How the White Trash Zombie Got Her Groove Back (26 page)

I recognized Andrew Saber from the Gourmet Gala and the party the other night. Tall, with an athletic build, he had a strong, square jaw and wary eyes. He strode toward us, cool and calm with a hint of swagger as though he owned the place—which he did, of course, or damn near.

Jane walked up to him while the rest of us hung back a few steps. “Andrew, it's so nice to see you again,” she said with a gracious smile as if she'd been invited for tea.

“Congresswoman Pennington, it's truly a pleasure,” he replied with equal warmth, while I wondered how the hell these people could fake such niceness. He bestowed the same genuine-looking smile on the rest of us before returning his attention to Jane. “If you would all please come with me?”

“Of course,” Jane murmured, still smiling as he turned and headed to an elevator set apart from the others. Yet a flicker of uncertainty in her quick glance my way made me wonder if her stomach had the same butterflies as mine.

Andrew pulled a set of keys from his pocket and pressed a thumb-sized piece of grey plastic on a control panel beside the elevator door. A light flashed green, and the doors slid open. As soon as we entered he ran his thumb over a scanner like the ones we used at Dr. Nikas's lab, then pressed the “10” button. Nobody said a word, but the message was clear: Shit was real now, yo.

“Your mother has filled you in?” Jane asked placidly as the car began to rise.

Andrew flicked his eyes toward her. “She informed me that you wish to see and speak to Mr. Ivanov for yourself, Dr. Pennington.”

That didn't really answer her question, I noticed. Nicole Saber had probably told her son as little as possible of the humiliating scene at lunch.

“What is your opinion of his condition, Andrew?” Jane pursed her lips. “Your mother tends to, ah, not always give a clear picture.”

The elevator stopped, and the doors opened. Andrew stepped off and held them to allow everyone to exit. “He seems tired, ma'am,” he said, “but I assure you he's being fed well and is not being abused or sleep deprived.” His expression flickered ever so briefly before he regained his cool, professional mask. “Right this way, ma'am.” He gestured down the hallway.

Before he could turn, Jane stopped him with a voice that could cut steel. “Other than amputating a body part, you mean?” Silently cheering Jane, I watched Andrew's reaction. There'd been
something
in that box at lunch, something Nicole had hoped to shock Jane with. And it sure as hell hadn't been a tennis bracelet.

A brief flash of annoyance swept over Andrew's face. “Yes, ma'am,” he said, voice thick. “Other than that.” He straightened his shoulders, jaw firming. “Right this way,” he repeated and started off down the hall. Jane glanced at me then followed, Victor right at her side.

After a couple of turns, Andrew opened a set of dark wood double doors and entered a large conference room. Jane and Victor followed him in, but I paused, shoulders prickling as I scanned the area within. No windows and no other exits, with four security guards in navy blue uniforms spaced around the room, each paying
very
close attention to our every movement. One of the guards was Mr. Perfect Eyebrows and another was Boat Launch Guy, both of them hard-core assholes, as I knew all too well. A uniformed woman stood a bit separate from the others, demeanor calm and professional. Muscled without being bulky, she had light brown hair in a sensible but attractive chin-length cut, sharp blue eyes, and a jaw a bit too square for her to be conventionally pretty. She had on the same style of navy blue tactical pants as the others, but her shirt was a dark grey, she wore two radios on her belt, and an air of authority surrounded her. Probably the head security person, I decided. And, of course, all the security personnel were armed, with regular guns
and
tranq guns ready in their holsters.

I weighed the odds. Three tanked zombies and five human security guards. Easy pickings if things got ugly, except for the damn tranq guns. I didn't need a buttload of tactics training to know that it would be insanely easy to trap us in this room.

But Nicole won't get Jane's help if she does that
, I told myself as I moved on in. I knew without a doubt that Jane had spoken the absolute truth when she said she'd taken precautions that would ensure Saberton went down in flames if anything happened to her—which was great, and sounded like strong insurance. Except, I couldn't help but think it was like a restraining order: only as good as a person's fear of it.

Yet the risks all seemed worth it at the sight of Pietro Ivanov sitting at the far end of the table. He looked wiped out, shoulders slumped. His left hand was wrapped in gauze, but he was alive, and in mostly once piece. My eyes went back to his hand. That answered the question of which body part Nicole had chopped off, but why the hell was it still bandaged? With brains, it should have grown back.

I masked a scowl. Obviously they weren't feeding him as well as Andrew claimed. Pietro was likely getting barely enough brains to maintain, but not enough to heal. Except . . . why not fix him up for this show-and-tell? It didn't make sense.

Mr. Perfect Eyebrows stood beside Pietro, and I gave the guard a hate-glare. He gave me an ugly smirk in return then made a point of raking his eyes over me in an obvious
I've seen you naked
look. Fucking asshole.

Pietro lifted his head slowly and with effort, as though it weighed a hundred pounds. My confusion grew. With that sort of lack-of-brains fatigue, he should've been showing signs of rot, yet I didn't catch a whiff or see any sign of it.

Pietro's gaze went straight to Jane. A smile flickered, yet deep worry formed lines of tension in his face at the sight of her here in the heart of enemy territory.

Before we had a chance to do much more than look at each other, Nicole Saber swept in like a queen at her own ball. She closed the door behind her and smiled tightly. “And now here we all are. Congresswoman Pennington, I've kept my side of the bargain.”

Jane cast a contemptuous glance at Nicole, then moved to the end of the table with me right on her heels. “Pietro?”

He stood as she approached, movements painfully slow and deliberate. “Jane, you shouldn't be here.” His voice was rough, thready. His eyes flicked briefly to me before returning to Jane.

“I had to see you,” she replied. “I had to be sure you're all right.”

“I've been better, but I've been worse,” he said then tilted his head toward Nicole. “Why did she let you in here?”

A smile brushed across Jane's lips. “I made her an offer she couldn't refuse.”

Understanding lit his eyes. “The contract,” he began, but Nicole cut him off.

“Enough chit chat,” she snapped. “You've seen what you came here to see.”

The look Jane gave Nicole could have burned a hole through concrete. “I told you I wanted to see Pietro and determine his well-being,” she said coldly. “I've yet to do so.” Dismissing her, she returned her attention to Pietro. “Are you getting enough to eat?”

“Adequate. You don't need to worry about that.” He reached and took Jane's hand with his unbandaged one, yet once again his eyes returned to me. Was he trying to tell me something? Or maybe he was sending some secret zombie message? If so, I was totally failing to get it.

“Your hand is like ice,” Jane murmured, so softly that I doubted any non-zombie in the room could hear it. She stroked her thumb over his fingers. “Are they giving you sufficient brains?”

Pietro's attention snapped back to Jane, alarm flaring in his eyes before they dulled with fatigue again. “You . . .”

She took his hand in both of hers while I did my best to be very very very uninteresting and not worthy of notice. Pietro wouldn't have to think very hard to figure out who let the cat out of the bag.

“Yes, Pietro,” Jane said. “I know, and I understand.”

Pietro sank back into the chair. Jane kept hold of his hand and pulled another chair close so that she could sit as well.

“Jane,” Pietro said, distressed. “I'm sorry. I—”

“
Enough
of the pathetic zombie love display!” Nicole snarled, a brittle edge to her voice.

Jane ignored the woman. “Don't be,” she told Pietro. “I'm going to make sure you come out of this all right.” She leaned in and brushed her lips across his cheek, and only the fact that I was barely a couple of feet away with tanked up zombie hearing allowed me to pick up her fierce whisper.
“I will gut this bitch if she harms my fiancé again.”

A low shudder went through him, then he slid his cheek against hers in a gesture so tender it made my chest ache. “Don't compromise, my darling,” he responded, voice as soft as hers. “She'll never let me go, no matter what the agreement.”

Nicole made an odd strangled noise. “
Gentry!
Get him out of here.”

“Mother, please calm down.” Andrew stepped forward and reached to take hold of his mother's arm, then jerked his hand back, like a child remembering not to touch a hot stove. “The contract isn't worth more trouble,” he said, and it sounded as though it wasn't the first time he'd done so.

Jane stood, a deeply pitying expression on her face that was surely calculated to be as insulting as possible to Nicole. Mr. Perfect Eyebrows—Gentry—moved in on Pietro's other side and yanked him to his feet. A hiss of pain slipped out of Pietro as his bandaged hand smacked against the edge of the table, but the ugly pleasure on Eyebrows/Gentry's face told me the table-smack hadn't been an accident. Total fucking asshole. But two could play that game. I took a step forward and made a point of scenting the air near him.

“Nice brain,” I murmured and bared my teeth in a feral smile.

Pietro's eyes abruptly snapped to mine, sharp and clear, without any evidence of the earlier fatigue and pain. “You see this guy on the street,” Pietro jerked his head toward Gentry while keeping his eyes locked on mine, “don't kill him. His name is Pierce Gentry, and his brain is
mine.
”

I blinked, more than a little taken aback by the sudden clarity, though in the next instant I realized I was the only one who'd been in a position to see it. Was he faking the fatigue and weakness? “You got it,” I replied.

Sneering, Gentry yanked Pietro's arm again and hustled him out of the room. Pain shot through my hand, and when I glanced down I saw I had it clenched like a vise on the back of a chair.

Jane turned to Nicole, once again totally composed. “Why do I not have confidence that he will be well-treated and maintained?”

Nicole's nostrils flared, and her eyes flashed with dangerous, barely controlled desperation, like a cornered mountain lion. “You have no choice but to trust me!” she said through gritted teeth. “We have a deal, and I'll keep my end of it. You got what you wanted. Now get out of my building and give me my fucking defense contract.”

Behind her Andrew opened his mouth then shut it. His lips pressed together, anger in his stance that was clearly directed at his mother.

No way could I argue against Jane's doubts, not with Nicole's eyes shining with all kinds of crazy and Pietro's statement that she'd never let him go. Jane needed to get the hell out while Nicole held the door wide open. I knew damn well that the second I took my eyes off Nicole Saber she'd do something fucked up, and I fully intended to keep Jane covered until I knew she was clear. Plus, I had an insane idea of my own hatching, and this bitch hadn't tasted my flavor of Louisiana crazy yet.

“Ms. Saber, you're absolutely right,” I said with a confident smile. “You've kept your side of the deal. Jane Pennington will keep hers.”

Nicole gave me a puzzled look, taken somewhat off guard at the way I'd spoken for Jane. She drew a breath, but I spoke before she could.

“The congresswoman and Victor will leave now,” I went on as if I was the one running the entire show, “and Philip and I will remain here with you until we're certain you've allowed her to leave without any further harassment.”

Nicole narrowed her eyes, but I shifted my attention to Jane. “You and Victor head on out,” I said, doing my best to appear totally self-assured and in control. “Philip and I will check in with you later.” I smiled as though all was right with the world. Victor met my eyes and gave me a slight nod filled with gratitude and worry. He'd sensed the same thing about Nicole and knew I was playing a risky game. Once Jane was out, we'd be little more than a doomed rearguard and would have to rely on Nicole Saber's sense of honor and fair play and . . .

Honor? Fair play? Yeah, this was going to get ugly, but I sure as shit didn't intend to be
doomed.

“Angel, what are you
doing
?” Naomi said in my ear.

“It's all good,” I said to both Jane and Naomi.

Jane opened her mouth to protest, and Andrew stepped forward. “That's an excellent idea,” he said. He didn't want Jane to stay any more than I did. Sure, our reasons were different—I was worried about her well-being, while he was worried about his own ass if Mommy Saber did something even
more
stupid to a member of Congress—but right now our goal was the same. “I'm sure you have a very busy schedule, Dr. Pennington,” Andrew continued and gave a nod toward one of the security guards—Boat Launch Guy. “Edwards will show you out.”

Victor took Jane's elbow. “This way, ma'am.” He began to move her toward Edwards and the door.

Jane shot me a distressed look, and I gave her my best
get the fuck out, and we'll stay on it
smile in return. “Maybe we can do lunch tomorrow,” I told her. “I'll have my people call your people.”

Her lips twitched in what I knew was a smile forced for me, then Victor hustled her through the door, and she was gone.

Andrew and the security guard followed them out. The door closed, and the world abruptly felt smaller. What the hell was I thinking stranding Philip and me alone in the middle of Saber Land? Then again, Philip hadn't argued with my decision to stick around. Either he and I were on the same page, or he had a plan of his own brewing—though somehow I doubted his was quite as psychotic as mine. He was probably considering something sane and logical, such as trying to get more info about where Pietro was being held.

He met my eyes, expression grave and determined. Pietro was in deep trouble, that much we knew. We might never have another chance to gain some sort of advantage. We were deep in enemy territory, in the lion's den, the mouth of the dragon, up shit creek, whatever the hell you wanted to call it. But that simply meant we were in the perfect position to fuck up Saberton's world. I was more than ready to deliver some southern smackdown, but I needed to hear that Jane was out of the building first.

Fists planted on her hips, Nicole glared at the door, as if blaming it for allowing Jane to leave, then swung her attention to me, her expression an ugly mix of anger and disgust. “What a disgrace to this country that a nest of
zombies
,” she sneered the word, “can enthrall a U.S. Congresswoman.”

“Yes, it is,” I said agreeably. And slowly. This was me, stalling for time while looking for an opening. Hell, she thought I was a hick anyway, so might as well lay down some serious southern drawl. “But, lucky for you, it's going to get you closer to that defense contract you want, right?”
C'mon, Naomi, tell me Jane's out.
I flicked a brief glance to Philip, then very casually waggled the fingers of one hand toward Nicole in the desperate hope he'd pick up on my scheme. With only two guards and Nicole in the room, we wouldn't have a better opportunity.

Philip made a quiet strangled noise in the back of his throat.
Oh, good. He figured it out.
Yet on the heels of that thought, worry and doubt surged in. It was one thing to risk myself in a totally crazy and spur of the moment plan to seize Nicole Saber and hold her hostage in exchange for Pietro, but I'd sucked Philip in as well, with zero warning or time to plan. And what if he thought I had some
other
ridiculous plan in mind? Damn it, this whole thing would be easier if the zombie parasite came with telepathy.

Nicole pursed her lips, and some of the anger left her eyes. “
If
she follows through,” she huffed, but it was clear her confidence was making a comeback. She still had Pietro, and now she'd seen for herself how much Jane treasured him. A cold smile curved her mouth, and I knew it was because her desperate and clever mind was contemplating the many things she could accomplish with the congresswoman in her control.

Not on my watch, sweetheart. Not with my favorite woman in the whole fucking world.

“Oh, she'll follow through,” I assured Nicole as I edged closer. Shitfuckingdamn, wasn't Jane clear yet? I tried to remember how much time it had taken us to walk from the limo to the conference room. Surely it had been at least that long since Jane and Victor left? “Of course, Jane has some serious ways to get back at you if something happens to Pietro,” I continued, “but there's no need to worry about that since you're keeping your side of the deal.”
Ha! Yeah, right.
“Jane simply wants Mr. Ivanov back, not revenge. She'll give you the influence you need.”

Nicole gave a sharp nod. I shot a quick look toward Philip. His attention was locked on the two guards, which worked well enough for me. Even better, both guards were fully focused on Philip since he was obviously more of a threat than I was, badass clothing or not.

“Jane's out,” Naomi murmured in my ear. “Are you about to do something Angel-like?”

“Absolutely,” I murmured as I focused on Nicole and psyched myself up. I could do this. I could totally take a hostage. I simply had to draw my gun, grab Nicole, get my back to the wall, and then demand Pietro's release. Easy. Even a caveman could do it.

Heart pounding, I slid my hand to the small of my back, closed it around the butt of the little Glock and began to draw it—

The door opened, and I startled, a bit
too
focused on Nicole. Andrew stepped in, and I yanked at the Glock as I watched my window of opportunity begin to slam shut.
Shit!
The gun was caught on the holster somehow, but no one was looking my way yet, which meant I still had a chance. Except Nicole was turning toward the door as if to leave, and Andrew was almost between us. If I could just get the fucking gun out . . .

Weirdly enough, the sound of the gunshot didn't surprise me. It was one of those moments where you
see
shit going wrong, but you realize it an instant too late to actually change directions or slam on the brakes or, well, stop fumbling at the damn gun before you accidentally pull the damn trigger.

The sound might not have surprised me, but the line of fiery pain that streaked across my left ass cheek sure as shit did. The stupid gun came free of the holster, but by then my mind had leaped to “I shot myself in the ass!” instead of sticking with “Hold the weapon in a safe manner!” and the gun went sailing under the conference table. Pain instead of
pain
told me the bullet had only grazed me, and already I felt the numbing tingle of my parasite doing damage control. Good thing, since I had only fractions of a second to come up with a gunless Plan B.

The humans in the room were startled by the gunshot but had yet to fully react. Nicole was several steps away by this point, therefore I went with the option right in front of me. With a snarl, I lunged at Andrew, gripped his wrist and dragged him toward me. If I couldn't have mama, I'd settle for mama's boy
.

Zombie jiu jitsu powers, activate!

Or not. A chill went through me as a strange piercing cry split the air.
Philip
. I caught a blur of movement as he descended on the nearest security guard, and I heard the thud as he slammed him hard into the wall. My peripheral vision told me the other guards had their guns out, but I had zero chance to do anything about it. As I pulled Andrew's wrist, he did a neat twist that yanked me forward and nearly onto my face. Apparently the dude knew some moves. Goddammit.

“Braddock! Stop them!” Nicole yelled at the head security woman, even as I struggled to maintain balance and made a totally unsuccessful attempt to reverse Andrew's move into an
osoto gari
. It looked more like I was dancing with him, which left me with my back fully exposed to Braddock, who had no need of Nicole's suggestion. Braddock already had both guns trained on me, and I had a feeling the only reason I wasn't already full of holes and tranq darts was because she was waiting for the instant where she could shoot me without risking hitting Andrew. Good thing for me the tranqs were pretty much instantly lethal for humans—like giving a kitten a dose meant for an elephant.

Braddock never got the chance to shoot me. Philip sprang from a crouch toward her, and though she tried her best to bring the gun around to do some good, she never had a prayer against that tanked up zombie speed. Philip caught her wrist and yanked her arm straight, then delivered a surgically precise blow to her elbow. The ugly sound of the dislocating joint mingled with Braddock's sharp cry of pain, and the tranq gun tumbled from her hand to land a couple of feet from me.

Andrew flinched at Braddock's cry, which was all the distraction I needed. I drove my knee up hard into Andrew's groin, and he obligingly crumpled to the floor. Screw
jiu jitsu
. Sometimes a girl had to fight dirty.

A gunshot slammed through the room. Philip staggered but kept hold of Braddock's wrist. I scrambled on top of Andrew, clamped one hand on his throat and dug the fingers of the other hard against his belly.

“Nobody move, or I'll rip his guts out!” I yelled, eyes on the guard who'd shot Philip. I even jabbed a bit at Andrew's stomach as if I was about to make good on my threat, and he rewarded me with a convincing cry of pain and genuine fear. I was totally bluffing, of course. Sure, as tanked as I was I could easily gut him, but I figured my Ideal Plan B would probably work better if I didn't play horror-show-macramé with his intestines.

Fortunately the bluff worked, and the guard slowly lowered his weapon. “Put both your guns on the floor!” I ordered, keeping my grip tight on Andrew's throat as the guard slowly complied. I reached to snatch the fallen tranq gun with my other hand, even as my peripheral vision caught Nicole fleeing the room. So much for motherly love and protection.

Philip relieved Braddock of her other gun, then shoved her away. I had to hand it to the woman—she could keep her head in a crisis. Her face was white as a sheet, and her forearm dangled like a broken toy, but she kept enough focus to press a button on one of her radios and gasp out, “Code white,” right before Philip ripped the radio from her and hurled it against the wall.

I jammed the tranq gun into Andrew's gut and released his throat. “You know you're dead if my trigger finger twitches,” I told him as I shifted off of his chest.

Andrew gave a very small nod, eyes on the gun in my hand. Saberton had developed the high-powered zombie specific tranquilizer. He knew better than anyone how lethal it was for a human.

I quickly reassessed. The trade-a-hostage-for-Pietro plan didn't look very solid at this point since Nicole Saber either valued keeping Pietro over her son's safety, or else had a better plan in the works.

“You're going to get us the hell out of here,” I growled at Andrew. “Now get your ass up.” I climbed to my feet, tranq gun on him. I felt good, clear headed, but the thrill of being tanked on brains had subsided to a mild buzz, burned off by the adrenaline-charged exertion and the healing of my bullet-grazed butt. I remained plenty fast and strong, but a part of me missed that sharp and awesome feeling. “I'm getting hungry,” I added, “so don't try anything stupid.”

Andrew paled but didn't freak. He stood, keeping his hands well away from his body. “I'll walk you out,” he said. “No troubles.”

“Yeah, that's a real good plan,” I said and hoped Naomi was listening. “Is that a real good plan?”

“Sounds good since I don't know what the hell you're doing,” Naomi said in my earpiece. “We'll meet you at the service entrance in the parking garage.”

“Gotcha. Philip, you okay?”

“Angel, down!” he ordered.

Zombie reflexes still in high gear, I dropped into a crouch without even thinking, dragging Andrew with me. A fraction of a second later, Philip leaped over us and onto the guard he'd slammed into the wall earlier, wrenched a tranq gun from his hand and smacked his head into the floor hard enough to stun but not dent him.

Philip straightened as I did, then strode to the guard who'd dropped his weapons. Moving with brisk efficiency, he put the guard on the floor and ziptied his hands behind his back, then retrieved my gun from under the table and tucked it into my holster. “We're good now,” he said with a satisfied nod.

Andrew's mouth had dropped open at the entire display, and I grinned despite everything. Apparently he'd never seen tanked zombies in action. “How's the bullet wound?” I asked Philip.

“Handled,” he said, patting the side pocket of his pants, which told me he'd already downed some brains.

“Excellent.” I gripped the back of Andrew's collar. “Let's get moving. Parking garage service entrance.”

Andrew's throat bobbed. “This way,” he said as he moved toward the door, still carefully keeping his hands out to his sides. Philip fell in behind us, gun in one hand and a tranq gun in the other. Though we made it into the hallway without incident, I didn't need zombie senses to know more guards lurked right around the corner. Andrew started toward the elevators, but I stopped him with a quick yank.

“Wait,” I said. “I'm not real happy about going in an elevator. Is there another way?”

“There are stairs a little farther down,” Andrew replied, words clipped.

“Stairs are good,” Naomi confirmed.

I glanced back to see Philip with his gun trained behind us. If I had to be on the bad guy side of a hostage situation, at least I was doing it with an experienced operative. “Okay, heading that way now.” I had Andrew as my human shield, but a big chunk of our safety depended on how much of a shit Nicole gave about the life of her son, and so far I wasn't impressed by Mommie Dearest. I shook Andrew by the collar. “They'll keep the way clear for you?”

“Yes. Yes, of course,” Andrew replied, though I caught the faint hesitation in his tone.

“I don't know about that,” Naomi said.