Shoot first, because the excuses aren’t worth hearing. Did somebody once say that? He couldn’t remember. For a vampyre who likes his life neat and organized, Roland was failing miserably. His plan was to tell Heather about vampyres when the time was right. Fail. Someone ruined that. His realtor left town. Quit his job. Phone disconnected. Flash a little fang in anger at a guy and he had somewhere else to be. Another state possibly. He wasn’t getting a good review. Visitors from out of town. A thief. A rival werewolf pack. Just to mention a few of the distractions keeping him from getting any new business organized. Let’s not forget law enforcement in not one but two states. They don’t like finding dead bodies. He understood totally. He was partial to live bodies himself. Things aren’t all bad. They’re not all bad. If he said it out loud one more time, maybe it could be true. Nope. At least he has friends and a few new ones. For now he will continue to bury his problems. Six to eight feet deep. Because he knows a guy with a backhoe.