Memory Zero (13 page)

Her gaze settled on a mass of pipes not that far away. Surely that was the men’s restroom. And, like the ladies’, it was close to the stair area. If there was no one in there, it might be her best bet.

She blew out a breath, drew her legs fully into the void and shifted the tile back into its position. With her one spot of light gone, the darkness seemed to close in, pressing down on her, making it hard to breathe.

She swiped at a trickle of sweat running down her face, her hand trembling. It was ridiculous, this fear. There was nothing in the darkness that could harm her—nothing but the fear itself. And if she didn’t move, and move
now
, she’d blow her chance to escape. Finley’s goons would surely be wondering what the hell was taking her so long.

Besides, the enigma that was Assistant Director Stern would surely be on his way back from that meeting soon. And he’d have no doubt as to what she was doing in the restroom.

With that thought to stir her on, she shifted onto her hands and knees and began to shuffle forward, trying to make as little noise as possible. It felt like she was moving with the speed of a gnat.

Sweat dribbled down her face and leapt off the end of her nose, the droplets splattering against the grime-covered metal. Every motion stirred dust until the air was filled with a thick, choking cloud that was almost impossible to breathe. Or maybe it was simply the fear sitting like a lump in her throat.

She licked her lips and concentrated on the pipes, trying to think of reaching them and nothing else. Not the weight of the darkness. Not the choking dust. Not the looming, threatening walls of the core.

When she finally neared the pipes, relief surged, and the need to get out of this darkness was so fierce, it was all she could do not to rip off the nearest tile and
plunge down into the restroom. Which would be absolutely stupid, as she had no idea how safe it was down there. She carefully eased up the nearest tile and looked down. She was above the washbasin area. There didn’t appear to be anyone in the men’s room, but just to be sure, she eased the tile up a little more and listened carefully. No sound. Good.

She took the tile off completely, then stuck her legs through the hole and dropped down. With her feet safely on the floor, the trembling began. She bent over and took several deep breaths. Lord, her heart was beating so fast anyone would think she’d just run a marathon. But at least it was over—or the worst part was, anyway. Compared to climbing through the void, getting out of the building itself would surely be a cinch.

She splashed her face with cold water, shook the dust and cobwebs free from her hair and walked across to the door. The corridor beyond was small and turned left about six paces away. Given the core layout was the same as State’s section, the corridor would pass the stairs before going on to the foyer section and elevators.

The elevators dinged as she stepped out of the restroom. She froze, listening, but luckily, no one came her way. Still, it was warning enough that if she didn’t get out of here quickly, someone would spot her. Luck had never been her friend, and right now, it felt like she was pushing her limits. She walked on until the stair door came into view, and she swiped the ID card through the slot. The door beeped, then opened. The stairs were as silent and as empty as the corridor. She let the door close quietly, then began her sprint to freedom.

* * *

G
ABRIEL WOKE IN THE ARMS
of a dead man. Not the walking dead, but the
dead
dead. The pungent aroma of decay told him it was the corpse he’d discovered in the apartment before someone had tried to cave in his skull.

He shifted slightly, trying to ease the persistent ache in his ribs. But the minute he moved, every other ache began screaming for attention. Mostly, though, it was his head that hurt. And the insistent, steady thump of music some fool insisted on playing so loudly wasn’t helping any. He stopped the thought and frowned.
Music?
There’d been no music anywhere near the abandoned building. He’d been moved, obviously.

He opened his eyes and saw only darkness. He reached out and felt the confines of his prison. His fingers brushed across warmed metal. He had maybe a foot of breathing room above his head and about the same on his left side. The dead man and a toolbox of some kind shared most of the room on the right-hand side. The space near his feet was so tight, he couldn’t straighten his legs to relieve the cramp beginning to settle in across his thighs.

He was, he realized suddenly, in the trunk of a car, heading God knew where. One thing was certain—he’d be as dead as the man beside him if the car reached its destination with him still locked inside. He’d seen four men, but there might have been more. Either way, it wasn’t good odds.

Shifting around a little, he felt for the trunk’s catch. The throaty roar of the engine—what he could hear of it over the music—told him the car was one of the older models that still ran on gas rather than hydrogen
or electricity. With any luck, the owners wouldn’t have bothered updating to the newer thumbprint-coded locks.

Luck was with him. The trunk had a key lock on the inside, which in itself suggested the owner was a vampire and also explained why absolutely no light was getting into the trunk. Obviously, it had been fitted out for emergency escapes from sunlight.

He reached down to his boot, but the sudden movement had red fingers of fire lancing through his brain. He cursed silently and waited for his vision to clear. The fools must have done some serious damage when they’d tried to cave in his head. There was blood on his face—he could feel it crusting, tightening his skin. The right side of his head felt heavy, as if the hair there was weighted down. More blood, probably. Stephan was going to give him hell—especially given his warning that all missions were to be double-manned.

He carefully drew the knife from his boot, flicked it open and inserted it into the lock. Several twists, and there was a soft click. It was all too easy, really. But then, if he’d been a vampire, he would have made sure any lock imprisoning
him
was damn easy to open in the event of a lost key or sign of trouble.

He inched the trunk open. Bitumen met his gaze. The speed at which it zipped past told him they had to be doing at least a hundred, which meant they were beyond the city limits and out on some freeway.

He opened the trunk a little more. Sunlight danced through the leaves of the gum trees arching over the road. The rich hint of humus, of moisture and damp earth, told him they were up in the hills somewhere, while the tree ferns huddled beneath the gums suggested
it was more likely the Dandenongs than Macedon.

Why head up this way with the stranger’s body? There were certainly better places to dispose of a corpse than the picturesque but heavily populated Dandenong Ranges, and … His thoughts came to a sudden halt as the car went into a slide. Tires squealed, and the smell of burning rubber briefly overrode the smell of death. The force of the stop smashed him into the side of the car, and for a moment, everything went red. The trunk tore from his grasp, swinging open, then crashed down again, barely missing his fingers as the car came to a shuddering stop.

He groaned and tried to roll over onto his back, but he couldn’t. The stranger’s body had been forced hard up against his own. He elbowed some room, then rolled over. Taking several deep breaths to calm the churning in his gut, he tried to concentrate on what was happening beyond the confines of his dark prison.

Footsteps. And voices talking softly. Savagely. Then the trunk swung open, and light poured in. He blinked, throwing up a hand to shade his eyes against the sudden glare of sunlight. But the shape silhouetted by the sunshine was one he knew well.

“Glad to see you’re alive and well,” Karl said, and held out a hand to help him up.

He accepted it gratefully. Right now, it felt as if he’d become a football for some fool wearing boots. He climbed out, but it was only with Karl’s help that he made it over to the side of the road.

“How many fingers am I holding up?” Karl asked, as he squatted down in front of him.

“Three,” he guessed, looking at the middle of the road rather than at Karl. Four men were lying facedown
in the dirt, guarded by Karl’s oldest son, Harvey. He returned his gaze to his friend. “I don’t mean to sound ungrateful, but why the hell are you here?”

There was tension around Karl’s eyes, despite his smile. “The bond of the twin, my friend.”

He frowned. It was highly unusual for their bond to be so specific, especially when it came to a moving car. Usually, he and Stephan shared little more than a sensation that the other was in dire trouble … Then he realized exactly what Karl had said and glanced up in surprise. “He told you?”

Karl nodded and handed him a cell phone. “Call him.”

He did. Stephan answered almost immediately. “Are you okay?”

He scrubbed a hand across the raw edge of his face. Fresh blood mingled with old, and his hand came away smeared red. “Better than I look.”

“You going to make it tonight?” Concern mingled with relief through Stephan’s soft voice.

“Yes.” He might feel half-dead, but come hell or high water, he’d drag himself to that meeting. He still had a poisoner to net and a brother to save.

“Good. You have a problem, though.”

Only one? That would be something of a miracle. “What?”

“Ryan’s skipped.”

He swore under his breath, though in truth, he wasn’t really surprised. The need to break loose, to find answers herself, had been very evident in her eyes earlier. He just hadn’t thought she’d succeed in getting past SIU’s security so easily.

“I’ll find her. See you tonight.”

He hung up and handed the phone back to Karl. “You took a risk, bringing Harvey in on this.”

Karl shrugged. “I was with Stephan when he sensed you were in trouble. With the poisoner obviously being someone close, he didn’t want to trust your safety to just anyone. So I came.”

Gabriel rubbed his ribs. Christ, it hurt to breathe. “And Harvey?”

Karl handed him two tablets. “Painkillers.” Once Gabriel had swallowed them, Karl added, “Harv was in town signing up for extra university courses, and I was supposed to pick him up and bring him home once I’d finished with Stephan. He’s been itching to get into some action for a while now, and this was safer than some of our operations.”

True. Lord only knew how many had gone sour recently—which again pointed to someone close to home. But which of the three?

“You going to take those four back to Federation headquarters?” He indicated the prone forms on the road.

“Yeah, but not before I look after these wounds of yours.”

Karl began swabbing the blood away from Gabriel’s face. He grimaced and pushed his friend’s hand away. “I’m fine. Really.”

“Yeah, right,” Karl said, voice dry. “Doesn’t mean a thing that you look like a pincushion that’s borne the brunt of too many pins.”

“You’re exaggerating again, my friend. No one could look
that
bad.” Even though he certainly
felt
that bad.

Karl smiled. “Maybe I should get a mirror. Or maybe I should just leave you alone and let Stephan take care of you tonight.”

He raised an eyebrow. “That a threat?” If it was, it was a damn good one, because if he looked as bad as Karl was suggesting, Stephan would ban him from field operations. He’d threatened it more than once already, particularly after Mathew, their youngest sibling, had been killed a year ago.

Karl’s smile widened. “Could be. Your choice.”

He quit fighting the inevitable and bore the rest of Karl’s ministrations in silence. At least the salve Karl applied liberally over his face and ribs eased the pain somewhat.

“I want you to have a quick look at the body in the trunk,” he said, once Karl had finished. “His face seems familiar.”

Karl nodded and wrapped a hand around Gabriel’s arm, helping him up. The painkillers had kicked in, and the aches were little more than a distant promise of pain yet to come. But given the strength of that muted ache, he’d be lucky if he could move tomorrow. The bastards really had stuck the boots in once they’d knocked him out.

“You’re lucky shapechangers have strong bones,” Karl said, his expression grim. “Any other man would be in the hospital right now.”

“Forgive me if I don’t feel particularly lucky,” he muttered, and rolled the corpse over. “You recognize him?”

Karl frowned slightly. “Hard to say for certain, with the face so bloated, but it looks a lot like Dan Wetherton.”

The Minister for Social Services. No wonder the face had seemed so familiar. He’d been in the news a lot lately, raising hell about the amount of money the
government had allocated to science and technology in the latest budget offering.

“Looks like someone wanted him out of the way.”

“But this man’s been dead for two or three days,” Karl said. “Wetherton was on the news last night.”

Gabriel frowned at the corpse. He didn’t doubt that Karl had the right man, but if Wetherton was on the news, who was this? Another clone? The second in as many days? That was more than just a coincidence.

Something big was obviously going down.

He studied the body a moment longer, then asked, “Wetherton’s in town tomorrow, isn’t he?”

Karl nodded. “Premier’s meeting.”

“Take this one back and run genetic tests. I’ll see if I can arrange for a cell sample from Wetherton.”

Karl raised an eyebrow. “No one’s ever been able to clone a human to the point where mannerisms, memories and behavior are an exact match. They might be genetically identical, but there are
always
differences.”

Gabriel smiled grimly. “But if someone has succeeded, we need to find out who and why. Especially if those people are connected to Sethanon.”

“True.” Karl hesitated, then added, “I’d like to get hold of a cell sample from Sam Ryan, too.”

No one would be getting anything from her if he couldn’t find her again. “Why?”

“Haven’t you noticed her eyes?”

Gabriel frowned. “They’re blue.” And quite pretty, even when they were glaring at him.