White Trash Zombie Apocalypse wtz-3

by Diana Rowland

  “So what’s the problem?” I tugged a hand through my hair. If it checked out, why was her being Saberton PR a bad thing? “She was sure as hell taking pictures of me.” Then again, for a photographer, she handled herself pretty damn well in the highway fight. “I don’t understand. Who do you think she is?”

  Brian exhaled forcefully. “All I know for certain right now is that she’s not just a PR staffer and she’s not coming clean about it.” Frustration colored his voice. “I had a talk with her while you were with Dr. Nikas. Played her a bit and found out she knows a little too much about the late Richard Saber.” He folded his arms over his chest. “You see, he was a recluse in his last decade. However, Heather let slip about an eye patch the man wore after a bout of cancer. That’s something no lower echelon employee would know, and I only know of it because of a single photo one of our operatives managed to get of him.” He flexed his right hand, mouth tightening. “Damn it, Angel, it’s not definitive, but when I put it together with the info she’s dribbled and what I smell from her, it’s pretty damning.”

  I could see his point, and my heart sank. “So this whole thing was a ploy to infiltrate Pietro’s operation?”

  “That’s what it’s looking like,” he said. “She kept her cool after her comment on Saber, but I smelled the fear on her. She knew she’d screwed up.”

  I had no doubt he’d been tanked on brains when he talked to her, which means he’d be able to smell a flea fart. “What did she say to cover herself?”

  Brian shook his head. “She didn’t. I walked out to, uh, do some remodeling,” he said with a glance at the hole in the wall, “then went to find you. No more talking for now. I’ll let her sweat.”

  I frowned, remembering my conversation with Heather in the diner parking lot. “It doesn’t make sense,” I insisted, though I knew that it was more that I didn’t want to believe it. “Can I talk to her?”

  “I’m sorry. The situation has changed, Angel,” he said, voice tight. Frustration tightened the skin around his eyes. He didn’t want to believe it any more than I did, but what the hell else was he supposed to think?

  “Yeah, I know, but—” I paused, took a deep breath. “She saved my life. And she didn’t have to. I’d already taken out the two humans, and she could’ve waited for the zombie to blow my head off before taking him out. She’d have been home free then. But she didn’t.” I scowled. “And on a totally personal level, if she’s bullshitting us, I’d kinda like to confront her, because I killed a guy for her.” I wasn’t a wimp when it came to fighting. I’d had to do plenty to survive. But killing took it to another level. “I’m not real happy about that. I just want to know why.”

  “It’s not an if she’s bullshitting,” Brian stated. “She is and she called you into it.” He shook his head. “She’s a pro, Angel. I don’t know how she did it, but she managed to get personal information from Dr. Nikas, Jacques, Reg—Dr. Nikas’s other tech—and me. Stuff we don’t talk about, ever. But each one of us spilled it in conversation and didn’t—” He stopped, exhaled. “Add that to what’s stacked in the infiltration corner, and I’m not sending in a visitor right now.”

  “Brian, there has to be more to it!” I said, not at all willing to leave it like this, despite the evidence against her. “You didn’t see her out there.” I met his eyes. “Please. Maybe I can get through to her.”

  His eyes narrowed. “What do you mean by not seeing her out there?”

  I hesitated, trying to think how to put it. “It’s tough to explain. We were a team. I mean, it wasn’t just me helping her out of a fix,” I said with a shake of my head. “Brian, I just can’t believe she’s a bad person. I saw her after she killed the zombie. She looked really torn up about it.”

  He seemed to be willing to let me keep talking, so I took that as a sign I might be getting somewhere. I tilted my head. “Look, what do you have to lose by letting me in to see her? It’s not as if she can ferret out any super secret info from me.” I gave him a small smile. “We all know I don’t know shit.”

  He regarded me for a long, silent moment. I braced myself to be all kinds of stubborn when he said No, but when he finally spoke he wore a hint of a smile. “I suppose I have nothing to lose and maybe everything to gain.”

  “Exactly!” I said brightly as relief flooded in. “Thanks, Brian.”

  “She’s a con artist, and a good one,” he said. “I hate to see you getting—” He stopped, visibly rephrased. “I hate to see you waste your time.”

  I had a feeling he was going to say something about getting more attached to her. “It’s my time to waste,” I said, then grimaced at the magnitude of the whole thing. This whole deal sucked. “She knows what’s at stake, right?”

  “I have no doubt.” A muscle in his jaw twitched. He couldn’t hide his anger at Heather for putting him in a position to have to deal with her. “She’s playing a big game. If her intention was to infiltrate, or some other scheme, she knows the consequences.”

  He likes Heather, I realized with a bit of surprise, though at the same time I could totally see it. She was tough and capable and pretty damn likeable. He didn’t want to lock her up and do ugly things to extract info. And it was clear he didn’t want to kill her.

  But I also knew that he wouldn’t let that get in the way of whatever he had to do to ensure the security of Pietro’s organization.

  Brian leveled his impassive, professional gaze on me. “You budge her, Angel, and I’ll kiss you.”

  I gave a surprised bark of laughter. “I’m gonna hold you to that, you know.”

  “I’m not putting on the ChapStick just yet,” he said as he pushed off the desk, “but I hope it comes down to that.” He hesitated, then continued with a tightness in his voice that sounded a lot like worry. “Angel, if she doesn’t open up, it won’t be pretty.”

  I winced, sighed. “Yeah, I kinda gathered that.” And I was the one who’d talked her into coming over to our side. Or had I? Anger flashed. If she really was trying to infiltrate, I’d been a convenient patsy. One who opened the damn door and invited her in. That stirred more questions, but there was only one person who could answer them. Whether guilty as all sin or hiding some other reason for her behavior, I wanted to know. I’d killed for it.

  For Brian’s sake as well as to bolster my fading conviction in her innocence, I said, “Maybe it will all work out.”

  He gave a slow nod. “See what you can do.” He paused. “Please,” he added, almost like a prayer.

  “Gotcha,” I said and flashed him a tight smile. “Lemme at her.”

  Chapter 15

  Brian walked me around the corner and down a hallway. “Remember, she’s good at what she does,” he told me. “She’s, ah, easy to open up to.”

  “Yeah, I’ve noticed that,” I remarked as he stopped before a windowless door.

  “Here’s her room,” he said. He punched a key code into the obviously locked door. “I’ll be monitoring.”

  I took a deep breath, then entered and closed the door behind me. Heather sat propped in a hospital bed with a rolling table in front of her, pencil in hand, drawing what looked like an intricate swirling abstract. Her left arm sported a bandage and sling to go along with her splint, and traces of bruising showed on her face. A pile of drawings lay on the table beside her hand along with more blank white paper. A dozen or so origami animals of various types clustered on a built-in counter to my right. A doorway led into a small bathroom. No frills and nothing dangerous. Pretty much a secure hospital room.

  “Hey, chick,” I said with a bright smile. “You look better than the last time I saw you.”

  Heather set the pencil down and hurriedly shoved her drawing under the others, then stacked the rest of the blank paper on top of them. I let my gaze linger on the drawings and origami. She’d been busy. Or incredibly bored.

  She pushed up from the pillows, wincing faintly as if the movement tweaked an existing headache. “Did I look that bad?” she asked, still man
aging a broad smile for me. “I thought it had a street savvy flair about it.”

  “Right, more like road kill flair,” I said with a snort. “Though I don’t have much room to talk.”

  “Nope you had me beat, I think.” She let out a low chuckle. “The hanging jaw, the bullet holes. I was definitely outclassed.”

  “I’ve had too much practice,” I said as I leaned up against the counter next to the origami. “You’ve been busy.” I picked up a little unicorn and peered at the little twisted horn.

  She glanced at the animals, then the pile of papers beside her. “Yeah. Otherwise, I’d go stir crazy,”

  I set the unicorn next to a paper praying mantis, resisted the urge to play with them and make it look as if the mantis was eating the unicorn. “This is really cool,” I said. “About all I can do is an origami baseball.”

  She smiled, obviously well aware that an origami baseball was nothing more than a wadded up piece of paper. “Paper and pencil were all I could wheedle out of Jacques. And I think I’m still in deep debt for the sharpener.”

  “You must have done the dragon that’s sitting on his computer then, right?” I asked.

  Her smile widened with a touched of pleased surprise. “It’s on his computer?”

  “Perched right on his monitor,” I replied.

  “Nice,” she said, for a brief instant looking relaxed and happy. “Thanks for telling me that.”

  I lifted my chin toward the pile of papers by her hand, “Whatcha drawing?” She didn’t seem to be shy about the origami, so why be that way with the drawings?

  She laid her hand on top of the stack of papers. “Oh, just doodles to kill time, that’s all.”

  I sat at the foot of the bed, pulled my legs underneath me. What little I’d seen sure wasn’t a simple doodle. The girl had some talent. “So, what’s gonna happen to you next?” I asked, still keeping my voice light. “How soon you getting out of here?”

  Heather shook her head. “No idea. Dr. Nikas says he’s keeping me for observation.” She shrugged. “Other than this,” she gestured to her left arm with the broken fingers and gunshot wound, “I feel okay. A little headachy, that’s all.”

  “Right. I mean after that,” I said, watching her carefully. “You gonna come work for Pietro? Is that what you want?”

  A whisper of what looked like anxiety tightened the skin around her eyes, but then she gave me a bright smile and it was gone. “Oh, yeah. That would be awesome.”

  “I mean, that’s your whole goal, right?” I continued, all of the lightness leaving my voice. “All of this bullshit. That’s what this was all about, right? Get in as one of us?” I cocked my head as her smile faded. “Brian knows you’re not just a photographer.”

  She sank back into the pillows, expression bleak, but not showing surprise. “Damn.”

  “Brian said I could come in and talk to you,” I said. “Maybe get the whole story. He’ll probably want to talk to you after I’m done here.” My eyes dropped to her broken fingers. “He said Hi to you once already. I don’t think you’d like a whole conversation.”

  Her throat bobbed as she swallowed. “Not that kind of conversation.”

  “Then talk to me instead,” I urged. Damn it. I liked her, and I really wanted to believe she was for real, but I sure had a bad vibe going on. “What’s going on? Was this whole thing a setup so that you could infiltrate?”

  She looked away, mouth tightening. “I guess that’s what it looks like.”

  My heart sank. Had I really been duped so thoroughly? “That…that’s incredibly fucked up,” I said, voice shaking a little from the disappointment. “You used me?” I shook my head, still trying to make sense of it all. “Were those really Saberton men who were after you? Did you actually kill your own people?”

  She gave a tight nod. “They were Saberton.”

  I stared at her for several seconds before finding my voice. “Wow, that’s cold,” I managed. “All to get in with us? Did they know? Did they know you were trying to infiltrate?”

  Something flashed through her eyes—pain or anger, I couldn’t be sure. But when she looked back to me, her expression was hard. “Those guys?” She shook her head. “No. They had orders to capture me. Only way to make it look real.” Her mouth twisted. “Problem was, they called in Eggerton, the zombie. He wasn’t supposed to be there, and I almost got killed.”

  I stood, hands clenched. “Only way to make it look real,” I echoed. “And so you set me up to kill a guy and fuck up another.” I took a ragged breath, stomach churning. “I killed someone because of you, you heartless bitch!”

  “Yeah, and it would’ve worked if I hadn’t gotten hurt,” she replied, voice flat and cold. Something flickered briefly in her eyes to disturb the icy façade, but she quickly controlled it before continuing. “I’d have met with Brian under different circumstances, and he’d never have known he was being played. He thought I was,” she made air quotes, “‘paparazzi’ after our first encounter, remember?”

  Anger coiled tight in my chest, yet I couldn’t ignore the insistent doubts. Parts of her story didn’t make complete sense. “How did you know I’d come out and confront you at the diner?”

  She twitched a shoulder up in a shrug. “You wanted to come after me before, in front of that dead girl’s house. I figured if I walked into the diner you’d take the bait.”

  Frowning, I cast my memory back over that night. Heather had been wearing a hoodie, and she sure as hell hadn’t looked like someone who wanted to be seen or recognized. “Really?” I asked. “You were gonna stroll in and somehow make me believe you were on the run?” My frown deepened as more holes the size of Texas appeared in her version. “And how’d you know I had Brian’s number? And that I would even call him?”

  Her cool composure cracked, and a bizarre flash of primal fear lit her eyes. She tugged a hand through her hair, wound a lock around one finger.

  “That one guy shot you.” I was talking as much to help me figure it out as to confront her. “Why would he do that if he was just trying to bring you back?” More and more holes kept appearing in this whole “infiltration” story. I scowled, shook my head. “And godalmighty, if they had to pick someone to infiltrate, surely it would be someone with a better plan.”

  She viciously wound the lock of hair around her finger, over and over. “My plans haven’t worked out so great lately,” she said. To my shock she seemed close to tears. It didn’t look right on her somehow.

  I stared at the hair twisting as mental clues shifted and fell into something recognizable. I remembered the last time I saw someone twist hair like that. Nicole Saber at the Gourmet Gala. Now I saw the same tilt of the eyes, the blond hair, the profile. And she knew about the reclusive Richard Saber.

  “Oh my god,” I breathed. “That’s it. You’re related to Nicole Saber somehow, aren’t you.”

  Her posture shifted subtly, a feral look coming to her eyes. Before I could blink she vaulted from the bed, knocking me aside as she dove for the door.

  Stumbling back, I cursed my not-very tanked state as I sprawled against the tray table, scattering origami animals. I expected her to tug vainly at the door handle, but to my shock she yanked it open.

  What the hell? I scrambled up and out the door, made a wild snatch at the sleeve of her hospital gown, barely succeeding in getting enough of a hold to slow her as she tried to bolt down the hallway.

  Behind me I heard a door burst open and running footsteps—Brian, no doubt. Heather spun and struck a hard punch at my forearm, loosening my grip enough for her to twist free.

  “Would you chill?” I yelled, then jumped on her in a clumsy tackle before she could turn and run. She outweighed me by thirty pounds or so, and topped me by at least half a foot, but she went down under my clinging assault. Didn’t stop her from fighting, though. She clocked me in the side of the head with her good fist, and managed to knee me in the ribs hard enough to knock the wind out of me.

  “Stop!” I wheezed.
“You stubborn bitch!”

  My eloquent plea had no effect, but Brian’s arrival did. In about five seconds he had her face down, a knee between her shoulder blades, and was efficiently zip-tying her wrists behind her back.

  Breathing hard, Heather continued to fight, though there was no budging Brian. Blood seeped through the bandage over the gunshot wound in her bicep, likely reopened by her struggles.

  Brian finished securing the zip-ties. “Jacques!” he called, then looked up at me. “Let’s get her back on the bed.”

  I helped him get Heather up to her feet. I expected her to go limp, but she continued to try and twist away, even though she had to know there was no possible way she was breaking free from two zombies, one of whom was no doubt tanked to the gills considering how quickly he made it down the length of the hall.

  “Jesus Christ,” I said to Heather, breathing a bit hard myself. “It’s true, isn’t it? What are you, her daughter or something?”

  I might as well have been asking the wall. She kept her jaw clenched tight as we got her back into the room and onto the bed. Jacques arrived at a run, and Brian jerked his gaze to him. “Restraints.”

  I stepped back as the two men efficiently removed the zip-ties and secured her wrists and ankles to the bed with medical restraints. Heather pulled futilely at them, a look of wide-eyed panic on her face. “No. Please.”

  “What will you do now?” I asked Brian, worry rising.

  “Make a phone call,” he replied in a tight voice.

  Jacques looked from the still-struggling Heather to Brian. “Sedative?”

  “Wait! No, wait!” I said. “Don’t sedate her yet and don’t call yet.” In reply, Brian stood back and folded his arms, face impassive as he regarded me.

  Taking that as a temporary victory, I swung my attention to Heather. “It’s out now. For fuck’s sake, defend yourself! Are you related to Nicole Saber? Is that what this is all about?”