White Trash Zombie Unchained (White Trash Zombie 6)

Fritz made a “yuck” face but surprised me by offering her an ever-so-slight wry smile. Giving her props for successfully squicking him out.

Brian returned with Portia’s coffee which she accepted gratefully.

As Raul, Dan, and Pierce left, the elevator down the hall dinged. A second later, I heard the thap-thap of Kristi’s shoes. Wedges rather than heels today, perhaps.

“Good morning, Pierce!” Kristi caroled in a way too cheerful voice.

Pierce’s reply wasn’t loud enough for me to hear, but Kristi laughed. “Oh, you’re always such a grump in the mornings!”

The door to the stairs banged shut behind Pierce and the other two men.

Kristi entered the lab, giving a little poke to the sleeping Beardzilla on her way past. No sign of Reno.

“Nice to see you here bright and early, Angel,” she said sweetly. She swept a measuring look over Portia. “And who is this, Ari? A new lab assistant?”

Portia set aside her coffee and stood, elegant and classy as fuck. “I’m Dr. Antilles.” Her tone was cultured and smooth with a hint of polite indulgence. “And you are?”

Kristi hesitated, clearly expecting somebody to jump in and introduce her. When no one did, Kristi stuck her hand out. “Dr. Kristi Charish. A pleasure to meet you.”

Portia shook her hand then released it and turned away to study a sheaf of printouts on the counter.

Kristi’s expression tightened, but she pivoted away and dropped her briefcase heavily on a table, then became very interested in data on the computer. If she was trying to make Portia feel bad by ignoring her, she was failing miserably. It was clear Portia didn’t give a genteel fuck, and outclassed Kristi in the snubbing department.

I masked a grin then busied myself with loading prepped samples into the centrifuge and restocking supplies. After a few minutes, Kristi shut the computer off and grabbed her briefcase. “If anyone needs me, I’ll be in the cell culture room,” she announced then sailed out of the room with Fritz in her wake.

Portia glanced after Kristi and sighed. “I was terribly rude to her.”

“You didn’t see me stopping you,” I said with a wink.

She chuckled. “Yes, everyone tensed when she entered. I suppose I assumed she’s a . . . difficult person to work with.”

“Difficult is a nice way to describe her,” I said. “Also, bitchy, heartless, snide, arrogant—”

“Angel.” Dr. Nikas gave me a Look. “Dr. Charish is, perhaps, all of those things, but she and I have already made a number of advances together.”

Rachel lowered her hand from her ear. “Kyle says Agent Aberdeen has entered the building.”

I glanced around, only now realizing that Kyle had slipped out. “I think I’m going to go check on the gators.” Avoiding Sorsha at all costs was the best tactic for me. She’d asked around about my dad and me then knocked on my door before dawn, and it wasn’t because she wanted to play patty cake. I sure as hell didn’t need to get arrested or detained. Not with Nick—and everyone else—needing a cure.

Not to mention, I had no idea how much she knew about zombies, or whether she believed we were monsters who needed to be exterminated. But I had an ugly feeling she knew I was a zombie. If so, my presence might make her suspect that others here were zombies, too. Hopefully, if I stayed out of sight, it wouldn’t even occur to her to wonder.

Except I also really needed to know why the hell she was here. She was one big horking unknown. Did she already know I was in the building? Did she suspect the Tribe of evildoing? Or Kristi? We’d all done our share of illegal shit. Hell, I’d killed people.

No matter what her reason for being here, I needed to snoop and stay out of sight. Easy. Sure.

I sprinted to the gator room and closed the door behind me then sent a quick text to Kang.

The larger of the two big gators lifted his head, cloudy eyes flicking open.

“Hello, sweeties,” I murmured as I crouched by the fence. Biggie plodded close and pressed his snout against the chain-link. I stuck my fingers through the gap and stroked his nubby hide then glared, anger rising, at the sight of a four-inch square of scaly skin missing from the base of his tail. Below it was a ragged strip, as if the square had been cut then ripped free, taking more hide with it. The wound seeped blood, though the edges showed signs of healing—not as much as in a regular zombie but more like keeping the status quo.

Scowling, I rubbed Biggie’s snout. “Who did that to you, big guy?”

He snorted and growled low.

The other big gator bellowed and turned its head my way.

I beckoned it over. “If your buddy is Biggie, then you must be Tupac, right?”