A Mad Zombie Party, стр. 47
That, I believe. Her frustration is palpable. “You want breakfast? Tell me what you did to the other slayers.”
“I put something in their food. A white powder. I don’t know what it was.”
I believe that, too. She isn’t bright enough to have masterminded this kind of destruction. “Why did you try to kill me?”
“I wasn’t supposed to harm anyone, but you saw me there, at the cemetery. You recognized me and would have ruined everything. You ruined everything anyway,” she adds bitterly. “I thought if I got rid of you, I could stay here.”
I arch a brow. “What did I ruin, exactly?”
“As long as I was on the inside, I got paid to report whatever I learned. The moment I got kicked out, the cash stopped coming.”
So. I almost died so that she could collect a check. “Who paid you?”
“Who do you think?” With a smile, she throws the name at me as if it’s a weapon. “Rebecca Smith.”
Rebecca Smith. A woman I hate with every fiber of my being. The former leader of Anima, and a bitch of the highest order.
Four months ago, we had her in our possession. Had I made the call, she would have left us in a body bag. She’s the one who blackmailed Milla. She’s the one who attached bombs to collared zombies. She’s the one who destroyed my home, sending her hazmat-protected agents in to kill our group with bullets when the blasts failed to do the job.
She’s the one who orchestrated Kat’s death.
Ali used her slayer ability to conceal Ms. Smith’s memories, essentially making the woman’s mind a blank slate. Ms. Smith once did the same to Ali, after all. But with a little help from Cole and Helen, Ali was able to regain full access to her memories. Someone must have helped Ms. Smith. And she must have hidden resources we know nothing about. How else would she have drugs to negate our abilities? Serums to clone zombies, if Milla is right about seeing familiar faces. A potion to turn dynamis into thanatos—or cover it. Isn’t that what the journal said? Cover, cover, cover.
Milla and I return the ballroom, but I barely have my rage under control.
Everyone else radiates different degrees of shock.
“Do you believe Tiffany is telling the truth?” Cole asks, his voice tight.
“Yes.” The response comes from Kat, who appears in the center of the room. Tutu-clad Emma stands beside her. “Rebecca Smith is alive, and her memory is back.”
I nod a greeting at Kat, like I do with all my friends, and for once, there’s no desire to do more. No desire to close the distance and draw her into my arms. No desire to hug and kiss her or whisper inappropriate things in her ear.
Maybe my emotions are too dark. Maybe...
I’ve finally moved on.
She’s a part of me. She owns a piece of my heart, and she always will. I’ll always love her. But I won’t—don’t—need her anymore.
The truth hurts me. It also frees me. I can survive without her.
She returns my nod with a sad smile, as if she can read my mind.
“We just found out.” Emma wrings her hands together. “And only because Rebecca’s witnesses took us to court. They requested a second chance to make her realize she’s headed down the wrong road.”
Ali sucks in a breath. “Is she protected?”
“Right now, yes. Which means her location is hidden from us.” Kat’s shoulders stoop. “I’m sorry.”
“We should have killed her when we had the chance,” I say.
“I get killing in the heat of battle,” Milla says, her tone soft. “But she’s never part of the battle. She’s a coward in that regard. If we’d killed her, it would have been in cold blood, simply to make our lives easier.” She places her hand over her heart. “Honestly, I’d rather die before my time knowing I did the right thing than live a long life knowing I did the worst thing.”
Wise words, and damn it, there’s no refuting them.
“I’ll call Detective Verra.” Cole palms his phone. “I’ll let her know what’s going on.”
“Meanwhile we’ll keep petitioning for answers.” Kat links her fingers with Emma’s. “Helen is still in court, requesting the recipe for an antidote to counteract whatever Rebecca did to you. All of you,” she adds with a glance at Milla.
Bronx wraps an arm around Reeve’s shoulders. “I’ll program home-security alerts into each of your cells. If Rebecca sends her agents, you’ll know the moment a single perimeter is breeched.”
“Meanwhile, we need to rest. Right now I’m not capable of fighting bedbugs.” Gavin wiggles his eyebrows at Jaclyn. His patented move: joke to lighten tension. “Stay in my room and fight them for me?”
Justin walks over and slugs him in the arm.
“Ow.” Gavin frowns at him. “I didn’t ask her to fight them naked, now, did I?”
Jaclyn looks ready to fall over with fatigue. Hell, all of us do.
“Gavin’s right,” I say. “We need rest.”
Cole nods. “I’m ordering each of you to stay in bed for at least eight hours. We’ll reconvene at noon tomorrow and decide what to do about Ms. Smith.”
Emma blows Ali a kiss and disappears. Kat gives me another one of those sad smiles before she, too, is gone. Despite everything, I hate the sadness and I hate to see her go.
Cole takes Ali’s hand and leads her out of the room. Gavin arches a brow at Jaclyn, and she gives an almost imperceptible nod. I’m pretty sure I just witnessed a silent invitation to hook up...along with an acceptance. The two shuffle out of the room, Justin not far behind.
River steps in front of Milla and says, “You came after me.”
She looks away from him. “It doesn’t matter.”
“You came after me, faced Rebecca, and I flayed you for it.”
“Don’t. Seriously. It’s over and done.”
“You’re wrong. It’ll be over only after I’ve spent years making it up to you.” He holds out his hand. “Please, Milla. Come home with me.”
A very dark curse explodes from me.
She frowns at me, then says to her brother, “I told Kat I’d sleep with Frosty.” Her cheeks brighten to an adorable pink, and I relax. “I mean, not sleep with him, but sleep in the same room with him.”
“Sorry, but there’s no way in hell I’m allowing that.” River shakes his head, adamant.
Smiling, she pats his cheek. “You’re so cute when you try to boss me around.” To me, she says, “Take me to your room.”
“I don’t actually have one.” I’ve spent many nights here, but only in her sick room. “We’ll have to pick one.”
“Well, all right then.” She rubs her eyes. “Let’s pick one. I’m not sure how much longer I can stay on my feet.”
“Fine. Stay here. But I’ll be sleeping in the room next to yours,” River mutters. “And by sleeping I mean listening through the wall, ready to gut a former friend for trying something he shouldn’t.”
“Don’t worry,” Milla says, her gaze swinging in my direction, only to pass over me. “Frosty and I aren’t like that. We’ll never be like that.”
The words are true, and yet I’m frowning as I lead the pair to the west wing of the house, where all the bedrooms are fully furnished. Most of the doors are shut and locked, couples already inside, doing things I won’t be doing to Milla.
Kissing...touching...
My hands clench at my sides. There are three open doors in back, and I claim the first, not caring if I find a princess paradise or a man cave. Like Milla, I’m not exactly steady on my feet.
Out of habit, I memorize my surroundings. Just in case I have to find my way around in the dark. Or fight an assailant during an ambush. King-size bed with mint-green covers. Two intricately carved nightstands and two navy leather chairs in front of a marble fireplace that has veins of pink and gold running throughout.