had to go. The fact that I was relieved to go caused me a few moments of guilt, but not much.
Ronnie had gone back to sitting on the couch. She asked just before I walked out the door, "Am I going to jail tonight?"
I knelt in front of her, taking her strangely cold hands in mine. "Ronnie, you didn't kill him."
"I shot the top of his head off. What kind of ammo do you have in that gun of yours anyway?"
"I shot him twice in the chest. There isn't enough left of his heart to scrape up with a spoon," I said.
She closed her eyes. "His brains are leaking out all over the porch. Don't tell me that wouldn't have killed him all by itself."
I sighed and patted her hands. "Please, Ronnie, you did what you had to do. Maybe it will take a medical examiner to decide which bullet did him in, but when the cops get here, make sure you don't take credit."
"I've been here before, Anita, remember. I know what to say and what not to say." She looked at me and it wasn't an entirely friendly look.
I released her hands and stood. "I'm sorry, Ronnie."
"I've only shot two people and both times I was with you."
"Both times you did it to save my life," I said.
She looked up at me with bleak eyes. "I know."
I touched her face and wanted to pat her on the head or something, comfort her the way you'd comfort a child, but she wasn't a child. "I am sorry this happened, Ronnie. Truly, but what else could you have done?"
"Nothing," she said, "and that makes me wonder if I'm in the right business."
Something inside of me tightened. "Don't you mean, wondering if you have the right friends? This didn't happen because of your business. It happened because of mine."
She gripped my hand tight. "Best friends, Anita, forever."
"Thanks, Ronnie, more than you'll ever know. I don't think I'd ever get over losing you as a friend, but don't decide to stay with me because of loyalty. Think about it, Ronnie, really think about it. My life doesn't seem to be getting any safer. If anything, it's getting more dangerous. You might want to think about whether you want to be in the line of fire." Just making the offer made my eyes burn. I squeezed her hand and turned away before she could see that the scourge of vampirekind was tearing up.
She didn't call me back and profess undying friendship. I'd half wanted her to, but the other half was glad she was really thinking about it. If Ronnie got herself killed because of me, I just might pull the guilt down over my ears and crawl into a hole. I caught Richard watching me from the doorway below the stairs. Maybe he and I could share a hole together. That'd be punishment enough.
"What's happened now?" he asked. He'd dried his hair into a shining mass of waves that slid over the top of his shoulders as he moved into the room. He'd put his jeans back on and found a shirt that fit him. It was a large T-shirt with a caricature of Arthur Conan Doyle on it. I used it for sleeping. It was a little snug on Richard through the shoulders and chest. Not small, mind you, just tight. On me the shirt hung nearly to my knees.
"See you found the blow dryer and the T-shirt drawer. Help yourself," I said.
"Answer my question," he said.
"Ask Jamil. He's got all the details."
"I asked you," Richard said.
"I don't have time to stand here and tell it twice. I've got to go to work."
"Police or vampire?"
"You used to ask that because you worried more if I was out on a vampire execution. You were always relieved if it was just police work. Why the hell do you want to know now, Richard? What do you care?" I walked out without waiting for an answer.
I had to step over the dead man on my porch. I hoped the cops got there soon. It was a typical July day in St. Louis--hot and claustophobically humid. The body would start to smell if it didn't get carried away soon. Just another of the many joys of summer.
My Jeep was in the garage, where it should have been. I'd let Jean-Claude use it to ferry everyone here. Though he hadn't driven. I'd never met an older vamp that drove. The older ones tended to be a