Accidentally Dead, Again

by Dakota Cassidy

  Dumping the contents of her purse on the table, Phoebe fumbled for her phone and clicked on “answer.” “I thought our booty calls were officially over, Randall? So what inspires a phone call so late?”

  Randall cleared his throat, shifting on what Phoebe suspected was his bed with the checkered comforter. “I thought you’d be long in bed with your phone on vibrate. I was going to leave a voice mail.”

  Phoebe made a face into the phone, pacing the small space between her table and fridge. “Meaning you’re no less of a sissy than you were last week when you broke up with me?” So petty, Phoebes. So.

  There was a pause and then a long drawn-out sigh. “Please don’t be like this, Phoebe.”

  “You have some nerve, Randall,” she drawled, scooping up a fallen chair and righting it. “So what do you want? Did you forget to collect one of the knives you left in my back?”

  Randall’s response crackled over the phone, as empty and meaningless as he was. “That hurts, Phoebe.”

  “Really? Have you seen the knife wound in my back? That’s hurt, pal.”

  “I didn’t stab you in the back. I was just being honest with you. Wouldn’t you rather I was decent enough to tell you the truth instead of misleading you? Your condition is a lot to ask of someone you’ve only been dating for a couple of months.”

  Condition. Hah. Phoebe almost laughed when she considered her newest condition and how Randall would have handled fangs and blood-tasting parties. Instead, she stuck to the disgust he’d evoked in her the moment he’d told her their relationship was over. “You have no idea how grateful I am that you felt honest enough to tell me you’re a spineless coward who couldn’t handle my condition in a text message.”

  “I won’t deny that after I made the decision to break it off, the idea of seeing you in person became too awkward for me. But it doesn’t mean I’m not worried for your safety. You have had some scary moments in the last weeks.”

  Well, tonight, she’d tipped the scary-o-meter. Not even last week’s events topped tonight. “Well, I’m plenty safe, and you’ve officially been crossed off my list of Prince Charming candidates. So consider your guilt assuaged and we can call this a wrap.”

  “I don’t want it to be this way, Phoebe. I really don’t. I’d like to be there for you as a friend, if you’ll let me. Maybe I could take you to that clinical trial your doctor told you about? Or we could have coffee afterward? I dunno, Phoebe. I’m just trying to be supportive for you in some way.”

  “So you can feel better about your charity work?” she sniped at him, then instantly regretted it the moment the words flew from her lips. In all honesty, Randall wasn’t a bad person. In fact, he was a decent guy who just didn’t want to step into a land mine of a relationship with a woman whose future didn’t exactly need shades.

  It hadn’t broken her that Randall wanted out of their loosely committed relationship. They’d enjoyed a nice enough fling, and he was good company, decent enough in bed, but there’d been no browsing Modern Bride for her. What had hurt was the reason he’d broken up with her.

  Because she was damaged and would become more damaged as time went by.

  The mournful sigh from the other end of the phone deepened her regret for reacting in such a petty way. Phoebe ran her hand over her eyes, swiping at the brown smudge of day-old eyeliner she gathered on her fingertips. “I’m sorry, Randall. It’s not your fault. You were honest, and for that you deserve my respect.”

  “So have you decided if you’ll do the clinical trial yet? It did sound pretty promising.”

  Her eyes strayed to the stack of papers hidden behind a kitchen cabinet. “I haven’t decided anything. To say it’s been a crazy eight hours or so is underestimating crazy.”

  “I could go with you,” he offered again, in typical gentlemanly Randall fashion.

  A rush of emotion clogged her throat and tears she’d never shed again because she was a vampire burned her grainy eyes. “I appreciate that, Randall, but I’m betting you don’t want to hang around with me while I fill out the eight hundred or so forms they make patients in clinical trials fill out. It’s long and tedious.”

  There was a long pause, as there usually was when Randall was calculating his words, and then he asked, “Is there any hope in this clinical trial? Any hope at all?”

  Hope. How funny that word was. When she was a kid, she’d hoped to become a personal stylist for the stars. Sort of like today’s Rachel Zoe. Nowadays she just hoped she’d remember the names of all the stars she’d once hoped to dress. “I don’t know if there’s any hope for early-onset Alzheimer’s, Randall. It’s pretty rare, especially at my age, but I’m willing to give it a shot because, really, what do I have to lose?”

  Except her mind.

  CHAPTER

  5

  Sam’s voice just behind her made Phoebe jump. “Phoebe?”

  Shit. Shit. Shit. “I have to go, Randall. But thanks for calling and for your support. You take care.” She slid her phone to the off position and scrunched her eyes shut, cringing.

  Sam put a heavy hand on her shoulder, cool and comforting. It took all she had in her not to lean back against his hard chest, and she had to chalk that up to the crazy bag of emotions this night had wrought. It was a love-the-one-you’re-with mentality, and Sam was the one she was with.

  Her instant attraction to Sam the moment she’d found out he wasn’t gay was more than just a little shallow. So he was good-looking and he had a great set of thighs. Chickens had nice thighs, too.

  “Boyfriend trouble?” he rumbled, deep and shivery.

  “Not anymore. I thought it best we call it quits, considering my new supernatural status. I didn’t want to have to show him who’s really the man at our weekly mud wrestling dates. Now that I have superhuman strength, it’s just not a fair fight.”

  But Sam didn’t laugh. Instead, he gave her a sympathetic apology. “I’m sorry.”

  Her eyes popped open when she waved a hand dismissively. “Don’t be. We broke up last week. He was just doing the guilt call to be sure I wasn’t lost in ice cream and potato-chip grief.”

  But Sam clearly wasn’t buying her story. “Seriously, is everything okay?”

  She moved away from his grip, shaken by the sound of his voice and desperately afraid he’d heard what she’d said to Randall with his super hearing. Putting a smile on her face, she joked, “As noob vampires go, everything’s golden. A pasty white, fanged kind of golden. So what’s up? Did we figure something out? Did you discover you can ice people with your laser beam eyes or maybe move objects with your ninja mind?”

  He shook his head with a grin, taking another step toward her. “Nope. But according to Nina, the night is young, and after your teleportation, who knows what else could happen? Also, Nina made mention of her gut and a bad feeling, and all sorts of scenarios that would make your head spin exorcism style. So she wants us all to stay close to her. No one’s left alone without a paranormal Big Sister.”

  Grand. Maybe they could bond over mugs of warm blood and fang floss. “I can’t think of anything I’d like to do more than stay close to Nina. She inspires warm and squishy.”

  He grinned—wide and sexy. “Good to know, because we’re going over to my place so I can get out of this bra. I don’t know how you women do it, but I need to reassert my manhood by putting on a pair of jeans and my Stetson.”

  “You wear a cowboy hat?”

  “Yes, ma’am. You can take the boy to the city, but you can’t take the country out of the boy,” he answered, thickening his once slight Southern drawl.

  “Where are you from?”

  “Wyoming. Jackson Hole.”

  Phoebe shrugged her shoulders and gave him a look of indifference. “I’d really rather stay here.” Because even in all this chaos, all she could think about was what his butt would look like in those jeans. Their lives were on the line. Someone needed to reassess their priorities.

  “Well, first, let me be really clear on somethi
ng. I did this to you. I know you blame Nina for cornering you, but it was my fang that ended up in your … well, you know where. So I consider you my responsibility until we have this all figured out. Until I know you’re safe, we stick together. And even if you don’t like it, pretend you do or you’ll hurt my feelings. Second, the head vampire demands it. I don’t know about you, but I’d bet my false eyelashes you shouldn’t cross her. Just a feeling. Wanda and Marty offered to stay with Mark on the off chance someone else shows up here.”

  Hackles rose on the back of her neck. She had to know Mark was safe. “Why would someone else show up here? Was there more than one person at your one-night stand, Mr. McLean, and you’re just a modest stud? Did you have a vampire ménage?”

  Sam let his head fall back on his shoulders when he laughed, hearty and rich, the thick muscles in his neck standing out. “You’re funny. Just like your sister. Though, I’m not as impressed with your arsenal of crude. She’s a much better cusser than you.”

  Phoebe’s cheeks dimpled in a grin. “She has a way, doesn’t she?”

  “A way. A mouth. An attitude, but she does know what it is to live as a vampire. She deserves credit for at least trying to help us—even if it is with a chip the size of Gibraltar on her shoulder. Plus, I really think her bark is much worse than her bite.”

  She took a step back from him, creating some much-needed space. “You’ve known her for all of, what—twenty minutes—and you’ve already evaluated her marshmallowy center?”

  “It’s been probably more like five or six hours. Long, long, loud, chaotic, violent hours,” he reflected on a wry grin. “But again, what do we know about being vampires? What if something else as unexpected as your teleportation happens? Nina’d be our best shot at survival, and Mark needs someone to stay with him. Would poor Mark want that someone to be Nina?”

  “Point.”

  Sam smiled. He held out his hand to her. So noble. So filled with sincerity. So sexy. “Good. So we’re in this together?”

  Phoebe’s reluctant brain wasn’t as quick as her needy hand when she found her fingers straying toward his. “Oh, I’m all for finding out why we’re going to die as a team. I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

  Sam swept his arm comically in front of him. “Then after you, milady.”

  She held up a finger. “Wait. Promise me something.”

  “Name it.”

  “Duck if you hear the words Barbie and my name in a sentence come out of Nina’s mouth. I wouldn’t want to damage those nice cheekbones if you get in my way when I clock her in the chops.”

  He mock-preened. “You like my cheekbones?”

  “I’d kill small children for them.”

  “You don’t like kids?”

  Kids. There’d be none of those for her. Not with a prognosis as grim as the one she’d been dealt. Rather than dwell, she shot him a flippant answer. “Not as much as I like your cheekbones.”

  He chuckled on his way out of the kitchen with a hesitant Phoebe lagging behind him.

  SAM let his forehead rest against the door of his apartment, still disoriented by the idea that they’d run from Phoebe’s place almost across town to his warehouse apartment in just under five minutes flat. The scientific half of his brain wanted to explore this incredible anomaly. The other half of it just wanted to find a quiet corner in which to mourn the passing of an ice-cold Corona and chimichangas.

  But there was work to do …

  Phoebe stood behind him, still rather dazed. “We just ran …”

  Sam nodded. “I know, right?”

  She looked down at her feet and back up at him, her eyes adorably wide, her lips sweetly plump. “I’m considering a spot on the track team at the Olympics. You know, as a fallback on the off chance I have no clients left when this is all said and done.”

  “I think you’d look really cute in one of those leotards and running shoes.” He instantly nixed the visual of her naked and in running shoes. Bad, Sam. No biscuit.

  But …

  No buts. You know better. No naked in running shoes or otherwise. Nip it, pal.

  “Her ass is too big for one of those leotards. It’s definitely way too big to fit on a Wheaties box,” Nina taunted, giving Phoebe a playful punch in the shoulder before stretching her arms above her head.

  “You know what, Nina?”

  “What, Barbie?”

  “I’m not going to respond to that.”

  “That’s because you’re too slow.”

  “No. It’s because I’m still too astounded you actually knew what the word Olympics meant,” Phoebe shot back, sticking her face in Nina’s and smiling.

  Sam planted a hand on each woman’s shoulder before Nina could get to Phoebe. “Girls? Where is the love, I ask you? Play nice or I’ll be forced to separate you.” He winked, then reached for his doorknob and remembered something vital. “Damn. My purse. The keys are in my purse.”

  Of all the things to lose. His thrift-store bargain purse. Thankfully, he’d only had a small amount of cash in it and his license. Nothing he couldn’t live without or replace. Right now, all he wanted was to get the hell out of this ridiculous outfit and have a moment to think.

  “Move,” Nina ordered, shoving Sam out of her way and wrapping her hand around the doorknob to give it a good twist. The handle was mutilated, but the door was open. “It’s good to be a vampire, huh, Sammy?” She clapped him on his broad back with a chuckle.

  Phoebe’s eyes connected with his for a moment, wide and filled with the kind of wonder/terror he’d expressed himself at least half a dozen times or so since this had started. But then she straightened her spine and squared her shoulders; Sam found himself admiring her determination to show Nina she was no slacker in the suck-it-up, you’re-a-vampire department.

  He found himself admiring many things about her. Aside from her physical attributes, which were aplenty, he mostly admired the fact that she hadn’t completely given in to the side of her that wanted to turn tail and run screaming. Instead, she plowed ahead right behind her fearless sister in a silent battle of who was the badder ass.

  Nina gave him a shove. “Let’s do this, Gigantor. We need to hurry it up if we’re going to be back to our coffins in time for daylight. You know, so we don’t fucking burn to death?”

  Phoebe’s grunt of displeasure inspired Sam to move. “Right. Snap, crackle, pop. I’ll make it fast.”

  Upon entering his apartment, everything was pitch black; yet, he could see every single detail as though it were brightly lit.

  Every messy detail of it.

  “Are all bug lovers so messy?” Phoebe asked, stepping on a pile of clothes in the corner of the living room and stumbling over a stack of old National Geographics.

  “Aw, hell,” Sam muttered, reaching for the light switch and hissing along with Phoebe and Nina when the glare of the track lighting stung their eyes.

  But the light brought with it clarity.

  Nina’s tongue clucked. “Goddamn it. Didn’t I say some shit just wasn’t right about what went down with you, Sammy?” she snarled, perusing Sam’s overturned end tables and armchair. “You’ve been jacked, dude.” She bent at the waist, lifting his mountain bike up with one finger and setting it upright. “The motherfuckers.”

  Stooping, Sam cleared a path through torn throw pillows and broken glass to make his way across the long length of his living room. The pictures that had adorned the deep barn red of the walls were ripped off, the frames shattered in black enamel pieces scattered over the barn wood flooring. His chest of drawers that he used to keep his live specimen containers and various other tools of the entomology trade had been tipped over, the drawers yanked free of the wood.

  “Oh, Sam. I’m sorry,” Phoebe whispered from her corner of his living room, stooping to pick up a fallen planter that once held the clippings of a Christmas cactus his mother had given him years ago so he’d always think of her. He took it with him wherever he went.

  Sam’s eyes scanned
the room to assess the damage and noted how odd it was that the fifty-two-inch flat screen and sound system were still intact. “I’m beginning to think you’re right. But what is it that I have, and who the hell wants it?” He kept his face expressionless, but his thoughts were moving a mile a minute.

  “Shouldn’t we call the police?” Phoebe asked, the tremor of fear in her voice easy to detect with his newly defined hearing.

  Nina hunched her shoulders forward and scoffed. “And tell them what, princess? That we think some vampires trashed Sam’s apartment? Do you want to end up in the nearest House of Crazy? We can’t have cops here asking a bunch of questions we’ll only have to lie about the answers to anyway. Remember the lay-low rule? That applies to everything from now on—which means this is clan business.”

  “Then maybe you should get to dialing clan nine-one-one—because I think Sam’s been robbed, Bat Girl,” Phoebe drawled, shooting Nina an arrogant raise of her eyebrow.

  Sam clenched his fists and searched for the patience to deal with two women so at odds. “Nina’s right. Until further inspection, I can’t see that they did anything more than toss the place. My bike’s still here. The TV and surround sound. I don’t keep money lying around. I don’t get it.”

  And then his eyes strayed to his desk, the desk that had been his since he was a kid in college. Something else that went with him wherever he went. The one that still held his O-Tech laptop and personal desktop computer.

  Nina caught Sam’s gaze of disbelief and said, “What kind of ass-clown thieves leave behind two computers and a flat screen? The ones trained at the blind division in the CIA?” Her nostrils flared and her nose wrinkled in distaste. She held a hand up in clear warning. “I smell vamp, dudes. You two smell that? It’s nasty-ass vamp. Like no other kind of vampire I’ve ever smelled before. Take a deep whiff, kiddies, and memorize that stank, because whoever trashed your place is a vampire, but definitely isn’t part of our clan.”

  “This sniffing out clan members?” Phoebe interjected, her eyes skeptical. “Is it like when dogs sniff each other’s butts? Is that how we recognize each other?”