“Hemophiliacs don’t have fangs,” Donny argued.
“And because of that, hemophiliacs died before needles and transfusions were invented,” she responded and then added, “And now that there are blood banks and such, the only thing we puncture with those fangs are blood bags, so what does it matter?”
“I thought you were from Spain?” Donny said suddenly, a frown forming on his face.
“I am. So?” she asked.
“Well, isn’t biting mortals allowed in Europe?”
Beth grimaced. “It is. But it’s kind of like smoking. There are still some hangers-on to the habit, usually the older immortals, but most don’t do it anymore. It’s kind of shunned.”
“Huh, I didn’t know that,” Donny murmured, slowing as they approached the driveway to the Hunter house.
Beth glanced into the back seat to check on Scotty as Donny turned the SUV into the driveway and steered up to the first gate. The Scot’s eyes were closed and he seemed to still be unconscious, but she could have sworn he’d shifted his position a bit. He could have done that in his sleep, though, she supposed, but continued to watch him to see if he moved. When he hadn’t by the time they’d made their way through both sets of gates, she turned forward to glance around as they headed up the driveway.
She was really glad to be done with her assignment and back here, but Beth would be gladder still to get home. It had been a long night . . . and morning, she thought as she glanced at the clock on the dashboard and saw that it was just past noon. Cleanup had taken a while, and she was looking forward to returning to her sublet apartment and getting some sleep.
Mortimer was obviously waiting for them; Donny had barely brought the SUV to a halt in front of the house when the front door opened and he appeared.
“Scotty’s still asleep?” Garrett Mortimer asked with surprise as he approached and looked in at the prostrate man on the back seat.
“Yes, and snoring like a bass drum,” Beth lied as she got out of the car.
“I was no’ snoring,” Scotty protested at once, sitting up in the back seat.
Bending at the waist, Beth peered through her open door into the back seat and grinned at him as she said smugly, “I knew you were awake and feigning sleep.”
Grumbling under his breath, Scotty opened his door and got out. Once standing, he scowled from her to Donny. “Aye, I was. And I read young Donny’s mind. I ken what happened with the dart business.”
“Oh . . . er . . .” Donny looked panicked, but Beth merely shrugged.
“He shot you once by accident and I shot you twice on purpose. So if you’re going to be bellowing mad at anyone, I guess it’ll have to be me. But that’ll have to wait until tonight. Right now I’m too tired to listen.” She moved away, intending to walk to the back of the house, where her car was parked. “I’m going home to catch some sleep.”
“Ah, Beth?” Mortimer said, bringing her to a halt.
Turning slowly, she raised her eyebrows in question.
“I have another job for you,” the man said apologetically.
“Now?” she asked with surprise. They had been working long hours and seven days a week too since this whole mess with Dressler down in Venezuela came up, but usually they were allowed to catch at least some sleep between assignments.
“No, not right this minute. You will be able to get some rest first,” he assured her quickly. “But not much. The plane is coming for you in a little less than six hours, so you might want to sleep here rather than head home.”
“Oh,” Beth said weakly. She’d really been looking forward to sleeping in her own bed. Sighing, she started walking back to Mortimer. “Very well. What’s the job?”
“We’ll talk inside. Scotty could probably use some blood to recoup after fighting off the tranquilizer,” he pointed out and then glanced to Donny and said, “Take the SUV around to the garage so it can be cleaned and filled with gas for the next trip.”
No doubt eager to avoid Scotty, Donny was back in the SUV and pulling the door closed before the order was completely out.
“That’s the fastest I have ever seen him move,” Mortimer said dryly as he watched the vehicle speed away. Shaking his head, he gestured for Scotty and Beth to follow as he turned to lead the way into the house. “We’ll talk in the kitchen. The blood is there.”
Scotty nodded and then waved Beth ahead of him. She followed Mortimer, but had to fight the urge to look over her shoulder to be sure the Scot wasn’t planning to shoot her in the butt with a dart gun or some such thing for revenge. Much to her relief, she made it to the kitchen unmolested.
“Nice job rounding up Simpson and his people,” Mortimer said as he led them to the refrigerator. “I gather he’d managed to turn a much larger group than we expected.”
“Yes,” Beth murmured as she watched him retrieve three bags of blood from the fridge. “Either he’d been rogue longer than your intel claimed, or he was turning two or three mortals a night.”
“I suspect he was turning several a day. I got a call just before you arrived. He had a setup in the basement, chains and whatnot. Four people were mid-turn down there.” Mortimer handed one of the bags of blood to her and another to Scotty as he continued, “And then there was the mortal you saved. Either he planned to chain her up and turn her, as well, or . . .”
“Or she was breakfast . . . for everyone,” Beth finished for him, shifting the bag he’d given her from one hand to the other.
“Hmm.” Mortimer’s expression was grim. “There were several bodies in freezers in the basement. Drained dry and frozen. That could have been her destination, as well.”
Beth merely nodded and slapped the bag to her fangs. She was glad the woman was safe, but her mind was now stuck on the bodies in the freezers, the ones she hadn’t got there in time to save.
“What will happen to the four who were mid-turn?” Scotty asked.
Mortimer shrugged. “The Council will decide. Usually they read the minds of any new turns the rogues have created, and if they haven’t harmed anyone yet, and aren’t sociopaths, or likely to harm anyone or go mad, they are taken in by various families and helped to adjust to their new state.”
Nodding, Scotty slapped his own bag to his mouth, and Mortimer followed suit. The room was briefly silent as they waited for the bags to empty. They then tore them away one after the other and tossed them in the garbage under the kitchen sink.
“You still look pale, Scotty. Do you want another—?”
“Nay, nay.” Scotty waved away the offer. “I do no’ think that’d help. What I’d truly like is to find a bed and sleep off the rest o’ the effects o’ the darts.”
“Of course.” Mortimer smiled faintly as he straightened from closing the door to the lower cupboard where the garbage was kept. “Sam readied the blue room for you to stay in while here. It is upstairs, the third door on the left. Your bags are already there.”
Scotty nodded and turned toward the door. “I’ll find it. Thank ye. And thank yer Sam fer me too. I do appreciate it.”
Beth watched him go, and found herself suddenly relaxing once he left the room. Facing Mortimer, she asked, “What job is it you have for me?”
He just shook his head. “Sleep first. If I told you now, you would probably forget half of it by the time you woke up anyway. I will explain everything when you wake up.”
“As you like,” Beth said easily. Normally she would have pressed him for details so that she could mentally prepare herself ahead of time. But she was tired enough to think Mortimer was right and she might do better to wait. Heading for the door, she said, “I’ll go sack out on the couch, then.”
“No need. Sam prepared a room for you too,” Mortimer said, ushering her out of the kitchen and into the hall. “The last room on the right upstairs.”
“Thank you,” Beth murmured as they reached the stairs. He left her there and continued down the hall to his office, no doubt so that he could complete paperwork on the rogues they’d brought in. She didn’t wait to see if that was where he went, but moved quickly up the stairs on light feet.