White Trash Zombie Apocalypse (White Trash Zombie 3)

“Oh, for fuck’s sake, Dad! Y’know what? I won’t ever ask how you’re doing again.” I stomped out of the house and slammed the door behind me, only to hit the steps and realize I’d forgotten my purse. Scowl deepening, I slammed back into the house, grabbed my purse, and then once again stomped out and closed the door hard. Didn’t help my mood that I thought I heard my dad give a snort of laughter. Yeah, so much for a dramatic exit.

Plus, Marcus wasn’t even there yet, but I wasn’t about to go back inside to wait. Fortunately, for my own state of mind, it was only a few minutes before he pulled up. I dashed through the rain to the truck and climbed in as quickly as I could.

“You look great, hon’,” Marcus said with an appreciative smile as soon as I had the door closed. He leaned over and gave me a kiss.

“Thanks. Ugh,” I said, returning the kiss. “Sorry, the ‘ugh’ wasn’t for you. Let’s get out of here. Dad’s being a pain again.”

“Uh oh,” he said as he pulled out onto the road. “I was wondering why you were huddled on the porch. I didn’t think I was running that late.” He slanted a glance my way. “What’s he doing now?”

I heaved a sigh. “The usual. Defensive bullshit. Pissed that I’m with you. Whinery and bitchery. Same old same old.”

“Crap,” he replied, grimacing. “I thought he’d gotten better.”

“I thought he had too.” I controlled the urge to rub my eyes and smear my makeup all over my face. At least I’d remembered to use waterproof mascara and eyeliner since it was raining and so damn humid. “I don’t know what the deal is,” I continued. “There’s no beer or booze at the house, so I figure he’s drinking somewhere else. He knows I’ll go ballistic if I find any at home.”

“Sounds like you’ve at least put the fear of Angel into him,” he said with a low chuckle. “It’s a start.”

I gave a bark of laughter. “Yeah, there is that.” And it was true. Late last year he’d given me some real bullshit, and I’d used zombie strength to pin him against the wall. He didn’t have a clue I was a zombie, but he sure as hell knew he couldn’t mess with me like that anymore.

I peered out the window. “When is this damn rain supposed to stop?”

“Never?” Marcus made a pained face. “The forecast says it’s supposed to be hard rain like this for at least the next four to five days. And this past winter was wet as hell, which means we’re primed for flooding in all the low lying areas.” He looked over at me, worry flickering in his eyes. “Like where you live.”

“We’ll be fine,” I reassured him. “I mean, the worst we’ve ever had is some water across the road.”

Marcus nodded, clearly relieved. A wave of warmth went through me at the concern. Damn it, he was nice, sexy, considerate, and we were great in bed together. Why the hell was I holding back?

“Still, five days of rain sucks ass,” I said, yanking my thoughts away from my issues. “There’s not much worse than picking up a body in the rain.”

“You could get lucky,” he said. “Maybe no one will die, and there’ll be no bodies to pick up for a couple of weeks.”

I shook my head. “Nope. Then Allen would convince the coroner to lay off staff, and I’d be the first to go.” I made a sour face.

He raised an eyebrow. “But you’re the shining star of the Coroner’s Office, remember?”

“Election’s over,” I reminded him. “He can dump me at will. I think I only still have a job ’cause Dr. Leblanc sticks up for me.”

“At least you don’t give them any real reason to fire you.” He paused, then chuckled. “I mean, any that they know of. Swiping brains would do it.”

“Swiping brains would get me committed if I ever got caught,” I shot back, laughing.

We made it to the fairgrounds and found parking that wasn’t too far of a hike, then Marcus and I huddled close beneath a compact umbrella, arms around each other as we headed to the entrance.

The venue itself consisted of a half dozen or so long tents spaced out on either side of a paved walkway. Each tent had about fifteen tables around the perimeter, each table belonging to a local restaurant eager to hand out small samples of their cuisine. The rain had slacked off to a drizzle, yet I still saw quite a few elegantly dressed couples pop open umbrellas to walk the ten feet or so between tents. Maybe it was a bitch to get water marks out of silk? I sure as hell wouldn’t know.

As we made our way through the tents, I amused myself with some people-watching. No surprise, there were plenty of folks here who absolutely reeked of wealth. Quite a few trophy wives and even a scattering of trophy husbands. High powered business-types and a generous handful of politicians roamed the event, including the coroner, Dr. Duplessis, who I shamelessly avoided by ducking behind a thick-necked man who turned out to be a former Saints player. Last thing I needed was to annoy my boss by making him feel he had to stop meeting-and-greeting to be sociable with me.

Marcus did his best to murmur names of people he recognized, or point out who he thought I’d get a kick out of seeing in the flesh. “Karla Stanford,” he told me with a nod toward the C-level actress—well past her prime but still dressing like a twenty year-old, and not doing it well. “Jerome Leroux,” he said, subtly indicating the silver-haired and quite handsome man who owned the high end Leroux Jewelry. That surprised me. Rumor had it that he’d been a recluse since his partner—in more ways than business—had committed suicide last year for no known reason. He sat alone at a table looking so forlorn I wished someone would go sit with him. “Nicole Saber,” Marcus said with a nod toward the CEO of Saberton Corporation and daughter of its founder, Richard Saber. A tall woman with honey-blond hair pulled back in an elegant twist, she wore an elegant black pantsuit that managed to be sensible and sexy at the same. She sipped her wine and idly twisted a stray lock of hair around her index finger over and over as she conversed and laughed with table mates, all the while watching the proceedings with a keen eye. “And that’s her son, Andrew Saber,” Marcus added. He didn’t gesture or point, but I had no trouble picking out who Marcus meant. Andrew Saber was a good-looking man in his late-twenties or so, tall and broad-shouldered, with the same honey-blond hair, bright blue eyes, and regal profile as his mother. He stood near her table, faint smile touching his mouth as he idly scanned the area and pretended interest in the eager conversation of a forgettable man beside him.

Yeah, we did some people watching, but mostly, we ate.

“I do so love free food,” Marcus said. He took a bite of an oyster-something and let out a small moan. “And good free food is even better.”

“Oh my god,” I said with a weak laugh. “I should have paced myself better. There are still three tents to go, and I’m about to explode.”

“Now you know what I meant about the elastic waistband,” he replied, grinning.

“Yes, next time I’ll wear my sweat pants with the designer jacket.”