White Trash Zombie Gone Wild (White Trash Zombie 5)

He cackled in triumph.

Smiling, I watched the production company people with new eyes. The majority were zombified, with varying degrees of rot, but even though I obviously wasn’t as much of an expert on the movie as my dad, I’d seen the trailers enough times to pick out half a dozen characters. They all seemed to be having fun, too, which was cool. That or they were faking it really well.

Except for one zombified dark-haired guy with seriously cool shoes—high tops with zombie pinup girls painted along the sides. He paced and fidgeted and kept glancing over his shoulder as if the bogeyman might pounce on him at any second. How could anyon

e be in a bad mood with shoes like that? He edged up to one of the security people, leaned close and spoke low. The security guy gave a crisp nod, then Zombie Shoe Guy moved on to another security person and did the same thing. And again, with every blue-shirt out front.

Ooooh boy, that had my zombie-sense tingling. What had him spooked? Whether it was real-zombie related or not, I wanted to know.

“Hey, Dad,” I said, “I need to go take care of something real quick. Will you be okay without me for a sec?”

“I’m a big boy, Angelkins,” he grumbled. “I can handle myself just fine. Next you’ll be wanting to tie a balloon to my ass so you can find me if I get lost.”

Laughing, I handed him my numbered finger bone. “Fine. I’ll only be a couple of minutes, but if I win a nifty prize you can collect it for me.”

“Better be real damn nifty,” he said with a snort, but he tucked the bone into his shirt pocket.

I kept an eye on Zombie Shoe Guy as I slipped through the crowd, and after a moment I realized he was heading for Justine Chu’s table. Being short and skinny didn’t have a lot of advantages, but getting through a crowd fast sure was one of them. By the time he made it to Justine, I’d already staked out a spot a few feet from her table where I pretended to gawk at a display that was nothing more than a picture of a judge with the title Zombies Are Among Us!! splashed above it.

Justine glanced over at my guy as he slipped behind her table, then leaned in as he bent down and spoke close to her ear. Even with my brain-enhanced hearing, it was tough to hear much over the buzz of the crowd, but adding in a bit of amateur lip-reading helped me get a few snatches.

“. . . tell your security . . . on their toes . . . watch yourself . . .”

She drew back and gave him a skeptical look.

He nodded fiercely. “ . . . feds wanted . . . believe me . . .” He made a sharp gesture at the display in front of me then froze as he caught me looking at him.

Shit. I knew enough not to jerk my gaze away. Instead I let it wander off. With any luck he’d believe I was casually taking in the sights.

Nope. He started toward me, suspicion in his bearing. Behind him a relieved Justine returned her attention to the line in front of her table.

“I love your shoes!” I blurted.

He stopped, eyes narrowed. “Excuse me?”

I let out a nervous giggle. “Your shoes. They’re so awesome, and I know I was staring, but I was trying to figure out who you are in the movie.”

The wariness hovered on his features for another second, then he relaxed, apparently deciding I wasn’t a terrorist. Or a fed. Could his muttered “feds” be referring to the FBI agent in town? But what on earth could the FBI want that might connect to the Zombies Are Among Us!! film?

“I’m not in the movie,” he said in a deep warm voice that put a wobble in my knees. “I’m a producer. And a friend custom-painted the shoes for me.” His smile sent a coil of lust into my belly. “You’re local?”

“All my life.” I gave him a dazzling smile of my own.

“I love the south,” he said, adding a rich chuckle. His gaze roamed over me, hot and searching. “The food. The women.”

He dragged me close for a scorching kiss, and I didn’t fight it. Heat seared my bones as his tongue invaded my mouth. My hands gripped his shirt, and his grabbed my ass. I shuddered, wanting all of—

“Miss? Are you okay?” He peered at me in concern from a good two feet away. Sparkles flickered over his face, danced in the cleft of his chin.

No. Oh god. He’d never kissed me. I’d hallucinated the entire thing. What the hell had I done? Did everyone see me making out with no one?

Color flooded my face as I groped for an excuse, an apology. Before I could get a word out he slipped an arm around my shoulders and steered me to a quiet spot behind a display.

“It’s all right,” he said. “I have a cousin who has petit mal seizures.”

Oh, thank god. “Y-yeah. A seizure,” I managed, gulping. “Did I, um, do anything?”

“Stared off into space for a few seconds,” he said, blue eyes gentle and reassuring. “No one besides me noticed a thing. Are you steady now?”