His gaze, when it met hers, held absolutely no expression. She might well have been staring at hazel granite. "He's an old friend of my father's."
"And you kept that from me? Knowing Allars was one of the names on my birth certificate?"
"You told me not to push you."
"But I didn't tell you to hold back vital information!" She stopped, and shook her head. "My future lies in my past. You said that yourself. You keep saying you want me to discover who and what I am, yet you hold back something like this, something that could provide a vital clue. Why?"
"Because if you were ready to know, you would have done something. How long did that certificate sit in the drawer before you gathered the courage to even do a search on the names?"
"You tell me. You obviously went through my drawers to find it."
His gaze slipped from hers. "I was looking for a pen to write you a note."
A note she never got. "Why? Email go down that day?"
He shoved his hands in his pockets and turned away. The left shoulders of his jacket and shirt were torn, revealing several cuts. Blood oozed down his lightly tanned shoulder blade.
"Maybe," he said, after a moment, "I just wanted to say hello in person."
"More likely berate me for not finishing some inane task you'd set me." She glanced over her shoulder as the wailing sirens drew abruptly close. Two fire engines had entered the parking lot. Behind the trucks came several gray Fords.
"I'm not always a bastard, Sam."
No, sometimes he could be infuriatingly nice; other times just infuriating. Then there were the times when he just looked at her, as if contemplating a fantasy he would never allow.
The two Fords pulled to a halt in front of the strand of trees. Three men and a woman climbed out. Gabriel walked across and chatted to them for several minutes, then came back, carrying two plastic bags.
"Here's a pair of pants to change into." He tossed her a bag. "I want that leg seen to before you do, though. You're bleeding fairly heavily."
She glanced down. Her right boot was covered in blood, yet she hadn't even felt any pain. It was amazing what fear and anger could do. "Whose clothes are we borrowing?"
"No one's. I asked Sandy to pick us up something."
"Sandy being the blonde, I gather?"
"Yes."
"So how does she knows my size?" She didn't bother asking how Sandy knew his size. That was patently obvious.
"I told her you're roughly the same size as her." His voice was as cold as the look in his hazel eyes. "She's got a medikit in the car. Get over there and let her look at that wound."
"Immediately, sir," she said, and saluted him.
His gaze narrowed, and he muttered something she couldn't quite catch before turning away. Good, she thought. It was about time she started getting some of her own back. She walked over to the second car. Sandy was your average model type — leggy, a figure to die for, and sapphire-colored eyes. Stunning, in other words, though the term bitch also lingered in Sam's thoughts.
"Agent Ryan," Sandy greeted, a warm smile touching her full red lips. "You'd best sit down while I tend to that wound. You're loosing a fair amount of blood there."
Sam felt her hackles rising and couldn't understand why. The woman was being nice, for Christ's sake. Maybe that was the problem. It was something she wasn't entirely used to, especially given her partner's behavior of late.
She sat on the back seat and pulled up her pants leg. "I'll survive."
Another white smile flashed, revealing teeth that were as perfect as the rest of her. Sandy knelt, medikit in hand. "Yeah, I suppose you're used to it, being Gabe's partner."
Gabe. Not Stern, not even Gabriel. Gabe. "You two are friends, I gather."
"Old friends," Sandy agreed, without looking up.
No dark roots, she thought. Either the dyeing techniques had improved dramatically, or the woman was a natural blond. "You still go out?"