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“So he can identify the murderer in both cases?”
“Yes.”
Something in the way he said that made her stomach clench. And she knew, without him saying a word, just who Mohern had probably seen. She forced her voice to remain light, casual, as she said, “Anyone I know?”
Again he paused. “It sounds an awful lot like the description you gave of the man you know as Joe.”
She briefly closed her eyes. Joe. The man who had saved her life. The man who answered her many questions without ever hinting at the whole picture.
The man who might well be the enemy of humankind.
Damn.
As she opened her eyes, air shimmered. She frowned, studying the area to the right of the usher. The shimmer happened again, reminding her briefly of smoke coiling away from a small breeze. Only it wasn’t smoke, wasn’t just air, but a signal that King was on the move.
“Gabriel, I’ve gotta go. Meet me later and we’ll talk.”
“Sam, wait—”
She didn’t, cutting him off and putting the phone back into her pocket. With King on the move, the sensation of wrongness had sharpened. And she had a bad feeling that she and Wetherton really should get the hell away from the theater and that man.
“Minister, I’m afraid your date has had a slight accident and has been taken to the hospital. If you’d like, I can take you there.”
She gripped his arm as she spoke, intending to forcibly move him, but he wrenched himself free.
“Don’t be ridiculous. I have tickets for this opera and I fully intend to use them!”
“I wouldn’t advise—”
Before she could get the rest of the sentence out, the shimmer that was King found form. And he had a gun pointed directly at Wetherton.
“Minister, look out!” Even as she gave the warning, she freed her weapon and whipped off two quick shots. The laser’s soft hiss seemed to reverberate across the silence but it connected with nothing more than air—at least until it burned through the garish flocked wallpaper and then the wall behind it.
King reappeared several feet away from his original spot and fired. Sam threw herself sideways, hitting Wetherton and knocking him out of the way. Then she hit the carpeted floor with a grunt, the bright heat of King’s laser skimming her side, burning through her jacket and scalding her hip. She swore, but rolled onto her stomach and fired another shot. Again, the bullet tore through air, not flesh.
For God’s sake, how was she supposed to protect Wetherton from someone who could become as insubstantial as the wind?
She obviously couldn’t. Retreat was the only option they had left. All she could hope for was that King wasn’t as fast as he was invisible.
She twisted around to warn Wetherton, only to find him lying unmoving on the floor. His face was slack, his expression frozen in a mix of surprise and horror. A sharp but neat hole had been burned into the middle of his forehead. She half-imagined she could see brain matter through that hole, even though she knew logically that was impossible given the distance, the position of his body and the fact that lasers cauterized the wounds even as they created them.
This wouldn’t look good on her record. First she’d killed her partner when she was in the State Police, then she’d allowed the man she was supposed to be guarding to be assassinated. If Stephan didn’t haul her ass back to the broom closet, she’d be surprised. Still, it wasn’t as if anyone else could have prevented this. Truth be told, no one else would have even seen King.
At least one of her earlier questions had been answered—King was here for Wetherton. But why would the military want him dead? Even if they knew Wetherton was a clone, he surely wouldn’t have any knowledge about Hopeworth that could be dangerous to them.
And yet Blaine had visited him. Had been in Wetherton’s office for hours. Testing him, reading him, perhaps? If that was the case, what had they discovered that now warranted his death?
The only person who might know the answer to that question was King. And he was on the move—not toward her but rather the door. She hit the alarm button on her wristcom, scrambled to her feet and caught sight of the usher cowering behind one of the ornate columns near the staircase. She grabbed her badge from her pocket to show him.
“Call the SIU. Tell them Agent Sam Ryan has a priority-one situation. Tell them I need a med team and backup straight away.” The wristcom’s alarm should evoke an immediate response, but she wasn’t going to take a chance. Not this time.
The usher nodded, and Sam ran out the door and into the chilled night. King hadn’t found form, but for some reason, the shimmer of air that surrounded and hid his form was more noticeable in the darkness. “SIU, King. Stop or I’ll shoot.”
Passersby glanced at her, their expressions becoming alarmed when they saw the weapon in her hand. Some hurried on and others retreated. She didn’t really care either way, as long as they kept out of her line of fire. She kept her gaze on King and her finger on the trigger.
He didn’t answer, didn’t turn around, didn’t stop.
She lowered the laser and ran after him. There were too many people out on the street to risk firing the weapon, and
