Eve’s eyes widened, and she licked her black-painted lips and said, “When was this?”

Claire checked the date. “Early last week.”

“Oh God,” Eve said. “I—I met Kim at the auditions. I mean, I already knew her, but not like close friends or anything, and she just seemed really—interesting. She came over after we got done. You were at school, Michael was out, Shane was just leaving.”

“And she asked to use the bathroom?” Claire prodded.

Eve looked miserable. “Yeah. She was gone awhile, but you don’t ask, right? You’re not supposed to hover, I mean, come on. Besides, she was so cool.”

“She is cool,” Shane agreed. “She’s also a raving bitch manipulator. I dated her, remember? Once. You should have asked me. And what is this crap about seeing me naked? I wasn’t even there!”

Eve covered her mouth with both hands. “What did she do? Oh my God—she used me, right? She used me.”

“She uses everybody,” Shane said. “Twenty-four, seven. I’m sorry, but I was kind of worried when you got so head over heels with her. She’s not . . . yeah. She’s just not.”

Claire wondered if she should feel some kind of vindication, but she didn’t. She felt nervous. “What did she do in our house?”

“What do you get Oscars for?”

Shane and Michael both said, at the same time, “Movies.”

And the four of them looked at one another in silence for a moment. Claire didn’t know how they felt, but her stomach seemed to be in free fall, and no end in sight.

She slowly turned back to the screen, shut down the video, and looked at the folder.

“What?” Shane asked. She pointed at the screen.

“This is Kim’s personal video journal,” she said. “It’s where she recorded all her personal stuff.”

“So?”

“Look at the number.”

“Reality project cam . . . number . . .” Eve drew in a sharp breath. “Oh, holy crap.”

“There are seventy-one other cameras out there in Morganville,” Claire said. “Somewhere.”

“And at least one of them’s in our house,” Shane finished.

There was no sign on the Mac in Kim’s apartment as to where the video was streaming to. . . . She’d need more computing power than a laptop to run seventy-one other cameras, especially if she was saving terabytes of data. “She’d need a server array,” Claire concluded, after doing the math. “Or off-line storage dumps. Maybe she only records during certain hours, then dumps everything to DVD-ROM or something.”

“What about the university?” Eve asked. “Plenty of servers there, right?”