“Do you know where Beth lives?”

“Aye,” Scotty answered as he steered the SUV down the driveway. He’d got a lot of information and even maps before flying to Canada. And he’d insisted on driving again. It had seemed obvious from their first drive out to back up Beth that Donny was not comfortable with speed, and he had a bad feeling speed would be of the essence again here.

The young immortal accepted that news without comment, but did eye him curiously. After a moment, though, he said, “You probably want to take the highway. It’s summer and the road crews have everything all torn up. She would have taken the highway to avoid that.”

Scotty merely grunted. He’d planned to take the highway anyway. It was the only route that had been included with the info he’d been given, and had been listed as the fastest. Which was good, since he felt a certain urgency to get to her quickly.

Donny fell silent for a bit then, and Scotty was just turning onto the ramp leading to the highway when the lad suddenly asked, “What if she’s already on her way back and we missed her?”

That was a real possibility and something he hadn’t considered. Scotty frowned over it as he merged onto the highway. Once he was safely in traffic, however, he said, “We have trackers on our vehicles in the UK. Do you have anyth—”

“We do too!” Donny interrupted with excitement and pulled out his phone.

Scotty grimaced as the other man called Mortimer. If he’d thought of the trackers back at the house, he might have saved them this trip. At least he would have if all was well with Beth, he thought as he listened to Donny explain what they wanted to Mortimer.

“He’s opening the program,” Donny announced.

Scotty merely nodded, his concentration on the lanes ahead and the flow of traffic.

A good ten minutes passed before Donny said, “He has it up and sees both our vehicle and hers. He says she’s on the other side of the highway, coming our way—” Donny cut himself off abruptly and waited, and then asked with concern, “What?”

“What is it?” Scotty asked tersely.

“He says her vehicle appears to be stopped in the middle of the highway. We should pass her in a couple minutes.”

Scotty’s mouth tightened. It would be more than a couple of minutes if the slowdown in traffic was anything to go by. The people ahead in all three lanes on this side of the median were slowing to gawk at something, and he suspected it was whatever had stopped Beth’s vehicle. Even as he thought that, the traffic on the other side of the median dropped off abruptly, from a steady flow of vehicles to almost nothing. Which meant something had brought oncoming traffic almost to a standstill.

Probably an accident, Scotty thought and shifted into the outside left lane while he had the chance. He wanted to see Beth’s vehicle and be sure she was all right and hadn’t been involved in whatever was holding up traffic on the other side.

“Looks like an accident,” Donny said a moment later.

Scotty merely nodded, his narrowed eyes switching between the road and the accident ahead on their left. There were three lanes of traffic on the other side of the median too, but a flatbed trailer was presently across the two lanes farthest from them, leaving only the inside lane nearest them open. However, the cars weren’t whizzing out at one hundred ten or even the speed limit of one hundred kilometers an hour. They were crawling through the opening, the drivers rubbernecking it all the way.

“That explains why she’s stopped,” Donny murmured, eyeing the accident as they approached. “She must be in an inside lane. Look for a red Explorer. That’s what she drives.”

Scotty grunted. Their SUV was now crawling as slowly as the rubberneckers on the other side of the median, and he had a huge tight ball of “something’s fecking wrong” in the pit of his stomach.

“Can you see any of the other vehicles involved?” Scotty asked as they drew even with the end of the truck and got their first view of the vehicles behind it.

“Mortimer says we should be right beside her vehicle,” Donny murmured, the phone still pressed to his ear as he craned his neck to get a better look around Scotty. “But the only red vehicle I see is . . .”

“The one under the back of the flatbed,” Scotty finished grimly when the lad’s voice died. He didn’t wait for a response, but glanced around to assess the situation. Unfortunately, there was a concrete barrier on this side of the three lanes and no shoulder to pull off onto. He had to get to the outside lane to move the SUV out of traffic. Taking control of several drivers at once, he slowed them to create an opening, and then steered the SUV across the lanes and onto the right shoulder.

Leaving him to it, Donny unsnapped his seat belt and climbed out of his seat and then over the back seat to get to where the weapons locker and blood cooler were.

“Good lad,” Scotty muttered as he brought the vehicle to a halt, shifted it into Park and shut it off.

“How are we going to get across traffic?” Donny asked, hurrying to his side with the portable blood cooler in hand as Scotty got out of the vehicle.

“How do ye think?” Scotty asked, shifting his attention to the drivers of several passing cars.

“Mind control to make them stop?” Donny asked.

“Got it in one, lad,” Scotty said grimly as he made the drivers slow almost to a stop. He then jogged across their side of the highway with Donny hurrying after him.

They had to climb over the three-foot-high concrete barrier, cross the grass median and then climb over the concrete barrier on the other side as well. Scotty didn’t even have to control the mind of the driver of the first vehicle crawling past the accident. He slowed on his own to allow them to cross. It was probably a good thing, because at that point Scotty could see the vehicle under the back of the flatbed and would have had trouble concentrating enough to control anyone. It was definitely a red Explorer. The girders had sheared off the top of the vehicle, which now lay on the asphalt behind it, leaving a clear view of the blood-covered backs of the front seats.

“Those girders took off the headrests,” Donny pointed out with concern. “You don’t think—”

That they took off Beth’s head too? Scotty finished what the boy wouldn’t, or couldn’t, say. But he did so silently and didn’t respond to the unfinished question. He couldn’t bear to think about that, let alone say it. She could not have been decapitated, he assured himself as they approached the damaged vehicle. He had waited too long to—

“She’s not here,” Donny said with surprise as they reached the ruined vehicle and peered over the front seats that were empty not only of Beth, but blood as well, other than a couple of drops here and there.

Scotty merely nodded, his attention now on the crushed front end of the Explorer where it butted up against the right back tires of the flatbed. The front of the red vehicle hadn’t only been crushed accordion-style against the huge tires on impact, but the tires of the flatbed had also blown, dropping the back of the trailer with its stack of girders onto the hood of the engine. He was surprised the combination hadn’t caused an explosion and wondered if everyone shouldn’t be giving the vehicles some serious space.

“Donny? Scotty?”

Both men turned to see Beth straightening from where she had been kneeling on the roadside beside a somewhat traumatized-looking man in his late fifties.

Surprise evident on her face, she walked toward them now, her eyebrows lifting in question. “What are you doing here?”

“We came looking for you,” Donny explained. “You were late, and Mr. Scotty had a feeling something was wrong.”

“He’s Mr. MacDonald if you want to address him formally,” she said with a crooked smile, and then corrected herself. “Well, Laird MacDonald, really. But Mr. Scotty just sounds wrong.”

“Oh, sorry, Laird Scotty,” the lad said at once.

Scotty merely shook his head, his attention remaining on Beth as his gaze slid over her from top to toe. Much to his relief, she didn’t appear injured at all. Although she did have splashes of blood on her back and side. “The blood in yer vehicle?”

“I keep a cooler of bagged blood there in case of emergencies,” she explained, glancing to her car and grimacing at the shape it was in.

“Ah,” he murmured, relaxing. Obviously, the cooler had spilled, its contents flying about and tearing on impact. That explained the massive amount of blood on the backs of the seats while there was little in the front and on her.

Finally meeting her gaze again, he commented, “Ye managed to avoid injury.”

Beth nodded solemnly, and glanced toward the vehicle behind them. “Barely. The seat belt held me up and nearly got me beheaded, but snapped at the last moment.”

Scotty paused briefly, sucking in air to calm himself as he realized how close he’d come to losing her, but then asked, “And the driver o’ the flatbed?”

Beth gestured over her shoulder to the man sitting on the roadside who she’d been talking to when she spotted them. “He seems fine, but a little out of it. I just got him out of the truck and practically had to carry him. I was going to search his mind to see why he suddenly swerved in front of me, but then noticed you two. It all just happened a few minutes ago.”

Scotty nodded. “I’ll handle him. Ye see if any o’ yer belongings survived the crash.”

Beth smiled wryly and shook her head, but muttered, “As you will, m’laird,” and headed toward the Explorer.

Scotty’s lips twitched at her words. He knew Beth hated it when he got “all laird of the manor bossy,” as he’d once heard her put it. But that’s what he’d been trained for. He had been laird of the MacDonald clan, expected to take charge and handle any situation that came up. After that he’d had many titles, but every one of them were as a man in charge, right down to his now being head of the UK Council as well as the UK Rogue Hunters. Being “all laird of the manor bossy” just came naturally to him.

More important to him, though, was her reaction to it today. In the past, she would have snarled and snapped at him like a rabid dog. This time, there was little anger. It was more irritation and even some amusement, which seemed to suggest the reports he’d been receiving were correct and she was finally healing from her past. She might actually be ready for him to claim her as his life mate. Something he’d been waiting nearly one hundred twenty-five years to do.

“Donny,” he said suddenly, tearing his gaze away from Beth’s swaying hips as she walked to her Explorer.

“Yes, Mr. Laird Scotty,” Donny said promptly. The boy actually stood at attention.

“Scotty’ll do,” he growled. “I’m no’ a laird anymore. I gave that up shortly after I was turned.”

“Oh, right, the aging thing would have forced you to,” Donny said with a nod.

“Aye, the aging thing,” he agreed and then said, “Call Mortimer and tell him what’s happened and that we need a cleanup crew here.”

“Yes, sir,” he said, pulling out his phone.

Leaving him to it, Scotty then moved over to the truck driver.

Several cars had pulled over on the shoulder, the passengers and drivers all piling out to see if they could help. A lot of them stood crowded around the driver, gazing from the truck to the red Explorer with its crushed front end and sheared-off roof. Scotty sent them away with little effort and then dropped to crouch next to the man and search his mind.

The driver was dazed and confused. He recalled pulling onto the highway and merging with traffic, and then his memory skipped to sitting shaking in his truck, staring into the side-view mirror at the Explorer with its top sheared off.

Disturbed by the absence of memory, Scotty tried harder and dug deeper into the man’s mind, but there was nothing there. The area when the accident had happened was blank. It was as if he hadn’t been there during it.

Or as if he’d been under someone’s control, Scotty thought with concern. He took a moment to calm the man’s mind, and then stood and turned to survey Beth’s vehicle.

She was lucky to be alive. Had her seat belt not snapped, allowing her to avoid the girders, she might have been beheaded. And he wasn’t quite sure how the Explorer hadn’t exploded and burned her alive when the flatbed dropped on it. Those were the only two ways that an immortal could die, beheading or burning, and an accident like this should have resulted in one or the other of those outcomes.

“Mortimer says he’s got a team on the way. They’ll be here in five minutes.”

Scotty glanced to Donny at that announcement and nodded abruptly, then led him to where Beth was leaning into the Explorer. His eyebrows rose as he heard her mutter an unhappy “Damn.”

“Problem?” he asked.

Backing out of the car, she straightened and held up a shoe that had slid out of the plastic bag. “The Explorer ate my shoe.”

Scotty grinned crookedly. “Ate it, eh?”

Beth stared at the remaining shoe and moaned, “They were my favorite shoes.”

Scott shifted his gaze from her pretty, flushed face framed with red hair and looked down at the shoe she held. He then blinked. Good Lord in heaven, the shoe was as red as a candy apple, the heel a good four or five inches high, and he immediately envisioned her wearing them and nothing else. And then he recalled that there was only one now and she’d never again wear them, naked or otherwise, and was nearly as distressed as Beth appeared to be. He really would have liked to have seen her in them.

“Ah well,” Beth muttered, tossing that incredible shoe back into the vehicle. “At least my weapons case appears to be all right, and my overnight bags appear to be okay too.” She pulled them out of the Explorer one after the other.

Scotty took each item from her, slinging the bags over his shoulder and reaching for the next item until she pulled out a long tubular something. He took it, but then turned it slowly in his hand and sniffed it, asking, “What is this?”

“Huh?” She turned with a brick of something white and stinky in hand and peered at the item he was eyeing with interest. “Oh. Goose sausage. A friend gave it to me. It’s really good too, but I was worried that it and these other foods would go bad while I was gone, so I thought I’d best take it all to the Enforcer house. If I’m not going to be gone long, I’ll just store it there and collect it when I get back, but if I’ll be gone longer, Sam and Mortimer can have it or give it away to charity.”

She finished her explanation by plopping the smelly white brick in his free hand and then returned to digging in the car.

The minute she’d turned her back, Scotty handed off the white brick to Donny but held on to that sausage. It smelled delightfully delicious. He could almost take a bite right now.

“I think that’s everything,” Beth announced, turning with a somewhat crushed box holding several more items of food.

“Good, because if I’m no’ mistaken, I believe that truck pullin’ up behind our SUV is Mortimer’s men,” Scotty commented, his gaze narrowed on the vehicle as two men got out, one fair-haired and one dark-haired.

“It’s Russell and Francis,” Donny said, recognizing them. Concern on his face, he added, “Man, Mortimer must be desperately low on people if he took them off the gate to come out here and handle this.”

Scotty frowned at the comment, and reached into his pocket to clasp his phone as they watched the men start across the other side of the highway toward the median. He was considering sending for a half dozen of his own hunters to come help out here . . . just until this business in Venezuela was resolved. He might send a couple down to Venezuela as well to help out there. It would keep his thumb on the pulse of what was happening with that business.

“Hola!”

Blinking his thoughts away, Scotty raised his eyebrows as the dark-haired man leapt over the second concrete barrier and rushed ahead of his partner to greet them. He fairly danced between the slow-moving vehicles in the inside lane and then rushed to Beth and caught her up in his arms.

Scotty stiffened and scowled as the man hugged her tightly and cried, “Elizabeth Argenis! You must be more careful. You cannot get yourself killed after we’ve just become friends.”

“MacDonald.”

Scotty heard the greeting as the fair-haired man reached them, but was busy trying to incinerate the darker man with his eyes.

“I do not think you have met my life mate, Francis. Have you?”

That caught his attention, and Scotty blinked and turned to peer at the speaker. “Russell,” he said, recognizing the fair-haired man now. His gaze swung back to the man still holding Beth in his arms. “Your life mate?”

“Yes,” Russell said, his eyes twinkling with amusement, and then he glanced to the darker man and admonished, “Francis, put Beth down and come meet Scotty.”

Francis froze, his head jerking toward them, eyes wide. Setting Beth down, he spun her around to face them and dropped his arm across her shoulders as he stared at Scotty. “Not Scotty the head of the UK Enforcers and the man we have to be nice to if we want to go to London during our European tour so you can introduce me to the Green Giant that Victoria and Julianna were giggling about?”

“He did no’ e’en stop to take a breath,” Scotty said to Russell in a marveling tone, and then glanced to Francis and added, “But yer bum’s out the window, lad.”

“My bum’s out the window?” Francis echoed with alarm and looked over his shoulder at his behind as if afraid he might have a hole in his trousers.

“It means you are talking nonsense,” Russell explained with amusement.

“Aye,” Scotty said. “Ye do no’ need me permission to visit London. All immortals are welcome so long as they behave.”

“And do as he says,” Beth teased, offering Scotty a sweet smile when he glanced her way.

Russell’s eyebrows rose slightly at her sass, and then he said abruptly, “Well, I am glad you are alive and well, Beth, because Mortimer is waiting on you at the house. Apparently, he has a job for you?”

“Oh, damn, yes, I should get going,” she said, her gaze shifting to the destroyed Explorer with a frown.

“We’ll drive ye back,” Scotty said at once. Taking her arm, he nodded at Russell. “A pleasure to see ye again, Argeneau.”

“It’s Jones this decade,” Russell said with a smile, referring to the last name he was using at the moment. “Francis’s family name of Renart is next decade, and then it will be Argeneau again the decade after that.”

“Jones, then,” Scotty corrected himself and gave a nod to both men before urging Beth away. They had to get back to the house. The plane would be there by now, waiting on them, and as busy as things were, the pilot would not be happy about having to cool his jets. Unfortunately, the delay would not be over even once they reached the house. Mortimer still had to explain the job to Beth . . . and tell her that Scotty would be going with her on this job.

“Wait, what?” Beth blinked in surprise at Mortimer’s words. They’d arrived at the house just moments ago. Sam had greeted them at the door and sent them to Mortimer’s office, where he had shocked her with the greeting, “I’m glad you were not injured in the accident. I do not think Scotty and Donny could have handled this job without you. It needs a delicate touch.”

Shaking her head, she said with confusion, “But I work with Tybo and Valerian. They—”

“Both took a knife to the heart,” Mortimer interrupted solemnly. “Rachel, Dr. Argeneau, would like them to take at least another day off to recover fully.”

“Oh,” Beth said weakly. She would have expected the two men to be mostly healed by now if they’d been given blood transfusions and such, but mostly healed wasn’t fully healed and she was no doctor, so it looked like she’d be stuck with Scotty a bit longer.

“Fortunately,” Mortimer continued, “Scotty and Donny are available to fill in while Tybo and Valerian are out of commission.”

Beth wasn’t sure how fortunate that was. She supposed she’d have to wait and see just what Scotty was up to in coming here.

“So,” Mortimer continued, moving the subject along, “you will be flying out to Vancouver, British Columbia, for a case that is a bit delicate.”

“Delicate how?” Beth asked with interest, trying not to think about the fact that she’d be trapped on a plane with Mr. Sexybeast for a good five-hour flight. At least, she thought that was how long the flight to British Columbia was.

“Delicate because it involves Kira Sarka,” Mortimer explained.

“Who is Kira Sarka?” Donny asked before Beth could.

“The youngest daughter of Athanasios Sarka.”

Judging by Mortimer’s solemn tones, this Sarka person was someone they should all know, and the name did sound vaguely familiar, but Beth had no idea who he might be.

Mortimer must have picked up on that because he explained, “He is the head of the Russian Immortal Council.”

Ah, yeah, that’s probably why she’d heard the name. Undoubtedly he’d come up in conversation before, and she hadn’t paid attention. Beth hated politics. But even more than politics, she hated when people, whether immortal or mortal, got treated differently because of wealth, power, or political connections and such.

“So, he’s the head of the Russian Immortal Council,” she murmured and then arched an eyebrow. “And that matters why?”

When Mortimer hesitated, Scotty said, “Athanasios means immortal death in ancient Greek.”

She had no idea what that had to do with anything, but it caught her attention. “His parents gave him a name that means immortal death?”

“Nay, his people did when he lived in Greece,” Scotty said dryly and then added, “because he seemed immortal to them and brought death to his enemies swiftly and brutally. Athan’s always been a bit hotheaded and bloodthirsty.”

“Hmm,” Beth said, unimpressed.

“He is not someone we want to upset unnecessarily,” Mortimer said now. “He’s unpredictable and prone to prompt retribution for perceived slights. So his daughter has to be handled with care.”

Beth considered that and then asked, “What has she done?”

“She recently moved to British Columbia to attend summer courses at the university. She is living on campus, and apparently has been feeding off the hoof.”

“Off the hoof means she’s been biting mortals, right?” Donny asked and when Mortimer nodded, he winced and shook his head. “That’s bad.”

“Definitely,” Mortimer agreed.

“So . . .” Beth raised one eyebrow. “You want us to arrange an accident for this Kira? Maybe something like what nearly killed me today?”

“What?” Mortimer gaped at her.

“What, what?” she asked innocently. “Feeding on mortals is not allowed here. It’s rogue behavior punishable by beheading. But obviously you don’t want to upset her father, Mr. Deathhead, so dragging her in before the Council for judgment isn’t possible. Which leaves a punishment that could be seen as an accident having nothing to do with the Council,” she reasoned.

“We don’t assassinate the children of the leaders of other Councils,” Mortimer said firmly.

“Who said anything about assassination?” Beth asked lightly. “I am saying let the Council vote on what to do with her, which, if she is knowingly and deliberately breaking our laws, will probably be beheading. And then we—”

“The Council has already voted,” Mortimer said tightly, cutting her off. “They decided to send someone to explain our laws to her, and to inform her of the punishment for breaking those laws. Then she will be watched to see if she continues with those behaviors. If she does, then she will be brought in for judgment.”

“Ah, I see,” Beth said with a solemn nod. “The girl is a dullard, without the mental capacity to understand our laws, so needs them explained.”

Mortimer opened his mouth, closed it and then narrowed his eyes on her and accused, “You are trying to get me to decide you cannot be as delicate as we need so I will take you off the assignment.”

Beth grimaced at the accusation, but didn’t deny it. Instead, she said softly, “We all know she knows the laws here, right?”

“Yes,” Mortimer admitted, and then pointed out, “But she may not believe they pertain to her. She is young and apparently rebellious. She enjoys causing her father problems, and she may believe she has some sort of diplomatic immunity here or that we will merely fine her father or some such thing.”

Beth considered that briefly, and then let her breath out on a sigh. “Fine. So, we go find her, talk to her, and then watch her to see if she behaves.”

“You only have to talk to her, explain our laws and inform her that they do pertain to her too, and then make the consequences clear should she continue to break our laws,” Mortimer corrected her. “Someone else is already watching her.”

“Then why aren’t they doing the talking?” she asked with surprise.

“Because they aren’t hunters. It isn’t their job. They’re only keeping an eye on her as a favor because we’re short-staffed.”

“Ah.” Beth nodded, but then asked, “Is there a reason talking to her would take the three of us?”

“Athanasios has put several bodyguards on Kira. They may take exception to your speaking to her. It is best you not go alone.”

“Ah,” Beth said again. “So if we’re flying out there, I’m guessing we’re to rent a vehicle?”

“No. We have a satellite office in Vancouver. There’s at least one in every province,” he added.

“You mean a house and shop like this one?” Donny asked with interest.

“Basically,” Mortimer said and continued, “Someone will collect you from the airport and take you there. Hopefully,” he added under his breath.

Beth caught the word and narrowed her eyes. “Hopefully? What does that mean?”

Mortimer paused a heartbeat, but then heaved a sigh and admitted, “I have not been able to get ahold of our agent in Vancouver yet. But I am sure I will before you land,” he added quickly, although he didn’t sound all that confident.

“And if you don’t?” Beth asked.

Mortimer considered the question briefly and then said, “If there is no one waiting at the airport when you land, call me and I will give you further instructions. However, for now, we will go on the assumption someone will be waiting. They will take you to the satellite house, you can settle in and then tomorrow night you can approach Kira Sarka and—”

“Wait, wait, wait,” Beth cut in. “Tomorrow night? Why not approach her as soon as we land?”

“Because she is presently out of the country,” he admitted and glanced down at the file on his desk before adding, “She is expected back tomorrow by dinnertime, but is presently in Hollywood for a party at some star’s house or something. I wrote the name of the actor down here somewhere,” he muttered, running a finger down the top page in the file, which was covered with an almost unreadable scrawl.

Not caring whose party the kid was attending, Beth asked impatiently, “Then why are we flying out tonight? Why not just go tomorrow?”

“Because the plane is available now and may not be tomorrow,” Mortimer said, sounding a little annoyed.

“But—” Beth began, only to be interrupted.

“Do not ‘but’ me, Beth. I have enough on my plate right now without you giving me a hard time. Do you know how difficult it is to get things done around here with seventy-five percent of my people down chasing that damned Dressler? I am working with a handful of real hunters, a bunch of trainees and even volunteers with absolutely no training at all. As for trying to get one of the planes booked for anything, well, that is damned near impossible. I have people driving six, ten, and even twelve hours to look into things that will probably turn out to be nothing, but we have to check out any complaint or tip sent in, because Lord knows if we do not and something happens, I will be the one Lucian—”

“Okay, okay,” Beth said soothingly. “I get it. You’re crazy busy and stressed out, and we fly down tonight and talk to the kid tomorrow. It’s fine. When do we fly back?”

Mortimer stared at her for a moment, looking a bit frustrated that she’d cut off his rant, but after a minute he blew out a long breath and muttered, “I managed to book the plane for the day after. Sunday at noon.” Standing, he nodded abruptly. “I think that is everything I needed to tell you, so I suppose you had best get to the plane. It has been waiting on the tarmac for the past half hour, and I would not put it past the bastards to fly off on their next assignment if you are not soon boarded.”

Nodding, Beth got reluctantly to her feet.

“Your luggage should all be on the plane by now, and the captain has an envelope with credit cards and a small amount of cash for each of you. Bastien sent it with him. He asked me to remind you to please keep all receipts.”

“Of course, Mortimer. Don’t worry. We’ll handle everything,” Beth assured him. It seemed she’d be working with Scotty a bit longer. Ah well, she could think of worse things than having to work with a six-foot-three sexy beast of a Scot. He might be annoying at times, but he was always pretty to look at.