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He was younger than he appeared in photos, in his mid-twenties with a slim physique and carefully crafted appearance. His suit was stylish without drawing attention to the fact, personally tailored to his build. His mustache and short-cropped hair were perfectly lined, indicating his penchant for orderliness. The quality was reflected in his polished office furniture and orderly arrangement of his desktop.

“You appear a bit out of place in a military institution, Mr. Ryder,” she said. “But I suppose your interest here is more academic than gung ho.”

“My interest here is none of your concern, Agent Plumm.” Ryder didn’t appear to care or even notice his discourtesy. “Let’s cut to the chase and get to the point where you tell me why an FBI agent is suddenly interested in this facility.”

Dylan crossed one stocking-clad leg over the other. Although her skirt wasn’t short, the movement did allow the exposure of a generous amount of her lower leg. “Let’s say I have an interest in an individual who’s being detained here.”

Ryder shifted uneasily, his eyes flicking to the safe zone of the office wall. “We have a number of detainees here, Agent Plumm.”

“True. But only one directly related to a case I’m assigned to. His name is Michael McDaniel. The only survivor of a mill explosion. I’m quite sure you know of him.”

“You want access to Michael McDaniel? Impossible.” He peered suspiciously from behind black-rimmed eyeglasses with an expression that clearly indicated his desire for her to vanish into thin air. “Mr. McDaniel is for all intents and purposes a prisoner of the state. He doesn’t receive visitors and doesn’t give interviews. I’m afraid you’ll have to present more than an FBI badge to be granted access, Agent Plumm.”

She fixed him with her best dubious stare. “There are certain legal channels that appear to be trampled on by his imprisonment, Mr. Ryder. We both know detainment by private sectors allows the government loopholes to deny prisoners their civil and lawful rights. This facility isn’t administered or funded by any US agency. Chimera pays the bills here, leaving me to wonder what branch of the government, if any, has authorized Mr. McDaniel’s imprisonment.”

Ryder’s mouth curved in amusement. “That’s something you’ll have to take up with your branch of the government, Agent Plumm. I assure you that we have legal matters properly arranged to handle this special circumstance. If you wish to debate the matter, I suggest you bring a lawyer with you next time.”

Dylan pulled up a file on her tablet and placed it in front of him. “As a point of interest I happen to be a lawyer, Mr. Ryder. Michael McDaniel’s, in fact.”

She smiled at his stunned expression. “I can assure you that the legalities of my position are properly arranged. Now if you don’t mind, I’d like to speak with my client.”

* * *

Michael McDaniel was tall and well built, his blond coif just unruly enough to be roguishly likeable, with eyes blue and clear as a bay in the Bahamas. He didn’t look at all like a man who would kill his coworkers by way of massive explosion. He was what women called a stunner, though that meant little to Dylan. She had long ago accustomed herself to recognize what was considered attractive without being able to experience the thrill of the sensation in a personal manner. There was still some connection she was not able to make, some intangible spark that never ignited within her, despite the ages she had spent in the form of both genders.

She put those thoughts away, assessing her subject. He smiled when he spoke, shaking her hand gratefully when she introduced herself.

“Thank God,” he said as he sat down. “I thought they’d never allow me to contact a lawyer. They’re treating me like a terrorist, Ms. Plumm. I didn’t do the…things they’re saying I did. I’ve answered all their questions, but they just keep telling me I’m crazy.” He locked gazes with her the entire time as though trying to channel his honesty through his eyes. “I’m not crazy, Ms. Plumm. I know what I saw that night and as unreal as it sounds, every word is true.”

“I’ve read the transcripts, Mr. McDaniel.” She glanced down at her tablet. “You claimed the mill was enveloped by a massive rainstorm that prevented the employees from leaving, despite local weather reports indicating clear skies that evening. You then state that faceless, shape-shifting beings invaded and slaughtered everyone inside except you and a fellow employee with the implausible name of Guy Mann, who you claim planted an explosive as a failsafe to prevent an event called an ‘Aberration’ from engulfing our world.”

“Well, it does sound a bit crazy when you say it like that. But you didn’t see what I—” Michael narrowed his eyes. “Wait a minute. You were there. I remember you. Your hair was blond, but it was you. You and the other guy…Agent Lee.” He leaned back with a forlorn sigh. “You’re not really my lawyer, are you? You’re just another damn suit who thinks I’m a terrorist.”

“I was there, yes.” Dylan allowed her eyes to widen and parted her lips slightly in order to convey empathy. “I saw the aftermath of the blast. I saw the remains of people who would never see their loved ones again. And I saw you, Michael. I saw you dazed and confused, with no idea what happened. Isn’t it possible that you—?”

“No, no, no!” Michael punctuated each word with a fist pound on the table. “Don’t play mind games with me, lady. You weren’t there when everything went to hell.” His face distorted as though battling the memories. “You can’t help me. No one can. No one will believe me.” His shoulders sagged as he stared at the floor.

“Not even your friend? The one you claimed saved your life?”

“Guy?” Michael lifted his head. “You’ve…seen him?”

“That’s proven impossible. He disappeared from the crime scene right after we found you. We’ve found no records aside from his brief employment at the mill. No digital footprint, no public history. It’s almost as if he never existed. Anything you can tell me about him would do a great deal toward finding out where he might possibly be.”

“I can’t help you, Ms. Plumm.” Michael slouched in his chair, his expression downcast. “I can’t even help myself. I’m stuck in this joint being deprived of my rights and all you can do is interrogate me about a man the shrinks claim I made up in my head.”

“You’re being told Guy is a fabrication?”

“That’s right.” Michael’s voice lowered to a near-whisper when he leaned forward. His eyes glistened; the tears quivered in expectation of their release. “They want me to believe I bombed the mill. That everything I saw was just my own mind shielding me from the truth. That I’m a crazy man who murdered my coworkers, and Guy never existed.”

* * *

Dylan heard footsteps behind her. Ryder caught up with her in the hallway, matching her stride as she made her way to the exit. “You didn’t want to help Mr. McDaniel at all.” He thrust an accusing finger her direction. “You wanted info on the Blurred Man.”

She glanced at him. “You believe Guy Mann is the person in those photos you published in your book?”

“One of their agents, anyway. This is an organization, not an individual. If it was simply one or two people then they would have to be practically immortal in order to have appeared at so many historical disasters. My data has found instances of their existence since the invention of the camera. There’s no telling how long they’ve operated before they were actually caught on film.”

He nodded to the guard at the exit, who opened the doors to the parking deck. Dylan expected Ryder to remain behind, but he followed her out.