Sins of the Undead Patriot

by A. C. Mason

  “You’re in black-tie.” She arched her eyebrow.

  “Otherwise, I would not gain entrance to the ball.”

  She nodded and huddled up next to him.

  He pressed the front seat forward and turned on the car. The radio came on, and the music faded. “Three abandoned vehicles were found by the city perimeter,” said a news reporter.

  She tilted her head and narrowed her eyes.

  “With the urge awakening again, much more sustenance was required to calm the need.”

  “How quickly did you change?”

  “After the first bite, the feeding frenzy started.”

  She leaned her head on his shoulder.

  If things got out of hand in there, like Humpty Dumpty, he may not be back together again for a few days, and if he was arrested, she wouldn’t be permitted to see him.

  He needed her to know what her husband had said to him. “Jean told me, ‘Tell my wife, Lila, the broken boy got to me and I still don’t regret one moment–a kiss, fight, or night with her. I don’t wish for a different wife–or life.’”

  “Jean called me Lit la or Leera. Lit la, it means Leera, bed there. It’s French to have a rhyme for your lover’s name. What I don’t understand is, Jean’s words indicate Rowley had something to do with his death.” Tears welled in her eyes. “Jean always joked that if something happened to him it would be at Rowley’s hands.”

  Was that how the man had ended up on the street, out of nowhere?

  “I need to go, so promise me, you won’t leave the car.” He lifted her face, forcing her gaze to his. “I can’t be worried about something happening to you, all right?”

  “In the car. No leaving.” She wrapped her arms around him.

  “Are you okay?”

  She smiled. “With you, I am.”

  Vaihan shut the door and pulled a pay-as-you-go phone from his pocket and dialed. Marty’s phone was likely monitored for any contact from him. The more agencies that showed up the better. It was less likely one would let the others take him in. Each would want the glory. And he might yet survive this.

  The phone rang.

  “Hello.”

  “Marty,” Vaihan said, “I need you to come to the ball at the INUR. I’ve left Leera in a green Trans Am in the reserved parking zone of the adjacent parking lot. She needs a doctor.”

  “I’ll see to her.” He cleared his throat. “I know you can’t probably talk long, but you need to know something. You know the joint project we were working on?”

  Where was this going? “Yeah.”

  “Seems there is one nasty little side effect once the transformation is complete–the test subject expires. Do you understand my meaning?”

  So, if he hadn’t eaten the bad guys, he’d be dead. “Yes. No need to worry.” Leera had already saved him from that derailment.

  Vaihan tossed the phone into the trash.

  Chapter 57

  Rowley slowed his pace as he neared the security room. Two men watched the monitors in front of their workstations. Another two secret service agents stood watch. Tax dollars at work. He removed his guns with silencers from their holsters, swung them to the back of their heads and pulled the triggers. When the secret service men dropped, he pushed the tips against the two guards’ temples and shot them.

  Any moment, the president would enter the stage area, give a speech and sign the document. When she walked toward the podium, he would detonate the first set of explosives, which would trap everyone inside, then the second set to collapse the building on itself like a house of cards folding in on itself. Dramatic, yet fitting.

  He pushed one of the guards out of his seat and sat down. Guests mingled and danced. He rocked back and forth.

  The chief of staff took the stage.

  Behind him, the door creaked. “Good show?”

  “Mr. DeGruis, I didn’t expect to find you here tonight.” This couldn’t be good. He turned to face the man. A man he’d be happy to kill. His mother’s files told him that the government knew all along who her killer was. Endero, who stood behind him, and was said to have been infected by the eldest zombie.

  He shrugged. “I’m just here to make sure everything goes off without a hitch.”

  Wasn’t that why Rowley was there?

  “Look what the cat dragged in.” Mr. DeGruis’s gaze was fixed on one of the lower monitors.

  Vaihan crept down a service passage beneath the stage.

  “Or should I say, Leera. I guess she came through for us after all.”

  “Us?” Rowley set the building detonator in his lap and snapped off the antenna. If he slid back a small panel and removed the penny-shaped battery, Barton wouldn’t get the bomb off without him. He slipped the silver disk into the waist of his pants.

  “You can’t think you were the only one playing her–or tapping that fine ass.” He laughed. “And there is our little star. I had to make sure that even if you failed to get Vaihan here, her conscience–as small as it may be–would.” He licked his lips. “A delicious piece of ass, I might add.”

  Leera entered the tunnel access passage from the street to the security room.

  “Not without a ten-foot pole. But I’m sure a man like you has to have dreams.” Rowley angled his gun at the agent.

  A pop...then silence hung in the air.

  Chapter 58

  Leera jumped at the crackle, her hand covering her abdomen. A gunshot? Barton had been headed this way. She quickened her pace. What choice did she have? The Fed was behind Vaihan, and she had to warn him.

  A rumble shook the walls, and the lights flickered. Shit. Had Vaihan reached the president? A guard lay in a pool of blood and a footprint faded farther down the hall. Screams cut in and out from behind the door in front of her.

  Between the door and the frame she made out a body, and stepped closer. She took another few steps. Her heartbeat pounded against the wall of her chest. Had she missed all the action? She could have sworn she was a few moments behind Barton.

  On the monitors, the gathered guests followed as Vaihan led them out, the president next to him. The woman stared at him with wonder and trust. And something more. Admiration, maybe.

  Leera pushed the door inward. A lazy creak accompanied the movement.

  “Care to join me?” The swivel chair spun toward her. Barton held a gun pointed at her. “You vanished, honey...”

  “Cut the crap, Barton, if that’s even your name.” She crossed her arms and stepped back.

  “Not so fast, Lee-lee. Don’t you have parting words for poor Rowley?” He pointed the barrel at a body on the floor.

  “Run.” Rowley’s hand stretched out to her.

  “Where do you think you’re going?” With a foot to the back Rowley’s head, Barton held him in place.

  A river of blood led to his neck. She kneeled next to him and turned him over. If she could leave him with even an ounce of the pain he’d inflicted on her, she had a hope of finding her own peace. She pressed her lips to his ear. “I carry our child.” If Jean had died because Rowley wanted her, then her words would ensure he’d never find peace in death. “But don’t worry, Vaihan will take good care of us.” For all she knew, the child was Devin’s. But Rowley didn’t need to know that.

  Barton grabbed her by her hair. “You have no idea what you have done. You stupid bitch.” He whacked her face with his knuckles.

  She squealed. Pain throbbed at the spot.

  The end of his gun pointed at Rowley’s head. He squeezed the trigger.

  “It’s about time someone put the injured dog out of its misery. Wouldn’t you agree?” he said, and yanked her hair. “Well?”

  “Yes.”

  “Hands behind your back.” He jerked her toward him. “I’m sure you remember this part, don’t you? One we both anticipate.” Cold metal clanked over her wrist.

  She struggled against him.

  “I have no problem knocking you out cold. I dare you to give me a reason.”

  She had t
he baby to consider. If he was taking her with him, he must feel she was good for something. Better alive than dead.

  He clasped a cuff over her other wrist. “Piece of shit.” With force, he kicked Rowley, then tossed the remote onto the floor, lifted his foot and smashed the controller. A whistle thundered through the room and her entire body. The room wobbled. The power went out and emergency backup lights came on. “I guess it had a backup mechanism.”

  Rubble and dust showered down on her. The monitors went blank. Vaihan had to be out of the building with the president. Didn’t he?

  “Shit.” Barton shoved her into the corridor. Red flashing lights illuminated the pathway.

  Voices came from the hall and footsteps echoed off the walls.

  Barton pushed her forward with the barrel of his gun. “Hurry.”

  As if she was going to make it easy on him to get her out of there.

  “Hands up, Mr. DeGruise.” Devin stood, gun pointed at them. Around his neck hung a string with a badge.

  “Get any closer, and I’m going to have to kill her.” Barton grabbed her by the neck and pointed the firearm at her temple. “Let me guess, Agent Sheehan, if that’s even your name. CIA deep cover.”

  “Let her go, Mr. DeGruise.” Devin raised his gun and stepped forward.

  Barton backed her up to the emergency exit door. “I don’t think so. Leera’s coming with me. Aren’t you, hon?”

  “Not by choice, I’m not.” Leera pushed back into him.

  He grabbed her by the hair. “Keep it up, bitch, and I’ll make sure it hurts.”

  “Leera, don’t give him cause to harm you.” Devin’s eyes didn’t lower to meet hers.

  Devin was an agent.

  “Why don’t you tell Leera how you killed her husband, Agent Sheehan?” Barton opened the door and wedged them in the frame.

  What? No... If Vaihan, via Rowley’s actions, had killed Jean, how could Devin be responsible?

  “It wasn’t like that. It was an accident.” Devin lowered his gun then moved it back up. “I went to him. To explain. Rowley wanted him dead. It was my job to make that happen. I needed to get Jean into protective custody. For how long, I didn’t know. It would depend on when we could finally prove Rowley led the Army of the Living and ordered the bombings. He asked me to deal with Jean personally. Rowley didn’t want the others to become aware of Leera. I explained to Jean, his digging into Rowley’s affairs meant he needed to go away for a while. And you couldn’t go with him or Rowley would have thought I offed you too. He would have killed me, throwing away nearly a decade of work. When I told Jean he had to come with me, he ran out into the street. The car came out of nowhere. By the time the driver saw him, it was too late to stop. The car ran right into him.”

  Jean had run into the street that night. That was how he’d died. Vaihan was at the wrong place, wrong time.

  “Leera, I swear to you it was an accident.” Devin’s green gaze held hers.

  Tears ran down her cheeks. The truth was, she’d killed Jean. If she hadn’t worked to provoke jealousy toward Rowley, Jean never would have been snooping into the man’s affairs.

  What she feared the most was true.

  Jean was dead because of her.

  “You and your men back up, or I’ll shoot the bitch, Agent Sheehan.” He pushed and poked her.

  “No need to get testy.” Devin stepped back. “This is us easing off.”

  Barton had her shielding him in the doorframe. Once hidden by the wall, he shoved her into Devin.

  He gathered her into his arms. “I’ve got you, cron sceimhiuil.”

  The door drew shut with a bang. The two other agents moved in and rattled the door, to no avail.

  “Head around the other way to try and cut him off,” Devin ordered. “I’ll escort Ms. Waltz.”

  Leera stepped back. She didn’t know this man.

  The two other agents hustled off around the corner. Their footsteps faded in the distance.

  “Are you injured, Leera?”

  She shook her head. Physically, she didn’t have anything beyond a few cuts and bruises. Inside, she was riddled with scars. The man before her looked like the Devin she’d known. He even sounded like him. But nothing else was the same. Not his clothing or his mannerisms or his eyes.

  “You are looking at me as though I’m a stranger.” He moved toward her.

  She jerked, hitting the wall behind her. “I don’t.”

  “Or course you do.” He took her cuffed hands into his and unlatched them, keeping hold of her. “I’m sorry about Jean. I couldn’t tell you.”

  “I don’t blame you. It’s my fault.” She tugged her hand back and crossed her arms.

  Chapter 59

  Flakes of ash snowed down, coating everything and everyone. Vaihan turned to find Leera wrapped in a blanket, being led out of the building by an agent from CIA’s antiterrorist division. The male’s musk was one he’d smelled on her many times recently. Her other lover.

  The man held out his hand. “Special Agent Devin Sheehan.”

  Vaihan took the firm grip into his and nodded.

  “We cornered Barton with Leera. He aimed the gun at her head. Pulling the trigger wasn’t an option. None of us could get a clear shot at the bastard.” An Irish brogue flavored his speech. “He tossed her into us, blocked the access, and we couldn’t follow. With exits impeded due to the explosion, he might already have vacated the perimeter.”

  Though his tone was professional, concern made the pitch of his voice rise. Part of him must feel as though he’d failed Leera. During their time together, a bond had formed with her that was more than the job.

  Moments ago, Barton had a gun to her head and threatened to kill her. Given the size of the crater in the cityscape, Barton was a serious, unexpected threat.

  Each second Barton remained free, the worse it was for all of them. “And McKie?”

  Leera clutched the cover over her shoulders, trembling. A glow radiated from her. He too felt as though he’d failed her, with Barton at large.

  “Shot. From the look of the wounds, Homeland Security-issued firearm, nine millimeter.” Devin headed for the parking lot.

  “Freeze!” a man shouted from behind them.

  Vaihan froze in place. This wasn’t the time for this. Every second counted if they had a hope of catching Barton before he moved to a secondary location.

  “Place your hands on your head,” the man ordered.

  Leera ran toward Vaihan, who did as the man instructed. “Agent Sheehan, do not let Leera breach the Secret Service line. In her condition, she can’t be tackled to the ground.”

  With a nod, Agent Sheehan ran after Leera, pulling her into his arms.

  By the time Vaihan would be able to explain the scenario to these boneheads, the evidence to help track Barton would be gone.

  “Vaihan Louchian, you are under arrest for the attempted murder of the president,” the man arresting him said.

  “Agent Sheehan, keep Leera safe in my absence.” As Vaihan’s temper reached its boiling point, he squeezed his fists shut and squared his shoulders.

  “Vaihan, no!” Leera reached out to Vaihan.

  Nothing would be right until Barton was apprehended. And the woman he loved would never be safe.

  Other Lyrical Books By a.c. Mason

  Aequitas II: Punishment

  Aequitas

  Chocolate Damsel

  Wolf-Spirit Series

  Chocolate Temptation

  Wolf-Spirit Series

  His Mortal Soul

  Irish Stories Collection 2012

  About a. c. Mason

  Born from the union of her Scottish and Belgian mother and an African American and Cherokee father, a.c. Mason’s youth was filled with dichotomies and moving from place to place. She developed a curiosity to explore, through writing, the seedy side of our nature and desires. Given her own diverse background, she writes stories that represent the world she grew up in. She is fluent in French and English. Fo
r the past eight years of her life, she has worked with one foot in the past, spanning such times as the 18th century, the Bering Strait theory to modern day, and now late Victorian, and WWII.

  Her stories are the place where darkness meets human desire and fairytale endings are not promised, but earned.

  Sins of the Undead Patriot

  9781616504113

  Copyright © 2012, a. c. Mason

  Edited by Mary A. Murray

  Book design by Lyrical Press, Inc.

  Cover Art by Renee Rocco

  First Lyrical Press, Inc. electronic publication: October, 2012

  Lyrical Press, Incorporated

  http://www.lyricalpress.com

  eBooks are not transferable. All Rights Reserved. This book may not be reproduced, transmitted, or stored in whole or in part by any means, including graphic, electronic, or mechanical without the express written consent of the publisher except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

  PUBLISHER’S NOTE:

  This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the writer’s imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locale or organizations is entirely coincidental. The publisher does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility for author or third-party Web sites or their content.

  Published in the United States of America by Lyrical Press, Incorporated

  Want more?

  Lyrical Press Store: http://www.lyricalpress.com/store

  Follow us on Twitter:

  http://twitter.com/#!/lyricalpress

  Friend us on Facebook:

  https://www.facebook.com/LyricalPressInc

  Join us on Lyrical’s blog:

  http://lyricalpress.blogspot.com/