“Last count was twenty-two and a fucking half in less than thirty minutes. You stopped him cold midsentence last round of Phoebe v Sam,” Nina said, slapping Sam on the back with a laugh. The sharp crack of her hand against his leather jacket made Phoebe’s ears ring.
“Dude, look. I don’t like it any more than you do. But she’s only handing over the forms to the doc for right now. It’s not like they’re going to throw her in some van and kidnap her. It’s a doctor’s office—in fucking Manhattan at rush hour. No way they can get her out of here without us seeing it. She’ll be fine. And FYI, it’s only five o’clock. I don’t get up until at least seven for anybody. Which means I’m pissy. Know why? Here’s why. I was up half the night listening to you two get your humpback beast on. That makes me cranky. Count yourself among the goddamn lucky I don’t need as much vampire sleep as I used to. So shut up, for shit’s sake. Let Phoebe do her thing, and we’ll all go home after she’s done and plot our next move to take over the world with some blood in those fancy glasses Arch likes so much.”
Sam’s lips thinned for the second time in less than twenty minutes. Phoebe had discovered this was a sure sign he was losing his patience. He didn’t do it often. So when he did, it meant something.
He ran a hand over the brim of his black Stetson. “I really think you should bring someone in with you, honey.” His words held a plea to them, and he’d softened them in order to get her to do what he wanted her to do.
She fought to maintain her stance. Um, no. This was their one shot. She was taking it.
Phoebe’s head cocked. She crossed her arms over her chest, folding her gloved hands in the crooks of her arm. “Bring who in with me? You mean like you, Mr. Hot for the Head Nurse? How will we explain that to the woman you made a move on just so you could get Alice Goodwin’s files?”
Sam’s head dipped in impatience and he sucked his cheeks in so hard he created deep caverns on either side of his mouth. “Okay. Then take Nina,” he growled.
Phoebe rolled her eyes and pushed past Sam to make a break for it, but he stopped her. In frustration, she yelped, “No! No one else is exposed to this. We can’t afford to have anyone else associated with this mess. They think I don’t have any family. You don’t suppose Buys Clothes at the Five and Dime Barbie can get away with saying she’s my friend, do you? We look too much alike, Sam.”
Nina snorted and made a face. “Please. We do not either look anything alike. I’d fucking rather be Marty than look like you, princess.”
Darnell spoke for the first time. His round face was full of devilish glee when he gave Nina a shoulder bump. “I dunno, Nina. I think y’all look a lot alike. Only difference is Miss Phoebe’s got red hair and a nicer tongue. Oh, some blue eyes, too. She’s like Nina-light.”
Phoebe clapped her hands together in finality, smiling in Darnell’s direction to thank him for his support. “And there you have it. We’re like twins, Nina. Love it. Now, I’m going in. I’m going to hand over the clinical trial forms, talk to Dr. Hornstein, and come right back out. Forty-five minutes—an hour tops. Can you go on existing that long without me, Sam, or do you want me to text you kissy faces so you know I still like you?”
Sam grabbed her by her upper arms and forced her to look up at him. His handsome face was semi-hidden under his black Stetson, but she knew beneath that brim were worried eyes. And an odd sort of urgency that wasn’t like Sam at all … “Knock it off, Phoebe, and pay close attention. Any sign of anything out of the ordinary, even a hint of suspicion, and you get the hell out. Got that? Use whatever form of the getting you have to in order to do it. Or I’ll blow this whole ridiculous sting thing wide open by rushing the place.”
Phoebe relaxed in his tight hold. “Again, thank you, Jack Bauer slash buddies with bugs. Now go somewhere that’s not here, and quit worrying.”
Lines of concern wreathed Sam’s face. “Do you have your phone?”
“I do. And my Mace, for those sticky occasions like when a human tries to take on a vampire.”
“Sarcasm. Not lovin’ it right now.” He glared down at her to show her how little he loved it.
For a moment, Phoebe paused and really listened to the urgency in Sam’s voice. She was getting better and better at learning how to use her ability to sense emotions. For instance, much like she had back at Alice Goodwin’s apartment, she knew Nina was worried for her. How deep that went was another story entirely, but it was there.
But Sam’s tone didn’t just display worry—it was something more. Something she couldn’t put her finger on. So she decided to ease up with the taunting. “Look, Sam. I promise to be careful. I have my phone, and if I need you, you’ll know. Plus, if things get really hairy, I’ll do what Darnell taught me and picture him in my mind. He’ll appear out of nowhere in his white whip like the knight in shining Nikes he is, and all will be well. But please let me do this without worrying about anything but getting it done. I don’t want to go in anxious and freaked out if there’s no need for it. You’re only making this worse with your fretting. Look, the clock is ticking. We have no idea how long we have left to live. Let me try and find out. Please.”
Scooping her up, Sam placed his lips on hers and left a hard kiss on her mouth, one that caught her by surprise but melted her just as if they were alone and not about to embark on some potentially dangerous shenanigans.
Nina poked her face between them. “Hey, vampires two point O—lay off the fucking canoodling and let’s get ’er done. You’ll be late for your appointment if you don’t move your fat ass, Phoebe.”
Sam let her go with obvious reluctance, dropping her to the ground with a caveman grunt of displeasure.
Phoebe threaded her fingers through his and gave them one last squeeze before letting go. She had to hope he understood that this simple form of communication between them meant something. To her. To her heart. That she wanted to come back to him in just the way she’d left him—because that meant they could continue this exploration thing. Today, she’d discovered, she wanted that almost as much as she wanted to find acceptance with Nina.
Sam held up his hand to his ear and made a sign for the phone to signal she should call him, his face grim.
Phoebe nodded her consent.
Just as she tried to slip past Darnell, he gave her a bear hug, thumping her on the back with his large pawlike hand and whispering, “You be safe now. You need me, member what I tol’ ya. Just think me up. Picture my ugly ol’ puss in yo head. I’ll be there, a’iiight?”
Phoebe cupped his jaw and gave it a quick pinch as he let her drop back to the ground. “A’iiight.”
As she swept past her sister, Nina clamped a firm hand down on her shoulder, her fingers trembling ever so slightly before she let go, giving Phoebe a shove in the direction of the doctor’s office.
Without another word, she moved down the sidewalk at a rapid pace, remembering Nina’s advice to keep her feet in time with the flow of other people’s footsteps so as not to arouse suspicion.
At the door of the glass building that held Dr. Hornstein’s office, she paused, taking in her ridiculously orange spray tan against the deep red of her wrap coat.
She saw the fear in her eyes; the protective eyewear couldn’t hide it, and she had to remind herself once again that she was only dropping off some forms. No big thang.
Before she’d settled on personal stylist as her bread and butter, she’d dreamed the dream most young girls do. She was going to run away to Hollywood and become a famous actress on Saved by the Bell. Mario Lopez, of course, was going to be her on- and off-screen husband.
She’d done a school play or two in her time. Okay, so she didn’t exactly get the part of Sandy in Grease—but girl walking the high school halls, carrying her binder with purpose, as she’d been billed, was acting, too.
She could do this. She could fake her way through this. She certainly could summon up the terror of her now distant diagnosis with no trouble at all. She could remember the agony her mother h
ad suffered at the very hands of the same disease Phoebe had once thought was going to be her death sentence as well.
If she recalled the horror of her mother’s illness, then finding out she, too, had the same disease, she’d put method actresses across the land to shame.
So shit on you, Mrs. Swarkofsky, for not giving me the part of Sandy. No way had Mindy Mifflin looked better than she did in that spandex/Lycra concoction Olivia Newton-John had worn.
Wrapping her hand around the door handle, she yanked it open with purpose and headed toward Dr. Hornstein’s suite on the third floor.
Look at me, I’m Sandra Dee.
SO.
Here she was.
But where the flippin’ hell was here?
When Nina’s words came back to her, she cringed. It’s not like they’re going to throw her in some van and kidnap her.
Oh, realllly?
She’d beg to differ.
Somehow, that was exactly what had happened. She’d handed her forms to Nurse Hawk-of-Eye and waited until she was called to see the doctor. They’d chatted quite pleasantly for a few minutes about her finally making a solid decision to give the clinical trial a shot, and waited some more while he allegedly went to make the appropriate phone calls to set up her appointment with the doctor in charge of the trial.
Then Dr. Hornstein came back in, told her the clinical trial was a thumbs-up but she couldn’t begin for a week while she took some pretrial drug to ready her for the testing. She was sure he was going to whip out his prescription pad, thus thrilling her due to the fact that it meant maybe whatever he was going to give her was something that would lead to what they were doing to these people.
But instead, he gave her a pill and watched as she pretended to take it, but rather shoved it under her tongue.
He left. She spit the pill out and palmed it, throwing it in her jacket pocket for later inspection. It wasn’t like she could have swallowed it anyway. She waited some more, until there was a stirring outside her examining room door, probably unnoticeable to a human ear, and a voice she couldn’t attribute to any of Dr. Hornstein’s staff spoke. “She’ll be out cold in about twenty minutes. We’ll take her from here.”
A sedative … More of that familiar jolt of panic sped along her spine while she scanned the room for her purse to text Sam. Yet, her inspection came up dry. They’d somehow lifted her purse without her even knowing. It had probably been while she’d worried over the possibility Dr. Hornstein was going to want to examine her with his shiny stethoscope, which would lead to him discovering she had no heartbeat.
The bastards. She had a hundred bucks in cash in her wallet.
But why examine her when they were just going to kidnap her?
The next thing Phoebe heard was the distinct shuffle of feet and clearly the preparation to take her wherever it was they were taking her.
Go figure, more panic had set in, and instead of fighting her way out of the office like the ass-kicking, mind-reading, teleporting vampire she was, Phoebe opted to lie down and play dead. She fell back on the table, closed her eyes, and waited, forgetting to picture Darnell in her mind or to utilize her rather fluky teleportation skills.
But as a guy with the bulkiest shoulders she’d ever encountered jammed in her gut first put a pillowcase (one that was definitely under her required thread count, by the smell of it) on her head, then carried her fireman style to the most unoriginal escape vehicle ever, Phoebe formed a plan.
Which, now, as she reflected, was just a little Jack Bauer 24-ish on her part. The nerve of her accusing Sam of pretending to be something he wasn’t. She’d apologize the second she was free of her Walmart-purchased pillowcase.
If she could just pretend she was unconscious for long enough to find out where they were taking her, she could teleport out, or think up Darnell, and she’d be able to find out who was in charge of vampire-mania.
Now, what felt like hours later, Phoebe fought to remain calm as she played dead beneath the pillowcase they’d slapped over her head and lay as still as possible on the cushiony table. Her thoughts went back and forth over the decision she had to make. Kill Dr. Hornstein for being a part of this—or Nurse Hawkeye just because she was such a cranky bitch.
Her ears strained to hear any movement, but wherever she was, it was as silent as a church after Easter Sunday services.
Phoebe’s nostrils flared, sniffing the air through the fabric of the harsh pillowcase. No one was in the room with her. Of that, she was sure. She tugged at the harsh fabric, lifting the bottom edge of it to peek out.
“Ms. Reynolds?”
Uh, dear person in charge of magical, mystical, wondrous vampire powers. What the ever lovin’ fuck? I thought my nose was supposed to be so sensitive I could smell a sale on a Vera Wang dress from a hundred miles away? Someone in your department has clearly fucked up, and I’d like to lodge a complaint.
Love,
Phoebe the Captured
* * *
DARNELL flew toward them, his Nikes stomping the pavement as the chains around his neck slapped his broad chest. It had been just over an hour when Sam decided he couldn’t wait anymore. He was going to break down doors and knock some heads together and find Phoebe. While he seethed, Nina had texted her three times with no response.
Just shy of ripping Nina’s head off while she held him back, Darnell went in after Phoebe, but the look on his face as he rushed toward them didn’t look good.
Darnell stopped short of Nina, out of breath. She clamped a hand on his shoulder, giving it a shake. “Dude—where the fuck is she?”
He shook his dark head, leaning forward with his hands on his knees. “They sayin’ she ain’t nevah had no appointment with them. I looked round as best I could, but I didn’t see her all up in there. She jus’ gone, Nina!”
Sam slammed his fist against the side of the building they waited by, pushing it visibly through the wall in his anger.
Nina was quick to yank it back out, latching on to his arm and giving him a hard shove. “Dude! Knock it the fuck off before you get caught doing a David Blaine, and help me think.”
“I told her!” he ranted, anger ripping through his gut. “I’ve had a bad feeling about this since last night. Jesus Christ, what the hell was I thinking sending her in there?”
Darnell had finally caught his breath. His moon-shaped face was pained when he attempted to soothe Sam. “Aw, Sam. Now you cain’t blame yoself, brotha.” He held up one chubby finger, glistening with a gold ring that spanned his entire hand and had the initial D sprawled across it. “First, yo. Nobody knew it was dangerous. Phoebe was just goin’ in ta hand over some forms. Ain’t nothin’ dangerous ’bout some paper. Second, ain’t no one can tell that little lady what she cain’t do. You saw her. She was goin’ in no matter what. So don’t you worry—ol’ Darnell’s gonna find her.”
“Fuck!” Sam yelped into the growing darkness of the chilly night.
Nina rammed the heel of her hand into his shoulder, her features pinched in anger. “I said lay the fuck off with the martyr crap, dude. It was a good plan. No one had any idea this shit would go down. Now keep it on the down low or I’m gonna take you the hell out. Quit pissin’ in the wind, whinin’ for your woman, and let’s think.”
Sam held up his finger to pause Nina’s chatter. His mind was made up. “Give me a second.” Sam took quick strides away from Darnell and Nina; yanking his phone from his jacket, he dialed a number he should have dialed a long time ago. The one he’d avoided for fear his agency would find out, and he’d put everyone at risk.
Stinky Malone picked up on the first ring. “Sammy? S’up, FBI guy? How’s my favorite secret paranormal agent man? Found any suspicious paranormal activity lately?”
He clamped one hand down over his Stetson to keep it from blowing off his head as the wind picked up. “This paranormal agent man needs something. So don’t talk, just listen. Some shit’s gone down. I need you to hack into a computer system for me.”
; “What’s in it for me?” he singsonged in his nasally drone.
“The gift of life.”
“Damn, Sammy,” he drawled, slow and lazy. “You’ve never threatened to take me out. That’s never been our game, cowboy. Do you even remember the game? I lead you on. You appease me and whisper sweet nothings and sites that need hacking in my ear. I behave like the computer genius cock tease I am. You try to win my favor with flowers and candy like the info-needing bitch you are. Oh, and cash. Lots of it. Unmarked. In a bank account of my Cayman Islands and/or Swiss choice.”
Sam’s fist tightened into a ball of fury. It was all he could do to keep his head on straight. Phoebe was gone. There was suddenly nothing else but the danger she was in and the sheer terror he’d lose her. Sam the FBI guy, calm, cool, compartmentally capable was gone.
This thing between him and Phoebe had happened quickly. This attachment to her didn’t even creep up on him—it hit him full in the face. It was irrational and way too soon to use words like commitment and whatever else came with wanting someone in your life permanently, but there it was.
And the fuck he was going to miss out on that.
Gripping the phone, Sam spat into it. “Shut. The. Fuck. Up. Stinky, and pay attention,” he said between clenched teeth. “You will do exactly as I say minus the game or I’ll hand your ass over to my department so damn fast, you won’t know your dick from your sweaty peanut-sized balls when I’m done. There’ll be no more living in your mother’s basement, surfing Internet porn, and planning world domination using Popsicle sticks for props while your creepy online friends with user IDs too long to pronounce help you rape me for some cash, weasel. Got that? Now do what I tell you, and do it now, or I’ll spend the rest of my life hunting you like the fugitive you are. Clear?”
Stinky’s voice went soft with a quiver. “Jesus, Sammy. I was just kidding. What the hell’s gotten into you?”
Accidentally Dead, Again Page 21
