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

“No, he has not,” Dr. Nikas stated. “The Pietro identity proved quite challenging for him, as he chose to adopt Pietro’s relatively tame and passive lifestyle in order to ensure a seamless transition. It meant he had to enlist others to conduct business he would normally do himself.”

My respect for Pietro expanded. He’d willingly taken on a life that didn’t suit him for the sake of securing a steady—and mostly non-violent—source of brains for his people. He sure as hell wasn’t a squeaky clean, shiny hero, but he was turning out to be a tried-and-true tarnished one. “With you as his sounding board and moral bullshit meter, you two seem to make a good team.”

Dr. Nikas laughed. “When he listens to me.” He kept hold of my hand even though the tension had eased. Between his story and what I knew of him from the lab, I had the feeling he truly was a people person, a healer who couldn’t be around people, and probably had little physical contact with anyone. How sucky was that?

Dr. Nikas squeezed my hand then reluctantly released it. A wave of sadness swept through me as if I’d lost a comfy blanket, and I took a deep breath to shake off the feeling.

The sound of the garage door rumbled through the house, and about half a minute later Brian came in from the garage. He wore a leather jacket over dark jeans instead of his typical suit, which was so out of character I’d have probably passed right by him on the street without recognizing him.

“That was a pain in the ass, but it’s done,” he announced.

I stood and stretched as Dr. Nikas poured the pale blue contents of the bottle into the bowl of glop. “Did you bring home something fun?” I asked.

“Sure did,” Brian said. “A cargo van and a small dumpster.”

“Do I want to know what this plan is?”

“Probably not,” he said with a wink.

I rolled my eyes. “How about the basics of what we’re up against.”

“Our best estimate is at least a dozen of Saberton’s Special Security Team,” Brian told me. “In general, they’re hardcore pros handpicked for company loyalty and willingness to do whatever is required.” A muscle in his neck briefly tensed. “Out of the SST, a select few who apparently have an extra dose of fuck you about human rights are assigned to work directly with zombies.”

“Zombies don’t even count as human to them,” I said with a black scowl. The memory of my own capture was still crystal-clear, including how much Mr. Perfect Eyebrows and the others had gotten off on humiliating and abusing me. “I hate those fuckers.”

“No argument from me,” Brian said, matching my scowl. “Some of them use torture as entertainment. I’m ready to bury the lot.”

“I’ll bring the shovel,” I said. “What’s next?”

“A chat with Saber. Want to come with me?”

I gave him a dubious look. Chatting with Andrew wasn’t exactly on the top of my list of fun things to do. “Depends. What are we talking about?”

Brian’s smile faded. “I had a talk with Mr. Iv—Gentry. We need to put a little heat on Saber to determine where he stands concerning his sister.”

“You mean so we know whether or not Naomi should see him in person?” At his nod I continued, “No matter what, I think he needs to be told his mother knew Julia wasn’t dead. That should piss him off and rock the happy family when he goes home.” If he goes home , I added silently. That wouldn’t happen if Pierce considered him a serious threat. But Brian’s broad smile told me I was right on target. “What about Naomi?” I asked. “She needs to have a say in this.”

“When she gets back from the clinic,” he said. “My hope is that our little interview will help her decide what to do.”

“Gotcha.” I was totally happy to gather info to help Naomi out, especially since it was a lot like being nosy, which I was already pretty damn good at.

“Not to mention, I figure this could be a good start to your training,” he added.

“Training?” Was I supposed to run around the house a few times before talking to Andrew? I gave him a baffled look. “I’m lost.”

“After you outed Dr. Pennington’s bodyguard, I promised both you and him that I’d cover the basics,” Brian explained. “Interview and interrogation isn’t really a basic, but it’ll help you think on your feet, and it’s as good a place as any to start.”

“Oh! Right.” Whew, no running or pushups. Yet. “Sure, totally up for it.” Especially if it could keep me from having another incident like the one with Victor and Jane.

Brian’s expression grew more serious. “We also need to see what information can be wrung from Saber that will help us rescue Kyle and Marcus.”

“As long as I get to do some of the wringing,” I said with a glower. “Anything besides Pietro’s change-of-body off limits?”

“No, that’s the only info that needs to remain completely hush-hush,” he said. “But you have plenty of other ammunition.”

“I know lots of shit that he doesn’t,” I said then looked down at myself. Baggy sweatpants and a T-shirt that swallowed me. Pretty unimpressive. “Let me throw my clothes in the dryer first.” The pants had a bullet hole in the ass, and the jacket and shirt were burned and melted in the back from when I got stuck beneath Naomi’s car in the Saberton parking garage, but it would still be a better look than my current one. I’d have to find a way to score some less-damaged stuff for the rescue raid though. Maybe I could be Naomi’s personal fashion doll again.

“I’ll make a sandwich for our guest while you do that,” Brian said.

“Don’t put anything weird in it,” I replied as I trotted off to the laundry room.

Brian’s chortle followed me. “Not promising anything!”

With fresh clothing and a tough attitude, I headed upstairs with Brian. “Do we have a plan?” I asked.

“Get a feel for it,” Brian replied as we reached the door at the end of the hall. “Follow my lead if you get stuck.” And with that, he threw the door open.

Andrew startled so badly he rattled the headboard against the wall as he jerked his wrist cuff. After a few seconds of wide-eyed hard breathing he put on the toughest face he could manage, though it did little to hide how tired and scared he looked. “What now?” he rasped. “More threats?”

I followed Brian into the room, and when he didn’t respond to Andrew, I realized he expected me to start . Crap. “We don’t have any reason to threaten you,” I said, doing my best cool interrogator impression. “You’re in a world of shit, and you know it.”

Andrew shifted to the awkward half-sit the shackle and cuff would allow. “Yes, I know it.” His eyes flicked from me to Brian. His fear smelled like the tang of shorting wires, and a sheen of sweat broke on his forehead. He probably figured we’d eat his brain the instant he stopped being useful. A whisper of uncertainty passed over his face as he noted the sandwich and the glass of sparkling grape juice in Brian’s hands. Probably wondering why we’d feed him if we were only going to kill him.

“Hungry?” I asked as I took the plate and glass from Brian.

He hesitated, clearly torn about whether to be stubborn and hungry, or cooperative and fed, but after a few more seconds he gave a tight nod. I placed the sandwich and juice on the nightstand within his reach, then sat on the edge of the other bed.

Andrew mumbled thanks and wasted no time in taking a bite of the sandwich. I gave him almost enough time to finish chewing, then asked my question. “Why do you hate us so much?”

He froze, then swallowed the bite and washed it down with juice. “Your people murdered my sister.” His voice remained calm, but I felt the anger behind it.