How the White Trash Zombie Got Her Groove Back (18 page)

Photos. Tons of them. Photos of Naomi were here—some that looked as if they'd been removed from frames plus a bunch more that probably hadn't ever been displayed. There were some of Naomi—Julia—on her own, but more with her and Andrew when they were younger, both with blond hair and bright blue eyes. Birthday parties, boating, playing on the beach, holidays, and more. Plus one of two newborns cuddled close together.

They're twins
, I realized with surprise. She'd never mentioned that. And it sure as hell looked as if they'd been pretty close, at least when they were younger. There were more recent ones of Julia on her own as well, including a four by six smiling headshot taken in front of a blue curtain, and “HM” followed by a six digit number printed in the lower right corner. Like a combination of a school picture and a mug shot. HM. Heather Miller, the cover name Julia Saber had lived under for the last decade, before her untimely death and rebirth as Naomi Comtesse.

Mixed in with the photos were a half dozen scraps of paper with complex and beautiful geometric drawings on them that I recognized as Naomi's doodles. I snagged my phone from my pocket and quickly took a few pictures of the collection, then carefully tucked everything back into the envelope and sealed it with the one remaining prong.

A second packet, smaller and not so thick, yielded more photos and a regular white envelope. A chill went through me as I emptied the contents onto the bed and saw me smiling up at myself from the top photo. Me, happy, exiting Paco's Tacos arm in arm with Marcus. Me loading a body into the morgue van. I spread the photos with a quick swipe of my hand. Pietro, Rachel, Jane, Brian, and others of the Tribe, plus a few people I didn't know. None of them posed. All of them obviously taken without the subjects' knowledge, and likely some taken by Heather/Naomi before she broke away from Saberton. Unsettled, I took more phone pictures. It was one thing to know photos like this existed, but actually finding them in Andrew's nightstand was majorly creepy.

The plain white envelope contained two more photos. One was of Kyle walking past the police station in Tucker Point. The other was of him as well, but in the blue-curtained school mugshot style with the initials “KG” and a number printed at the bottom.

I peered at the second one, bothered by it but unsure why.

“How are you guys coming along?” Naomi called out.

I quickly took pics of the Kyle stuff, then glanced up to check Philip's progress. He'd finished with the dresser drawers and was rifling through a neat stack of papers on top. “We still need to go through the closet,” I replied. “We won't be too much longer.” I slipped the Kyle photos back into their envelope and the packet with the rest of the Tribe stuff, then carefully replaced everything in the drawer and slid it shut.

“Find anything?” I asked Philip, standing.

“Nothing noteworthy yet,” he said. “Social stuff. Party invitations, a wedding announcement for Audrey Robinette.”

“Hey, wasn't she the lead in
High School Zombie Apocalypse!!
?”

“That's the one,” Philip replied. He set items aside. “Everyone wants to hang with Andrew. Or wants his money.” He let out a low snort as he held up an invitation on fancy cream card stock with raised lettering. “Charity event tomorrow night to benefit the Child Find League.” He pursed his lips. “I've heard of them—founded by a Louisiana guy after his daughter disappeared.” His eyes narrowed as he peered more closely at the invitation. “Shit. Check this out.” He flicked a finger at penciled writing in the upper right hand corner.

“What?”

“Jane Pennington.”

My skin prickled. “Let me see that.” I damn near snatched the invitation from his hand as he held it out to me.
Jane Pennington. The congresswoman and Pietro's girlfriend. “
Shit,” I echoed. “That sure as hell isn't his date.” Back when I saw her at Dear John's she'd told me she was heading to New York for this fundraiser. I took a quick picture of the invitation, then moved out to the main room. Naomi, camera in hand, scowled at the contents of a file folder, and Kyle meticulously searched through books in the living room.

“Philip found something,” I announced.

“So did I,” Naomi all but snarled, eyes still glued to the folder. “Andrew's in bed with the fucking Dallas lab.” Her hand tightened on one side of the folder, crumpling it.

“The zombie lab?” I said.

“Yes!” she said. “From the little bit I've scanned it looks like they're now using zombies in longevity research. And Andrew is totally okay with that.”

Duh. You saw him in a zombie video with your mom not too long ago
, I thought, and even started to say so, but the edge of a photo sticking out of the folder caught my eye. “What's up with the pictures in front of the blue curtain?” I asked instead, pointing to the photo.

Naomi tugged the photo free and flipped it around to show me a man of about sixty with gold wire rim glasses and a scar across the bridge of his nose. “Saberton personnel photos. That's Dr. Kerazny, the head of R&D. Why?”

For a moment I could only stare as the connection between the blue-curtained mugshot of Kyle and Saberton personnel clicked in, then I abruptly remembered I needed to be super cool. “No reason. Just wondering.”

She gave me a dubious look, but before she could question me we both jerked our heads toward the front door at the sound of a key in the lock.

Kyle moved like a whirlwind, closing drawers, and shoving Naomi and me toward the bedroom. “Out. Fire escape.” A hard bang on the door punctuated his words, and right before Kyle pushed me into the bedroom I got one good look behind me of a man in a dark shirt and fatigue pants as he burst the door chain. I
knew
him.
Boat Launch Guy
. He was the Saberton man at the boat launch when Philip—working undercover—dragged me from my car and held me down for their tech to draw my blood. A few days later I saw that same man at the filming of the zombie movie and slugged him with great pleasure.

Voices from the living room told me Boat Launch Guy wasn't alone. Philip had the window open and practically threw me out and onto the fire escape. “Climb down!” he ordered—unnecessarily, since I had no problem figuring that much out on my own. Naomi was a few feet ahead of me, already clattering down the narrow metal stairs. My mind whirled as I tried to remember if I'd put everything back in place in the bedroom, then realized it didn't matter since obviously
someone
had known we were there and sent the goon squad. Those guys hadn't shown up to water the plants.

Philip climbed out as soon as I was near the bottom and started down the stairs, taking them several at a time. Naomi shoved the folder into her jacket as we reached the last landing, then did something to the ladder to make it drop to the ground. As soon as it clanged down she leaped nimbly onto it with a cool move where she put her feet and hands on the outer edges and slid down like a goddamn action movie star. For a brief instant I was tempted to try it, then decided I'd end up with two broken ankles, and therefore simply climbed down as quickly as possible using the normal method. I looked up as I did and saw Kyle finally climbing out the window. I didn't see any men in black fatigues, so I could only assume he'd dealt with them. He was still hurrying, though, so apparently it wasn't a permanent “dealing with.”

I hit the ground a few seconds after Naomi. She looked up to make sure both men were on their way down, then took off at a run for the end of the street, me at her heels. I heard boots hit the ground behind me but didn't waste time looking back. If it wasn't Philip and Kyle I sure as hell didn't want to slow myself down by looking.

At the corner Naomi dropped to a normally paced walk, then gripped my arm to pull me close and make sure I slowed down as well.

“Don't look back,” she warned, somewhat breathless as we proceeded down the sidewalk. She pulled her phone out and did something, and when I heard the click of the camera I realized she'd taken a picture behind us. “Philip and Kyle are going the other direction,” she told me. “No sign of pursuit, but we need to do some traveling before we head back to the hotel.”

“To make sure we aren't being followed?”

“Right.” She flashed me a slight smile. “You're getting the hang of this espionage shit.”

I snorted. “Hey, illegal activity is kind of my thing, You know?”

She snorted right back at me, turned a corner and ducked down another street, then broke into a run again. I kept up with her, and this time was ready for the abrupt shift to a walk when we reached a larger avenue.

“They're in a drawer,” I said as I settled into an amble beside her.

She did a quick scan of the traffic then motioned for us to cross the street. “What's in a drawer?”

“Pictures of you,” I said. “Tons of them, all the way back to when y'all were babies.” I gave her a sidelong glance. “You never told me you and Andrew were twins.”

Naomi shoved her hands in her jacket pockets and quickened her pace slightly. “Who wants to be twins with an asshole?”

I stayed right beside her. “He wasn't always an asshole, was he?” I asked. “I mean, there were some really cool pics of you two when you were younger. Hell, even when y'all were teens, you looked really close.”

“A lot can happen in ten years.” Expression tight, she glanced both ways before jaywalking toward the subway station. “Andrew made his choices, I made mine, and that's that.”

And what about Kyle and his Saberton personnel photo? What kind of choices did he make?
The memory surfaced of Chris dead with K Y scrawled in the dirt. Had we all been thoroughly played? I felt queasy at the thought. It didn't help that I felt ready to burst with the need to talk to someone about it, but no way could it be with Naomi. She was too close to both Saberton and Kyle to see clearly. I needed to get Philip's take on the whole thing.

I stuck right by Naomi's side as we descended the subway stairs, and I even managed to swipe the MetroCard the right way on the first try. Only a couple of other people were on the platform waiting for the train, but we walked farther down to be sure we were alone and to give us a better chance of seeing anyone coming after us.

“Those were Saberton men at the apartment,” I said as soon as I knew we wouldn't be overheard. “How the hell did they know we were there?”

Her forehead wrinkled with worry. “I don't know. Maybe there's surveillance I wasn't aware of.” She grimaced and shook her head. “But I can't see Andrew putting up with that in his own place.”

“Oh, shit, I almost forgot!” I said and smacked my forehead. “I think something's going to happen to Jane.”

“Why? What did you find?”

I yanked my phone out and pulled up the picture of the invitation. “This.”

Her expression grew more serious as she peered at the tiny picture. “Damn. He sure as heck has some sort of interest in her. When is that?”

“Tomorrow, eight p.m.”

From down the tunnel we heard the roar of the approaching train. “Let's get our asses back to the hotel nice and safe,” Naomi said. “Then we can figure out what to do.”

Getting back to the hotel “nice and safe” took a couple of hours by the time we rode the subway, changed trains, took a bus, two different taxis, and then the subway again before hiking five blocks. The whole time I couldn't get the image of Kyle's mugshot out of my head, but when we finally reached the hotel I figured if anyone tailing us still had us in their sights they fucking deserved to catch us, and I'd invite them in for some damn drinks.

Philip and Kyle were already there when we made it to the room, but only by about fifteen minutes, according to them. I grunted a tired greeting, then gave Philip a head nudge to follow me into the bedroom.

I closed the door as soon as he entered, poised and ready to tell him about the picture of Kyle, but the words caught in my throat when he turned, and I got a look at his face. He'd had tons of practice hiding pain, but I knew the signs. Deep furrows between his brows, his mouth drawn down a bit on the right side, and the slight squint to his eyes.

“What's going on with you?” I asked instead.

He stripped off his shirt. “This.” He gingerly lifted his arm to show me his side, and corpse stench wafted over me. Mottled skin surrounded a large patch of oozing rot and exposed ribs. “The thigh is just as bad,” he said, expression grim, “and my arm is close to unusable.”

“Shit,” I breathed as I put my hand over the matching place on my side. No, not matching. It was in the same location, but my imprint-mirrored rot was little more than a spongy patch. Gross, but not
gross
. I peered at his side in dismay. “It's getting worse.”

“It is,” he confirmed. “And today the pain started. Not the rot itself, but the areas around it.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “Plus a killer headache came on about an hour ago and won't go away. A bad one. Goddamn MegaPlague.”

Shit. It had to be bad for
him
to call it bad. “Eat some brains,” I ordered. “Drink some coffee. And lots of water.”

“I've been drowning in water,” he said. “And Kyle's leaving now to pick up some pizza he ordered. We'll put brains on that.” He blew a breath out. “It's like little needles inside my head. I've never had anything like it before.”

“Then lie down,” I said, firmly pointing to the bed. “It can't hurt.” At least I hoped not. This whole Plague thing was so weird, I honestly had no clue what would help or hurt, especially now that it was MegaPlague.

He sat on the edge of the bed, then carefully reclined and draped his arm across his eyes. “Damn, Angel. This is bad. I'm sorry.”

“Shut up,” I told him gently. “You have nothing to be sorry for.
I'm
sorry you're going through all this crap.” No way would I ask him about Kyle now. Another hour or two wouldn't make a difference. “Rest. You need it.”

“You eat my pizza, and I'll get revenge.”

“I wouldn't dream of it,” I solemnly assured him. “Mostly because you always have those nasty bell pepper things on yours.”

“Kyle muttered something about getting all cheese to keep it simple.”

“Kyle is a very wise man.”

He snorted. “Is that what you call it?” His eyes closed, but the skin around them remained tight with discomfort.

“I'm sure there are other words.”

Philip mumbled something in response. I stretched out on the bed with a couple of feet between us, closed my eyes and tried to shut out the gnawing worry about Kyle and Jane and Philip and everything else.

At some point I must have succeeded, because the sound of the front door woke me from a doze. A few seconds later I heard Kyle say, “Food.”

Rubbing my eyes, I got up and went out to the main room to see Kyle setting two large pizza boxes on the table. Naomi wasn't there, but the bathroom door was closed, and I heard the shower running.

“Hey. Cool. Thanks,” I said.

He gave me a small smile. “Anytime. No bell peppers, right?”

“Yeah, nasty stuff,” I said, surprised and pleased that he remembered my dislike of them. Or . . . maybe it was all part of the insider game. Know your players.

Really, Angel?
I did a mental eye roll at my overactive paranoia.
Why on earth would the fact that bell peppers make me gag be important info?

He flipped open one of the boxes to reveal pineapple and onion on one side and pepperoni and bell peppers on the other. “Half cheese and half ham and mushrooms on the other,” he told me. “Brain packets in the fridge.”

“You're awesome,” I said fervently and shoved aside the nagging doubt about him. At least for the moment. I grabbed a plate and got a peppered slice, squeezed brains onto it and brought it into the bedroom. “Hey, ZeeBee,” I said, nudging the bed a bit. “Food's here. You need to eat.”

He groaned softly, and I realized he hadn't been asleep. “I'll get it in a sec.”

I narrowed my eyes at him. “Dude, if you don't eat a couple of bites right now, I'll chew it up and spit it into your mouth which would be beyond gross for both of us since there are bell peppers on that slice.”

His eyes opened, and he slowly pushed himself up to sit. “The
only
reason I'm doing this is because I believe you'd try it.” He pulled the plate close and picked up the slice.

“You know me too well.”

“Craaaaaazy,” he said, then wisely took a bite.

“It's been working for me so far.” I watched him to make sure he ate a few more bites, then gave an approving nod. “All right, eat what you can and then nap.”

“You sure are bossy for a runt,” he grumbled, but he kept eating.

“You sure are perceptive for a grunt,” I replied sweetly.

“If I wasn't so damn nice I'd make you eat those words,” he said, then popped the last bite of the slice in his mouth, wiped his fingers and carefully reclined again. “You're lucky.”

“Sure am,” I said, smiling to hide my worry. The lines of pain in his face hadn't faded one bit. I gently patted his cheek, then turned out the light, left the room, and closed the door quietly behind me.

Kyle stood by the window, looking out at the city lights. Naomi, wrapped in a hotel bathrobe, sat at the table, eating a slice of pineapple-onion, without brains, I assumed. I got a slice and squeezed brains onto it, then chowed down in silence. I
really
wanted to ask about the whole Saberton thing, but even more, I
really
wanted to talk to Philip about it first. Naomi was already on edge with the Andrew stuff, and she was prickly enough to jump down my throat if I happened to suggest or even imply that her boyfriend might be the insider.

Kyle turned and reached for his jacket. “I'm going to head down to Saberton Tower and see what the security looks like.”

Shit. Too late to get Philip's take on this, but I didn't like the thought of Kyle and Saberton going out on a date tonight without a chaperone. I stuffed the last bite of pizza into my mouth. “I'll go with you!”

Naomi gave me a
What the hell?
look, but Kyle simply shrugged and shook his head.

“No need,” he said as he tugged his jacket on. “It'll be more conspicuous with two.”

Damn it, this little recon expedition sure would be a convenient way for an insider to pass information along to Saberton. I struggled to think of a plausible excuse for why I should go with him, but totally failed to come up with a single damn thing.

I forced a laugh. “I'm that noticeable?”

“Not you,” he said as he checked placement of hidden weapons. “Two people.”

Double damn. I really didn't want to wake Philip unless it was an emergency, but I didn't seem to have a choice. I carefully kept my scowl hidden and reached for another slice.

Kyle started for the door, then glanced back. “You could hang on the next street over, but I wouldn't want to leave you on your own.”

I dropped the slice back into the box. “I can handle myself well enough for hanging out,” I replied quickly.

He dipped his head in a slight nod. “Get your coat.”

“Angel, what are you doing?” Naomi regarded me, brows drawn together. “There's no point in you tagging along.”

“I want to go,” I said with a shrug. “What difference does it make?”

Her mouth thinned. “It forces Kyle to keep you in mind in any tactical plan, and he doesn't
need
you there.”

An unspoken
You'd be dead weight
hung in the air like a flashing neon sign. My throat tightened, and for reasons that had absolutely nothing to do with suspicion of Kyle. This wasn't her defending him. She simply had zero faith in me. And why should she? So far I was barely managing to keep up with the others.

“Yeah, sure,” I croaked out. “I'd better go check on Philip.” I spun and hurried out of the room, then detoured to the bathroom and closed the door. No reason to wake Philip until I got control of my dumb angst and hurt feelings.

I heard Kyle say something to Naomi, but I couldn't make out the words, and I didn't really try. I turned the water on and splashed some on my face, then jerked at a light rap on the door.

“Angel, get your jacket.” It was Kyle.

Damn it. Now I felt like an idiot, since this was obviously a pity invite. Fuck it. I'd take it. Maybe if I hung around he wouldn't be able to do any Saberton business—whatever the hell that might be. He wouldn't want to blow his cover, right? Right.

I shut the water off, then grabbed a towel and wiped my face before exiting the bathroom. I didn't want to look at Naomi, but I couldn't help but sneak a quick glance on my way to the closet. She had a piece of pizza in her hand but she met my eyes, and I didn't think I imagined the
I really shouldn't have said all that but I'm too wrapped up in my own stuff to fix it, and you'll forgive me, won't you?
in them. I gave her a tiny nod then got my jacket and followed Kyle out.

Kyle didn't say anything, and I wasn't about to start a conversation. He remained placidly silent all the way down in the elevator and through the lobby. He finally spoke once we stepped outside. “You mind walking a few blocks before we get a cab?” he asked. “Air feels good.”

“Don't mind one bit,” I said. “I like seeing all the stuff here.”

He glanced right and left before crossing the street, and I fell in beside him, grateful that he kept his stride short enough for me to walk at a comfortable pace. We skirted a tiny plot of grass and trees, then continued down a cross street while I drank in the whole New-York-at-night vibe. A crowd of well-dressed drunk men who couldn't be much older than me clustered in front of a bar as they conversed in loud, cheerful voices. They went silent and parted as we approached, instinct telling them to make a clear path for us, for Kyle, and as soon as we were past the boisterous conversation resumed, louder than before. I glanced at Kyle, but his expression remained as unruffled as ever. He was either oblivious or so completely used to that sort of thing it didn't even register anymore.

Scaffolding in front of a building created a tunnel, and the sound of honking taxis and music bounced crazily as we passed through it. On the other side of the building a food truck was parked in a narrow lot, with a line of what had to be about fifty people patiently waiting to be served. Smelled fantastic, whatever they were selling, but my stomach was too tight with nerves to offer even a token rumble. I snuck a quick glance at Kyle. It wasn't that he
looked
dangerous, but he certainly
felt
it. He'd killed people. Lots of them, I had no doubt. Hell, anyone who had a signature move such as “a garrote looped twice” surely had a long list of victims.

Not for the thrill, though. I didn't see that in him at all. Murder was part of the job, a task to be performed in order to accomplish a goal.

Whose goal was he working toward now?

“Something bothering you?” he asked, tone as mild as ever. But it was clear he'd seen or felt all of my little glances.

I groaned under my breath. “Um, no. Everything's cool.” Holy shit, was this ever a fucking stupid plan. Hell, it couldn't even be called a plan, since an actual
plan
required a bit of thought.

He veered down a narrow sidestreet and proceeded until we were in the near dark, a few feet beyond the reach of the streetlights, then stopped and looked at me expectantly.

Good job, Angel. Go for a walk in a strange city with the super highly trained operative who you think might be the insider. For extra points, make sure you do it without any of the others around, and top it off by following him into a deserted area with crappy lighting.
“Maybe I should head back to the hotel,” I suggested, darting my eyes toward the busy street. “Naomi was right. You don't need me here.”

“You have an issue with me,” he said, voice soft yet clear.

It wasn't a question. My mind whirled with ways to deny it, to say anything to return to the relative comfort of a minute ago. Nothing felt right. Nothing but the truth, since I knew he'd see right through any lie. “I saw a photo of you at Andrew's apartment,” I said, trying to ignore the sick flip-flop of my stomach. “A Saberton personnel photo.”

He simply nodded, a tiny motion, eyes on me and face utterly expressionless. The shadows where we stood seemed to grow darker, and the air thicker.

“How—” I gulped and tried again. “How do I know you're not the insider?”

He remained still and silent for several long seconds. Some sort of insect skittered across the sidewalk behind him. A car horn honked in the distance, followed by a yelled curse. The breeze shifted to replace the scent of cooking meat with the odors of old piss and rotting garbage.

“You don't,” Kyle stated. He shifted against the darkness, and I imagined him slipping a garrote from his pocket.

My heart hammered so hard against my ribs, I was sure he could hear it. Freaked out, I took a super casual step back. “Okay, c'mon, y'gotta give me something here.” I laughed, but it was shaky and too high. “Do you still work for Saberton?”