Ronnie was leaning in the doorway, looking pale. Her gun was pointed at the dead man. Her arms trembled ever so slightly.

She almost smiled. “I don't usually carry a gun during the day, but I knew I'd be with you.”

“Is that an insult?” I asked.

“No,” she said, “reality.”

I couldn't argue with that. I sat down on the cool stone steps; my knees felt weak. The adrenaline was draining out of me, like water from a broken cup.

Bruce was in the doorway, ice pale. “He … he tried to kill you.” His voice cracked with fear.

“Do you recognize him?” I asked.

He shook his head over and over again, rapid jerky movements.

“Are you sure?”

“We … we do not … condone violence.” He swallowed hard, his voice a cracking whisper. “I don't know him.”

The fear seemed genuine. Maybe he didn't know him, but that didn't mean the dead man wasn't a member of the church. “Call the police, Bruce.”

He just stood there, staring at the corpse.

“Call the cops, okay?”

He stared at me, eyes glazed. I wasn't sure if he heard me or not, but he went back inside.

Ronnie sat down beside me, staring out at the parking lot. Blood was running down the white steps in tiny rivulets of scarlet.

“Jesus,” she whispered.

“Yeah.” I still held my gun loose-gripped in my hand. The danger seemed to be over. Guess I could put away the gun. “Thanks for pushing me out of the way,” I said.

“You're welcome.” She took a deep, shaky breath. “Thanks for shooting him before he shot me.”

“Don't mention it. Besides, you got a piece of him, too.”

“Don't remind me.”

I stared at her. “You all right?”

“No, I'm well and truly scared.”

“Yeah.” Of course, all Ronnie had to do was stay away from me. I seemed to be the free-fire zone. A walking, talking menace to my friends and coworkers. Ronnie could have died today, and it would have been my fault. She had been a few seconds slower to shoot than I was. Those few seconds could have cost her her life. Of course, if she hadn't been here today, I might have died. One bullet in the chest, and my gun wouldn't have done me a hell of a lot of good.

I heard the distant whoop-whoop of police sirens. They must have been damn close, or maybe it was another killing. Possible. Would the police believe he was just a fanatic trying to kill The Executioner? Maybe. Dolph wouldn't buy it.

The sunshine pressed down around us like bright yellow plastic. Neither of us said a word. Maybe there was nothing left to say. Thank you for saving my life. You're welcome. What else was there?

I felt light and empty, almost peaceful. Numb. I must be getting close to the truth, whatever that was. People were trying to kill me. It was a good sign. Sort of. It meant I knew something important. Important enough to kill for. The trouble was, I didn't know what it was I was supposed to know.