"I need a gun that leaves a good-sized hole in a body." I emphasized the size of the hole I wanted by making a fist.

Shawn stared at me for several moments and then burst into laughter. "What in the world would you need a gun like that for?"

I tapped my foot impatiently against the tiled floor. "Is asking that sort of question part of your job description?"

"No, but it makes a man curious."

If ever there was a weapon—Shawn was your guy. We'd met when I was still on the force. He'd been working with us as a bounty hunter. It wasn't until I got to know him that I found out he used to be some type of professional assassin. Technically, even after the years that I'd known him his past was shady. So, to anyone else, he was a bounty hunter, a weapons genius, and the guy I got my guns from.

I looked up at him and widened my brown eyes pleadingly. Shawn wasn't built like a bounty hunter; in fact, he looked more like a computer geek with the dark-rimmed glasses. It amused me, because he didn't even need them. I'd know. He'd hunted with me enough times that I knew he could shoot yards away without them and still take his target down. It was just another part of his cover. He thought it made him seem more approachable. I thought it made him more like a target for bullying.

"Mila, don't bat your big brown eyes at me," he said and crossed his arms over his chest. "I know how gay you are."

"Aww, shucks," I said. "Come on, Shawn, give me a good gun. The firestorm isn't going to protect me from angry paranorms, and you know it."

"Being a werewolf doesn't automatically count as having an arsenal at your disposal?"

I frowned, but was glad he had kept his voice down. That was another thing my colleagues didn't know or need to know. After a bad accident three years ago I found out I was turning furry once a month. Oh, the joys of living.
A growl fell from my lips that sounded more animal than human. I narrowed my eyes at him.

"Shawn, don't bait me."

The smirk he gave me was sarcastic. "Why not? It's so damn easy."

"Because I can still kick your ass from here to Nevada."

"That hasn't been proven."
I closed my eyes and took a deep breath of air. "Will you just find me a gun?"

"Fine, what kind are you thinking?"

"I already told you I need a larger caliber than the .380."

"Sawed-off shotgun?"

I stared at him in disbelief. "You've actually got one of those?"

"I've got a few of them. They're loud, obnoxious, and will definitely discourage any would be super-beastie."

"They're also highly illegal. Even with my concealed weapons license I couldn't pack that much firepower."

He shrugged. "You wanted something that would leave a fist-sized hole. The sawed-off shotgun would do the trick."
"It would also land my ass in jail," I retorted. "Let's think of something, um, well, legal for a start."

Shawn leaned over the glass counter looking thoughtful. I stared at the guns in the case below him.

"Think you've got enough Smith and Wesson guns?" I asked.

"They sell fast," he said. "There's a few guns in there that aren't Smith and Wesson. The Glock, for one."
he Glock doesn't look bad, but I'm not fond of plastic and it's too big for my hands. It's also what every cop is carrying."

I heard more than saw the grin spread across his face. "Mila, you're not on the force anymore. I don't think you have to worry about that."

There wasn't any reason for him to remind me I was no longer a cop. It was his way of being a pain in the ass since I'd opened my own business and become a private investigator. I didn't have much of a choice. I couldn't work on the night of the full moon without my secret getting out. Oh, I'd tried to avoid quitting...I'd even entertained the thought of telling my boss I'd joined a coven and had a ritual every full moon.

In law enforcement that wouldn't slide, so I'd had to figure something out where I could create my own hours. In the long run everything had worked out for the best. My old boss still treated me like I was a member of the team.

I wasn't always open and honest about practicing witchcraft. Being a witch doesn't endow me with any magical powers. It's a spiritual belief, similar to Wicca, but not quite. It's still an earth-based spirituality, but I
don't follow a specific tradition. A spell, to me, is like a prayer in action. Granted, I rarely cast spells, but I still keep up with my studies. I talk to my old mentor about once a year.

Once I finally came out of the broom closet, my boss realized he had one person on the team who knew something about the metaphysical and didn't believe it was evil and was willing to deal with cases that most of the other cops wanted absolutely nothing to do with.

"I still work with the force," I said, frowning at him.

"But you're your own boss now." The look he gave me was like that of a proud parent.

"That look." I shook my head.

"What look?"

"The look on your face...you look...proud or something."

"I am proud of you," he said. His tone was as serious as I'd ever heard it.

"Why? All I did was become a bitch in more ways than one."

"No, you became stronger, faster, and better."

I looked away from the intensity of his gaze. There wasn't a happy medium with Shawn. He was either lighthearted and funny, or deadly serious. He was rarely this serious.

"You need to stop being so hard on yourself," he said.

I looked at him then. "Shawn, if anyone knew, they would hunt me down and kill me."

"You don't know that, Camila."

"Yeah, I do. I've seen it."

He shook his head and dropped the subject. Shawn didn't work with the cops intimately enough to know what they do to animals. I did. I do.

The rule was that if it's more powerful than you are—you kill it. It helped that there weren't any laws protecting us, though there was a bill being tossed back and forth in the hands of congress. They just couldn't make up their minds yet. Did they really want animals to have legal rights? Would it make the world a better place if they couldn't kill us on sight? I didn't pay too much attention to it. I hate politics.
I heard him draw in a deep breath.

"I think I've got the gun for you."