It was almost as if he could wear the night like a veil, shucking it off or using it as cover where necessary. Very much like she could do herself, though she had a lot less flair.
He hadn't changed that much since she'd last seen him, sitting in the chair of a sidewalk café and sipping coffee while avoiding direct answers to her questions. His appearance was still that of a street bum, his thick, overly long hair and beard disheveled and apparently unwashed. But his brown eyes were intense and somewhat sad, and he held himself like a soldier— purposeful, balanced, powerful.
A man ready to move, to fight, at a second's notice.
Blaine swung around so that he was able to see both of them. "Who the hell are you? And how the hell did you get through the cordon of my men?"
"Who am I?" Joe repeated the question, his voice apparently amused. But she knew him through her dreams, and she could almost taste the fury he wasn't showing. "I am many people, General."
"A shifter." Blaine's voice was disdainful. "I gather you were here beforehand, because there is no other way you could have gotten past my men."
"You think so?" A smile touched Joe's lips, though she couldn't say how she knew this when the forest of his beard covered his mouth. "There's a number of ways anyone with skill could have. But perhaps it is better if I show you. King, watch him."
"Yes, General." King stepped out of the shadows. In his hand was the biggest damn gun Sam had ever seen. It was similar in size to a rifle, but wider, with an oddly shaped flat end.
Blaine's eyes widened, the arrogant confidence seeming to falter. "Where the hell did you get that? You haven't the authority—"
"No, but you have, General." The voice was Joe's, but his hirsute countenance had gone, replaced by a replica of Blaine himself.
And suddenly one large piece of the puzzle fell into place.
"It was you," she said, "I pulled you out of Wetherton's car that night. Not the real thing." Which was why she kept getting different reactions in his presence. Her senses knew Joe—and obviously they saw him as no threat, no matter what form he took.
The real Blaine was a totally different story.
And right now, his eyes were narrowed and dangerous looking. She shifted, her finger tightening just a little around the laser's trigger. He might be confident that she couldn't hit him with it, but if he moved in any way, she'd damn well have a good try.
But she had a horrible feeling he was working up to something bigger than a laser could handle.
Tension ran through her, and her finger tightened on the laser's trigger reflexively. A soft hum ran across the momentary silence, and Blaine gave her a quick look. There was no fear, no concern. Just amusement.
"Yes, it was me," Joe answered. "Unfortunately, that was the night the military began to realize they might have a problem." He paused. "Well, that and the killing of Kathryn Douglass."
"That was a mistake," Blaine said. "Because it was our first solid indication that someone had survived the Penumbra project." He studied his double for a moment. "Who are you?"
"Guess, General. Let's see how clever you really are."
Joe's glance ran past Blaine and met hers. Something trembled deep inside. She knew that gaze, knew the fierce hardness behind it, even if the eyes were currently the wrong color.
"The general thinks he's calling in the troops. He doesn't realize he's already let them go."
Blaine snorted. "My men would not be fooled so easily."
"Your men have been fooled for years, General. And to continue the ruse, you must die. King?"
"No!" Sam said.
She raised the laser and fired, without even thinking about it. She had no real desire to protect Blaine, especially since he intended to take her back to Hopeworth. But the cop in her just couldn't stand here and let a murder happen.
King fired at Blaine at the same time she fired at King.
This time her laser found its target, burning a hole though King's hand and into the weapon he held. It made a sizzling, popping sort of sound, and smoke began to rise. King swore and threw it away.
The weapon exploded before it hit the road, sending shards of metal and energy skimming through the night.
Deadly, but not as deadly as the beam that had hit Blaine.
His mouth was open, as if he was screaming, but no sound came out. His body was shimmering, moving, bubbling, as if water boiled under his skin. He didn't move, just stood there, statue-like, as his skin gradually began to darken and then peel and drift away on the gentle wind, like paper held too close to a fire. And then the boiling water began to bubble out, running down his body and splashing across the roadside. Only it wasn't just water, but blood and flesh and God knows what else.