Predatory (Page 98)

I waved Pike through and we scurried down the dimly lit hall.

“Okay, stay out here and stand guard.”

“No way,” I said. “I’m going in. You stand guard.”

Pike sighed. “Do you have any idea what you’re looking for?”

“Look, Pike, my roommate is basically a private investigator who is dating a detective. I have inadvertently been on more stakeouts, snuck through more morgues, and flopped around with more dead bodies than all the NYPD put together.”

“I don’t know why, but I’m kind of aroused right now.”

“You’re sick.” I yanked open the storage-room door. “Stand guard.”

Inside, I was pleased to see the bodies were stored in an orderly fashion (did I mention we vamps are a little bit OCD?). I was able to find Reginald and stretch him out on one of the exam tables in record time, gingerly placing a file folder over his flash-frozen man bits—I could only investigate so many things at once. I checked out the red-purple bruises circling his neck—not entirely certain what I was looking for—and was walking my fingers toward a tiny red pinprick behind his left ear. “Interesting,” I whispered to my dead audience. The pinprick was minuscule and could have been a broken blood vessel or a mole for all I knew, but I knew how to find out. I pulled Reginald’s file and did a quick scan. The bruises were listed, as well as a hernia scar, a hair weave, and a little tattoo on Reginald’s derriere. There was no mention of the pinprick.

I left Reginald laid out and went to find Emerson. She wasn’t listed on any of the drawers and I gulped, staring at the heavy metal door for the “overflow” body storage. There are very few things that give me the heebie-jeebies, but walking into a room where the dead are laid out and stacked like bakery goods made my stomach lurch—and not in a good way. I sucked in a nerve-steadying breath and stepped into the walk-in freezer, jamming a Gross Anatomy book in the doorway. I had seen one too many television shows where the main characters get locked in a walk-in and end up freezing to death or eating their weight in ice cream.

All my bases covered, I went to work examining the paperwork stacked on each body. I was so engrossed—or so desperate to get Emerson and get out of there—that I didn’t hear someone slyly removing the Gross Anatomy book. What I did hear was the heavy metal thunk of the door closing.

My heart locked in my throat, but I refused to let myself panic. I casually walked up to the door, certain that the giant refrigerator people had seen all the locked-in-the-freezer episodes as well, and had created some sort of snazzy trapdoor or inside lock pop.

Apparently, refrigerator people are not TV watchers.

I dug into my cle**age and yanked out my cell phone. I wasn’t entirely sure whom I’d call to rescue me from a walk-in freezer filled with people-sicles, but Vlad was usually good for the occasional rescue. I wrapped my arms around myself and hit the speed-dial button.

And nothing happened.

“No bars!” I groaned. I started to pace, staring down at my screen. Closer to the back of the fridge a few cheery bars popped up. If I held the phone above my head, I got another half. Still not enough to support a phone call.

I pressed myself as far back as I could, then eyed the stackable body shelves. If I could just get a little higher . . . I tentatively poked a foot on the edge of the lowermost platform, careful not to get anybody on my shoe. I took a step up. And then another. And then I grinned down at my phone when it decided it could make a call.

And then I heard the weird, scraping sound of the undead coming back to life. My hackles went up, hot adrenaline sparking through me.

I jumped from the cart and launched it backward. I would like to say I barrel-rolled or did something equally as theatrical but what I did was sail through the air, arms outstretched, fingers clawed and desperate for something to hold on to. When I landed on the cement floor, I had the slick, cold plastic of body bags in each hand, the contents of each bag—and several others—pummeling me from above.

I howled.

I don’t think my feet hit the ground as I jumped, and tossed my body into the door, screaming bloody murder.

“Pike! PIKE! Get me out of here! Get me the f**k out of here! I’m stuck!”

It seemed to take eons for Pike to hear me and loosen the door. When he did I ran out, circling the autopsy tables, relishing the way the room-temperature air burned at my frozen skin.

I felt Pike’s eyes on me, curious, as I rubbed my arms and let the adrenaline drain from my body. “Where were you?” I finally hissed, eyes narrowed.

“I was outside. Standing guard. Just like you told me to be.”

I couldn’t fault him for doing as I’d told him, but I wanted to. “Why did you come in here?”

“You were taking forever, I had to pee, and then I heard you huffing and thumping. I thought maybe you were getting a little frisky with ol’ Reg there.”

He grinned and I recoiled, disgusted. “You’re a big ass.”

“And you’re a big ol’ side of beef locking yourself in the deep freeze. Did you find anything?”

“First of all, I didn’t lock myself in the freezer. I shoved a book in the doorway so I wouldn’t get stuck.”

Pike made a show of looking all around for a book.

“Someone filched the book and shut the door on me.”

Pike raised his eyebrows, though he didn’t look the least bit convinced. “Is that so? Because I’ve been waiting out there,” he said, jerking a thumb toward the hall. “And I happen to know for a fact that no one came in here.”

I gaped. “Are you calling me a liar?”

“Of course not. I might be calling you a little bit embarrassed because you locked yourself in the fridge, but definitely not a liar.”

The chill from the fridge had distinctly worn off and rage burned through me. Before I could open my eyes—or my fang-filled mouth—Pike was checking the bodies piled in the fridge. “Here’s our friend Emerson.”

He laid her out on the slab and unzipped her. I was surprised when a stab of emotion shot through me—I’m not sure if it was seeing Emerson laid out this way, or seeing Nicolette red-eyed and torn up over the death of her sister. Either way, the body was just a shell—I knew that better than anyone. But there was something pulling me.

“So what are we looking for?”

I hugged my arms across my chest. “Look behind her left ear.”

Pike did as he was told and I watched his finger slide over Emerson’s marble-still flesh. “Nothing.”