Diana Rowland - How the White Trash Zombie Got Her Groove Back

On the floor behind me, Andrew made muffled noises behind the gag. “Shut up, Andrew,” I said quietly but oh-so-firmly, hoping he heard the unspoken, or I will help you shut up .

“Yeah, what she said,” Naomi added in a similar tone.

I rubbed the place on my arm where Philip had cut the bug out. Even though it was all healed up, the idea of it still festered. How much had they heard? The thing had been in there for months, which meant they’d been able to spy on all sorts of shit. Every phone call, every personal conversation, even stuff I did at work. Did they get a sick thrill when they listened to Marcus and me having sex? Did they laugh when we broke up? How hard did they snicker when I poured my heart out to Naomi . . . ?

Shock jerked me upright. I spun in my seat to look at Naomi, then gestured wildly at the spot on my arm and to her. Clearly baffled, she opened her mouth to speak, but I frantically waved her quiet while pointing to Andrew. I didn’t want him to hear any of this. She frowned but closed her mouth, and I pointed to my arm then her again.

The bug, I mouthed. They know about you!

Her bafflement increased. Go pout too?

I rolled my eyes and tried again, and this time Naomi’s eyes flew open wide as it hit her. My mother! she mouthed in reply as horror crawled over her face. She knows I’m alive!

I scowled and nodded, then pointed at Andrew again. But I don’t think he knows. If he did, then he’d have also known Naomi was Julia, and he’d given no hint of recognition. None. Zip. Zero. The dude was clever, but no way was he that good an actor.

Her brow furrowed as she looked down at the bound, gagged, and blindfolded form of her brother, and I had a feeling her thoughts were echoing mine. An instant later her horror shifted to rage. She held back intel and let him think I was dead? That fucking bitch!

Couldn’t argue with her there. She slumped back and let her gaze drift out the window as she tried to process this revelation. Suddenly exhausted, I shut my eyes and leaned my head back. Right now all I wanted was to get settled someplace that wasn’t a grimy underground tunnel, where I could have a few minutes of not-worrying. Yeah, that would rock.

The overhead light woke me, and I opened my eyes to see we were in a garage with the door closing behind us.

“Where are we?” I asked, rubbing grit out of my eyes.

“Queens,” Brian said. He got out, came around and opened my door. “Let’s get him inside.” He gestured to the still unconscious Gentry at my feet. “We’ll leave Saber in here for a moment.”

“Maybe you should leave the car running,” Naomi grumbled as Philip helped her out.

I grinned at her comment then had to focus all my attention on helping Brian get the heavy Gentry out of the SUV, through the utility room, and into the house. It was a two story deal, and at first glance appeared to be at least four bedrooms. An older house, I figured, judging by the mild wear and tear on corners and floors and walls. Nicely furnished with nothing extravagant. Comfy.

Dr. Nikas stood in the kitchen, eyes widening at the sight of Gentry. “Oh. Oh, my. Bedroom.” He gestured to a hallway. “Please bring him to the master bedroom.”

“Sure thing,” I wheezed. Good grief, were there any steroids this asshole hadn’t used? By the time we muscled Gentry down the hall and into the indicated bedroom, I was more than ready to drop his ass on the floor. The only reason I didn’t was because Brian gave me a look as if he knew exactly what I had in mind—probably because he felt the same way. In the end it was only because it was Dr. Nikas who asked that we went ahead and flopped the brute onto the bed.

“I hate this fucker more and more,” I muttered as I caught my breath, then straightened and tried to look cool as Dr. Nikas entered behind us.

“Remove the restraints,” he said. He didn’t look at either one of us. He was focused fully on Gentry the Giant Heavy Deadweight.

I gave him a dubious look. “What if he wakes up?” From the other side of the bed, Brian looked equally doubtful.

“It will be all right,” Dr. Nikas replied, utterly calm as he moved up to Gentry’s head. He laid a hand on the man’s forehead, then wiped his fingers down and over his cheek. He touched them to his tongue, using his weird zombie-taste diagnostics, then exhaled softly. “He won’t hurt any of us.”

“How can you be sure?” I asked. I noticed that Brian wasn’t moving to cut the zip ties. Nice to know he and I were totally on the same page here.

Dr. Nikas pursed his lips and glanced at the two of us as if unsure whether to speak. “Because . . . this isn’t who you think it is,” he said, which of course explained absolutely nothing. He peered at the unconscious man. “You said his name was Gentry?”

My confusion increased. “Yeah. Gentry. Um, Pierce Gentry.” That’s what Pietro had said, right? I peered at the Saberton guard’s face. It was him, wasn’t it? The eyebrows were a lot shaggier than I remembered, but otherwise it sure looked like the same man. “I don’t understand. Does Pierce have a twin who’s a zombie?”

The man in question stirred, and I took an automatic step back from the bed.

“No twin.” Dr. Nikas shook his head, then gestured to Brian. “ Please , cut the bindings.”

Gentry groaned. “These . . . two . . .” He dragged in a breath. “. . . tell them.”

“Tell?” I stared at Dr. Nikas. Brian still hadn’t pulled a knife to cut the zipties. “What on earth is going on? Tell what?”

Dr. Nikas moved to the door and closed it, then returned to the bedside, rested a hand on Gentry’s shoulder, and spoke to him in a language that sounded sort of like Russian. Gentry shifted and, to my shock, answered in the same language.

I stared at them both. “What the shit?”

Dr. Nikas spoke in a quiet voice, eyes still on Gentry. “This is Pietro.”

Brian’s eyes narrowed in suspicion and doubt. “Step away from him, Dr. Nikas.”

“What the shit?” I repeated.

Dr. Nikas stood and faced us, irritation wrinkling his forehead. “No, I will not step away from him,” he said firmly. “And don’t even think of tranqing me,” he added with a surprisingly sharp glare at Brian. “This is the one you knew as Pietro.”

Crap. How the hell could I doubt Dr. Nikas when he was so clear and insistent? I shifted my attention to Gentry again. “How can this be Pietro?”

Gentry opened his eyes and met mine, drew a deep and difficult breath. “Ate . . . motherfucker’s . . . brain.”

Well, that was something anyone pretending to be a loyal zombie would say. Besides, we’d all eaten bunches of brains without turning into someone else. I narrowed my eyes. “What color shirt was I wearing when I ran into you and Jane at Dear John’s Café?”

“No idea.” He took a labored breath. “What color tie . . . was I . . . wearing?”

Shit. Bastard had a point, but it only made my pissy mood pissier. “No idea,” I muttered, then planted my hands on my hips and scowled. “How the hell can you be Pietro?”

“Gourmet . . . Gala.” He licked dry lips. “Bitch . . . jacket. You . . . wanted to . . . slug her.”

My hands dropped to my sides. “Oh, man.” At the Gourmet Gala several months ago I’d worn a really cool thigh length dark red velvet jacket I’d bought at a thrift shop, and then had an unpleasant encounter with the previous owner that Pietro had witnessed. And that was before Saberton implanted the stupid bug.

“Brian, it’s him ,” I said, then looked to Dr. Nikas. “ How ?”