How the White Trash Zombie Got Her Groove Back (19 page)

Kyle took a super casual half-step forward, which, with his long legs, was pretty much a full one of mine. “What do you think?”

Forcing myself to hold my ground this time, I jerked my chin up. “I think you're scaring the crap out of me, and I don't fucking appreciate it.” Damn it, that would have sounded a lot tougher without the stupid little trapped-mouse squeak in my voice. “Either give me a straight answer, or . . . or do what you need to do and get it over with.”

I tensed, ready to fight anything he came at me with. His eyes stayed on me a moment more, but then he pivoted and moved several feet away. He stopped with his back to me, a dark shape vaguely silhouetted by the dim glow of streetlights at the far end of the block.

“You know your way back?” he asked, voice quiet and utterly flat.

I stared at the shadow that held him. “That's it? Seriously?”
Wait. Did I really say that?
Resisting the urge to thwack my forehead with my palm, I sucked in a ragged breath as I fought to get my churning thoughts in order. I wanted to scream,
I don't want you to be the goddamn insider!
“What the hell?” I said instead. “If you won't even defend yourself, what am I supposed to think? C'mon, Kyle, I fucking
like
you. I think you're cool and nice and scary in all the right ways. Except right now,” I amended. “Help me out here.”

“There's no one here to
like.
” No anger. No sadness. No sense of hurt or betrayal. Nothing but stark emptiness. “Go back to the hotel, Angel.” And with that he moved off down the street.

It didn't feel finished, not by a long shot, but I didn't try to follow him or chase him down. He'd have no trouble getting away from me. I watched until he turned the corner, then I savagely kicked a can to skitter across the pavement with a loud clatter.
Fuck!
If he was innocent, I'd pissed him off by not trusting him—not that he'd bothered to stand up for himself or anything. I groaned.
Why should he have to?
I was supposed to be his ally.

But if he
was
guilty . . .

Ice crept down my spine. What would he do now that we'd uncovered his Saberton connection? Disappear? Bring a team to take us at the hotel? Why the hell didn't I talk to the others about this first?

Hunching my shoulders against the chill, I turned and hurried back to the hotel.

Naomi was lounging on the couch, the remote in one hand, when I made it back to the room. Though she flipped through channels, she didn't seem to be paying much attention to what was on the TV. The door to the bedroom was closed, and I figured that meant Philip was still asleep. Then again, I'd been gone less than half an hour. It hadn't taken me long at all to stir shit up.

There was no point in dodging her any more. I dropped my jacket on a chair and moved between Naomi and the TV. “What's the deal with Kyle?” I demanded, annoyed that I still heard a faint quaver in my voice.

She hit the Off button and sat up. “Which deal? What happened?”

“He works for Saberton, or he used to,” I told her. “I saw a personnel photo of him in Andrew's apartment. And, when I asked him about it, he got real scary and quiet, then told me to go back to the hotel.”

Naomi stared at me as I spoke, but she didn't look surprised. She shook her head when I finished, expression pained. “Is
that
why you wanted to go with him? You thought he might be doing something with Saberton?”

“Put yourself in my shoes, okay?” I crossed my arms over my chest and glowered. “I saw the Saberton picture, and then suddenly he wants to go scope out Saberton, so yeah, my suspicion-meter went off. And I didn't have a chance to talk to anyone about it. You knew about this?”

“Yes, I knew. He's not with them anymore.”

“Then what's going on? Why did he get so
weird
when I asked him about it? He didn't even try to deny it.”

Her pained expression deepened. “What did you ask him?”

“I asked him how was I to know he wasn't the insider.” I jammed my hands into my jeans pockets.

“Shit.” Naomi slouched back and blew her breath out through her teeth. “Before Kyle was a zombie he was a field operative for my grandfather. Military and civilian espionage and operations. I don't know the details, but I know he went through some crap from Rachel when he joined the Tribe.” She tugged a hand through her hair. “He'd done some mercenary-type work that set her against him, and she stirred up some other Tribe members.” She dropped her hand and sighed. “All I know is that it was a hard transition, and he had to prove himself every step. It's why it was so easy for Rachel to believe the murder setup without Brian around to run interference. Old grievances die hard.”

“Was that when he became a zombie?” I moved to the other end of the couch and sat. “And why did he leave Saberton?”

“I shouldn't even know that story,” she said, voice low, then gave me a faint grimace. “You know how you guys open up to me?”

I nodded slowly. Brian had described it as, “She's really easy to open up to,” but even that didn't quite cover it. It was more like, when you talked to Naomi, you sort of
wanted
to tell her stuff that bothered you, though for some unknown reason it only worked with zombies.

“He told me what happened, but I can't repeat it.” She paused. “It's not my story to tell, and I'm sorry if that sounds corny.”

“It's cool. I'd be pissed if someone blabbed my private shit.” My shoulders slumped. “I must have struck a pretty big nerve for him to go off on his own.”
Or struck the truth?

“Don't worry about it. He's a loner by nature. I'm sure he went on to check out Saberton.”

“Do you trust him?”

“Of course I do,” she replied with a frown.

“That's good enough for me,” I said, lying only a teensy bit as the last shred of doubt hung on. “Between the Saberton connection and thinking about Brian, I had myself all worked up. I never in a million years would've thought
Brian
would fuck us over.”

She stared at me, then gripped my forearm so hard her fingernails dug in. “I wouldn't have either. I knew him pretty well.”

“Ow!” I twisted free and rubbed my arm. “Sometimes people can fool you. No point in kicking yourself over it.”

Doubt shimmered in her eyes. “What if Kyle—?”

I shot to my feet. “Stop,” I ordered. “Naomi, let
me
be the asshole in this scenario, okay? I jumped to conclusions. Don't listen to me.”

She managed a smile. “You're right. I'm on edge with everything. I
do
know Kyle, and I know he's not dealing with Saberton.” She reached for her jacket and pulled it on. “I need to get some air. I'll see if I can spot Kyle and do my own bit of recon.”

She didn't sound convinced. My chest felt tight as guilt wormed its way in. I'd spoiled something in their relationship, like the well-meaning friend who tells a woman her husband might be cheating on her. Whether it's true or not, the doubt and worry and fear linger.

Still, I nodded. “Lemme know how it goes, okay?”

“Sure thing.” Naomi tucked away weapons then headed for the door. “Back later.”

The door closed behind her. I listened to her soft footsteps fade away, then let out a curse.
Jane!
I'd forgotten about the fundraiser during all of the crap with Kyle. I needed to get word to her to stay away from the event. I checked the time and groaned. Her cell number was in my phone in Louisiana, which meant I'd have to call her office to get in touch with her. No way to do that at this hour.

I put Jane on the mental to-do list for first thing in the morning, then went in to check on Philip. He still lay with his arm covering his eyes and didn't move when I opened the door. In the light that spilled from the other room, I watched the slow rise and fall of his chest and heard the soft sound of his breath. Sleeping, finally.

After I eased out and closed the door, I pulled a chair up to the window in the main room, leaned my arms on the sill, and watched the city go by.

The click and whoosh of the main door startled me out of my mopey gazing, but when I caught Kyle's reflection in the window rather than Naomi's, I didn't turn around. Most of me wanted to apologize for pouring salt into an old wound, but the rest of me still wondered. “Hey,” I said.

Kyle closed the door and said, “Angel,” in a flat way that acknowledged me without inviting chitchat.

“Naomi went looking for you.”

He stopped halfway between the door and me. “Why?”

“I told her I brought up the insider stuff,” I said, unsuccessful in my attempt to make out his expression in the reflection. “She was worried.”

“Worried,” he said, and a glimmer in the glass told me he'd bared his teeth. “You mean she doubted me enough to wonder if I was off having tea with the Sabers.”

“Shit. I dunno,” I said. “She didn't say that.”

He stripped off his jacket and dropped it over the back of the chair on top of mine. “I know her. No other reason for her to go.”

I stood and turned to face him, folded my arms across my chest. “It was when I brought up Brian that did it. If he could turn, then—”

“Then maybe I could too,” he said in that same scarily emotionless voice he'd used in the sidestreet.

“But she knows you,” I insisted, “and never would've thought that, if I hadn't brought it up.”

He shook his head. “If it hadn't already been brewing with her, she wouldn't have gone out.” He pulled his phone from his pocket and started texting, I assumed to tell Naomi he was back.

“Look, I'm still sorry I said anything to her,” I said. “And I'm sorry I came at you like that with nothing more than a picture.”

“A picture along with part of my name scrawled by Chris Peterson's grave. I get it. It looks bad.” He picked up a pizza box from the table and moved toward the sofa. “Apology accepted,” he said as he sat. “Wasn't the first time I've been accused. And how do you know you aren't right?”

“I guess I don't, really,” I admitted, more than a little off-balance by his attitude. He wasn't exactly doing backflips to clear his name. “But I know how much it sucks to have people always thinking the worst of you. I should've gotten more info before confronting you. It wasn't fair.”

“Not much is, Angel,” he said. He placed the phone on the coffee table, then flipped the box open, held it out toward me. “It blindsided me. I overreacted.”

I snagged a slice of the ham, mushroom, and brains, then sat at the other end of the sofa, still uneasy. “Naomi told me you used to work for Richard Saber and that Rachel gave you shit when you joined the Tribe. But Naomi didn't know the details.”

He settled the pizza box on the cushion between us and lifted his eyes to mine. “I killed Rachel's father,” he said without hesitation.

It took me a moment for his words to register. “Oh,” I managed. I cleared my throat and put the slice of pizza back in the box. “Killed as in, accidentally in a car crash?” I asked, forever the optimist.

He shook his head. “I garroted him.”

“Oh.” I shrank back against the arm of the sofa. Whatever I'd expected when I started this conversation, this wasn't it. No wonder Rachel had it in for him. If it'd been my dad, forgiveness wouldn't be at the top of my list. “Why?”

He shifted, picked at a piece of ham. “Both of us were deep into black ops for different organizations,” Kyle said with slow weariness as though dragging the words out. “We clashed. He died.”

I kind of wished Philip would wake up. “Okay,” I said doing my best to keep my tone even. The way he said it, I doubted he'd provide details—which was fine with me since I didn't really want any. I tried for a nice neutral change of subject. “How did you come to work for Pietro?”

Kyle went still and silent, his eyes on me like a cat watching a mouse. Suddenly, being anywhere but under his gaze seemed like a really good idea. I shot to my feet, about to blurt out that I really
really
needed to go to the bathroom. His eyes followed me, and he spoke in a voice so soft there was barely any breath behind it. “Why do you want to know, Angel?”

My throat tightened. Was everything a touchy subject with this guy? “I . . . I was curious,” I said, baffled. “I'm sorry. I wasn't trying to imply anything.” Not that I had any idea why I was apologizing or what I could have possibly implied. All I knew was that everything I said triggered this you-went-too-far scary reaction. I turned away. “Nevermind. I'm sorry I asked.”

“Angel,” Kyle said quietly.

“I swear, I wasn't trying to start any shit.”

“Angel,” he repeated.

Out of nowhere, my vision got all blurry with tears. Totally embarrassed, I swiped at my eyes, keeping my back to him. “What?”

“Angel, please. It's me, not you. I'm sorry.”

I pivoted to face him, utterly bewildered and out of my depth. The uncertainty and craziness of the day seemed to crush the breath out of me, and the tears spilled over for real. “I don't understand
anything
, and I keep doing the wrong thing or saying the wrong thing, and I'm scared to death here.” I swept a frantic gesture toward the city beyond the window. “I'm slowing everyone down. Now I've stepped into shit again with you—”

“Whoa whoa whoa,” Kyle said, thankfully putting an end to my word vomit. “Here. Sit down.”

I sank back to the sofa and bit my quivering lower lip. Why was I such a weenie?

A faint smile played on Kyle's mouth. “This is about me, not you, remember?” The smile faded as he drew a deep breath and released it slowly. “Saberton and origins,” he said with a shake of his head. “Both hard topics for me.”

Wiping the tears away on my sleeve, I did my best to push down my own stupid insecurities. “You don't have to tell me. It's none of my business.”

“No, I don't, and no, it's not,” he said. He picked up a slice of pizza, took a bite, chewed and swallowed. “But things are different after these last couple of days. And since Brian . . .” As he said the name he hurled the slice of pizza back into the box. “He
left. The fucker left. For
Saberton.
” His fist clenched, and he spat out the words, though his eyes reflected deep sadness.

“Yeah, it sucks. He fucked us all over. Why does that piss you off so extra much?”

Kyle remained quiet for an endless moment, then spoke softly, “He's the one who turned me.”

That was
not
the answer I'd expected. “Oh,” I said as a delaying tactic while I tried to figure out a way to ask what happened without sounding super nosy. I gave up. “What happened?”

“I was dying,” he said, a new intensity in his voice. “So very close. And he turned me.”

“Um. That's usually how it works,” I said. “Dying. Get turned. Become zombie. I'm sensing there's more to the story.”

“You don't always have to be dying,” he corrected with a shrug. “But I was. Saberton had about killed me with an experimental combat stimulant. It caused an aggressive lymphoma, and I was in the final stages.”

When he paused, I filled in, “And Brian saved you.” That didn't sound like a bad thing to me. “I'm missing something, aren't I?”

Kyle's shoulders curled forward, and he looked away. “I didn't
want
to be saved, Angel,” he said, voice low and shaking with emotion.

“You mean you didn't want to become a zombie.” I totally got that.

“No, I didn't want to live at all.”

That slowed me down. “Then why did he turn you?”

“He was under orders to recruit me.”

Speechless, I could only stare as I processed his words.

“Angel,” Kyle said, his voice tight. “I'd waited my whole life to die.”

I licked dry lips and found my voice. “I don't understand.”

He brought his eyes back to mine. “Nobody does.
Nobody
.” Sad emptiness filled his posture, his eyes, his words; thick and cloying, it sucked me closer.

“Kyle. Give me a chance to try, okay?”