“Oh, now, you stop that,” Mrs. Hodgson said. “You’re far too young to drink, you scamp.”
This wasn’t a situation where any of them were inclined to be smiling, but Shane did, a little, and shook his head. He mouthed the word scamp to Claire, his eyebrows raised.
She raised hers back.
“Just some water might be nice,” Hannah said. “Thank you kindly.”
She led Claire over to a padded chair nearby and pressed her into it; Eve got seated next to her. The deputy kept Shane standing.
The anteroom was pretty plain, dominated mostly by the desk manned by Mrs. Hodgson, but there were some photos on the walls— Claire squinted against the glare from the skylight and made out the shapes of several people in one of the pictures, standing in front of this very building— but in the early stages of renovation, it looked like. She could make out that one was Hannah, and one was the new Morganville mayor, Flora Ramos. Apart from that, the others were a mystery— except that she noticed a pattern, and a recurring face. A short man, slight build, nothing really remarkable about his features.
Doreen Hodgson came back bearing water bottles, and follow- ing behind her was the same man, in the flesh.
He wasn’t very imposing in real life, either— shorter than Shane by at least four inches. He wore a plain black suit and a white shirt; the only spots of color on him were his very blue eyes— almost the same startling shade as Michael’s— and a red silk tie and pocket square. His face had a vaguely Eastern European shape to it, but that was really all that Claire could tell about him.
That, and the fact that his Daylight Foundation pin gleamed like real gold.
He nodded to Hannah and said, “You can let them go now. I’m sure that we’re all going to be civilized. Besides, they can hardly drink their water if their hands are tied. It’s important to start this conversation with trust.”
Hannah nodded to her deputy, and as he unfastened Shane’s handcuffs, she pulled out a utility knife and sliced through the zip- tie cuffs on Claire’s wrists, and then Eve’s. Doreen hurried to put bottles of water into their newly freed hands— cold, sweating bottles that reminded Claire how long it had been since she’d had anything to drink.
“Thanks,” she said, and put the bottle down on the chair where she’d been sitting. “Not thirsty.” It was a lie, but she didn’t know enough yet to trust anything about this situation— not even a sealed water bottle.
The man’s pale eyebrows raised just a touch. “It’s a name brand,” he said. “I can promise you that it hasn’t been tampered with.” He extended his hand toward her. “I’m Rhys Fallon. And you must be Claire Danvers.”
“Are you in charge here?” Claire asked him, without shaking the hand he was holding out. He lowered it to his side, not visibly offended.
“I suppose you could say that,” he said. “Although I like to think that it’s more a collaboration, not a dictatorship.”
“If you’re in charge, you can take us to our friends, right now,”
she said.
“Your friends . . . ?”
“Michael,” Eve said. “Oliver, Myrnin, Jesse. You know. The ones you had shot and carried off.”
“Ah.” Rhys clasped his hands behind his back and, for the first time, studied Eve. He spent a strangely long time at it, and there was something about his body language that altered, just a little.
“Eve Rosser, is it not?”
“Eve Glass,” she said, and raised her chin to make the point more forcefully. He didn’t seem to notice.
“I’m delighted to meet someone who is so . . . legendary in Mor- ganville. The descriptions I’ve heard don’t do you justice.” He smiled at her, and that was a little too much wattage to direct at a married woman— an angry married woman at that. “Well, I am very sorry, and I wish I could grant your request, but it isn’t possible just now. Michael and your other friends are being well looked after, and after they’re completely recovered, they’ll be placed into protective custody. You’ll be able to visit later, perhaps.”
“I want to see my husband, and there’s no later and there’s no perhaps. I want to see him right the hell now. I don’t care who you think you are, you can’t—”
“Yes, I can,” he said, and Claire was struck by the fact that he stated it without emphasis. It wasn’t a bluff; it wasn’t a boast. It was just . . . fact. It even had a tinge of regret to it. “I’m sorry, Miss Rosser—”
“Mrs. Glass!” Eve’s face was flushed now, and her fists clenched.
“— but you must accept that things are different here than when you left town. I believe for the better, but you may not agree quite yet. I hope you will, in the end. I sincerely do.” He cleared his throat and glanced away for the first time, at Hannah Moses. “We’ll have to discuss the . . . legitimacy of your marriage at a later time.”
“What?” Eve almost went for his throat, right there, but Hannah restrained her with a cautionary hand on her shoulder. “What are you talking about? We were married! In the church!”
“As I said, a conversation for a later time, perhaps. I am sorry to upset you.”
He might have been sorry, but he had definitely upset her, big- time. Eve’s cheeks had gone from flushed to pale now, and she looked shaky. She hadn’t expected that, at all . . . not that.