for something like this. Something right opposite the sea. The wash of waves across the sand was hypnotically soothing.

“Anything new?”

“Yeah, the four victims entered the Greenwood State Care Center on the same day as thirteen other kids. How’d you do with Dr. O’Hearn?”

“She took some blood and skin samples. I have to go back tomorrow at eleven.” Sam came out of the bathroom and walked toward him, and he felt his breath come short.

She wore what was becoming a standard uniform for her—a jacket and shirt, this time teamed with a knee-length skirt rather than pants. Only there was nothing conservative, or even normal, about
this
little dark gray number. Both the jacket and skirt appeared to be made from Contour
,
the latest in textile development. It clung like a second skin, displaying every curve with loving detail. The skirt was slit on one side to her thigh, revealing plenty of tanned leg.

She looked stunning. Sexy. And it sure as hell would be difficult to see her in
any
suit the same way again. He cleared his throat. This was not a good development. Not when he was trying to ignore his attraction to her.

She collected her purse from the coffee table, a smile touching her full, red lips. It was then that he realized she’d done it deliberately—had dressed to shatter his reserve and get some reaction.

“The cut on your leg has healed rather nicely,” he said lamely.

Indeed, it was little more than a pale pink scar. She definitely healed way too fast. The three scrapes he’d received across his shoulder had barely scabbed over—and as a shapechanger he healed a good two or three times faster than a human. He’d have to call O’Hearn and mention it.

“Yeah, it has. Shall we go?”

He waved her ahead of him, locking her door and following her down the stairs. But he kept his eyes on the shining beacon of her red-gold hair rather than the enticing sway of her hips.

They drove to the city in silence. It was neither uncomfortable nor tension-filled, just the easy silence that existed between two people who understood each other well. Even if they were still relative strangers—something he had no intention of changing while they were still partners, no matter how sexy she was, no matter how comfortable he felt with her.

He found street parking and they walked the block to the restaurant. Han’s eldest son, Michael, made his way across to them as they entered.

“Hey, Uncle Gabriel, how’s it going?”

Gabriel smiled and shook the big man’s hand. Like his father, Michael towered over him by a good four or five inches and was almost twice as wide. “How are Danni and the kid?”

Michael beamed. “We finally decided on a name. Katie Jane, after Danni’s mother.”

“About time. I was beginning to think she’d have to choose her own name when she went to school. Michael, this is my partner, Samantha Ryan.”

“Whoa! If I knew partners could look like this, I would have joined the force.” He grinned and stuck out a hand. “Pleased to meet you, Samantha.”

She grinned. “Please, call me Sam.”

“Dad’s put you both in the Dragon Room. You have sole ownership tonight.”

“Thanks.” Gabriel glanced around as two more people entered the restaurant. It looked like Han was having another good night. Already the place was so crowded you could barely move between the tables. He’d have to buy Han an extra-large bottle of bourbon for doing them such a huge favor. “We’ll make our way there. You look after your customers.”