Kiss of Death

His face went entirely blank as he listened to whatever Oliver said on the other end. Michael didn’t say anything at all.

Finally, he put the coffee cup down and said, “Do we have a choice?” Pause. “I didn’t think so. We’ll meet you there.”

He hung up, carefully laid the cell phone down on the table next to his coffee, and sank back in his chair, eyes closed. He looked—indescribable, Claire decided. It was as if there were so many things inside him fighting to come out that he couldn’t decide which one to let off the leash first.

“What?” she finally asked, half afraid to even try.

Eyes still shut, Michael said, “We’ve got an escort, all right.”

“Who?”

“Oliver.”

Claire set down her own coffee cup with a thump that slopped brown liquid over the rim. “What?”

“I know.”

“We have to be trapped in a car with Oliver?”

“I know.”

“So much for the fun. Fun all gone.”

He sighed and finally opened his eyes. She knew that look; she remembered it from when she’d first met him. Bitter and guarded. Hurt. Trapped. Then, he’d been a ghost, unable to leave this house, caught between human and vampire.

Now he was just as trapped, only instead of the house, his boundaries were the town limits. He’d felt, for the last few hours, as if he could break free, be someone else.

Oliver had just taken that away from him.

“I’m sorry,” Claire said. He shut the computer, unplugged it, and stood up. He didn’t meet her eyes again.

“Be ready at six,” he said. “Tell Shane. I’ll tell Eve.”

She nodded. He kept his head down as he walked toward the kitchen door. When he got there, he stopped for a few seconds without turning back to look at her. “Thanks,” he said. “Sucks, you know?”

“I know.”

Michael laughed bitterly. “Shane would have said, And so do you. ”

“I’m not Shane.”

“Yeah.” He still didn’t turn around. “I’m glad you’re happy with him. He’s a good guy, you know.”

“Michael—”

He was already gone by the time she said his name, just the swinging door left behind. There was no sense chasing him. He wanted to brood in private.

She called Shane to tell him what time they were leaving, but not about Oliver. Frankly, she didn’t want to have that grief just yet. She went on to class. After her early ones, she had a two-hour break, which meant she had things to do, so she could leave town with a clear conscience.

And besides, she’d been looking forward to this since she’d first thought of it.

First step—she walked the few blocks from campus to Common Grounds, Oliver’s coffee shop, and ordered up a mocha. He was behind the bar—a tall older man, with hippie hair and a tie-dyed T-shirt under his coffee-stained apron. When he was serving customers, you’d never know he was a vampire, much less one of the meanest she’d ever met.

Mocha in hand, Claire texted Monica’s cell. Meet me at Common Grounds ASAP.

She got back an immediate Btr B good.

Oh, it would be.

Claire sipped and waited, and Monica eventually rolled up in her hot red convertible; no Gina and Jennifer this time. Monica seemed to be getting out more and more without her backup singers, which was interesting. Claire supposed even they were getting tired of providing constant on-demand validation.

Monica blew in the front door of the shop in a dress that was too short for her, but showed off her long tanned legs; the swirl of wind almost made it illegal. She shoved her expensive sunglasses up on top of her glossy black hair and scanned the room. The sneer that twisted her full lips was probably mostly reflex.

After putting in her coffee order, Monica slipped into a chair across from Claire. “Well?” she said, and dropped her tiny purse on the table. “Like I said, this had better be good.”

When Oliver brought over Monica’s coffee, Claire said, “Would you mind staying for a minute?”

“What?”

“As a moderator.” Oliver was a broker of deals in Morganville. Common Grounds was a key place where humans and vampires could meet, mingle in safety, and reach all kinds of agreements that Oliver would witness and enforce.

Pretty rarely between humans, though.

Oliver shrugged and sat down between the two girls. “All right. Make it quick.”

Monica already looked thunderously angry, so Claire spoke first. “Monica made a deal with me for test answers. I want you to witness me handing them over.”

Oliver’s eyebrows twitched up, and the look on his face was bitterly amused. “You’re asking me to witness a schoolyard transaction for cheating. How ... quaint.”

Claire didn’t wait. She pushed over a thumb drive toward Monica. “There’s an electronic file on there,” she said. “It’s password protected. If you can figure out the password, you can have the answers.”

Monica’s mouth dropped open. “What?”

“You said I had to give them to you. I did. That’s what I wanted Oliver to see. Now you have them, so we’re done. No comebacks. Right?”

“You put them under a password?”

“One you can guess,” Claire said. “If you did the homework. Or can read fast.”

“You little bitch.” Monica’s hand flashed out—not for the thumb drive, but for Claire’s arm. She crushed it to the table, her nails digging in deep enough to draw blood. “I told you, I’ll fry your ass.”

“With you, I know that’s not an empty threat,” Claire said. “Alyssa Collins is proof of that.”

Monica went very still, and something flickered across her eyes—shock? Maybe even regret and guilt. “I’m not taking this thing. You give me the answers without the password.”

Oliver cleared his throat. “Did you specify how she had to give you the answers?”

“No,” Claire said. “She just said I had to. I did. Hey, this is the nicest way I could have done it. I could have given it to her in Latin or something.”

“Let go of her,” Oliver said mildly. When Monica didn’t, his tone turned icy. “Let. Go.”

She pulled her hand back and folded her arms over her chest, glaring at Claire, her jaw set hard. “This isn’t over.”

“It is,” Oliver said. “Not her fault you made a poor definition of what it was you wanted from her. She satisfied all requirements. She’s even given you a reasonable chance of discovering the password. Take it and walk away, Monica.”

“This isn’t over,” Monica repeated, ignoring him. When she reached for the thumb drive, Oliver’s pale, strong hand slapped down over it, and over her fingers, holding her in place. Monica yelped. It must have hurt.

“Look at me,” he said. Monica blinked and focused on his face, and Claire saw her pupils widen. Her lips parted a little. “Monica Morrell, you are my responsibility. You owe me respect, and you owe me obedience. And you will leave Claire Danvers alone. If you have cause to attack her, you will tell me first. I will decide whether or not you can take action. And you do not have my permission. Not for this.” He let go. Monica yanked her hand back and cradled it against her chest. “Now, take your business and your coffee elsewhere. Both of you.”

Monica reached out and snatched up the small memory stick. As she did, Claire said, “The thumb drive cost