Gabriel shrugged and stepped out of the crimecorder's way. "Escape route, maybe."
"If the killer's using Jadrone, he can't be a shapechanger."
"No." Jadrone was as deadly to shapechangers as it was helpful to shapeshifters. No one knew why, though Karl, a good friend of Gabriel's and one of Australia's top herbal scientists, thought it might have something to do with body chemistry. "Nothing's making much sense in this case."
"Well, it had better. If the killer keeps to his current schedule, you have precisely twelve hours before he strikes again."
Twelve hours to find someone as illusive as a ghost. What could be simpler? "It would be a damn sight easier if we could find some sort of pattern. Other than being the same age and having red hair, the victims have nothing in common."
"The answers are there. All you have to do is find them." Stephan hesitated and then smiled grimly. "And I want Agent Ryan brought in on this case."
Gabriel stared at his brother, wondering why he was so determined to see him and Sam as a team. "No."
"That's a direct order, Stern."
And it was one he had no intention of ever obeying — if only because Sam had red-gold hair, the same as the three victims. She might not be twenty-five, but he wasn't about to chance her safety. Not with his track record.
"Are you listening, Stern?"
"I'm all ears, sir."
Anger flared briefly in Stephan's blue eyes. "Good. Report to me hourly."
He turned and walked away. Gabriel stared after him for a long moment, and then he glanced up at the crimecorder. "Position of autopsy team?"
"Entering building now."
"Good. Resume original monitoring position." Gabriel followed the crimecorder back out to the living room. The clue was here somewhere. He could feel its presence, like an itch he couldn't quite scratch. He stared blankly at the corpse for a long moment and then turned.
Why had the killer vacuumed? Why just the section behind the sofa?
Frowning, he crouched down, studying the vacuum marks intently. Something had to have been spilled or dropped here — why else vacuum? He shifted slightly, and caught sight of something glittering deep in the white pile. He carefully plucked it out — a shard of glass. He ran his fingers through the carpet. A plate size section near his feet felt damp. He sniffed his fingers again. Ginger and lemon, mixed with something spicy he couldn't define. Its touch burned across his skin.
He knew the scent. Heat, the latest rage in female perfumes and one designed solely for female use. The manufacturers claimed it made the wearer irresistible to the male gender — a claim that had proven so true the government was considering putting the perfume on the dangerous drugs list. Oddly enough, when used by a male, Heat lived up to its name in an entirely different way, burning where it touched.
Harry had no wife, no girlfriend. No reason to buy Heat.
The killer was female, not male.
Chapter Two
Sam leaned back in her chair and rubbed her forehead wearily. She'd had an almost constant headache for the last two days, and sitting for hours in front a com-screen certainly didn't help. Nor did lack of sleep. In fact, that was probably the cause of it.
But if she slept, she dreamed. Though she couldn't remember what those dreams were about, she always woke drenched in sweat, her heart pounding at the walls of her chest, as if trying to escape. And always, always, there was a name dying on her lips.
Joshua.
Why, she had no idea. She had no friends by that name. She'd never even met a Joshua, so why dream of him? And why were those dreams always so full of fear?
Sighing, she opened her eyes and stared blankly at the com-screen for several seconds. It was seven thirty in the damn morning. She should go home and get some rest. Shower, at the very least. But the apartment just didn't seem right any more. It was too sterile, too neat. The builders and painters had restored the living area after the bomb left by her ex-partner had basically destroyed the place three months ago, but no one could ever replace all the knickknacks and books she'd collected over the years. The apartment just wasn't the same without them.
Maybe she should sell it and start anew. Hell, she'd done it before. She'd left the orphanage with nothing more than the clothes on her back and a hand drawn picture of her mother. At least she now had a job and a decent amount in credits to fall back on.
The com-screen blinked to life. Dizzy Izzy, a hot pink fur-ball that was the current rage in adult cartoons, stared at her while slowly swinging the end of a purple boa. "Search completed, sweetie."
"Split screen, and show results."
"Can do."