Accidentally Dead, Again Part 21

"With my degree in chemistry." G.o.d willing. He'd gotten that degree early on in his life by the hair of his chinny-chin-chin sandwiched in between frat parties and the FBI recruiting him. "And none of your slimeball contacts. Got it? One word, you breathe wrong about any of this to anyone-I'll find you Stinky Malone. You and your blow-up dolls."

"Shut. Up. So you're not just some cowboy from Wyoming with overdeveloped trapezoids? Sammy. You been holdin' out on me, playin' dumb all these years?"

"Stinky?"

"Boss?"

"Find Phoebe's d.a.m.n phone and call me back with a location. Five minutes." Sam clicked the phone off with a terse finger.

He wasn't much for praying, but his eyes went heavenward anyway.

Hat in hand, rain beating down on his head, Sam prayed.

"THAT'S her!" someone yelled from behind.

Phoebe's head swiveled on her neck, taking her eyes off the horror before her just before the barbarian who'd brought her here slammed into her, knocking her into the double doors, leaving her face-first on the floor.

The screech of metal as she crashed into the wheels of the gurney, taking out two of the men in white lab coats with her, bounced off the walls of the room. Surprised howls followed suit.

Clearly, Conan hadn't expected her to react so quickly. At least not judging by the look of shock on his face when she grabbed the leg of a chair, brought it high over her head, and cracked it over his back.

She smiled at the satisfying crunch the metal against his flesh made.

But like all jarhead twits who couldn't admit defeat, he was right back up, lunging for her while the weasel she'd tried to get information out of screamed, "She's one of them! She's strong, Yuri! Immobilize her! Someone get the sedative!"

Faintly, and just before this Yuri rammed into her, wrapping his arms around her waist and hurling her into the far wall, dislocating her shoulder, Phoebe realized whatever they were getting to immobilize her had to be a c.o.c.ktail specially made for vampires. They'd created something that was powerful enough to stop a vampire and it wasn't garlic or a wooden stake?

Bada.s.s. Sucked to be her, but bada.s.s.

She couldn't let them get near her with it or it was curtains.

As the thug grabbed her by the neck and lifted her off her feet, still completely unaware he wasn't keeping her from breathing, she noted her left shoulder sagging awkwardly. Her eyes darted to the victim of these animals, fearing he'd be hurt in this weird science version of the WWE.

Someone rushed in and wheeled him out as quickly as the thought came to Phoebe-enraging her further. Just who in the f.u.c.k did these people think they were?

Rage rather than fear motivated her next move. She went slack, closing her eyes and playing a pretty decent imitation of a rag doll, if she did say so herself. Okay, so it wasn't the coveted role of Sandy in Grease, but sticks and stones.

The beast that smelled like an elephant's a.s.s chuckled. Just like all good trained seals do when they think they've slain the dragon, er, vampire. And she let him revel in his manliness, dangling limp and feigning helplessness.

That is, before her eyes popped open and she flicked his large, red nose with her good hand. "If your big, greasy paw leaves a mark on my neck, so help me Jesus, it'll be your head. I bruise easily, thug."

His beady black eyes, smushed between his nose and his forehead, opened wide, confused. "What the h.e.l.l?"

Phoebe rolled her eyes in disgust, letting her good shoulder sink. She plucked at one of his fingers, bending it back in the same fas.h.i.+on she had Dr. Nutball's. "Vampire, stupid. We don't breathe. As in, so much air between your ears you have genuine cyclonic value, you're wasting precious energy here, Yuri. I know you'll find this a big, fat disappointment, but this doesn't hurt." She pointed to his hand and gave him her win-a-client-over-with-charm smile. "Not even a little. Neither does the shoulder you so carelessly dislocated. And yet, I have to ask myself. What would your mother say about you beating up a woman?"

But he didn't have time to answer with her knee lodged in his groin. She didn't even need to brace herself to get enough leverage when she swung upward. He crumbled like a fallen house of cards, his scream of pain ringing in her ears when she fell to the ground, hitting it with the slap of her bare feet.

She was up in half a second; head down, she scooped up the clipboard just outside the door and made a break for it, leaving behind two unconscious men in white lab coats with the hope she'd find the man they had on the gurney. How she'd get him out of here or if he could even be saved was something she couldn't dwell on.

Finding him was.

Stopping but for a moment, without thought, she backed up against a wall, placing her good hand on her mangled shoulder and slamming it against the hard cement. The sharp crack didn't even make her wince.

Behold the wonder of vampire.

Then she was running again, racing in the opposite direction, away from the room the doctor held her in and down another corridor, where she flew past room after vacant room. Where the h.e.l.l had they taken him? Her eyes skittered across the dank landscape before her, locating an exit.

The cement tore at the skin of her feet when she skidded to a halt in front of the door, but she didn't feel it. The only thing she was feeling was the rising panic at her inability to locate that poor man.

Flinging the door open, she lunged up three flights of steps to the next available door and, without thinking, burst through it, ripping her skirt.

She looked down in disgust, slapping her hands over her thighs. G.o.dd.a.m.n it all. As if trying to escape this hovel wasn't bad enough, she had to do it while her a.s.s hung out, too?

The indignity.

Vaguely, as she tallied up the damage to her personal items-phone, purse, a hundred bucks in said purse, manicure trashed, shoes left like orphans in some parking garage, and now her skirt-Phoebe realized someone owed her a makeover.

And again, as with all things s.h.i.+ny, she was so distracted by her torn skirt, and the peek of panties the rip revealed, she lost her focus.

So, so, so much bad when you were the hunted.

Four enormous men formed a barrier in the middle of the white-tiled hallway she'd just entered, and they didn't look like they were lining up to do the electric slide. In front of them stood the doctor, a gun of some sort in his hand, but it wasn't the kind of gun you saw on television. It was huge-like a child's water gun, with a round green nozzle attached to the end of it. More than likely, whatever was in that gun meant to immobilize her would have a spray effect, thwarting her from rus.h.i.+ng at them.

Her eyes a.s.sessed the situation, giving them a fierce once-over. And from out of nowhere, she couldn't help but think this was a lot like the time Arizona Caulfield from Mercy General found herself locked up in a psyche ward because the dastardly, revenge-seeking Victor Hemp found out she was his half sister. A half sister who was due to inherit a fortune unless she was diagnosed mentally incapacitated.

Of course, that meant Victor would get everything and Arizona would be left in the dirty, state-run hospital for the rest of her life with no one to save her. Arizona made a daring attempt at escape, only to end up dead after a heated chase, resulting in her tripping over a chair and falling through a window ten stories up.

In reality, the actress who played Arizona had just wanted off the show. Rumor had it, the powers that be wouldn't indulge her fetish for expensive champagne and the request that only yellow M&M'S adorn her dressing room each day.

But still. This was a lot like that. A. Lot. And Arizona was a really nice name.

"Phoebe? I'll give you one last chance to surrender. You know there's no way out, right?" Dr. Handsome called. He held out his hand, and smiled-serenely-patiently.

Her eyes darted in a mad attempt to find an escape. "You ripped my skirt," she accused in an effort to stall. That's right, Phoebe, make 'em sweat Tim Gunn style.

The lovely blond man with no name clucked his tongue. "Would it make you happy if I offered to buy you a new one?"

Well, yeah. It had run her forty bucks. She really had to lay off the felonious acts when she was wearing something so cute. Phoebe pouted with a coy puckering of her lips. "Maybe. And what about my shoes? My phone? Do you have any idea the money they charge when you have to replace a phone? It's like a mortgage payment."

He inched closer, his footsteps soft. "I promise to look into it."

Before or after he hacked her open while he dispersed social niceties? She fought a s.h.i.+ver of fear, squaring her shoulders. Shoulders that ached from being slammed against the wall.

Wait, that couldn't be. She wasn't supposed to feel pain anymore. She'd just jammed her shoulder back into place like she was as tough as any member of the Vampire Fight Club.

Oh, wait! Maybe it was that phantom pain Marty had talked about. She only thought she felt it. Still, it wouldn't make her sad if someone were kind enough to grab her a bottle of that delicious mint and vanilla ma.s.sage oil she could only find at Bed Bath & Beyond and give her a good rubdown.

Before she could again find something s.h.i.+ny to distract her mentally, several things happened at once. Four large, hygienically dysfunctional men were rus.h.i.+ng her and Dr. Loon was aiming his super vampire gun.

At point-blank range.

With a will of their own, knowing there was nowhere to run, instead of facing her attackers, her uncooperative eyes slid closed.

And then it was done.

SAM jammed a finger to the touch screen on his phone and bellowed, "Stinky? That was five minutes and twenty-eight seconds. I got some new a.s.shole to chew!"

The pop of gum snapped in Sam's ear. "You know what would solve all your problems, Sam? Herbal tea. Chamomile, maybe. You're always so wound up."

"Speak, and it better be good!" he demanded with a roar.

Static crackled over the line. "You'll never believe it."

"And you'll never believe the damage I can do to your esophagus with just one blow."

"She's at O-Tech, dude."

His look of disbelief alerted Nina and Darnell, who'd been pacing the pavement, waiting on Stinky's call. "But you said there's nothing going on over there. Swear to Christ, Stinky, if you're plucking my ball hairs, I'll take you out in your sleep," he snarled while precious minutes ticked away.

"Hey, Cowboy Sam! This is not bulls.h.i.+t. I tracked her phone to O-Tech. If she's still got her phone, she's inside O-Tech!"

Sam's lips formed a sneer. "You'd better be right, Stinky-or it'll be your scrawny a.s.s!" Clenching his fist, he held on to his phone, resisting the urge to throw it when he ended the call.

Nina was at him like some fierce mother cub. "Where the f.u.c.k is she, Sam? Is she okay?"

Cool, Sam. Keep your cool. It's the only way to get anything accomplished. He eyed Nina, letting warmth seep into his gaze. "I don't know if she's okay. I just know her phone's at O-Tech."

"Hoo-boy. We got some high IQs to beat down, then, huh?" Darnell whooped, stomping his sneakered foot in a puddle.

Nina shook her head, her wet hoodie sticking to the sides of her face. "What in the ever-lovin' f.u.c.k is going on here? I thought your friend Smelly said there was nothing to find over there?"

"Stinky. His name's Stinky. And that is what he said. But if Phoebe has her phone, she's at O-Tech. Stinky may be a greedy twerp, but he's almost never wrong on a location."

Nina cracked her knuckles. "Then O-Tech it is, and I promise you, one hair on Fluffy Barbie's head outta place, and someone's gonna have a s.h.i.+tty day," Nina said from between teeth so tightly clenched Sam wondered how she'd managed to spew the words.

He nodded his consent.

Just one hair was all it would take.

One hair.

"WANDA?"

"Phoebe? Oh, sweet heaven, Phoebe! Where are you, honey? Are you all right? Did they hurt you? I'll kill them myself if they put one itty-bitty finger on you!" Wanda cried.

Thank G.o.d she'd remembered the number for OOPS. Without her phone, she was lost, which, if you asked her, was a sad state of affairs. Back in the day, if you didn't know your phone number by heart, speed dial wasn't an option, but screwed was.

But she'd picked up the phone a hundred times at least to make that phone call to Nina when she'd found out it was where she worked. Now she was grateful not only to have memorized it, but that she remembered if no one was in the OOPS offices, the call would be rerouted to their cell phones.

"Phoebe? Honey, answer me!"

"I'm okay, Wanda," she whispered against the mouthpiece. "But could you maybe come get me? I feel so incredibly weak, and my legs just don't seem to want to cooperate." It hit her the moment she'd landed and she'd just barely managed to dial the phone she was using now.

"Ohhhh, you need to feed, Phoebe. It's been hours since you last drank. That's what the problem is, honey. Where are you? Are you safe from harm?"

Phoebe gave a glance over her shoulder at her surroundings. "I can't remember the last time a Wamsutta comforter set, complete with sheets and two matching pillows, was unsafe. But you just never can tell with the way things are made these days."

"Phoebe?"

"Yes?" she muttered, glancing up at the kind elderly woman who'd allowed her to use her cell phone, but only after Phoebe had convinced her she was absolutely not an alien from the beyond part of the store's moniker. And it hadn't been all suns.h.i.+ne and lollipops while she'd convinced her, either. At first, the woman, a woman who appeared so harmless, yet had rapped her over the head with her new toilet bowl scrubber like she was playing for the Yankees, had been skeptical.

And really, who could blame this poor, unsuspecting shopper? Phoebe had quite literally fallen from the sky on top of a pile of towels shelved in the middle of the aisle, bounced off them, thereby hitting her head on the edge of the display, and somersaulted headfirst into this fine citizen's carriage.

"Phoebe? Where are you?"

"I'm a little embarra.s.sed."

"Well, you can be embarra.s.sed after I pick you up, too, if you'd like. Choice is yours."

"Um, Bed Bath and Beyond. Conveniently located right down the road from Sam's apartment, in fact. In the comforter aisle." The last place she'd thought of before she'd zoned out of that clinical trial h.e.l.l.

"Say no more. Don't move. Auntie Wanda's there."

From her place in the carriage, Phoebe located the "end call" b.u.t.ton and handed the phone up to the woman with the kind face with sheepish eyes. "Thank you. I'm sure your kindnesses will come back to you tenfold."

Placing her hands on the edges of the cart, she lifted herself up with shaking hands and willed her last ounce of energy to allow her to climb out.

That the loud rip that followed her exit made an entire store full of shoppers turn around was just par for the course in this vampire's day.

Standing in your underwear in the middle of Bed Bath & Beyond, barefoot, with smeared mascara and a torn nail was certainly not the worst that had happened to her today.

Certainly not.

SAM burst through his apartment door, with Nina and Darnell directly behind him, heading straight for Wanda. "Where is she?" he demanded in the authoritative tone he often used when he needed answers out of a suspect.

Wanda held up a hand and gave him a haughty raise of her eyebrow. "I'm sorry, Sam. Did you just ask me a question like I'm some kind of terrorist subject to your interrogation?" She landed a finger in the soft spot between his armpit and his shoulder and drove it into his flesh. "Never, ever, ever talk to me that way, Mr. McLean, or you're going to find out what happens to a lady when she goes bats.h.i.+t wild."

Nina cackled her clear enjoyment, shedding her wet hoodie. "I don't like admitting it, Sammy, but Wanda's a crazy-a.s.sed psycho when she gets loose. So go be a big boy now and take your lickin' like manly men do."

Archibald rushed in, putting his stout body between Sam and Wanda and handed him a winegla.s.s of blood. "Sir? Drink or you'll be no good to anyone, especially our battle-weary Phoebe."

He took the blood and nodded his thanks, zeroing in on Wanda. Seeing her anger, he gave her a humble gaze and fought the impulse to tear through the apartment to locate Phoebe. "My apologies. Would you please tell me where she is?"

Wanda put her hand on his arm, her eyes only a little less confrontational now. "Slow down, Sam. She's taking a bath. Give her a few moments to gather herself."

Sam fought the urge to set Wanda aside and asked, "Did she tell you what happened?"