by Lynsay Sands
Giving him a moment to think about that, Beth turned and opened the refrigerator to check the contents. Spotting the pizza box inside, she grabbed that as well as a bag of blood.
"As far as I can tell," Beth continued as she carried the pizza box and bag of blood to the counter and set them down, "nobody could have followed us."
"Except perhaps someone connected to the North American Rogue Hunters," he countered. "Anyone working for Mortimer could have found out about this trip easily enough."
Beth opened the pizza box and verified that it was her favorite--pepperoni, mushroom, onion, and tomato--and then turned to retrieve a plate from the cupboard as she agreed, "True. I don't think I've pissed off any of my coworkers yet, but it's possible. Except that doesn't seem likely."
"Why?" he asked at once as he watched her transfer a couple of slices from the box to the plate.
"They wouldn't have the time," she said dryly. "As shorthanded as he is, Mortimer's had us all working overtime and running here, there, and the other place," Beth assured him. Seeing the uncertainty on his face, she added, "But it would only take a phone call to Mortimer to see if one of the other hunters is in the area . . . and trust me, he'll know," she added dryly, moving to set the plate of pizza in the microwave. "He knows exactly where every one of us is at any given moment."
"He can't possibly ken where each o' ye are at all times," Scotty said with disbelief as she closed the microwave door and pushed the button labeled Reheat. "Mayhap he can find and follow yer vehicles with the GPS trackers in them, but if ye're no' using the SUV--"
"The Council supplies us with cell phones," Beth interrupted. "We're to carry them at all times whether working or not. That way they can reach us at all hours and everywhere if there's an emergency. They can also track us with some kind of app . . ." Beth shrugged and explained, "I didn't care if they tracked me so didn't pay close attention to exactly how they do it. But one call to Mortimer and he can tell you who, if any, of our hunters are out here in BC right now."
"They can track yer phones?" Scotty asked with interest.
Nodding, Beth picked up the bag of blood and leaned back against the counter as she added, "There's also a program they put on each phone that allows them to see whatever your phone's camera sees, and even hear what's said near it. I think it can get copies of your text messages, and allows them to listen in on phone calls too. But Mortimer says they don't activate it unless a hunter goes missing. I'm not sure that's true," she added dryly. "But I'd like to think so."
"Really?" Scotty murmured, and she could see his mind ticking that one over. From his perspective, as the head of the UK hunters, it would probably seem like a handy little program to have installed in hunters' phones.
Beth wasn't sure how she felt about it all herself. In situations like this, it was certainly handy to be able to immediately discount the hunters she worked with from being here in BC and possibly behind the attacks on her. But privacy was something in short supply today. The advent of bugs and cameras and even computers had played havoc with that particular commodity, and she had to wonder how much knowledge was too much, and if they all wouldn't be happier with a little less of it. It was the fruit of knowledge of good and evil that got Adam and Eve kicked out of paradise, after all. Maybe knowing everything both good and evil that went on in the world wasn't that grand a thing.
"I'll call Mortimer."
Beth merely nodded and popped the blood bag to her fangs. She was pretty sure her attacker wasn't anyone she worked with. But she wasn't positive.
Scotty got through to Mortimer right away, but was still on the phone with him when the bag at her mouth finished emptying. The microwave began to beep, announcing it was done, as she tore the bag away and tossed it out, so she retrieved the pizza and moved to sit at the kitchen table to eat.
"Mortimer checked and said we're the only hunters in the whole province of British Columbia right now. There isn't even anyone in Alberta at the moment," Scotty said with a frown as he slipped his phone back into his pocket.
Beth merely nodded as she chewed the bite of pizza she'd just taken.
"He also says we're the only ones who knew he was sending us out here."
Swallowing, she added, "And Matias."
"Aye, but he was here in Vancouver so couldn't have caused the accident with the truck, or had the knowledge read from his mind at the accident site." He frowned and then added, "I'll have to ask Donny if Matias was inside during your attack or--"
"Matias would never hurt me," Beth interrupted at once.
"Oh, aye, because he wants ye in his bed," Scotty muttered.
Clucking her tongue with irritation, Beth shook her head. "No, he doesn't. He is just teasing about that. It's his way of trying to make me see him as a man and not the boy whose diapers I changed and whose snotty nose I wiped," she explained with a faint smile. "Everyone treats him like a child still and he's struggling to be seen as a man . . . with everyone."
Scotty's eyes widened slightly as if that possibility hadn't occurred to him, and then he relaxed and murmured, "Oh."
Beth took another bite of pizza, shifting her mind back to the "accident" and the attack. After swallowing, she heaved a sigh and pointed out, "It seems obvious that the crash and the attack tonight can't be connected."
"Aye, it would seem unlikely that they are," Scotty admitted, not sounding pleased.
She understood that. It certainly would have been easier if they were connected. Then there would be only one person out to get her and not two. But . . . maybe there still was only one, she thought suddenly.
"Since no one knows I'm out here," Beth said slowly, considering a brief thought she'd had earlier, "maybe the attack tonight wasn't directed personally at me."
"What?" Scotty stared at her with bewilderment. "Who was it directed at, then? The mortal? It wasn't her head he was trying to cut off."
"No, but I was thinking, maybe it could be an immortal who's newly gone rogue and was looking to kill just an immortal female, or even just a hunter, and I happened to be there tonight," she pointed out. "The only other option seems to be that it was someone with a beef against me who just happened to spot me at the club and decided it was a perfect opportunity for some revenge."
Scotty scowled, and Beth got the feeling he didn't deal well with not knowing what a situation was.
Shrugging, she finished off her pizza while he mulled over matters, and then stood and rinsed her plate. Beth set it in the dishwasher with the other dishes, and then dried her hands on a dish towel and turned to head for the kitchen door. "I'm going to bed."
"I'll come with ye."
That brought her to an abrupt halt. Turning, she peered at him blankly. "What?"
Scotty eyed her determinedly as he crossed the room. "Ye've been attacked twice now, lass. Whether it's by two different people, or one somehow managing to track ye here, 'tis clear ye're no' safe. Someone should be with ye at all times until we sort this out."
Beth frowned. "So . . . what? You plan to sit in the hall outside my door until Donny gets up to replace you?"
"Nay," he said, and Beth was just relaxing, thinking he meant only to escort her to her door, when he added, "I plan to stay in yer room."
"Oh, hell no!" she said at once. Dear Lord, she had sexual fantasies and wet dreams about this man all the time. Every night. There was no way she was having him actually in her room with her while she moaned and panted his name. Not that Beth knew if she did that, but if she did, she sure as spit didn't want him there to witness it.
"Beth, ye've narrowly escaped death twice now, and were badly injured the last time. I'm trying to keep ye safe," he said reasonably.
"Well, I have news for you, my friend, you're not--" She paused abruptly and then asked with sudden frustration, "What do you care?"
Scotty blinked in surprise. "What?"
Beth scowled at him as various emotions rolled through her. Mostly confusion, with a side order of bewilderment and a touch of
hurt. The handful of times she'd encountered him before this, Scotty had treated her with cold disdain. Now, this trip, he was suddenly deigning to smile at her, and talking to her like she was a real human being rather than the scum of the earth he'd seemed to see her as for the better part of one hundred twenty-five years. And he was worried enough about her that he was willing to give up a night's sleep to guard her?
Beth had no idea what had brought on this sudden about-face in him, but she wasn't sure she liked it. The truth was, she was finding it somewhat alarming. It was one thing to lust after a man when you knew he didn't like you. It had ensured she couldn't like him either, so that her passion for him had remained firmly housed in the "he's a hot hunk you can fantasize about, but don't think it will go further" category.
However, now he was here, treating her like a human being and acting all nice and seemingly concerned about her well-being and--frankly--it was scaring her silly. She could like this guy who was nice to her, and that wasn't a good thing, especially when he had a life mate somewhere he was just waiting to claim.
"What do you care?" Beth repeated now. "You barely know me."
"That's not true," he said with surprise. "I've known ye fer nearly a hundred and twenty-five years."
Beth snorted at the claim. "You've popped up in the same area as me a handful of times over one hundred and twenty-five years and looked down your nose and been a thorn in my butt every single time before this. So, what's changed?"
"You have," Scotty responded at once, and then looked as if he'd quite happily snatch the words back.
Tilting her head, Beth eyed him solemnly. "Explain."
Scotty stared at her for a moment, several expressions flashing across his face, but then his mouth tightened and he shook his head. "Never mind. That's a conversation for another day. One when ye're no' swaying on yer feet from exhaustion. Go on to yer bed and get some rest. Ye've had a tough day."
Beth remained where she was, her mind turning everything over. In truth, she knew what he said was true. She had changed a great deal over the last ten years. Before that she'd been a "hurting unit"--angry, bitter, resentful . . . She'd felt like life had kicked her in the teeth, repeatedly . . . and it had. But she'd continued to do that kicking herself afterward. And then, ten years ago, they'd been clearing out a rogue nest and come upon a terribly abused dog. Half starved, burned, beaten, and tortured in ways she couldn't even guess by the rogues in the house, the poor beast had been at death's door. It had also been terrified, growling and snarling viciously, not letting any of them near him.
Deciding it was beyond helping, one of the other hunters had intended to shoot him, but Beth had intervened. To this day she couldn't say why exactly, but she'd looked into his eyes and something had called out to her. Perhaps she'd recognized herself looking back--the young terrified her who had been peering out at the world through her own eyes since she was a child. Whatever the case, she'd offered him part of her lunch, talking to him softly the whole time. It had taken a lot of patience and coaxing, but eventually she'd got the dog to eat. Beth hadn't tried to touch him or get too close--he'd been too skittish for that, and she'd understood. There had been times in her life when she hadn't trusted anyone to get too close or to touch her either. So she'd left him to eat and had gone back to work, helping with cleanup now that the rogues in the nest had been apprehended.
At first the dog had stayed where he was and followed her with his eyes. But when she'd walked around the side of the building, he'd followed, creeping just far enough around the corner that he could see her again. She'd noticed, but ignored it, and just gone about her business. But when he followed her again the next time she moved out of sight, she'd started to talk to him as she worked.
In truth, Beth couldn't recall what she'd said to him, really, except that she'd told him she was going to call him Ruff because he barked and growled anytime anyone got too near, and because he was in such rough shape. By the time cleanup was done and she and Dree had headed to their vehicle, Ruff had reduced the distance he kept between them to two or three feet. He followed them to the SUV and when she opened the back door, he'd hesitated only a moment before hopping inside.
Beth had taken him home, and fed him again, but allowed him the distance he wanted. She'd then gone to bed and had been just dozing off when she'd felt him hop up on the foot of the bed. She'd almost told him to get down. The poor beast was crusted with filth and blood. But in the end she'd let him be. When she woke up it was to find him cuddled up against her in bed. He'd let her pet him, and bathe him, and after eating again had gone docilely with her to the vet.
Within a very short time, Ruff had been a different dog altogether. A beautiful American boxer, he'd grown strong and healthy and had become an affectionate, cheerful, and loyal companion. He'd grown in confidence and lost any hint of skittishness. It was as if the abuse had never happened. He'd let it go and moved on, enjoying his life with her. Beth had been amazed. The vet hadn't. He'd said animals were the smarter creatures, living in the now and not dragging past baggage along with them through life. Ruff had it good now and was enjoying it.
Beth had learned from Ruff. She was nearly a hundred and sixty-five years old by that point, and had dragged the misery of her mortal life around with her for the last hundred and fifteen years since being turned. But she'd determined to be like Ruff, set that past down and travel on without it. It had taken her a little more time and effort than Ruff. Beth had slipped a couple times, and again picked up that baggage she was so used to carrying, but eventually she'd managed to set it down and leave it down so that it became just a part of her past and remained there where it belonged. Doing so had changed Beth's life tremendously. Her anger and bitterness had evaporated, she'd started to enjoy life more, and she'd become the person she suspected she was always meant to be.
So yes, Beth had changed. Apparently it had not gone unnoticed by Scotty, and that in turn had changed his behavior toward her. Interesting.
Breathing out slowly, Beth finally nodded and simply said, "Fine. I'll go to bed. Alone and without a guard," she added firmly, and when he opened his mouth on what she suspected was going to be a protest, she reminded him, "I'm the one in charge of this mission. You and Donny are my backup, so I know you'll listen to me when I say you're not spending the night in my room guarding me like some defenseless child. Understood?"
Scotty's mouth snapped closed, but he nodded stiffly.
"Good." Turning, she walked out of the kitchen with a quiet, "Good sleep."
Eight
Beth pushed through the Emergency Exit door and found herself in the alley again. The tap tap tap of high heels drew her gaze to the weeping woman just as she suddenly stopped and dropped to a crouch before the garbage bins. Beth peered at her and then shifted her gaze to the figure standing, hidden in the shadows cast by the bins. Squinting her eyes, she tried to pierce the darkness and get a better look at the person waiting to attack her, but all she could make out was the shape of someone tall in a suit.
"Chestnuts! All 'ot, a penny a score!"
Startled, Beth turned at that cry and peered down the alley in the other direction. Her eyes widened, and for a moment she thought the alley was on fire on the far end. Even as she had the thought, though, she was suddenly standing in the midst of all that light and heat, and she saw that what she had thought was a fire was actually hundreds of lights coming from the stalls lining both sides of the way. Each stall held at least one and sometimes two lights to illuminate the wares. Some had candles, while others had the smoky flame of old-fashioned grease lamps. Together, though, they all worked to light the whole area so that she was nearly dazzled by the colors around her. Here a splash of red apples, there purple pickling cabbage next to a stall of yellow onions, and then a butcher's stall with slabs of meat piled high behind a butcher who paced back and forth, sharpening his knife on a steel that hung from his waist.
It was Saturday night at the market in Tottenham Court, when it w
as so crowded you could barely move. The smells were overwhelming, and the noises . . .
"Now's your time! A half quire of paper for a penny!"
"A pound of grapes two pence!"
"Pick 'em up cheap here! Three Yarmouth bloaters for a penny!"
"Fine russets, penny a lot!"
The din was incredible and something Beth had forgotten.
She felt a tug on the long blue Victorian gown she was now wearing, and glanced down at a girl of perhaps five or six with a heavy basket in hand.
"Walnuts, miss? Sixteen a penny," the girl said, lifting her basket for Beth to better see.
Noting her hopeful smile and her fingers stained brown from the walnuts, Beth felt around on her person, hoping she had a pocket or purse with coins. The child reminded her of her little sister, and she'd buy every last walnut if she could.
"Here, lass."
Beth glanced around, her eyes widening when she saw Scotty beside her, dressed in a traditional plaid. As she watched, he handed several coins to the girl, but waved away the basket she then happily held up to him.
Scotty shook his head and said kindly, "The coins are fer you, lass. Keep yer walnuts."
"Thank ye, m'laird. Thank ye." The girl rushed off as if afraid he'd change his mind.
"That was kind," Beth said softly, not at all surprised to find him here. Her dreams always included Scotty, and had since she'd met him a hundred and twenty-five years ago.
Turning, she let her gaze sweep around the stalls and milling people. This was where she'd been happiest in her life, at market with her mother and sisters.
"Saturday night market at Tottenham Court," Scotty murmured, glancing around.
"You know it?" she asked with surprise.
"O' course. I've had a home in London since the seventeenth century," he murmured.
Beth frowned, unsure if that was true, or just something she'd dreamt up. She supposed it didn't matter. Whether it was true or not, she liked that he knew this part of her life, if only in her dream.