Fall of Night The Morganville Vampires - By Rachel Caine Page 0,43
in a long white apron coming through the double doors behind the bar, carrying a gigantic tray full of – she assumed – freshly washed bar glasses. And for a second she froze, because everything about that split-second glance, everything, told her she knew him.
It was a flash, nothing more, and the guy carrying the tray was moving fast to deliver the glasses, but she could have sworn, however irrationally, that …
That it was Shane.
But of course it wasn’t. In the next few seconds she stood on tiptoe and tried to get another look, but there were too many people in the way, and besides, Shane was in Morganville. It was a tall guy, broad shoulders, brown hair. There were probably hundreds of thousands of guys fitting that description in Cambridge and Boston. She was missing him so badly that she was projecting his face onto others who just fit some template.
God, she missed him. Suddenly she felt short of breath, flushed, frightened by the intensity of her reaction; she wasn’t even sure what she was feeling, really. Sadness, and longing, and a need that just cut the strength out of her.
The tide carried her right, left, finally back to the centre, and she was within striking distance of the door, finally. She had to wiggle her way between incoming patrons, some of whom were high-fiving their buddies, and finally gained the free air on the other side.
The bouncer looked at her, checked his watch, and said, ‘Had a good time?’
‘Fantastic,’ she said. ‘Thanks.’
He gave her a wolfish grin, and went back to checking IDs.
Claire made sure he wasn’t watching before she turned the corner and headed through the narrow, not very pleasant little walkway between Florey’s and its east-side neighbouring building; it was deserted, but it felt ancient and oppressive, and the bricks looked as if they were probably at least as old as the Civil War, if not older. Cambridge, and Boston, had an impressive amount of history that she was only just starting to appreciate.
She wasn’t so trusting that she just assumed Brian Taylor (of the Boston Taylors) was willing to help her out of the goodness of his heart, so she loitered in the angle at the edge of that narrow walkway and the wider alley, where the back door of Florey’s was, next to a big industrial dumpster that stank even from here of old booze and rotting food. Nobody was there. She waited, and waited, and checked her watch: fifteen minutes, and still no sign of Jesse.
Maybe Brian had blown the whole thing off. Or maybe Jesse just didn’t care.
It was another fifteen minutes, and Claire was preparing to try her luck with the bouncer again, when finally, the back door banged open, and Jesse stepped outside. She stretched, all sinuous curves and long legs and arms, and then pulled out a pack of cigarettes, shook one out, and put it in her mouth as she flicked a portable lighter.
‘That’s a bad habit,’ Claire said, stepping out. Jesse took a deep drag, let out a cloud of smoke, and smiled.
‘I know,’ she said. ‘So. What was so urgent I have to spend my precious break time on it? Please don’t tell me it’s that guy watching your house. I don’t have the time right now.’
‘Dr Anderson got a visit from some government types while I was still there,’ Claire said. ‘She wanted you to know about it.’
‘Huh.’ Jesse frowned and took another long pull on the cigarette, held the smoke, and then let it slowly trickle out in a grey fog. ‘Anything particular they seemed to be looking for? Did they ask what she was working on?’
‘What do you work with her on? Because no offence, a bartender doesn’t seem to be the world’s most likely team-up with a physics professor.’
‘Hey, I have depth,’ Jesse said. ‘We have things in common.’
‘Yeah, I get it, you’re friends, but why would she call you about a visit from the CIA, or whatever they are? She also didn’t specifically ask for you. She told me to call Dr Florey. Which means you, or Pete. Right?’
Jesse took her time answering. She took one last drag and stubbed out the cigarette on the brick and finally said, ‘It means one of us, yeah. Look, this is really none of your business, Claire, you get that, right? So why are you in it?’
‘Because I work with Dr Anderson, and if there’s one thing I’ve learnt about working for scary scientists,