She picked up her full soda and flung it right in his face.
He gasped, jumped out of his chair, and stood there dripping and furious. Ice chunks glittered in his hair, and his shirt was stained and soaked.
Someone nearby started a slow clap. Others joined in.
Derrick’s menace was no longer simmering beneath the surface. He stared at Claire as if he intended to bite chunks out of her, and the small table between them didn’t seem like much, if any, protection. Neither did the people around them, who might cheer a gutsy move but would run from a fight.
She’d never missed having Shane at her back so much.
Derrick took in a deep breath, twitched all over, and forced out a smile that was all teeth. ‘All these people are witnesses. I never raised a hand to her, okay? She’s the one who assaulted me.’ He raised both hands, brushed the ice out of his hair, and backed away from the table, and Claire. ‘Damn, girl, back off the caffeine. I’m out.’ He sounded like a regular guy now, bemused by her reaction, and the clapping faded off. ‘Sorry if I scared you, I didn’t mean to.’ It sounded sincere. All of a sudden, the tide of popular sentiment was turning around them.
‘Yes, you did,’ Claire said flatly. ‘You know it and I know it. But you don’t scare me, Derrick. I’ve—’ Killed scarier things than you, she almost said, but that would sound way wrong in this place, this time. ‘I’ve known plenty of guys worse than you. I’m still standing.’
‘Chick’s crazy,’ he said, to no one in particular – just a pronouncement, and it seemed like some of the others agreed with him. Some didn’t. One girl was frowning at Derrick, clearly alarmed; at least a couple of guys were not on his side, either. One of them – a big enough fellow – stood up.
‘Maybe just go, man,’ he said.
‘Why not her?’ Derrick shot back.
The guy shrugged. ‘Well, she’s got pizza. You don’t.’
It was a mild, but valid, point, and right then, one of the employees – probably the manager, Claire thought – came out from behind the counter and fixed Derrick, then Claire, with quelling looks. ‘Whatever’s going on, it stops here,’ he said. ‘Or I call the cops.’
‘No problem,’ Derrick said. He was still holding up his hands. ‘I’m going, man.’
He did, backing through the door, but as he walked past the plate glass window where Claire had first seen him, he sent her a quick, sideways look that was so malignant it might have caused cancer.
She was shaking all over, she realised – the aftermath of the adrenaline flood. She put her chair back upright and asked at the counter for some paper towel. The soda had mostly landed on the floor around Derrick’s chair, and she cleaned it up without complaint, and quietly apologised to those around her. They shrugged it off.
The pizza tasted like dust and cardboard, delicious as it probably was, and she ate fast, with her eyes fixed on that plate glass window.
Dreading the moment when she would have to step outside.
‘Hey.’ Claire flinched, but it was the boy who’d stood up to Derrick at the end; he’d walked up to her side, but she hadn’t noticed, because she’d been so intent on the window. ‘You worried about him?’
She laughed shakily. ‘A little, yeah.’
‘There’s a back door,’ he said. ‘It lets out on an alley but it’s only a quick run to the street. If he’s watching the front, you can duck him for now. But if you want my opinion, call the cops. There’s something not right about him.’
‘I know,’ she said. ‘Believe me, I know.’ She stuck out her hand, and he shook it. ‘Thanks. I’m Claire, by the way.’
‘Grant,’ he said. ‘Take care.’
He didn’t offer to walk her home, but she wouldn’t have accepted, anyway; right now, the knife in her bag was the only thing she felt inclined to put her trust in.
The back door supposedly had an alarm, but it was propped open, probably to let in the breeze and compensate for the fierce heat coming out of the pizza ovens. Claire slipped through without anyone stopping her, and took a second to look over the alley beyond. It was deserted, and there was no place for Derrick to hide himself.
She ran for the side street, turned left, and headed straight home.
Even though she spent the whole walk looking over her shoulder, she didn’t see any sign of Derrick. Maybe he’d gone home to wash the sticky mess out of his hair, change clothes, and plot how to make her pay.
Not really all that comforting, in the end.
Claire’s moving boxes arrived an hour later at her apartment, courtesy of a small delivery truck; there weren’t many, and she signed for them as they were carried up to her room and piled in the very little space that remained. She obeyed Dr Anderson’s instructions and opened the carton that contained her Morganville-invented device … which looked a lot like some steampunked ray gun, only a whole lot clumsier. It was there. As far as she could tell, it was intact.
Liz wasn’t home. Claire locked up after the movers and went back upstairs to stack boxes in order of priority unpacking. She texted Dr Anderson to tell her the device was safe, and Anderson quickly got back to her to order her to wait at home. Apparently, she was sending reinforcements.
Claire spent the time waiting checking the windows for any signs of tampering. Nothing. All was secure, or as secure as it could be. She was unpacking winter clothing from the last box when she finally got a phone call to her cell – not from Dr Anderson, but from a number she didn’t recognise.
‘Hello?’
‘Hi, Claire. You don’t know me, but don’t hang up. Irene Anderson asked me to drop in and take you to her lab. My name is Jesse.’ She sounded calm and relaxed, and had a slightly exotic accent, something that vaguely reminded her of the Deep South, but it was well concealed. ‘My friend Pete and I will be there around six.’
‘That’s late,’ Claire said, surprised. ‘I thought she wanted me to get it to her as soon as possible.’
‘Day jobs, they do throw a crimp in your social life,’ Jesse said, and chuckled. It was a warm rumble of a sound, and despite her current on-alert-for-trouble attitude, she found herself liking the other girl for it. ‘Coming as fast as we can. Oh, and she said you might be a little trigger happy, so please, don’t shoot. We come in peace, and I’d rather not go in pieces.’
‘I promise to ask questions first,’ Claire said. Jesse laughed again, and hung up.
And she did ask questions. She called Dr Anderson, who confirmed straight away that Jesse and Pete were known to her. Claire hadn’t really doubted it, but she was still worried about Derrick; it seemed unlikely he knew about Dr Anderson and the escort she’d ordered up, but just now, paranoia was an advantage.
She spent the spare few hours studying, surfing the ’net, and wondering – worrying – about where Shane was, and what he was doing. She’d had an e-mail, she saw – not a video this time, just plain text, telling her that he had a new phone number, and giving it to her. She memorised it and put it into her phone and logged it in her computer in her private phone list – her usual triple backup plan – and was considering calling him (just to be sure the number was right, of course).
Just as she hovered her finger over his name in the address book, though, she heard a loud knock on the door. Her gaze jerked up. It was – surprisingly – six o’clock, and they were right on time.
She still checked the peephole before she began clicking back the locks. Not Derrick, for sure; a boy and girl, both a little older than she was. The girl was the one who drew the attention first, because she was tall, well built, and had fiery red hair that fell in shining waves almost to her waist. She was also – like Eve – Goth style, with lots of black eyeliner, pale make-up, and unnaturally coloured lips. Skulls and leather featured heavily in her outfit.