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6
Richard's house was a one-story, half-brick ranch. It looked like a house for children, and Mommy baking cookies in the kitchen. It wasn't even set that far back off the road, but it had plenty of yard on either side and the backyard was an acre of woods. You could look out both the sides and the back and not see a neighbor, except in winter when the bare trees revealed distant glimpses across the valley. From the front picture window, you could see the corner of the next house half obscured by overgrown shrubs. No one had lived in it the entire time I'd been visiting. The place was a little isolated. Richard liked that, and whether I did or not, I needed it now.
The place looked like an invitation for an ambush, but neighbors would have been cannon fodder. Most bad guys try not to take out innocent bystanders. It's not moral outrage, just bad for business. The cops tend to put the heat on if you waste a lot of bystanders.
Richard hit the garage door opener and eased the Mustang into the garage. His four by four was already inside. I followed him in my Jeep. I idled out on the street, waiting for him to move the four by four out so I could put the Jeep in. Parking my Jeep out in front of his house seemed like making the bad guys' job a little too easy. He pulled out. I pulled in. He parked behind me in the driveway and walked into the garage. I unloaded the suitcases, and he hit the button by the interior door.
The door opened into the kitchen. The walls were lined with Hogarth prints of dogs and more modern hunting scenes. A Warner Brothers canister set; Bugs to Tweety Bird sat on the off-white cabinets. The countertops were off white. The cabinets light honey colored oak. There were dishes draining on a towel by the sink, even though Richard had a dishwasher. A glass, a bowl, a spoon; he'd washed his breakfast dishes before he left for work this morning. I'd have poured water in them and left them in the sink. Of course, I never ate breakfast.
Richard walked through into the living room, carrying one suitcase. I followed, carrying the suitcase with the weapons in it. I also had the two gym bags.
The living room had deep forest green carpet and pale yellow walls. Cartoon lithographs took up the far wall. The near wall was taken up with a wooden entertainment center that Richard had built himself. There was a large-screen TV, a miniature stereo system that made mine sound like humming through a comb, shelves of books, and closed doors that hid part of his extensive video collection and a portion of his CDs. The rest of his books were in the basement, set in shelves along every wall. There were still boxes he hadn't unpacked because he ran out of shelf space.
There was a large couch and a heavy wood coffee table. The couch was green and brown, patterned with a yellow afghan thrown across it that his grandmother had made. A small antique armoire sat against the far wall. There was no other furniture in the room.
He'd set the suitcase in the smaller bedroom. It had a twin bed, a nightstand, and a lamp. The walls, the drapes, and the coverlet where all white, like he hadn't really decided what to do with the room yet.
I laid the gym bags on the bed, put the suitcase on the floor, and stared at it all. My life sitting in little bags on the carpet. Seemed like there should have been more.
Richard came up and hugged me from behind, arms wrapping around my shoulders. "I think this is where I'm supposed to ask what's wrong, but I know the answer already. I'm sorry the bad guys invaded your house."
That was it exactly. The bad guys were not supposed to come home with you. It should have been against the rules. I knew it wasn't, it had happened before, but not like this. Not where I knew I couldn't go back. Even when this was over, I couldn't risk Mrs. Pringle and my other neighbors again.
I turned in his arms, and he loosened them so I could do it. I hugged him around the waist. "How did you know that was exactly what was bothering me?"
He smiled. "I love you, Anita."
"That's not an answer."
He kissed me on the forehead. "Yes, it is." He kissed me gently on the lips and stepped back. "I'm going to get out of this tie. Change into your jammies if you want to." He left, closing the door behind him.
I opened the door and called after him. "Can I use the phone?"
He answered from his bedroom. "Make yourself at home."
I took that for a yes, and went into the kitchen. The phone was on the wall. I got a card out of my fanny pack, which I'd been forced to carry like a purse. You couldn't fasten the jacket over the fanny pack, and the open jacket would have shown off the gun.
The card was white with a number printed in black script, nothing but the number. I dialed and got Edward's twenty-four-hour answering service. I left a message, saying to call me ASAP, and Richard's number.
Richard's answering machine sat on the counter, connected by wires to the wall-mounted phone. The message light was blinking, but it wasn't my machine, so I didn't check it.
Richard came into the kitchen. His hair fell around his shoulders in tight, foaming waves, curlier from the French braid. His hair was brown, but light of almost any kind brought out golden highlights, hints of bronze. He was wearing a flannel shirt, forest green, with the sleeves rolled above his elbows, showing the fine muscles in his forearms. I'd seen the shirt before. It was high-quality flannel, soft as a blanket to touch. He had on jeans and no socks. He padded barefoot towards me.
The phone rang. It was nearly one o'clock in the morning. Who else could it be but Edward? "I' m expecting a call," I said.
"Help yourself."
I picked it up, and it was Edward. "What happened?" he asked.
I told him.
"Somebody wants you dead quick."
"Yeah. When you said no, they went out and bought some cheap local talent."
"You get what you pay for," Edward said.
"If there'd been two of them, Edward, I wouldn't be here."
"You aren't going to like my news."
"How much worse could it get?" I asked.
"I answered a message just before yours. They upped the offer to five hundred thousand dollars, if you were dead within twenty-four hours."
"Sweet Jesus, Edward, I'm not worth that kind of money."
"They knew you blew away their hitter, Anita. They knew the hit had failed."
"How?" I asked.
"I don't know yet. I'm trying to find out who's putting up the money, but it'll take a little time. The safeguards that keep me out of it protect the client, too."
I was shaking my head back and forth. "Why twenty-four hours for the hit?"
"Something's happening that they want you out of the way for, something big."
"But what?"
"You know what it is, Anita. You may not be aware that you know, but you do. Something worth this kind of money that you could put a stop to. There can't be that many choices."
"I can't think of a single thing, Edward."
"Think harder," he said. "I'll be there as early as I can tomorrow. Watch your back. Don't drive your car."
"Why not?"
"Bombs," he said.
"Bombs," I repeated.
"For half a million dollars, Anita, they'll get someone good. A lot of professionals will do you from a nice, safe distance. A bomb, a high-powered rifle."
"You're scaring me," I said.
"Good, maybe you'll be careful."
"I'm always careful, Edward."
"I apologize. You're right, but be more careful. I didn't expect them to try a local hit."
"You're worried," I said.
He was quiet for a second. "We can keep taking out the hitters, but eventually we've got to get to the man with the money. As long as the contract's out there, somebody'll keep taking it."
"It's just too much damn money to pass up," I said.
"A lot of professionals won't take a hit with a time limit on it," he said. "Some of the best are out of the running because of the deadline. I won't take a hit with special circumstances."
"I hear a 'but' coming up," I said.
He laughed, quietly. "For half a million dollars, people will break their rules."
"Not comforting," I said.
"Not meant to be," he said. "I'll be at Richard's tomorrow early."
"Do you know where it is?"
"I could find it, but let's not play games. Give me directions."
I did. "I would tell you to stay indoors, but you've been dating Richard for months. A good hitter will be able to find you. I don't know if you're safer inside or on the move."
"I'll pack extra firepower and be more paranoid than usual."
"Good. See you tomorrow." He hung up, and I was left holding the buzzing phone.
Richard was staring at me. "Did I hear you say twenty-four hours for the hit?"
I hung up the phone. "I'm afraid so." I hit the message button on his machine out of habit. It whirred as it rewound.
"Why, for God's sake?" Richard asked.
"I wish I knew."
"You mentioned money twice. How much?"
I told him.
He sat down in one of the kitchen chairs, looking shocked. Couldn't blame him. "Anita, don't take this wrong. To me you're worth any amount of money, but why would somebody pay half a million dollars to kill you?"
For someone who knew nothing about assassins, he'd grasped the big question quite nicely. I walked over to him. I ran my fingertips through his hair. "Edward says I must already know what the big event is, that I wouldn't be worth this kind of money, with this kind of deadline, unless I was already intimate with the situation."
He looked up at me. "But you don't know, do you?"
"Not a clue."
He laid his hands on either side of my waist, pulling me against him, wrapping his arms completely around my waist.
The message machine clicked to life and made us both jump. We laughed nervously, not just from fear. There was a heat to his eyes as he stared up at me that made me want to blush or kiss him. I hadn't decided which.
Two hang-ups, his younger brother Daniel, sorry Richard had canceled their rock climbing tomorrow.
I leaned towards Richard. His lips were the softest I'd ever kissed. The taste of him was intoxicating. How could I be thinking of giving him up?
The last message began playing: "Richard, this is Stephen. Oh, God, pick up. Please pick up. Please be there."
We froze, listening.
"They're trying to get me to do one of those movies. Raina won't let me leave. Richard, where are you? They're coming. I've got to go. Oh, God, Richard." The phone clicked dead. A mechanical voice said, "End of messages."
Richard stood up, and I let him. "I thought Raina had stopped making pornographic movies," I said.
"She promised not to make snuff films, that was all." He replayed the message. The time on it was 12:03.
"That's less than an hour ago," I said.
"I can't leave you alone here tonight. What if another killer comes?" He paced in a tight circle. "But I can't abandon Stephen."
"I'll go with you," I said.
He shook his head, walking for the bedroom. "I can survive the games that the pack plays, Anita. You're human, they'll tear you up."
"They'll tear you up, too, Richard."
He just kept walking. "I can handle myself."
"Are you at least going to call some of the pack that's on your side? Get some backup?"
He sat down on his bed, pulling on socks. He glanced up at me, then shook his head. "If I take my army, this'll turn into a war. People will get killed."
"But if you go in alone, you only endanger yourself, is that it?"
He glanced up at me. "Exactly."
I shook my head. "And what happens to Stephen if you go out there and get killed? Who rescues him?"
That stopped him for a second. He frowned, fishing his shoes out from under the bed. "They won't kill me."
"Why not?" I asked.
"Because if Marcus kills me outside the challenge circle, he doesn't retain leadership of the pack. It's like cheating. The pack would turn on him."
"What if you accidentally died in a fight with someone else?"
He was suddenly very interested in tying his shoes. "I can handle myself."
"Meaning if someone else kills you in a legitimate fight, Marcus is off the hook, right?"
He stood up. "I guess."
"Raina is Marcus's mate, Richard. She's afraid you're going to kill him. This is a trap."
He shook his head stubbornly. "If I call in the wolves on my side and we go over there in a mass, they'll be slaughtered. If I go over there alone, I may be able to talk my way through it."
I leaned against the doorjamb and wanted to yell at him, but bit it back. "I'm going with you, Richard."
"You have enough problems of your own."
"Stephen risked his life to save mine once. I owe him. If you want to play politician, fine, but I want Stephen safe."
"Going out where the assassin can find you isn't a smart idea, Anita."
"We've been dating for months, Richard. If a professional assassin hits town, it won't take him long to find me here."
He glared at me, jaw tight enough that I could see the small muscle on the side. "You'll kill someone if I take you."
"Only if they need killing."
He shook his head. "No killing."
"Even to save my own life? Even to save Stephen's?"
He looked away from me, then back, anger turning his dark eyes almost black. "Of course you can defend yourself."
"Then I'm coming."
"All right, for Stephen's sake." He didn't like saying it.
"I'll get my jacket." I got the mini-Uzi out of the suitcase. It was amazingly small. I could have shot it with one hand, but for accuracy, I needed two. Though accuracy and machine guns were sort of mutually exclusive. You pointed it a little lower than you meant to hit and held on. Silver ammo, of course. I slid the strap over my right shoulder. It had a little clip that attached to my belt at the small of my back. The clip kept the Uzi from sliding all over the place, but left enough play for me to slide the gun out and fire it. The gun rode at the small of my back, which was irritating, but no matter what I told Richard, I was scared, and I wanted at least two guns with me. The police had the Browning. I didn't have a holster big enough for the sawed-off, not to mention it was illegal. Come to think of it, wasn't the machine gun? I had a permit to own it, but they didn't hand out carry permits for fully automatic weapons, not to civilians, anyway. If I got caught with it, I might be going to court after all.
I put the jacket on and whirled around. The jacket was bulky enough that it didn't show. Amazing. The Firestar was more noticeable in its front-draw holster.
My pulse was beating hard enough that I could feel it thrumming against my skin. I was scared. Richard was going to play politics with a bunch of werewolves. Shapeshifters didn't play politics much, they just killed you. But I owed Stephen, and I didn't trust Richard to save him. I'd do whatever it took to see him safe; Richard wouldn't. Richard would hesitate. It would almost surely get him killed one day. Tonight, for the first time, I realized it might get me killed.
No way should we walk into one of Raina's little shows without more people. No way. Jean-Claude would never have tolerated Raina and Marcus's games. They'd be dead by now, and we'd all be safe. I would have trusted Jean-Claude at my back tonight. He wouldn't flinch. Of course, he'd have brought his own little army of vampires and made it a true battle. The shit could hit the fan tonight and be over before morning. Richard's way, we'd rescue Stephen, survive, escape, and Raina would still be alive. Nothing would be settled. It may have been civilized, but it was a bad way to stay alive.
Richard was waiting by the front door, keys in hand, impatient. Couldn't blame him.
"Stephen didn't say where he was. Do you know where they make the films?"
"Yeah."
I looked a question at him. "Raina took me to watch the filming a few times. She thought I'd overcome my shyness and join in."
"You didn't." It wasn't a question.
"Of course not. Let's go get Stephen." He held the door for me, and just this once I didn't tell him not to.
