Blood Debt

lost the habit when she'd lost the need to breathe on a mortal scale. "You reminded us to be more, instead of less."
    He stopped and looked down at her. "Try again."
    "You told us to stop acting like idiots."
    "Yeah, I know, but you don't usually listen."
    "This time…" She paused, then reached up and pushed the curl of hair back off his face.
    Henry listened.
    Wrapping her arms around him, she laid her cheek against his chest and found what comfort she could in the steady beat of his life.
    "I love you, Mike."

    "Hey, I believe you." His chin resting on the top of her head, he wondered just what it was she hadn't said.
    Seven
    BY parking across an access alley, Vicki managed to find curb space only two blocks from the video store where Tony worked.
    Celluci opened the passenger door, then closed it again. "Will you do something for me?"
    "Anything."
    His snort was an eloquent testimony to his disbelief. "Just try to be careful. Don't expect anything as civilized as the Godfather …"
    "Not even the bit where Sonny gets of fed or the brother-in-law gets strangled? Or where they dump Fredo in the lake?" Her brow furrowed dramatically. "And didn't they kill the Pope in part three?"
    "Vicki…"
    "Michael," she mimicked. "Look, I was a cop. I helped bag the bodies. I know these aren't the good guys."
    "Yeah, well, organized crime has changed over the last few years."
    He twisted in the seat until he faced her. "Most of the old school has been buried, one way or another, and the new lot's a group of vicious young punks who kill because they can. There used to be rules of a sort. The rules are gone." Once, he might have thought he gripped her arm too tightly. Now, he didn't think he could hold her tightly enough.
    "Power is an end with these new guys, not just a means."
    She smiled, her teeth gleaming unnaturally white in the light from the passing traffic. "Power won't be a problem."
    "Maybe. Just keep two things in mind, will you? You're there to ask a few questions, not to clean up the streets." He didn't like the way her brows lifted, but he ignored them because he didn't have a lot of choice. As little as he liked it, he had to trust her judgment. "And don't forget the difference between immortal and invulnerable." He leaned forward and kissed her, then got out of the van before he could give in to the urge to ask her just what exactly she was going to do.
    "I won't take any stupid risks, Mike." The pale oval of her face seemed farther away than distance alone could account for. "At the risk of sounding like some whacked-out action hero, I'll be back."
    At least she hadn't told him not to worry. "Sunrise is at 4:16.''

    "What the… ?"
    "What the what, Bynowski?"
    "I don't know." Brow furrowed, Frank Bynowski leaned closer to the monitor that showed a long shot of the front approach.
    "Something flickered…"
    The front door alarm went off.
    Two pairs of eyes locked on the screen linked to the camera over the front door. Instead of a solid barrier between the house and the world, the steel reinforced door swung lazily back and forth on its hinges.
    Gary Haiden turned a flat, accusing stare on his companion. "The boss told you to lock up!"
    "I did!"
    He jerked his head at the image. "That says different." His tone suggested the lapse would be reported, that Bynowski would suffer for it, and that he, Haiden, wouldn't much mind.
    "Yeah? Take a closer look, shit-for-brains."
    Both halves of the lock had been twisted into impossible angles.
    The monitor showing the front hall—the only view of the inside of the house—flickered, but neither man noticed. They'd kicked in too many doors to miss the significance of the broken lock.
    "Shit, shit, shit, fuck!" Bynowski reached for the intercom button. A leather-covered hand closed over his finger before it had quite covered the distance. He grunted as the bone snapped, too astounded to scream. When he looked up and fell into silvered eyes, he wished he'd taken the time because screaming might've helped. A backhanded blow he never saw coming flung him out of his chair to crash against the far wall and slide down a trickle of his own blood to the floor.
    Haiden whirled around to watch the arc of the other man's flight and used the motion to propel himself to his feet. Instinct took over while reason protested, and his gun had cleared the holster by the time he was standing. His eyes saw a tall woman, dressed all in black.
    His brain did its best to convince him that this was