“But we didn’t—” Eve bit her lip on blurting that out, because in fact they had. Michael had, for sure. “We didn’t mean anything. We just wanted to get some ice cream, that’s all.”

Hers was starting to leak in thin green streams. Eve, startled, looked down and licked the melted stuff off her fingers.

“Better eat that before it’s all over you,” the cop said, sounding relaxed and almost human this time. “Do I have your permission to search your vehicle, ma’am?”

“I—” Eve’s eyes fixed on Shane, behind the sheriff, who was giving a thumbs-up. “I guess so.”

He seemed surprised; maybe even a little disappointed. “Sit down over there, on the curb. All of you.”

They did. Eve had trouble doing it gracefully in the poofy black skirt she was wearing, but once she was down, she started wolfing down her ice cream. Halfway through, she stopped and pounded her forehead with an open palm. “Ow, ow, ow!”

“Ice cream headache?” Claire asked.

“No, I’m just wondering how the hell we could be so bad at this,” Eve said. “All we were supposed to do was drive to Dallas. It shouldn’t be this hard, right?”

“Oliver made us stop.”

“I know, but if we can’t stay out of trouble on our own—”

“That was an ice cream headache, right? Not an aneurysm?”

“That’s where things explode in your brain? Probably that last thing.” Eve sighed and bit into the cone part of her dessert. “I’m tired. Are you tired?”

Michael wasn’t saying anything. He was staring at the car, and the cop searching it—going through bags, purses, glove box, even under the seats. He finally glanced over at Shane. “What about the weapons?”

Shane’s mouth opened, then closed.

“Uh—”

Right at that moment, the cop opened Claire’s suitcase and pulled out a sharp silver stake. He held it up. “What’s this?”

None of them answered for a few seconds; then Eve said, “It’s for the costumes. See, we’re going to this convention? And I’m playing the vampire, and they’re playing the vampire hunters? It’s really cool.”

That almost sounded real.

“This thing’s sharp.”

“The rubber ones looked really fake. There’s a prize, you know? For authenticity?”

He gave her a long look, then dropped it back into Claire’s bag, rummaged around, then closed it. He left the suitcases and bags outside the car, scattered around, and after checking in the wheel wells and in the spare tire section, he finally shook his head. “All right,” he said. “I’m going to let you all go, but you need to go right now.”

“What?”

“I need to see your taillights disappearing over the town limits. And I’m going to follow to make sure you get there nice and safe.”

Oh crap. “What about Oliver?” Claire whispered.

“Well, we can’t exactly give him as an excuse,” Eve whispered back fiercely. She ate the last bit of ice cream cone and smiled at the cop. “We’re ready, sir! Just let us get loaded up.”

Michael grabbed Shane, and they had an urgent conversation, bent over Eve’s giant suitcase. Eve leaped up, tripped over a random bag, and went down with a yelp that turned into a howl.

The sheriff, proving he wasn’t a total jerk, immediately came to bend over her and see if she was okay.

This gave Michael enough vampire-speed time to retrieve the cooler from the alley, put it back in the car, and be innocently reaching for the next bag before the sheriff helped flailing, clumsy Eve up to her feet.

“Sorry,” Eve said breathlessly, and gave Michael a trembling little smile and wave. “I’m okay. Just bruised a little.”

“That’s it,” Shane said. “No more ice cream for you.”

They finished loading things in the car, and Claire took a last look at the deserted streets, the flickering, distant, dim lights. There was no sign of Oliver; none at all.

“Well?” the sheriff said. “Let’s go.”

“Yes sir.” Eve slid into the driver’s side, closed her eyes for a second, then fumbled for her keys and started the car. Michael took the passenger seat in front, and Claire and Shane climbed in the back.

The sheriff, true to his word, got in his cruiser, parked across the street, and turned on the red and blue flashers; no siren, though.

“Thanks,” Michael said, and sent Eve a quick smile. “Good job with the tripping. It gave me time to get the blood.”

“Wish I’d meant it, then.” She put the car in reverse. “And could we please have another word for blood, outside of Morganville? Something like, oh, I don’t know. Chocolate? Red velvet cake?”

“Why is it always sugar with you?” Shane asked.

“Shut up, Collins. This one was all on you, you know.”

He shrugged and put his arm around Claire’s shoulders. “Yeah, I know. Sorry.”

“What are we going to do?” Claire asked. “About Oliver?”

Nobody had an answer.

The sheriff’s cruiser let loose a shocking little whoop of siren, just to let them know he meant business. Eve swallowed, put the car in reverse, and backed the sedan onto the street. “Guess we’ll figure it out as we go,” she said. “Anybody got his cell number?”

“I do,” Michael and Claire said, simultaneously, and exchanged guilty looks. Michael took out his phone and texted something as Eve drove—staying well under the speed limit, which Claire thought was very smart—and as they passed a sign announcing the town limit, the sheriff’s car coasted to a stop. The lights were still flashing.

“Keep going?” Eve asked. She kept looking in the rearview mirror. “Guys? Decision?”

“Keep going,” Shane said, leaning forward. “We can’t get back as long as he’s watching. If we’re going back at all. Which I don’t vote for, by the way.”

“Better idea,” Michael said, and pointed up ahead, on the left side of the narrow, very dark road. “There’s a motel. We check in, wait for Oliver to join us. We’re going to have to sit the day out somewhere, anyway.”

“There?” Eve sounded appalled, and Claire could see why. It wasn’t exactly the Ritz. It wasn’t even as good as that motel in the movie Psycho. It was a little, straight line of cinder-block rooms with a neon sign, a sagging porch, and one big security light for the parking lot.

And the parking lot was empty.

“You can’t be serious,” Eve said. “Guys. People get eaten in places like this. At the very least, we get locked in a room and terrible, evil things get done to us and put on the Internet. I’ve seen the movies.”

“Eve,” Michael said, “horror movies are not documentaries.”

“And yet, I really think a serial killer owns this place. No. Not going to—”

Michael’s phone buzzed. He flipped it open and read the text. “Oliver says to stop here. He’ll join us in about another hour.”

“You are kidding.”

“Hey, you’re the one who had to have the ice cream. Look what kind of trouble we got ourselves into. At least this way we’re safe in a room with a door that locks. And the sign says they have HBO.”

“That stands for Horrible Bloody Ohmygod,” Eve said. “Which is the way they kill you. When you think you’re safe.”

“Eve! ” Claire was starting to get creeped out, too. Eve put her hands up, briefly, then back down to the wheel.

“Fine,” she said. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you, while we’re all screaming and crying. And I’m sleeping in my clothes. With a stake in both hands.”

“It’s probably not run by vampires.”

“First, you wanna bet?” Eve hit the brakes and put the car in park. “Second, sharp pointy things tend to work on everything else, too. Including cannibals running creepy motels.”

They sat in silence as the engine ticked and cooled, and finally Shane cleared his throat. “Right. So, we’re going in?”

“We could stay in the car.”

“Yeah, that’s safe.”

“At least we can see them coming. And also run.”

Claire sighed and got out of the car, walked into the small office, and hit the bell on the counter. It seemed really, really loud. She heard doors slamming behind her—Shane, Michael, and Eve finally bailing out. The office was actually nicer than the outside of the building, with carpet that was kind of new, comfortable chairs, even a flat-screen TV playing on the wall with the sound turned off. The place smelled like ... warm vanilla.