"She's a nine hundred, nearly a thousand year old vampire. They tend to cut the truth pretty thin."
"I hope you like what I picked out for you to wear."
The way he said it made me start pulling things out of the gym bag. Black jeans, black scoop-neck T-shirt, black jogging socks, black Nikes, a black leather belt, my black suit jacket, the worse for being folded for two days, black bra, black satin panties ¨C Jean-Claude had been a bad influence on my clothing ¨C and under it all was the Browning, the Firestar, all the knives, an extra clip for the Browning, two boxes of ammo, and a new shoulder rig. It was one of the lightweight nylon ones with the holster itself angled for the front carry, downward draw that I favored. I always needed one with a very sharp downward angle to avoid scraping my breast every time I drew the gun. I'd found that the millisecond I lost from the angle was made up for from the second I lost every time I went past my breast and had the flinch reaction. Concealed carry is the art of compromise.
"I know you like leather, but most of those would have to be tailored down for you. The straps on the nylon ones can be adjusted down smaller," Edward said.
"Thanks, Edward. I was missing my rig." I looked at him, trying to read past the neutral baby blues. "Why this much ammo?"
"Better to not need and have it," he said.
I frowned at him. "Are we going some place where I'll need this much ammo?"
"If I thought that, I'd have packed the mini-Uzi and the sawed-off shotgun. This is just the normal stuff you carry."
I drew the big blade that would have normally rode down my back. "When they cut off the shoulder holster, they cut through the rig for this, too."
"Was it a specialty item?"
I nodded.
"I thought it must be because I asked around and no one had a sheath for concealment of something that large for the back, especially not when you throw in how damn narrow you are through the shoulders."
"It was a custom job." I laid the big knife back in the bag, almost sadly. "There's no way to conceal this thing without a rig for it."
"Did the best I could."
I smiled at him. "No, it's great. I mean it."
"Why are we taking the police in with us to Obsidian Butterfly?"
I told him what Jean-Claude had told me, though not how the message had I gotten through. "With the police at our backs, she'll know it's not vampire politics and we'll probably be able to walk out without a fight."
He was leaning against the wall arms crossed. The white shirt didn't quite lay smooth over the front of him. His gun was showing but only if you knew what you were looking for. A paddle holster or a clip holster because the gun was riding outside the pants. It explained why the white shirt wasn't tucked in, and the fact that he was wearing a T-shirt under the shirt probably meant that he had something on him that would chafe without cloth between it and his skin.
"You still carrying that band of throwing darts?" I asked.
"You can't see it, not with the shirt untucked." He didn't even try to deny it. Why should he?
"Because you're wearing an undershirt, and because the shirt is untucked. I know, it's partially to hide the gun, but you never wear an undershirt, so you've got to be wearing something under the shirt that would chafe without the undershirt."
He smiled, and it was a pleased smile, almost proud, as if I'd done something smart. "I'm carrying two more guns, a knife, and a garrote. Tell me where they are and I'll give you a prize."
My eyes had gone wide. "A garrote. Even for you that's a little Psychos'R'Us."
"Give up?"
"No. Is there a time limit?"
He shook his head. "We've got all night."
"If I guess wrong, is there a penalty?"
He shook his head.
"What's the prize if I figure out where everything is?"
He smiled that close, secretive smile that said he knew things that I didn't. "It's a surprise prize."
"Get out so I can get dressed."
He touched the belt where it lay on the bed. "This buckle didn't come black. Who painted it?"
"I did."
"Why?"
He knew the answer. "So that if I'm out after dark, the buckle doesn't catch the light and give me away." I lifted the tail of his white shirt exposing the large ornate silver belt buckle. "This is like a freaking target after dark."
He looked down at me, making no move to lower the shirt. "It just clips on over the real buckle."
I let the shirt slide back. "The buckle underneath?"
"It's blacked," he said.
We smiled at each other. It went all the way to our eyes. We did like each other. We were friends. "Sometimes I think I don't want to be you when I grow up, Edward, sometimes I think it's too late, I'm already there."
The smile faded, leaving his eyes the color of winter skies and just as pitiless.
"Only you decide how far gone you are, Anita. Only you can decide how far you'll go."
I looked at the weapons and the black clothing like funeral clothes, even down to the things that touched my skin. "Maybe it would be a start if I bought something pink."
"Pink?" Edward said.
"Yeah, you know, pink, like Easter Bunny grass."
"Like cotton candy," he said. "Or almost everything women give each other at baby showers."
"When were you at a baby shower?" I asked.
"Donna's taken me to two of them. It's the new thing, couples baby showers."
I looked at him, eyes wide. "You, at a couples baby shower, Edward."
"You in something the color of children's candy and baby doll clothes." He shook his head. "Anita, you are one of the least pink women I've ever met."
"When I was a little girl, I'd have given a small body part to have a pink canopy bed, and ballerina wallpaper would have been perfect."
He gave me wide, surprised eyes. "You, in a pink canopy bed with ballerina wallpaper." He shook his head. "Just trying to imagine you in a room like that gives me a headache."
I looked at the things spread on the bed. "I was pink once, Edward."
"Most of us start off soft," he said, "but you can't stay that way, not and survive."
"There's got to be someplace I won't go, something I won't do, some line I won't cross, Edward."
"Why?" That one word held more curiosity than he usually allowed himself.
"Because if I don't have any lines, limits, then what kind of person does that make me?" I asked.
He shook his head, moving the cowboy hat low on his head. "You're having a crisis of conscience."
I nodded. "Yeah, I guess I am."
"Don't go soft, Anita, not on my dime. I need you to do what you do best, and what you do best isn't soft or gentle or kind. What you do best is what I do best."
"And what is that? What is it that we do best?" I asked, and I knew the anger came through in my voice. I was getting angry with Edward.
"We do what it takes, whatever it takes, to get the job done."
"There's got to be more to life than the ultimate practicality, Edward."
"If it makes you feel any better, we have different motives. I do what I do because I love it. It's not just what I do. It's who I am. You do the job to save lives, to keep the damage down." He looked at me with eyes gone as empty and bottomless as any vampire's. "But you love it, too, Anita. You love it, and that bothers you."
"Violence is one of my top three responses now, Edward, maybe my number one."
"And it's kept you alive."