“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.
“Monica Morrell,’” he said. “Come on down! See what you’ve won.’”
Monica froze where she was, holding on to one of the hanging leather straps. She looked at the guns, at Gina, who was kneeling with her hands in the air, and then helplessly at Claire.
She was afraid. Monica—crazy, weird, pretty Monica—was actually scared. “My father—’”
“Let’s talk about him later,’” Frank said. “You get your sweet ass down here, Monica. Don’t make me come and get you.’”
She retreated farther into the van. Shane’s dad grinned and motioned two of his bikers inside. One grabbed Gina by the hair and dragged her out to sprawl in the street.
The other one grabbed Monica, struggling and spitting, and handcuffed her to the leather strap in the back. She stopped fighting, amazed. “But—’”
“I knew you were going to do the opposite of what I told you,’” Frank said. “Easiest way to keep you in the van was to tell you to get out.’” He opened the driver’s-side door and stuck a gun in Jennifer’s face. “You, I don’t need. Out.’”
She slid down, fast, and kept her hands high as Frank pushed her toward the bikers. She sat down next to Gina on the curb and put her arms around her. Funny, Claire had never thought of those two as being friends in their own right, just as hangers-on for Monica. But now they seemed…real. And really scared.
“You.’” Shane’s dad turned to look directly at Claire. “In the back.’”
“But—’”
One of the bikers put his gun close to her head. She swallowed and scrambled into the van, claiming the leather seat that Monica had so recently tumbled out of. Shane’s father got in after her, then a sweaty load of bikers. One of them got in the driver’s seat, and the van lurched into gear.
It hadn’t taken but a minute, Claire figured. In Morganville, at this hour, nobody probably even noticed. The streets looked deserted.
She looked at Monica, who stared back, and for the first time, she thought she really understood what Monica was feeling, because she felt it, too.
This was a very bad thing.
The van lurched through a long series of turns, and Claire tried to think of an easy way to get to her cell phone, which was in the pocket of her jeans. She’d dropped Eve’s back at the car, when Monica had slammed her face-first into the dashboard…. She managed to get her fingers hooked in her pocket, casual-like, and touched the metal case. All I have to do is dial 911, she thought. Eve had probably already reported the abduction, if Eve was okay enough to talk. They could trace cell phones, right? GPS tracking or something?
As if he’d read her mind, Shane’s dad came to her, stood her up, and patted her down. He did it fast, not lingering like some dirty old man, and found the phone in her pocket. He took it. Monica was yelling again, and trying to kick; one of the bikers was doing the same thing as Frank, although Claire thought it was more feeling up than patting down. Still, he found her cell, too—a Treo—and slid open the van door to pitch them out into the street. “Kill ’em!’” he yelled to the driver, who pulled the van into a U-turn and went back the other way. Claire didn’t hear the crunch, but she figured the phones were nothing but electronic bits.
The turning and lurching continued. Claire just hung on, head down, thinking hard. She couldn’t get word out, but Eve would have. Detective Hess, Detective Lowe? Maybe they’d come running.
Maybe Amelie would send her own people to enforce her Protection. That would be pretty fabulous right about now.
“Hey,’” Monica said to Shane’s dad. “Stupid move, asshole. My dad’s going to have every cop in Morganville on you in seconds. You’re never going to get away, and once they have you, they’ll throw you in a hole so deep, even the sewer will seem like heaven. Don’t touch me, you pig!’” Monica writhed to get away from the stroking hands of the biker next to her, who just smiled and showed gold-capped teeth.
“Don’t touch her,’” Shane’s dad said. “We’re not animals.’” Claire wondered where all this sudden White Knight syndrome came from, because he’d been willing to let his boys do whatever to her and Eve back at the Glass House. “Take her bracelet.’”
“What? No. No! It doesn’t come off, you know that!’”