"You are a little bitty thing. You look dainty as my youngest daughter. I've read your cases. I know what you've managed to kill. You've been called in on cases where the first marshals were hospitalized, or killed outright. You, Marshal Forrester, Marshal Spotted-Horse, and Marshal Jefferies are the go-to guys for cleaning up the mess."
The "Otto Jefferies" identity was to Olaf what "Ted Forrester" was to Edward. Olaf was scarier than Edward, though, because among the mercenary stuff his hobby was being a serial killer. He'd promised Edward and some part of some government that he wouldn't do his hobby on American soil. It was one of the ways he kept his day job helping train some uber-secret unit. His victims of choice were petite dark-haired women. He seemed to have a crush on me now, and had flat-out told me he'd be willing to try for normal sex with me, or at least sex that didn't involve my being tortured and dead. Edward wanted me to encourage the attraction, because it was the closest to healthy Olaf had ever been around a woman, but we both agreed that the line between being Olaf's serial killer girlfriend as we killed vampires together, and triggering his own serial killer needs toward me, was probably a thin one. Bernardo Spotted-Horse, like me, just had one name, our real names. Neither of us had ever made a living doing things as harsh as Edward and Olaf.
"We do what we can," I said.
"They all have military backgrounds, special forces. They're all big, physically imposing men."
"Ted is only five-eight, not that imposing," I said.
Raborn smiled. "Marshal Forrester seems taller."
I smiled, too. "That he does."
"Sometimes, so do you."
I just looked at him. "Thanks, I guess."
"Do the vampires really call you ‘the Executioner'?"
I shrugged. "Nicknames."
"Just answer the question," he said.
"Fine, I've killed more of them than any other vampire hunter. When you kill enough people, it tends to impress the survivors."
"You can't be as good at killing as your reputation."
"Why not?" I asked.