Man, he almost hoped that bitch walked through that door just so he could kick her ass.

Talk about a sea change. In the past, he’d religiously drawn a line between men and women. He wouldn’t hesitate to kill a man. Same with maiming, trampling, or cold-cocking one. Women, however, were totally different. A female could come at him with a knife drawn and he would disarm her. Period. Disabling would happen only if he absolutely had to, and in the least painful and permanent way.

But Devina wasn’t a woman to him anymore. Hell, she wasn’t a woman, period.

The salt whispered as he made his wobbly little line, and although it might have been hard to put a lot of confidence in something that was used to spice up McDonald’s french fries, Eddie didn’t strike him as a fool. Not by a long shot.

And the cigar rocked. Totally.

By the time they were finished, the downstairs of the house smelled like Florida and needed a DustBuster, and as they headed to the second floor, Eddie drew a white line across each of the steps until the stairs looked like a landing pad.

Vin and Marie-Terese had been busy, and after Eddie inspected their efforts, he told them to take a load off on the little bed and asked Jim to join him in the bathroom at the top of the landing. Using the sink as a mixing bowl, the guy put in the hydrogen peroxide, the witch hazel and the juice of the lemons along with the white vinegar, and stirred with his own hands, weaving his fingers through the solution.

Just as the pungent smell wafted up and drilled into Jim’s nostrils, Eddie started speaking softly as he continued to make circles in the sink. The words were barely more than breath, and in a language Jim didn’t understand, but the phrase was repeated over and over again.

Abruptly, the scent rising up changed. No longer nasty in the nose, it became springtime-meadow fresh.

Eddie took his hands out and wiped them on his jeans, then reached into his coat and produced two crystal…

“Are those guns?” Jim asked.

“Sure are.” The guy popped the stopper on one and submerged the thing, bubbles floating up to the surface until the belly was full. He handed it to Jim. “Put this in your holster. As opposed to your auto-loader, this shit will actually work against her.”

As Eddie filled up his own, Jim turned the wet crystal over in his hands. The weapon was a goddamn piece of art, carved from clear quartz, he was guessing, and engineered with precision. Palming it, he took aim at the bathroom wall and pulled the trigger. A fine, strong line of the solution licked out exactly where he’d wanted it to go.

“Nice,” he murmured, ditching his SIG.