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When he was a ghost. "You thought I was -- ?"
"I thought maybe something happened," he said. "I called your cell number, the new one."
She'd left it in her backpack. Claire reached down and unzipped the pocket, then checked the phone. Three calls, all from Shane. With voicemails. "Sorry," she said. "I didn't hear it. Guess I need to turn the ringer up."
He looked at her very steadily, and she felt the cold spot in the center of her, the place that had chilled while she'd been with Myrnin, slowly warm. "You worry me," he said, and put his hand on her cheek. "You know that, right?"
She nodded, and hugged him. Unlike Myrnin, he was warm and solid and his body just molded right into hers, perfect and sweet. When he kissed her she tasted beer and chili, but only for a second. After that, it was pure Shane, and she forgot all about Myrnin, and any kind of physics except friction. Shane backed up her against the stove. She felt the low heat of the burner at her back, but she was too preoccupied to worry much about bursting into flames from outside sources. Shane just had that effect on her.
"I missed you," he whispered, brushing her damp lips with his. "Want to go upstairs?"
"What about my chili?"
"Get it to go."
There were good things about the way she felt tonight, she decided; her nerves might be raw, but that only made his touch all the sweeter. She would have felt awkward, usually, and uncertain, and scared, but it seemed like the afternoon that had started with Jason and ended with Myrnin's snarl had burned all that out of her.
"Not hungry," she said breathlessly. "Come on."
She felt as wild and free as a little kid, running up the steps with Shane in hot pursuit, and when he grabbed her around the waist and spun her around into his room and kicked the door shut, she squealed in delight. And wiggled to fit herself against his warm, hard body as she kissed him again, breathless and flying.
He kissed like their lives depended on it. Like it was an Olympic event and he intended to earn a medal. Somewhere in the back of her head she was chattering to herself, warning that this was going to go too far, that she was just making things worse for both of them, but she couldn't help it. Before long they were stretched out together on Shane's bed, and his big, warm hands were teasing under the hem of her shirt, stroking the fluttering skin of her stomach and stealing her breath. She lost it all when he spread his fingers out, pressing his palm flat against her, and she felt an almost irresistible impulse to feel those hands all over. Everywhere. Her heart was hammering hard enough to make her dizzy, and it was all just so ...
Perfect.
She reached down and pulled up her shirt. Slowly, feeling the cool air slip over tender skin.
Up, to the bottom line of her bra. Then up.
Shane stopped.
"I want to," she whispered against his mouth. "Please, Shane. I want to." She sat up and reached for the clasp on her bra, and unhooked it. "Please."
He pulled back from her and sat up, head down. When he looked up he licked his lips, and his eyes were wide and dark and she could fall into them, fall forever.
"I know," he said. "Me too. But I made promises, and I'm going to keep them. Especially the one to your parents, because your dad said he'd hunt me down like a dog." Shane gave her a wild, bitter smile. "Sucks to be me."
"But -- " She felt her bra slipping, and quickly grabbed to hold it in place. She felt ridiculous now, and wounded.
He sighed. "Don't, Claire. It's not like I'm a saint or anything, I'm not, and trust me, for you, a saint would buy a condom and go to confession. But it's not about that. It's about keeping my word, and around here, my word is all I've got."
She wanted him with a red fury that was all out of character for her, but somehow, the way he said it, the way he looked her straight in the eyes, she felt all that fall away and the fury turn into something pure, hot and silver.
"Besides," Shane said, "I'm all out of condoms, and I hate confession."
He put his arms around her and hooked her bra with an ease that showed he had plenty of practice.
She threw a pillow at him.
Somebody was rummaging around outside the house.
Claire woke up with a start, instantly tense, as she heard the distant rattle of metal. She rolled out of bed and peeked out of the blinds. Her bedroom window looked out on the back, a glorious corner vantage point, and she had a clear view of the fence, and the trash cans on the other side.
Somebody was definitely out there, a black shape in the moonlight. Claire could see him moving around, but couldn't tell what he was doing. She reached for her cell phone and dialed 911, and told the operator she needed either Joe Hess or Travis Lowe. Detective Lowe picked up the call, sounding wide awake even at three in the morning, and Claire described what she was seeing in a whisper, as if whoever was across the yard might hear her.
"It's probably Jason," she said. She heard the scratch of pen on paper on the other end of the phone.
"Why Jason? Can you see his face?"
"No," she admitted, "but Jason told me -- he practically admitted it. About the dead girl. I think it's Jason, honest."
"Did he threaten you, Claire?"
The cut on her wrist was still throbbing. "I guess you could say so," she said. "I was going to tell you about it, but I --I had things to do."
"More important that keeping us in the loop? Never mind. What happened?"
"Shouldn't I tell you when you get here?"
"Patrol car's already en route. Where did you see him today?"
"At the university," she said, and told the story. He didn't interrupt her, just let her talk, and she could hear him continuing to take notes.
When she paused for breath, Lowe said, "You know that was stupid, right? Look, next time you see him, you start screaming bloody murder. And put me and Hess on speed dial. Jason's nobody to play around with."
"But -- we were in public. He wouldn't have -- "
"Ask Eve about why he ended up in jail in the first place, Claire. Next time, don't hesitate. This isn't about you being strong, this about you living through the day, all right? Trust me."
She swallowed hard. "I do."
"Is he still there?"
"I don't know. I can't see him. He might've gone."
"The patrol car ought to be there in just a couple of seconds, they're doing a silent approach. You see them yet?"
"No, but my room faces the alley." Something moved in the yard, and she felt a lurch of pure adrenaline. "I think -- I think he's in the yard now. Coming to the house. To the back."
