“That’s your first name?” Shane asked. “Officer?”
“It is as far as you’re concerned.” The woman hadn’t taken her hand off the butt of her gun, and as she shifted position, Claire’s eyes were drawn to the flash of gold on her collar: the Daylight Foundation pin. “We’ve had a report that you keep illegal weapons in your home. We’d like your permission to conduct a search of the premises.”
“I thought that they issued warrants for things like that,”
Shane said, and ran the oiled cloth he held over the shotgun as if he didn’t have a care in the world— and as if he didn’t, in fact, have things inside the house that would get him arrested. “I mean, they did when the bloodsuckers ran things around here.
I’d think we’d have a little more due process with humans in charge, right?”
“Are you saying you won’t let us inside?” Officer Halling said.
Her eyes were a peculiarly cold shade of storm blue, and although there was nothing to show it in her body language Claire had a premonition that she was really, really angry. There was no way to guess why. Maybe she was just an angry person, generally.
“That’s what I’m saying,” Shane said. “Michael Glass owns this house, and since he’s been put in your fancy new enclave, I guess I have to do what I think he’d want, which is say no. Claire?”
She nodded. “Come back with a warrant,” she said. “That’s not too much to ask, is it?”
“No,” Halling said. “It’s not. We’ll be back soon.”
“Well, you know where to find us,” Shane said, with a wildly sweet smile, as he put the shotgun casually on his shoulder. “Laters.”
“Sorry about the trouble,” Kentworth said, and Claire got the sense he was embarrassed by his partner’s antagonistic edge. “You two . . . I know it sounds like a cliché, but please don’t leave town.”
“Why would we? We’re Morganville residents. We live here,”
Claire said.
Halling made a noise in the back of her throat that wasn’t quite a growl, and led the way back to the police cruiser. Shane sat in the rocker, looking for all the world as if he might fall asleep, he was so relaxed— at least until the cruiser turned the far corner.
Then he came up out of the rocker like someone had set it on fire. “You got the extinguishers?” he asked, setting the shotgun aside.
“In the car. What was all that about?”
“I have no idea, but I’m getting the strong idea that we’re just not wanted around here anymore, Claire. And I don’t know why, because we’re just so charming. ”
“Well, you are,” she said, and kissed him lightly. “Come on, help me get it all inside.”
He carried an armload of the extinguishers, while she snagged the last couple and the box. They dumped the lot in the front par- lor, raising a faint cloud of dust from the old cushions of the couch, and Claire waved it away, coughing.
“What—” Shane’s attention was riveted on the box she’d put down, and before she could even begin to answer, he was ripping into it, looking as thrilled as if it was magically Christmas. “Do you know what these are? Do you?”
“Some kind of weird grenades,” she said. “Don’t get too ex- cited. I don’t think they explode or anything.”
“These are excellent. You arm them and throw them into the fire. If it isn’t too big, it’ll explode into a powder that puts the fire right out.” He grabbed her and kissed her. “You brought me grenades. You are officially the best girlfriend ever.”
“I’m the most worried girlfriend ever,” she said. “Because this is getting a little too crazy. The cops? Really? And you decided to clean the shotgun to, what, intimidate them?”
“C’mon, this is rural Texas. Shotguns are as normal as garden gnomes. Besides, that gun oil really stinks up the house.”
“So do your shoes, but I don’t see you leaving them outside.”
“Did Eve text you that joke? Because it sounded like her.”
“She’s been tutoring me,” Claire said, and stood back from him a little, because being so close to him made it harder to be logical.
He had that effect on her. “Do we need to put anything in the pan- try room?” The pantry room was a hidden room just off the kitchen, behind shelves of ancient canned goods. It was basically just a dirt room, windowless, that had almost certainly been used for visiting vampires from time to time, or for even less savory things, but it was safe enough for storage.
“Now that you mention it, I have a bag full of stuff that might do well in there,” he agreed. “You know, my sparkly unicorn col- lection. They’d probably jail me on general principles for that.”