Bitter Blood (The Morganville Vampires #13)(13)

“What do we get the third time, stocks and public mockery?”

“There wouldn’t be a third time,” she said. “I’m sorry. I really am.”

He looked at her for a long moment, then silently put it back in his pocket. Claire knew that look, and she saw the muscle jumping uneasily along his jawline. He was counting to ten, silently, letting go of the impulse to say something crazy and suicidal.

When he let his breath out, slowly, she knew it was okay, and she felt tension she didn’t even know she had start to unbraid along her spine.

“Thanks for seeing us,” Claire said, and Hannah stood to offer her hand. Claire accepted, though she still felt awkward shaking hands. Trying to be professional always made her seem like a fraud, like a kid playing dress-up. But she tried to hold Hannah’s gaze as she returned the firm, dry grip. “Are you sure you won’t come with us?”

“You’re intent on going to see Amelie?”

“We have to try,” Claire said. “Don’t we? As you said, she used to listen to me, a little. Maybe she still will.”

Hannah shook her head. “Kid, you’ve got guts, but I’m telling you, it’s not going to work.”

“Will you make an appointment for me, though? That way there’s a record.”

“I will.” Hannah looked to Shane. “You’re going to let her do this?”

“Not alone.”

“Good.”

Ten seconds later, they were out in the waiting area, under the judging gaze of the assistant, and then in the hallway. Claire took in a deep breath. “Did we actually accomplish anything?”

“Yeah,” Shane said. “We figured out that Hannah wasn’t going to help us much. Go figure, a Morganville mayor whose hands are tied? Who saw that coming?” He stopped Claire and put his hand on her shoulder. “I’ll go with you to see Amelie.”

“That’s sweet, but having you with me is kind of a walking invitation to trouble.”

“Just because they know I prefer my vampires extra-crispy…”

“Exactly.” Claire covered the hand on her shoulder with her own. “I’ll be careful.”

“I meant what I said. You’re not going in there alone,” he said. “Take Michael. Or—and I can’t believe I’m actually saying this—take Myrnin. Just have somebody at your back, okay?”

It was really something if Shane suggested she go anywhere at all with Myrnin, and for pretty good reasons…. Myrnin had feelings for her, and he had feelings for Shane, too, but in the opposite way entirely. As in, Myrnin probably thought about the death of her boyfriend, and Shane had the same fantasies. It was a mutual, weirdly cheerful loathing, even if it didn’t come to outright conflict.

“Okay,” Claire said. She didn’t mean it, but it touched her that he was so genuinely concerned about her safety. She’d survived a lot in Morganville—not as much as Shane, granted—and she thought of herself as pretty tough these days. Not indestructible, but…sturdy.

One of these days, she’d have to sit him down and explain that she wasn’t the fragile little sixteen-year-old he’d met; she was an adult now (she so didn’t feel that status yet, despite the birthdays) and she’d proven she could meet the challenges of survival around here. And while it was sweet and lovely that he wanted to protect her, at a certain point he really needed to understand it wasn’t his job to do it, twenty-four/seven.

He linked his arm with hers and walked her to the elevator. There was no repeat of the kissing, which was a little disappointing, but he outright ignored his would-be stalker Annabelle down in the outer lobby. That was better.

After the chill of the lobby, walking into the sun was like hitting a furnace face-first, and Claire blinked and grabbed her sunglasses. They were cheap and fun, blinged all to heaven—a gift from Eve, of course. As she adjusted them, she saw something odd.

Monica Morrell was still here. Standing at the bottom of the steps, leaning against a forbidding granite pillar (the courthouse was built in a style Claire liked to call Early American Mausoleum) and shading her eyes to peer out at the street. The hot wind stirred her long, glossy, dark hair like a sheet of silk, and that dress—as ever—was dangerously close to violating decency laws when the breeze inched the hem up.

Shane saw her, too, and slowed down, shooting Claire a sideways glance. She silently agreed. It was odd. Monica didn’t just stand places, at least not unless she was making a statement of some kind. She was always on the move, like a shark.

“Huh,” Monica said. “That’s weird. Don’t you think that’s weird?” She addressed the remark to the air, but Claire supposed she intended it for her and Shane. Kind of.

“What?” she asked.

“The van,” Monica said, and tilted her head toward the street. “Parked on the corner.”

“Sweet,” Shane said. “Somebody got new wheels.”

“This year’s model,” Monica said. “I know for a fact that our lame-ass car lot doesn’t even have last year’s model. I had to go all the way to Odessa to buy my convertible. Morganville doesn’t exactly keep up with the cutting edge.”

“Okay.” Shane shrugged. “Somebody went to Odessa and bought a new van. Why’s that weird?”