Eve started to back out of the parking lot, then slammed on the brakes when another car pulled in behind her, blocking her in. “Dammit,’” she breathed, and fumbled for her cell phone. She pitched it to Claire. “Call the cops.’”
“Why?’” Claire twisted to look out the back, but she couldn’t see who was driving the other car.
She was looking in the wrong place. The threat wasn’t the car behind them; it was the white van next to the passenger side of the Cadillac, and as she started punching 911, a sliding panel came open, and someone reached out and pulled on the handle of Claire’s door.
It was locked. She wasn’t a total idiot. But two seconds later, it didn’t matter, because a crowbar hit the window behind her, smashing it into a million little sparkly pieces, and Claire reflexively jerked forward, hands over her head. She fumbled the phone into the floorboards, and tried frantically to find it. Eve was cursing breathlessly.
“Get us out of here!’” Claire yelled.
“I can’t! We’re blocked in!’”
Claire grabbed the phone triumphantly, finished pushing buttons for 911, and pressed SEND just as a hand reached in from the backseat and slammed her face-first into the dash.
After that, things got a little distant and fluffy around the edges. She remembered being taken out of the car. Remembered Eve yelling and fighting, then going quiet.
Remembered being bundled into the van and the door sliding shut.
And as her head began to clear up again, except for a monster-sized headache centered right over her eyes, she remembered the van, too. She’d seen it before. She’d been in it before.
And just like before, Jennifer was driving, and Monica and Gina were in the back. Gina was holding her down. The girls looked flushed. Crazy. Not good.
“Eve,’” Claire whispered.
Monica leaned closer. “Who, the freak? Not here.’”
“What did you do to her?’”
“Just a little cut, nothing too serious,’” Monica said. “You ought to be worried about yourself, Claire. My daddy wanted to get a message to you.’”
“Your—what?’”
“Daddy. What, you don’t have one of those? Or do you just not know which john was the sperm donor?’” Monica sneered. She was wearing a tight pair of blue jeans and an orange top, and she looked as glossy as a magazine page. “Oh, don’t bother, mouse. Just stay down—you won’t get hurt.’”
Gina pinched Claire, hard. Claire yelled, and Monica grinned in response. “Well,’” she amended, “maybe hurt a little. But a tough chick like you can take it, right, genius?’”
Gina pinched Claire again, and Claire gritted her teeth and managed to keep it to just a whimper this time. Easier, since she was already prepared for the pain. Gina looked disappointed. Maybe she should scream her lungs out no matter what, save herself the trouble of Gina having to work harder for it….
“You were following us,’” Claire said. She felt nauseated, probably from smacking her head into the dashboard, and she was deeply worried about Eve. A little cut. Monica wasn’t the type to do anything halfway.
“See? I told you she was a genius, didn’t I?’” Monica sat down in one of the padded leather seats that lined the van, and crossed her legs. She had on cute platform shoes that matched her orange tank top, and she inspected her nails—also done in orange—for signs of chipping. “You know what, genius? You’re right. I was following you. See, I wanted to bring you in quietly, but no, you and Zombie Girlfriend had to make it all difficult. Why aren’t you in class, anyway? Isn’t that, like, against your religion or something, cutting class?’”
Claire struggled to sit up. Gina glanced at Monica, who nodded; Claire edged away from Gina and put her back up against the sliding door of the van. She rubbed her stinging arm where Gina had given her pinches. “Shane,’” she said. “That’s what your dad wants to see me about, isn’t it?’”
Monica shrugged. “I guess. Look, I don’t like Shane; that’s no secret. But I never intended for his sister to get killed in that fire. It was a stupid school thing, okay? No big deal.’”
“No big deal?’” Of everything Monica had ever said to her—and there’d been some jaw-droppers—that was maybe the worst. “No big deal? A kid died, and you destroyed their whole family! Don’t you get it? Shane’s mom—’”
“Not my fault!’” Monica was suddenly flushed. Not used to being blamed, Claire guessed; maybe nobody ever had blamed her except Shane. “Even if she remembered, if she’d kept her mouth shut, she’d have been fine! And Alyssa was an accident!’”
“Yeah,’” Claire said. “I’m sure that makes it all better.’” She felt gritty and tired, never mind the sleep she’d had, or the shower. The floor of the van was filthy. “What the hell does your father want with me, anyway?’”
Monica stared at her in silence for a few seconds, then said, “He doesn’t think Shane killed Brandon.’”
“You’re kidding.’”
“No. He thinks it was Shane’s dad.’” Monica’s perfectly lipsticked mouth curved into a slow smile. “He’d like for you to tell Shane’s dad that and see what happens. ’Cause if he was any kind of a father, he wouldn’t stand by and let his baby boy take the heat for him. Literally.’”
“So he wants me to tell Shane’s dad—the mayor is willing to make a deal?’”
“Shane’s life for his father’s,’” Monica said. “No real dad could resist something like that. Shane’s not important, but Dad wants this over. Now.’”
Claire had a very bad feeling squirming in the pit of her stomach, like she’d swallowed earthworms. “I don’t believe it. They’d never let Shane go!’” Not if Oliver had any say in it, anyway.
Monica shrugged. “I’m just delivering a message. You can tell Frank whatever you damn well want, but if you’re smart, you’ll tell him something to get him out in the open. Get me? Amelie’s Protection only goes so far. You can still be hurt. In fact, Gina would probably enjoy that a lot, even if she gets a slap on the wrist for punishment.’”
“And think about your friend, back there all by herself,’” Gina said. She was smiling, a wet, crazy sort of smile. “All kinds of things can happen to girls out on their own in this town. All kinds of bad things.’”
“Yeah, well, Eve should know,’” Monica said. “Look who her brother is.’”
Claire’s head knocked back against metal as the van bumped over what felt like railroad tracks, setting off a nuclear vibration in her head with the already-fierce headache in the front. “So,’” Monica said. “You know what you have to do, right? Go to Shane’s dad. Convince him to trade himself for Shane. Or—you may find out just how unfriendly Morganville can really be.’”
Claire didn’t say anything. The things she wanted to say would, she figured, get her killed; whether or not Monica and Gina would be punished for it later wasn’t much of a comfort.
She finally gave them one sharp, unwilling nod.
“Home, James!’” Monica called up to Jennifer, who gave the OK sign and turned a corner. Claire tried to peer out, but she didn’t recognize the street. Somewhere close to campus, though. She saw the bell tower next to the UC rising up on the right-hand side.
She grabbed for a handhold as Jennifer slammed on the brakes. Monica wasn’t so lucky; she spilled out of her seat and onto the floor, screaming and cursing. “Dammit! What the hell was that, Jen, Driving for Dummies?’”
Jen didn’t say anything. Her hands slowly came up in a position of surrender.
The door behind Claire slid open, and a big hand grabbed her by the back of the neck and hauled her backward into the hot sunlight. Not a vampire, she thought, but that wasn’t much of a comfort, because a burly, muscular arm stretched out past her, and it was holding a sawed-off shotgun. She recognized the blue flame tattoos licking down his arm and onto the back of his hand.
One of the bikers.
She looked around and saw three more, all armed, pointing weapons at the van—and then, she saw Shane’s father walking up, as easy as if the whole town and every vampire in it hadn’t been hunting him through the night. He even looked rested.