“Actually, no. His acceptance was handled higher up, then rubber-stamped down to us.”
“How far up?”
He glanced at me. “Alan Brown.”
Who was Director Hunter’s second-in-command, and yet another vampire I didn’t like. “You think he was pressured into accepting Gautier?”
Jack glanced at the screen again. “They’ve found no matches for recreational drugs,” he said, then added, “Right now, I’m not sure what to think.”
Somehow, I doubted that. I’m sure he had lots of thoughts about what was going on—he just had no intention of sharing them with me just yet. I tapped my fingers against his desk. “What would anyone have to gain by getting Gautier accepted here? He’s an utter bastard, but he’s also our best guardian, and has hardly set a foot wrong work-wise.”
“Everyone knows Gautier wants my job, and eventually, the director’s job. Maybe that’s the plan.” The computer screen beeped again. “No response to known prescription drugs.”
Geez, the lab boys weren’t kidding when they said they’d get on it straightaway. Either they’d cleared all the analysis machines just for this, or they’d had nothing else to do
“I told you, it was just a reaction to the champagne.”
“Maybe.” He didn’t sound convinced. “They’re going to run through listed experimental drugs. Could take a while, though.”
I shrugged, then added, “I doubt if Gautier would get the director’s job. I think the old cow has plans of being in that seat for several centuries.”
Amusement creased the corners of his eyes. “I know for a fact she has. Which leaves my job.”
“But for all intents and purposes, you only oversee the guardian division. You’re not the true power here, she is.”
“True, but I have control over missions, and that alone might be all Gautier wants. The power to go after whom he pleases.”
That thought sent a shiver down my spine. “Don’t you dare leave, Jack.”
“Believe me, I have no plans to do so.”
“Good.” I hesitated again, half-wondering if by even asking any more questions I was dragging myself further into Jack’s world. “Did you ever discover if he has any kin?”
“No. He apparently came from Perth, but nobody there seems to remember him.”
“And no one here thought that odd?”
“Apparently not.”
But Jack had—and had done nothing except watch and wait. I wondered who else he was watching. “What about the shooter?”
“It appears he doesn’t have a past beyond five years ago.”
That raised my eyebrows. I mean, what were the chances of two almost identical people also sharing a lack of background? “What are the police saying? They automatically do DNA testing when the remains are unrecognizable, don’t they?”
“They do, but they’re not saying anything because I put a hush order on it.”
“Why? Okay, he resembles Gautier and he shot me, but hell, werewolves are always getting shot by crazies.”
“As I said before, I don’t believe in coincidences. Especially when Gautier seemed to know about the bullet wound. Why else would he have touched your shoulder like that when, in all the time you’ve been here, he’s barely done more than exchange insults from a distance?”
I blinked, remembering the watchfulness in Gautier’s eyes. He
“Dumb luck has nothing to do with anything Gautier does. So the next questions are, why did the shooter resemble Gautier, how is he connected to Gautier, and why did he shoot you?”
I shrugged. “Maybe he just hates werewolves.”
Yet that wolf had called me by name—and how had he known where I lived? With Rhoan and me both working for the Directorate, our apartment wasn’t listed in the any of the phone directories. And it didn’t make sense for Gautier to have given him the information. If Gautier wanted me dead, he’d do it himself—and with sadistic pleasure
“That doesn’t explain the likeness,” Jack said
No, it didn’t. “So you think they could be related, despite the fact we can find nothing about either of them?”
“Not related by birth, but certainly connected.”
“Connected how, then?”
“I think it very likely the shooter, at least, is a clone.”
I stared at him. “They can’t make clones—not ones that survive to adulthood, anyway.”
“It’s possible someone has, because your shooter is not the only dead person in recent weeks to resemble Gautier. And Gautier himself resembles a man who died some years ago. Plus, we discovered a lot of growth accelerant in the shooter’s remains.”
“What about DNA?”
“We haven’t tested any against Gautier’s yet.”
“Why not?”
“Because we don’t want him suspicious. We plan on taking some samples for testing during his regular physical.”
Which was due in the next day or so, if I remembered correctly. “I guess you haven’t talked to him, then?”
“No. At this stage, we’re merely watching him. We’re hoping he’ll lead us to whoever is behind all this.”
“That’s a big risk, isn’t it? What if he gets suspicious and runs?” The last thing we needed was Gautier off the leash. Just the thought sent a shiver down my spine
“If he runs, he’ll be killed.”
Somehow, I didn’t think it would be that simple. “So why does accelerant imply cloning?”
“Accelerant—at least in the tests currently being done on animals—is used to fast-track growth so the scientists can see what problems the clone might have when it reaches middle years.”
“Where are the animal rights activists on that one?” I muttered. “Is there any evidence of accelerant in Gautier’s blood?”
“None at all—it would have been picked up in the six-month physicals.”
So, he was either who he said he was, and the clones a mere coincidence, or he was somehow the source of the clones. Because if the dead man Gautier resembled was
“We doubt it. It hasn’t the facilities as far as we know.”
“But Rhoan was investigating it?”
“No, he was checking a report that prostitutes were regularly disappearing from the St. Kilda district, and reappearing a week or so later, totally disoriented and having no idea where they had been.”
“Human or nonhuman pros?”
“Nonhuman.”
“If someone is trying to clone, maybe they need DNA samples to play with.”
“Very likely.”
His expression was that of a teacher pleased with the progress of a difficult student, and that irritated. Yet until I’d actually gotten Rhoan out, I’d have to put up with such expressions. And after all, time would tell which of us was going to win this particular battle
Still, I felt an insane urge to irritate him back. “There’s something about the attack I should tell you—I didn’t actually kill the shooter. Quinn O’Conor did.”
