How the White Trash Zombie Got Her Groove Back (White Trash Zombie 4)

“Yeah, I guess you do,” I said with a laugh as I flopped into a chair. “What are you doing out here? Haven’t seen you in a while.”

“I have a security meeting not far from here in a little while,” he explained, then tapped his upper chest. “I figured now was a good time for Dr. Nikas to check out my port and test a new mod.”

I’d only found out about ports and mods a few months ago, but I was seriously considering putting them on my Christmas list. Mods—modifiers—were specialized drugs that revved up or toned down parasite activity as needed. The port itself was implanted beneath the skin and provided an easy way to get a mod into the body. With a port, mods could either be delivered quickly, dumping into the system all at once, or the drug could be stored and set to release slowly. Mods could have some pretty awesome effects, such as more efficient brain usage, or better senses, or resistance to the kind of tranquilizers that worked on zombies. All sorts of useful st

uff.

The drawback was that only one or two mods could be used at the same time, and some couldn’t be mixed at all without big side effects. They were a lot like regular human drugs in that respect.

“Everything go okay with that?” I asked.

“Some kinks with the mod still, but it’s looking promising,” he said. “It’s designed to be a short term turbo charge of zombie abilities. Speed, strength, reflexes, senses, that sort of thing. Would be nice to have for emergencies.” He stretched and stifled a yawn. “But right now I’m simply waiting to see if Mr. Ivanov has anything for me before I take off.”

“Don’t let the excitement of it all overwhelm you,” I said with a grin. “How’s everything else going?”

“Business as usual in the zombie security world,” he said, which I figured was his way of saying he couldn’t talk about anything. “Never a dull moment with the Tribe.”

The Tribe. Pietro Ivanov’s organization was actually a number of corporations—a chain of funeral homes, real estate, construction, and even health care clinics that disguised the zombie research. And probably a ton I didn’t have a clue about as well. Up until a couple of months ago I’d privately referred to the whole deal as “The Zombie Mafia,” yet after some time working steadily in the lab, I discovered that the people in the organization—humans and zombies alike—referred to it as “the Tribe.” After some thought—and with the greater knowledge I had of Pietro, his people, and his goals—the reality of the whole common-ties-common-support thing settled in, and I grudgingly agreed that Tribe was a better nickname.

Most of the time, at least. There were reasons the whole Mafia tag had come up in the first place, and that undercurrent was still alive and kicking.

I peered at Brian. “Don’t you ever get to go off and play on your own?”

Brian’s eyes widened in exaggerated wonder. “You mean . . . not be on call?” Then he laughed. “I have down time, sure, but I’m never truly off duty.”

“Well, that sucks,” I said, narrowing my eyes. “When do you get to be your own person?”

“I’m doing what I want to do,” he said, giving me a reassuring smile. “I have a couple of hobbies to fill in the gaps. I can’t imagine a different lifestyle.”

I wondered about the gaps. As far as I knew, he didn’t have a girlfriend. At one time he’d seemed seriously interested in my best friend, Naomi—formerly known as Heather—but that fell flat when she hooked up with Kyle Griffin, one of Brian’s top security guys.

Brian seemed content enough, though, and I knew it really wasn’t any of my business. Not that I’d ever let that whole “none of my business” thing stop me from being a nosy buttinsky before.

“Well,” I said, “if you’re okay with your schedule, I guess I won’t need to have strong words with Pietro after all.”

Brian grimaced, obviously not entirely sure I was teasing. “Not on my account.”

“I’ll behave,” I said. “Don’t worry.”

He wiped his brow in mock-relief, though maybe not totally mock. “Don’t go getting me into trouble,” he said, then stood as a tall, black woman with braids that hung to mid back entered the room. Radiating ultra-confidence with a dash of scary calm, Rachel Delancey was Brian’s second in command, and one of the few female zombies Pietro had working for him.

Her gaze slid over me as if I was a steaming pile of dog shit on the carpet before it came to rest on Brian. Yeah. We weren’t going to be best buds anytime soon. Her idea of security probably didn’t include a new zombie like me hanging around at the super secret lab. But I had a niggling feeling there was more to it than that. She’d seemed okay with me at first, then gradually went colder than a polar bear’s ass. I’d tried a few times to be friendly but got nowhere. The only thing I could figure was that she’d found out about my loser past and thought I was a security risk. Or maybe she thought I was going to take advantage of Marcus or Pietro or Dr. Nikas. Whatever the deal was, I couldn’t see any way to change her opinion of me. Oh, well. Her loss.

“Everything set for Dr. Charish’s transfer?” Brian asked her, and I realized he was referring to the mental health breaks that Dr. Nikas insisted be provided for Kristi. Pietro would’ve been fine with Kristi chained to a lab station and locked in a cell at night, but that shit wouldn’t fly with Dr. Nikas. At his insistence, and despite Pietro’s grumbling, Kristi was allowed to spend two days every few weeks at one of Pietro’s remote hunting lodges.

Rachel shot a quick and disapproving glance my way as if she really didn’t want to say anything with me in the room. I kept my smile on my face and resisted the urge to roll my eyes. Who the hell did she think I’d blab to?

“We’re good to go,” she told Brian. “Simon is driving Chris and Dr. Charish, then the other two on her guard rotation will meet them at the lodge after the security meeting.” She passed him a paper. “Here’s the full schedule.”

Brian looked over the schedule then passed it back to her. “You’re aware that Mr. Ivanov will be heading up there as well?” She replied with an affirmative, and he glanced at his watch. “Everything looks good then. I’ll see you in about half an hour for the meeting.”

Rachel gave a crisp nod and threw one last disapproving glance my way before sweeping out.

I made my best Bite Me face at her back. “I can’t get over how warm and fuzzy she is to me. The constant adoration is getting a little embarrassing.”

Brian stifled a laugh. “She’s opinionated but efficient as hell and damn good at what she does.” He abruptly stood, eyes on the doorway. A few seconds later a scowling Pietro stepped in. Damn, Brian either had a super-senses mod working or was seriously tanked on brains. I hadn’t heard, seen, or smelled whatever Brian had. But in the next instant I remembered the dude had a wicked sense of smell. Like, crazy good—he could even tell by scent alone if someone was lying.

“Any changes, sir?” Brian asked Pietro.