She stepped quietly into the room and looked around. Still no noise. No indication that anything was wrong.
Half wondering if the noise she'd heard was nothing more than a figment left over from stolen sleep, she took another step forward.
And realized it wasn't Wetherton in the bed, but pillows bunched together to take on the appearance of a sleeper if anyone happened to look in.
The man himself was nowhere to be seen.
She raised her gun and cautiously approached the walk-in closet, all senses alert. Another duck around the door frame revealed that Wetherton wasn't hiding in there, either.
What the hell…? She lowered her weapon and looked around the room, then up at the ceiling. No trap doors, no windows. No Wetherton.
A man his size couldn't just disappear… Her gaze went to the vent. It was open.
"Shit." She dropped to her knees and peered into the dark hole. Fear rose, threatening to engulf her, but she ignored it the best she could and listened.
From far down came another thump and the soft squawk of a bird. Then silence.
She pulled back from the hole and sat on her heels.
Wetherton wasn't just a clone, he was a shapechanger.
But if he was so afraid for his life, why would he leave this apartment—and her protection—so abruptly? Why put himself in danger like that?
Unless, of course, he needed to report to his master and this was the only way he could do it without raising suspicion.
After all, the real Wetherton was human, not changer. This Wetherton had been in a mighty hurry to get her out of the room so he could sleep.
She rose and left, closing the bedroom door behind her.
Whatever his reasons, it was obvious he didn't want her to know he was gone. And it certainly played better for her if he didn't know that she knew.
After shoving her gun away, she flopped back onto the sofa and opened the com-unit again. Izzy's fuzzy face came on line instantly. "And here I was thinking you were sleeping."
"I was. Can you send an urgent email to Director Byrne?
Tell him Wetherton is a changer. Tell him I need a tracer sent in with Jenna Morwood this morning, if possible."
"Request sent. Still waiting on search results."
"Ta, Iz."
She shut the com-unit down and settled back to wait. It was an hour before she heard the soft sound of movement in the bedroom. After a few seconds, the door opened and Wetherton's tousled head appeared.
"Anything wrong, Minister?" she inquired politely.
"Thought I heard something," he said, in the best just- woken-from-sleep voice she'd ever heard.
"Nothing's moving. I'm struggling to keep awake, in fact."
"Make sure that you do," he snapped, and closed the door.
Ass, she thought, and wondered how the hell she was going to get through months of this tedium.
With a sigh, she leaned back against the sofa and watched the dawn break slowly across the night-held sky. Jenna arrived just before her shift started. She was a pretty woman of Spanish descent.
After checking her ID, Sam let her in and introduced herself. Jenna smiled, the merry twinkle in her dark eyes belying the hint of steel in her handshake. "Director Ryan sent this for you," she said, handing her an interoffice envelope. "What's Wetherton like?"
Sam glanced at the still closed bedroom door. "He's a politician."