Diana Rowland - How the White Trash Zombie Got Her Groove Back

“It’s cool. I’d be pissed if someone blabbed my private shit.” My shoulders slumped. “I must have struck a pretty big nerve for him to go off on his own.” Or struck the truth?

“Don’t worry about it. He’s a loner by nature. I’m sure he went on to check out Saberton.”

“Do you trust him?”

“Of course I do,” she replied with a frown.

“That’s good enough for me,” I said, lying only a teensy bit as the last shred of doubt hung on. “Between the Saberton connection and thinking about Brian, I had myself all worked up. I never in a million years would’ve thought Brian would fuck us over.”

She stared at me, then gripped my forearm so hard her fingernails dug in. “I wouldn’t have either. I knew him pretty well.”

“Ow!” I twisted free and rubbed my arm. “Sometimes people can fool you. No point in kicking yourself over it.”

Doubt shimmered in her eyes. “What if Kyle—?”

I shot to my feet. “Stop,” I ordered. “Naomi, let me be the asshole in this scenario, okay? I jumped to conclusions. Don’t listen to me.”

She managed a smile. “You’re right. I’m on edge with everything. I do know Kyle, and I know he’s not dealing with Saberton.” She reached for her jacket and pulled it on. “I need to get some air. I’ll see if I can spot Kyle and do my own bit of recon.”

She didn’t sound convinced. My chest felt tight as guilt wormed its way in. I’d spoiled something in their relationship, like the well-meaning friend who tells a woman her husband might be cheating on her. Whether it’s true or not, the doubt and worry and fear linger.

Still, I nodded. “Lemme know how it goes, okay?”

“Sure thing.” Naomi tucked away weapons then headed for the door. “Back later.”

The door closed behind her. I listened to her soft footsteps fade away, then let out a curse. Jane! I’d forgotten about the fundraiser during all of the crap with Kyle. I needed to get word to her to stay away from the event. I checked the time and groaned. Her cell number was in my phone in Louisiana, which meant I’d have to call her office to get in touch with her. No way to do that at this hour.

I put Jane on the mental to-do list for first thing in the morning, then went in to check on Philip. He still lay with his arm covering his eyes and didn’t move when I opened the door. In the light that spilled from the other room, I watched the slow rise and fall of his chest and heard the soft sound of his breath. Sleeping, finally.

After I eased out and closed the door, I pulled a chair up to the window in the main room, leaned my arms on the sill, and watched the city go by.

The click and whoosh of the main door startled me out of my mopey gazing, but when I caught Kyle’s reflection in the window rather than Naomi’s, I didn’t turn around. Most of me wanted to apologize for pouring salt into an old wound, but the rest of me still wondered. “Hey,” I said.

Kyle closed the door and said, “Angel,” in a flat way that acknowledged me without inviting chitchat.

“Naomi went looking for you.”

He stopped halfway between the door and me. “Why?”

“I told her I brought up the insider stuff,” I said, unsuccessful in my attempt to make out his expression in the reflection. “She was worried.”

“Worried,” he said, and a glimmer in the glass told me he’d bared his teeth. “You mean she doubted me enough to wonder if I was off having tea with the Sabers.”

“Shit. I dunno,” I said. “She didn’t say that.”

He stripped off his jacket and dropped it over the back of the chair on top of mine. “I know her. No other reason for her to go.”

I stood and turned to face him, folded my arms across my chest. “It was when I brought up Brian that did it. If he could turn, then—”

“Then maybe I could too,” he said in that same scarily emotionless voice he’d used in the sidestreet.

“But she knows you,” I insisted, “and never would’ve thought that, if I hadn’t brought it up.”

He shook his head. “If it hadn’t already been brewing with her, she wouldn’t have gone out.” He pulled his phone from his pocket and started texting, I assumed to tell Naomi he was back.

“Look, I’m still sorry I said anything to her,” I said. “And I’m sorry I came at you like that with nothing more than a picture.”

“A picture along with part of my name scrawled by Chris Peterson’s grave. I get it. It looks bad.” He picked up a pizza box from the table and moved toward the sofa. “Apology accepted,” he said as he sat. “Wasn’t the first time I’ve been accused. And how do you know you aren’t right?”

“I guess I don’t, really,” I admitted, more than a little off-balance by his attitude. He wasn’t exactly doing backflips to clear his name. “But I know how much it sucks to have people always thinking the worst of you. I should’ve gotten more info before confronting you. It wasn’t fair.”

“Not much is, Angel,” he said. He placed the phone on the coffee table, then flipped the box open, held it out toward me. “It blindsided me. I overreacted.”

I snagged a slice of the ham, mushroom, and brains, then sat at the other end of the sofa, still uneasy. “Naomi told me you used to work for Richard Saber and that Rachel gave you shit when you joined the Tribe. But Naomi didn’t know the details.”

He settled the pizza box on the cushion between us and lifted his eyes to mine. “I killed Rachel’s father,” he said without hesitation.

It took me a moment for his words to register. “Oh,” I managed. I cleared my throat and put the slice of pizza back in the box. “Killed as in, accidentally in a car crash?” I asked, forever the optimist.

He shook his head. “I garroted him.”

“Oh.” I shrank back against the arm of the sofa. Whatever I’d expected when I started this conversation, this wasn’t it. No wonder Rachel had it in for him. If it’d been my dad, forgiveness wouldn’t be at the top of my list. “Why?”

He shifted, picked at a piece of ham. “Both of us were deep into black ops for different organizations,” Kyle said with slow weariness as though dragging the words out. “We clashed. He died.”

I kind of wished Philip would wake up. “Okay,” I said doing my best to keep my tone even. The way he said it, I doubted he’d provide details—which was fine with me since I didn’t really want any. I tried for a nice neutral change of subject. “How did you come to work for Pietro?”

Kyle went still and silent, his eyes on me like a cat watching a mouse. Suddenly, being anywhere but under his gaze seemed like a really good idea. I shot to my feet, about to blurt out that I really really needed to go to the bathroom. His eyes followed me, and he spoke in a voice so soft there was barely any breath behind it. “Why do you want to know, Angel?”

My throat tightened. Was everything a touchy subject with this guy? “I . . . I was curious,” I said, baffled. “I’m sorry. I wasn’t trying to imply anything.” Not that I had any idea why I was apologizing or what I could have possibly implied. All I knew was that everything I said triggered this you-went-too-far scary reaction. I turned away. “Nevermind. I’m sorry I asked.”

“Angel,” Kyle said quietly.

“I swear, I wasn’t trying to start any shit.”

“Angel,” he repeated.

Out of nowhere, my vision got all blurry with tears. Totally embarrassed, I swiped at my eyes, keeping my back to him. “What?”

“Angel, please. It’s me, not you. I’m sorry.”

I pivoted to face him, utterly bewildered and out of my depth. The uncertainty and craziness of the day seemed to crush the breath out of me, and the tears spilled over for real. “I don’t understand anything , and I keep doing the wrong thing or saying the wrong thing, and I’m scared to death here.” I swept a frantic gesture toward the city beyond the window. “I’m slowing everyone down. Now I’ve stepped into shit again with you—”