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All was right in my world. Time for a sandwich.
Chapter 2
The half-dose of V12 was enough to keep me from obsessing about the meeting with Allen. Knowing him, it was some teensy issue that gave him an excuse to give me grief. That seemed to be a favorite hobby of his. I sure wished he’d take up whittling or cake decorating instead.
Traffic was hellacious, and even the chill-out effects of the mod weren’t enough to keep me from snarling as my lunch break ticked away. I only needed to go two miles, but at this rate I was never going to make it to Alma’s Café. Ever. I’d starve to death behind the wheel of my car. Rigor mortis would forever preserve my hand with my middle finger extended, aimed at idiot drivers everywhere.
Screw this. In a desperate move of navigational brilliance and law-breaking, I whipped through a gas station and onto a quieter back street. Distance-wise it was longer, but at least I’d be able to go faster than three miles an hour.
As I passed Scott Funeral Home, a black Escalade SUV in the parking lot caught my eye. Brian Archer, head of our zombie Tribe security drove one, but of course lots of other people probably did, too. Well, maybe not lots since they weren’t exactly cheap. And how many people also had the same black roof rack rails and front and rear molded splash guards and 22" five-spoke silver and black machined wheels?
Hey, I dated a car guy
for four years. I noticed that kind of stuff.
But the kicker was the bright blue Ford F-150 pickup next to it. Marcus’s truck, I was damned near positive. The Tribe owned a bunch of funeral homes—part of the supply network for brains—but Scott Funeral Home wasn’t one of them. So why would Brian and Marcus be here when they were supposedly on their way to the airport?
I cruised on past. It was none of my business. Really.
Not my business, but curiosity wasn’t a crime. Maybe those weren’t their vehicles after all? I made the block and got another look.
Nope, that was most definitely Marcus’s truck, right down to the small ding on the rear bumper. It was possible he’d lent it to someone while he was out of town, but that didn’t explain Brian’s Escalade. What the hell, I had time to spare. I pulled into a parking space where I had a good view of the two vehicles and the front door, but not so close that my surveillance was obvious.
I barely had time to come to a full stop before Marcus exited the funeral home and plopped onto the bench beside the door. He was a seriously good-looking guy, tall and fit with dark hair and eyes, and strong Russian features. As I watched, he dropped his head back against the wall and slumped, clearly tired in more ways than just physically. I winced. Looked like his sudden “promotion” wasn’t all puppies and ice cream. Had to be especially tough considering he’d been deliberately excluded from the Tribe’s inner circle right up until they actually needed him.
Damn. Now my curiosity felt more like stalking. I climbed out of my car and started his way. The funeral home door opened again, and security specialist Rachel Delancey prowled out like an elegant, athletic cat, dark-skinned and with braids to die for. I stopped, still on the far side of the truck from them, and watched as Marcus smiled up at her.
Rachel took his hand and gave it what I knew damn well was a squeeze. “Call me later if anything turns up.”
“You know I will,” Marcus said like a promise. Grr. I knew I had no good reason to get my hackles up over Marcus getting involved with another woman. Except that this was Rachel, who hated me for no good reason.
Rachel turned away from him and headed toward his truck—and me. I scrambled to get my game face on and managed to pull off cool and natural by the time she rounded the front.
Surprise flashed in her eyes for only an instant before she gave me a tight smile. “Angel. What are you doing here?”
I smiled right back. “Seeing what y’all are up to.”
“Tribe business,” she said with a haughty lift of her chin.
“What a coincidence! I’m Tribe, too.”
She glanced toward Marcus then leveled a cool gaze at me. “For now.”
I rolled my eyes. “Really? You’re gonna talk Marcus into kicking me out? Your shit ain’t that hot.”
Rachel’s lips pressed thin before she shouldered past me and climbed into Marcus’s truck. As my shock settled, she looked down on me with a triumphant smirk then cranked the engine and backed out.
Bitch. Did she know I’d never driven his truck?
Marcus stared at me in shock as the departure of the truck left me exposed, then scrambled up from the bench. I closed the distance and gave him a sour look. “On your way to the airport, huh?”
“In a manner of speaking,” he said a bit stiffly. “I was going to text you.”
I snorted. “Is that why the big neon sign over your head is flashing ‘guilty’?”
He frowned. Guiltily. “Nothing to feel guilty about.” He gestured toward the Escalade. “We’re leaving soon.”
“Gimme a break, Marcus.” I rolled my eyes. “You bailed on the texting when I asked for details on the business trip.”
