Even White Trash Zombies Get the Blues (White Trash Zombie 2)

“Sorry about your mom,” I said, uncertain what else to say.

He gave me a smile. “Thanks. She’s good now. They caught it early, and she’s been clean for seven years.”

“Why are you going for a masters? Or are you going to go to law school now?” Was that the same as a masters? I didn’t know much about how all that worked. I sure as hell wasn’t ever going to go that route.

“My uncle’s idea, actually,” Marcus said. “He thinks I should eventually go into politics, and he thinks going federal could be a good start.”

“Oh. Okay.” I paused. “Is that what you want to do?”

I wasn’t surprised when he shrugged. “Sure, I guess. I mean, I can’t see staying a cop for the next twenty years.” He glanced my way. “And, as my uncle pointed out, I have certain skills and abilities that could come in pretty handy in federal law enforcement.”

Do you do everything your uncle says? I thought, but bit back the urge to say it out loud. I was silent for several minutes while I turned the events of the evening—hell, the entire past couple of days—over in my head. I also considered everything that Pietro had said, but also things that hadn’t been said.

“Why didn’t you tell your uncle about me thinking the guy from the lab was maybe a zombie?” I finally said. “I felt like an idiot in there.”

He sighed. “Angel, I’m sorry. I knew what his reaction would be. I was really hoping you wouldn’t bring it up.”

Well you could have fucking told me that, I thought but, once again, held it in.

We were almost back to his house when I turned to him and asked, “Why was it so important that I figure out the whole zombie thing on my own?”

“Excuse me?”

I took a deep breath, trying to figure out how to say what I wanted to say. “Okay, so you made me a zombie, and then left the brain smoothies for me at the ER, and got me a job, and then left a note telling me to give in to my cravings.”

His forehead puckered into a frown. “Right.”

“Why couldn’t you just tell me, ‘Hey, this is what happened, and you’re a zombie now, and this is what you need to do’?” I knew what the answer was, but I wanted to hear him admit it.

A pained look flashed across his face as he pulled into his driveway. “Angel…you were a mess. In so many ways. Making you a zombie wasn’t just about saving your life. It was about…about getting you to get control of your life again.” He looked over at me. “And it worked. Right?”

“Oh, I don’t deny that. But I want to make sure you understand what you did. Yes, you had the best of intentions, and yes, it all turned out well and yes, you saved my life in a number of ways. But you basically put me in a rehab program against my will.” He opened his mouth, but I held up my hand. “Hang on. I’m not saying what you did was wrong, and I’m not mad about that. I swear, I’m not.”

“Then what are you mad about? Because, you sure seem mad.”

I shook my head. “I’m not mad. I promise. But I want to be sure of one thing.”

“And that is?”

I met his eyes. “That you never pull that sort of ‘I know what’s best for you’ bullshit on me ever again.”

“All right,” he said.

I shook my head. “No, I don’t think you get it. You do it a lot. I mean a lot.” His forehead puckered and I plowed on. “You didn’t tell me that your parents might be there because you didn’t want me to get upset. You didn’t tell Pietro about the body because you knew he’d dismiss it, but then you didn’t bother telling me that you hadn’t told him, which basically left me out in the wind.” His face was stony, and I clenched my hands together to keep them from shaking. “Marcus, I really like you, but I don’t need a babysitter. Or even if I do need one, I sure as hell don’t want my boyfriend to be one. Does that make sense?”

“It does. It won’t happen again,” he said, but there was a weird note to his voice.

“Okay, so…tell me what you’re thinking.”

He shut the engine off but didn’t make a move to get out of the car. “I…I’ve been trying to figure out a way to tell you this all night. Just haven’t been able to figure out how.”

The knot in my belly started to come back. “Tell me what?”

He lifted a hand and scrubbed it over his face. “Shit. I got called in to Major Hall’s office this afternoon. He asked me if you and I were dating.”

“Okay,” I said, frowning. “Why on earth would he care if you and I were dating?”

“Apparently it matters if we’re dating because…well, because you’re a convicted felon, and I’m an officer of the law.”