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She remembered the time they’d had coffee. Remembered the way he walked, the military-like alertness. “If he isn’t now, I’d say he has been.”
“What does he look like?”
“Brown eyes, big build, about your height. Very scruffy and very hairy.” She shrugged. “He reminded me somewhat of a bear.”
“Could you work up a facial composite? That way, we could search military records and see if we find a match.”
“Hopeworth is not likely to allow you to do a search of their personnel—past or present.”
He raised a dark eyebrow. “You think he’s from Hopeworth?”
“Yeah. Everything else seems to be tied back to that place. I can’t see why he wouldn’t be.”
“If that’s the case, he might be a means of keeping an eye on you.”
“And yet Hopeworth seemed to have no interest—no idea that I even existed—until I contacted them about the Generation 18 murders.”
They reached a department store. As the front doors swished open, he ushered her through. The air in the store was so warm it felt like they’d stepped into a sauna. She resisted the urge to strip off her soaked sweater and dripped water all over their shiny floors as she made her way toward the women’s section.
“That could be because all evidence of the Penumbra project was destroyed,” he said, watching as she sorted through the racks of clothing.
“Or it could mean that I was never a part of that place and came from somewhere else.”
He raised an eyebrow again. “Do you believe that?”
“No.” They might not have gotten a whole lot of concrete information about the project or her part in it, but the little they did have was convincing enough. Plus, there was now the fact that—according to O’Hearn and all the tests done so far—she wasn’t human. And not only wasn’t she human, she wasn’t a creation of nature, either. Which invariably led to the conclusion that she had to be lab-created. And the fact was, there weren’t many labs around capable of supporting such a long-term commitment as developing a being—either timewise or moneywise.
Only the military. And perhaps other covert government departments they didn’t know about.
Her search through the racks eventually turned up suitable pants, a warm sweater, shoes and a hooded, waterproof jacket. Once she’d paid for them, she went into the dressing room, stripped off her soaked clothes and changed. After brushing her hair, she almost felt human again. Although that term was apparently relative.
“The drowned rat has vanished,” Gabriel noted, his gaze sweeping her as she came back out. “Though I bet Wetherton would have preferred the wet—and therefore see-through—blouse to the bulky sweater.”
“If that old lecher comes anywhere near me, I’m going to punch him.” Sam gave him the plastic bags of wet clothes to hold while she donned her jacket. Now that she was beginning to warm up, she didn’t want to step outside and get drowned again.
“Like that would get the two of you off on the right foot.”
“Well, at least he’d know the boundaries.”
His smile faded. “Be careful with Wetherton. He might be a Hopeworth plant, or he might be one of Sethanon’s, but, either way, he’s going to be dangerous.”
She zipped her coat, pulled up the hood and grabbed her bags back. “Is that why you’ve placed a twenty-four-hour watch on me?”
He had the grace to look guilty—but only briefly. “How did you find out?”
She snorted softly. “I’ve been a cop for more years than I care to remember. Why on earth would you think I wouldn’t notice a tail?”
She pushed the door open and stepped back into the storm-held night. The wind seemed even stronger than before, buffeting her sideways until Gabriel touched her arm and steadied her. But unlike before, the power in the storm seemed muted. She could feel it, but it was distant, no more than an electric murmur in the background. Yet one that could sharpen instantly given the slightest provocation.
“I had some very experienced people following you,” he said, as the doors swished shut behind them. “I just didn’t think you’d spot them so quickly.”
“Those experienced people were your sister, her husband and you.” She squinted up at him. “Did you actually plan to sleep anytime?”
His hazel eyes met hers, the green-flecked depths showing little in the way of emotion. The caring, sharing version of Gabriel Stern she’d enjoyed for the last few minutes had all but disappeared. This version she knew all too well.
“I’m a changer. We can survive on very few hours of rest,” he said.
“Not long-term.”
