Claire pushed away from the desk, her hands clenched so tightly that her fingernails cut into her palms.
The dog. The one on Zahlia’s bed. One of the victim’s dogs had gone missing when they’d been murdered.
It had been Zahlia. She’d killed every one of those poor people.
Claire turned and vomited all over the darkroom floor.
When she quit heaving, Claire snapped off the monitor and put her head down on the desk.
How could Zahlia have killed all those people? The same werewolf who had helped her when no one else would, practiced with her in the woods—how could she be so savage? Oh, God, and she’d threatened Matthew.
After Claire wiped up the mess on the floor, she picked up the phone and dialed Matthew’s cell.
“Hello?” Sleep thickened his voice, but Claire was more focused on the fact that he was still breathing.
She glanced at the little clock on the computer. It wasn’t even eight o’ clock yet. “Oh, crap, I didn’t realize it was so early, Matthew. I’m sorry—I’ll call—I mean, why don’t you just call me later?”
“No, Claire, it’s fine. Really. The reporters start calling my dad at eight, anyway. I can’t sleep with the house phone ringing off the hook like that. I’d much rather wake up to you than to the Daily Herald.”
Claire blushed.
“Hey, do you still want to do something Saturday night?”
“Yeah, that’d be great.”
What I have in mind is probably not what you’re planning, though.
“Cool. Listen, I should get showered before the reporters start breaking down the front door. Is six o’clock okay?”
The idea of Matthew showering made it hard for Claire to focus on her answer.
“Sure. I’ll have Lisbeth bring me over on her way to yoga.”
Claire tried to focus on the thought of seeing Matthew, instead of dwelling on the fact that she’d be lying like hell the entire time.
On Saturday, Claire had Lisbeth drop her off two blocks away from the Engles’, in front of Yolanda Adams’s house. Fortunately, Lisbeth was running late enough that she didn’t wait to see if Claire got into the house before she drove away. Once the car was out of sight, Claire walked over to the Engles’. As she paced up the front walk she noticed the front flowerbeds were dotted here and there with little statues.
Garden gnomes. Exactly like the one on Zahlia’s desk. The rage that filled Claire stopped her, gluing her feet to the cracked concrete path. Zahlia hadn’t just threatened Matthew. She’d been here. Watching. Planning. Claire struggled to control herself, to unclench her jaw. She was already late—if Matthew saw her like this, it could throw off the whole night. She’d deal with Zahlia later. And as long as she and Matthew were together, she’d make damn sure that no out-of-her-mind werewolf came within swiping distance of him.
Claire took a couple of deep breaths and walked up to the door, which had been left ajar. It was six fifteen on the nose when Claire walked into the Engles’ kitchen. At the table, Matthew and his dad sat eating sandwiches and what smelled to Claire like canned soup. Dr. Engle smiled at her with too many teeth and waved to an empty chair.
“Claire, welcome. Please, sit and have a little bite with us.” He was clearly trying to be hospitable, but he still creeped Claire out. “I made enough for three, but Mrs. Engle isn’t feeling well.”
The look on Matthew’s face said that she had interrupted something—Dr. Engle’s expression said he was glad that she had.
Claire slid into the chair. “I’ve already eaten, thanks.” Under the table, she clenched her hands into tight fists. The urge to throttle the egotistical jerk until he admitted he’d been wrong about her mother was almost more than she could bear. The effort of holding herself in check made her bones hurt.
“We can go as soon as I’m done.” Matthew’s voice was acidic. He shoved a large corner of sandwich into his mouth and chewed like he wanted to hurt it.
Claire looked from Matthew to Dr. Engle.
“Ah, actually”—Dr. Engle stirred his soup, focusing on the letter-shaped noodles that floated to the surface—“Channel Six will be here in a few minutes. They’d like a family member to be in the story, and I think it’s a good angle. I was hoping your mother would be able to participate, but that’s obviously not a possibility. It won’t take long—I’ll just need a few minutes from you, and then you and Claire can go. I’m sure Claire won’t mind waiting a bit, will you?” He turned the piranha-smile on her again, and Claire felt her lip curl in response.
I know how to play you.
She turned the curled lip into a simper and tilted her head to one side. “Oh, Dr. Engle, I couldn’t possibly say. Whatever Matthew wants will be just fine with me.” Gag.
He beamed and licked his lips. “See? What a help she is! So, it’s settled. You’ll do the interview.”