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A scowl tugged at his mouth. “It’s Tribe business.”
As in, none of mine? I could take a big sucky hint. “You could’ve just said it was confidential Tribe business instead of lying,” I said, grimly pleased when he flinched. “But hey, whatever. I obviously don’t deserve to know shit. It’s not like I proved myself in New York or saved your ass and Pierce’s, too.”
His face could’ve been carved from stone. “It’s not my call.”
“Your call?” Acid dripped from my voice. “You mean Pierce won’t let you make the call.” Marcus’s uncle, Tribe leader Pietro Ivanov, had died in a fiery private plane crash on the way back from New York a few months ago. Except, he hadn’t, and only a handful of people knew the truth. In order to escape Saberton Corporation’s zombie dungeon lab, Pietro had been forced to make a bold move. He’d eaten the brain of enemy security guard Pierce Gentry and used the DNA blueprint to change from Pietro-shaped to Pierce-shaped. Only mature zombies had that freaky ability.
Unfortunately, once he became Pierce, he couldn’t return to Pietro-shaped. After we returned from New York minus Pietro Ivanov, Pierce Gentry had joined the Tribe with the cover story—supported by Brian and Dr. Nikas—that he’d been a long-term mole in Saberton. However, Pierce couldn’t exactly waltz into Pietro’s vacated shoes as if nothing had happened. In order to keep everything running, he had to work from behind the throne.
And it was Marcus who now wore the crown.
I poked the zombie king in the chest. “Don’t you dare let Pierce treat you like a figurehead! You gave up your badge and law school to take over for him. You deserve better than his bullsh—”
The funeral home door banged open, and Pierce himself stalked out, black eyebrows drawn together in a fierce glower. “Bullshit is right. I don’t have time for it.”
“A big ol’ hello to you, too,” I said with a healthy dollop of sarcasm.
Ignoring me, Pierce pulled Marcus a short distance away while I folded my arms over my chest and scowled. The two put their heads together, speaking too low for me to get the slightest whiff. Pierce was tall like Marcus and looked hella formidable in no-nonsense charcoal-grey polo shirt and black pants. On his belt he had a big-ass knife that I’d seen him use with scary-deadly ease. I still had trouble thinking of him as the same person as the older, stocky Pietro Ivanov. But there was no mistaking the Pietro confidence and attitude. And, occasional assholeishness.
Brian exited the funeral home, face set in unreadable mode. He took in the Pierce and Marcus conversation then gave me a faint smile, angled his head in the opposite direction in a clear “come with?” gesture. Suppressing a sigh, I nodded and moved down the sidewalk with him. Brian was guarding Pierce’s privacy, but at least he was being nice about it.
Brian stopped after about twenty feet. “Don’t mind Pierce,” he said. “The FBI has him worked up.”
I sucked in a breath. “The FBI? What’s going on?”
“An agent visited three of his funeral homes in other states in the past two days.”
“Did they show up here?”
“About an hour ago. Mrs. Scott says the agent asked a few simple questions about how they handle bodies. Showed her a photo of a man and asked if she’d seen him come through. That’s it. The other funeral homes reported the same.”
I chewed my lower lip as I considered that. “If the FBI is also poking around non-Tribe funeral homes, then isn’t it less likely they’re tracking zombie-related stuff?”
“At this point, we’re baffled, but we can’t take any chances,” Brian said. “There’ve been some uncomfortable inquiries into Mr. Ivanov’s death as well.” His gaze drifted to Pierce. “We’re checking all leads.”
“Is that why y’all are here instead of on your way to the airport?”
Brian gave me a sharp look. I gave him a bland one in response. I knew he’d realize who spilled the beans, but no need to throw Marcus under the bus. Even if he was a Lying LiarMcLyingPants. Besides, if I didn’t let on how much I knew, maybe I could wheedle a few more details out of Brian.
But my wheedling hopes shattered when the door opened yet again, and a lanky black man. Tribe weapons specialist—and my
trainer—Kyle Griffin. Pierce and Marcus broke off their conversation and moved his way.
“Her description of the photo is useless,” Kyle told them. “I did find out that at least one agent will be in town over the weekend.”
“Goddamn shitty timing,” Pierce said through clenched teeth. He blew out an angry breath. “Let’s roll.”
Brian gave me an apologetic look and fished car keys from his pocket. “Take care, Angel,” he said and headed to the Escalade with Kyle in his wake.
Marcus stepped close and gave me a quick kiss on the cheek. “Sorry, Angel.” He pressed a movie premiere ticket into my hand. His. “I’ll tell you what I can when I get back.”
“Yeah. Sure,” I muttered as he moved past me toward the SUV. That was probably yet another lie-to-Angel-for-no-good-reason thing. Brian was head of security, and he hadn’t been so tight-lipped. I was no doubt being a petty bitch, but it sucked that once again Marcus hadn’t trusted me enough to believe I’d act like a grownup. This day was already lousy enough with Allen’s surprise visit to the morgue cooler, thank you very much. And what the hell would I do if Allen found out the truth? My gut tightened. If I got fired—
Pierce’s gaze snapped to me. His nostrils flared as he stepped close and sniiiffffed. “What are you afraid of, Angel?”
“Oh, for fuck’s sake.” Damn mature zombie super-senses. Still, it was probably smart to tell him. “I’m not afraid,” I corrected primly. “I’m a little worried about a stupid thing at work, that’s all.” I gave him a quick and dirty rundown of my encounter with Allen and the impending meeting. “I don’t think anything will come of it,” I added. “He’d have fired me already if he knew the deal, but it still makes me nervous.”
Pierce shot Marcus a dark look. “See?”
