Accidentally Dead, Again

by Dakota Cassidy

  Phoebe was the first to cave, sinking into the hard shelter of Sam’s chest and pressing her cheek to his.

  He reached up and bracketed her face, kissing her closed eyelids, her cheeks, the tip of her nose.

  “Yay again for vampire sex, huh?”

  His chuckle rumbled in the bathroom. “Yay again.”

  Lifting her head, Phoebe gazed into Sam’s dark eyes so full of so many things she wasn’t quite sure she could read them all. “Are you okay?”

  Rising with her still around his waist, Sam made his way into the bedroom and set her on the bed. He plopped down next to her, dragging his soggy boots off and kicking his wet jeans to the floor.

  He pulled her to him, running his hands along the space where her waist met her hips. “That’s my question you’re stealing there. But it’s one I’m too afraid to ask you because after what Wanda told me … Well, I only experienced it secondhand, and even I’m not okay.”

  Her lower lip trembled when she let her head fall to his shoulder. The deep, gut-wrenching anguish she felt over transporting out of there before she’d been able to help that poor soul began anew. “We have to go back. We have to help that man. I won’t ever sleep again if we don’t help … Oh, God … what they were doing to him. It was …” She fisted her hands together to keep them from trembling. “I don’t even know who he is, but he’s being tortured and I don’t even think he realizes it, Sam. I don’t know if he has Alzheimer’s but if he does, he must be so far gone, he doesn’t know what’s happening to him. They were laughing, those vile pigs. Laughing and chatting with him like everything was damn well normal. Like throwing your guinea pig a social interaction bone is all part of the job. He was split wide open, Sam …” She squeaked his name, then pressed her fingers to her eyes to wash away the ungodly images.

  Sam tucked her head under his chin. “I heard, honey.”

  Phoebe’s voice cracked when she said, “But I’ve got to get him out. I won’t be able to bear it if we don’t. I’m not even one hundred percent sure where he is, but we have to find him.”

  “I’ve got someone on it.”

  Her head shot up. “Say again?”

  “I said, I’ve taken care of it.”

  Phoebe paused with a frown. Took care of what? “You did what? How can you take care of this man’s fate?”

  Sam set her away from him. “How about we talk about this tomorrow?”

  Phoebe watched Sam’s eyes evade hers, then return to her face. “Uh, no. Yeah, yeah. I’ve been traumatized and you don’t want to push poor, scarred-for-life Phoebe over the edge, but now I want to know what you mean by, you’ve got someone on it. Who could you, the bug guy, have on something like this, King of the Geeks? Mothra? The Fly?”

  “About that …” Sam took her hand, lacing his fingers with hers.

  Phoebe’s antenna was on red alert. The intonation of his last words implied guilt. She knew they did due to the fact that Archibald had told Wanda a little white lie about who’d eaten all of his angel food cake. He’d feigned no knowledge of the cake thievery and told Wanda to ask Darnell if he’d finished it.

  That was because he didn’t want her to beat him down about his very human cholesterol numbers and how high they were his last trip to the doctor. And when he’d fobbed the cake eating off on Darnell, Phoebe had heard the guilt in his words.

  She let go of Sam’s hand. She’d heard guilt. “Yeah. About that?”

  “Look, this can really wait until tomorrow. You need to rest after today, honey.”

  “Oh, no. Don’t you go deflecting with concern for my battered soul, honey. Spill, McLean. After today, I can take whatever you got.”

  “So. It happened like this …”

  “What happened like what?”

  “How I got to O-Tech in the first place.”

  Dread filled the pit of her belly. And then the conclusion jumping began. Oh, Jesus. He was somehow involved in this manufactured vampire thing. He was a maniac, too. A hot maniac, but a maniac. Oh, hell. He was a maniac she’d wonked to within an inch of her undead-edness. And he was in this room with her. How could Wanda and Nina let her be in a room with a maniac? What the shit kind of got your back was that?

  Wait. Maybe that was too much? Perspective. Phoebe fought for perspective.

  She straightened her shoulders, pulling the comforter over her naked body as though it were a shield she could use to protect herself from whatever Sam was going to say. “So. How did Sam the Entomologist get to O-Tech?”

  His eyes were clear and direct when he looked at her. “He got there through the FBI.”

  “Like some FBI bug-study program?” Oh. Well, then. What was the big deal about that? Relief flooded her.

  Sam closed one eye and popped his lips, scraping his hand through his hair. “Um, no.”

  Relief officially gone. “Go in for the kill, Sam. Just say it.”

  “I’m an undercover FBI agent. I work for a division of the FBI specializing in the investigation of suspicious paranormal activity.”

  “You mean like Fringe?”

  “Well. I prefer to think of myself categorized more Mulder from The X-Files than Olivia Dunham, but, yes. It’s a very similar division,” he said. Calm. Organized. Due a punch in his stupid, handsome face.

  Her hand went to her chest in a formerly human reaction. She was winded and she couldn’t even breathe. “Does Nina know about this?”

  “She does. So do Wanda, Darnell, and Archibald.”

  Nice. How very all in the family. “And you still had your junk to work with in there? Nina didn’t rip all your business off with her teeth?” she asked with disbelief as she thumbed over her shoulder in the direction of the bathroom.

  “There was a moment I was sure that’s where we were headed, but she let me explain.”

  “Booyah for her.”

  Sam sat silent, his eyes contrite.

  He was good. But of course he was. Sam McLean was practiced at keeping everything under control, wasn’t he? He was practiced at lots of things that had to do with the word under, now wasn’t he? “So you’ve been undercover all this time?”

  “Yes.”

  “Investigating suspicious paranormal activity at O-Tech?”

  “No. Not exactly.”

  It all started to make sense. The caution he’d used about breaking into O-Tech. The way he’d made sure no one could find them on some unknown frequency by using walkie-talkies instead of their cell phones to communicate.

  The hesitance he’d displayed at going into O-Tech despite their united vampiric strength and various powers. The way he’d covered all avenues when they had to break into Alice Goodwin’s apartment by parking a couple of streets over. The way he’d led her to believe that he’d just watched a lot of detective shows in his time and that was why he always knew exactly what to do.

  But Starsky had a secret, didn’t he?

  The. Motherfucker.

  So what did not exactly mean? Forget it. She didn’t want to know. She’d been used up one side and down the other in all forms of the word.

  That was the only exactly she was sure of. Rising from the bed, she pulled the comforter with her, yanking it so hard she knocked Sam over. “You know what, Sam. I’m not sure I want to know what the word exactly means to you. In fact, I’m sure of it. Keep your exactly to yourself!”

  Still, he remained calm, using words he purposely made distinct, probably hoping to penetrate her haze of anger with rationale. “I’d like it if you’d let me explain to you what I meant by that, Phoebe.”

  Then something else hit her. He’d been pretty Jackie Chan at O-Tech that night. He was an FBI agent trained in the use of force—or whatever they called it. He played with guns and he played at being something he more than likely wasn’t. Like an entomologist. Winged things, her ass!

  But he hadn’t just faked his job—he’d probably faked his feelings for her. She’d seen enough TV to know the things those spies did to keep their covers.

&n
bsp; As the pieces of Sam’s deception came together, she realized the worst thing of all. He’d put them all in serious danger. If Sam investigated people just like them—what would the FBI do when they found out about Nina and Wanda and everyone involved in this mess?

  Her finger slashed the air and her eyes zeroed in on him. “Hold up. Does the FBI know about us? Do they know about you?”

  Sam’s eyes were sheepish and full of supposed remorse. But who knew if that was really remorse, or he was just playing at remorse because it was his job? “No, honey. They don’t know about any of this. I took some leave.”

  “You mean they don’t know yet—that’s what you mean, Sam! But what if they’d come looking for you? They would have found us, and then what? What happens when they do finally come looking for you?”

  Sam held out his hand to her with more irritating-as-hell calm. “If you’ll just let me finish explaining—”

  She gawked at him, her eyes bulging. “What could you possibly have to explain? The facts are simple. All this good-old-boy, goofy, down-home charm was a total act right from the start. You didn’t have some desk job at the FBI, Sam, or you wouldn’t have been karate chopping your way to that lab that night at O-Tech. You don’t play with bugs, you play with guns and murderers and suspicious paranormal-activity makers!”

  “No, Phoebe, that’s not true. I do play with bugs. I mean, I am an entomologist, and if you’d just let me explain everything to you, you’d better understand what I’ve been doing at O-Tech.”

  She shook her head, backing away from him when he rose to reach for her. “Ohhh, no, pal. Don’t you do the whole calm, rational, she’s-the-crazy-one-here FBI bullshit with me! No. No. Not gonna fly. There’s nothing to explain. I mean, how do you explain that you knew something was going on at O-Tech, Sam? How do you explain using me as your decoy today so you could get the job done? How do you explain pretending to be on our side when you investigate people just like us? People just like you, you lying, bullshitting, moth lover? How do you explain throwing down with me like we just did? All part of the paranormal investigation, Sam? So you can report back on paranormal nookie? Fuck. You!” she screamed, grabbing for her clothes and flinging his bedroom door open.

  As she stood in the doorway, she narrowed her eyes at him. “You know what this is like, Sam? This is just like the time Leticia Rothwell on Sedona found out her brand-new husband Yanislov Bertowski was an international spy. Oh, he was good, too. Just like you. He was charming. Funny. Endearing himself to everyone around him. He had this goofball air about him just like you. But really, he was a cold-blooded killer who’d sack any chick he had to, kill anyone in order to get the job done. That’s what this is like.”

  Sam planted his hands on his still nakedly lying hips. “And did Leticia Rothwell forgive Yanislov Bertowski, international spy, for lying to her and only sort of pretending to be something he really wasn’t?”

  She threw her head back and snorted a mocking laugh. “Nope. You know what she did to him, Sam?”

  “I’m all anticipatory.”

  “She slit his throat!” Slamming the door shut behind her, she stalked off into the kitchen, ignoring the open mouths of her so-called got-your-back crew.

  SAM rubbed temples that really didn’t hurt with cool fingers that couldn’t really ease something that wasn’t there.

  So. That had gone well.

  He dug through his dresser drawers and located another pair of jeans. Sliding into them, he fought to keep himself from jamming the drawer through the wall.

  And by the fucking way, he wasn’t the only one with secrets. She had a lot of nerve calling him a liar when she had another sister.

  Is that really the same thing, Sammy? Really? C’mon, bro. She didn’t lie about it. She just didn’t tell you yet. Now I bet she’s glad she didn’t tell you because it would be just one more person she’d have to worry she’d put in danger.

  So it was a lie by omission. Same damn difference.

  No, Sammy. Very big difference.

  His phone rang, making him forget the nagging voice in his head. He stalked to the bathroom and dragged it out of his jacket pocket, glancing at the screen.

  A text message from Stinky that read,

  Incoming, cowboy. Found your third victim. Sending her pic and some seriously hard-to-locate stats. Thank me in the way of the dude who flies a radical kite. Thank me a lot.

  Sam clicked on the link Stinky had sent him, forcing himself to focus on putting this all together.

  He scanned the files Stinky sent, skimming the contents.

  When he reached the end of more medical jargon than he could process all at once, he saw the picture Stinky had attached of Meredith Villanueva.

  Oh, good fuck.

  “MISS Phoebe?”

  She let her cheek lay on the steel countertop, refusing to raise her head while she swung her legs from the stool she sat on. “Yes, Archibald?”

  “I’d so love it if you’d indulge my overprotective nature and partake of more blood. You’re still a new vampire, and today was quite draining. You must nurture your vampiric health by feeding it. Often.” He set a glass down in front of her, then leaned forward and pressed his cheek to the countertop, too.

  Their eyeballs met. Hers sad. Archibald’s warm with understanding.

  “Miss?”

  “Yes?”

  “Might I offer some advice from an old, interfering man?”

  Deflated, she said, “You might.”

  “I think Master Samuel, while a two-faced, unforgivable cad of a liar, isn’t entirely without redeeming qualities. I think he’s nothing like your Yanislov Bertowski.”

  She winced, twisting a strand of her hair around her finger in embarrassment. “You heard?”

  His round cheek grazed the countertop in a swishing up-and-down motion. “Oh, indeed. Even those of us not blessed by your audible good fortune heard, miss. It was unavoidable. My apologies.”

  Her eyes darted to the underside of Sam’s kitchen cabinets. “Accepted.”

  Archibald nudged her arm with a chubby finger. “Have you heard the entire story of our Sam’s journey here to you?”

  Yeah, yeah. She’d heard. “Yes. Wanda told me. He wasn’t really investigating paranormal activity at O-Tech. It was a random FBI check. He’s really an entomologist. He really was coincidentally bitten by a vampire. And he’s not so bad. He was just looking out for all of us. Blah, blah, and blah.” She repeated the story Sam had fed Wanda and the others in wooden tones.

  The lines on Archibald’s forehead deepened when he smiled. “Do you doubt his sincerity, Miss Phoebe?”

  “Like I doubt I’ll be wearing the latest swimwear on a beach in St. Tropez next season. I think he needed me to get into that clinical trial, and I don’t believe he took some leave from the FBI. I think this craziness could make FBI history, and Sam wouldn’t mind some of the glory for discovering it. That’s what I think.” And she did. Mostly. Okay, she was waning. So?

  He clucked his tongue. “Ah. Well, then, there’s no point in delving any deeper into this conversation, is there? He’s a cad of the worst order and the moment his impeccable skills as an assassin are no longer needed, we shall stake him through the cold blackness of his nonexistent heart!”

  The very idea actually pained her. Phoebe finally giggled. “Are you going to stick up for him, Archibald?”

  Archibald smiled again, teasing. “Oh, no, miss. I’d rather watch that dreadfully arrogant Bobby Flay than ever offer my support to such a heathen. It’s unthinkable.”

  Arch was just wowed by Sam’s cool factor. It hadn’t gone unnoticed that this sweet manservant enjoyed a good cop show. “You think that he’s an FBI agent is cool.”

  “The coolest, miss.”

  “State your case, Arch.”

  “Well, if one were to summon even a little sympathy for such a monster as our Sam, I would suggest we reflect upon the fact that the moment he became a vampire, he lost his job and became the hun
ted right along with all of you.”

  “He could have told us that, Archibald. He should have told us that. He put us all in danger. What if some of his paranormal goon investigators had come looking for him?”

  “You’ll get no argument from me, Phoebe. He’s despicable. However, I wonder how involved he thought he would be with all of this. By the time he realized something suspicious was going on with your turnings, he was already hip deep. While I do agree he should have revealed this much sooner, he was facing a prominent life decision. One that would take away his income and the job he clearly loved. But it’s also my understanding that he called his superiors the moment he could to tell them there were no suspicious findings at O-Tech, and then he took some overdue leave.”

  She’d heard it all—this extolling of Sam’s virtues. “But he pretended he wanted to get to know me, Arch. He … We … He was just keeping his cover. Something I’m sure he’s done a million times before. Not to mention, he let me go into that clinical trial like some lamb to slaughter.”

  “Aha!” Archibald tapped the counter with his fingertip. “On this I have to most respectfully disagree with you. Samuel absolutely did not want you to go into your foul doctor’s office. In fact, he protested quite vehemently once he’d thought through his impulsive suggestion. I heard him say as much to you. It was you who insisted there was no danger. Certainly, on top of everything else, you didn’t expect him to anticipate they would ambush you? And about that ambush, miss …”

  Yeah. About that. “What about it?”

  “While I commend your heroic gesture to storm the castle walls, I must remind you of something. You could have gotten away from your captors at any point before they took you into this facility of horrors. You are a vampire, Phoebe. It would have taken nothing more than one splendid right hook to escape them before you were on the inside. My suspicion is you chose to go in on a fact-finding mission. Would I be incorrect in my assumptions?”

  Guilty. Guilty. Guilty. “No. No, you’re right. I chose to go into the lair because we needed to find something that will help us stop that awful decomposition thing. I had no idea it would be so …”