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“You’re going in there planning to kill him,” Bernardo said.

“No, no I’m not. Remember, if I kill either of you, I’ll either owe Edward another favor, or I’ll have to draw a gun on him and finally find out which of us is better. I don’t think I’ll survive the latter, and I have not had a good time honoring Edward’s favor. I got a glimpse of his other life at Riker’s place. I don’t want to be in another firefight. It’s not my cup of tea.”

“It’s not anyone’s cup of tea,” Bernardo said. “You just get used to it.”

“You don’t get used to shit like that.”

“Like you don’t get used to cutting out people’s hearts? You did that like an old pro.”

I shrugged. “Practice makes perfect.”

“This is the street,” Bernardo said.

The street had that just past dawn silence. The cars still sat unmoved in their driveways, but there were people standing in their driveways peering out at the marked police car that was sitting in front of Dallas’s house. One of the doors was open, filling the quiet neighborhood with the radio squawk. The lights rotated pale and underdone like a child’s toy in the heavy morning light.

Professor Dallas’s house was a small ranch with those faux adobe walls that everyone was so fond of here. In the earlier morning light it looked almost golden, as if it glowed. Bernardo parked by the road.

“Well?” I asked.

“I’m with you.” But before we could draw guns, the two uniforms came out of the house with Dallas in a robe. We sat there staring at her, smiling at the policemen while they apologized for bothering her. She looked up, noticed us. She looked puzzled but waved at us.

“Anita, look at the mailbox,” Bernardo said.

Our car was almost right in front of the mailbox. There was a white envelope pinned to the front of the mailbox with a knife. My first name was printed in block letters on the front of the envelope. No one had noticed it yet, but us.

Edward’s car was tall enough to hide it from the neighbors. “Can you help me hide it from the cops?”

“My pleasure.”

I got out of the car, leaving the Browning on the seat because I couldn’t figure out a way to put it down my pants without the police noticing me doing it, and I didn’t have any ID on me. I might be able to fake being a Fed, but then again maybe not. And it’s a federal offense to impersonate a federal agent. Bernardo and I had assaulted a police officer. We didn’t need any more charges.

Bernardo pulled the knife out, making the movement look natural. The envelope dropped into my hand, and I walked up to the house hitting my thigh with the envelope, as if I’d carried it from the car.

Neither of the cops yelled, “Halt, thief!” so I kept moving. I didn’t know what Bernardo had done with the knife. It had just vanished. “Hi, Dallas, what’s up?”

“Someone made a prank phone call about screams coming from my house.”

“Who’d do such a dastardly thing?” Bernardo asked.

I frowned at him.

He smiled at me, pleased with himself.

“Did you get a call, too?” she asked.

“I got it,” Bernardo said. “They called Edward’s cell phone, said you were in danger.”

The uniform cops made the same mistake that the hospital staff had made. They introduced themselves by rank and name, and shook hands. I said, “Anita Blake. This is Bernardo Spotted-Horse.”

“He’s not a . . .” The policeman looked uncomfortable as soon as he started to say it.

“No, I’m not a federal agent,” Bernardo said. There was bitterness in his voice.

“It’s the hair,” I said. “They’ve never seen a male agent with long hair.”

“Sure, it was the hair.”

The uniforms went off, leaving us at Dallas’ doorstep in the morning light with her curious neighbors coming out in dribs and drabs to see what was happening at an hour past dawn on the quiet street.

“Would you like to come inside? I already started coffee.”

“Sure.”

Bernardo looked at me, but followed me in.

The kitchen was small, square, and neat like one that wasn’t used much. But it was cheerful in a blaze of morning sunlight. “What’s really going