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“So, in reality, he could be Blaine?”
“In reality, he’s a changer, as I said. A crow.”
“Crow feathers were found at the scene of Kathryn Douglass’s murder.” And he seriously doubted it was a coincidence. Everything about this case seemed—one way or another—to be tying back to her, Hopeworth and this mysterious Joe. Or Joshua, as the case may be. He had no doubt the two were one and the same.
“But he can’t be one of Hopeworth’s products because he has dark hair. Lloyd said all Hopeworth’s creations have red hair, and that’s certainly proven to be the case, even among the rejects.”
All true. And yet, why did this Joe know so much? And how had he formed such an intimate connection with her? If he wasn’t a Hopeworth product, he had to be at least a part of Hopeworth—and a part of the project that Sam had come from. A project that had been almost totally erased.
Besides, it wasn’t as though a shifter capable of taking on multiple forms couldn’t easily change his hair color.
“Psychic connections such as the one you appear to have with Joe just don’t happen between strangers. Despite the myths, such strong connections take time, and effort and—” He hesitated and then added softly, “intimacy.”
“Joe and I have never been lovers.”
“I never said that you were. But he could be someone who was close to you in that place. Someone you leaned on for strength.”
She shook her head. “There was only Joshua. In the dreams, it was always him and me against the rest.”
Yet she had said that she didn’t know if the dreams could be trusted as the truth. What if someone had altered them, perhaps not so much for content as for appearances? What if her twin wasn’t who she thought he was?
That would certainly make the man who seemed to know too much about her more of an option as the brother.
But why would he continue to keep his identity a secret if he was in mental contact with her now? What was he waiting for?
Since that was a question neither he nor Sam could answer, he switched topics.
“How trustworthy do you think the nurse’s information is going to be when it comes to Hopeworth’s habit of wiping out sections of their former employees’ memories?”
Sam shrugged. “Mary’s memories of the project have been restricted. I asked her the name of the project she worked on, and she said it hurts if she tries to remember.”
“And yet she could talk freely about you and Joshua? You didn’t think that odd?”
“No.” Sam hesitated. “But Mary said we were all little more than numbers, so maybe that’s why she could talk about us.”
Gabriel frowned. “What?”
Sam grimaced. “Just something Mary mentioned the last time. She said she wished the military would give us names instead of numbers, because she couldn’t keep up with all the different names we kept coming up with for ourselves.”
“So the military might have restricted her from mentioning specific numbers, but because she knew you by particular names, she’s been able to short-circuit the restrictions?”
“Possibly.”
“Which means she might also know what other aliases your brother went by.”
Sam’s eyebrows rose. “I hadn’t thought of asking that, but yeah, she might. It’s worth a try, anyway.”
It certainly was. Hell, anything that gave them any information about her so-called brother was a good thing, because he didn’t trust her sudden revelation. Didn’t like the fact that she’d been talking to someone for so many years and yet had no clue as to that person’s real identity. Hell, how could they be sure it wasn’t Sethanon? It wasn’t beyond the realm of possibility, especially given Sethanon’s interest in her over the years.
The car slid to a stop outside a large brick residence that had the air of a secure hospital rather than someplace homey and warm. Bars lined the front windows, and sturdy, locked gates guarded the pathways that led to the back of the building. There was a lot of landscaping evident beyond the gates, but it did little to blunt the initial impression of a prison-like environment.
“This it?” He glanced back at Sam.
She nodded. “Hopefully, Mary’s doing a little better now than when I visited her the last time. Otherwise, we won’t be talking to her for long.”
“How ill is she?” Gabriel climbed out of the car. The early morning sunshine was bright despite the bitter wind, so he put on his sunglasses. And in the brief shift between brightness and shade, he thought he saw something move in the thick shrubbery beyond the gates.
He frowned, lowering the sunglasses a little and squinting against the sunlight as he studied the path along the right side of the building. Nothing more than bushes moving to the tune of the breeze.
