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on’t let anything happen to your lady.”
Gabriel didn’t dignify the comment with an answer. He just turned around and headed back out into the weather.
—
Sam leaned against the elevator wall and watched the numbers roll by. Wetherton, despite his supposed fear of heights, had moved his office from the third floor to the twenty-fifth floor, claiming a good third of the top floor for his boardroom, office and waiting area. If anyone in the government or press thought this was outrageous—or out of character—they weren’t saying anything. Maybe they were just so used to the excesses of government ministers that they simply didn’t bother questioning them anymore.
Or maybe Wetherton was simply paying off the right people. It certainly wouldn’t be the first time something like that had happened.
The elevator stopped and she walked out. The standard blue carpet in the lobby gave way to a plusher, more luxurious plum once she’d pushed through the doors leading into the minister’s suite.
A buxom blonde looked up and gave her a practiced but totally false smile. “Good afternoon. How may I help you?”
Sam dug out her badge and showed it to the woman. “Samantha Ryan, SIU. I have an appointment to see the minister.”
“Ah, yes. If you’ll just have a seat, I’ll let him know that you’re here.”
The blonde picked up the phone. Sam sat on the nearest pale lemon couch and let her gaze roam. The first thing she noticed was the security camera in the corner to the left of the reception desk. It was pointed at her rather than at the doorway, meaning that someone was probably watching her.
Or maybe all visitors were scrutinized this intently. Paranoia surely was uppermost in the life of a clone who was trying to masquerade as the genuine object.
Or did the clone actually think he was original?
If, as she and Gabriel had theorized, someone had successfully found a way to transplant a brain, then it was certainly possible—especially if you believed the brain was the center of not only personality and memory, but also the soul. Maybe the real Wetherton was inside that clone somewhere.
But if he was, why the abrupt change in personality?
It was certainly a line they needed to explore—particularly since it was obvious that whoever was making these clones had successfully traded one of his creations for an original, and had tried to do the same with the Prime Minister himself. If Sethanon was involved with Hopeworth, as Gabriel and the Federation presumed, then these attempts to replace government ministers weren’t going to end here.
Sam let her gaze move on, studying the two other doors leading off this main room. One was a standard door, the other a double set with plusher handles. Wetherton’s office, obviously.
But as her gaze rested on those doors, the feeling hit. A wash of heat, followed by the certainty that there was a shifter inside—a shifter whose very essence felt malevolent.
A tremor ran through her—and not so much because of the thick sensation of evil, but because she’d felt this particular brand of filth before.
In her dreams of Joshua and fire.
The man with the gray eyes was in the room with Wetherton.
Her heart accelerated and her stomach began to churn. She licked her lips and tried to get a grip. Damn it, she’d seen Gray Eyes last night, had even interacted with him, and she hadn’t felt anything close to this.
So why now and not then?
It didn’t make sense. Maybe her psychic wiring had been short-circuited by the lightning strike. Or maybe there’d been too much other shit happening last night and she simply hadn’t had the time to notice the psychic sensations.
“The minister won’t be too long,” the blond secretary said into the silence.
Sam jumped, just a little, but managed to fake a smile of thanks. God, this was ridiculous. Anyone would think she was a green trainee, not a cop with years of experience. She crossed her legs, tapping her foot impatiently as she waited.
After another five minutes or so, the doors opened and two men walked out, both of them wearing that happy-to-have-met-you smile that was obviously as fake as the secretary’s.
Gray Eyes was dressed in military blue that made his silver hair stand out all the more. Just watching him—watching the calm, assured way he moved—sharpened Sam’s perception of evil until it felt like her entire body burned with his wrongness. Looking at him was making her physically ill, but she wasn’t entirely sure whether it was a result of psychic distaste or a reaction left over from her dreams.
Wetherton stuck his hand out to Gray Eyes and said, “I’ll certainly mention your concerns when the matter comes up in Parliament, General Blaine. Thank you for speaking with me today.”
General Blaine? It wasn’t a name she’d heard before, but then, given the security surrounding the military base and its projects—old or new—that wasn’t really surprising.
So was Blaine one of the scientists involved in the Penumbra project, as her dreams seemed to indicate? And if so, how had he escaped the fire that had killed nearly everyone else?
