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Stephan opened an eye and regarded him steadily. “Why?”
He told Stephan of the conversation he’d overheard between Kazdan and the blond shapechanger. “I think Kazdan’s getting tired of the middle-management yoke. I think he wants more. I think he’s intending to use Sam to get it. And Eddie Wyatt is working for him, not Sethanon.”
“The SIU bomb certainly had Eddie’s style. And if Kazdan intends to use Sam in his plot, it suggests he knows more about these abilities she seems to have.”
Gabriel nodded. “It also suggests Sethanon knows. He arranged for Kazdan to be her partner, after all. Maybe he wanted to keep an eye on her.”
“That would suggest she’s somehow linked to Sethanon.”
It seemed that way, but gut instinct said she wasn’t involved with him. Not yet, anyway. “Sethanon wanted her watched but otherwise left alone. I think we need to find out why.”
“Where is she now?”
“With Karl.”
Stephan frowned. “He seemed a little tense the last time we met. Has he got family problems or something?”
He frowned, remembering the tension around Karl’s eyes. “Not that I know of.”
“Odd.” Stephan’s gaze drifted shut again. “He kept glancing at his watch and checking to see if his cell phone was on. When I asked what the matter was, he said his wife had gone to visit relatives in New South Wales and was due to call at six. He said he had to catch the call or she’d kill him.”
New South Wales. Not to Jan’s parents, who lived on a farm half an hour’s drive away from Karl’s, or even to Karl’s relatives, who lived in Queensland. New South Wales. The one place he knew for sure Karl had no relatives, living or dead. It had been a message—a warning—but it had been given to the wrong brother entirely.
Gabriel closed his eyes for a moment and took a deep breath. Then he pulled out his cell phone and quickly dialed Karl’s number. The phone rang several times. Either no one was home or no one was in the position to answer it. He swore and shoved the phone back into his pocket.
“What’s wrong?” Stephan asked.
He stared at his brother bleakly. “I think I’ve just handed Sam over to the enemy.”
SAM STIRRED, VAGUELY AWARE OF MOVEMENT. Rough vibrations ran through the metal floor beneath her, bruising her back and rattling her teeth. Darkness encased her. She couldn’t see.
Old fears rose, threatening to overwhelm her. She swallowed and forced them back. Now was not the time to panic. Not until she knew what was going on, anyway. It was obvious she was no longer in bed at Karl’s place—not unless it had suddenly converted to a car.
Two men were speaking close by. One voice seemed familiar, though she couldn’t exactly place where she’d heard it before. Beyond that was music, though it was barely audible above the throaty roar of the engine. She frowned. It sounded like Ennuyer’s latest hit, “Silence.” Jack’s favorite tune.
Her heart began to beat a little faster. Maybe she’d done the right thing in following her instincts and hiding the disks at Karl’s.
She shifted slightly. Almost instantly, an ache sprang up her arms and settled into her shoulder blades. She tried to rub the sore spot, only to realize her hands were tied behind her back. The ropes were tight, chafing at her wrists. She shifted her feet. Also tied. Something rubbed across her face, making her nose itch—a cloth of some sort. She took a deep breath, and then blew it out. The black cloth puffed away from her face, momentarily giving her vision. She was in a van of some sort. Out the back window she glimpsed golden pines, and then the cloth settled back into pl
ace.
The vibrations through the floor stopped. Doors slammed shut, and then the door near her feet opened. Hands grabbed her roughly. Her immediate instinct was to fight, but until she knew exactly what was going on, it made more sense to play possum. She went limp, feigning unconsciousness.
Hands slipped under her shoulders, and suddenly she was free from the metal flooring. Gravel crunched and more doors opened.
“Any problems?”
Jack’s voice, coming from a doorway to her left. So, she’d been right. He wasn’t dead, and he was mixed up in whatever was going on. For a moment, it felt as if someone had stabbed her.
“No trouble whatsoever.” The slight hint of Irish brogue in the speaker’s tone was definitely familiar. She’d heard it before—on the phone, asking to speak to Jack.
“Take her down to the holding cells. We’ll let her sleep it off for a few hours.”
The man near her head grunted, and the two men moved off again. They carried her down a flight of stairs and into a room that smelled musty and old. But it was occupied. She could hear soft conversation to her right—female voices.
Another door creaked open, and she was thrown none too gently onto a mattress. The cloth over her head was pulled away, taking with it more than a few strands of hair. She bit back her yelp of pain and kept her eyes closed. The two men moved away, and the door slammed shut.
She waited several minutes before opening her eyes. Her prison was a redbrick room, maybe ten feet long by six feet wide. The door was metal, with a small barred opening in its middle. She looked behind her. There was another window on the back wall, probably a couple of feet in diameter. Big enough to crawl through, if it weren’t for the thick metal crossbars.
