Hit List by Laurell K. Hamilton Read Free Book Online

shapeshifters, then there might not be time to reach under my pillow for a gun. The knife draw from the wrist sheaths was quicker, because any gun under my pillow either had the safety on or stayed in a holster, so either way it was a few seconds slower than just drawing the knives. I put the big knife that usually rode along my spine beside the bed, on top of the backpack, so that I could reach it if I had to, though honestly if the two knives on me and the gun under my pillow didn’t take care of the problem I’d be dead before I got the third blade, or the other guns. With that cheerful thought, I turned off the light on my side of the room.
    The room was suddenly very dark, only a thin line of artificial light sliding between the slightly crooked curtains that led to the balcony, which was just a sort of walkway with a railing. The door led directly out into the night. Vampires couldn’t come into the room without permission, but wereanimals could, and bespelled humans could, and . . . I was less than happy with the room, but it was cheap and I’d learned that if you were traveling on the government’s dime they pinched their dimes; pennies didn’t even figure into the equation.
    Her voice came out of the less-than-perfect dark. “Is Gerald Mallory right—are women more likely to be seduced by vampires than men?”
    “No.”
    “Then why are you the only marshal who’s living with them?”
    “Have you ever been in love?” I asked.
    I couldn’t see her face, but I felt her go still, and then the sheets rustled. “Yes.”
    “Did you plan on falling in love with him?”
    The sheets moved again, and then she said, “You don’t plan love, it just happens.”
    “Exactly,” I said.
    Sheets sighed in the dark as she turned over. “I get it. I have seen pictures of your Master of the City; he’s pretty if you like white boys.” And she laughed.
    It made me laugh, too. “I guess so. Good night, Karlton.”
    “Call me Laila; all the guys call me Karlton. I’d like to hear my name sometimes.”
    “Okay. Good night, Laila.”
    “Good night, Anita.”
    I heard her roll over a couple more times, the sheets stretching and moving with her, and then her breathing evened out and she slept. Edward and I would play by the book until they consolidated the warrants, and then we’d try to take over the hunt; until then, we waited for a warrant to be reassigned. The trouble was, the only way it got reassigned was if one of the other marshals was too injured, or too dead, to finish the hunt. I lay awake in the dark, and thought, Please, God, don’t let her get killed .

5
     
    THE DREAM CAME as it had most nights for a month. The details changed but the theme didn’t. The theme was Haven, not as in a place of rest and peace, but as in the lover I’d killed. Some nights he died in my arms. Some nights we made love and then he bled to death on top of me. Some nights it was like a movie replay of how he’d actually died. Tonight’s version was new, but after the other nightmares new didn’t seem bad.
    I was in a maze formed of black walls. They were slick and almost shiny, almost stone, almost mirrors, so that the ghost of myself wavered in the black surfaces. I had hopes that this was just a regular nightmare until I heard his voice. Haven called me somewhere in the maze: “Anita, I’m coming, Anita.” Great, he was hunting me tonight. Sometimes turnabout is so not fair play.
    I was dressed in jeans with a belt and buckle, T-shirt, jogging shoes, but no weapons. This just got better and better.
    “I can smell you, Anita. I can smell all that sweet skin.”
    I started moving in the black maze, away from his voice. I thought about needing a weapon. I thought about my Browning BDM and it was in my hand. This was a dream. I could change some of it—normally I could break free of dreams, but something about the ones with Haven seemed to trap me. I think guilt made me stay to see the horrors.
    I started moving faster,