Free The Dead Girls' Dance by Rachel Caine

of our own when we can.’”
    â€œAnd when we can’t, ’” Hess said, as smoothly as if they’d rehearsed all this, “things get ugly. It ain’t like the two of us are free agents. We’re Switzerland. If you cross the line, you’re on your own.’”
    Shane frowned at him. “What can you do for us, if you’re Switzerland?’”
    â€œI can make sure that Gretchen and Hans don’t make any follow-up visits,’” Hess said. “I can keep most of the cops away from you, maybe not all. I can put out the word—widely—that you’re not just under a Founder’s seal; Travis and I are keeping an eye on you. That’ll keep anybody else from trying to win friends by smacking you around.’”
    â€œAnybody human, he means,’” Lowe amended. “The vamps, they’ll scare the shit out of you if they can, but they won’t hurt you. Not unless you screw up and that Founder’s seal goes away. Got me?’”
    Which had already happened, really. The screwing-up part. Well, technically, she supposed Shane’s dad hadn’t broken any laws—yet—because Michael hadn’t really died.
    Except that he had.
    God, Morganville made her head hurt.
    A door slammed upstairs, and Eve came clattering down the stairs, fully dressed in Goth finery: a purple sheer shirt over a black corset thingie, a skirt that looked like it had gotten caught in a shredder, hose with skulls woven in, and her black Mary Janes. Very fierce. Her makeup was back in full force, ice white face, black-rimmed eyes, lips like three-day-old bruises.
    â€œOfficer Joe!’” Eve practically flew across the room to hug him. Shane and Claire exchanged a look. Yeah, this wasn’t something they were going to see every day. “Joe Joe Joe! I’ve been wondering where you were!’”
    â€œHi, Skippy. You remember Travis, right?’”
    â€œBig T.!’” Another hug. This, Claire thought, had tipped over the edge into the surreal, even for Morganville. “I’m so glad to see you guys!’”
    â€œDitto, kid,’” Lowe said. He was smiling, and it transformed his face into something that was almost angelic. “You’ve still got the numbers, right?’”
    Eve slapped her hand on the mobile phone strapped to her belt in a coffin-shaped holder. “Oh yeah. Speed dial. But there hasn’t been—um—’”
    Claire had the sudden weird feeling that Eve had something she couldn’t talk about in front of them. The cops seemed to think so, too, because their eyes met briefly, and then Hess said, “You want an update? How about showing us to your coffeepot?’”
    â€œSure!’” Eve said brightly, and led them off into the kitchen.
    â€œWell,’” Shane said as the door shut behind them, “that’s bizarre.’”
    â€œDid I miss a chapter?’” Claire asked. “And are there Cliff’s Notes?’”
    â€œNo idea.’”
    The sound of conversation drifted in from the kitchen, music without words. Claire fidgeted, then got up and tiptoed over.
    â€œHey!’” Shane protested, but he followed.
    Hess was talking about somebody named Jason. Shane reacted, putting his hand on Claire’s shoulder and lifting his finger to his lips.
    What? she mouthed silently.
    I want to hear.
    Detective Lowe was talking. “—you probably would want to know that he’s getting out today. Now, before you say anything, he’s been warned. He’s not about to go near you or your parents. He’ll be monitored.’”
    â€œMonitored.’” Eve sounded shaken. “But—I thought he was going to be in jail for a long time! What about that girl…?’”
    â€œShe withdrew the complaint,’” Hess said. “We couldn’t keep him locked up forever, honey. I’m