White Trash Zombie Unchained (White Trash Zombie 6)

“This is taking the zombie mama thing to an uncomfortable extreme,” I said, though I couldn’t take my eyes off the big gator.

Kristi’s voice sounded through the intercom, crisp and annoyed. “Angel Crawford to the central lab. Now.”

I made a face. “The wicked witch desires my presence.”

“Mustn’t keep her witchiness waiting.” He turned to leave but stopped when I didn’t follow. “Angel?”

I crouched. All of the gators were now clustered on the other side of the fence from me, eerily still, and milky eyes on me. “Hey there,” I murmured.

In unison, they opened their toothy maws and sent up a wavering chorus of unnatural growly-moans.

Marcus wrapped his hand around my bicep and hauled me up. “That’s just plain creepy. Let’s go before they decide to rush the fence.”

I shrugged out of his grip. “They won’t.”

“Riiiight. C’mon, zombie-gator whisperer.”

Oddly reluctant, I b

acked out of the room then double-timed it to the lab.

Kristi gave me a sour look as we entered. “Finally. I didn’t expect you to go scampering off, considering you’re at the heart of this whole debacle. I need your blood.” She pointed to a chair.

I could hardly refuse since she was right about the debacle/heart thing. Plus, Dr. Nikas gave me a subtle nod, which helped my nerves. I took a seat and stuck my arm out as Jacques approached with a handful of collection tubes and a pint bag. One of Kristi’s techs followed him, carrying a tablet and tube rack. Thick black hair curled in the vee of his scrub shirt and ended in a precise shave line, as if his collar bones marked the border of a demilitarized zone. The name embroidered above his pocket was Harold Frost. Hairy Harry? I bit the inside of my cheek to keep a straight face. Hunky hairy Harry had happy huge hopping healthy hares. Hardly horrible.

Jacques had taken my blood for Dr. Nikas more times than I could count, so I heaved hairy hares out of my mind then settled back and relaxed while he slid the specialized needle in.

“Hey, Kristi. What’s the deal with your guy in the lobby?” I asked after the third tube. “He seems way too nice to work for Saberton.”

“You mean Billy? He doesn’t work for Saberton. He works for me. Isn’t he sweet? He’s terribly young, but I enjoy having him around. Like a breath of fresh air.”

I blinked. That was the last thing I ever expected Kristi to say. And she sounded utterly sincere, too.

Sincere, my ass. It wasn’t in her nature. “Let’s get to the tougher questions,” I said, voice hard. “Why did you have Beckett Connor killed? And why were your thugs out in Mudsucker Swamp?” My hands clenched. “I know that’s how you got those gators. Your people tried to kill us. I had to take out one of the divers before she could finish off Pierce.”

Kristi grew somber. “Those weren’t my people you encountered in the swamp. The gentlemen here”—she gestured toward her bodyguards—“captured those specimens last night. And I certainly did not have Deputy Connor killed.”

“Bullshit!” I bared my teeth. “We ID’d the bald man who was in the swamp and at the hospital. Harlon Murtaugh, who works for Saberton.”

“Saberton, perhaps. But not me.” She made a sound of disgust. “I’m here independent of Saberton.”

Bullshit again. “I have it on good authority that you’re trying to take over the Saberton Board of Directors.”

Kristi rounded on me. “Because those single-minded idiots only care about weaponizing the zombie parasite. They’re stuck in a rut of one defense contract after another when there are a multitude of potential medical applications.” She made an angry sound. “And the farm equipment? A move of pure desperation, and a waste of time and resources.”

“You tried to weaponize the parasite by making zoldiers.” I was vaguely aware that everyone had stopped working to watch the heated exchange.

She lifted her chin. “And it was a failure, which is why I moved on. As should Saberton.”

Pierce entered, effectively ending the argument, though not my tension. What the hell was he doing here, around people who might have known the real Pierce Gentry? There was a damn good reason we were maintaining the fiction that Gentry had always been a zombie. If Kristi or anyone else at Saberton figured out Pietro had actually killed the real Gentry and taken over his form, it would open up an enormous can of worms as far as how he’d done so, and might lead Kristi or others to find out about mature zombies and their abilities. I didn’t want to think what she might do with that information.

Then again, Pierce wasn’t the sort to sit back and hide. He couldn’t stand being out of the loop in any way, and probably felt coming here was worth the risk in order to make his own assessments.

I could only hope it wouldn’t blow up in his face.

Kristi swept an appraising gaze over him and let out a throaty laugh. “Why, Pierce Gentry, you naughty boy. I thought I’d never get to see you again.”

He folded his arms over his chest and glowered. “I guess this is your lucky day.”