Part 27 (1/2)

Sam's phone rang, revealing Stinky's number. ”What?” he barked into the phone, ready to jump out of his skin.

The clacking of a keyboard ticked in Sam's ear. ”Cowboy? Meredith Villanueva was a board-certified neurologist-which is why she was in the middle of this s.h.i.+tastrophe, but she wasn't just a neurologist, she was one of the best spies in the world, if the underground word I'm hearin' is right. She was CIA. Whatever was goin' down underneath O-Tech was big.”

A neurologist. Now it was coming together in his mind. The last piece of the how and why she'd been at O-Tech. Even though most of the information was redundant, it only proved to Sam just how valuable Stinky was. ”So is this phone call to tell me the CIA's on its way?” They'd be crawling all over the place, leaving them no chance in h.e.l.l to find the answers they needed.

Stinky s.h.i.+fted in something Sam guessed was leather by the sharp crinkle. ”Naw, man. Relax, Super Spy. No rumblings from the CIA. Trust that. But it won't be long. She's gonna miss her date with her handler for tomorrow. And, Cowboy? I still can't figure out what the h.e.l.l these Dr. Frankensteins are doing. This formula's uncrackable. You had any luck?”

Sam's eyes went cold. Yeah. Like he'd tell Stinky if he had. He heard the curiosity in Stinky's voice betray the nonchalance he was hoping to purvey.

The old Stink-man was throwing his line into the lake and hoping to come up with a big trout. One he could brag about during a good geeky-gossip session. Sam kept his voice light and grunted. ”Have you seen that chicken-scratch, Stink? I don't know what any of it means. Guess it's true what they say about doctors and their handwriting.”

Stinky paused for a moment, as though he didn't believe Sam, but he let it go. ”Right. Doctors. So what's next, Sam?”

”Next? I go grab a cheeseburger and you shut your face. One word leaks out I was poking around, and your mother's bas.e.m.e.nt's going to look like a bloodbath of body parts.”

He sounded an offended snort. ”I do not live in my mother's bas.e.m.e.nt. Jesus. Why does everyone stereotype the brains in an outfit that way? It's d.a.m.n unoriginal. I live in my father's bas.e.m.e.nt, FYI-” Stinky stopped short.

Sam chuckled, giving it a sinister edge. ”I'll remember it's not your mother's bas.e.m.e.nt, but your father's when I come to kill you, Dwight Eugene Tann-en-baummm,” he drawled Stinky's real name. ”Oh, and I'll do it in Queens. Later, Stink.” Sam clicked the phone off to the tune of Stinky's mewling, shoving it back in his pocket.

Nina sidled up to him, moving from foot to foot-cagey and cranky. ”Will that little s.h.i.+t narc on us? I'll sniff his brainy a.s.s out and kill him.”

Sam couldn't worry about that right now. He had to prioritize his uncertainties. Stinky was the least of them. ”I won't make any promises. I don't kid myself Stinky can't be bought by the highest bidder, but for right now, he's too afraid to get overconfident. We need to get in and out before he bleeds into c.o.c.ky.”

Darnell crossed his arms over his broad chest. ”So we ready, boss?”

Sam hesitated again. ”I'll say this one last time. This is dangerous. Stuff doesn't go down the way it does on TV. I'm trained to do this. If I don't bring you back alive, Phoebe will hunt me down in the afterlife. I can do this alone.”

Nina was the first to react by flicking his Stetson with a sharp snap. ”f.u.c.k you, Sammy. Stop showin' your a.s.s. Just because you have a gun and some special-op-Navy-Seal-Green-Beret-whatever-the-h.e.l.l c.r.a.p on your resume, doesn't mean you're the only one who can kick some nasty booty. I don't just play a bada.s.s on TV. I am a bada.s.s. Darnell's no slacker, either. We're in, and we don't come out until we all come out-or we all don't. Either way, it's team vampire-demon. So put up and shut up, and lead the f.u.c.king way.” She waved her hand at the building.

Darnell slapped Sam on the back and shot him a genuine smile. ”What the crazy lady said.”

Sam's nod was curt, but his appreciation for their loyalty was bigger than he'd ever properly find the words for. ”Then we're in.”

They each turned to make their way to the wall Sam had entered the last time, plodding through the snow, heads down, when Sam's phone rang again. He ripped it from his pocket and barked, ”Jesus Christ, Stinky. What?”

”It's Harlan, man,” was the thick-drawled response. ”I'm gonna say this straight and waste no time, Sam, and then I'm gonna hang up and go hunt down the rat b.a.s.t.a.r.ds and kill 'em. All of 'em. They got to the kid before I did.”

The click in Sam's ear, signaling the end of Harlan's call, was like a sonic boom.

”PHOEBE? I know this is an utterly absurd request, but please, sit down.” Marty, who'd just arrived, patted the place on the couch next to her.

But Phoebe couldn't rest. She'd paced since Sam and the others had left. Her chest was tight as she went over and over in her head her last moments with Sam. She alternated between that stark image and Penny's sweet face flas.h.i.+ng before her eyes in vivid memory. The conversation between Wanda and Marty flitted in and out of her ears in choppy bits.

Marty rose, setting m.u.f.fin on Archibald's lap, and began to pace with Phoebe. She latched on to her hand, walking back and forth with her, rubbing soothing circles across her skin. ”Okay, so bring me up to speed while we wear a path in Sam's floor, would you, Wanda?”

”Sam has some crazy contact named Stinky ...”

Wanda's retelling of the story became a buzz in Phoebe's ears while she brought Marty up to date. Bereft, she forced her shaking legs to keep moving while she prayed.

But Marty stopped dead, yanking Phoebe to a halt along with her. ”Say again?”

Wanda scooped m.u.f.fin up and hugged her tight. ”A jewelry box. This secret, crazy, whatever code, formula thing these monsters have was in the bottom of a jewelry box. It's apparently, in my very crude explanation, a recipe to create a vampire that's centuries old. A woman, who obviously doesn't shop at Target, picked it up for a song in North Carolina at an antiques shop. Isn't that the most ridiculous thing you've ever heard? There's some urban legend about this jewelry box being a high-dollar, black-market coup. All sorts of billionaires are looking for it. Sick. It's just vile!”

Marty's face went ashen. She gripped Phoebe's hand so tight, it made her wince. ”Did you say a jewelry box?”

Wanda bobbed her head. ”Look.” She held up her phone. ”Sam sent me the picture.”

Marty's roar was high and keening, her pretty features twisted, her hands at her gut. ”Oh, my G.o.d, Wanda! Oh, my G.o.d!”

Wanda's expression went from forced calm, to panicked. ”What? What's wrong?”

Marty's chest heaved as she sank to Sam's couch. She covered her eyes and sucked in gulps of air with raspy wheezes.

Phoebe knelt in front of her, clasping her wrists. If one of the three least likely to freak paranormals was in freak-mode that meant alarms should be sounded at a DEFCON 5 level. ”What, Marty?” she pleaded.

When she lifted her head, her blue eyes were a confection of icy fire. She grasped Phoebe's hands, squeezing them with such strength, if she could feel the pressure, it would have made her cry uncle. ”I know who the b.a.s.t.a.r.d is! I know who's responsible for this!”

Like personally? Phoebe had to wonder. Because wow. It was time to find new social circles to travel in.

CHAPTER 18.

”They have Penny?” Nina hissed, her fist held high at her temple.

Sam rolled his shoulders, fighting back the urge to ram a fist of his own through something. ”Yes.”

”Well, now, tha.s.s fo sho enough, ya feel me?” Darnell roared into the wind, his beefy fists clenched and raised to the sky. ”Ol' Darnell don't play when they s.n.a.t.c.hin' the babies!” His beefy finger pointed in Sam's direction; his black eyes were chips of granite. ”You get yo head together now, Sammy, and you get on in there through that wall. Do it now and think me up. I got me some criminal b.u.t.t to whoop!”

Sam didn't speak another word. Yet, his head swam. One phrase ran through his mind over and over. They had Penny. These f.u.c.ks wouldn't take the chance Phoebe'd die before she could get to the police. They would do whatever it took to lure her to them and they'd kill her because she knew too much.

He rammed himself against the wall in a haze of fury, driving his shoulder into it like some possessed linebacker, but to no avail. Instead of falling into the wall and landing in his desired location, he slammed back against the concrete ground, kicking up snow in white, billowy puffs.

Nina dragged him upward, brus.h.i.+ng him off. ”Dude. Concentrate. I want to get to her as much as you do,” she warned, her sloe eyes riddled with worry.

He shook off the hard landing and focused, aiming for the cafeteria just like the last time with but one mantra. Save Penny.

Sam's entry to the cafeteria left him almost cras.h.i.+ng into the same table Phoebe had narrowly missed.

Phoebe. He had to save Phoebe. He would save Phoebe.

Closing his eyes, he summoned the image of Darnell. Enormous. Covered in gold chains. Generous. Loyal.

With a s.h.i.+mmer Sam would have sworn was just a play of light if he hadn't seen the evidence of Darnell's out-of-thin-air appearances before, Darnell was there. He gave Sam the thumbs-up sign, and they headed to the spot Sam had shown them on the new plans for the underground portion of O-tech Stinky had sent.

Letting Nina in was as easy as it had been the first time, and on silent feet, they were in.

That he'd missed this secret location all the while he'd worked here could only mean he was burnt out. He'd missed things the agency would have had his head for, and it had everything to do with his careless stupidity. While he had no choice but to reevaluate his future career plans due to his strange upgrade in life, now he really had to admit it would have been over anyway. A f.u.c.k-up of this magnitude would haunt him forever, and leave him at a desk job if he was lucky, at least until they found out they had a vampire FBI agent punching a keyboard.