"I'm sorry, Richard."
"I've decided to live, Anita."
I looked at him. "I'm sorry, I don't understand."
"I've been trying to die. I'm not going to die anymore. I'm going to live, whatever that means."
"I'm glad, but I wish you sounded happier about the choice."
"Go, Anita, you've got a murderer to catch."
I did, and time was not on our side. But I still hated leaving him like this. "I'll do what I can to help you, Richard, you know that."
"Like you help all your friends."
I shook my head, gathered up the folder, and went for the door. "When you want to talk, and not to fight, give me a call, Richard."
"And when you want to talk, and not catch murderers, you give me a call."
We left it at that. But I didn't have time to hold his hand, even if he would have let me. Van Anders was out there, and there were so many people he could hurt. What was a little emotional desolation between friends compared to getting Van Anders off the streets?
60
Jason and Jamil stayed in human form, while Norman and Patricia stayed in wolf form. I'd seen Norman in human form before, but I couldn't put a face on Patricia. She was just a big shaggy wolf, pale, almost white. We had to put the two pony-sized wolves on leashes. Today of all days I did not want the police seeing a giant wolf running loose on the streets. I was thinking they'd be in a shoot-first-ask-questions-later sort of mood.
I'd unzipped the two bags that I'd collected from Van Anders's rented apartment. The wolves sniffed it, growled, and on the end of leashes, they tracked him from the sidewalk around his apartment building, and all through the city, and finally to a mall.
The police had been watching the airports, the bus stations, the highways. Van Anders was sitting in the freaking food court of Eastfield mall. He'd piled his hair up under a billed cap and added a cheap pair of sunglasses. As disguises went it was okay. Besides, I couldn't complain, much. I was wearing a billed cap with my hair up under it, and sunglasses. I hate it when the bad guys copy. I was also wearing a baggy T-shirt, and baggy jeans with my Nikes. Short as I was, I looked like a thousand teenagers wandering any mall in America.
I'd deputized Jamil and Jason. They stayed out of sight, but warned me that he'd smell them sooner or later. I'd already flashed my badge at mall security. I'd made the decision that we wouldn't call the police, and we wouldn't try to evacuate. I had a court order of execution. I didn't have to give him a warning. I didn't have to do anything but kill him.
It was mid-afternoon, so the food court wasn't too busy. That was good. There was a group of teenagers at the table nearest Van Anders. Why weren't they in school? At the table next-closest to him was a mother with a baby in a stroller and two toddlers. Two toddlers, neither of them in baby seats, but running free, while she tried to help the baby eat soft-serve yogurt.
Van Anders was still more than fifteen feet from the rampaging toddlers. The teenagers were frightfully close, but I couldn't figure out how to get them to move. I was working up my nerve to wind my way through the daytime moms and kids, when the teenagers got up, left their trash on the table, and walked away.
Van Anders was as isolated as I was going to get him here in the mall. I wasn't willing to let him escape again. He was too dangerous. I made the decision in that moment that I would endanger all these nice people. That the mother with her yogurt-smeared baby, and the two screaming toddlers were going to have to take their chances. I was fairly certain I could control the situation well enough to keep them out of it, but I wasn't completely certain. All I knew for sure was that I was going to take him, now. I wasn't going to wait.
I had my gun at my side, safety off, round-chambered long before I got to the table with the mother and her children. I had my federal marshal badge hanging out over the pocket of the large T-shirt, just in case some brave civilian decided to try and save Van Anders.
I had the gun up and pointed as I passed the woman's table. I think it was her soft gasp that made him turn. He saw the badge, and he smiled, taking another bite of his sandwich. He talked with his mouth full. "Are you going to warn me not to move, tell me to freeze?" He sounded Dutch.
"No," I said, and I shot him.
The bullet spun him out of his chair, and I fired again before he'd hit the ground. The first one had been rushed; not lethal, but the second one was a solid body shot.
I fired into his body twice more before I got close enough to watch his mouth open and shut. Blood blossomed from his lips, and turned his blue shirt purple.
I circled wide, so I could get a clear head shot. He lay on his back and bled, and managed to cough blood, and clear his throat enough to say, "Police have to give warning. Can't just shoot."
I let out all the breath in my body, and sighted on his forehead just above the eyes. "I'm not the police, Van Anders, I'm the executioner."
His eyes widened, and he said, "No."
I pulled the trigger and watched most of his face explode into an unrecognizable mess. His eyes had been bluer than in the photos.
61
Bradley called me at home that night. Strangely, after blowing a man's brains out in front of a lot of suburban moms and kids I just wasn't in the mood to go into work. I was already tucked into bed with my favorite toy penguin, Sigmund, and Micah curled beside me. Usually Micah's warmth was more comforting than a truckload of stuffed toys, but tonight I needed that choking grip on my favorite toy. Micah's arms were wonderful, but Sigmund never told me I was being silly, or bloodthirsty. Neither had Micah, but I kept waiting for it.
"You made national news, and the Post-Dispatch is running a front-page picture of you executing Van Anders," Bradley said.
"Yeah, turns out I was across from a camera store. Lucky me." Even to me, I sounded tired, or something more. What's more than tired? Dead?
"You going to be alright?" he asked.
I pulled Micah's arms closer around me, snuggled my head against his bare chest. I was still cold. How could I be cold under all these blankets? "I've got a few friends staying with me, they'll keep me from getting too morose."
"He needed killing, Anita."
"I know that."
"Then what's that tone in your voice?"
"You haven't gotten to the part of the article where the three-year-old boy is having screaming fits about me killing him, like he saw me do to the bad man in the mall, have you?"
"If he'd gotten away…"
"Just stop, Bradley, just stop. I made the decision before I moved on him that the witnesses' psyches weren't as important as their physical safety. I don't regret that decision. Much."
"Okay, I'll just talk business then. We think Leo Harlan is best known as Harlan Knox. He's worked with some of the same people that employed Heinrick and Van Anders."
"Why am I not surprised?" I said.
"We tried the number he gave you. The answering service says he's canceled his contract with them, except for one message."
I waited for it.
"You're not going to ask?"
"Just tell me, Bradley."
"Okay, Here goes. 'Ms. Blake, sorry we didn't get to raise my ancestor. In case you were wondering, he is real. But under the circumstances, I thought discretion the better part of valor. And the assignment has been canceled, for the time being.' Do you understand what he means about the assignment being canceled?"
"I think so, I think he means the deal was called off. It got too messy. Thanks for checking, Bradley."
"Don't thank me, Anita, if I hadn't tried to get you onto our payroll as a federal agent, you might never have come to the attention of whoever hired Heinrick."
"You can't keep blaming yourself for that, Bradley. It's like spilled milk, clean up the mess, and move on."
"The same goes for Van Anders."
"I always give better advice than I take, Bradley, you should know that by now."
He laughed, then said, "Watch your back, okay?"
"I w
ill, you, too."
"Bye, Anita, take care."
I was in the middle of saying, "you, too," when he hung up on me. What was it about working for law enforcement that gave you such bad phone manners?
Nathaniel came into the bedroom with the copy of Charlotte's Web. "It was in the kitchen, and it's got a second bookmark. I think Zane, or somebody has started reading it."
I cuddled tighter in against Micah's body, and he held me, his arms warm and fierce as if he could squeeze the bad feelings out of me. "Let them get their own copy," I said.
Nathaniel smiled. Micah kissed the top of my head. "Who's reading tonight?" Nathaniel asked.
"I will," Micah said, "unless Anita wants to."
I buried my face in the crook of his arm. "No, being read to sounds just about right tonight."
Nathaniel handed him the book and climbed into bed. I wasn't sure if it was the warmth of both of them under the covers, or the sound of Micah's deep voice as he read, but slowly, I began to be warm again. I hadn't read Charlotte's Web in years. I was overdue. Overdue for so many things that didn't involve guns or killing people.
62
Dolph is still on leave, but I'm working on arranging a get-together between him, his wife, and their son and daughter-in-law. I don't know if there's anything to talk about, but Lucille, Mrs. Dolph, wants me to try. I'll try.
Richard seems to have some peace. Not enough peace for us to date. But hey, I'm just thrilled that he's no longer suicidally depressed. At this point, I want him healthy and happy more than I want him with me.
Asher, Jean-Claude, and I have an understanding. I guess, you could say we're dating. You wouldn't think that dating two men simultaneously would be a first with me, but two men on the exact same date at the exact same time—that's new.
Stephen and Gregory's father is still in town. Valentina and Bartolomé asked Jean-Claude's permission to kill him. Jean-Claude said okay, as long as Stephen and Gregory agree. Stephen's therapist thinks it would be healthier if the boys handled it themselves. Gregory's comment had been, "Oh, we get to kill him ourselves."
"That's not what I meant," Stephen said.
The two of them are still arguing about how to handle their childhood nightmare come to town. I'm with Valentina and Bartolomé on this one. Kill his ass. But I won't take the choice away from Stephen and Gregory, not if their therapist says it'll do more damage. God knows they've had enough damage in their lives already.
But because they haven't been able to satisfy their debt of honor, the two child vampires are staying in St. Louis. Besides the debt of honor thing, I think Valentina doesn't want to be anywhere near Belle Morte when she goes up against the Mother of All Darkness. Me either.
There are nights when I dream about the living dark. As long as I sleep with a cross on I'm okay, but if I forget, she haunts me. I'd get a cross tattoo if I wasn't afraid it'd burst into flames.
The Mobile Reserve has me on their list of civilian experts. They'll call if they need me. Captain Parker was wicked pissed that the feds' latest update on the preternatural wasn't so updated. The FBI just doesn't have enough friends that are monsters. If they did they'd know more.
Larry is back in town all duly trained to be a federal marshal and vampire hunter. The wedding is set for October. Tammy is threatening to have me in the wedding. Some friends they are.
We're still reading Charlotte's Web. "The Crickets sang in the grasses. They sang the song of summer's ending, a sad, monotonous song. 'Summer is over and gone,' they sang. 'Over and gone, over and gone…'" Some people think that's a sad chapter, but it's always been one of my favorites. Summer is over and gone, but autumn is here, and next month is October with the bluest skies of the year. For the first time in years, no, scratch that, for the first time ever, I had someone to hold my hand and go walking out under those blue skies. Richard and I had always planned to do it, but he had his job, and I had mine, and we never made the time. But now I have Micah. And I'm learning that you have to make time for what's important. You have to fight to carve little pieces of happiness out of your life, or the everyday emergencies will eat up everything.
When we finish Charlotte's Web Nathaniel wants to read Treasure Island. Sounds good to me.
Anita Blake 11 - Cerulean Sins Page 49
