Kiss of Death Page 0,57

and flung it over him as additional protection. Michael fought to get free, but as Claire flailed and struggled to sit up, Oliver dragged her friend all the way to the police car, shoved him in the back door, and slammed it, hard, penning Michael inside.

The handles didn't work, of course. Michael landed half on top of her, heavy and smelling like burning hair, but he quickly rolled up and tried to smash out the window glass--which, Claire realized with a shock, was painted over black--spray painted. Only the driver's side part of the front window was left unaltered. Oliver got in the front, turned, and drove a fist through the metal grating that separated the back of the squad car from the front. He peeled back the metal, grabbed Michael's arm, and said, "You can't help them by dying. You tried. We'll try again. This isn't over."

"Eve's still in there! I can't leave her there!" Michael yelled, and yanked free. Oliver, with a weary, impatient sigh, grabbed him by the neck this time, and pinned him back against the stained vinyl seat. "Listen to me," he said, and peeled back more of the grate so their eyes could meet, and hold. "Michael, I swear to you that we will not abandon your friends. But you must stop this nonsense. It's doing nothing to help them, and everything to destroy your usefulness to me and everyone you love. Do you understand?" Michael was still tense, ready to fight, but Oliver held him there, staring him down, until Michael finally let go of Oliver's arm and held up both hands in surrender. His whole body slumped. Defeated. Still, Oliver didn't let go. "Drive," he told the man behind the wheel. "Follow the bus. Morley's already back on board. He'll keep driving, but we should hang back out of sight."

"I can't follow it if I can't see it!" the driver protested, and Claire knew that voice, but it didn't sound like the sheriff from Durram, or even his deputy. It sounded ... No way. Claire leaned forward and peered through her half of the grate, which was still in place. "Jason?" Jason Rosser? Eve's brother? "What the hell are you doing here?"

"Oliver needed some support that wouldn't combust," Jason said. "Besides, that's my sister in there, right?" Eve. Eve was still in the bus--that was why Michael was fighting so hard. Claire felt strangely behind the curve right now; maybe she'd banged her head harder than she'd thought. It ached on the right side. She was starting to feel a whole lot of aches, as the adrenaline started to recede a little. Shane. Shane was still on the bus, too. Why was he still on the bus? "Jason. Use this to track them," Oliver said, and pulled something out of the glove compartment of the cruiser. It looked like a GPS navigation device. "It's been keyed to follow the bus."

"You bugged the bus?"

"I bugged your sister. I slipped a cell phone into her pocket during the confusion. Hopefully she'll have an opportunity to use it." He handed the device over to Jason, who stuck it up on the dashboard, angled so he could see the colored road-map display. "Nice," he said. "Hey, if you could unlock the shotgun, that would be good, too."

"No," Oliver said flatly. "The last thing I trust you with is a firearm. Just drive." Claire was having trouble focusing, she realized. "You gave Eve a phone?"

"I put it in her pocket," Oliver said. "Unless they search her again, I doubt they'll find it. There were plenty of distractions."

"What about Shane? Is he okay?"

"I don't know." Oliver kept staring at Michael. "Was he?"

"I got one of his hands free," Michael said. "I could have gotten them both out. You just had to give me one more--"

"One more second and you'd have been pulled to pieces, which would have done me no good at all," Oliver said. "Patience and Jacob were stepping aside. They know a lost cause when they see one, and you couldn't have gotten Eve and Shane both out in any case. It's better to leave them together, where they can protect each other. Now, are you going to behave yourself? Or do I need to prove to you, again, who is master here?" Michael didn't answer, but he dropped his hands to his sides. Oliver let him go. "How do you feel?" Michael let out a brittle little laugh. "What, you're concerned?" He looked bad, Claire