The other woman in the cell was someone she knew. "Lyssa," she said, surprised. "How the hell did you get here? I thought Stephan was sending you to stay with his old man?"
Surprise flitted through Lyssa's blue eyes, followed quickly by pain. She took a deep breath, and then released it in a sigh that was somehow mournful. "I have not seen Stephan for at least six months. Nor have I met you, officer."
"But ... I saw you, yesterday." She hesitated. Gabriel had said some shifters were multi-shifters. The Lyssa she'd seen with Stephan was definitely a shifter. She was getting no such reading from this woman, though that didn't mean she wasn't a shifter. This talent of hers seemed to be very selective about who it did, and didn't, pick up.
"That wasn't me, officer."
"Obviously not, if you're here."
The ropes finally came off. She rubbed her wrists, then shook her legs to get the circulation going properly again. Big mistake. The rope burns began to ache with renewed vigor.
"Those wounds need tending," Karl's wife commented. "They'll get infected, otherwise."
Right now, infection was the least of her worries. "Has Jack been down here? Said anything to you two?"
Both women shook their heads. "We're fed through the slot in the door three times a day," Lyssa said. "They escort us to the showers once a day, and they bring in a box load of books and magazines every week. But it is always the same two men, and neither will answer any of our questions."
So Jack had no obvious intention of harming them. He just wanted them out of the way. She glanced at Karl's wife — Jan, if she remembered correctly. "How long have you been here?"
"Just a day."
Snatching her had to have been a last minute plan — maybe a result of Sam unexpectedly finding the disks. And if Jack knew Gabriel was close to Karl, it would be an easy enough guess that, sooner or later, he would take her there.
She looked at Lyssa. "They haven't said anything to you, in the six months you've been here?"
"No," Lyssa hesitated, her hand drifting down to her stomach. It was only then that Sam noticed the telltale rounding. "I fear my child will be born with Stephan never knowing."
She obviously didn't know about the shapeshifter taking her place. Nor was it the time to really tell her. "Believe me, I fully intend to get us all out of this before that ever happens."
But first, she had to find out what Jack was up to. She bent down and picked up the ropes. "I'm going to have to lock you back in for now. Jack obviously has no intention of harming either of you, and until I know what he's up to, and where exactly we are, I don't want to do anything that may jeopardize that situation."
The two women nodded. She spun and walked out of their cell, carefully locking the door again. Then she made her way back to her own cell. Retrieving her boot, she slipped it back on then shoved the decoder back. The ropes she flung under the bed, just in case she needed them later. Then she sat on the bed and waited.
The sun was well on the way to setting by the time the two men came back. They glanced at her hands and feet, then at each other, surprise evident in their expressions. One stepped back and pulled out a gun, motioning her to follow the other man.
She climbed off the bed and followed the taller of the two men. He led her up the stairs, then down a long corridor remarkable only for its antiseptic whiteness. A door swooshed open at the far end, revealing yet another corridor. Their footsteps echoed hollowly, as if it were metal flooring hung in space rather than anchored to the ground. Another door opened and they finally entered a room.
It was sparsely furnished — containing only a white desk and two cheap-looking chairs. Her escorts stopped and motioned her to sit. She chose the chair in the farthest corner and watched the first man walk round the desk to the com-screen.
"She's here."
"Send her in. I want you and Roston to remain outside."
Roston. The man with the Irish brogue — the man who'd called Jack several times in the week before he disappeared. He had blond hair, a scraggly ginger beard, and green eyes that were feral and full of anger. A shapechanger, she thought, and one not in full control of his other nature.
The door behind the desk slid open. Beyond it, she saw warm amber walls and a tapestry depicting two knights at battle, one dark, one light. Oddly fitting, given the situation. Jack had often considered himself something of a dark knight. But was she the light? Or something else entirely?
Roston motioned her into the room. She rose and entered. Jack stood at the far end of the room, hands behind his back, staring at another picture rather than facing her. The door slid shut, and the lock clicked home, trapping her in the room with a probable madman. She looked quickly around. No windows through which to escape, and very little in the way of loose furnishings to grab as a weapon — which certainly was deliberate.
Jack finally turned around to face her. He looked no different from the last time she'd seen him. No different from the clone she'd shot. Only his gaze gave the game away. It held a coldness that went beyond anything she'd ever seen before.
He was a vampire with an agenda all his own. Not her partner. Not her friend.
"How nice of you to join me," he said.
Her smile was thin. "Why? Were you falling apart?"
"Still seeking sanctuary in humor when faced with tough situations, I see." He motioned her to a chair that was firmly bolted to the floor. "Please, sit down."