Rachel Caine - Fall of Night

In the process of ducking, she caught sight of someone 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, it’s that you’d better stay aware of exactly what they’re into if you want to avoid troubles of your own,’ Claire shot back. ‘I’m not saying I’m doing it out of general altruism. It’s selfish.’

That earned her a glance that was, at least partially, admiring. ‘Okay, then. Consider your ass covered. Now. Tell me exactly what she said. Word for word. Can you do that?’

‘She said, Call Dr Florey and let him know . That was all.’

‘It’s a general heads-up,’ Jesse said. ‘Not run-for-cover DEFCON 4 phrasing. So we’re still good. I’ll break Pete loose to go over and make sure she’s okay.’

‘I thought you’d go.’

‘It’s easier for Pete to cut out than it is me. People notice when I’m gone. Speaking of’ – Jesse checked her watch – ‘time to water the stampede again. God, I hate game nights, except that my tip jar runneth over.’

Claire nodded. ‘Okay. Is there anything you want me to do?’

‘Go home,’ Jesse said, and winked at her. ‘Unless the hot boy you had giving me the message is waiting for you. In that case, hop on that. He was polite.’

‘He was just doing me a favour,’ Claire said, and felt her cheeks growing a little warm. ‘I’m going home.’

‘Your loss. Watch your back,’ Jesse said. ‘If Anderson’s got eyes on her, you probably will too, not that they really expect to see anything. You’re an eighteen-year-old from Podunk, Texas, after all. They don’t know you’re secretly a badass.’

‘Am I?’ Claire asked. Jesse didn’t know anything about her – or at least, she’d assumed that to be true.

‘Oh, yeah,’ Jesse said, and smiled off into the darkness. ‘You couldn’t possibly have survived Myrnin if you weren’t.’

With that stunning comment, she went back inside, and the back door slammed shut behind her. Claire stared after her, thoughts tumbling around in chaos, but what finally stuck was she knows about Myrnin. And Morganville.

Just who was she, anyway?

It was a mystery Claire knew she was going to have to solve … but not tonight. It was dark, and the alley was creepy, and she suddenly wanted, very badly, to retreat to the safety of their little row house, lock the doors, and call Shane.

She needed to hear his voice.

Feeling safe, as it turned out, wasn’t in the cards for her, because when she got home there was an official-looking card stuck to the front door, and when Claire pulled it off she saw that it was from the police department. The note with it said that there had been an attempted break-in reported by a passer-by, and to double-check all interior spaces and locks to ensure that no one had entered.

Fabulous.

Derrick wasn’t at his usual post, which was nice, because the note made Claire feel even more paranoid, and she rushed in, locked the door, and yelled for Liz. Useless, because of course Liz wasn’t home; she would have gotten the note if she had been. It was still and dark inside, and Claire methodically made the rounds, checked all the windows, and finally ended up in her top-floor room with the door shut and all the lights burning brightly. She made an effort to unpack a few more boxes (she was rapidly running out of space for what she’d brought) and finally called it quits, fired up her laptop, and tried to reach Shane on Skype. No answer. After she’d tried his phone and gotten the same nonresponse, she instead tried Eve.