Forty-nine
“I don’t know who
Rachael thinks she’s kidding with all this
meet-me-all-the-way-across-town-in-half-an-hour bullshit,” Edward
informed the king of the vampires. “It’s so obvious she’s going to
go to her place to either look for the chamber lady, or is setting
up a meeting so the chamber lady comes to the hobbit hole where all
will be revealed . . . something stupid and brave and really
illogical.”
Eric Sinclair,
beloved of Betsy and king of the undead, grinned. Edward had to
make an actual, conscious effort not to flinch from that look.
“Brave and really illogical would accurately describe Her
Majesty.”
“And a lover of all
things smoothie.”
The king chuckled, a
sound that was somehow light and dark at the same time. “Yes. That,
too.”
“Thanks for helping
me split them up.”
“Not at 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 if you’d been here when she brought
that thing?”
“Never happen, not
with Rachael Velveeta on the case. Listen, when you’re done having
your nervous breakdown, can I have mine? Because I just watched you
kill someone in a really awesome way, and although it’s a good
thing, I think, it’s also freaking me out.”
“Okay, but I get to
go first.”
“Naturally.”
“And my turn’s not
done yet. Please hold me and make those dumb soothing noises like
you do.”
He was happy to
comply. Edward assumed that was some kind of Pack rule of thumb,
the being-safe-while-sleeping concept. He was slowly beginning to
understand that Rachael hadn’t killed Orange T-shirt in the heat of
battle, or even in the cold glow of vengeance. She’d killed Orange
T-shirt out of fear for his safety.
She’d killed Orange T-shirt to protect him, the same as she would
have for the kids they would someday have.
He supposed he should
have been scared and worried, but he was too filled with pride, and
his pride and his love were too big for any other emotion right
now.
Being able to sleep soundly while not getting shot at must
be a really big deal to the Pack, he decided. He also
decided that it was an excellent rule for him, too. He didn’t have
to ask if Rachael was on board.
“Well,
well.”
Edward had forgotten
all about the vampire king, who had seen everything but had very
little to say, which Edward was starting to think was a standard
thing with this guy. “This will be interesting. I very much like
interesting.” King Sinclair smiled and, in the gloom, white teeth
flashed. “Welcome to the neighborhood.”