Danner had her out there, surrounded by his horde, straight out from the parlor window so she would be in plain view. He held her arms behind her back with one hand and pulled her hair with the other, till she bent sideways at a torturous angle and cried out when he applied a little pressure. He was looking past her to the window, waiting for Stiles to appear. “They tell me you know this cow,” he called, “that she means something to you.” Then he smiled and lowered his head over that silken throat and bit into it. Not too hard—just enough to make her scream. Just enough to draw blood. It oozed from the punctures down the taut angle of her neck, down into the cleavage revealed by her open jacket. The vampires ooohed and aaahed, nearly swooning at the sight. And Nathan licked it up with exaggerated gusto, all the while keeping an eye on the window and watching the soldier’s face tighten with rage. “Won’t you come out now, Mr. Stiles?” he said, flicking his tongue at the wound. “I’m afraid I must insist.”

Stiles turned to Charlie and the others. The look on his face was terrifying in its own right, a mask of barely controlled fury. “What do we do?” Jessie wanted to know.

He trembled as he said, “You people watch the doors and windows. Stay ready.” He stood up. “I’ve got to go.”

“What?” Hubert was incredulous, as were they all. “They’ll kill you for sure.”

“It’s a chance I’ve got to take.” He laid down the machine gun and turned toward the door. Bean and Hubert made a move to stop him. “No,” he said, halting them with his harsh tone. “Don’t try it. Not where Billie’s concerned. You’ll lose.” He noticed that Ida’s eyes were slightly open for the first time in hours and looking at him in concern. He went to her, kneeled by her chair, and took her hand. “How are you holding up, Grandma?”

“I’m a tough old bird,” she barely managed. “But you . . . you be careful. You hear?” He nodded and kissed her, then headed toward the entry hall.

“Don’t worry, Stiles,” Charlie said as he passed. The deputy picked up the Heckler & Koch, extended the stock, and activated the laser sight. “If you can’t get Billie out, or, well . . . I’ll take care of you. Both of you.”

The soldier said nothing as he left the parlor.

He scooted the leaning front door aside just enough for him to slip out onto the porch. The night air immediately wrapped him in a cold embrace, but he was too pumped with adrenaline to notice. What he did feel, however, were the eyes on him, unblinking, unrelenting, and he noted the increased number of undead gathered around the Shady Rest. There were at least thirty surrounding the porch, lining the front steps, and flanking the yard as well. He was the sole white man facing a tribe of late-show Indians, only these natives were long of tooth and glassy of eye. They became a gauntlet at the porch steps that he would have to pass. If only it were the late show, he wished. Tomahawks would be a welcome fate.