Behind her, Shane said quietly, “The reason I think this is a vampire’s room? You can’t get out of it unless you know the secret. That’s real convenient, if you like to bring victims up here for a little munch session.”

She whirled around, expecting to see him standing there with that huge knife he’d used on the onions, and she’d broken the first rule of horror movies, hadn’t she, or was it the second one? She’d trusted someone she shouldn’t have….

But he was still sitting on the couch, slumped at ease, arms flung over the back on both sides.

Not even looking at her.

“Let me out,” she said. Her heart was hammering.

“In a minute. First, you tell me the truth.”

“I have!” And, to her fury and humiliation, she started to cry. Again. “Dammit! You think I’m trying to hurt you? Hurt Michael? How could I? I’m the one everybody hurts!”

He looked at her then, and she saw the hardness melt away. His voice was a lot gentler when he spoke. “And if I was somebody who wanted to kill Michael, I’d put somebody like you in to do it. Be real easy for you to kill somebody, Claire. Poison some food, slip a knife in his back…and I have to look out for Michael.”

“I thought he looked out for you.” She swiped angrily at her eyes. “Why do you think somebody wants to kill him?”

Shane raised his eyebrows. “Always somebody wanting to kill a vampire.”

“But—he’s not. Eve said—”

“Yeah, I know he’s not a vampire, but he doesn’t get up during the day, he doesn’t go out of the house, and I can’t get him to tell me what happened, so he might as well be. And somebody’s going to think so, sooner or later. Most people in Morganville are either Protected or clueless—kind of like you can raise rabbits for either pets or meat. But some of them fight back.”

She blinked the last of the brief storm of tears away. “Like you?”

He cocked his head to one side. “Maybe. How about you? You a fighter, Claire?”

“I’m not working for anybody. And I wouldn’t kill Michael even if he was a vampire.”

Shane laughed. “Why not? Besides the fact that he’d snap you in two like a twig if he was.”

“Because—because—” She couldn’t put it into words, exactly. “Because I like him.”

Shane watched her for another few, long seconds, and then pressed a raised spot on the head of the lion-carving armrest of the couch.

The door clicked and popped open half an inch.

“Good enough for me,” he said. “So. Dessert?”

7

She couldn’t sleep.