The smart thing would be to outwait them, but I was tired. The adrenaline rush was fading under the frustration of too many choices. There comes a point when you just get tired. I didn't think I could stand out here in the air-conditioned silence and stay alert. I wouldn't fall asleep standing up, but it was a thought. And another hour would see my neighbors up and about, maybe caught in the crossfire. Unacceptable. Whatever was going to happen needed to happen now.
Decision made. Good. Nothing like fear to wash your mind clean. I moved as far from the door as I could and crossed over, gun trained on the door. I moved along the left-hand wall towards the hinge side of the door. It opened in. Just give it a push flat against the wall; simple. Right.
I crouched down on one knee, my shoulders hunched as if I could draw my head down like a turtle. I was betting that any gun would hit above me, chest-high. Crouched down, I was a lot shorter than chest-high.
I shoved the door open with my left hand and hugged the doorsill. It worked like a charm. My gun was pointing at the bad guy's chest. Except his hands were already in the air, and he was smiling at me.
"Don't shoot," he said. "It's Edward."
I knelt there staring at him; anger rose like a warm tide. "You bastard. You knew I was out here."
He steepled his fingers. "I heard the keys."
I stood, eyes searching the room. Edward had moved my white overstuffed chair to face the door. Nothing else seemed to be moved.
"I assure you, Anita, I am quite alone."
"That I believe. Why didn't you call out to me?"
"I wanted to see if you were still good. I could have blown you away when you hesitated in front of the door, with your keys jingling so nicely."
I shut the door behind me and locked it, though truthfully with Edward inside I might have been safer locking myself out rather than in. He was not an imposing man, not frightening, if you didn't know him. He was five-eight, slender, blond, blue-eyed, charming. But if I was The Executioner, he was Death itself. He was the person I had seen use a flamethrower.
I had worked with him before, and heaven knows you felt safe with him. He carried more firepower than Rambo, but he was a little too careless of innocent bystanders. He began life as a hit man. That much the police knew. I think humans became too easy so he switched to vampires and lycanthropes. And I knew that if a time came where it was more expedient to kill me than to be my "friend," he would do it. Edward had no conscience. It made him the perfect killer.
"I've been up all bloody night, Edward. I'm not in the mood for your games."
"How hurt are you?"
I shrugged and winced. "The hands are sore, bruises mostly. I'm all right."
"Your night secretary said you were out at a bachelorette party." He grinned at me, eyes sparkling. "It must have been some party-"
"I ran into a vampire you might know."
He raised his yellow eyebrows and made a silent "Oh" with his lips.
"Remember the house you nearly roasted down around us?"
"About two years ago. We killed six vampires, and two human servants."
I walked past him and flopped onto the couch. "We missed one."
"No, we didn't." His voice was very precise. Edward at his most dangerous.
I looked at the carefully cut back of his head. "Trust me on this one, Edward. He damn near killed me tonight." Which was a partial truth, also known as a lie. If the vampires didn't want me to tell the police, they certainly didn't want Death to know. Edward was a whole lot more dangerous to them than the police.
"What one?"
"The one who nearly tore me to pieces. He calls himself Valentine. He's still wearing the acid scars I gave him."
"Holy Water?"
"Yeah."
Edward came to sit beside me on the couch. He kept to one end, a careful distance. "Tell me." His eyes were intense on my face.
I looked away. "There isn't much left to tell."