She knew that voice, or thought she did. But that couldn’t be right, it just couldn’t be.
Shane could not be talking to Eve’s brother, Jason, especially not at the back door. She had to be imagining things. Maybe it was someone else, someone who just sounded like Jason Rosser. . . .
Claire eased the door open enough to get a tiny slice of a view.
No, that was Jason. There was absolutely no doubt about it. He was even wearing the same skanky, stained jeans and leather jacket. His hair was lank and even greasier than the last time she’d seen him, and he looked sallow and sick.
“Come on, man,” he said. “Just let me talk to Claire. You keep me waiting out here in the dark, I’m lunch meat.”
“Good to know.”
Jason put out a hand to stop Shane from closing the door on him. “Please, man. I’m asking.”
Shane hesitated. Claire couldn’t really imagine why. Jason had stalked Eve; he’d killed—or at least he said he’d killed—innocent girls out of some misguided attempt to get the vampires to sign him up for service. He’d stabbed Shane in the guts.
Shane did swing the bat at him first, Claire’s prim little voice of conscience said. She told it to shut up. Jason had engineered that fight, he’d provoked Shane into it, and it was only the fact that they’d gotten an ambulance there so fast that had saved Shane’s life.
Jason didn’t look like a crazy killer just now. He looked like a half-starved scared junkie kid who was terrified out of his mind. And desperate.
Claire came into the kitchen. Jason’s face lit up. “Claire! Claire, tell him—tell him it’s okay. I promise, I’m not going to hurt anybody. Tell him it’s okay to let me in so I can talk to you.”
“It’s not okay,” Claire said. “But he already knows that.”
Shane nodded. He shoved Jason backward, off-balance, off the porch. Jason tripped over a brick and fell flat on his ass. He glared up at Shane and rolled slowly to his feet. “Claire, I’m supposed to tell you something. From Oliver.”
“Oliver’s got nothing to tell us that we want to hear, man. Especially from you.”
“You sure about that?”
Shane grinned. “Pretty sure. Good luck with that survival thing out there in the dark.”
Shane started to shut the door. He almost made it before Jason blurted out, “Bishop’s setting a trap. We can tell you where and when.”
Claire put a hand on Shane’s shoulder, and he kept the door open, just a crack. “What are you talking about?”
“Let me in and I’ll tell you.” Jason looked desperate enough to claw paint off the door. “Please, Claire. I swear, I’m on the level here.”
“No,” she said. “If Oliver’s got something to say, I’ll talk to him, not to you.”
Resentment flickered in Jason’s dark eyes like oil on fire, and he got up and shoved his hands in his pockets. “Yeah? You gonna play it like that?”
“I’m not playing at all,” Claire said.
“I think you are. So maybe we do it the hard way after all.” Jason threw himself against the door with such force that Shane was knocked backward, and Claire lost her footing and ended up flat on her back on the kitchen floor. As she twisted around to try to get up, she felt Jason’s hand close on her hair, painfully tight. He yanked her up to her knees and dragged her out into the night. She yelled and fought, but he had a lot of experience with making girls do what he wanted.
And she stopped fighting when he put a gun to her head.
“Good,” he said in her ear, and even in a blind, black rage she thought his breath was disgusting enough to peel paint. “Calm down, I’m not going to hurt you. I was serious. You need to listen to me.”
Shane followed them outside, moving slowly but never taking his eyes off Jason. Off the gun. “Let her go.”
Jason laughed, and dragged her backward to the driveway, where a big black car was waiting. Shane followed at a safe distance. Don’t, Claire mouthed. She’d seen Jason nearly kill Shane before. She couldn’t stand to see it happen again. I’ll be okay.
Jason opened the driver’s-side door of the car, shoved her inside, and pushed in after. She immediately lunged for the other door.
Locked.
Jason slammed the car door and turned the key to start the engine. He took a firmer grip on Claire’s hair. “Stay still!”
Something heavy fell on the roof of the car, denting it down almost to the level of their heads; Claire and Jason both ducked, and Claire yelped at the thought that panic might make him squeeze the trigger.
It didn’t.
A fist punched through the metal roof of the car, grabbed the ragged edge, and peeled it back like a tin can lid. And the face that looked down was Michael’s.
No—not Michael; it was Vampire Michael. Fangs completely down, eyes completely crimson.
Michael was angry. Also, terrifying.
He dropped through the hole in a fall of moonlight, took hold of Jason’s gun hand, and yanked him away from Claire like a toy. A breakable one. Jason screamed. The gun went off, and Claire flinched and covered her head, trying to pull into a ball in the corner. The car shook as Michael threw Jason out, straight up through the opening in the roof. Jason screamed the whole way up, and the whole way down. He hit the ground with a sickening thud and rolled.
Michael launched himself up out of the car, landed lightly on his feet in the wash of headlights, and walked to where Jason was crawling to get away. Jason rolled over. He still had the gun.
He shot Michael six times, point-blank. Claire flinched with every loud crack.
Michael didn’t.
He reached Jason, took the gun, ripped it in half, and threw the two pieces into the trash can leaning at the side of the house. Jason looked shocked, then resigned, as Michael reached down and grabbed him by the collar of his leather jacket.
Shane reached through the ragged sunroof, opened the car door, and grabbed Claire. He pulled her out and to her feet. “You okay?” He sounded deeply shaken, and he kept running his hands over her, looking for bullet holes, she guessed. “Claire, say something! ”
“Stop him,” she whispered, looking past him at Michael. “Don’t let him do that.”
Because Michael was going to bite Jason, and once he did, there’d be no going back. Shane sent her a look, one that probably meant he thought she was crazy, but she forced herself to stay still and calm, even if her insides were quivering in terror.
“Shane,” she said, and tried her best to channel Amelie’s cool authority. “Stop him.”
She saw the reality of what was happening dawn on Shane, and he nodded and turned toward Michael, who didn’t look as if he was in any mood to be talked off the murder ledge.
But Shane didn’t have to try, because Michael looked up and saw Eve standing in the doorway, hands pressed to her mouth, dark eyes wide in horror, staring at her boyfriend threatening to suck blood out of her little brother.
Michael let go. Jason collapsed back to the ground, whimpering, and tried to crawl away.
Michael put his foot on Jason’s back, holding him in place. “No,” he said. His voice sounded low and very, very dangerous. “I don’t think so. Attempted kidnapping, assault with a deadly weapon, and attempted murder of a vampire? You’re done, man. It’s all over but the screaming.”
“You asshole!” Jason yelled. “I’m working for Oliver! You can’t touch me!”
He skinned back the sleeve on his jacket, and there, on his wrist, was a silver bracelet.
Michael responded by pressing his foot harder into Jason’s back. “Then you and I are going to have a talk with Oliver about how he sends his little worm to my house to shoot me,” he said. “I think you’re not going to like that very much. Because I’m pretty sure that Oliver didn’t ask you to do that kind of thing.”
“Michael,” Shane said. It was a warning, and as Claire turned, she saw why—another car was arriving, a police car with lights flashing. It pulled to a stop in the driveway, blocking in Jason’s half-peeled car, and Richard
