Accidentally Dead, Again Part 6

"You really are a nerd."

"Nerds are hot. Just ask Chuck."

Her grin was impish and easy. Too easy. She straightened, giving him an arrogant lift of her chin. "Are you flirting by way of extolling your virtues?"

Sam pursed his lips comically and winked. "I'm not sure. Clearly, if that woman was any indication, I'm not much for the foreplay of flirting. I prefer to tap right into the hot and sweaty."

Phoebe let her eyes fall to the floor, shifting on her feet to avoid the discomfort the woman's memory brought. "Well, that hasty, life-altering decision aside, we have trouble. So we need to figure this out, because I don't ever want to do what I did at Nina's again without maybe some warning-or cla.s.ses on how to, at the very least, land in the middle of Bergdorf Goodman's. I know my way around there."

Sam grinned, devilish and amused. "Could save a bundle on airfare."

She snorted, twisting her hair between her fingers. "Is that your shot at optimism?"

"I try to keep my gla.s.s half full."

Phoebe fought to keep herself from drowning in the deep color of his eyes and stay focused. "So the woman ..."

"Yeah. Wow."

"You didn't know her?"

"Never saw her before in my life." His eyes shifted away from hers.

She noted his flicker of embarra.s.sment in the way he looked up and away from her. "Was it a work-related party? Do entomologists party? I'm having trouble with that image."

"Obviously, we should stick to bugs, because when you let us loose, we party-big. And it's not something I do often."

"Party?" Phoebe hedged.

"That or indulge in one-night stands. Which technically, I don't think actually occurred, but it's all really hazy."

Crossing her arms over her chest, Phoebe couldn't help but smile. "I'm so relieved."

He wiggled his eyebrows. "That it wasn't a one-night stand?"

"No. That you don't party much. Late nights and booze are bad for your skin. You have nice skin." She paused, mortified she'd given him her a.s.sessment on his skin out loud. G.o.d. "So the woman ..."

"The woman. Right. Yes, the party was work related, we had it right inside O-Tech's cafeteria, and there were a lot of people that I work with there. We bug dudes tend to run in stimulating packs of boring bug intellect."

"So she could have been from O-Tech?"

"O-Tech's a big company. She could have been anyone from the mailroom on up. Or not."

"Whose party was it?"

"My friend Joel organized it."

"Another bug guy?"

"No. He's from Human Resources at O-Tech. And before you ask, I texted him about the guest list. No guest list. It was sort of a last-minute thrown-together thing, according to Joel. And no one saw me leave with mystery woman, either. Or even remembers seeing a woman matching that description."

"So she just popped up out of thin air? Wait. Forget I said that. She probably did. Oh, Jesus." The reality of their situation sank back in.

"So that brings us back to what she said," Sam offered, though his reminder was steeped in hesitation.

Phoebe flapped a hand, pushing herself to stick to the facts and not speculate too much or she'd lose her mind. "Right. The dying thing. She said it wouldn't be long before we died. I don't know about you, but I really don't want to end up lunch for a whirring Dyson. That was brutal. No disrespect intended."

Sam shook his head. "Yeah. I don't get it. She vanished right before our eyes. If what Wanda and Nina told us, and the mythology of vampires is almost all true like they said, I was under the impression that vampires live forever unless they're staked through the heart with wood or their heads are chopped off."

"Yeah. They do," Nina stated, breezing in from the kitchen where she and Wanda had been contacting their vampire connections. "Vampires also turn to dust after five hundred years unless they mate for life. Good times, right?"

Phoebe grimaced, wrinkling her nose. "Golden. I have a little less than five hundred years to find the man of my dreams. That should be plenty of time to get things in order for my dream nuptials." And find the right man. The kind who wouldn't walk out on her at the first sign of trouble. Especially if the trouble was big.

Sam's look was of surprise. "Wait. Aren't you married, Nina?"

Nina nodded, her normally scowling face turned warm with a grin. "Yep."

"So you're mated for life?" Sam asked.

"For-ev-ah, yo. That's like rule number nine hundred in Vampires for Dummies. There's no divorce in Vampire-landia, kiddies. So when you get to pickin' a life partner-pick wisely, my friend, and don't wait until you're four hundred and ninety-nine and three-quarters to do it."

"You speak from experience?" Sam inquired, his eyes wide.

"Oh, you bet she does," Wanda called from the kitchen with a laugh.

Phoebe's brow furrowed. "So wait. Then maybe Sam's girlfriend turned to dust because she was five hundred and had no mate? That makes sense, right? Maybe she meant we'd die if we didn't find mates? Or maybe she bit Sam as an eleventh-hour kind of d.a.m.n-I'd-better-get-to-gettin'-on-this-mate thing? You know, like an act of desperation?"

Nina shook her head, jamming her hands into the front pocket of her hoodie. "If that was the case, she kind of jumped the f.u.c.king warning gun, don't you think? You guys have four hundred and ninety-nine years to go. And she apologized for biting Sam. She said it was an accident and she said she wanted to help. I didn't read any malice in that head of hers. Just panic and fear. Not to mention, what happened on that couch isn't your typical vampire death. I've heard about the turning to dust thing, and it isn't like that s.h.i.t we saw tonight. The five hundred gig isn't pretty, but it's not like what just went down with all that flesh-eating c.r.a.p. That was some kind of heinous."

Everyone grew somber again at the memory of the woman's screams.

"She also mentioned O-Tech," Wanda said, weaving her way past Nina, cell phone in hand. "And she had that O-Tech memo with Sam's name on it. So if she didn't work there, and we have no way of identifying her to see if she did, my next thought is, what does a vampire have to do with a pest-control manufacturer and how did she get her hands on Sam's personal notepad? Did you have it with you at the party? In your purse, maybe? That dress you've got on doesn't look like it leaves much room for a Thin Mint let alone a whole piece of paper."

"Sarcasm. More, please," Sam responded dryly, c.o.c.king his eyebrow.

Wanda smiled in return. "Curtsy. So I'm guessing you don't carry around your memo pad with you?"

Sam's face went hard. "Nope. It never leaves my desk because I don't really use it. I use my phone to keep memos, reminders, et cetera. I can't read my own handwriting and I have no clue what the letters TDB mean. But I didn't write that."

"Yay," Wanda retorted with sarcasm, clapping her hands together. "Square one it is, then."

Nina's expression took a surprising turn when she gave them all a somber gaze, jamming her hands into the pockets of her jeans. "Well, we'd better figure out square two, because if what that broad said was true, Sammy and Fashion Spree Barbie are gonna bite it. Soon."

Phoebe paid no mind to Nina's snarky reference to her. Instead, she found herself focusing on how she'd jumped from the frying pan smack into the fire. A couple of days ago, her life hadn't exactly been coming up roses, but it hadn't entailed a violent death the likes of which she'd seen on her sofa. Not one she'd remember anyway.

Everyone grew silent again, finding places to seat themselves other than the couch. Phoebe perched on the edge of an end table, listening to the hum of the vacuum Mark had broken out while she rethought her wish to be cremated.

When her cell phone rang to the tune of "Forget You," a ringtone she'd specifically purchased to signal an unwanted caller, Phoebe froze. Because it signaled the one and only unwanted caller she had.

A glance at the clock said it was almost two in the morning. What could he possibly want at this hour?

She made a dash for her purse in the kitchen where Nina had dropped it, a dash that left her body trying to catch up with the rest of her. She crashed into the chairs surrounding their kitchen dinette like a bowling ball and just managed to catch herself before knocking the entire table over.

Dumping the contents of her purse on the table, Phoebe fumbled for her phone and clicked on "answer." "I thought our booty calls were officially over, Randall? So what inspires a phone call so late?"

Randall cleared his throat, shifting on what Phoebe suspected was his bed with the checkered comforter. "I thought you'd be long in bed with your phone on vibrate. I was going to leave a voice mail."

Phoebe made a face into the phone, pacing the small s.p.a.ce between her table and fridge. "Meaning you're no less of a sissy than you were last week when you broke up with me?" So petty, Phoebes. So.

There was a pause and then a long drawn-out sigh. "Please don't be like this, Phoebe."

"You have some nerve, Randall," she drawled, scooping up a fallen chair and righting it. "So what do you want? Did you forget to collect one of the knives you left in my back?"

Randall's response crackled over the phone, as empty and meaningless as he was. "That hurts, Phoebe."

"Really? Have you seen the knife wound in my back? That's hurt, pal."

"I didn't stab you in the back. I was just being honest with you. Wouldn't you rather I was decent enough to tell you the truth instead of misleading you? Your condition is a lot to ask of someone you've only been dating for a couple of months."

Condition. Hah. Phoebe almost laughed when she considered her newest condition and how Randall would have handled fangs and blood-tasting parties. Instead, she stuck to the disgust he'd evoked in her the moment he'd told her their relationship was over. "You have no idea how grateful I am that you felt honest enough to tell me you're a spineless coward who couldn't handle my condition in a text message."

"I won't deny that after I made the decision to break it off, the idea of seeing you in person became too awkward for me. But it doesn't mean I'm not worried for your safety. You have had some scary moments in the last weeks."

Well, tonight, she'd tipped the scary-o-meter. Not even last week's events topped tonight. "Well, I'm plenty safe, and you've officially been crossed off my list of Prince Charming candidates. So consider your guilt a.s.suaged and we can call this a wrap."

"I don't want it to be this way, Phoebe. I really don't. I'd like to be there for you as a friend, if you'll let me. Maybe I could take you to that clinical trial your doctor told you about? Or we could have coffee afterward? I dunno, Phoebe. I'm just trying to be supportive for you in some way."

"So you can feel better about your charity work?" she sniped at him, then instantly regretted it the moment the words flew from her lips. In all honesty, Randall wasn't a bad person. In fact, he was a decent guy who just didn't want to step into a land mine of a relationship with a woman whose future didn't exactly need shades.

It hadn't broken her that Randall wanted out of their loosely committed relationship. They'd enjoyed a nice enough fling, and he was good company, decent enough in bed, but there'd been no browsing Modern Bride for her. What had hurt was the reason he'd broken up with her.

Because she was damaged and would become more damaged as time went by.

The mournful sigh from the other end of the phone deepened her regret for reacting in such a petty way. Phoebe ran her hand over her eyes, swiping at the brown smudge of day-old eyeliner she gathered on her fingertips. "I'm sorry, Randall. It's not your fault. You were honest, and for that you deserve my respect."

"So have you decided if you'll do the clinical trial yet? It did sound pretty promising."

Her eyes strayed to the stack of papers hidden behind a kitchen cabinet. "I haven't decided anything. To say it's been a crazy eight hours or so is underestimating crazy."

"I could go with you," he offered again, in typical gentlemanly Randall fashion.

A rush of emotion clogged her throat and tears she'd never shed again because she was a vampire burned her grainy eyes. "I appreciate that, Randall, but I'm betting you don't want to hang around with me while I fill out the eight hundred or so forms they make patients in clinical trials fill out. It's long and tedious."

There was a long pause, as there usually was when Randall was calculating his words, and then he asked, "Is there any hope in this clinical trial? Any hope at all?"

Hope. How funny that word was. When she was a kid, she'd hoped to become a personal stylist for the stars. Sort of like today's Rachel Zoe. Nowadays she just hoped she'd remember the names of all the stars she'd once hoped to dress. "I don't know if there's any hope for early-onset Alzheimer's, Randall. It's pretty rare, especially at my age, but I'm willing to give it a shot because, really, what do I have to lose?"

Except her mind.

CHAPTER 5.

Sam's voice just behind her made Phoebe jump. "Phoebe?"

s.h.i.t. s.h.i.t. s.h.i.t. "I have to go, Randall. But thanks for calling and for your support. You take care." She slid her phone to the off position and scrunched her eyes shut, cringing.

Sam put a heavy hand on her shoulder, cool and comforting. It took all she had in her not to lean back against his hard chest, and she had to chalk that up to the crazy bag of emotions this night had wrought. It was a love-the-one-you're-with mentality, and Sam was the one she was with.

Her instant attraction to Sam the moment she'd found out he wasn't gay was more than just a little shallow. So he was good-looking and he had a great set of thighs. Chickens had nice thighs, too.

"Boyfriend trouble?" he rumbled, deep and shivery.

"Not anymore. I thought it best we call it quits, considering my new supernatural status. I didn't want to have to show him who's really the man at our weekly mud wrestling dates. Now that I have superhuman strength, it's just not a fair fight."

But Sam didn't laugh. Instead, he gave her a sympathetic apology. "I'm sorry."

Her eyes popped open when she waved a hand dismissively. "Don't be. We broke up last week. He was just doing the guilt call to be sure I wasn't lost in ice cream and potato-chip grief."

But Sam clearly wasn't buying her story. "Seriously, is everything okay?"

She moved away from his grip, shaken by the sound of his voice and desperately afraid he'd heard what she'd said to Randall with his super hearing. Putting a smile on her face, she joked, "As noob vampires go, everything's golden. A pasty white, fanged kind of golden. So what's up? Did we figure something out? Did you discover you can ice people with your laser beam eyes or maybe move objects with your ninja mind?"

He shook his head with a grin, taking another step toward her. "Nope. But according to Nina, the night is young, and after your teleportation, who knows what else could happen? Also, Nina made mention of her gut and a bad feeling, and all sorts of scenarios that would make your head spin exorcism style. So she wants us all to stay close to her. No one's left alone without a paranormal Big Sister."

Grand. Maybe they could bond over mugs of warm blood and fang floss. "I can't think of anything I'd like to do more than stay close to Nina. She inspires warm and squishy."

He grinned-wide and s.e.xy. "Good to know, because we're going over to my place so I can get out of this bra. I don't know how you women do it, but I need to rea.s.sert my manhood by putting on a pair of jeans and my Stetson."

"You wear a cowboy hat?"

"Yes, ma'am. You can take the boy to the city, but you can't take the country out of the boy," he answered, thickening his once slight Southern drawl.

"Where are you from?"

"Wyoming. Jackson Hole."

Phoebe shrugged her shoulders and gave him a look of indifference. "I'd really rather stay here." Because even in all this chaos, all she could think about was what his b.u.t.t would look like in those jeans. Their lives were on the line. Someone needed to rea.s.sess their priorities.

"Well, first, let me be really clear on something. I did this to you. I know you blame Nina for cornering you, but it was my fang that ended up in your ... well, you know where. So I consider you my responsibility until we have this all figured out. Until I know you're safe, we stick together. And even if you don't like it, pretend you do or you'll hurt my feelings. Second, the head vampire demands it. I don't know about you, but I'd bet my false eyelashes you shouldn't cross her. Just a feeling. Wanda and Marty offered to stay with Mark on the off chance someone else shows up here."

Hackles rose on the back of her neck. She had to know Mark was safe. "Why would someone else show up here? Was there more than one person at your one-night stand, Mr. McLean, and you're just a modest stud? Did you have a vampire menage?"

Sam let his head fall back on his shoulders when he laughed, hearty and rich, the thick muscles in his neck standing out. "You're funny. Just like your sister. Though, I'm not as impressed with your a.r.s.enal of crude. She's a much better cusser than you."