Kiss of Death

“Claire Danvers,” she said. Oh man, there went any chance at all of ever getting into MIT. She was going to have a mug shot that got pasted all over Facebook. People were going to mock her. It would be high school all over again, times a million.

“Address?”

She gave him the address in Morganville, on Lot Street. She didn’t know what the others would have done; maybe she ought to have lied, made something up. But she didn’t dare. Like Shane had said—they were in enough trouble already.

Eve gave her name in a trembling, small voice, and then Shane finished things up. They both gave the Glass House address.

“So, you’re all, what, sharing a house?” the sheriff asked. “Where’s the blond kid from last night?”

“I—” Eve bit her lip and closed her eyes. “We had a fight. A big one. He—he left.”

“Left how? Seeing as the car you came in is still smoking in the parking lot back there, and it ain’t going anywhere. There’s no bus coming through here, young lady.”

“He hitched a ride,” Eve said. “With a truck. I don’t know which one. I just heard it on the road.”

“A truck,” the sheriff repeated. “Uh huh. And he wouldn’t be back there in Linda’s place with the door all locked up, then.”

“No sir.”

That, Claire reflected, might be almost true, because if Eve’s gamble had paid off, Michael and Oliver weren’t there any longer. Where they were was another story.

“Well, we’re waiting for Linda to get back; then we’ll open up those doors and see what’s going on. Sound okay to you?”

“Yes sir,” Eve said. “Why the handcuffs?”

“You three are a bunch of desperate characters, way I see it,” the sheriff said. “I find you causing trouble last night, get a report your car’s been trashed by the very same boys who say you threatened them, and next thing you know, I’ve got one man dead and two men missing this morning. The dead one got found in his pickup truck just about a mile up the road from your motel.”

“I—” Eve stopped, frozen. “Sorry, what?”

“Murder,” the sheriff repeated, slowly and precisely. “And you were the last ones to see them alive.”

7

For a long, long moment, nobody moved, and then Shane said, “You don’t think we killed—”

“Let’s just stop right there, son. I don’t want to be making any mistakes about how we do this.” The sheriff cleared his throat and recited something about rights and remaining silent. Claire couldn’t make sense out of it. She felt sick and horribly faint.

She was being arrested.

She was being arrested for murder.

Eve’s crying was uncontrollable now, but Claire couldn’t help her. She couldn’t help herself.

Shane stayed uncharacteristically silent as they loaded him into the back of the squad car, then put Claire and Eve in with him. The sheriff leaned in before he closed the door to look at them. He almost looked kind now. That didn’t make Claire feel any less sick.

“I’m going to have the deputy drive your, ah, vehicle back into town,” he said. “Can’t leave it out here. Might get stolen, and you folks already lost one car in Durram. Don’t want it happening again.”

He slammed the door on them. Claire felt Eve flinch all over at the boom of solid metal.

“Deep breaths,” Shane said softly. “Eve. Sack up. You can’t go to pieces like this. Not now.”

The sheriff got in the front, on the other side of a wire mesh screen. He put on his seat belt, looked in the rearview mirror, and said, “No talking.”

Then they drove back to the motel, where Linda’s truck had just pulled in. She looked pale and worried, but she didn’t betray much of anything at the sight of her three former guests in the back of a squad car. She listened to the sheriff, nodded, and went into the office to get master keys.

She opened up all three rooms they’d rented. Shane let out a sigh of relief even before the sheriff went in to look around. “They’re gone,” he said. “They got out. Somehow.”

“How can you be sure?”

“Because Michael’s smarter than me, and he’d have found a way. Ow, Eve, stop squirming. Not like there’s a lot of room in here!”

“Sorry,” Eve said. She sniffled uncomfortably. Her eyes were red and puffy, and so was her nose, and in general she looked pretty miserable. Claire bumped shoulders with her gently.

“Hey,” she said. “It’ll be okay. We didn’t do this.”

“Yeah, they never put i

Her eyes started to tear up again. Claire repeated the shoulder bump. “Don’t. We’ll be okay. We’ll figure this out.”

Sniffle. “You’re just Little Miss Optimist, aren’t you? Do you come with accessories, like a glass half full and lemons to make into lemonade, too?”

“I’m not an optimist,” Claire said. “I just know us.”

“Damn straight,” Shane said. “Look, they’ll separate us at the station. Don’t say anything about anything. Just watch and listen, okay? No matter what they say, just stay quiet.”

“I’ve seen cop shows,” Eve said, offended. “I’m not stupid, you know.”

Shane leaned forward and looked across her at Claire. “Okay, Eve’s going to spill her guts the first time they look at her harshly. What about you?”

“Quiet as a mouse,” Claire said. Her heart was pounding, and she wasn’t sure she could keep that promise, but then again, she’d kept secrets from Mr. Bishop.

This wasn’t nearly as bad.

Was it?

The sheriff’s station in Durram, Texas, was basically two rooms, if you didn’t count the bathroom; there was a small open area with a couple of desks and computers, some cork boards on the walls full of notices and pictures, and behind that, a door with iron bars. But first, before they got to the iron bar part, Claire and Shane were seated on a wooden bench—it was a lot like a church pew, only with big bolts drilled into it on either side—and cuffed to the bench; too far apart, for Claire’s comfort. She really ached to be held by him right now.

“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.