How the White Trash Zombie Got Her Groove Back (20 page)

He didn't speak for a moment. “Have you ever wanted to be dead?”

My gut clenched, and my fingers went cold. “Yeah,” I said, barely able to force the word out.

Kyle gave a little nod. “That was me as long as I can remember.”

I drew my legs up, wrapped my arms around them. “Why?”

He shook his head, eyes focused on nothing. “I never felt as if I belonged. Not anywhere. Not even in my own skin.” He leaned forward, planted his elbows on his knees. “I was ten years old, dreaming about leaving.”

“And when you finally were,” I said slowly, “Brian took it away from you.”

“I've never been suicidal,” he told me. “There's a difference between wanting to
leave
and being suicidal. I know it's hard to see the difference, but—”

“No,” I said. “I get it.”

He let out a soft breath. “I was ready. I hated Dr. Kerazny for how it all came about, but I was more than ready to go. Everything was set.”

We sat in silence for a time as the full magnitude of the violation sank in. “Sonofabitch. He turned you against your will and put you to work.” I shivered.

“I tried to kill him during the process. Tried to kill myself.”

“But why did you come work for Pietro? I mean, shit. What he and Brian did to you was
awful.
”

“Normally, I wouldn't have,” Kyle replied. “But once Mr. Ivanov understood enough, we spoke at length. He needed me, and I agree with his goals. I decided that if I had to stay on this goddamn planet, I didn't mind working for someone at odds with Saberton.”

“You really do hate Saberton, don't you?” The level of emotion in his voice was impossible to fake.

“I hate what Saberton has become in the last decade, ever since Richard Saber teamed with Dr. Kerazny and set up the Dallas lab. Mr. Saber withdrew after that. A few months later the zombie intel came in from Naomi.” He met my eyes. “I brought in their first zombie test subject for the Dallas lab four years ago. A man from Portland.” He gave a sharp shake of his head as though to clear a bad memory. “Then came Mr. Saber's battle with cancer and his sudden death.”

I processed that. “You think his cancer was related to the lab shit?”

“I don't have proof of anything, Angel,” he replied.

“But you suspect it.”

He nodded.

“Thanks for being willing to share all that with me.”

His gaze drifted to the window. “Naomi doesn't understand,” he said. “About me wanting to leave.”

“No,” I said after brief consideration. “She wouldn't. She's too into life and excitement and new experiences. She's probably convinced that if you could see the world the way she does, you'd be all right.”

“Mr. Ivanov accepts it. Brian knows.” He ground his teeth. “Even though I could never forget what he did, he always had my back. We'd come to an understanding. Then he goes and turns traitor, just like that.”

I had a feeling the two had a strong tie despite the rocky surface. “We don't know the whole story of what happened with Brian,” I said, though I had no idea why I was defending him in any way. “What he did to us sucks ass but, shit, maybe he was blackmailed or something. I don't know.”

Kyle closed his eyes, dropped his head back against the sofa. “I'm so tired, Angel,” he said and it was as if life drained out of the space around him with each word. “He had my fucking back.”

That simple sentence defined so much. “This probably doesn't mean much,” I offered hesitantly, “but I'll have your back, if you want.” Crap, that sounded dumb coming from me. “I don't have skills like you or Brian, but . . . I get it.”

He opened his eyes and stared at the ceiling. “It's good to know you've got my back, Angel.”

The sincerity in his voice actually startled me. He wasn't simply saying that to be nice. He meant it and, damn it, I meant it as well. I
would
totally have his back. “Really?” I asked, to be sure.

“Yeah.”

“Thanks.” I let my thoughts circle a bit before I spoke again. “You were a lot braver than me.”

“About what?”

“About wanting to leave. I didn't do anything directly, but I started doing more and more stupid and destructive shit. You kept on going, until it was time.”

“It has nothing to do with being brave,” he said, turning his head to look at me. “You and I, we're not so different. I said yes to one of the most dangerous careers out there. Thing is, I'm honest with what I do. It's not in me to screw up just to buy an easy ticket out, and I'm good at my job. So, here I am.”

“For what it's worth, I'm glad I've had the chance to know you.”

He didn't expect me to say that. A bit of the warmth returned to his eyes and to the room.

“Did you learn anything when you checked out Saberton?” I asked to fill the silence.

“Nothing useful other than the entrances. Front door. Underground parking with van loading dock and service entrance. Elevator and stairs to the garage.”

“What, they don't have a big flashing sign saying ‘Zombies R here'?”

Kyle gave a rare, dry laugh. “Sadly, no. I'm disappointed in how unhelpful they were.”

I smiled a bit more. “I'm going to check on Philip and grab some Zs.”

“Sleep well, Angel.”

I woke with an arm around me and a warm body against my back.
Comfy
, I thought with a sleepy smile, and instinctively snuggled back. The warm body behind me murmured something in a low sleep-filled voice, then pulled me closer.

That's not Marcus.
The realization shot me straight to eyes-wide-open awake. Hotel room, daylight filtering through curtains, faint aroma of coffee. Philip asleep and cuddled up against me. He wasn't cupping a boob or anything, but
damn.

Moving slowly, I began to squirm my way out from beneath his arm—not easy since his arm was big and strong and heavy and wrapped pretty much all the way around me.

Crap.
“Philip?” I said softly.

“Hmmf?” He shifted and began to tug me close again, then apparently woke enough to realize what he was doing. “Oh. Sorry.” He pulled his arm away, gave me a sleepy smile, and rolled over.

I scooched off the bed, amused at both of us—me for expecting the cuddling to turn into a flood of awkward embarrassment, and him for being so utterly matter-of-fact about it. So matter-of-fact that he was already asleep again. He looked a bit better, I decided. Or maybe that was wishful thinking.

After tugging on one of the fluffy bathrobes hanging in the closet, I headed out to the main room, delighted to find coffee ready, along with an assortment of bagel sandwiches. Naomi and Kyle were out on the terrace and, after getting coffee and a bagel, I joined them for a pleasant half hour of meaningless conversation and people watching. On the street below two joggers went by with long, matching strides. A flock of pigeons took to the air as they passed, then settled again. A shabby man shuffled in the other direction, dog on a rope leash walking beside him. On the corner, a woman sold candied nuts from a cart to a couple of teens. They walked off, sharing the nuts, their conversation punctuated by cheerful animated gestures.

After I finished my bagel I returned inside to shower, but the sight of the widening yucky rot patch along my ribs threatened to kill my good mood. My cheery attitude took another hard hit when I went to dry off and managed to scrape a layer of flesh off the patch with the towel. Dismayed, I stared at my reflection and the ugly nasty blotches along my left side. The rot on my ribs was the largest, but the patch on my thigh was gaining ground.

One thing at a time
, I told myself after I finished some intensive deep breathing therapy in the form of screaming into a towel pressed to my face.
One thing at a time.
We
would
find Pietro and Dr. Nikas and get all this taken care of, but there was a lot of other shit to deal with along the way.

I took another moment to compose myself, then dressed and returned to the bedroom. Philip was awake and out of bed to claim the bathroom, and if he'd heard my towel-screaming he didn't say a word about it. Then again, he had plenty of reason to do his own screaming, with or without a towel.

After refilling my coffee, I settled in to work on figuring out how the hell to contact Jane on a Saturday when my list of contacts was sitting on my phone in a box at—I hoped—the St. Edwards Parish Coroner's Office.

It took about half an hour to even get hold of a human, and another ten minutes to find someone willing to take my “I'm a friend of Congresswoman Pennington. No, really I am!” even vaguely seriously. At long last the woman grudgingly agreed to take my number and let the congresswoman know I
needed
to speak to her. I expected an absolutely endless wait for the message to get through and for her to call back, but to my delighted relief my phone buzzed only a few minutes later.

I snatched it up. “Jane?!”

“Angel? Is everything all right?”

“Oh my god, I'm so glad you called back. Look, this is going to sound kind of crazy, but I need to know if you're still going to the Child Find League event tomorrow evening.”

“It's been on my schedule for months,” she replied. “It's the main reason I'm in New York.”

“I need you to
not
go.”

“What do you mean?” she asked, clearly taken aback. “Why on earth not?”

“Well, I think something bad might happen,” I said, completely aware of how batshit crazy that sounded, especially coming from me and not from some super duper security specialist. I groaned. “Shit, I know this doesn't makes any sense. I can't really say more right now, but I don't want you getting hurt.”

“Hurt? Me?” she said, alarm in her voice. “Why? Angel, you have to tell me what's going on. Who told you this?”

“Oh, god, it's so complicated.” Crap! The stuff about getting hurt was totally
NOT
in my practiced speech. Clearly, I needed to scratch
Become President of the United States
off my bucket list. I gave Naomi a desperate look, but she simply rolled her eyes and threw her hands up in defeat. “Just . . . please, Jane, don't go to that party. Trust me. Please.”

I heard her take a deep breath. “Angel, I do trust you, and I know that your intentions are good. I simply don't understand.”

“I know, and I'm sorry,” I said. Damn it, I was fucking this up big time. “But I really can't explain it over the phone.” The whole situation sucked, but telling her the truth was out of the question.
Hi, Jane, Pietro's missing, but no, we can't tell the police, and by the way, you're probably in danger too.
That would generate one hell of an impressive shitstorm.

“I can sense this is very important to you,” she said, and I had the feeling she was laying down some standard Congresswoman-to-constituent patter. I couldn't blame her. I'd be resorting to some patter as well, if I had it. “I'll see what I can do about excusing myself from the event,” she continued, carefully not promising anything, I noted.

“Thanks,” I said. It was better than nothing, right? “I promise I'll let you know what's going on as soon as I can.”

“Are you all right?” she asked, concern still thick in her voice. “Are you in some sort of trouble?”

“No! I mean, um, no, I'm totally okay.” No more than the usual sort of Angel-trouble.

“I confess, you have me worried,” she said. “Is Marcus with you?”

Damn it.
It took me a second to get past the pang. “No. He's looking for apartments in New Orleans.” I paused. “He got accepted to Loyola law school.”

“That's wonderful!” she cried. “Pietro must be so pleased. I know he's encouraged Marcus to apply for quite some time.”

The ache rose higher. “I haven't had a chance to talk to Pietro.” I stepped away from Naomi and out onto the terrace, pretending it was to look out at the view. “Marcus and I . . . we broke up.”

“Oh, no! What happened?” She was all girlfriend now and not congresswoman.

“Jane, I didn't even know he was applying to law school,” I said, voice rough and eyes on the pigeons. “Then, out of the blue, he says, ‘Hey, we're moving to New Orleans!'”

She sighed. “I'm so sorry.”

“Thanks.” I wiped a stupid tear away with the palm of my hand. She understood, or at least it felt that way to me. “Sorry. I didn't mean to dump on you.”

“Don't you worry about that,” she said, then, “Hold on.” I heard her cover the receiver, and then some muffled talking. “Angel, I'm sorry but I need to go.”

“That's all right. Thanks for calling me back. Please be careful.”

“Don't worry about me. I'll be back in Louisiana next week. Maybe we can have coffee.”

I smiled weakly. “That'd be great. Thanks. You take care.”

We made our goodbyes. I lowered the phone and leaned on the rail. On the street below I watched a bicycle with a flashing light as it weaved recklessly through traffic, and heard the horn of a taxi as the cyclist cut in front of it. Distant sirens blended with the low thump of music from a passing car. On the sidewalk, a well-dressed couple in long coats walked arm in arm, heads bent toward each other in smiling conversation and carefully avoiding eye contact with a panhandler.

“Damn it, Angel.”

Startled, I turned to see Naomi standing in the doorway with her arms folded over her chest. “You should have told me about Marcus,” she said, annoyance in her tone, but worry and hurt in her eyes.

I slumped. “Sorry. There really hasn't been a good time to tell you. I didn't want to do a ‘I need to pee. Can we take the next exit? Oh, and I broke up with my boyfriend.'”

“Well, crap,” she sighed. “What the hell was he thinking springing a move to New Orleans on you?”

“He wanted to surprise me, I guess.” I moved inside to the couch and flopped down. “Apparently he didn't figure I had all that much tying me down in St. Edwards Parish.”

She flopped beside me. Had to admit, it was a nicely floppable couch. “I want all of the details, every single one of them,” she stated firmly. “But first, what did Jane say?”

I filled her in on everything I could remember, along with the frustrating sense that she was going to attend the function anyway.

“It was the best you could do,” Naomi said, but she obviously shared my frustration.

“What the hell do we do now?” I raked a hand through my hair. “I think she's still going to go, and there's not a damn thing I can do about it.”

Naomi abruptly stood, then grabbed my wrist and hauled me to my feet. “Yes, there is.” She stepped back and swept a gaze over me. “We find you a dress.”