Memory Zero (19 page)

“Aren’t you?” He leaned back in the chair and studied her for a moment. “You sensed the kites. You sensed that Jack had become a vampire. And despite the psychic deadeners we have in place, you knew the shifter was in here.”

The intensity of his gaze cut right through her, stirring something deep in her soul. Something she had no desire to feel when it came to this man. Suddenly uneasy, she cleared her throat and looked back at the screen. “I was tested for psychic ability when I entered the academy. I came up with a big fat zero.”

“Most talents come on with full maturity.”

She shot him a quick look. His gaze was calculating, thoughtful.
He knows
. That’s what the second set of biological tests had been about. They’d obviously discovered what she’d known since she was fifteen: that she’d never fully mature as a woman, because the parts necessary to carry a child had never fully developed. She’d never have children of her own. Not unless she had a complete uterus and ovary transplant. And even then, the children would never
really
be hers. She supposed she should be grateful that she’d at least developed breasts, and that she could have sex just fine, but she wasn’t. Having a family of her own had been the one dream she could remember through the fog that was her childhood.

“You obviously know that can’t be the case here. I’m twenty-nine. A little past puberty, I think.”

He shrugged. “Shapechangers tend to mature a lot later than humans. All six of my sisters were well into
their thirties before they actually started menstruating.”

That was really a little more info than she needed about his sisters. “But I’m human, not a shapechanger!”

“Maybe that unknown chromosome we found has delayed your development in much the same manner.” She shook her head. “They ran all manner of tests on me when I was fifteen. They all came up with the same answer. This was it; this was all I was going to get.”

He raised an eyebrow. “You resent it, don’t you?”

She snorted softly. Of
course
she resented it. “You don’t know how lucky you are, having sisters, brothers, a family. I have nothing. Not even memories.”

He leaned forward, covering her hand with his. His touch was warm, comforting, and yet at the same time, electric. As if they were two opposing currents that had briefly merged and become one stronger identity. Her gaze jerked to his. If he felt the elemental surge of energy between them, there was no sign of it in his eyes. Only compassion.

And in many ways, that was the more frightening response. This man seemed to understand her entirely
too
well.

“Maybe the answers we seek lie in the past you can’t remember.”

She frowned. “What do you mean?”

He squeezed her hand briefly, and then leaned back in the chair, his expression thoughtful. “Finley found a microchip in your armpit. Military in design, and probably inserted when you were about nine.”

She touched her armpit. He’d told her he was merely taking a skin sample for further tests. Odd she hadn’t
picked up the doc’s lie. She’d always been able to pick up Jack’s slightest variation of the truth.

“Why would someone want to put a microchip in me, especially at that age?”

“I don’t know. All we know is that it was used to track your movements.”

“That makes no sense.” A cold sensation ran over her. It wasn’t caused so much by the fact that someone had wanted to trace her movements twenty-four hours a day, but that Jack might have been involved. He had always known where to find her. But if she believed he was involved, she’d also have to believe their friendship was nothing more than a lie, a setup from the beginning. She couldn’t—
wouldn’t
—believe it.

Jack was her friend. Just about her only friend.

“Can you remember anything about your childhood? Your parents?”

She shook her head. “The only thing I had was a hand-drawn picture of my mother, but the bomb destroyed it. The doctors at the home said I must have undergone some severe trauma to forget my past so completely.”

“And you’ve never bothered trying to rediscover that past?”

“Of course I have. That’s why Jack set me up an unregistered link into State—” She broke off as he smiled grimly.

“So that’s why you went back to retrieve your com-unit. You sent yourself some of Jack’s files.”

He didn’t miss much. “Yes.” There wasn’t much point in denying it now. “But I haven’t had the chance to look at them yet.”

“Then we’ll make time later tonight.” He glanced at
his watch, and then pushed upright. “We’re late for our dinner date with my friends.”

“What about my bag? And what about Jack’s clone?”

“We’ll collect your bag on the way out. As for the clone, he’ll still be here tomorrow. This is more important.”

More important to him, maybe. “And the disks?”

He glanced at the com-unit. “I don’t think we should risk it. Someone’s obviously got a line in here, someone who doesn’t want us to discover any more about you.”

Someone with enough clout to get two saboteurs into the heart of the SIU. But no matter where they went, they would still face that problem. She’d witnessed Jack hacking into enough systems to know how easy it was. “If someone’s trying to stop us, they’ll be watching the lines into your place and mine.”

“Maybe.”

A sudden hint of amusement played around his full lips. She frowned at him. “What’s so funny?”

“Maybe Jack will help us.”

“Yeah, right. Hand over the disks so he can translate them for us?” She snorted. “That’s really going to happen.”

“That’s not what I meant.” He hesitated, considering her for a moment.

Something in his eyes made her remember that this was a man with an agenda of his own. He might have saved her life, but that didn’t mean she should completely trust him.

“I mean,” he said, “we should visit Kazdan’s apartment and try using his computers to read the disks.”

She stared at him, wondering what in hell he was
talking about now. “I went to Jack’s place. I told you, it was stripped.”

His expression wasn’t altogether friendly. “I said
apartment
, not house. Surely you remember his apartment? You must have visited it at least once or twice.”

His tone insinuated she’d been doing more than simply visiting. She clenched her fingers, but she somehow resisted the urge to hit him. This wasn’t the first time she’d heard these accusations, so she should be used to them by now. But for some reason, the fact that it was Gabriel hurt her more than it should have.

“Jack never had an apartment.” It was on the tip of her tongue to refute his insinuation, but she held back. No one else had ever believed her, so why should he?

“Really?” His raised eyebrow hinted at disbelief. “You were partners for five years, and you never knew he had an apartment near Federation Square?”

“I was his partner, not his keeper.” Then she frowned. “How in hell could Jack afford an apartment in a precinct like that?”

“Same way you can afford to own an apartment opposite the beach in Brighton?”

The blood drained from her face, only to be replaced by a rush of heated anger. He didn’t trust her. Not entirely, at least. Despite his earlier words, he still suspected she was involved in something with Jack.

“I inherited that apartment when I turned twenty-one. I have no idea who my benefactor was, and the attorney wouldn’t reveal his identity.” An edge of anger crept into her voice, despite her efforts to remain calm. This wasn’t the first time she’d heard these accusations, but, for some reason, this time it annoyed her more than usual. Or maybe it was just her own unease over owning the apartment bubbling back to the surface.
“The only previous owner I could find said he sold it to the Panjet Corporation. They’ve refused to answer any of my queries over the years.” She hesitated and clenched her fists. “You can accuse me of Jack’s murder, you can accuse me of being his lover, but don’t you
ever
accuse me of being crooked!”

“And yet that’s how it looks.” His voice still held an edge, his eyes still intense. Yet something in his manner suggested he believed her. “And it is something they will bring up in court, if this ever gets that far.”

“Let them. I have nothing to hide.”

“Maybe. Maybe not.” He held out a hand. “Shall we go?”

It was on the tip of her tongue to tell him to go to hell, but she had a feeling she needed his help far more than he needed hers. Someone out there was setting her up for a fall, and like it or not, he was the only thing that currently stood between her and a prison cell.

Nodding briefly, she ignored his outstretched hand and brushed past him, walking to the door. One thing was certain—Jack had better provide some answers tomorrow night, or she might just be tempted to shoot him again.

S
AM CLIMBED FROM THE CAR
, shouldering her bag as she stared up at the three-story building in surprise. With its soaring white pillars and vast expanse of windows, the house looked as if it belonged in America’s Deep South, not sitting here among the gums in the genteel suburb of Toorak—although it
was
part of what was commonly called Millionaire’s Row. And
the other houses on this block were even more extravagant in design than this.

She glanced at Gabriel as he moved around the car. “You didn’t tell me your friend was wealthy.”

He shrugged. “It isn’t important.”

When someone was trying to poison him, it was. Wealth was often a motivating factor. “You’ve seen his will? Investigated his beneficiaries?”

His smile was somewhat grim. “There are two. His wife, Lyssa, and me.” He motioned her up the stairs. “And if it
is
Lyssa, wealth won’t be a motive. This house is hers—it’s been in her family for several generations.”

She raised an eyebrow. He was an heir? Why?

“That’s some friendship you have there, Assistant Director.”

His gaze met hers. “Yes, it is. And I have no intention of losing it.”

He pressed a button near the door. A bell chimed softly in the distance, then the security screen came to life.

“Gabriel.” The woman was young and blond and had a voice that could only be described as sultry. “You’re late.”

“Sorry, Lys. Trouble at work.”

“I see you’ve brought some of it along with you.” The blonde sighed dramatically. “Come on in.”

The door clicked open. Sam glanced up at Gabriel as he ushered her inside. “Is your friend’s wife an actress, by chance?”

His expression, she noticed, was thoughtful. There was something about the woman’s manner that didn’t sit well with him, and she had a feeling it wasn’t her overly dramatic ways. “Anyone would think so.”

“How did she know I was one of your assignments?”

“One cop shooting another is big news these days. Your face has been plastered all over the media, I’m afraid.”

So much for the right to an unprejudiced trial. She took off her coat and handed it to him so he could place it in the cloak closet, but kept a grip on her bag. The hallway in which they stood was all white marble and gold fittings. And it was all real, all worth a king’s fortune. His friends were obviously more than just plain old wealthy.

“This way.” He caught her elbow, his touch light but warm as he led her down the hall. Their footsteps echoed through the silence, and the air was chill, almost stale. Maybe this part of the house wasn’t used much.

It wasn’t until he opened a set of French doors and ushered her into a smaller hallway that any real warmth came into the house. In this section, the walls were a mellow sandstone color and the doorways a rich turquoise. The floor was wood—real wood, not that plastic stuff they’d used in her apartment—but covered by a runner that was red, gold and turquoise diamonds. Even the air smelled different—warm and rich, with the scent of sandalwood combined with a faint hint of lime.

“I like your friend’s taste in colors.”

He nodded. “We spent a lot of our youth in Santa Fe.”

She raised an eyebrow. “Then why the southern influence in the front half of the house?”

“Because that’s the way it’s always been, and Lys doesn’t want to go against tradition. It’s only used for functions.”

He ushered her through another doorway. Heat prickled a familiar warning across her skin and she stopped. He glanced down at her, one eyebrow raised in query.

“Your friends include a vampire and a shifter?”

He nodded. “There’s also a shapechanger and a human.”

There was? Then why couldn’t she sense them? Why was this talent of hers, if indeed it was an emerging talent, picking up some nonhumans and not others?

A man appeared in the doorway, his smile of greeting dying a little when his gaze met hers. “Samantha Ryan,” he said. “What a surprise.”

“I’m sure it is,” she said dryly. Obviously Gabriel hadn’t warned his friend that she was coming.

The two men briefly embraced. He was about Gabriel’s height, maybe a little taller. His eyes were a vivid green and his hair was black, but, like Gabriel’s, it had a tendency to flop untidily across his eyes. Maybe they went to the same barber. Their build was also similar, though the loose hang of the stranger’s clothes suggested he’d recently lost a lot of weight. They were alike enough to be brothers—or at least come from the same genetic line—though the stranger’s face was sharper than Gabriel’s, his nose longer and more regal. A man born to be king, she thought with a shiver, and wondered just who he
did
rule.

“Karl sends his regards,” Gabriel said softly. He took two small plastic bottles from his pocket and handed them to his friend. One looked like it contained water, the other a pale green fluid. She guessed it was medicine of some kind.

The bottles disappeared into the other man’s jacket
pocket. Gabriel turned toward her. “Sam, this is my friend, Stephan.”

She shook his offered hand. Despite the almost skeletal appearance of his fingers, his grip was firm. “Sorry to land on you like this. Gabriel should have warned you I was coming.”

Stephan’s expression was wry, as if the unexpected was an everyday event when it came to Gabriel. “Yes, he should have, but you’re welcome all the same. Come in, and meet the rest of the family.”