all. I prefer my queen to be half a city away from possible felony assault. And she takes justifiable pride in knowing she can go out into the world earlier in the day than I can. So it was a fine thing, letting her leave first.”
He’d thought that was kind of weird but had decided not to say anything yet. But yeah, Betsy could go outside while it was still light out. Sinclair couldn’t. He had to wait until it was almost full dark, like now.
Edward pointed at his chest as they rolled silently into the driveway for the hobbit hole. “Knew it. Totally called it. You asked Betsy and Tina and Beriberi to go where you’re pretty sure the bad guy isn’t.”
“It was not a question of pretty sure.”
“No?”
“No. The killer is there right now.”
“Wait, you knew she’d be at her office downtown?”
Sinclair just looked at him. Edward almost heard the click as he got it: “You knew she’d be here, laying here for Rachael in her very own hobbit hole! Oooh, your wife’s gonna be soooo pissed at you!”
“I am aware, Edward.”
“You’ll be on Sofa Sentry for months!”
“I am aware, Edward.”
“All right, sheesh, calm down. So what’s the plan?”
“You stay here while I suavely save the day.”
“Yes, and here on Planet Real Life, what’s the plan?”
But then things got unpleasant really, really fast, because King Sinclair said, “Gun.” (Everybody called him Sinclair, even his wife!) And all Edward could do was run in after him and hope he was somehow in time or, barring that, that he could somehow help.
As it turned out, no one needed his help.
The king of the vampires had rushed in fast enough to knock the gun away without doing any real damage to a frowsy, middle-aged woman in an orange T-shirt. But Orange T-shirt wasn’t inclined to meekly surrender, because she was going for Rachael.
And Rachael! Rachael had a look of fury on her face that Edward had never seen on anyone, ever. He had time for a confused thought/prayer (please don’t let me be dumb enough to ever make her that mad).
Then Rachael was reaching for Orange T-shirt, and Orange T-shirt was reaching for Rachael with just as much hatred and intensity on her face, and for a second everything was all sharp teeth and razor-sharp nails and blurred limbs and then Rachael . . . Rachael grabbed her. Dragged her. She—
Edward had to think about it and, though it happened right in front of him, he didn’t have senses that had evolved in a way for him to take in every point of action. So after he had thought about it for a while in his careful, planning, tool-making mind, he realized what he had seen.
Orange T-shirt, reaching. Rachael, also reaching . . . and grabbing, and seizing, and hauling the other woman hard and fast, dragging her across the desk and then lifting her in the air and slamming her back down, only she slammed the woman’s head on the edge of the desk; Rachel shoved her down so hard and so fast her neck broke instantly with a crack Edward would hear, on and off, in nightmares for the rest of his life.
Rachael had broken the woman’s neck on the edge of the desk, and done such a thorough job that when the woman’s ass hit the carpet, she was already dead.
“Um . . . look out?” he managed. The vampire king was holding the murder weapon the way he’d hold a dead garter snake. Better remember to tell him to wipe his fingerprints off. Maybe he’s got his own secret police to worry about stuff like that. “We’re here to save you?”
“Oh, my, now look at this,” the king said mildly, but he was giving Rachael a sharp look, one with more than a little approval. “That was unexpected.”
“It was my right.” Rachael was breathing hard. Edward realized the woman was actually shaking. “She defiled my den, where my mate sleeps. It was my right. She defiled our den. Where he sleeps. It was my right, Edward. It was my right.”
“Sure it was, Rache. I know. She had a lot of nerve, huh? It’s all right.”
Trembling, a Rachael he had never seen before crept into his arms. She was shaking so hard he had a little trouble holding her at first. “If she would bring it when you weren’t here, she’d bring it when you were.” Rachael made a small sound, like a dry sob. “Oh, Edward, what