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

“This is the Village,” he said as if that explained everything. When I gave him an exasperated Are you fucking kidding me? look, he grinned a bit sheepishly. “Sorry. Greenwich Village. We’re on the lower west side of Manhattan now. This area used to be an artist’s haven and was considered a bohemian capital. Still is, really, though it’s a lot more expensive to live here now.”

After a couple of blocks Naomi stopped on a corner and casually glanced around as if taking in the sights.

“See where that blond woman came out, down the street by the red car?” she said, not looking anywhere in particular. “That’s the place.”

I did my best to copy Naomi’s casual glancing around while looking for a blond woman by a red car. And even when I found her I casually glanced around some more since the place she’d exited from didn’t seem all that deluxe. “Are you talking about that one?” I finally asked with a head tilt toward the woman in question—who, thankfully, was walking the other way and couldn’t see me looking as if I had a neck twitch.

“Yes, the building with the iron railing on the steps.”

“He really lives there?” I said in disbelief. “I figured he’d live in some glitzy Park Avenue condo or something.”

Naomi scowled. “It’s a very nice place. And apartments in the Village aren’t exactly cheap.”

“I didn’t mean any offense,” I hurried to say, but Naomi still looked annoyed. “Sorry, I just . . .” Shit. I simply figured the next head of Saberton would live a lot fancier, and I started to say so then wondered if she’d think I was implying that she was the fancier type as well. “Nevermind,” I muttered. She was under a shit-ton of stress right now because of her family situation, and the best way for me to deal with her current uncharacteristic bitchiness was to shut the hell up.

“I get it, Angel,” Kyle murmured. I sent him a weak smile of thanks.

“Front door’s the only way in?” Philip asked.

“Pretty much, unless you feel like climbing up a fire escape,” she replied. “But that’s a bit noisy and noticeable.”

“Does he take the subway to work?” I asked.

She started a casual stroll down the street. I fell in beside her while the men hung back and pretended to consult with each other about something on one of their phones. “He cycles, or has a limo come for him,” she said. “Depends on what he’s doing.”

“Did you used to ride in a limo?” I asked with a teasing smile.

She shrugged and didn’t smile back. “Sometimes. Not much. I was away a lot.”

Wow, she was not in a joking fun mood. Probably way more on edge than she wanted to admit. “How do we get into his place?”

“With the code, of course,” she snapped.

“Well, yeah,” I shot back at her. “That’s what you said back at the hotel. I meant how does it work?”

“I’ll handle that part. Don’t worry about it.”

Maybe I’ll go back to shutting the fuck up for a while, I decided since I didn’t want her to finish biting my head off. I fell back a couple of steps, though she didn’t seem to notice. Kyle moved up smoothly to take my place, put a hand on her shoulder and then leaned down to murmur something into her ear. Possibly something on the order of Chill out or you’re going to fucking blow this. But, y’know, nicer.

Whatever he said, it earned him a scowl at first, but she followed it with a deep breath and a nod. She glanced back at Philip and me.

“Sorry, Angel,” Naomi said with a little smile. “Being here is getting to me.” She turned back toward the building. “Here’s the plan. Angel and I will go up to the door since it’ll look less suspicious with only the two of us, and I’ll enter the code. There’s no security guard. We’ll stop at the mailboxes in the lobby, then let the guys in if it looks all clear.”

“I can totally loo

k not suspicious,” I said with a slightly manic smile.

Her mouth twitched. “Right. Come on, weirdo.”

Strolling not at all suspiciously, I did my best to follow her example of “I totally belong here.” As we approached the steps, a tall and slender woman with dark hair and striking blue eyes exited the building, gave us a cursory glance and a distracted faint smile before she turned to walk to the corner.

“That lady’s a supermodel!” I whispered to Naomi, and shamelessly goggled at the woman’s back. “I know I’ve seen her on magazine covers before!”

“Uh huh, she lives across the hall from Andrew,” Naomi said as if it was the most normal thing in the world to live so close to a supermodel, then shot a hand out to grip my arm. “Oh, shit. Shit.”

I followed her distressed gaze to see a black car pull up and stop at the curb.

“That’s his driver,” Naomi hissed. “Angel, duck, move, do something.”