White Trash Zombie Apocalypse (White Trash Zombie 3)

Heather raised an eyebrow, mouth pursed in skepticism. “You mean like if my fairy godmother came in and waved a wand? It’s not going to happen.”

“How ’bout a trashy guardian angel?” I said, offering her a slight smile.

She gave me a sigh. “Thanks. But I don’t know what you could do.”

I forced myself to logically consider why I felt an urge to help her out. It didn’t totally make sense—after all, she was working for a company that was probably involved in Charish’s Zoldiers, a project which was fucked up on numerous levels. But so far all Heather had done to me was take pictures, as far as I knew. And she didn’t want to work for Saberton anymore. Plus the reason she wanted to leave was a damn good one in my eyes. I was cool with helping anyone who was against using zombies.

But mostly it was that expression of “I’m so screwed” that got to me.

“Look, I know what it’s like to be in a no-win situation, and Pietro owes me a couple of favors,” I said. It would take a lot more than a ticket to the Gourmet Gala to make up for the fact that Pietro allowed Charish to have me kidnapped. “Maybe he could help protect you.” I shrugged. “Hell, maybe you could go to work for him instead.” Because I totally had that influence, right? I held back the urge to roll my eyes at myself. But, hey, maybe she could be an asset to the zombie side of things.

Naked hope and a curious longing brightened her eyes for a brief instant before they shadowed again. “God.” Her brow furrowed, and she looked almost wistful. “I don’t know. Do you really think he’d help?”

“It’s worth a shot, right?” I dug into my purse and pulled out Brian’s card. “There you go,” I said, setting it on the console. “That’s Brian’s number.” She seemed cool, but I wasn’t about to give her Pietro’s. Jesus Christ, but I hoped this didn’t blow up in my face. What the hell would I do if Heather called Brian, and he told her to fuck off? I didn’t know if I could simply walk away from this now if that happened. Yet I also knew I’d put her in a really bad position—I’d slowed down her flight, and now was trying to convince her to turn herself over to the “enemy.”

Her eyes dropped to the card, and I could practically see her memorizing the number. “You mean now?” she said, glancing back up at me. “It’s after midnight.”

“Yeah, well, I’m pretty sure he’s a robot and doesn’t sleep,” I said, then shrugged. “Trust me, those fuckers owe me enough that I can wake a few people up.” I paused. “Unless you want to wait ’til morning and see what happens.”

“Shit, no.” She pulled a phone out of her pocket.

“Yeah.” I reached and put a hand on hers. “And maybe better to use mine. In case yours is, er, tapped or whatever.”

She blew out her breath. “You’re right. I’m not thinking all that clearly right now. I’m usually good in a tight situation, but this has me clamped down.”

“Pretty understandable.” I retrieved my phone from the depths of my purse, dialed. “I’m putting it on speakerphone, but I’ll talk to him first.”

The tinny sound of the ringer filled the car, and a few seconds later: “Archer here.” A hint of hoarse slur in his voice suggested he’d likely been asleep.

“Hey, Brian, it’s Angel,” I said. “Hate to bother you so late, but…remember that chick whose fingers you broke today? Well, she’s here with me, and she wants to, um, defect.”

“The…photographer?” he asked, voice still a bit muzzy. “I don’t understand.”

“Yeah, she works for Saberton and—”

“What?” he demanded, all hint of sleep gone.

Blinking, I quickly put pieces together. “Oh. You just thought she was a reporter or something, didn’t you.” I flicked a glance at her. She gave me a shrug in return, coupled with a pained grimace. I supposed I couldn’t blame her for lying to Brian. If she’d admitted to being some sort of industrial espionage person she probably wouldn’t have escaped at all, and certainly not with only a couple of broken fingers.

“Something like that, yes,” Brian replied, voice controlled once again.

“Okay, well, she wants to leave. Quit. But figures it’s only a matter of time before they find her and, well, y’know.”

I could practically hear Brian processing all of this. “All right, Angel,” he said with zero hint of the stress he was surely feeling. “What does she want?”

I handed the phone to Heather, though I kept it on speakerphone. “You’re up, chick.”

She bit her lip and took a deep breath. “Um, hello, Brian. It’s me again.”

“What do you want, Naomi?” Brian asked. “Or whatever your name is.”

Naomi, huh? I realized that Heather probably wasn’t her name either. Though truth be told, she looked more like a Naomi than a Heather.

She closed her eyes. “Shit,” she breathed. “This was a bad idea.”

“Perhaps,” Brian said, surprising me by the admission. “How about you tell me why you want to leave Saberton, and why you’re afraid they’ll come after you.”

A mix of emotions crawled across her face, tight lines of anger, a lip curl of disgust. “I can’t deal with it anymore—what they’re doing with your kind, with zombies.”