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He turned it to twine their fingers together. "You're all right?"
"Yeah," she said. "Jason ran away, after." Walked, really, but she wasn't going to say that. "Eve's okay, too. She was here while you were in surgery, she just went home to change clothes. She'll be back."
"Yeah, I guess the diva dress might have been a little much around here." He opened his eyes and looked at her directly. "Claire. Really. You're okay?"
"I'm fine," she said. "Except that I'm scared for you."
"I'm okay."
"Except for the bullet wound and all the internal bleeding? Yeah, sure, tough guy." She heard her voice quiver, and knew she was about to cry. She didn't want to. He wanted to laugh it off, wanted to be tough, and she ought to let him, right?
He tried to shrug, but it must have hurt, from the spasm that went across his face. One of the machines near Claire beeped, and he let out a slow sigh. "That's better. Man, they give you the good stuff in ICU. Remind me to always get seriously wounded from now on. That minor injury stuff isn't as much fun."
It was wearing him out to talk. Claire got up and leaned over to stroke her fingertips lightly over his lips. "Shhhh," she said. "Rest, okay? Save it for somebody who isn't me. It's okay to be scared. It's okay to be hurt, Shane. With me, it's okay."
For a second his eyes glittered with tears, and then the tears spilled over, threading wet trails into his hair. "Damn," he whispered. "Sorry. I just -- I felt it all going away, I felt you going away, I tried -- I thought he was going to hurt you and there was nothing I could do about it -- "
"I know." She leaned forward and kissed him very lightly, careful of the bruises. "I know."
He cried a little, and she stayed right where she was, his shield against the world, until it was over. Finally, he fell into a light sleep, and she felt a tap on her shoulder. The nurse motioned for her to step out, and Claire carefully pulled her hand free of Shane's and followed.
"Sorry," Helen said. "I'd like for him to sleep a while before we start with the poking and prodding. You can come back this afternoon, all right?"
"Sure. What time?"
Four o'clock. That left her the entire day to kill, and not the slightest idea what she ought to be doing with it. She didn't have to see Myrnin; Amelie hadn't given her any other instructions to follow. It was Saturday, so she wasn't cutting any classes, and she didn't want to go back to the Glass House and just ... worry.
Claire was still trying to decide what to do when she spotted a familiar, well-groomed figure standing outside of the hospital doors.
What was Jennifer, one of Monica's regular clique, doing hanging around here?
Waiting for Claire, apparently, because she hurried to catch up as Claire strode by, heading for the taxi stand. "Hey," she said, and tucked her glossy hair behind her ear. "So. How's Shane doing?"
"Like you care," Claire said.
"Well, yeah. I don't. But Monica wants to know."
"He's alive." That was no more than Monica could learn without her help, so it didn't really matter, and Claire didn't like having Jennifer this close. Monica was creepy, but at least she was Alpha Creepy. There was something pathetic and extra-weird about her two groupies.
Jennifer kept pace with her. Claire stopped and turned to face her. They were halfway down the sidewalk, in the full glare of early-fall sunlight, which at least meant it wasn't too likely some vampire would be sneaking up on her while Jennifer kept her distracted. "Look," Claire said. "I don't want anything to do with you, or Monica, okay? I don't want to be friends. I don't want you sucking up to me just because I'm -- somebody, or something."
Jennifer didn't look like she wanted to be sucking up, either. She looked as bitter and resentful as a glossy, entitled rich girl could look, in fact -- which was a lot. "Dream on, loser. I don't care who your Patron is, you're never going to be anything more than jumped-up trailer trash with delusions. Friends? I wouldn't be friends with you if you were the last person breathing in this town."
"Unless Monica said so," Claire said spitefully. "Fine, you don't want to exchange friendship rings. So why are you bothering me?"
Jennifer glared at her for a few seconds, stubborn and angry, and then looked away. "You're smart, right? Like, freak-smart?"
"What does that have to do with anything?"
"You placed out of the two classes we were in together. You must have aced the tests."
Claire nearly laughed out loud. "You want tutoring?"
"No, idiot. I want test answers. Look, I can't bring home anything under a C, that's the rule, or my Patron cuts off my college. And I want my full four years, even if I never do anything with it in this lame-ass town." A muscle fluttered in Jennifer's jawline. "I don't get this economics crap. It's all math, Adam Smith, blah blah blah. What am I ever going to use it for, anyway?"
She was asking for help. Not in so many words, maybe, but that was what it was, and Claire was off balance for a few heartbeats. First Monica, now Jennifer? What next, a cookie bouquet from Oliver?
"I can't give you test answers," she said. "I wouldn't even if I could." Claire took in a deep breath. "Look, I'm going to regret this, but if you really want help, I'll go over the notes with you. Once. And you pay me, too. Fifty dollars." Which was wildly out of line, but she didn't really care if Jennifer said no.
Which Jennifer clearly thought about, hard, before giving her a single, abrupt nod.
"Common Grounds," she said. "Tomorrow, two o'clock." Which was pretty much the safest time to be out and about, providing they didn't stay too long. Claire wasn't wild about visiting Oliver's shop again, but she didn't suppose there were too many places in town that Jennifer would agree to go. Besides, it wasn't far from Claire's house.
"Two o'clock," Claire echoed, and wondered if they were supposed to shake hands or something. Not, obviously, because Jennifer flipped her hair and walked away, clearly glad to have it over with. She jumped into a black convertible and pulled away from the curb with a screech of tires.
Leaving Claire to contemplate the afternoon sunlight and the odds of walking home through a Morganville where Jason was still on the loose.
She took out her cell phone and called the town's lone taxi driver, who told her he was off duty, and hung up on her.
So she called Travis Lowe.
Detective Lowe wasn't real happy to be the Claire Taxi Service. She could tell because he wasn't his usual self, not at all -- he'd always been kind to her, and a little bit funny, but there wasn't any of that in the way he pulled his blue Ford to the curb and snapped, "Get in." She climbed in, and he was accelerating away even before she got strapped in. "You do know I've got a real job, right?"
