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

“What do you want?” he asked, voice hollow.

“Information. Influence. You’ll be in a very good position to provide both upon your, ah, triumphant and heroic return to Saberton.”

Now Andrew found his footing. He lifted his chin and set his jaw in determination. “No. I refuse to do anything that will be detrimental to my company.”

Crap. Wrong tack. Let’s try that again. “I didn’t ask you to,” I said as smoothly as possible. Setting both feet on the floor, I leaned forward. “Andrew, I’m not asking you to betray your family or your,” I mentally scrambled for the word, “your legacy.” Don’t blow it, Angel. You’re in the home stretch! “But you’re in a pretty unique position now, and I kind of hope it’ll give you a better idea of what it’s like to live as a zombie and the challenges we face.” I rested my elbows on my knees and clasped my hands lightly together. “Hell, I dunno. Maybe you could suggest policy and—” Shit, what was another word for influence? That was a hot-button word for him. “—guide decisions in a way that can help us out. Or at least not harm us.”

He frowned, but at the moment it seemed more like a thoughtful frown than an I will fuck these assholes over first chance frown.

“And if you’re not able to do any of that,” I continued, “a simple heads up that shit’s coming down would sure be pretty damn cool and likely make you some friends on this end.” I shrugged. “Personally, I’m betting that you can rebuild Saberton to where it doesn’t need to rely on atrocities to compete.”

Andrew’s gaze returned to the plate of brains. “That is not unreasonable.”

“I think we’d make better allies than enemies,” I said.

He gave a noncommittal chin lift that told me he didn’t particularly agree with me. Then again, I knew before we started that he wasn’t going to fall into our arms and be our Best Friend and Awesome Ally overnight, if ever. Baby steps, and all that.

I took a dehydrated brain chip and used it to gesture to the plate and bowl. “Have some more,” I said. “No charge, no strings. I promise. You’ll feel better, trust me.” I watched as he moved forward to scoop up two more grillers and a handful of chips. “Do you have any questions? I know how confusing it was for me when I was a new zombie.”

He shook his head as he gulped down ano

ther slice. “No. I have access to . . . information,” he said, though he had the grace to look slightly uncomfortable.

“Right. That zombie research y’all have been doing.” I gave a knowing nod. “You’ll probably find out it’s not all accurate. I mean, lab conditions aren’t anything like the real world, y’know.” My voice hardened. “You get your shit together and dump the Dallas lab bastards and Kristi Charish, and maybe we can look at that longevity research as a joint project.” I paused as he nearly choked on a chip. “Yeah. We know about that.”

He shifted his feet, clearly not liking the direction of the conversation, though I caught a flicker of interest in his eyes. “This has been fascinating,” he said sourly, “but there’s a board meeting tomorrow I need to prepare for.”

Brian leaned forward to adjust the items on the plate and murmured names to me.

“I understand,” I told Andrew. “We’ll be in touch to arrange secure and discreet delivery of the brains.” I stood and smoothed my skirt. “That said, it would be a really great show of faith on your part if you could give as much information as you can about the two drivers and the security guard who were taken along with Pietro and Dr. Charish: Simon Sirtis, Felicia Godwin, and Lawrence Hawkins. They’re in Dallas, right?”

Andrew’s lips pressed thin, and he gave a curt nod. “I’ll see what I can do.”

“Awesome.” I lifted my chin. “Since you’re almost in charge of Saberton, I’m sure you’re aware that the movie extras your people experimented on are dying. We’re taking steps to prevent more stupidly pointless deaths. I’m sure Saberton is as well, hmm?”

His eyes widened, and the color dropped from his face. “I didn’t know.”

“Seems to happen a lot,” I said with a low snort. “That shit would piss me right the fuck off if I was in your position.” I shrugged. “Who knows, maybe your mother will fill you in. She has such a great track record with that.” I gestured to the door. “There’s a car waiting out front to take you back home, and a briefcase by the door with a week’s supply of brain smoothies. We’ll be in touch about more.”

Expression troubled, he turned to go, but before he exited I remembered one more thing. “Hey, Andy?”

He stopped, faced me again. I made a point of adjusting my sleeves before speaking. “We expect to have Chris Peterson’s bomber jacket delivered to Pietro’s Louisiana office no later than day after tomorrow.” I kept my tone uncompromising. “And make sure it doesn’t have any of Edwards’s stink on it.” I looked him straight in the eye. “Chris was murdered. He left a sister behind. I can’t bring back her brother, but I’ll fucking get the jacket he adored for the sister he loved.”

Brief, stark guilt flashed in his eyes, but an instant later he recovered and stalked out.

I waited until his footsteps faded down the hall, and the front door slammed, then I let out a little squeal and did a happy dance. “That fucking rocked!”

Chapter 36

We stayed in New York until the following morning, mostly because I politely asked if we could see a few sights before we left. Okay, it’s possible I whined and pointed out that who the hell knew when I would ever get a chance to see the city again, and I could hardly go back home without visiting a single tourist attraction and getting some souvenirs, right?

In a show of absolute and undying friendship, Philip gamely accompanied me while I managed to jam in visits to the Statue of Liberty, Grand Central Station, the Museum of Natural History—with DINOSAURS!—and Central Park, as well as Times Square where tourists seemed utterly fascinated by some guy playing the guitar while wearing only a cowboy hat and underwear. I didn’t understand what the big deal was. They could see that sort of thing any Friday night down at Pillar’s Bar. After noting how long the line was to go to the top of the Empire State Building I gave up on adding that to my list of places seen. Yet instead of returning to the house at the end of a long day of hard touristing, Philip told the driver to take us back to the Empire State Building, even though it was after ten p.m.

“Hardly any lines now,” he told me with a grin, and in less than fifteen minutes we gazed out at the lights of the city from the observation deck.

Approximately five minutes after that, we both agreed that yes, the view was spectacular but damn, it was really cold and windy. We returned downstairs, climbed into the car and headed back to the house, loaded down with a truly outrageous amount of souvenirs and touristy crap.

The next morning we piled into two cars: Dr. Nikas, Pierce, Brian, and Marcus, in the vehicle Brian had driven to the city; and Philip, Naomi, Kyle, and me in the car I’d borrowed from Randy. Pierce and Marcus used the long travel time to hammer out plans and, judging by short tempers at a couple of meal stops, it wasn’t all smooth sailing. Dr. Nikas, who’d assumed the role of mediator, looked frazzled before we were even halfway home.