“You get that. I need to use the can.” I popped up off the sofa and headed down the hallway, then snuck a quick peek into the open lid of the washer. Bone dry and empty. No late night laundering, at least not here. I stepped into the bathroom and closed the door, then eased it open a crack and listened.
“Okay okay, now hang on,” Randy said, low and urgent. I heard a scuff of shoes on carpet as he moved farther away. “Yeah, gotta show up for the zombie shit today and tonight, both hunts, as we planned.” Stress gave his words a sharp edge that made them easier to hear. “We’re already registered.” Another pause. “I know, but we’ll have to deal with it tomorrow.”
Deal with it? That could be anything from hiding evidence to scrounging lunch. I did a quick search of the bathroom and laundry hamper for any sign of blood—or murder weapons. Randy’s zombie hunter equipment vest lay in a crumpled heap at the top of the hamper. My heart skipped a beat as I spied scattered dark spots of dried blood.
He got conked on the head, I reminded myself. The blood was probably from that. Plus, I was no blood spatter expert, but I knew there’d be a lot more than a three or four drops if he’d been anywhere near a head being chopped off.
Hunger spiked again, this time joined by the bone itch as the need for a dose clamored. The scent of Randy’s brain filled my nose, and a growl built in my chest. No, not now! Aghast, I fished the emergency brain packet from my pocket and slurped it down, then stared at the peeling wallpaper and focused my willpower to shove the beast away again. It grudgingly settled back, but I had a sinking feeling this was a temporary truce.
“Yeah. That works,” I heard Randy say. “See you at the gun shop in an hour.”
I closed the door, flushed the toilet and ran water over my hands, then opted to dry them on my pants instead of the grungy towel. “Hold your shit together,” I snarled at my reflection. I’d never find out the truth about the murder if I ate my ex.
Back out in the living room, Randy was peering out the blinds.
“Everything cool?” I asked.
He let them flick closed and gave me a crooked smile. “Uh huh, just gotta get my shit together and head to the Zombie Fest.”
“I’m on call ’til noon,” I said, “but I’m supposed to go over there this afternoon. Maybe I’ll run into you.”
A frown tugged at his mouth. “Yeah, since I’m the one what invited you.”
Crap. Forgot about that. “Oh, um, a guy I work with has two VIP passes. I figured it’d be dumb to turn down free shit.”
Randy took a drag off his cigarette, shrugged. “Good for you.”
Not even a weensy bit of disappointment. “Where will y’all be this afternoon? Maybe I’ll stop by.”
“Hard to say. We’re gonna be hunting . . . and stuff.”
“Gotcha,” I said. “I need to run, so I’ll let you get ready.”
He nodded, flicked off ash. “See you around.”
I gave him a quick hug then left the trailer, skirting puddles as I returned to the van. Though he hadn’t given anything away, he hadn’t acted normal either. Randy was a pro at being a piece of shit, but I’d never known him to be cold-blooded. If he’d been involved in a murder, he’d be a helluva lot more freaked out.
Okay, great. I was almost certain Randy hadn’t killed anyone. But my Angel-sense told me there was a big stinking pile of shit not far off.
The beast awoke the instant the van door closed. Fire raced through my marrow, and blades of ice sliced at my gut. Whimpering, I fumbled the lunch box open to grab my
brain burrito, then stared at the three duct-taped vials that should have been at home in my fridge. But of course they’d be here. Even though I didn’t remember packing them, the beast had taken care of it for me. I couldn’t possibly leave home without V12 because what if something happened and I needed it?
Oh thank god. I snatched the vials and held them in a shaking fist.
No. Fuck no. Cold turkey, goddammit.
Sweat beaded my lip as I willed my fingers to open. A gasp of relief and despair sagged out of me as the vials dropped back into the lunchbox. Another battle won? No. Bullshit. That was like saying the beach won every time the surf retreated. That wasn’t victory. The waves would keep coming, keep scraping away at the sand.
A harsh sob clogged my throat. I peeled out of the driveway, palms slick against the wheel. As soon as I was out of sight of Randy’s place, I pulled onto the shoulder.
Cold turkey was kicking my ass. I got myself into this state all on my lonesome, but now I needed a boost to claw my way out. Time for me to put my big girl panties on and ask for help before I ruined what was left of my life. I’d have to face Dr. Nikas eventually. Might as well be now.
I called the lab, and a baritone voice with a lilt of French accent answered. “Angel.”
“Jacques. Hi.” Shit, could my mouth get any drier? “Um, I need to talk to Dr. Nikas.”
“He’s working with Philip.”