Part 21 (1/2)

”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.