"We would have been advised, especially given the spate of recent attacks."
Somehow, he doubted that. The military were not inclined to admit mistakes, just get rid of them. "Have we got enough manpower available to put watch teams on the remainder of the Greenwood fosterlings?"
"I'll have to pull some teams off other work, but yeah, we can manage. Send the list through and I'll arrange it."
The com-unit beeped. "You have a call on vid-line 2, Assistant Director."
"Hang on a minute." Gabriel switched lines. His father's features reappeared. "Did you get hold of Jessie?"
"Yes. Miranda's living in a house out Strathmore way. Jes and Alain are heading over there."
Alain was Jessie's shapechanging husband of six months, and, quite literally, a bear of a man. "You told them to bring her back to the compound?"
"Kicking and screaming, if they have to."
"Let me know what happens."
The old man nodded. "Take care, son."
Gabriel switched back to Stephan. "Jes and Alain are picking up Miranda."
"Good. At least she'll be safe back home. You have any idea how the murderer is getting in and out of the victims' homes yet?"
"I've several ideas. Nothing concrete yet."
"Well, you'd better start finding something concrete. Our killer is about due to strike again."
Like that was something he wasn't fully aware of. He held back the surge of annoyance. "I'll send the list through now. The quicker we can get surveillance teams on these people, the better it will be."
"Keep me informed."
"I usually do." The retort held a hint of hostility. He scrubbed a hand against his jaw. Getting angry with his brother wouldn't achieve anything. "How's Lyssa?"
"The herb Karl suggested is working. She only threw up once last night."
At least that was an improvement. "Send her my love. I'll be in touch."
He broke contact and glanced at his watch. Ten to eight. He'd better get going. He collected his jacket and headed down to the car.
Two hours later, he ran up the stairs to Sam's second floor apartment. He'd showered and changed, but he still felt like shit. What he needed was a good night's sleep. Something that wasn't likely to happen until they caught the murderer.
"Door's open," Sam yelled from inside her apartment.
He raised an eyebrow. It could have been anyone coming up those stairs. Maybe he'd have to sit her down and explain the basics of security — though as a former cop, with over ten years experience, she should know them. He pushed the door open and entered the apartment. It was starker than he'd remembered. The walls were bare of paintings, and she'd yet to replace the shelving and knickknacks lost in the bombing. He wondered whether she still had all the books in the bedroom.
"You're late," she said, her voice coming from the direction of the bathroom.
"Working on the case." He walked across to the window and stared out over the ocean. If he ever moved, it would be for something like this. Something close to the sea. The wash of waves across the sand was hypnotically soothing.
"Anything new?"
"Yeah, the four victims entered the Greenwood State care center on the same day as thirteen other kids. How'd you do with Dr. O'Hearn?"
"She took some blood and skin samples. I have to go back tomorrow." Sam came out of the bathroom and walked towards him.
He did a double take. She wore what was becoming standard dress for her — a jacket and shirt, this time teamed with a knee length skirt rather than pants. Only there was nothing conservative, or even normal, about this little dark gray number. Both the jacket and skirt appeared to be made from Contour, the latest in textile development. It clung like a second skin, displaying every curve with loving detail. The skirt was slit on one side to her thigh, revealing plenty of tanned leg.
She looked stunning. Sexy. And it sure as hell would be difficult to see her in any suit the same way again. He cleared his throat. This was not a good development. Not when he was trying to ignore his attraction to her.