Oliver reached over and pulled a hidden cord, and the burgundy velvet curtain behind him opened.

There was a body lying on the marble slab, surrounded by rich red roses, bunches of them in floor vases. The corpse looked blue white, rubbery, and utterly, horribly dead. Claire felt a cloud creep over her, heard a buzzing in her ears, and nearly collapsed, but somehow she managed not to faint.

“Oh my God,’” Eve whispered, and brought both hands to her mouth.

“It’s Brandon,’” Claire said, and looked at Oliver. “It’s Brandon, right?’” Because that cold, white face didn’t look human anymore, and she couldn’t match it up to the living person—vampire—she’d feared. The one who’d threatened her, chased her home, nearly killed her and Eve…

Oliver nodded. He pulled back the velvet covering Brandon from the neck down, revealing black open wounds. Some of them still smoked. Claire caught the smell of cooking meat, and this time, her knees buckled. Detective Hess caught her arm and steadied her.

“He was tortured,’” Oliver said. He sounded neutral—disinterested, even. “It took a long time. Someone very much enjoyed this. Almost as if there was a…personal agenda at work.’”

Mayor Morrell motioned his son forward. Richard wasn’t nearly the psycho his sister was. In fact, Claire kind of liked him, as much as she could like anybody from his family who worked for vampires. He seemed almost fair.

Richard examined the wounds in Brandon’s body. He actually touched them, which made Claire throw up in her head, if not actually through her mouth. “Looks like some kind of weapon straight to the heart. Probably a stake,’” Richard said, and looked up at his father. “Whoever did this was serious. This wasn’t just random; this was done slowly. I don’t know what they wanted out of him, but whatever it was, they probably got it. I can see shadows of wounds that closed over before he died. That’s hours, at least.’”

Silence. Deep, dark silence. Richard straightened up and glanced at Claire and Eve. If he recognized them, he gave no sign. “These two girls have something to do with it?’”

“Perhaps,’” Oliver said. Claire didn’t see him move, but all of a sudden he was right in front of her, looking down. “Perhaps they know something. You didn’t like Brandon very much, did you, Claire?’”

“I—’” She didn’t know what to say. Don’t lie, Hess had said. Did the vamps have some kind of lie detector power? Maybe even mind-reading? “No, I didn’t like him. But I wouldn’t want to see this happen to anybody.’” Not even you. She said that to herself, though.

He had such kind eyes. That was the horrible thing about him, this warm feeling that she could trust him, should trust him, that somehow she was letting him down by not…

“Don’t,’” Eve said sharply, and pinched her arm. Claire yelped and looked at her. “Don’t look him in the eye.’”

“Eve,’” Oliver sighed. “I’m very disappointed in you. Don’t you understand that it’s my responsibility, as Brandon’s Patron, to get to the bottom of this? To find the ones responsible? You’re not the innocent Claire may be; you know the penalties for killing one of us. And you know the lengths to which we’ll go to find out the truth. If I can get it from her without pain, don’t you want me to do that?’”

Eve didn’t answer. She kept her eyes focused somewhere around the middle of his chest. “I think you’ll do whatever you want,’” she said grimly. “Just like vamps always do. You didn’t ask me, but I’m glad Brandon’s dead. And I’m glad he suffered, too. However much it was, it wasn’t enough.’”

That was when Nice Oliver vanished. Just…gone. Claire saw a flicker of movement, nothing more, and then he had hold of Eve’s black-dyed hair and he was yanking her head back at a painful angle.

And there was nothing human in his eyes. Unless pure, flaming rage was human.

“Oh,’” he breathed into Eve’s ear. “Thank you for saying that. Now I don’t have to be so careful anymore.’”

Detective Hess stepped forward, fists clenched; Richard Morrell got in his way. “Easy, Joe,’” he said. “It’s under control.’”

Didn’t look that way to Claire. She was breathing too fast, feeling faint again, and she could see Eve’s knees buckling. The menace in the room—the body on the table—it was all just…terrifying.

Shane’s dad did that. Claire felt sick and even more terrified once she had the thought, because now somehow she had to keep it to herself.

And she knew they were going to ask.

Oliver sniffed at Eve’s exposed neck. “You’ve been working at a coffee shop,’” he said. “On campus, I suppose. Funny. I wasn’t asked for any references.’”

“Let go,’” Eve said faintly.

“Oh, I can’t do that. It makes it harder to hurt you.’” Oliver smiled, then opened his mouth, and his fangs—snake fangs, deadly sharp—snapped down into place. They weren’t like teeth, really; they were more like polished bone, and they looked strong.

He licked Eve’s neck, right over the pulse.

“Oh God,’” she whispered. “Please don’t do that. Please don’t let him do that.’”

“Ask the girl a question, Oliver. We don’t have time for your hobbies.’” Mayor Morrell said it in a bored tone, like all of this was keeping him from something more important. He inspected his manicure and buffed his fingernails against his suit jacket. “Let’s move this train down the track.’”

Amelie wasn’t saying or doing anything.

“I’m Protected,’” Eve said. “You can’t hurt me.’” She didn’t sound very confident, though, and Claire looked at Amelie, sitting in the front row of chairs, studying the scene closely, as if it was all some show put on for her benefit. Her expression was polite, but cool.

Please help, Claire thought. Amelie’s pale gold eyebrow raised just slightly. Can you hear me?

If she could, Amelie gave no other sign. She simply sat, calm as Buddha.

“Let’s just say that Amelie and I have an understanding in matters such as this,’” Oliver said. “And Eve, love, that understanding is that I can use any methods to pursue humans who break the peace. Regardless of Protection. Regardless of who that Protection is from. Now, I think we should have a little talk about your home invaders.’”

“Our…what?’” Eve was struggling not to meet his eyes, but he was so close, it was almost impossible to avoid him. “I don’t know who they were.’”

“You don’t. You’ve very sure about that,’” he said. His voice had dropped to a low, lethal whisper, and Claire tried to think of something to say, something to do, that would help Eve. Because clearly, Eve wasn’t going to help herself, and she couldn’t just stand by and see her—hurt. She couldn’t.

“I know,’” she said, and she felt everyone shift their collective attention onto her. Scary. Claire cleared her throat. “They were bikers.’”

“Bikers.’” Oliver let go of Eve’s hair and turned toward Claire. “I see. You’re attempting to distract me with the obvious, and, Claire, that is not a good idea. Not a good idea at all. We know all that, you see. We know when they came to town. We even know who called them.’”

Claire felt all the blood drain from her head. Her stomach flipped over, and kept flipping, and Oliver walked away from Eve and yanked another cord.

Another curtain slid aside, next to Brandon’s body.

Two men, on their knees, bound and gagged and held in place by really scary-looking vampires. One of the prisoners was a biker.

Shane was the other.

Claire screamed.

In the end, they sat her down in a chair and had Gretchen hold her down with those strong, iron-hard hands pressing on her shoulders. Claire continued to struggle, but fear and shock were winning out over anger. And Shane wasn’t moving. He was watching her, but he couldn’t say anything around the gag, and if Shane wasn’t struggling, maybe there wasn’t anything to be gained from it.