He flashed his reptilian smile again. "I admit to doing a little checking myself."
"Why?"
"I thought you might be one of our rejects. I wondered if, perhaps, the programming had slipped and you were using this case to learn more about Hopeworth. Something similar happened recently with another project's reject."
So Hopeworth knew how to reprogram babes. The place was definitely the stuff of nightmares. "I was not a Greenwood attendee."
"No. And we never did use the Ashwood center."
He'd definitely done more than a little checking if he knew she'd been in Ashwood's care. She took another sip of water to ease the sudden dryness in her throat. Was it just nerves, or had the temperature jumped by several degrees?
"There are natural redheads in this world, general," she remarked, voice dry.
"Oh I agree. But your hair is not just red. It is more a red-gold, and in certain lights — this candlelight, for example — appears molten. It is something of a signature for our creations."
She glanced at King. Molten was an apt description for his hair. "Coincidence, general."
"Maybe."
His tone suggested he didn't think it was so. "General, I'm nearly thirty. Too old for the Generation Eighteen project by about five years."
"I'm well aware of that. There were other projects, of course."
"Like Penumbra?"
"Penumbra was our only true failure." The finger tapping hesitated slightly. "Though sometimes I wonder."
He glanced briefly at King. Again, she had the sudden impression of information exchanged, though neither man moved or spoke.
The general pushed back his chair and rose. "I don't believe there is much more we can help you with."
Meaning there wasn't much more he intended to help her with. She nodded. "Thank you for meeting me, General. You've cleared up a few problems."
"Yes, it's been most... interesting. Please call if you need anything else."
If she needed anything else, Gabriel could do the calling. "I will."
He nodded, and walked from the room. Tension flowed like water from her limbs, and she took a deep breath. She hadn't realized just how uneasy the general had made her feel.
She took another deep breath, and then she doubled over in the chair as cramps knotted her stomach. Cursing softly, she grabbed her bag and stumbled to the restroom.
And discovered, at the grand old age of nearly thirty, she was getting her first period.
Chapter Ten
Gabriel ducked under the police tapes and walked toward the house. The red and blue lights of the emergency vehicles washed across the white walls of the two-story building, providing color to an otherwise lifeless looking landscape.
Unlike the houses surrounding it, the owner here had gone for the minimalist look — no trees, no grass, just white concrete to every corner. It was a landscaping trend he hoped didn't catch on.
He showed his badge to the gnarled looking police officer manning the front door, then walked inside. The smell of blood hit him immediately. Its odor was rich and sweet and almost fresh. Obviously, the murderer had been violent again.
The scent led him into the kitchen. Warren Michaels and his autopsy team were already present. Warren himself was near the body. Annoyance flickered through Gabriel. His brother must have called them in, even though he knew Gabriel preferred to be first at the scene — it was easier to imagine what had happened without the inference of others.
The crimecorder hovering in the middle of the room spun round. "Identification, please."
"Gabriel Stern, SIU," he intoned, almost absently.
The first victim lay halfway between the cooking units and the bench. Her body was all angles, like a doll some child had broken and abandoned. Blood gleamed darkly on the white tiles, and it had splashed against the glass-fronted cooking units. In the pool of blood near the victim's head, something metallic glittered.