Dr. Nikas pursed his lips and glanced at the two of us as if unsure whether to speak. “Because . . . this isn’t who you think it is,” he said, which of course explained absolutely nothing. He peered at the unconscious man. “You said his name was Gentry?”
My confusion increased. “Yeah. Gentry. Um, Pierce Gentry.” That’s what Pietro had said, right? I peered at the Saberton guard’s face. It was him, wasn’t it? The eyebrows were a lot shaggier than I remembered, but otherwise it sure looked like the same man. “I don’t understand. Does Pierce have a twin who’s a zombie?”
The man in question stirred, and I took an automatic step back from the bed.
“No twin.” Dr. Nikas shook his head, then gestured to Brian. “Please, cut the bindings.”
Gentry groaned. “These . . . two . . .” He dragged in a breath. “. . . tell them.”
“Tell?” I stared at Dr. Nikas. Brian still hadn’t pulled a knife to cut the zipties. “What on earth is going on? Tell what?”
Dr. Nikas moved to the door and closed it, then returned to the bedside, rested a hand on Gentry’s shoulder, and spoke to him in a language that sounded sort of like Russian. Gentry shifted and, to my shock, answered in the same language.
I stared at them both. “What the shit?”
Dr. Nikas spoke in a quiet voice, eyes still on Gentry. “This is Pietro.”
Brian’s eyes narrowed in suspicion and doubt. “Step away from him, Dr. Nikas.”
“What the shit?” I repeated.
Dr. Nikas stood and faced us, irritation wrinkling his forehead. “No, I will not step away from him,” he said firmly. “And don’t even think of tranqing me,” he added with a surprisingly sharp glare at Brian. “This is the one you knew as Pietro.”
Crap. How the hell could I doubt Dr. Nikas when he was so clear and insistent? I shifted my attention to Gentry again. “How can this be Pietro?”
Gentry opened his eyes and met mine, drew a deep and difficult breath. “Ate . . . motherfucker’s . . . brain.”
Well, that was something anyone pretending to be a loyal zombie would say. Besides, we’d all eaten bunches of brains without turning into someone else. I narrowed my eyes. “What color shirt was I wearing when I ran into you and Jane at Dear John’s Café?”
“No idea.” He took a labored breath. “What color tie . . . was I . . . wearing?”
Shit. Bastard had a point, but it only made my pissy mood pissier. “No idea,” I muttered, then planted my hands on my hips and scowled. “How the hell can you be Pietro?”
“Gourmet . . . Gala.” He licked dry lips. “Bitch . . . jacket. You . . . wanted to . . . slug her.”
My hands dropped to my sides. “Oh, man.” At the Gourmet Gala several months ago I’d worn a really cool thigh length dark red velvet jacket I’d bought at a thrift shop, and then had an unpleasant encounter with the previous owner that Pietro had witnessed. And that was before Saberton implanted the stupid bug.
“Brian, it’s him,” I said, then looked to Dr. Nikas. “How?”
Brian gave me a long frowning look, but finally moved forward and sliced through the zipties.
“He chose to morph,” Dr. Nikas said as he rolled Gentry/Pietro to his back and rubbed at his wrists. “He was not planning on doing so for several more decades.”
I bit back the urge to say What the shit? again, but the frustration nearly swallowed me whole. “Morph? But what does that mean?”
“He repatterned his DNA to mimic Pierce Gentry’s. The process is very similar to the zombie healing, but using a different blueprint rather than the existing one.”
It was a small consolation that Brian mirrored my open-mouthed stare. “We can do that?” I spluttered. That gave a whole new meaning to You are what you eat.
Dr. Nikas shook his head. “Only a very few can. The mature ones.”
“Let me get this straight,” I said. “Pietro didn’t take over Gentry’s body, but instead changed his own body to Gentry’s shape, based on Gentry’s DNA.” When Dr. Nikas nodded, I continued, “Which means that the real Gentry’s corpse is still out there somewhere. Am I tracking right?”
“Dead on.”
I sat on the edge of the bed and peered at Gentry’s face. I wasn’t anywhere near as freaked out as I probably should’ve been. “Now what?”
“He needs water and supplements,” Dr. Nikas stated, and with that he left the room.
Gentry/Pietro shifted his head to look at me with half-lidded eyes. I met his gaze and sighed heavily. “Pietro, you stole the identity of an asshole!”
His lip curled in agreement. “Best choice . . . available.”
“At least you killed him,” I said.
“Deserved worse,” he replied, voice getting a bit stronger. “And I am no longer . . . Pietro. Cannot be.” Regret and frustration swept across his face before he shook his head. “Cannot be. Must be Pierce now.”
“Pierce,” I echoed. “Got it.” Too weird. But at least it was kind of close to Pietro.
Pierce’s eyes met mine again. “Jane?”
“She’s safe,” I told him. “She got out before all the shit hit the fan. I made sure of that.”
Clearly relieved, he nodded and closed his eyes again, though I didn’t think he was sleeping. A few minutes later Dr. Nikas returned holding a tray with four glasses. Two looked as if they contained water, but the other two held murky, muddy substances—one a dusky blue and the other a sickly green.
“Brian, will you adjust the pillows to allow him to sit up a bit more?” Dr. Nikas asked. Brian complied, and as soon as Pierce was more upright the doctor handed Brian the glass containing the blue drink. “Have him drink this one first, then the water,” he instructed, then passed me the glass of gross green stuff. “It looks worse than it tastes, but it should counter most of the symptoms of the imprint until we return home.”
I made the mistake of sniffing it. “Oh, that’s nasty,” I said with a shudder. “Will Philip have to drink this too?”
Amusement flickered behind the weariness in his eyes. “He already has.”
Damn it. I held my breath and chugged it down, surprised to find that it really did look and smell worse than it tasted. Still, it wasn’t a chocolate milkshake by any stretch, and I gladly accepted the water he had ready.
Once I cleared the yucky taste from my mouth I returned my attention to Pierce. He’d finished the blue drink and the water, and didn’t look quite as flattened anymore. Dr. Nikas took his wrist to check his pulse, and the faint smile of admiration and respect Pierce gave him was all the confirmation I needed that this really was the man I’d known as Pietro Ivanov.
“They have Kyle,” I told him, finally able to let that worry surface. “They tranqed him while we were getting out. We have to go back for him.”
Brian gave a grim nod. “We need to make a plan. Dr. Nikas, is Philip stable enough to take Naomi to an urgent care clinic for her ankle?”
“He should remain stable for long enough to accomplish that,” Dr. Nikas replied as he gently set Pierce’s wrist down.
Pierce drew a sharp breath. “Marcus—”
“Marcus went to New Orleans the day after you were taken,” I told him, then smacked my forehead. “Shit! I meant to call him and give him an update.”
He shook his head, pushed up on his elbows despite the distressed noise that wrung from Dr. Nikas. “No. No. They have him.”
Shock held me in its grip for several seconds. “You’re wrong,” I finally managed to force out. “That’s not possible. He was with me that evening.”