"You were reading the room. Or the emotions in the room."
A shudder ran through her. "It felt like I was a watcher in someone else's dream. I could see and hear what was going on, but I couldn't intervene."
He touched her cheek, gently wiping away a drop of sweat. "I think those psychic gifts you don't have are starting to come to the surface."
She stared at him and then shook her head. "Impossible. I was tested."
"Tests can be skewed. I think we should do more."
She reeled back, as if he'd hit her. "No more tests. You promised."
"I also promised to help you get answers about your past. That isn't going to happen unless you start cooperating."
"No." She crossed her arms, her look mutinous. "The last batch of tests almost killed me. I won't do any more."
She was talking about the cell-invasion tests that the bastard she'd once called her partner had performed. "Jack didn't care about you, only what you were and how he could use you."
"And are you so very different, Assistant Director?"
The barb struck home, and anger surged. O'Neal chose that moment to walk into the room, but he stopped abruptly, his gaze darting from Gabriel to Sam.
"Everything all right, sir?"
"Fine." He somehow managed to keep his voice even. "We found the bloody sweatshirt in the trash can. There are blood specks sprayed across the mirror. I want samples taken from both and sent to the labs ASAP. And next time, O'Neal, kindly make sure you do a proper sweep of the crime scene."
The detective flushed and nodded. Gabriel shoved his hands in his pockets and walked from the room. He heard Sam murmur something to O'Neal, and then her footsteps as she followed.
He punched the elevator button. She stopped behind him, her gaze burning deep into his back.
"If you've got something to say, then say it," she said, voice sharp. "Don't take your anger out on other people."
Normally, he didn't. But she had an uncanny knack of seeing what others didn't, and it both irritated and alarmed him. He turned to face her.
"I'm not Jack. I'm not using you for my own purposes. If I were, I'd keep you as a partner."
She crossed her arms, her expression cynical. "And that's supposed to make me feel a whole lot better about the situation?"
It wasn't supposed to make her feel anything. "Sam, that certificate Jack gave you might be a fake."
"I know that."
"Then you should realize that the only true clue we may ever get lies in uncovering whatever that unknown chromosome in your system is. Remember, someone looped Finley's computer to stop us accessing the test results. They may very well have bombed Central Security for the same reason." He hesitated, and then added, "Damn it, Sam, don't you want to know what you are?"
She rubbed her arms and stared at him for several moments. "Who I am, yes. What I am? I don't know." Her voice was soft, face troubled. "I really don't know."
"Then you'd better decide really quickly. People died because of the secrets in your past. How many more have to do so before you find the courage to face what you might be?"
She stiffened. "You're a bastard, you know that?"
"Maybe I am. But at least I'm a realistic bastard."
They waited in silence for the elevator, then got in and headed back down. She led the way out of the building. The rain pelted down, a cold gray curtain that quickly drenched them both. Not that she seemed to take much notice as she marched up the street to the nearest cab rank.
"What now?" she muttered, once they were both inside the cab.
"Now we go back to my place and view the security tapes from both Harry Maxwell's apartment building and this one." The address he punched into the console was hers — she'd catch a cold, or worse, if she stayed in her current clothes, and he didn't have anything that would even come close to fitting her.
"Well, gee, don't you know how to show a girl a good time."