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    Teigan opened his mouth to protest, then slammed his lips shut. What could he say? He felt like a dick for harboring his jealousy. Garret might be the embodiment of his father’s idea of a perfect son, but he’d had far from a perfect life. Teigan had suffered from an often indifferent and sometimes condescending father, but at least he’d had a loving and supportive mother, at least he’d had choices. Garret never had any choices. His option to leave the V-10 program hadn’t been a real choice. He was still a captive of what he’d been made and trained to be. And he would always be suspect. Like a prisoner on parole, his life was monitored, his choices limited, his humanity reduced.
    Teigan gazed down into the remnants of his beer, swirling the bottle so it bubbled and foamed. The liquid had gone clear again before he spoke. “I’m sorry.”
    “What are you sorry for?” Garret snuffed the cigarette, leaned back, his actions casual, almost lazy, belaying the intensity that had been in his pale eyes a minute ago. “It’s not all bad. My life is decent enough. I got a job—it pays okay—enough to afford a decent crib. I can sleep in if I want. I can eat pizza, have a beer, watch the game. The epitome of the American dream, right?”
    “Friends? Girlfriends?”
    Garret hesitated, the muscles along his jaw ticked. “Acquaintances. Not fair to them to make it more.” He waved his hands at the monitors. “Not with shit like this. They can’t ever know who or what I am. And they probably would freak if they did know.”
    Teigan gazed at him steadily. “That’s why I’m sorry.”
    “I don’t need your pity,” Garret said sharply, his eyes hard and full of anger.
    “No pity,” Teigan agreed. “Okay if I’m angry for you?”
    Garret mulled that over and eventually nodded.  
    Teigan leaned forward, snapped the empty beer bottle onto the desk. “That’s not all though. I know who and what you are.” He looked back up, fixing his gaze on the face that was so eerily like his own. “You’re my brother. And I’m not freaking. Not anymore, at least. And when this is done, whether you like it or not, the next game day I have off, I’ll be over here knocking on your door with pizza and beer in hand.”
    Garret ran his tongue over his teeth as if considering. No real emotion touched his face, but eventually he nodded, extended his hand. “Sure, what the hell.”
    Cautiously, Teigan reached out his own hand. They clasped and shook.
    “Ouch. Damn it.” Teigan swore. “Knock that shit off.”
    Garret’s mouth split into a wide grin as he released Teigan and slapped him hard on the shoulder. “Yeah, I think I could get used to this brother shit.”
    ***
    “Where is the connection?” Aria gnawed at her lower lip, her fingers floating over the file names rolling across her screen.  
    “Computer, hold.” She settled back in the chair.  
    This was getting her nowhere. She’d been going over these reports for hours and couldn’t find anything that would link these deaths to the man she believed had committed them—Byron. She just knew it was him. Problem was, no one else would believe her if she tried to tell them. Not without proof. Rather hard to prove a connection between Byron and the five Viadal deaths when the man in question was also supposedly dead.
    A wet nose bumped her left elbow incessantly, demanding the same amount of attention as the screen in front of her. Absently, her hand drifted down and began stroking the dog’s ears. He whimpered and leaned into her until she found that spot just behind the cartilage and scratched. “You’re such a schmooze.”
    Frodo’s happy panting was her only answer.  
    “And sorely lacking in sophistication,” she informed him. His breath stank. She’d have to ask Willis to pick up some more of those wonderful doggy breath mints the vet sold.
    “Hmm. What is the pattern? Is there one?” she asked the empty room. Well, empty if you didn’t count