She blinked at him, stunned.
He’d once been willing to serve on a council for the public good? What in the world?
SERC’s creation had been another unanticipated outcome of the zombie jailbreak. As Supernatural and Enhanced groups had stepped into the spotlight and helped drive those zombies back into the underground compound, they’d coordinated with one another for the first time. Determined to address common human officials from a unified position of power, they’d formed SERC to serve as a loose governing body that could speak for its members’ interests.
In the heady rush of victory following the Battle for Containment, the government had rewarded its allies by sanctioning a loose, tentative partnership with SERC. In return for the government’s toleration of Supernaturals and the Enhanced, as well as prosecution of common humans who injured or killed SERC’s constituents without just cause, SERC had promised that those constituents would protect common humans rather than prey upon them.
Not all humans approved of the alliance. Neither did all Supernaturals. Nevertheless, the agreement carried enough weight that a fraught, uneasy peace had taken shape and been maintained ever since.
And Mr. Trust No One had almost taken a seat on SERC? Had almost dedicated his life to maintaining peace and order—only to wind up in an underground bunker of his own, entirely alone and ostensibly unconcerned with the survival of anyone and everyone else?
Something had clearly gone very, very wrong in the interim. What the hells had happened to Not-Chad? And exactly how oldwashe, anyway?
“I don’t understand,” she said, setting aside his more personal revelations for another time. “Why would the government make information about and footage of the zombies classified?”
“Officials would rather not remind common human citizens of the Breach or the continued existence of creatures that could wipe out all humanity,” he told her dryly. “Especially when those creatures could be eliminated in various ways if the government weren’t still hopeful that future genetic tweaks might render them usable as supersoldiers again someday.”
Her brow furrowed. “I thought the government didn’t kill them because the only feasible weapons would cause too much damage to surrounding Zone communities.”
His slight sneer was annoyingly attractive. “You believed that?”
“Not all of us are cynical assholes,dude.” Disheartened, she slumped on her stool. “Well, the government’s tactics clearly worked. When I talk to friends outside the Zone, you would think the Breach happened centuries ago and zombies didn’t still exist.”
“Exactly as officials would prefer.”
“Would you share all that classified information and footage with me?”
“I suppose,” he said, sounding mildly put-upon.
Which was weird, because…wasn’t sharing that sort of intelligence with her, a mere common human, kind of a big deal? Shouldn’t he be moreintenseabout it? Or conflicted?
For that matter, why had he even agreed to do it? Everything he’d just told her might be a lie, but even he couldn’t instantaneously doctor some footage and whip up a false dossier to handover to her. Not when he’d had no clue she would enter his underground stronghold that evening.
Whatever he showed her would have to be genuine. The truth.
Even though he’d said she shouldn’t trust him.
“Most vampires are wealthy.” A graceful flick of his hand indicated the evidence of that wealth all around them. “We have a long time to build interest on our savings, and the rare vampires who conceive pass their fortunes down to their offspring. But ostentatious affluence can draw undue human attention. By tradition, we often hide our homes—”
“Lairs,” she murmured.
“—in some fashion,” he continued, ignoring her. “Sometimes underground, but not always. And to answer your final question, my first name is Gaston, although I prefer to go by—”
She nearly choked on a chunk of pork carnitas. “Gaston?”
Pinching the bridge of his nose, he sighed again. “Yes, yes, I know. That godsforsaken movie made my given name…unwieldy. I now choose to call myself—”
“Chad?”
“—Max, as Maxime is the second of my given names.”
She grinned. “I can see why you prefer Max to Gaston. Still, it’s a shame, since—”
“Edie,” he began, his voice full of warning, but it was too late.
“—no…one…bites like Gaston,” she singsonged, “drinks Miller Lites like Gaston. In a—”
“Don’t make me kill you, human.”
