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All that mattered was getting to Gabriel before time ran out.
She padded across the cell to get her clothes, the tiles cold under her feet. She dressed quickly, then went back to bed—just in case one of the med staff walked in before the clearance came through for her to be up and about.
But come through it did.
Ten minutes later, she walked out of the building and into the power of the rain-swept night.
GABRIEL WOKE TO THE SOUND of pacing—short, vicious steps that spoke of anger and frustration more eloquently than any words.
He lay on the floor of an office of some kind. The star-shaped base of a chair sat less than a foot away from his head. Beyond that, he could see the sturdy metal legs of a desk. The carpet underneath him rubbed almost harshly against his skin, and it was a practical gray color. It was the sort of hard-wearing carpet they used in state-owned buildings and in housing developments.
That he was no longer in the warehouse was obvious. He shifted fractionally, trying to see the rest of the room. Bad move. Pain shot through his body, a red wave of heat that left him not only gasping for air b
ut soaked in sweat.
The tattoo beat of violence hesitated and then headed his way. Boots appeared before him, wavering in and out of focus. He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to shake the sweat from his vision, then opened them again. The boots were still there. Black and practical. The kind worn by the State Police force.
He looked up. Even that slight movement forced new rivulets of sweat to run down his forehead.
Rose stared down at him, her eyes as dark as the night-dark window at her back. “Good to see you’re finally awake, Assistant Director.”
Despite the cheerfulness of her tone, the fury in her eyes suggested all had not gone well.
“I wish I could say the same.”
Her smile was thin, bitter. “The arm hurts a little, does it?”
She nudged it with the tip of her boot. Pain tore through his body, and he gritted his teeth against the scream that tore at his throat. He glared at her through the drips of sweat. “Bitch.”
“Yes, I am.” She laughed and turned away. “You didn’t tell me about your partner, Assistant Director.”
Something cold ran through him. Rose had shot Sam. “You didn’t ask.”
“True.” Rose leaned against the front of the desk, contemplating him silently for a few moments. “What is she? I was under the impression she was a changer, but her survival of the Jadrone suggests a shifter of some kind. One who is sensitive to others of her kind.”
“Something like that.” It was obvious from the annoyance etched into Rose’s features that Sam had managed to stop her, and had been shot for her efforts. At least she wasn’t dead—he would have known if she were.
“It’s unfortunate, you know, as it calls for a change in plans.”
And he was supposed to be sorry about that? Anything that sidetracked this woman’s mad schemes had to be a good thing. “Try my shape again. You never know. You might get through a second time.”
“I am not a fool, Assistant Director. Please don’t treat me like one.”
There was no point in replying. He carefully ran his fingers up his injured arm until he found the laser wound. The cut felt clean, but his arm was definitely broken. Which was no real problem, because his shapechanger bones healed extraordinarily fast. He just had to set the bones straight, and the healing would begin. He could also feel an ominous damp patch under his right shoulder, but he had no idea where that blood was coming from.
“You stated before that the SIU does not bargain for its operatives,” she said. “You’d better hope that you’re wrong, because it’s your only chance to live.”
“Then there’s no chance at all.” Nursing his shattered limb with his right arm, he rolled fully onto his back. To say it hurt would be an understatement, but he needed to see where he was. The room was small, and the only exit points were the window behind the desk and the two doors, one opposite to where he lay and the other close to his left. He could hear no sound beyond this room. Hopefully, it meant it was just him and Rose here.
“I want Director Byrne’s silent number,” she continued.
He gave it to her. If she thought to get around the automatic tracing by using Stephan’s silent number, then she was very wrong.
He waited almost impatiently for her to grab the phone. All he needed was for her attention to be diverted for a second or two, and he was up and out the door. His arm might be shattered, but he still had two good legs. And the desperation to survive was a mighty fine painkiller.
Rose picked up the laser near the phone and pointed it in his direction. “Move and you die.”
She set the phone to speaker and dialed the number he’d given her. After several rings, Stephan’s familiar voice came online.
