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

Bam 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—Bam 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. Bam 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.

"Lis, 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, Bam, 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.

"Bam, 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."

Bam 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."

The 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. "Lis, 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 Bam. 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. "Bam, if anyone knew, they would hunt me down and kill me."

"You don't know that, Lisa."

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

He shook his head and dropped the subject. Bam 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."

--------------------

Black is a good color to wear when you don't want blood showing up on your clothes. I wear a lot of black for that reason. If you've ever tried removing a dried bloodstain, you know how difficult it can be, and some clothes are just not salvage- able.

On that day three years ago it had saved my life. When the police showed up at the scene I had to hide my injuries.

If there's a dead werewolf on the ground and a wounded officer what does that tell you? It states exactly what it is—that the officer was attacked by the lycanthrope and is at a high risk of turning furry come the next full moon.

Of course, that only happens if the person that was attacked survives the injuries. It turned out to be a blessing that I'd left my jacket in the car that night. I'd carefully slid the jacket over my shoulders to hide the blood that was trickling down my back.

With the leather jacket on, it wasn't noticeable that my T-shirt was torn and clinging to my skin like someone had poured a glass of water on it. I lied to avoid further questioning, and the EMTs' attention. I told my fellow cops that the werewolf hadn't gotten anywhere near me.

I caught her off guard  when I shot her. Technically, when the silver bullet bit into her heart she had been caught off guard. She was too busy lapping at the bloody feast of a man below her to pay attention to me.

The second bullet hit home and she collapsed to the ground. It didn't kill her, but I didn't know that until it was too late and I was too damn close.

How did I explain the fact that her neck was broken? I told them it was a precautionary gesture to make sure she was well and truly dead. It had hurt like a bitch when I slid behind the wheel. The world narrowed down to the pain in my back as the endorphins began to wear off.

I clung to the steering wheel trying to keep the seat from hitting my back. When I pulled into the parking lot of Guns Unlimited it was still dark out. The streetlights were beginning to blur in my vision. I felt blood seeping onto the band of my jeans, soaking into the cloth and rubbing against my skin.

If I didn't get help soon I would most likely die of blood loss. I forced myself out of the car. I stumbled to the door and inside Bam's shop. "We're closed," he said as the bell on the door jingled, announcing a customer. I clung to the doorknob, struggling to get enough breath to speak. "Bam," I said, but it fell from my lips, strangled.

My back hit the door as my knees weakened and I bit my bottom lip to stifle a scream. The sound made him look up. "I told you we're..." He leapt over the counter in a single bound and grabbed hold of my forearms. "Lisa," he said, "what the hell happened to you?" "I need a doctor." I coughed. "Real fast, real private."

He pulled the cell phone out of his pocket and held it against his shoulder, keeping his arms free to help steady me. "Let's get you to the back," he said. I didn't ask any questions, because I knew he knew what I meant. When you're an ex- assassin you don't go to normal doctors. Which is why I'd come to him for help in the first place. Bam could keep secrets. He had enough of his own.

The rest I remember in fragments like some shattered dream. Bam hung up the phone. He helped me sit down in a chair. The pain shot across my ribs like a blow and I hissed. A fainter pain seared through my left leg. "Where are you hurt?"

"Back, and leg, maybe," I said with what little strength I could muster. He gently lifted the corner of my jacket to take a glimpse at my back. "Shit,  Lis. You're bleeding everywhere. I'm going to go get some towels. The doctor will be here soon."

When Bam returned there was a small dark-skinned man following him. I gave him a look. "Fast," I said. "I told you he'd be here soon."

"Where is she hurt?" the doctor asked.

His voice held an accent I couldn't place. "Her back is torn up and she said her leg might be hurt." The doctor nodded and walked over to me. He dropped a first aid kit on the floor. "The jacket needs to come off," he said. "Put the towels you brought on the table." The doctor shone a pen light in my eyes.

"Do you feel faint?"

"I don't know," I said, gritting my teeth. "We must do this quickly, or she's going to go into shock. I'm surprised she has not already." I heard Bam snort softly. "The only reason she hasn't is because she's too damn stubborn."

"Hand me a knife," the doctor said. "What?" I asked. "I must cut the jacket off. If you move more than is necessary you're going to lose more blood." A moment later and my body jerked with the force of the fabric being cut. I refused to make another sound and dug my teeth into my bottom lip again.

The doctor pushed the soaked material out of the way, exposing my back. "I have to clean the wounds first. This is going to sting, but until I cleanse them, I cannot see what is going on." I nodded.

The stuff he poured down my back stung and I couldn't stifle the small scream that followed. It burned like fire eating its way inside my skin. The doctor made a sound. It wasn't a sound you wanted to hear from a doctor. There was fear in that sound, fear and shock. I looked at him. "What is it?"

"What did this to you?"

"Do you really want to know?" I asked.

Bam stepped away from the table to look at my back. "I'd like to know," he said, "because if I'm seeing what the doctor is seeing, it looks like the wounds are trying to close up already."

"I have seen this only once before," the doctor said, and the look he gave me was full of a haunted knowledge.

"What did this to you?" he asked again.

I looked at Bam. He already knew, or had guessed. How could he not? "It'll stay in this room, Lisa. You said private."

"Lycanthrope," I said. "That is what I thought," the doctor said. "Since the wounds are trying to close already you won't need stitches. I will clean them as best as I can, but the rest is up to your body." My heart gave a panicked leap. "What do you mean up to my body?" I asked.

"You either live through the change or you die during it. However, since you are already beginning to heal—it looks like your body has decided the path it wish- es to take."

"What the hell are you talking about?" My voice was soft and not quite real. He ignored me and turned to Bam. "It's only going to get worse from here."

Bam nodded. "Tell me."

"She's already slipping into a fever." The doctor's voice grew distant as if I was hearing him from the other end of a tunnel. I felt my body relax and the chair slide out from under me. The dimness around my vision swallowed me whole and the last thing I remember was hitting the floor.

----------------------------

  I rolled over and opened my eyes. The room was dark. I sat up in the bed, pushing the hair out of my face. I froze when I heard a soft noise. Snoring? I looked to the corner of the room where the sound came from. There was a darkened silhouette of a person lying back in a chair.

I tried to make out the rest of the shadows in the room. It looked like my bedroom. I leaned over and reached for the lamp beside the bed. Sure enough, it was there. Light flooded the room and the man in the chair jumped up. He'd had a gun in his lap and was now holding it up. The man looked at me, a look of relief passing over his face.  

"You're awake," he said. "Who are you?" I let the demand slip into my tone. He was, after all, in my bedroom. "A friend of Bam's. He told me to keep an eye on you while he was away." He shoved the gun down the back of his pants and sat down in the armchair someone had pulled into the corner. "Where is he?"

"He's at work right now. He should be back here in an hour or so." I watched as his eyes dropped below my chin. I looked down and realized I was only wearing a bra and panties.

I grabbed the blanket and jerked it up over my chest. "Get out so I can get dressed." I jerked my chin in the direction of the door. The man stood and stretched with his arms above his shoulders. I arched a darkened brow.

The dark blue tank top he wore left his arms bare. It was obvious he worked out by the bulk of muscles he flexed while stretching. The jeans he wore were faded and torn at the knees. I looked up at his face. It was more boyish than I thought it had been. The desperate need to shave had made him look older. His unruly blond hair fell in front of his eyes as he looked shyly at his own feet.

I rolled my eyes. "Can your shit and get out of my room," I said. He looked up at me, either pretending to be shocked, or maybe really shocked, that I didn't buy into his little act. "What?"

"You heard me. I want to get dressed, and I don't want an audience." I gave him an expectant look. "All right," he said, "I'll be in the living room." He walked out of the room, shutting the bedroom door behind him. I rolled out of bed and walked over to my closet.

I put on a pair of black lounge pants and dug a red tank top out of the top drawer of my dresser. I grabbed the gray flannel that hung on the closet door and put it on. There were lights on in the house when I walked into the kitchen. I listened. "Yeah, she's awake," the guy said. "Good. Tell her I'll be there in a few minutes. I'm locking the shop up now."

"I'll tell her, but she's not very friendly," he said. I heard Bam's laugh. "She's always that way at first." I quietly stepped into the living room when the boy hung up his cell phone.

"He's right, you know."

The kid jumped and turned. "Sweet Jesus. You scared the shit out of me." I gave him an empty look. "You should pay more attention to your surroundings."

"I pay plenty attention to my surroundings."

"Which is why you were asleep when I woke up?" I asked, tilting my head to one side. "I was bored and figured I'd get a little shut-eye." He plopped down on the black leather couch. "I'm guessing Bam hired you as a sort of bodyguard?"

"Yeah..."

"You need more practice," I said blandly.

"Next time remember that you're supposed to be guarding someone's body, not ogling at it." He looked up and I knew he'd been looking at me again.

"Huh?"

"My point exactly." When Bam knocked on the door, I allowed the kid to get it. I sat at the kitchen table drinking a mug of coffee.

"You look like you're feeling better," he said. "I am. Though I'm curious to know—how long I was out?"

"Three days," he said and sat down across the table from me. "Shit. What about work?"

"They called when I was here. I told them you had the flu and were up all night vomiting. You should call them in the morning and let them know you're feeling better."

"Thank you."

"How's your back doing?" he asked. "It feels better, but I haven't seen it yet."

"The wounds had already closed up by the time I got you here." He leaned back in his seat. "The wounds on your thigh were only scratches...nothing to worry about."

Nothing to worry about, I thought. Yeah, right.