He didn’t say anything about saving Monica, she noticed. Nothing at all.
Monica looked at her, no longer sleek and magazine glossy. She seemed small and vulnerable, alone in the van with all those men. Claire hesitated, then got up from her seat and grabbed a leather strap to steady herself. Her knees felt like water. “This is crazy,’” she said. “Hang in there. I’ll get help.’”
Tears glittered in Monica’s eyes. “Thanks,’” she said softly. “Tell my dad—’” She didn’t finish, and she sucked in a deep breath. The tears cleared away, and she gave Claire a half-crazy smile. “Tell my dad that if anything happens to me, he can hold you personally responsible.’”
The door slammed shut between them, and the van sped off into the dark. Claire was glad she had her hand on the ladder, because the lights went away fast, and she was left in a dark so close and hot and filthy that she wanted to curl up into a ball.
Instead, she climbed, feeling for the slimy rungs in the dark and waiting for something—something with teeth—to lunge onto her back at any second. Vampires lived down here, they had to. Or at least, they used these tunnels as highways; she’d always wondered how they got around during the day. These weren’t sewer tunnels, just storm drains built extra large. And since Morganville wasn’t exactly built on a floodplain, chances were, the water had never been more than ankle-high in these things since they’d been constructed.
Claire climbed, and when she squinted just right, she saw flickers of what looked like daylight. There was a grate overhead, covered with some kind of protective material to keep the sun from filtering down into the tunnel. She braced herself on the rungs, hooked her left arm through one of the iron bars, and heaved with her right to push the grate up.
Hot Texas sun washed over her in a warm, sticky flood, and Claire gasped and raised her face to it in gratitude. After taking a few fast breaths, she pushed herself up another rung and thumped the grate back on its hinges to climb out.
Just as Shane’s dad had said, she was standing in front of the Morganville City Hall—which was, unfortunately, not on Founder’s Square. It was a big Gothic castle of a building, all red sandstone in rough-cut blocks, and people were coming and going on their way to or from work, or filing paperwork—just carrying out their daily lives, whatever that meant in Morganville.
She rolled out onto the grass and flopped there, breathing hard. A couple of faces appeared overhead, blocking out the sun. One of them was wearing a policeman’s uniform cap.
“Hello,’” Claire said, and shaded her eyes. “I need to talk to the mayor. Tell him I have information about his daughter, and Frank Collins.’”
The mayor had changed out of the suit he’d worn to put Shane in a cage the night before; he was wearing a green golf shirt with black slacks and loafers. Very preppy. He was in the hallway, talking into his cell phone, looking tense and angry. Claire was escorted past him, into his office, and deposited in a big red leather chair by two members of Morganville’s finest; she didn’t recognize either of them. When she asked after Detectives Hess and Lowe, she got nothing. Nobody even admitted to knowing their names.
Claire was feeling more than a little light-headed. She had no idea how long it had been since she’d eaten, but the world was starting to take on a surreal melty edge that really wasn’t a very good sign. Between the stress, the poor sleep, and the lack of food, she was going to be loopy soon.
Keep it together, Claire. Pretend you’re cramming for a test. She’d gone without sleep for three days once, prepping for her SAT, and she hadn’t eaten much beyond Jolt cola and Cheetos. She could do this.
“Here,’” said a voice from beside her, and a red can of Coca-Cola appeared, held in a big male hand. “You look like you could use something to drink.’”
Claire looked up. It was Richard, Monica’s cop brother. The cute one. He looked tired and worried. He pulled up another chair close to hers and leaned forward, elbows on his knees. Claire busied herself with the Coke, popping the top and taking a fast chug of the icy sweet contents.
“My sister got carjacked,’” he said. “You know that, right?’”
Claire nodded and swallowed. “I was there. I was in the van.’”
“That’s exactly why I wanted to talk to you before I let you see my dad,’” Richard said. “You were in the van with Jennifer and Gina and Monica.’”
Claire nodded again.
“Let me ask you this, then. How did you signal them?’”
She blinked. “How did I what?’”
“How did you plan the setup? What was your system? Did you text message them? You know, we can pull those records, Claire. Or was it some kind of trap you led my sister into?’”
“I don’t know what you’re—’”
Richard looked up at her, and she fell silent, because he didn’t look so friendly this time. Not friendly at all. “My sister’s a crazy psycho—I know that. But she’s still my sister. And nobody lays their hands on a Morrell in this town, or somebody—maybe a whole bunch of somebodies—pays for it. Get the point? So whatever you know, whatever your relationship is with these invaders, you’d better come to it quick, or we’re going to start digging. And Claire, that’s going to be a fast, bloody kind of process.’”
She wrapped both hands around the Coke can and raised it to her mouth for another trembling gulp, then said, “I didn’t lead them to your sister. Your sister abducted me. Right out of the Photo Finish parking lot. Ask Eve. Oh God—Eve—Gina cut her. Is she okay?’”
Richard frowned at her. “Eve’s all right.’”
That eased a terrible knot in her stomach. “What about Gina and Jennifer?’”
“Also fine. They called in the carjacking. Gina said—’” He turned something over in his mind, and then said, more slowly, “Gina said a lot of things. But I should have remembered who I was talking to. If there’s anybody in Morganville crazier than my sister, it’s Gina.’”
She couldn’t disagree with that. “The guys who took over the van—’”
“Shane’s father,’” Richard interrupted. “We already know all that. Where is he now?’”
“I don’t know,’” she said. “I swear! He let me out in the storm drain and told me to climb the ladder and talk to your father. That’s why I’m here.’”
“Leave the kid alone, Richard.’” Mayor Morrell stalked in, slamming the office door behind him, and paused to glare at the two extra police officers standing guard. “You. Out. If my son can’t handle some sixteen-year-old stick of a girl, he deserves what he gets.’”
They left, fast. Claire put the Coke can aside on a table as the mayor sank into his big, plush leather chair. He no longer looked quite as smug as he had back at Founder’s Square, and he definitely looked angry.
“You,’” he snapped. “Talk. Now.’”
She did, spilling it out in a tumbling stream of words. Shane’s father hijacking the van and pitching Gina and Jennifer out. Destroying the cell phones. Threatening Monica and sending Claire as his messenger of doom. “He’s serious,’” she finished. “I mean, I’ve seen him do things. He’s seriously not afraid to hurt people, and he definitely doesn’t like Monica.’”
“Oh, and suddenly you’re her bestest little friend? Please. You hate her guts, and you’ve probably got reason,’” Richard said. He got up to pace the room. “Dad, look, let me do this. I can find these guys. If we put every available man and vampire on the streets—’”
“We did that last night, son. Wherever these guys go, they’re going someplace we can’t follow.’” The mayor’s red-rimmed eyes fastened back on hers. He cracked his knuckles. He had big hands, like his son. Hard hands. “Oliver wants this over. He wants to move up the timetable, burn the kid tonight and get them out in the open. It’s not a bad plan. Call their bluff.’”
“You think Frank Collins is bluffing?’” Richard asked.
“No,’” the mayor said. “I think he’ll do exactly what he said he’d do, only a whole lot worse than we can imagine. But what Oliver wants…’”