"Do you want to save your brother or not?" she continued.
"Of course I do. But you can't even walk."
"That was hours ago. I'm better now." Even if she wasn't, she had no intention of mentioning it. She owed Gabriel — though certainly not any of his damn relations — and she intended to repay that debt. Then she'd be free to leave and get back to a normal life, with normal people.
But could anything ever be normal for her, when her discovery of self was only just beginning? Deep down, she suspected not.
Indecision rolled across Jessie's face. "Stephan's ordered that you be kept here. That under no circumstances are you to be allowed to leave."
Obviously he had plans to cross-examine her again if Orrin failed to deliver. "I think I may be able to find Gabriel, but I need to get out of here now. I can't wait for Stephan."
"I'm not SIU, and I can't countermand Stephan's orders."
"Then call him. Tell him if he wants to find his goddamn brother, he has to trust me, and he has to release me."
"I don't think he'll listen."
"Try."
Jessie nodded and walked from the room. Sam stripped the covers away and swung her legs over the edge of the bed.
Her right leg, from thigh to knee, was a scarred, red mess. But at least it was a healing, scared red mess. Though the skin pinched slightly when she moved, it didn't seem to restrict her. Nor did it hurt. She rotated her shoulder. Again, though there was a definite tightness in the skin, she could move it without pain. How was this possible after only hours of being shot? She didn't know, and right now, she didn't really care.
All that mattered was getting to Gabriel before time ran out.
She padded across to get her clothes, the tiles cold under her feet. She dressed quickly, and 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.
Chapter Fifteen
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 not only left him gasping for air but 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 eyes, and 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.
"Wish I could say the same."
Her smile was thin, bitter. "Arm hurt a little, does it?"
She nudged it with the tip of her boot. Pain tore through his body, and he grit his teeth against the scream that tore at his throat. He glared at her through the drips of sweat. "Bitch."
"Yes, aren't I?" 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 minutes. "What is she? A shifter sensitive to others of her kind?"