Midnight Bites (9 page)

And then, on the other side of the barricades, Eve caught sight of a face she knew. Soot-stained, pale, but achingly familiar. Michael Glass. He was standing helplessly off to the side, watching the fire with wide, empty eyes. Nobody was paying him any mind, though a police officer was nearby. She supposed they were keeping him there as some kind of . . . witness?

Eve didn't think about what she intended to do; she just ducked under the barricade and ran straight for Michael. He saw her coming at the last second, and somehow managed to get his arms out just in time for her to hit him in a fierce, full-bodied hug.

He held on to her just as tightly, and she breathed in the smell of the smoke that clung to him, the sweat, the electric burn of fear and grief. She knew, somehow. From the shaking strength of his arms around her, she knew Mrs. Montez hadn't been wrong.

Alyssa Collins was dead.

“Shane?” She managed to mumble it out, and he heard her, even over the roar of the fire. She felt his face against her hair, and then his skin against her cheek as he turned his head. Incredibly warm. Scratchy, from the beard that was growing in a little. “Is Shane okay?”

“He made it out,” Michael said. She expected him to let go of her
then, but he didn't. Maybe they both needed the support. “His dad dragged him. Shane was still fighting to get—get to Alyssa.”

“But he couldn't reach her?” Eve said, because she could tell it was hard for him to say it. “Oh my God, Michael. He couldn't get to his little sister. He must be so wrecked. . . . Where is he?”

“With his parents,” Michael said. “I guess the cops wanted to talk to them about how the fire started. Not that there's much doubt about it.”

There was a low, angry tone to that, and Eve pulled back a little and looked at him. “What?” she asked, and his blue eyes got very hard, very focused.

“Monica,” he said. “Shane told me he saw her out here with a lighter. The bitch burned his house. She killed Alyssa.”

“No!” Eve couldn't help blurting it out. “She couldn't have . . . Oh my
God
. I never thought—I mean, she's a horrible, awful person, but . . .”

“She's leveled up from horrible to a damn murderer,” Michael said. “To killing a
kid
. And odds are good nobody's going to do a damn thing about it. They'll probably say it was bad wiring or some bullshit, and the mayor's precious daughter won't even get a slap on the hand.”

That was harsh. It was probably also really, really true, and it made Eve want to throw up. She couldn't get her head around it. Alyssa, gone? Alyssa was in junior high. A cute, funny girl who would have grown up to be a sassy woman, who should have been able to do all the things that Eve was still experiencing—have her first boyfriend, her first kiss, her first love.

But Lyss would never get those things, and it was so hard to imagine.

There was a giant rush of sound from the house, and big timbers
collapsed, still burning. The walls caved in. Flames shot so high it looked as if they were scorching the stars above, but the fire didn't warm Eve anymore. Her hands felt icy, and she needed the heat of Michael's body against hers. He must have felt the same, because he held on, and there was no distance between them. No barriers.

The two of them stood like that until the flames began to die down, and the crowd started to disperse, and night took darker hold around them. The cops hadn't bothered them, but now Detective Hess came striding over, grim-faced, to talk to Michael.

That meant they had to separate, and it hurt; it physically ached in her to see Michael standing so alone, with that pain still etched into his face.

Hess asked questions, but there wasn't much that Michael could answer. He'd seen the fire in the distance, realized it might be his friend's house, and gotten here in time to see Shane pulled out of the burning front door by his dad. Nobody had been able to get inside after that; it was too dangerous.

Unspoken in that, Eve realized, was that Michael had probably tried. Or worse, had been forced to hold Shane back from rushing back in to die. How hard would that have been for him, to do that?

“Okay,” Detective Hess finally said, and closed up his notebook to slip it in his jacket pocket. He seemed weary and beaten by the whole thing, or maybe just by being a lifelong Morganville resident. “Thanks for your help, Michael. I'll be in touch if we have more questions.”

Michael hesitated and said, “Did Shane already tell you about Monica?”

Detective Hess paused in the act of turning away. “Why don't you tell me about it?”

“He saw her outside. She had a lighter. She was flicking it and smiling. Pretty easy to draw that picture.”

“Pretty easy to draw the wrong one, too,” Hess said, and gave Michael a long look. “Did you see her? See her set the fire?”

“I believe Shane.” Michael's voice was even, but the muscles in his face and shoulders were tense.

Hess nodded and finally faced Eve. “You, Miss Rosser? When did you arrive?”

“I saw the fire from my house,” she said. “I came to see if everybody was okay.”

“You're friends with Shane as well; is that right?”

Eve nodded. She realized she didn't even look like herself just now—hair down and limp around her face, no makeup, ratty random clothing. “I don't know how to help him through this.”

“It's a terrible thing,” Hess agreed. “Not much anybody can do right now. Anything more you can add, either one of you? Anybody you know of who would have had a reason to do something like this to the Collins family?”

“Nobody,” Eve said. “I mean, his dad's not the nicest guy, but . . .” She spread her hands helplessly. It was setting in, the reality of what had happened to her friend, his sister, his whole family, and she felt sick to her stomach and none too steady. “No. Just . . . take a look at Monica.”

“Why do you think she'd do a thing like this?”

Eve didn't have an answer, but Michael finally did. “I wasn't going to say this, but I guess I should. Shane and Monica kind of got into it this afternoon at school. She came on to him and he told her to back off. She didn't take it too well.”

“Wow,” Eve said. “Seriously? She . . .”

“Tried to stick her tongue down his throat? Yeah. He made it pretty clear it was never going to happen, and she got . . . angry.”

Hess raised his eyebrows a little and took out his notebook to make a note, but Eve didn't think he looked convinced.

“Maybe she didn't mean it to go this far,” Eve said. “I hate to try to excuse the Queen of Stupidly Mean, but maybe she only meant to scare him and it got out of control . . . ? I can't believe she really set out to kill anybody.”

“If she was even here at all, which isn't proven except on Shane's word,” Hess said, and closed his notebook. “I'll look into it. If it was Monica Morrell, I'll arrest her. But you two, keep your mouths shut about this. I don't need the town going vigilante. Monica's not that popular in the first place with certain . . . classes of people.”

Meaning Eve's class—the wrong-side-of-the-tracks, poverty-level kind of people. Eve nodded, unwillingly. Detective Hess was a good guy—she knew that—but she also knew that nobody who worked for the town of Morganville could be considered exactly impartial. The mayor—Monica's dad—had his job not because he was popular but because the vampires had picked him for it, and they would keep him in power as long as he did what they wanted. The cops enforced rules that didn't really apply to people like Monica, with position and favor from the bloodsuckers. There were two levels of humans in Morganville, and Eve knew where she, Michael, and Shane really stood: at the bottom.

Whatever Hess promised, she didn't have much hope Monica would ever see the inside of a jail cell, even if they caught her on camera setting the fire.

Michael watched the cop walk away, and Eve's attention stayed riveted on his face. Just for this one moment, she felt it was okay to stare, openly, without feeling like she was somehow invading his privacy. They still felt connected—and they were, she realized. Somehow, she'd never let go of his hand.

And then he let go. It was a gentle sort of release, a regretful slide of his hand down her arm, but then the contact was gone, and she felt . . . alone. Really, really alone, even with the crowding of firemen
working the dying fire. Even with the police cars flashing lights. Even with the gaggle of neighbors still gossiping at the barricade.

“You should get home,” Michael said. “I can't believe you came out alone in the dark, Eve. You know better than that. I'll walk you back.”

“No,” she said. “No, you don't have to look after me, and besides, your house is only a few blocks away in the other direction. I'll be okay. Really. Look, I'm wearing vampire Kryptonite.” She flashed her leather bracelet, which was what minors got to wear to show they had family Protection from the more predatory Fang Gang set; Michael had his on, too. His, she suspected, was slightly more legit. Protection from her family's Protector, Brandon, wasn't exactly reliable.

Michael, knowing this, was shaking his head. He waved over one of the cops—a pale vampire dude Eve didn't recognize, with eerie light blue eyes—and asked if she could have a ride home. The cop didn't object, just impatiently waved Eve over to a waiting police cruiser.

She turned back to Michael. “I— Please tell Shane . . .”

“I know,” he said. “I will. Get home safe, Eve.”

That was all. No great declaration of feelings, nothing she could put her finger on, but there was a tone in his voice, a gentleness, that made her think maybe, maybe . . . And then she felt horrible even thinking it, because,
Jesus
, talk about bad timing. Shane's sister was dead, and she was obsessing about whether Michael Glass liked her. What a horrible person she was.

As she joined the cop at his car, she saw her brother, Jason, lurking in the shadows near the barricade, and urgently gestured for him to come with. He shook his head and vanished. No police rides for Jason; well, she should have seen that coming, probably.

The bad news, though, was that the vampire cop giving her a ride
had a partner. A human partner, which ordinarily would have been
good
news, at least personal-safety-wise.

That partner was, however, Richard Morrell. Monica's big brother.

Richard opened the back door of the cruiser for her as she approached, and she couldn't tell anything at all from the utterly blank expression on his face. He wasn't bad-looking, for an older guy, but he was definitely dangerous. A Morrell with a badge and a gun? Nightmare waiting to happen. She fully expected trouble.

Sure enough, when the car started, with the vampire cop driving, Morrell turned back to look through the barrier at her. It occurred to her that this might have been the all-time worst idea ever, because she was locked in a cage with doors that didn't open except from the outside, but she tried not to panic. At least outwardly.

“I heard someone saw my sister at the scene,” Morrell said. “Is that true?”

“I wasn't here,” Eve said. “I got here later.”

“That wasn't what I asked. Did someone see Monica here when the fire started?”

Eve shrugged. She sure wasn't going to rat out Shane Collins, not to a Morrell. Let him find out on his own; he wouldn't have any problems doing that.

Richard Morrell shook his head and turned face forward. “Look, Eve, I know you're going to find this hard to believe, but I'm not your enemy,” he said. “I'm trying to find out how much trouble my sister's gotten herself into. If she did this, I'll be happy to put handcuffs on her . . . but I don't think she did. She's not a good person, but she's not
that
bad.”

It sounded like the kind of explanations she and Shane traded back and forth about their fathers.
He's not
that
bad. Sure, he gets a little crazy, but you know, just when he's drinking.
It was the coping mechanism of
someone trapped in a dangerous relationship, according to all those self-help books she checked out of the library. It had never occurred to her until then that someone like Richard Morrell might feel the same—but why wouldn't he? His arrogant dad was probably a pig to live with, and his sister had grown up an entitled bitch made in Daddy's adoring image. Maybe Richard was the odd one out, just trying to be normal.

She'd given up the idea of that a while ago, being normal. Who wanted
that
? Sure, it meant you blended in, but personally, she felt like there was a hell of a lot more safety in being seen. Especially in a town where the number of missing persons kept going up. She'd never just vanish. People would notice.

Eve cut the thought off, because it was entirely possible that she
might
just vanish by accepting this ride tonight. She shut her mouth and watched the streets glide by. Empty sidewalks. No cars on the road. Most of the houses completely dark, except for security lights. Some dogs barking. Morganville was deeply creepy in the dark with that vast, cloudless Texas sky curving overhead with its blanket of white stars.

And then the car pulled up to the curb of her house. Richard Morrell got out and opened her door. He even offered her a hand out, but she didn't take it. He could be okay, but she wasn't prepared to concede it yet.

“Want me to walk you to the door?” he asked her. She shook her head. The last thing she needed was for her dad to wake up and see cops with her in the middle of the night. God. That would be the start of a very unpleasant conversation that would end in tears.

“I'll be fine,” she said, and hurried off around the house to the back. She wondered about Jason, but like he'd said, he was out at night all the time. Going out to look for him, or waiting around in the dark for him, was victim-stupid behavior. Maybe, as a big sister,
she should have been more worried, but Jason . . . Jason always just looked after himself. Had since he was ten. It made her feel horrible that she was okay with that, but Jason wasn't . . . wasn't quite normal. And she was afraid of him, sometimes.