White Trash Zombie Apocalypse (White Trash Zombie 3)

Jessica’s eyes went wide in horror. Without another word she spun and fled as quickly as she could in those insane stilettos, her two cronies trailing after her wearing similarly mortified expressions.

I tried not to utterly wilt in relief as Pietro turned a look of amusement on me. “Even though you were doing a marvelous job of cutting that venomous bitch down to size,” he said, “I didn’t think you’d mind some additional firepower.”

I gave a weak laugh. “Not at all. Thanks for the assist.”

“I call those types ‘piranha,’” he said. “You’re okay?”

“Absolutely,” I assured him. “Though my next move would have been to slug her, which might not have gone over so well.”

Laughter flashed in his eyes. “Probably not. And then she would have been the poor victim of an attack, giving her even more drama to spew,” he said. “Not that I would have minded seeing you slug her though,” he added.

I grinned. At times he wasn’t so bad. “Hey, Pietro, Marcus said he was gonna tell you about what happened with Philip and me the other day at the movie set, but I forgot to ask him if he ever did.”

“Yes,” he said with a nod. “He did tell me, and I’m looking into it.”

Nagging worry surfaced. “But does that mean Dr. Charish might be around as well? What if she’s up to more bullshit involving me?”

Pietro’s face grew serious and contemplative. “Legitimate concerns indeed, though she would be a fool to act against me again. My people are working on it, but you be sure to let me know if you have any more trouble whatsoever.”

“Okay, thanks,” I said, relieved. “It’s not just me,” I added. “I mean, last time she messed with my dad, and that’s way over the line.”

“She stepped over a lot of lines and burned all of her bridges,” he agreed, a whisper of anger tightening his expression. “Keep your eyes and ears open, and you’ll be fine.” He gave me a genuinely reassuring smile, then lifted what looked like an iced tea in his other hand. “I need to take this to my date. Walk with me?”

At my nod he headed for the back of the tent, keeping his arm tucked through mine. “You and Marcus can sit with us for a few minutes and help keep her piranhas at bay.”

I shot him a questioning look. “Your date has piranhas?”

“A different breed of piranha, perhaps, but still wanting a piece of her.” At my baffled look he explained, “She’s Dr. Jane Pennington—State Senator and recently elected to the U.S. House of Representatives. Way too many piranhas, though a little better now that the election is over.”

“Oh, wow,” I said. Gulping, I swept a glance over myself. Was this jacket stylish or ridiculous? The fact that Heels had owned it wasn’t exactly a glowing recommendation in my eyes.

Who the hell do I think I am, pretending to fit in with important, influential people? Yet even as I thought it, Nick’s face came to mind as though he’d heard the negative self-talk and was prepared to give me a heap of shit for thinking so little of myself. Get over it, Nick, I thought with a stifled snort of amusement. You’re not the one playing Goodwill Girl meets Congresswoman.

Oblivious to my inner angst, Pietro steered me to a table where a slim, dark haired woman sat, thirtyish or so, and looking perfectly at ease in a sleek navy-blue skirt suit. Under the table, I noted the bulk of an air cast on her right leg and a cane leaning against her chair. Not a zombie then, I realized. Not with unhealed injuries. Unless she was faking it too? Whatever the deal was, I had no doubt there was a connection between her possibly-fake injuries and Pietro’s definitely-fake one.

“Jane,” Pietro said with a warmth in his voice that surprised me. “I’d like you to meet a friend of mine, Angel Crawford. Angel, Dr. Jane Pennington.”

My confidence increased as I managed to do the handshake and “pleased to meet you” thing without embarrassing myself.

“And please call me Jane,” she insisted with a smile. A moment later, Marcus found us and was duly introduced as well. We all got seated, and I tried not to focus on how very out of my depth I was. Good grief, first name basis with a frickin’ congresswoman? Me? What alternate universe had I slipped into?

“And now, with a full table, I can have a few minutes peace,” Jane said with a chuckle.

The drumming of rain on the tent eased to a soft hiss of drizzle. Marcus laid his arm across the back of my chair in a gesture that felt juuuuust right, not too possessive and not too distant. For the next few minutes the conversation shifted to topics that ranged from neutral to mildly amusing—nothing that required a great deal of thought or effort.

A sharp increase in the buzz of the crowd drew our attention to the outside walkway.

“What on earth?” Jane murmured. She straightened and peered in the direction of the increasing murmurs and laughter.

I followed her gaze and drew in a sharp breath. Ten or so zombies shambled down the sidewalk between the tents, giving low moans of “Braaaiiins” and reaching toward people at tables. I shot a quick look at Pietro, but he didn’t seem the least bit concerned. If anything he looked indulgently pleased.

Duh, they’re the movie zombies! I realized with a wash of relief. What a perfect place to do some promo and fish for more investors. Everybody who was anybody was here. Money. Lots of money.

“Oh my god, Pietro,” Jane breathed. “They look amazing!”

“New makeup people,” he commented, eyes on the lurching actors.

“You’re an investor, Uncle Pietro?” Marcus asked.