“Yeah, for you. But for me, trust me, it’s better if I believe you when you say I need to stab my best friend in the back.”
Another moment of silence, and then Richard made a frustrated sound, like a dog growling, and said, “Fine, Shane. But when I tell you this, it means you are exactly the fifth person in Morganville to know it. You, me, Hannah, Amelie, and Oliver. And guess which one we’ll be looking at if it gets out.”
Shane was starting to think it really was Dracula they were talking about. “All right,” he said. “I’ll sign a paper, or whatever you want. But I need to know what you’re talking about, here.”
“Bishop,” Richard said. “I’m talking about Bishop.”
Shane felt his entire body turn cold. The hangover headache disappeared, just like mist. He slid his sunglasses off and stared at Richard, then Hannah. “You’re kidding,” he said. “You didn’t kill him yet? Or at least keep him in prison?” He had to be in prison. Bishop was, hands down, the most terrifying guy that Shane had ever seen in person. He’d never met a serial killer, not a real one, but damn, Bishop was the next-best thing. Shane was willing to bet that Bishop would have intimidated Dahmer, Gacy, and Bundy put together.
And he lived to cause destruction. It was his thing. That, and undoing whatever good things his daughter, Amelie, had managed to accomplish.
Not somebody you wanted to have roaming around loose on the streets of Morganville.
Jesus, Shane thought. I walked home last night, bleeding and drunk. Michael wasn’t kidding about the death wish.
“Bishop was in prison,” Richard confirmed. “Amelie had him walled up in a cell. And now he’s out. He killed four guards along the way.”
“You’ve got to be—wait, you think Michael is hiding him? Why the hell would he do that?”
“I’ll be honest with you—we don’t know that Michael is involved. But there are only a few people in Morganville that Bishop could potentially use, and Michael’s one of them—he was under Bishop’s influence before. If so, your friend is in deep, deep trouble,” said Hannah. “If you can find out where Bishop is hiding, we can take care of this quickly and quietly. Michael never has to be involved. But if you can’t, we’ll still find Bishop, and we’ll bring Michael in as an accessory. Amelie’s already said that this time she won’t be so merciful—not to Bishop or to any vampire who gives him help. This could save his life, Shane. Help us.”
Shane stood up and walked away, arms folded. He was aching inside now, angry at them for putting him in this position, angry at Michael for . . . for whatever. If you weren’t a bloodsucking leech, this would never have happened. Not that Michael had asked for it, in the beginning, anyway. He’d been a casualty of war, even at the start.
Even if Michael forgave him for this, Eve never would; Shane just knew that. When it came to Michael, Eve held a grudge like nobody he’d ever seen. And how the hell was he going to explain any of this to Claire? He couldn’t tell her about Bishop. No way.
Save his life.
Shane put his sunglasses back on, turned around, and said, “What do you want me to do?”
? ? ?
Following a vampire around was not as easy as it sounded. For one thing, Michael had wheels—a Morganville-issued sedan, with blacked-out windows. The transportation Shane could get was all too obvious—Eve’s big black boat of a car, with tail fins, or the murdered-out black Charger he was making payments on with Rad, down at the repair shop. But there was a way to do it.
Rad had motorcycles. Lots of them. Most of them were way too flashy—chrome, bright paint, all that stuff. No good for staying anonymous.
“How about this one?” Shane asked, pointing to a dark blue Honda. “That’d probably do.”
“Pretty drab,” Rad—Radovic—said. “I could maybe put some paint on it if you want.” Rad didn’t feel that any of his rides were worth much unless they were memorable, which was kind of funny; he didn’t have to work to make people remember him. Rad was a big, tough guy, all muscles. He was one of the few Shane would back off from in a fight, because when Rad swung a punch, it broke things. “How long you need it for?”
“I don’t know,” Shane said. “Hopefully just tonight.”
“Twenty-five dollars a day,” Rad said. “Friends’ rate. I won’t ask you if you have a motorcycle license. You don’t, that’s your problem.”
Shane didn’t think Hannah was going to quibble about some paperwork, not right now. He nodded. “I need a helmet. Something that covers my face.”
Rad nodded. “No problem. You want maybe night vision?”
“What?”
“My own invention,” Rad said proudly. “Night vision built into helmet. Very handy for Morganville. You want?”
“How much?”
“Oh, another twenty-five dollars a night for the helmet.”
“You’re killing me.”