And he took the same step back when he saw her.

Oh, so not good. Claire’s heart practically ripped in half at the expression on Eve’s face—a fast-changing mixture of longing, anger, fear, love, and finally, sadness. She reached up and pulled her earplugs out and said, “Sorry—I was just surprised.”

Michael didn’t answer. He was looking … well, sick was probably the only word for it. Myrnin ignored the whole thing and pushed past him, out of the elevator. Shane, after a hesitation, followed, with Claire. Michael stepped out last, and only because the doors started to shut on him.

In the sudden and uncomfortable silence, the brown-haired vamp standing next to Eve took his headphones off and said, “Is there some problem?” He was talking to Michael, but he was looking at Eve.

“No,” she said, and smiled brightly. “Thanks, Stephen. It’s all good. You guys go on.”

“Good work,” said the tall, dark-haired vampire woman, and opened the elevator doors again for the four of them to step inside while Eve lingered behind. “Call on us anytime, Eve.”

She nodded without taking her gaze off Michael, her dark eyes large and unreadable now.

“Making new friends?” he asked her. No mistaking the jealousy in that tone. “Stephen? I thought you were off vampires.”

“Lighten up,” Eve said. “I saved his life. It’s not like we’re going out.”

Even Shane winced at that one. Michael didn’t. He remained stone-faced, staring at his girl, and then he shrugged and said, “Well, you can go with your new friends or come with us. Your choice, I guess.”

“Where are we going?” Eve asked, like it wasn’t even a real question. Which it probably wasn’t.

“The water treatment plant,” Myrnin said. “I’ll catch you up if you’d like.”

“That’s—okay,” Eve said, and held up a hand when he would have kept talking. “I’m so not in the mood, Chatty Batty. Just hand me something to do.”

“Oh,” he said, and rubbed his hands together, “I think I can do that. Yes, absolutely. Michael? If you would lead on, please?”

Michael was no longer smug, but he led them toward the far end of the garage. It felt oppressive and damp down here, and smelled of wet concrete and mold—smells that reminded Claire vividly of the draug, the pool, the horrific fight to survive.

The fear.

She took hold of Shane’s hand, which was strategically stupid but emotionally smart; his warm, steady grip anchored her and made her feel less out of control. She couldn’t tell what he was thinking, but he didn’t let go.

A boxy gray shape loomed up in the dark, and Myrnin said, “Ahhhhh,” in the way people do when they finally understand something. Claire squinted, but couldn’t see much until Eve flicked on her flashlight and cast a harsh white glare over the gunmetal gray surface.

It was an armored cash truck, with some logo on it that was too sun-faded to read. It had a thick metal hide and a very intimidating door on the back.