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“Angel,” he said before I could speak. “It’s obvious you’re in trouble. I can help you. Tell me where you are.”
“Nah,” I said absently, still trying to think. “I don’t trust you.”
He let out a low snort of amusement. “At least you’re honest. Are you still injured? Do you need brains?”
“No, I’m cool.” Injuries. Brains. Was that it? I covered the receiver and whispered to Ed, “Your mom—she was friends with Dr. Kristi Burke, right? Was she a neurologist too?”
“They worked in the same practice,” he said, still looking confused. “But she’s not Dr. Burke anymore. She divorced and took back her maiden name. She’s Dr. Charish now.”
I stared at him, suddenly feeling as if my brain was one of those old-fashioned boards at train terminals in old movies where the little tiles cascaded down to form words or a picture. Because, finally, a coherent picture was starting to form.
I smiled thinly. “She changed her hair color too, right?” At his nod I continued. “And did Pietro know her as well?” I already knew the answer to this one since I remembered she’d been at his little soirée.
Now his mouth twisted into a wry smile. “Most definitely.”
Grinning, I uncovered the mouthpiece. “Okay, Pietro, I’m pretty sure you’re full of shit. Well, maybe not completely full of shit, but I think that maybe Sofia wasn’t the only scientist on your payroll. Dr. Charish also works for you, right?”
There was a moment of silence before he spoke. “Yes, Kristi also works for me, but on a different project than the one Sofia was working on.”
I scowled into the phone. “Yeah, well I think your good doctor knew exactly what was going on in her lab. And I’m pretty sure she was the one who duped Ed into chopping zombie heads off.” But I still couldn’t shake the feeling that I was missing something. Was this whole thing really just about developing better fake brains to make money off zombies? Or was it some kind of zombie war? But if so, why the hell did they now need a live zombie? And why me?
There was another extended silence on Pietro’s end. “There are dire consequences for harming or interfering with anyone under my protection,” he finally said, voice low and dark. “Whoever is responsible for these murders, you can be certain that I will deal with it.”
I didn’t trust Pietro, but I also knew I wouldn’t ever want to cross him. I was pretty sure that all of my comments about the Zombie Mafia were closer to the mark than most people suspected. So, in a way, this was almost reassuring. Almost.
“I have to make some calls,” he said abruptly. “Call me again as soon as you’re in a safe place.”
I scowled as the line went dead. “Asshole,” I muttered. I hung up the phone then blinked at the sound of quarters dropping into the change return. Oh, right, I’d been in the middle of calling my dad. I quickly put the quarters back in and dialed the house number, mentally framing what message I was going to leave, in the hopes that it wouldn’t be quite so much incoherent babble.
It picked up after the second ring. “Hello, Angel,” said a familiar voice that wasn’t my dad’s.
Chapter 22
“Are you fucking kidding me?” I shouted into the phone. “Get the fuck out of my house, you cocksucking asstard!”
“My god, you’re a foul-mouthed thing, aren’t you.”
“Yeah, well, get over it. So what the fuck is this?” I said. “Is this where you have my dad and offer to trade us or some equally lame bullshit? Are you working from Evil Plots for Dummies or some shit like that?”
“That’s pretty clever,” McKinney replied. “I may have to write that someday. But yes, I have your father, and I’m willing to make a trade, him for you. Very simple: you cooperate or your dad dies.”
I felt my mouth twist into something not quite a smile. “Uh huh. First off, I don’t believe you really have my dad. Second off, go fuck yourself.”
To my surprise he chuckled. “Ah. You require proof. Fair enough.”
I heard some rustling, then, “Angelkins?”
“Oh my god, Dad,” I groaned. “What are you doing at home?”
“What the hell are you talking about? I live here, remember?”
“But it’s football night! Why aren’t you down at Kaster’s?”
“Because it’s a goddamn bar!” he shouted back. “And I’m trying to not go to bars any more, ’cause when I go to bars I drink, and I’m trying not to drink any more ’cause it’s pretty much the only way to get sober, goddammit!”
“Oh,” I said in a small voice. “Okay. That makes sense.”
I heard him take a shuddering breath. “What’s going on, baby?” he said in a somewhat more normal tone of voice. “Are you in some kind of trouble with these people? You can tell me, honey. I’ll love you no matter what.”
