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

Brian gave me a long frowning look, but finally moved forward and sliced through the zipties.

“He chose to morph,” Dr. Nikas said as he rolled Gentry/Pietro to his back and rubbed at his wrists. “He was not planning on doing so for several more decades.”

I bit back the urge to say What the shit? again, but the frustration nearly swallowed me whole. “Morph? But what does that mean? ”

“He repatterned his DNA to mimic Pierce Gentry’s. The process is very similar to the zombie healing, but using a different blueprint rather than the existing one.”

It was a small consolation that Brian mirrored my open-mouthed stare. “We can do that?” I spluttered. That gave a whole new meaning to You are what you eat .

Dr. Nikas shook his head. “Only a very few can. The mature ones.”

“Let me get this straight,” I said. “Pietro didn’t take over Gentry’s body, but instead changed his own body to Gentry’s shape, based on Gentry’s DNA.” When Dr. Nikas nodded, I continued, “Which means that the real Gentry’s corpse is still out there somewhere. Am I tracking right?”

“Dead on.”

I sat on the edge of the bed and peered at Gentry’s face. I wasn’t anywhere near as freaked out as I probably should’ve been. “Now what?”

“He needs water and supplements,” Dr. Nikas stated, and with that he left the room.

Gentry/Pietro shifted his head to look at me with half-lidded eyes. I met his gaze and sighed heavily. “Pietro, you stole the identity of an asshole! ”

His lip curled in agreement. “Best choice . . . available.”

“At least you killed him,” I said.

“Deserved worse,” he replied, voice getting a bit stronger. “And I am no longer . . . Pietro. Cannot be.” Regret and frustration swept across his face before he shook his head. “Cannot be. Must be Pierce now.”

“Pierce,” I echoed. “Got it.” Too weird. But at least it was kind of close to Pietro.

Pierce’s eyes met mine again. “Jane?”

“She’s safe,” I told him. “She got out before all the shit hit the fan. I made sure of that.”

Clearly relieved, he nodded and closed his eyes again, though I didn’t think he was sleeping. A few minutes later Dr. Nikas returned holding a tray with four glasses. Two looked as if they contained water, but the other two held murky, muddy substances—one a dusky blue and the other a sickly green.

“Brian, will you adjust the pillows to allow him to sit up a bit more?” Dr. Nikas asked. Brian complied, and as soon as Pierce was more upright the doctor handed Brian the glass containing the blue drink. “Have him drink this one first, then the water,” he instructed, then passed me the glass of gross green stuff. “It looks worse than it tastes, but it should counter most of the symptoms of the imprint until we return home.”

I made the mistake of sniffing it. “Oh, that’s nasty,” I said with a shudder. “Will Philip have to drink this too?”

Amusement flickered behind the weariness in his eyes. “He already has.”

Damn it. I held my breath and chugged it down, surprised to find that it really did look and smell worse than it tasted. Still, it wasn’t a chocolate milkshake by any stretch, and I gladly accepted the water he had ready.

Once I cleared the yucky taste from my mouth I returned my attention to Pierce. He’d finished the blue drink and the water, and didn’t look quite as flattened anymore. Dr. Nikas took his wrist to check his pulse, and the faint smile of admiration and respect Pierce gave him was all the confirmation I needed that this really was the man I’d known as Pietro Ivanov.

“They have Kyle,” I told him, finally able to let that worry surface. “They tranqed him while we were getting out. We have to go back for him.”

Brian gave a grim nod. “We need to make a plan. Dr. Nikas, is Philip stable enough to take Naomi to an urgent care clinic for her ankle?”

“He should remain stable for long enough to accomplish that,” Dr. Nikas replied as he gently set Pierce’s wrist down.

Pierce drew a sharp breath. “Marcus—”

“Marcus went to New Orleans the day after you were taken,” I told him, then smacked my forehead. “Shit! I meant to call him and give him an update.”

He shook his head, pushed up on his elbows despite the distressed noise that wrung from Dr. Nikas. “No. No. They have him.”

Shock held me in its grip for several seconds. “You’re wrong,” I finally managed to force out. “That’s not possible. He was with me that evening.”

“Angel, believe me.” His eyes met mine. They were light grey rather than deep brown now, but I recognized the force behind them. “Saberton has him.”

I stumbled to my feet. Somehow all the air was gone from the room. Brian said something to Pierce, face contorted in anger and distress, yet I couldn’t make out the words. Dr. Nikas reached for me, worry darkening his eyes, but I took another step back then turned and rushed out of the room.

As soon as I stepped into the hallway I could breathe again, but fury spurred me on. It took me a couple of tries, but I finally found Andrew upstairs. He was dozing on one of two twin beds in an otherwise unfurnished room, shackled by one wrist and one ankle to the frame of the bed. I closed the distance between us in two steps, grabbed the front of his shirt and hauled him close. He jerked out of the doze, eyes flying open in shock as he brought his free hand up in instinctive defense.

“Your people have Marcus?” I yelled without a single speck of calm whatsoever.

“What? Shit!”

I shook him, rattling the chain on his wrist shackle along with the teeth in his head. “Do you motherfuckers have Marcus Ivanov?”

His expression went stony. “Why do you think that?”

A low growl throbbed through the room. Mine. I bared my teeth. “Don’t fuck with me. I have a reliable source, so answer my fucking question!”

His gaze flicked around the room in an instinctive search for escape before he controlled himself. “Yes,” he said. “Yes. Saberton has him.”

Breathing hard, I released him and took a step back. “Anyone else there I need to know about?”

“He’s the only other one in New York besides Pietro Ivanov. And Griffin now.”

No way was I going to correct him about Pietro. “When did your people take Marcus?”

Andrew tugged his shirt straight. “Evening, the same day as the others. He was a secondary target since Archer intercepted Dr. Nikas before we could get to him.”

A chill began to work its way down my spine. “How . . . ? How was he taken?”

“In his house,” Andrew replied with annoying calm. “Not even a fight.”

“What? A home invasion?” I felt almost lightheaded. “Your people busted in and grabbed him?”

His mouth twitched in faint amusement. “You want the play-by-play?”

Clenching my fists, I advanced on him again. “I am so not in the mood for your bullshit.”

He drew back but recovered quickly. “Not so dramatic as breaking in and grabbing him,” he said with a tight smirk. “The team kicked back in his house and waited for him to walk through the front door. Took him down with tranqs in seconds. He had no mods, which made it easy.”

A desire filled me to smash a fist into that arrogant face, and I stood trembling with hands and teeth clenched for several seconds as I fought it back, only doing so because this was Naomi’s brother. Besides, one nose-breaking a day was probably a good limit.

I turned and exited without another word, slammed the door behind me, then returned to Pierce’s room. He was sitting up a bit more now, and already looked more stable. He began to speak as I entered but stopped at the look on my face.