"Great," I muttered and went to pack.
A driver picked us up and drove to the airport where a jet waited. Someone else was there to load our luggage. Tony's bag had already been packed when I woke for the evening; he'd just waited until we had our brief encounter to inform me we were going somewhere else. I recognized one of the two men who flew with us, other than the pilot and co-pilot. He was one of the human agents who'd been with Tony in Kansas City. At least he wasn't one of the two who'd worn sunglasses indoors and at night. He was the one, however, who'd pulled his jacket back to reveal the weapon he carried in a shoulder holster. Now he watched me suspiciously until I stared back at him. He turned his head when I did that. I sent mindspeech to Tony.
Was the goon necessary? I asked.
Tony sat quietly in a seat across the aisle from me, tapping away on a laptop. None of the rules applies to Tony; he was sending emails. He lifted his head but didn't turn in my direction.
Lissa, I normally travel with at least three. This is a compromise, he returned.
Fine, I sent back and was silent the remainder of the flight.
Goon was directing traffic as soon as we landed in Atlanta. He yelled at the limo driver who'd come to meet us. The poor driver was scared witless because he hadn't gotten close enough to the jet after we came to a stop. Who knew? I guess there's a manual somewhere, listing rules on precisely how close to park next to the plane. Tony didn't interfere; he just packed up his laptop and followed me off the jet. The driver helped load our bags into the trunk; goon had two, Tony and I had one each. Maybe the goon carried all his guns, Tasers and portable cannons in the second bag.
"What's his name or is that top secret?" I asked Tony as he slid into the back seat of the car with me. The goon, dissatisfied with the driver's packing skills, was rearranging our bags in the trunk while complaining to the driver.
"Bill Jennings," Tony said quietly. "He's strictly by the book, so don't joke or tease with him."
"Like I would," I snorted. "He looks like his mother fed him nails for breakfast."
"With little tiny marshmallows," Tony held a thumb and forefinger a half inch apart.
"Nah, no marshmallows," I shook my head. "Wood chips, maybe." Bill was finally satisfied with the luggage arrangement, climbed into the passenger seat and we were off. It had rained earlier in Atlanta and the highways were wet—we passed through mist and fog on the way to the hotel. At least the hotel downtown was a nice one; Tony and I had rooms next to each other with a closed connecting door. Bill the goon was staying in Tony's room. He should have moved over and let me do the protecting at night; I'd be awake anyway. I thought about Winkler but it was too late to call him so I pulled out my laptop, sent emails and spent the rest of the night reading. Just before dawn, Tony came in through the connecting door, forcing Bill the goon to stay behind in the other room. Tony made sure my door was secure and my curtains completely closed. He covered me up in the bed too, just as a precaution.
One thing about being a vampire is that you never toss and turn. There are no sleepless nights spent fretting and worrying over what your next waking will bring or whether your boss will yell at you. Day comes and you're out. Night falls and you're awake. Hell of a system. My locked cooler of blood was plugged in and waiting for me when I woke. I checked the connecting door, making sure it was locked on my side before drinking my dinner. Maybe blood tastes good to other vampires. For me it was something to keep the hunger away and not much else. It tasted better if I took from someone I cared for. So far, that had been Gavin and Tony, with Tony's being warmer and nicer. I didn't want to drink from him again unless I couldn't help it, though. Bagged blood was fairly tasteless and just fine, thanks.
Tony knocked on my door as soon as I was dressed so I opened up. Bill was standing at Tony's shoulder, wearing an impatient frown. Obediently I followed them out of Tony's suite. I wore a black t-shirt and jeans, black leather athletic shoes and a black sweater. I had no idea what we'd be doing so I came prepared. Tony smelled like steak and a baked potato, Agent Bill smelled of seafood linguine, so they'd eaten already.
"We're taking you to a house we've quarantined," Tony informed me as the driver from the evening before pulled up in front of our hotel. It was raining again and I was glad I'd worn the sweater. The house was in the suburb or Smyrna and was a small rental with only two bedrooms. It looked as if it had been abandoned in a hurry—trash and stray pieces of furniture lay scattered about. Dirty dishes were still in the sink, too. Tell me what you smell in mindspeech only, Tony instructed as he, Bill and I walked through the door. I sniffed quietly through the house and my eyebrows rose a little.
Tony, there were three humans and two vampires here, I sent to him while walking into the back bedroom. There were two twin beds inside and the windows were covered with dark blinds and curtains. I imagined they blocked light efficiently enough for vampires to sleep there.
Will you recognize any of them if you see or smell them again?
Tony, who do you think you're talking to, here? I almost snorted audibly.
I suppose that's a yes, he grudgingly admitted. What else can you tell me?
The vampires we killed in New Mexico? I asked.
Yes?
These are connected to those. They have the same taint.
Lissa, you frighten me.
You and a bunch of other guys, I responded.
We drove to an office building downtown after that. I kicked my heels while Tony and Bill met with someone inside an inner office. They'd left me far enough outside and the walls and doors were thick enough that I couldn't hear any of the conversation, although I tried. Not even a mumble came through, dammit. Tony came out with a box in his hand and motioned for me to follow him into another room across the hall. Bill didn't follow us inside; he stood in the waiting room, arms crossed over his chest and a grim expression plastered on his face as Tony shut the door behind us.
The room looked to be a place where job interviews might be done; it had putty colored walls, sturdy but nondescript furniture and a picture of the president hanging behind a faux-wood, utilitarian desk. "Lissa," Tony said, setting the box down on the desk and opening it, "tell me if this smells like any of the humans you scented earlier this evening." There was a shirt inside the box and it had blood on it. The scent reached my nose before Tony ever lifted the lid.
"Tony, this is somebody else and either they bled a lot or they're dead. That shirt has blood on it." I looked into his gray eyes, which were unreadable. He carefully replaced the lid and gestured for me to follow him from the room.