Kiss of Death (16 page)

“Hey, sir? Could I use the bathroom?” Shane asked.

“Not until you’re processed.”

“I’m not kidding. I really need to go. Please? Or would you rather clean it up?”

The deputy stared at him, harassed and doubtful, and Shane did a convincing squirm that Claire wasn’t absolutely sure was fake. The deputy finally sighed and unhooked him to escort him to the small bathroom off the main room.

Eve, meanwhile, had been taken straight to the sheriff’s desk, where he offered her a big box of tissues and a glass of water.

Claire was wondering what the heck to do, when she saw a flash of a face in the window of the station, behind the sheriff’s back. A tall, lean figure in a long black coat, hat, and gloves.

Oliver.
Dressed for the sun. Out and moving, getting an assessment of where they were and what had happened. He saw her watching him and gave her a quick nod that told her nothing at all, not even,
Don’t worry.
Then he vanished.

Her phone gave out an ultrasonic ringtone. She blinked and looked around, but neither the sheriff nor the deputy had noticed it at all. Eve had, but after that first involuntary glance, she kept her back turned and stared off into space, Kleenex crumpled in both hands.

Claire squirmed and managed to get her phone out of her pocket without attracting attention.

She had a text message, from Michael. It read,
We’ll get you guys out of there soon. Meanwhile, stay quiet.

It was pretty much the same advice Shane had given. She wanted to believe it, but her insides were still shaking. She was
definitely
not meant to be a career criminal.

Right. She should just sit here, then, and—think of something else. Like science. Some people recited baseball scores to distract themselves; Claire liked to go through the entire periodic table of elements, and once she’d finished with that, she started on all of the alchemical symbols and properties Myrnin had taught her. That helped. It made her remember that there was something out there beyond this room, this moment, and that there were people out there who might actually care if she didn’t come back.

Shane came back from the toilet and was cuffed in place again. He edged over a little closer to her and leaned forward, elbows on his thighs, head hanging down so his hair covered his face.

“There’s a window in the bathroom,” he said. “Not very big, but you could get out of it. Doesn’t open, though. You’d have to break it out, and that would be noisy.”

Claire coughed and covered her mouth. “I’m not breaking out of jail! Are you crazy?”

“Well, it was a thought. I mean, seemed like a good idea at the time.” Shane sat back up and looked at her, forehead crinkling in a frown. “I just don’t want you here. It’s not—” He shook his head. “It’s just not right. Me and Eve, well, yeah, she piled into it head-on, and I’m always in trouble. But you ...”

“I’m okay.” She reached out and put her palm against his cheek, feeling the slightly rough stubble there. It made her steadier. It made her want to be somewhere else, like in the motel room, with the door closed. “I’m not going anywhere without you.”

“I am
such
a bad influence on you.”

“Trying to get me to stage a jailbreak? Yeah. You really are.”

“Well, at least you didn’t do it. There’s that.”

The deputy got up from his desk and came to unlock Shane from the bench. “Let’s have a talk, Mr. Collins,” he said.

“Oh, let’s,” Shane said, with totally fake enthusiasm. He winked at Claire, which made her smile for a second, until she remembered there really was something tragic here—one man dead; two missing. Granted, they hadn’t been the nicest people, but still...

She realized, with a grim, cold, drenched feeling down her spine, that she had no idea what Oliver had been doing when those men were being killed.

No idea at all.

 

The sheriff kept them talking for hours, then locked them in the cell in the back. Shane went in one cell; Eve and Claire together in the other. All of their stuff was taken away, of course, including cell phones. Claire had erased the text messages, but she figured it was only a matter of time before the sheriff got them, anyway. And then he’d know for sure that Michael was out there, a fugitive from justice.

That sounded romantic, but probably wasn’t, especially since he was a vampire caught without shelter in the daytime.

She hoped he and Oliver had remembered to take the cooler of blood with them. They might really need it, especially if they got burned.

And here I am, worrying about a couple of vampires who can take care of themselves, she thought. I ought to be worrying a lot more about what’s going to happen when they call my parents.
They would—and that would make it just about a million times worse.

“Hey,” Shane said from the other side of the bars. “Trade you cigarettes for a chocolate bar.”

“Funny,” Eve said. She was almost back to her old un-Gothed self again, though there were still red splotches on her cheeks and around her eyes. “How come you’re always behind bars, troublemaker?”

“Look who’s talking. I didn’t try to outrun the cops in a hearse.”

“That hearse had horsepower.” Eve got that moony look in her eyes again. “I love that hearse.”

“Yeah, well, I hope it loves you back, because otherwise, that’s just sad. And a little sick.” Shane drummed his fingers on the bars. “This isn’t so bad. At least I’ve got better company this time around.” And he wasn’t scheduled to be turned into a vampire, or burned alive, but that kind of went without saying. “And they even have toilet paper.”

“Oh, I
really
didn’t need to hear that, Collins.” Eve sighed and paced around the cell again, hugging herself tight. “It tells me way too much about your past.”

Claire leaned into the bars. Shane leaned in from the other side, and their fingers brushed, then intertwined. “Hey,” he said. “So, this is familiar.”

“Not for me,” she said. “I’m usually
outside
the bars.”

“You’re doing fine.”

Claire smiled at him, then drew in a quick, shaking breath. “I have to tell you something,” she said. “It’s important.”

Shane’s fingers tightened on hers, and his index finger stroked gently over the silver claddagh ring, with its bright stone. “I know.”

“No, you don’t. I saw Oliver,” she whispered, quickly and as softly as she could. Clearly, that was not what Shane was expecting to hear, and she watched him go through a whole list of reactions before he finally settled on annoyed.

“Great,” he said. “When?”

“Outside the windows while they were talking to you,” Claire said.

“Was he barbecued?”

“No, he was wearing a big coat and hat. I don’t guess he was any too excited about being out in the daytime, though.”

“I guess barbecued was too much to hope for.” Shane fell silent as he thought about it, then finally shook his head. “They’ll wait for dark,” he said. “They’ll have to, whatever they plan to do; Michael’s just too vulnerable out there in the day. I wish we knew what they were doing.”

“I’m pretty sure they’re thinking the same thing about us,” Claire said. “Since they probably have no idea what happened. As far as they know, this hassle is all about Eve’s bad driving.”

“Hey, I heard that!” Eve said.

Shane smiled, but it was brief, and his dark brown eyes never left Claire’s. “I don’t like this,” he said. “I don’t like seeing you two in here.”

“Yeah, well, welcome to my world,” Claire said. “I haven’t enjoyed it much seeing you behind bars, either.” She laughed sadly. “This was supposed to be a fun little trip, remember? We should be in Dallas by now.”

“My dad used to say that life’s a journey, but somebody screwed up and lost the map.”

Claire wasn’t sure she wanted to think about his father right now. Frank Collins wasn’t the kind of ghost she wanted drifting around between them, especially since being in jail—again—probably made Shane think a lot about his dad. Not that Frank was a ghost. Unfortunately. He’d been a terrible, abusive father, and now he was a vampire, and she couldn’t really imagine that it had improved him all that much.

Even if he had saved her life once.

“As long as we’re together,” she said. “That’s what matters.”

“Speaking of that,” Shane said, “we could be together and headed anywhere when we get out of this, you know. I’m just putting that on the table.”

He was talking about not going back; about leaving Morganville. She’d been contemplating it, and she knew he had, too. “I—I can’t, Shane. My parents ...”

He bent his head closer and dropped his voice to a whisper. “Do you really think they want you to be there? Risking your life, every day? Don’t you think they want you out, and safe?”

“I can’t, Shane. I just can’t. I’m sorry.”

Shane was silent a moment, then let out a long breath. “I bet I could convince you if I could get through these bars....”

“You’d get arrested all over again.”

“Well, you’re just that tempting. Jailbait.” He kissed her fingers, which made her shiver all over; his lips lingered warm on her skin, reminding her of what it felt like to be alone with him, in that timeless, special silence. “Not a lot we can do until—” He stopped, then, frowning, looked over at the barred door that led into the sheriff’s office. “Did you hear that?”

“What?” Even as she asked it, Claire heard the growl of an engine outside—a big one. It had to be some kind of truck, maybe, but not just a pickup—a big delivery van, or an eighteen wheeler. The brakes sighed, and the roar of the engine cut out. “I guess they’re getting some sort of delivery, maybe?”

Maybe, but somehow, Claire didn’t think so. She had a bad feeling. From the way Shane was staring at the jail door—which wasn’t telling them anything—he was feeling the same thing.

And then in the outer office, glass crashed, someone yelled, and Claire heard laughter.

Then more crashing. More yelling.

Shane let go of her. “Claire, Eve—get to the back of the cell.” When they hesitated, he snapped, “Just go!”

They did it, not that there was anywhere in particular to go, or to hide. They sat together on one of the two small cots, close together, watching the jail door to see what would come through.

What came through wasn’t Oliver. It wasn’t even Michael.

It was Morley, the vampire from Morganville, in all his homeless-bum glory. He was dressed in layers of threadbare clothes, and he had a large, floppy black hat on his head over his straggly graying hair.

He looked at the bars on the jail cell door, sneered, and snapped the whole thing off its hinges with a heave. He tossed the iron aside as if it weighed next to nothing.

Morley stepped through the open space, surveyed the three of them, and swept off his hat in a low, mocking bow. He was good at the bowing thing. Claire supposed he’d probably had a lot of practice. He seemed old enough to have lived in a time when bowing well got you somewhere.

“Like lobsters in a tank,” he said. “I know we agreed you’d give up your blood to me, but really, this is just too
easy.”

He smiled.

With fangs.

Claire got up and walked toward the bars. She didn’t like letting Morley—or any vampire—see she was afraid of him; from working with Myrnin in his crazy days—crazier?—she’d realized that showing fear was an invitation to them. One they found really hard to resist.

“What are you doing here?” she asked. Because for a confusing few seconds, she thought that maybe Oliver had teamed up with Morley to rescue them. But that was flat-out impossible. The idea of Oliver and Morley ever being able to have a civilized conversation, much less actually work together, was completely ridiculous. “You’re not supposed to leave Morganville!”

“Ah, yes. Amelie’s rules.” He said that last word with a lot of relish, and there was a muddy red flare in his eyes to match. “Poor, dear Amelie is operating at a disadvantage these days. Rumors said she was unable to keep the boundaries of the town in quite the same condition they had been. I decided to test the theory, and behold. I am
free.”

That was really, really not a good thing. Claire didn’t know a whole lot about Morley, but she knew he tended more to the bad-old-days model of vampire—take what you want, when you want, and don’t care about the consequences. The opposite of how Amelie—and even Oliver—ran things. To Morley, people were just blood bags that could talk—and sometimes outrun him, which only made it more exciting.

“They’ll come after you,” Claire said. “Amelie’s people. You know that.”

“And I look forward to seeing how that turns out for her.” Morley paced back and forth in front of the bars, humming a song Claire didn’t recognize. In the net of his wild hair, his eyes glittered with a kind of silvery light. They expressed not exactly hunger, but more like amusement. “You look cramped in there, my friends. Shall I get you out?”

“Actually, it’s pretty roomy,” Shane said. “I’m feeling better about it all the time.”

“Perhaps ...” Morley turned. “Ah, you’re playing the gentleman, I see. Of course, by all means. Ladies first.”

“No!” Shane lunged at the bars. Morley had his eyes fixed on Eve and Claire now, and Claire thought, with a sinking sensation, that putting on a brave face wasn’t going to get her very far—not with him. “Changed my mind. Sure. I’ll go first.”

Morley shook his finger gently in Shane’s direction, but without taking those shining eyes off the girls. “No, you had your chance. And I despise those who think themselves
gentlemen
in any case. You’re not making friends that way.”

“No!” Shane yelled, and slammed his hand into the bars, which rattled uneasily. “Over here, you ratty flea-bag! Come and get it!”

“Fleas suck blood,” Morley said mildly. “Quite the cousin of the vampire, those clever little creatures, so why should I find that insulting? You really must find more interesting ways to bait me, boy. Tell me my beard would better stuff a butcher’s cushion. Or that I have more hair than wit. Live up to your heritage, I beg you.”