Laurell Hamilton - Hit List

“What do you mean, you want me? How? Why?”

“Does it matter? If you don’t come with us, I’ll kill your friend.”

“Don’t do it . . . ,” Laila said, and was cut off abruptly, and this time the pain sound was a little louder.

“Ask her if she’s hurt again,” the growling voice said, and he sounded eager.

I’d heard that tone before in voices; I knew that they liked causing pain, so I did what he asked so he wouldn’t hurt her again to make the point.

“Laila, are you hurt?”

Her voice was shaky. “Yes.”

“What did you do to her?”

“Nothing permanent, yet,” he said.

“She’ll heal?” I asked, and as in the dream I pointed my gun toward the voice, but also at the open door. Most of the Harlequin traveled in pairs or more. But with their speed I wouldn’t have time to shoot twice. I’d need a target and a decision before I’d really had time to decide anything.

“Yes,” he said.

“What do you mean you want me? Sexually?” I was almost hopeful on that one; it wasn’t a fate worse than death and it certainly wasn’t a fate worse than having Laila murdered while I listened to her die.

“We’re not allowed,” he said, and he sounded sad.

“You’re not allowed to have sex?”

“Just not with you.”

That was interesting. “Then what do you want with me?”

“My master is outside. Simply put down your weapon and walk out the door to him. I will release the girl and follow you.”

Laila said, “Don’t do it, Anita!” She yelled it, and then she screamed for real. Edward and the other marshal were next door. Help was coming.

The cloak rose up, and I saw the white mask, but Laila was held in front of him like a shield. Her eyes were fluttered back in her head, but she was alive. I raised the gun barrel higher so I’d hit the white mask and miss her. Then he was gone; I swear that he moved so fast Laila simply stayed in the air where he’d held her, and he was through the door and gone before she began to fall.

Edward shouted, “Anita!”

“I’m okay, did you see that?”

“I saw something,” he called back.

I kept an eye on the doorway as I searched for Laila’s pulse. Edward was in the doorway: shirtless, boxers, with a gun in each hand. I let him watch for bad guys and looked down at Laila. Her arm was broken at the wrist and maybe higher up. There was blood, too, and it wasn’t from the arm. Fuck.

I heard the other marshal go back toward the room. “I’ll call for an ambulance, and then will someone tell me what the hell just happened?”

Edward kept watch out into the night, but said, “Her warrant is vacated. I guess we have our warrant of execution.”

“I didn’t want it this way,” I said.

“She’s alive, Anita. It could have gone the other way.”

He was right. I knew he was right, so why did I feel so shitty? “I don’t know where the blood is coming from, but somewhere on her back. I don’t want to move her, but there’s too much blood. We need to find the wound and put pressure on it. If she bleeds out, nothing else matters.”

He knelt down to help but kept his side toward the door so he could still see movement. “We can hunt them now, Anita, our way.”

He helped me lift her and try to keep her neck from moving. It probably wasn’t a spinal injury, but back wounds can be tricky, and cautious was better than being wrong. He helped me lift her just enough so I could search for the wound. But it wasn’t just a wound, it was several. I found at least three. “Shit!” I said.

“What’s wrong?” he asked.

“It’s multiple wounds, which means it wasn’t a blade. He used claws.”

“Powerful enough shapeshifter to change just his hands,” Edward said.

“Yes.”

“They’re all going to be that powerful,” he said.

“I know.” I got towels from the bathroom to press against the wounds. “These are punctures. If they’re deep, her chances of catching lycanthropy are higher.”

“You’ll have to tell the EMTs when they get here.”

“I know.” I pressed the towels against the wound and tried to stop the bleeding. Edward kept holding her up and trying to keep her neck from moving. It was the best we could do until the medics got here.

“What’s our way?” I asked.

“What?” he asked.

“You said we’d be able to hunt them our way now. What’s our way?”

“Violent, and very, very final.”

I looked at him over Laila’s unconscious body. My hands were already soaked with her blood. I was kneeling in it. “Did you see the speed of the thing?”

“Incredible.”

“How do we kill that speed?”

“Wound it, then chop it up.” He sounded eager.

“I’m scared, Edward.”

He looked at me, his eyes empty and cold as a winter’s moon. “I’m not.” I guess he meant it to be comforting, and I guess maybe it was.

ONE OF THE good things about wearing the tight, tiny jammies was that no blood had gotten on them. Edward had had to give up his boxers to go into a baggie for the lab. They had let him put on shorts and a T-shirt since his room wasn’t a crime scene. Until the techs were done, my room was off limits. But neither of us had gotten to clean off the blood yet. My jammies were blood free, but the rest of me wasn’t. I had blood on my legs from the knees down, and on my arms nearly to the elbow on one side. Forensic techs had taken samples of the blood on little swabs but hadn’t let me clean up yet. The blood was drying and had that crinkly feeling to it like it always did, as if I could feel it adhering to my skin. I was never sure if that was a sensory illusion or if I could really feel it drying. Either way, I could feel the blood almost catching on my skin every time I moved just right. I wanted a shower. They had given me a blanket to hold around my shoulders in the chill of the night air, but the cement of the open balcony area was damn cold under bare feet. It was also awkward holding my gun in one hand while trying to hold the blanket in place. Detective Lorenzo had offered to let me put my gun in Edward’s room since the crime scene techs weren’t in there, but I’d declined. The Harlequin had tried to kidnap me tonight; I wanted a gun.

Detective Lorenzo was taller than me, but only an inch or so taller than Edward, about five-nine. His hair was thick, and though cut short it had waves to it. He’d have had to shave his head to not have waves, so that, though short, his hair would never be neat. His eyes were a dark, even brown, his face open and friendly, and cute in that boy-next-door way. He was probably thirty because of the detective shield, but he didn’t look it. There was some bulk under the suit that let me know either he had naturally good shoulders or he hit the gym, or maybe both. He’d been one of the detectives called to the crime scene before everyone was certain it was part of an ongoing federal investigation. Technically the Marshals Service could have kept him out of things, but most of us tried not to alienate the local police if we could help it. The preternatural branch especially ended up being alone a lot in the field. We relied on local police more than most other federal officers, even the rest of the Marshals Service. One of the nicknames among other cops for the preternatural branch was “lone wolf.” On the radio they’d say, “We’ve got a lone wolf on site.” I wondered how the nickname worked when there were this many of us. Can you say “lone wolves” and not sound silly?

Marshal Raborn was taller than all of us, and the fact that he carried a few extra pounds gave him some weight to back it up. He seemed to try to fill the room with his physical presence as if he were a much larger man than he was, or maybe his pissy attitude just seemed to take up more space.