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 managing 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?”
She gave one more useless tug on the restraints, then dropped her head back to the pillow. “Yes,” she replied, voice breaking. “I was born Julia Saber. Nicole Saber is my mother.”
I attempted to put it all together as Jacques unobtrusively replaced the bandage on the sluggishly bleeding wound on her arm, spread a blanket over her, and then quietly slipped from the room.
“You really were leaving town, weren’t you?” I finally asked her. “Leaving Saberton.”
A shiver went through her as she nodded, not meeting anyone’s eyes.
“Oh, man,” I breathed. “And so you figured if Pietro and Brian knew, they’d pretty much get everything you knew out of you, any way they could.” Then I frowned. “But they were planning to do that anyway since you were holding back, and you had to know that. What gives?”
“Better than risking getting ransomed back,” Heather said, voice breaking. She swung her gaze to Brian. “Please. Don’t. Don’t let them have me back.”
An odd scent filled the air, thick and cloying, and it took me a few seconds to realize what it was. Her fear. I can smell her fear. Oh my god. My gaze fell on the pile of drawings. She hadn’t wanted me to look too closely at them.
Narrowing my eyes, I scooped the pile up, pulled the bottom drawing out and peered at it. At first all I saw were the mesmerizing spirals. Then I took a closer look at the unfinished corner, fought to make sense of it. Tiny letters. I rotated the drawing and with much squinting made out “sc new orleans waterfront” followed by the word “key” and a series of numbers. The key code for a Saberton Corporation building? In the finished sections of the drawing, more hidden lettering, cleverly disguised as part of the picture.
“I don’t understand,” I said, dragging my eyes back to hers.
Sighing, she gave a half-hearted pull at the restraints. “That was for after I was dead…or escaped. It’s all there. On the drawings.” Her breath shuddered. “I wanted to help, no matter what happened to me.”
My amazement increased as I flipped through the pages. In each of the dozen or so finished drawings, I picked out tiny lettering worked into the intricate and beautiful abstract designs, or curving around the edges of the figures. Without a magnifying glass, I couldn’t get much from them other than the realization that she’d meticulously offered a shitload of information. More details. More confidential and proprietary information that I had no doubt would be damn useful to Pietro and his organization.
I looked over at Brian, passed the drawings to him. Expression grim, he took them while I returned my attention to Heather. “What would happen if you got ransomed back?”
“Best case scenario is they’d kill me,” she said. The cloying scent of fear thickened. “Worst is they’d use me.”
Brian tucked the drawings under his arm and exited the room, expression not shifting at all from grim.
I had a feeling I knew, but I had to ask it anyway. “Use you? How?”
“They need test subjects.”
Zombie research. Yeah, I bet they did. “I’ll tell you right now I won’t let that happen,” I assured her.
Heather’s gaze went to the sprinkler above her, then dropped back to me. “No matter what it takes?” she asked, voice quiet but intense. “I can’t go back there.”
I knew exactly what she was asking me. I flicked my own glance at the sprinkler, which I realized probably housed a camera or something. “Whatever it takes,” I said. Somehow. Shit. I’d worked in the morgue for long enough to know the human weak spots, and I was pretty sure I knew how to kill someone quickly. But damn, could I kill someone I actually liked? And yes, I did like her, despite everything.
I looked back to her. “Why did you leave?”
“It’s a bit of a long story,” she sighed.
“I’m not going anywhere.”
She tried to lift a hand, but was brought up short by the restraints. A mixture of annoyance and resignation passed over her face before she began to speak again. “Late last Friday my zombie friend Garrett got called in for a check up, but never came back.” She exhaled. “I tend to not let things like that rest, and went looking for him early the next morning. I knew where he’d gone, so I figured that was the best place to start and got in without tripping the alarm, no problem.”
“At first, I thought it was exactly what I was expecting—a medical station—but there was a gas chromatograph-mass spectrometer, microscope, fume hood, and other equipment that made me think more of some sort of lab,” Heather explained. “I’d only been in a minute when I heard someone unlocking the door, and I ducked into a side room.” She hesitated and a look of revulsion mixed with anger came over her. “The room wasn’t empty. Garrett was there, strapped to an exam table, alive…and vivisected, with all sorts of monitors and tubes connected to him. He had duct tape over his mouth, and…” She swallowed. “And the look in his eyes. Oh my god.”
Fury welled within me, but I stayed silent.
“The door opened, and I barely had time to press myself against the far side of a cabinet and pray whoever it was wouldn’t look my way,” she said. “A man came in, took some blood and direct organ samples, messed with the monitors, all the while talking shit to Garrett about how he’d be there a long time, so he better get used to it. Said he’d be back in a while for more samples, then headed out.”
“Jesus,” I breathed.
“The whole thing set off something I’d never felt before,” she said with a shake of her head. “Beyond anger. It was still and focused and kind of scary. I fed Garrett brains until he, uh, could get himself back together and wouldn’t kill me for my own, unhooked and unstrapped him, then went and found the guy who’d been cutting on him.” She paused, mouth tightening. “By that time, I’d recognized him as Brent from research and development. But it didn’t matter that I knew him.” A haunted look came over her face. “I had every intention of killing him.”
“Wait. Brent Stewart!” I exclaimed. The movie set victim. “I knew there was more to that.”
She swallowed, nodded. “I followed him, looking for a place where I could make it seem like an accident. Once he got onto the school grounds and behind the trailers, I knew it wouldn’t get much better. I hit him hard in the head with a two by four, then pulled the scaffold pipe down to mask the blow.”
“You did a good job,” I told her. “It’s still classified as an accident.”
She lifted her eyes to mine. “I know. Pretty cold-blooded.”
I shrugged. I sure as hell couldn’t judge her. I’d have probably done the same damn thing if some asshole was torturing a friend. “What happened to Garrett?” I asked.
“He headed off with a bag of brain slices and a plan to go into hiding big time. Haven’t seen him since.” Sick anger flashed over her face. “Garrett worked hard as a driver. I know he didn’t have any idea what he was getting into when he signed on with Saberton. They promised him a regular supply of brains. Didn’t tell him what else they intended.”
My gut was tight with horror over the whole scenario, but I simply nodded.
“So I’d gotten an up close and personal look at what Saberton was doing with zombies, and I’d killed one of the research guys,” Heather continued, voice strained, “but they hadn’t figured out it was me. I wasn’t ready to jump ship yet, but I wanted to know more about my options. I went back to check out some Saberton confidentials on Mr. Ivanov’s organization. I got into the security feeds without any problems,” she said as if it was nothing. “But what I saw…” Her face paled.
“What was it?” I prompted.
Her eyes went to me. “The first video I pulled of any significance was of you, Angel,” she said to my utter surprise. “I saw everything Kristi Charish’s team did to you. Locking you in a cage, searching you.” She swallowed. “And what they made you do to Philip and Aaron.”
Numb, cold horror set in. Videos of all that are out where people can see them.
But Heather was still talking. “And there were more videos: with Philip, when he bit Tim Bell and Roland Westfeld, and with some other zombies later.” Tears came to her eyes. “With my mother and brother right there. Condoning all of it.”
I considered everything she’d told me. “What exactly did you do for Saberton?”
Heather twisted her head to wipe her eyes on her shoulder. “On the surface, I worked in the PR department and was a photographer for them,” she said. “In reality, I did industrial espionage. And I was good at it.” She said it as a statement of fact, no ego attached. “My grandfather had done espionage-type work for the military. He figured out early on that I loved it, so he taught me, doted on me, groomed me almost my whole life.” An odd sadness touched her eyes. “My mother didn’t seem to have any problem with it, encouraged it even. So at an early age, Nicole Saber’s daughter dropped out of memory, presumed off at boarding school, and I got to do what I loved. Pretty lucky, huh?”
I made a noncommittal grunt. In light of recent developments, I didn’t think she was feeling all that lucky.
“No one other than my grandfather, mother, brother, and a few insiders knew me as anything other than Heather Lucas, a nobody corporate photographer. And I guess it was all just a big game for me until…Kang. And then Garrett. And the vids.” Tears glimmered in her eyes again. “But it’s not a game.”
“No,” I said quietly. “It really isn’t.”
She sighed, expression haunted. “Yeah, can’t just call a do over. And now I know how dirty I am. Life really sucks sometimes.”
I gave a soft snort. “I know ‘suck.’ Trust me.”
“If I hadn’t freaked the hell out when you IDed me as a Saber, I had the big plan of escaping tonight. I already had the door disabled. Not that I wanted to go, but I had to, y’know?” Heather took a deeper breath, glanced up at the sprinkler. “I swear, in those drawings I gave you everything I had that’s of use.”
I had no doubt Brian was making a lot of phone calls right now. “What happened after Brian caught you taking pics?”
Heather made a pained face. “I already knew I wanted out. No doubt about it. But getting out from under Saberton would take some time and planning. At the hospital after Brian,” she lifted her splinted hand slightly, “I had the fantasy that I could just switch sides.” She let out a low snort. “Like anything is that simple when dealing with this kind of thing. So I let that go and headed back to my hotel room to come up with an exit strategy.” She grimaced.
I gave her a Keep Going nod.
“My brother was there,” she said after a moment. “Andrew Saber. And everything went downhill after that.”
I remembered him from the Gala. Tall, Blond, and Serious. “He knew?”
Her grimace deepened. “He knew I’d killed Brent Stewart. Put pressure on me about getting myself in line with the company philosophy. Threatened to let our mother know I’d killed the guy if I didn’t.” She let out a shuddering breath. “Mother can be…vicious, and I know my brother really well. I’d never be anything but his bitch for life if I agreed. I should have let it go. Should have agreed to anything just to get out of there, but I was exhausted, on edge and already doubting so much.” A look of anguish came over her features.
“Did you kill him too?” I asked uncertainly.
“No!” she replied, eyes widening in shock. She shook her head in a firm motion. “No. God no. But I didn’t let it go when I should have. I told him I was through with all of the Saberton crap.” She winced. “Not a good thing to say to the next CEO. We argued and it turned ugly. Physical. He’s stronger, but I’m quicker and I’ve had more training. I got in a lucky punch that laid him out, and left him hog-tied with the bed sheet.” She looked at me. “That’s when I knew it was over. They’d never trust me again. And so I had no choice but to run. Right then, with no plans or arrangements made.”
“Okay. Wow.” I fell silent for a moment while I processed it all. “I’m gonna help you any way I can,” I finally said.
She gave me a weak smile. “You already did. The rest is gravy.”
“I mean it,” I said, frowning. “I’m real good at doing stupid shit. And I’m gonna bring it hard if Brian doesn’t come in here with a goddamn welcome home fruit basket.”
Her brow creased in worry. “Angel, it’s okay. There won’t be any welcome home fruit basket and it’s okay. I don’t want you getting yourself messed up over this. Really.”
“No, it’s not okay,” I stated firmly. “And that’s all there is to it.”
“Damn it.” She shifted in the restraints, tried unsuccessfully to sit up. “Don’t. Please don’t do anything stupid. And you know it would be. I mean, you have no idea how cool it is you have my back, but it would still end the same.”
I gave a snort of amusement, smiled. “You really don’t know me very well, do you?”
“Oh, man.” She winced. “I’m afraid I do.”
“I won’t let them do bad shit to you,” I said with a shake of my head. “I can’t.”
The door opened, and Brian entered with one of the drawings in his hand, face in unreadable mode.
Heather’s gaze went to the drawing, and tears welled up in her eyes. “Yeah, no fruit basket.”
“What’s going on?” I demanded. “Brian?”
“She’s the one who turned us over to Saberton four years ago,” he said, voice even but carrying a dark undertone that sent a chill down my back. “It’s why they know about zombies. Why they know so much about zombies.”
My heart dropped into my stomach. “How?”
Brian opened his mouth to speak, but Heather beat him to it.
“Got into one of Mr. Ivanov’s safes,” she said. “I copied a bunch of research material. I didn’t realize what it was until later.” She grimaced. “After that I spent almost a year gathering more information on zombies. That’s how I ended up with John Kang.”
“Damn,” I breathed, but then I shook my head. Lifting my chin, I looked back to Brian. “You can’t lay all that at her feet. Charish was ready to sell us out to the highest bidder. It would’ve happened at some point.”
Brian seemed unmoved. “Angel, I need to speak with Heather alone now.”
“Yeah,” I said tightly. “That’s not gonna happen.”
“It has to happen,” he stated. “I give you my word that nothing will happen to Heather in that time.”
I hesitated, but the memory of the hole in the office wall rose. He wouldn’t have punched a wall in frustration if he was totally okay with treating her like the enemy.
“Okay,” I said. “I’m trusting you.” And with that I gave Heather’s hand a squeeze and stepped out.
* * *
I obediently went off with the taciturn Jacques and allowed him to draw vials and vials of blood, after which I downed a fresh, warm puff pastry stuffed with brains and a to-die-for smoothie that Jacques called Dr. Nikas’s Special Blend. It sure beat the hell out of juice and cookies. Yet then I had to wait—very impatiently—for what was close to half an hour before Brian returned. Didn’t help that all I had to read was a decade-old issue of Field & Stream. Seriously, what the hell? Didn’t zombies keep up their magazine subscriptions?
When Brian came to get me, his face was still utterly unreadable. I stood and set the magazine down, crossed my arms defiantly over my chest, and looked up at him with as much authority as a short and skinny high school dropout zombie could muster.
“I’m not much of a fighter, Brian,” I warned him in a low voice, “but I’m mean, and I don’t quit. So I sure as hell hope you have something good to tell me.”
His expression turned grim, and dread curled into a tight knot in my gut as he approached.
“Goddammit, Brian,” I said, unable to keep my voice from shaking in anger and stress. “Have you already done something awful to her?”
I caught a faint whiff of cherry, and then before I could react, the stoic Brian Archer took hold of my shoulders and planted a big brotherly Cherry ChapStick laden smooch right on my lips. He’d smeared it on extra thick too, the bastard.
“No.” He pulled back, faint smile playing about his mouth.
A laugh of delirious relief burst out of me, even as I wiped the thick smudge of lip balm off my mouth with the back of my hand. “Oh my god, you must’ve used half a stick. So everything’s okay? She’s gonna be okay?”
He gave my shoulders a squeeze before dropping his hands back to his sides. “We’re taking her in.”
“As in…not fucking her up? And not ransoming her back?” I asked, still a bit wary. “You’ll let her defect—or whatever it’s called in the corporate world?”
“More than that,” he said with a slight shake of his head. “Everything checked out. Andrew Saber was treated in private for a lacerated cheek on the night in question. She answered all—all—of my other questions correctly, even the personal and the hard ones.” He took a deep breath, smiled. “And, well, she smells right. The fear is gone. She can’t fake that. So, unless she does something incredibly stupid, she’s one of us.”
“Good,” I said with a grin of relief. “I really didn’t want to get ugly with y’all.”
Brian chuckled. “Trust me, Angel. None of us want that.”