“Us meaning me, Shane, and Claire,” Eve said flatly. “Are you? Or are you going to tell Amelie and Oliver what Kim’s doing and make this an all-out witch hunt?”

He didn’t answer for a few seconds. Shane got up off the bed, which groaned as the old springs adjusted. “Michael?”

“Don’t do this,” Michael said, straight to Eve. “It’s not a choice. I don’t have a choice.”

“You always have one, you know that. You had one when you let Amelie turn you, and you’ve got one now. Sam didn’t run with the crowd. You don’t have to, either. You can—do good things.”

“Not everything vampires do is bad.”

Shane slapped his hand on the wall, a sharp gunshot of impact, and they all jumped and looked at him. “Are you going to help us stop this, or are you going to run off and snitch?” he asked. “It’s a simple question, man.”

“It’s not about you three. This is about Kim trying to destroy all of us, make herself some kind of reality TV diva, and get rich.”

“Maybe,” Shane said. “And maybe it doesn’t have to be. The video’s streaming somewhere. She must still be trying to cut it together. We can still find her and put a stop to it. Nobody else has to know.”

“Why do you want to protect her?” Michael asked. Shane glanced quickly at Claire, just a flash, but she saw the guilt in it. “Old-girlfriend blues?”

“Oh man, you’d better shut up.”

“Eve wants to save her because they were friends; I get that. Claire just wants to save everybody—”

“Not everybody,” she muttered.

“But you, you hold grudges. You’d throw Monica under the bus in a hot second, but you don’t want Kim to get hurt.”

“Seriously,” Shane said. “Shut up. Now.”

“See how it feels?” Michael said softly. “I don’t like people questioning my motives, either. I’m a vampire. I can’t help that. I drink blood. Get the fuck over it and don’t make this about me. You want to save Kim? Fine. But if we don’t find her in the next twenty-four hours, I’ve got to tell someone, and then it’s on.”

“It’s all on,” Eve agreed. There were tears in her eyes, shining like silver, but she blinked them away. “And it’s all over. You bet your life on it, Michael.”

She turned on her heel and walked out, shoving crap out of her way as she went. Claire looked after her, then began unhooking the computer. “Shane,” she said. “Get the camera from the closet in the next room. Maybe we can trace the IP and see where she’s sending the video.”