Bitter Blood (The Morganville Vampires #13)(14)

“Because I’d know about it if they did, stupid. Nobody in Morganville’s bought a new van in years.” She sounded confident. Monica was the queen of town gossip, and Claire had to admit, she had a point. She would know. She’d probably know the serial numbers of each purchase, and how many times it had driven through town, and what the driver had been wearing on each occasion. “Besides, that shine? That’s so town, not country. And check out the tinting.”

“So?” Claire asked. Most glossy cars in Morganville had superdark windows, because they were owned by people who were—to put it mildly—allergic to the sun.

“That’s not vampire shades,” Shane said. “Dark, but not that dark. Custom stuff. Huh. And there’s a logo on the side. Can’t really see it, though, and…” His voice trailed off as the doors opened on the van. Three people got out.

“Oh,” Monica said. “Oh. My. God. Look at him.”

There were two men who’d exited the van, but Claire knew exactly what she meant…. There was only one him, even at a distance. Tall, dark, Latin, hot.

“That,” Monica continued, in a voice that sounded very much like awe, “is some serious man candy.” Shane made a throwing-up sound in the back of his throat, which brought out a leisurely smile on Monica’s lips. “I’ll bet if I licked him, he’d even taste like fruit. Passion fruit.”

There was a woman, too—tall, leggy, with blond hair pulled back in a bouncy, glossy ponytail. She seemed pretty, too, but Claire had to admit, her attention was on Mr. Man Candy. Even at a distance, Monica had nailed the description.

Monica pushed away from the pillar and set off in a runway stride, high heels clicking on the hot concrete sidewalk.

“Come on,” Shane said, and tugged Claire after her. “This, I’ve got to see. And maybe get on the Internet.”





TWO





CLAIRE




As they got closer to the van, Claire realized it was big—Texas-style big, with a high roof. It looked more like something to haul equipment than people. The logo on the side of the van was on a magnet backing, and it was red on black. There was some kind of skull with a microphone and hard-to-read letters, not that she was paying a lot of attention.

Monica’s target was clearly Mr. Man Candy, who, Claire had to admit, did not suffer from closer inspection. He was tall (as tall as Shane), and broad-shouldered (like Shane)…but with an expensive-looking style to his thick dark hair, and perfect golden brown skin. Whether it was airbrushed or natural, it looked good on him. He had on a tight knit shirt that showed off his washboard abs, and his face was just…perfect.

“Hi,” Monica said, and held out her hand to him as she came to a stop about a foot away from him. “Welcome to Morganville.”

He smiled at her with dazzlingly white teeth. “Well,” he said, and even his voice was perfect, with just a little hint of a Spanish accent to give it spice. “Morganville gets points for having the loveliest welcoming committee yet. What’s your name, lovely?”

Monica was not used to being one-upped in the flattery game, Claire guessed, because she blinked and actually looked a little taken aback. But it lasted only an instant, and then she smiled her biggest, brightest smile and said, “Monica. Monica Morrell. And what’s your name?”

His smile lost a little of its luster, and those sparkling dark eyes dimmed a bit. “Ah, I thought you knew.”

Monica froze. Shane muttered, “Thank you, God,” and took out his cell phone to start recording. “It’s like arrogant matter meets arrogant antimatter.”

Monica unfroze long enough to snap, “Put that away, Shane. God, are you six?” before focusing back on Mr. Man Candy. “Don’t mind him—he’s the village idiot. And she’s the village Einstein, which is nearly as bad.”

He accepted that as an apology, Claire guessed, because he took the girl’s hand and bent over it to plant his lips on her knuckles. Monica looked dazzled. And a little scared. Her lips parted, her eyes widened, and for a moment she looked like a normal, regular girl of nineteen who’d been knocked off her feet by an older, slicker man. “My name is Angel Salvador,” he said. “I am the host of the show After Death. Perhaps you know it?”

It sounded vaguely familiar—one of those ghost-hunting shows Claire never watched.

Shane pivoted and focused on the girl. “And you are…”

“His cohost,” the woman standing a few feet away said. She was just as pretty as Angel, but she was frosty…. Even her hair was a pale, watery blond, and her eyes were very light blue. Unlike Angel, she looked uncomfortable in the harsh sunlight. “Jenna Clark.”

The other guy snorted and said, “Since nobody’s going to ask my name, it’s Tyler, thanks. I’m just the one who does all the work and hauls all the equipment and—”

Jenna and Angel said, in perfect, bored synchronicity, “Shut up, Tyler.” Then they threw each other poisonous looks. Clearly, there was no love lost there. Or maybe some gone bad.

“After Death?” Shane asked. “Don’t you guys do some kind of spirit-hunting thing?”

“Yes, exactly,” Jenna said, and seemed to focus on Shane as an actual human being for the first time. She smiled, but to Claire’s relief it was more of a professional kind of attention, not a Wow, you’re hot kind of thing. “We’re looking for the permits office.”