He ignored the sarcasm in her voice. "We'll stop and get some takeout, too. There's not much in the way of edible food at my place."
"There's a surprise."
She crossed her arms and stared out the side window, as angry as all hell and fighting not to show it. He ran a hand through his wet hair, and half wished he could take back the words he'd said in anger. But, damn it, if she didn't start investigating just who and what she was, all hell could break loose. Her psychic gifts were coming to the surface. Why that was happening now, when she was almost thirty, he didn't know. But Sethanon had feared the emergence of those gifts enough to place at least one guard on her, though, oddly enough, he seemed reluctant to physically harm her.
It made no sense. Nothing about her past made any sense.
But he had a bad feeling they'd better start finding some answers. Jack had warned them that a war was starting, a war in which Sethanon planned to subjugate the human race, as well as any nonhumans who sided with them.
And he had a feeling she was a key in what might happen. Why else would Sethanon be so interested in her? And if she was a key, then he sure as hell was going to keep forcing her to chase her past and the memories she'd lost. Because they could be very, very important for everyone's survival. So perhaps she was right. Perhaps he was no better than Jack.
Except that she'd liked Jack. The same sure as hell couldn't be said about him.
Which was a damn shame, because if she wasn't his partner, he surely would have been tempted to explore what might lie between them.
* * * *
Sam leaned back in the chair and stretched. She'd been sitting at this console for close to ten hours and her butt felt numb. As numb as her mind.She rubbed her forehead. The ache had set in behind her eyes again, and her stomach was beginning to cramp. Probably a result of all the coffee Gabriel had given her in the last few hours.
It was time to give her eyes another break. Sighing, she turned away from the console. His apartment wasn't what she'd expected. Given his long hours, and the time he spent working on Federation projects, she'd expected his apartment to be sterile — a place where he came to sleep and regain strength, and nothing more.
Situated in Parkville, opposite the grand old RoyalPark, the two-story apartment block was a carefully renovated leftover from the Victorian era. Gabriel owned the top floor, and the view from the front windows was a sea of green. It was like living in the treetops, she mused, and wondered if that was why he'd bought it. Perhaps it appeased some need in his hawk soul.
The color scheme within the apartment complimented the leafy view, yet stood apart. Sandstone colored walls and faded turquoise doors and frames. Brightly patterned rugs scattered across the polished floorboards. Dark blue leather sofas that had seen better times. Oddly enough, there were no photos of Stephan — no photos of any family. Maybe it was a precautionary measure. Maybe he didn't want to risk anyone breaking in and discovering just who he was related to. Certainly that information wasn't available on any computer — she'd checked the SIU files some weeks back.
Gabriel himself used the com-unit in the kitchen. His long legs, crossed at the feet, were stretched out under the table. No doubt he'd wander back in soon to fill her with more coffee to keep her awake.
The com-unit pinged softly. The tape had finished rewinding. She turned around. "Fast forward to twelve-fifteen, then play."
The murderer must have arrived sometime between then and twelve-thirty. The doctor had patients booked up until twelve. Allowing the usual ten or fifteen minutes per patient, the last appointment would have walked out around twelve fifteen. The postman had walked in at twelve-eighteen, and the doctor had been alive and alone.
"Playing," the com-unit intoned.
She leaned sideways against the desk, propping her head up with her hand. This was the fourth time she'd watched this particular run of film. She could just about cue each person.
Yawning hugely, she watched the postman, dressed in a yellow raincoat, carry a handful of letters and a small parcel into the doctor's office. On the far edge of the screen, a man in a badly cut blue suit headed towards the stairs. Nothing for a good five minutes, then the lunchtime rush began.
The yellow clad postman walked back out. She glanced at the clock. Twelve twenty-two. After that, nothing. People moved in and out of the foyer, but no one went near the doctor's office. The initial report set the time of death as twelve thirty-one. Nine minutes after the postman had left. Given the extent of the doctor's wounds, and the fact that she'd died reasonably quick, it was doubtful whether the postie could have been involved. Besides, there wasn't a speck of blood to be seen on his uniform.
"Rewind tape to twelve-twenty two."
The computer hummed briefly. "Tape rewound."
"Find ID on this man." She pointed to the postman. His details were probably in the initial report, but Gabriel had the folder and she didn't want to walk across to check.
"Search started."
She yawned again and glanced at her watch. It was nearly two o'clock. Surely Gabriel would let her go home soon and get some rest. Twelve hours had just about passed and she seriously needed sleep. Her brain felt like mush.
The tape continued running. She leaned on her hand again and watched it. People flowed through the foyer. A sandwich trolley came out of the elevator and was briefly mobbed by those few who didn't go out for lunch. She rubbed her forehead again, trying to ease the growing ache between her eyes. It didn't help.
"Gabriel, you got any pain killers?"
"Yep. Hang on, and I'll get you some."
The chair scuffed against the floorboards then his footsteps moved across the kitchen. She returned her gaze to the screen. And saw the doctor walk out of the office.
At twelve forty-eight.