"If you believe that, then you are a fool."
Kazdan's eyes narrowed. He'd guessed right. Sam wasn't a willing partner in anything.
"Where are the disks, Stern?"
He raised his eyebrows. Sam had obviously hidden them. He wondered when she'd found the time. "Somewhere safe."
Kazdan's growl was a soft sound of anger and frustration. "I can shoot you right here and now."
"Then you'll never get the disks, will you?" He studied Kazdan steadily, wondering just how important those disks were to his schemes. "I want to see Sam. I want to know she's okay before I tell you one damn thing."
Kazdan considered him for a long moment, and then glanced at his watch. "Can't hurt, I suppose. Suzy, check him."
He watched the woman approach, debating whether he should grab her and use her as a hostage. But he wasn't entirely sure Kazdan wouldn't just shoot them both and be done with it. Suzy patted him down briskly and efficiently, but she made no attempt to undo the knife sheath. It was empty and useless, anyway.
"Clean," she said, stepping back.
Kazdan nodded. "Keep moving, Stern. And remember, one wrong move and I will kill you. I'm not that desperate for the disks."
He smiled grimly. The mere fact he was still alive proved how desperate Kazdan was to get those disks back. Hands raised, he continued down the corridor, taking note of the twists and turns as he was herded down several sets of ramps. They approached a series of holding cells, and a sentry opened a door as they neared. He was relieved to see Sam asleep on the bunk inside.
"You have until dusk, and I want those damn disks."
The door slammed shut, and the lock rasped home. He listened to the sound of their footsteps fading into the distance, and then he knelt beside the bunk. There were bruises on Sam's face, on her arms and shadowing her neck, contrasting starkly against her half unbuttoned white shirt. They were not the sort of bruises that came from a beating — these seemed to come from an internal source rather than an external.
He'd seen photos of men and women with similar bruising. Ten years ago, in a vague attempt to understand the mechanics behind shapeshifting and shapechanging, the government had run a series of cell investigations, using well-paid volunteers. Though the machines were specifically designed for the task, the tests themselves were too invasive. Ninety-eight percent of the volunteers died after several hours, their hearts simply exploding under the pressure. To this day, no one really understood why. Similar tests had been performed on humans beforehand, with no such causalities, and certainly none of the bruising evident on Sam.
And if Kazdan knew the truth about Sam's past, knew what she was and what she was capable of, why would the bastard risk her life and put her through these tests? What did he hope to achieve?
He gently touched her swollen cheek. She stirred, murmuring something he couldn't catch.
"Sam," he said, carefully brushing the sweaty strands of red-gold hair away from her eyes. Though she obviously needed the sleep, they had to figure a way out of here before Kazdan came back.
Her eyes opened, but her gaze was unblinking, that of a sleeper still caught in a dream. The shadowed ring around her iris was stronger than ever before, the gray almost consuming the blue. "Ten minutes," she mumbled, reaching out and touching his hand, her fingers as cold as his were warm.
He glanced at his watch. If she wanted ten minutes, then she would have ten minutes. Entwining his fingers with hers, he sat on the floor beside the bunk, leaning his head back against the wall as he waited for her to wake.
* * * *
Gabriel's warm hand gripped hers, callused and strong, and somehow very comforting. Rather like the man himself, Sam thought. On the few occasions Jack had touched her, his grip had been cool and clammy. She'd always hated it and had tried to avoid it.Pity she'd never taken it as an insight to Jack's true personality. She opened her eyes. Gabriel watched her, his gaze intense and concerned.
"You okay?" His voice was soft, yet she sensed the anger in it. Not at her, but perhaps at what had been done to her. Which was odd really, when they were neither partners nor friends.
"Yes." She felt like shit, but there was little to be gained by stating the obvious. Besides, she was alive, and that was more than she'd thought possible an hour ago. "How did you get here?"
"Karl bugged the men who took Jan. We arrived at the first camp in time to see you loaded into a truck. I followed you here."
And had obviously gotten caught. She wondered what had stopped Jack from killing him outright. "Did you see Jan and Lyssa?"
"Karl has them. I'll contact him when all this is over."
"Good." At least something had worked out the way it was supposed to. She studied their entwined fingers. She made no attempt to remove her hand, nor did he. For that, she was glad. There was something very comforting about his touch. "I'm sorry about your brother. I'm sorry about Stephan."
His hazel gaze was suddenly warm and sent a shiver skating across her skin. "Stephan's fine."
He didn't seem too worried — or upset — about his brother death, which was extremely odd. "Jack said Stephan was dead."
"Because both he and Mary know Hanrahan was Stephan's other identity."