I kept the smile plastered onto my face as I exited and closed the door. Brian opened the umbrella he carried and held it over me through the light drizzle as we headed for the Escalade, then surprised the hell out of me by opening the passenger door. I climbed in, barely managing to hold back a sigh of pleasure at the buttery-soft feel of the leather seats.
He closed the door and came around to get into the driver’s seat. “It’s about a half hour drive, ma’am,” he told me as he started the engine and began to pull out of the driveway. “Feel free to put on some music you like.”
I didn’t have the faintest clue how to work the radio or satellite thing or whatever the hell it was. Fortunately it was already playing what appeared to be classic rock at a volume that still allowed conversation. “This is fine,” I said. If it had been opera or jazz or anything weird, I’d have had to figure the damn thing out for my own sanity.
Brian turned onto the highway, then opened the console and pulled out a packet like the ones he’d given me at the Gourmet Gala. “Can always use a bit more, ma’am,” he said with a slight smile, holding it out for me.
“Oh, sure. Thanks,” I said, taking it from him. “I tend to hoard and ration out my own stash as much as possible.” I tore the top off and did my best to suck the contents down as genteelly as possible. What was the proper etiquette for brain-eating? Pinky up? No slurping sounds? A dainty belch at the end?
“Understandable,” he replied. “And you have an adequate stash?”
“As long as nothing goes wrong, I have enough to last me about three months if I lost my job tomorrow,” I told him with more than a little pride. It hadn’t been easy to build my supply up to that level.
He flicked a glance toward me. “That’s impressive planning.”
“I’ve been hungry before,” I said softly, looking out at the window. Pine trees and horse farms flicked by as we drove. We seemed to be taking mostly back highways, which made for nicer scenery. “It scared the hell out of me,” I continued. “I don’t want to hurt anyone.” I pushed away the image of the baseball bat splitting open the Saberton man’s head.
Brian took a deep breath and released it slowly. “An ever present danger for us.” He paused. “Mr. Ivanov told me you had an unpleasant encounter last night.”
I swallowed hard. “Yeah, fun times with Philip and a couple of his pals.”
“I’m sorry, ma’am,” he said with a shake of his head. “It must have been quite traumatic.”
I glanced his way. “Look, I really appreciate all the courtesy stuff, but is there any way you could just call me Angel?” I gave him an apologetic smile. “The ma’am thing sorta feels, well, weird. Sorry.”
“No problem with that at all, Angel,” Brian replied, slight smile touching his mouth.
I let out a small sigh of relief. “Thanks. And yeah, it was traumatic, but at the same time it was hardly anything compared to some of the other crap I’ve been through. Pissed me off more than anything.” I made a sour face. “Now isn’t that some shit? That getting tackled and held down while someone steals my blood isn’t the worst thing to happen to me by far.”
“More than your share in a very short time,” he replied.
“Not quite sure what that says about me,” I replied with a low snort. Shit magnet. That’s what it says.
“Well, you’ve handled yourself well every time,” he said. “I’ll give you credit for that. The incident on Highway 1790 was damned impressive.”
A warm flush of pride went through me. “Thanks. But speaking of that, is Heather doing all right?”
He seemed to consider the question carefully before answering. “Yes.”
That wasn’t exactly a super-reassuring response. “She’s really all right?” I asked, cocking an eyebrow at him. “I mean, I know she was working for the other side.”
“Dr. Nikas has treated her arm and head,” Brian stated, features composed in the professional mask. “She’s healing fine.”
“And then what? What’s gonna happen to her?”
“I don’t know yet,” he replied.
There was a hitch in his voice that unsettled me. “What would she have to do, or prove to you, to get y’all to—” I paused, not quite sure how to say it. “To keep y’all from doing bad stuff to her.”
He didn’t flinch at the accusation that Heather faced a very real threat of “enhanced interrogation.” Yet worry flashed across his face, briefly cracking the professional façade. “I don’t know,” he said, and to my surprise he seemed to wilt a smidge. “She’s a difficult case.”
“She was unhappy enough with Saberton to risk everything to leave them,” I reminded him. My own worry grew. “Is she at the lab? Will I be able to see her?”
He hesitated. I braced myself to be told it wasn’t possible, and so it was with real surprise that I heard him say, “I’ll see if I can arrange it.”
“Thanks,” I said, relieved that it wasn’t a flat out No. I glanced over at him. “How long have you been a zombie?”
“A little over fifteen years,” he replied, quickly enough that it sounded like he was glad for the change in subject.