She nodded, gulping. Eve came hurrying out of the back, leather coat flapping around her ankles. Her smile died at the sight of Claire’s face. “What happened?”

“Brandon came in,” Oliver said. “Trolling. Claire happened to run into him.”

“Oh,” Eve said in a small voice. “Are you okay?”

“She’s fine. I spotted him before any permanent damage was done. Take her home, Eve. And keep a sharp eye out for that one; he doesn’t take being ordered off very well.”

Eve nodded and helped Claire to her feet, picked up the backpack, and got her outside. The big black Caddy was parked at the curb, and Eve unlocked it and thoroughly checked it over, backseat and trunk, before putting Claire inside of it. When Claire was fastening the seat belt, she noticed two things: first, Oliver was standing in the doorway of Common Grounds, watching them.

Second, Brandon was standing at the corner, in the very edge of the glow of the streetlamp. And he was watching them, too.

Eve saw, too. “Son of a bitch,” she said furiously, and shot him the finger. Which might not have been too smart, but it made Claire feel better. Eve cranked the engine and squealed out of her parking space, driving like she was breaking the record at a NASCAR race, and screeched to a halt in front of the house just a couple of minutes later. “Okay, you go first,” she said. “Run for the door, bang on it while you’re opening it. Go, Claire!”

Claire bailed out breathlessly and slammed the gate back, pounded up the paved walk and up the stairs as she was digging her key out of her pocket. Her hands were shaking, and she missed the keyhole on the first try. She kicked the door and yelled, “Shane! Michael!” as she tried again.

Behind her, she heard the car door slam, and Eve’s shoes clatter on the sidewalk…and stop.

“Now,” said Brandon’s low, cold voice, “let’s not be rude, Eve.”

Claire whirled, and saw Eve standing absolutely still ten steps from the porch, her back to the house. Hot wind whipped her leather coat behind her with a dry snapping sound.

Brandon was facing her, his eyes completely white in the pale starlight.

“Who’s your sweet little friend?” he asked.

“Leave her alone.” Eve’s voice was faint and shaking. “She’s just a kid.”

“You’re all just kids.” He shrugged. “Nobody asks the age of the cow that gave you hamburger.”

Claire, purely terrified now, concentrated, turned back to the door, and rammed the key into the lock…

…just as Shane whipped it open.

“Eve!” she gasped, and Shane pushed her out of the way, jumped down the steps, and got between Eve and Brandon.