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

Kyle didn’t say anything, and I wasn’t about to start a conversation. He remained placidly silent all the way down in the elevator and through the lobby. He finally spoke once we stepped outside. “You mind walking a few blocks before we get a cab?” he asked. “Air feels good.”

“Don’t mind one bit,” I said. “I like seeing all the stuff here.”

He glanced right and left before crossing the street, and I fell in beside him, grateful that he kept his stride short enough for me to walk at a comfortable pace. We skirted a tiny plot of grass and trees, then continued down a cross street while I drank in the whole New-York-at-night vibe. A crowd of well-dressed drunk men who couldn’t be much older than me clustered in front of a bar as they conversed in loud, cheerful voices. They went silent and parted as we approached, instinct telling them to make a clear path for us, for Kyle, and as soon as we were past the boisterous conversation resumed, louder than before. I glanced at Kyle, but his expression remained as unruffled as ever. He was either oblivious or so completely used to that sort of thing it didn’t even register anymore.

Scaffolding in front of a building created a tunnel, and the sound of honking taxis and music bounced crazily as we passed through it. On the other side of the building a food truck was parked in a narrow lot, with a line of what had to be about fifty people patiently waiting to be served. Smelled fantastic, whatever they were selling, but my stomach was too tight with nerves to offer even a token rumble. I snuck a quick glance at Kyle. It wasn’t that he looked dangerous, but he certainly felt it. He’d killed people. Lots of them, I had no doubt. Hell, anyone who had a signature move such as “a garrote looped twice” surely had a long list of victims.

Not for the thrill, though. I didn’t see that in him at all. Murder was part of the job, a task to be performed in order to accomplish a goal.

Whose goal was he working toward now?

“Something bothering you?” he asked, tone as mild as ever. But it was clear he’d seen or felt all of my little glances.

I groaned under my breath. “Um, no. Everything’s cool.” Holy shit, was this ever a fucking stupid plan. Hell, it couldn’t even be called a plan, since an actual plan required a bit of thought.

He veered down a narrow sidestreet and proceeded until we were in the near dark, a few feet beyond the reach of the streetlights, then stopped and looked at me expectantly.

Good job, Angel. Go for a walk in a strange city with the super highly trained operative who you think might be the insider. For extra points, make sure you do it without any of the others around, and top it off by following him into a deserted area with crappy lighting. “Maybe I should head back to the hotel,” I suggested, darting my eyes toward the busy street. “Naomi was right. You don’t need me here.”

“You have an issue with me,” he said, voice soft yet clear.

It wasn’t a question. My mind whirled with ways to deny it, to say anything to return to the relative comfort of a minute ago. Nothing felt right. Nothing but the truth, since I knew he’d see right through any lie. “I saw a photo of you at Andrew’s apartment,” I said, trying to ignore the sick flip-flop of my stomach. “A Saberton personnel photo.”

He simply nodded, a tiny motion, eyes on me and face utterly expressionless. The shadows where we stood seemed to grow darker, and the air thicker.

“How—” I gulped and tried again. “How do I know you’re not the insider?”

He remained still and silent for several long seconds. Some sort of insect skittered across the sidewalk behind him. A car horn honked in the distance, followed by a yelled curse. The breeze shifted to replace the scent of cooking meat with the odors of old piss and rotting garbage.

“You don’t,” Kyle stated. He shifted against the darkness, and I imagined him slipping a garrote from his pocket.

My heart hammered so hard against my ribs, I was sure he could

hear it. Freaked out, I took a super casual step back. “Okay, c’mon, y’gotta give me something here.” I laughed, but it was shaky and too high. “Do you still work for Saberton?”

Kyle took a super casual half-step forward, which, with his long legs, was pretty much a full one of mine. “What do you think?”

Forcing myself to hold my ground this time, I jerked my chin up. “I think you’re scaring the crap out of me, and I don’t fucking appreciate it.” Damn it, that would have sounded a lot tougher without the stupid little trapped-mouse squeak in my voice. “Either give me a straight answer, or . . . or do what you need to do and get it over with.”

I tensed, ready to fight anything he came at me with. His eyes stayed on me a moment more, but then he pivoted and moved several feet away. He stopped with his back to me, a dark shape vaguely silhouetted by the dim glow of streetlights at the far end of the block.

“You know your way back?” he asked, voice quiet and utterly flat.

I stared at the shadow that held him. “That’s it? Seriously?” Wait. Did I really say that? Resisting the urge to thwack my forehead with my palm, I sucked in a ragged breath as I fought to get my churning thoughts in order. I wanted to scream, I don’t want you to be the goddamn insider! “What the hell?” I said instead. “If you won’t even defend yourself, what am I supposed to think? C’mon, Kyle, I fucking like you. I think you’re cool and nice and scary in all the right ways. Except right now,” I amended. “Help me out here.”

“There’s no one here to like.” No anger. No sadness. No sense of hurt or betrayal. Nothing but stark emptiness. “Go back to the hotel, Angel.” And with that he moved off down the street.

It didn’t feel finished, not by a long shot, but I didn’t try to follow him or chase him down. He’d have no trouble getting away from me. I watched until he turned the corner, then I savagely kicked a can to skitter across the pavement with a loud clatter. Fuck! If he was innocent, I’d pissed him off by not trusting him—not that he’d bothered to stand up for himself or anything. I groaned. Why should he have to? I was supposed to be his ally.

But if he was guilty . . .

Ice crept down my spine. What would he do now that we’d uncovered his Saberton connection? Disappear? Bring a team to take us at the hotel? Why the hell didn’t I talk to the others about this first?

Hunching my shoulders against the chill, I turned and hurried back to the hotel.

Chapter 17

Naomi was lounging on the couch, the remote in one hand, when I made it back to the room. Though she flipped through channels, she didn’t seem to be paying much attention to what was on the TV. The door to the bedroom was closed, and I figured that meant Philip was still asleep. Then again, I’d been gone less than half an hour. It hadn’t taken me long at all to stir shit up.