Mile High with a Vampire by Lynsay Sands

Twelve

“You’re awfully quiet this morning.”

Quinn glanced up at that comment from Jet and managed a smile. “Sorry. I was just thinking.”

“About what?”

Quinn looked out over the yard they were walking, her thoughts swooping and diving in her head. She’d been thinking about a lot of things. One of which was what he was thinking. They hadn’t spoken since the plane. He and the other men had just been coming in the back door as she’d entered through the front with Bailey after her walk.

Unsure how he would greet her after their disagreement on the plane, Quinn had found herself eager to avoid him. So, she’d popped her head into the kitchen and announced that she thought she might like to lie down. Sam had immediately jumped up to show her which room she was to have while at the Enforcer house, and Quinn had said good night to Marguerite and Mary and followed Sam quickly upstairs just as the men had reached the front hall. She’d been able to feel Jet’s eyes following her, but hadn’t turned to offer him a good night.

Once alone, Quinn had immediately got ready for bed, brushing her teeth, washing her face, and changing into the white cotton nightgown Sam had already set in the room for her to use. But she hadn’t slept well. Her mind had been busy spinning out copies of the conversation she’d had with Marguerite, Mary, and Sam downstairs earlier, followed by her different interactions with Jet. It had almost been a relief when morning had come and she could give up trying to sleep and get up. But there had been no one around when she’d made her way downstairs. It was only then that she’d realized that the other immortals probably kept night hours, as opposed to her day hours. That was one thing Quinn had insisted on since being turned. She’d refused to sleep during the day and be up all night like some hormone-driven teenager . . . or a vampire.

She’d made Parker keep normal hours too, waking him in the morning to have a healthy breakfast and then start on his schoolwork. She’d homeschooled him these last four years. There hadn’t really been a choice. He hadn’t been allowed to attend a mortal school for fear of it somehow being discovered that he was an immortal. Besides, apparently the only place they had a school that immortal children could attend was in some small town called Port Henry, which she’d been told was three or four hours southwest of Toronto, in Canada, with traffic. Since they’d been in Italy, commuting hadn’t been a possibility.

Quinn hadn’t minded. Homeschooling Parker had helped fill the time. Although it had also been harder than she’d expected. It hadn’t been the schoolwork itself; that had been fine. But she imagined homeschooling one’s child was like teaching them to drive. It took a lot of patience and discipline to keep him on track. Fortunately, they’d finished out that year’s lessons before she’d left for Canada.

Thoughts of him had made her call her son to check in and see how he was doing. Parker was spending his summer break with his aunt Pet and uncle Santo. She’d called his personal cell phone and they’d chatted briefly, but she’d noticed that his voice had the rough quality it often had when he’d just woken up. It was six hours later in the day in Italy, though, well past noon, and she suspected he was probably sleeping all day and up all night while she was gone.

Quinn had been fretting about that while she made coffee when Jet had entered the kitchen. She supposed now that she shouldn’t have been surprised to see him up so early. He was mortal, after all. But she had been surprised, and a little flustered. However, he’d apparently got over his irritation with her and acted like everything was fine, and they’d worked together to make breakfast. Well, she’d acted more as the supporting cast, setting the table and making him coffee while he’d made them a breakfast of French toast and sausages, assuring her as he did that Sam had said to have whatever they wanted for breakfast if they were up before the others.

The French toast was as good as the omelet he’d cooked for her had been, and they’d chatted about what life was like for him as a pilot, and about her homeschooling Parker, while they’d eaten and sat over coffee afterward. It had been nice, easy . . . so when he’d suggested a walk after, she’d agreed. They were just heading out the door when Bailey had come running down the stairs, barking excitedly to ensure they didn’t leave her behind. Spotting Dante just starting down the stairs behind the pup, his long hair a tangled mess around his sleepy face, Jet had chuckled and suggested he go back to bed and have a sleep-in, saying he’d look after Bailey and feed her for them.

But when they’d come back inside with Bailey fifteen minutes later, it was to find Mary up, Bailey’s food ready, and Mary with two cups of coffee in hand and determination on her face.

“Time for your first official counseling session,” she’d announced, and Quinn had found herself following the woman into a small office up the hall that Sam apparently used for work but had said they could take over for her counseling.

What had followed was some of the most exhausting work Quinn had ever experienced. Who knew that delving into your life and past could be so wearing? Emotionally, she’d been put through the wringer. Anger, pain, resentment, grief, and countless other emotions had kept her on a roller coaster ride for the next three hours. Quinn had once performed surgery on a patient with poor cardiac function who had needed two valves replaced but had complications that included needing several arteries bypassed as well as an aneurysm in the aortic arch. She’d come out of that ten-hour operation feeling less exhausted than her meeting with Mary had left her.

“Quinn?”

“Oh, sorry.” She offered Jet a smile, and shrugged, admitting, “Mostly I was thinking about my session with Mary.”

“You two were in there a long time. I was expecting an hour, but you were at it for three,” he pointed out. “Did it go well?”

“I think so,” she said slowly, debating what she was willing to share with him. In the end, she shared it all. “Actually, we got a lot more done than I expected.”

“Oh?” He sounded hopeful.

“Mostly it was about my marriage,” she admitted. “Mary made me see that I was viewing it through a myopic lens.”

Jet raised an eyebrow, but didn’t comment and merely waited.

“I’ve been blaming Patrick for a lot of stuff that maybe wasn’t all his fault,” she explained.

“Like what?” Jet asked softly.

“Well, we kind of fell into a pattern where he made decisions and I was either fine with it or resented him for it, but never said anything.”

“Hmm,” Jet murmured.

“The worst part is I realize now that I kind of set it up that way,” she muttered with a little irritation.

“How’s that?” Jet asked.

“Well, we kind of split chores and decisions between us at first after we were married, but then when Parker was born . . .” She shook her head. “Hours for an intern are often crazy. The most hours I booked in a week was one hundred and thirty-six, but eighty hours was the usual. So, I’d come home from a twelve- or sixteen-hour shift, pump breast milk for the nanny to feed Parker the next day, spend what time I could cuddling him and listening to Patrick talk, then stumble to bed only to pop up at four the next morning to start over. Unfortunately, oftentimes what Patrick was talking about were things that he felt needed doing, or wanted us to do, and frankly, most of the time I was too tired to even listen. I can’t tell you the number of things I agreed to without even realizing it because I was half-asleep and just mumbling ‘uh-huh’ or ‘yes, dear’ so that he would stop making me think, or distracting me from sleeping.”

“Ah,” Jet said with understanding. “And eventually that turned into his just making the decision rather than pestering you when you were obviously exhausted.”

“Yes,” she breathed, glad he understood. “But how did you guess?”

“Because I probably would have done the same thing to try to take some of the burden off you,” he admitted. “I think most men would.”

“Oh,” she muttered. “Well, hell.”

“What?” Jet asked with concern.

“Well, you’re not an arrogant asshat oncologist who thinks his shit doesn’t stink, so if you’d do it too . . .”

Jet chuckled at her disgruntlement and then asked, “Wouldn’t you have done the same for him if the roles had been reversed? I presume he had finished his interning and was an actual oncologist with better hours by then?”

Quinn nodded. “We waited until he’d finished and found a position before having Parker.”

“Well, there you are. He had more time, and probably more energy, so was able to do more.”

“Yeah,” she agreed on a sigh. “And I maybe appreciated it at the time, but after my internships were over and my hours weren’t so crazy, he continued to make the decisions.”

“It had become a habit,” Jet suggested quietly.

Quinn nodded. “And rather than say anything, I just resented him for it.”

“Ah,” Jet said again.

“I guess I wasn’t very good at communication, or speaking up for myself,” she confessed unhappily. “And then to compound it, I blamed him for continuing to do what he’d done for years.”

“Hmm,” Jet murmured.

They were both silent for a minute and then Quinn said, “Mary thinks Patrick turned me and Parker because he loved us.”

Jet hesitated and then asked, “What do you think?”

Quinn sighed, and then told him, “She said that she had been told that Dressler turned Patrick and wanted him to leave with him when he realized that the Enforcers were next door. But Patrick refused to go without Parker and me.”

“That’s the story I heard too,” Jet told her quietly.

“Where did you hear it?” she asked, turning to glance at him with surprise.

“I don’t recall for sure—one of the Enforcers who was in Albany, though,” he said, and when she continued to stare at him, he reminded her, “I told you, people like to talk to me for some reason.”

“Oh. Right,” she murmured, turning to glance over the yard again as Bailey chased after a squirrel with the Enforcer guard dogs on her tail. Quinn had been nervous about bringing Bailey out with them when they’d come out to go for a walk once she’d realized that the guard dogs were out, but Mary had assured her the Enforcer dogs and Bailey were old friends. That was obviously true, she decided as she watched the beasts romp about.

“So, I guess Patrick is looking less like the bad guy to you?” he asked.

Quinn grimaced. “Yeah. I guess. I mean, he still had his faults. He wasn’t a very good father to Parker, but who gets it right the first time? I probably wouldn’t have got good grades on my mothering either while I was interning.” She shrugged. “But he isn’t the bad guy in our marriage. We both made mistakes.”

“And his turning you?” Jet asked.

Quinn felt the sting of her nails biting into her palms as she clenched her hands into fists, and forced herself to ease the hold. “I wish he hadn’t,” she said quietly. “And I wish he’d talked to me and asked before doing it, but . . .”

“But that wasn’t the pattern. He made decisions for both of you as a rule, rather than the exception, by that point,” Jet said quietly.

Quinn nodded. “I think he was probably a little off his rocker by then too. I mean, I was a little off my rocker when I woke up after the turn, and I had Marguerite and the others explaining everything in the gentlest most patient way possible. I doubt Dressler was gentle or patient.”

“Probably not,” Jet agreed.

“I’m not as angry at him anymore,” she admitted quietly.

“No?” Jet asked.

“No,” Quinn assured him, but then grimaced and added, “Don’t get me wrong, I’m still mad at him for turning Parker and me,” she assured him, and then shrugged. “But it’s not the same. A lot of the rage is gone . . . “I haven’t forgiven him yet, but I think I will someday and that’s something I never expected to say.”

“I’m glad for you,” Jet said seriously, and when she glanced at him in question, he pointed out, “Well, your being angry at him doesn’t really affect him anymore, does it?”

“No,” she acknowledged. “Just me.”

“And Parker,” he pointed out. “Patrick is his father, and while what happened must be confusing for him too, I’m sure it will be better for him if you aren’t loathing the man who contributed half his DNA.”

She was frowning over that when he asked, “How is Parker handling all of this? It must have been traumatizing for him too.”

Quinn snorted at the suggestion. “That was my main concern the whole time I was away from him in Canada. But when I got to Italy, I found he was just fine. Pet says Santo’s mother spent a lot of time with both of them, helping them adjust and deal with things and teaching them what they needed to know. She says the woman is ancient, older even than Santo. Well, I suppose that’s obvious,” she added dryly, giving her head a shake. “But anyway, I guess she’s a pretty daunting lady. She’s been a warrior, a countess, a businesswoman, and all sorts of stuff. But Pet says she’s surprisingly sensitive too, and went out of her way to help Parker accept his new life.”

“Did you like her?” Jet asked.

“I haven’t met her,” she admitted. “Pet wanted me to meet her, but I . . .” She shrugged. “I was playing possum, as Mary put it.”

“Playing possum?” he asked with amusement.

Quinn nodded. “Her description for my retreating to the little cottage I’d rented and refusing to see anyone.”

“Ah,” Jet murmured again.

She could hear the laughter in his voice and feigned a scowl that died when the back door opened and Mary called, “Marguerite’s here to go shopping. Are you ready, Quinn?”

“Oh. Yes. I’m coming,” she called out, and started across the yard.

“Shopping?” Jet asked with concern, following her.

“For clothes. Last night while we were talking, Mary mentioned that we lost our luggage in the crash and the ladies decided we had to go shopping for a new wardrobe. Which is good. This is the second day wearing the T-shirt and jeans I have on. I don’t relish another before they’re washed.” She stopped to call Bailey to them, and then glanced to Jet as she started walking again. “Maybe you should come with us. You’ll need more clothes too, and I’m sure the women won’t mind. I guess we’re having some bodyguards along as well. They can babysit both of us.”

“Oh . . . my . . . God! You are a goddess!”

Quinn flushed with embarrassment at that pronouncement from Francis and shook her head. “Goddesses are tall leggy blondes. I’m a short Chinese chick with black hair. Well, hair so dark a brown it often looks black anyway,” she added, turning to peer at herself in the mirror and noticing that the light overhead made her hair look more brown than black.

“Then you’re a pocket-sized goddess with gorgeous dark hair,” Francis said with a shrug. “That dress is perfection on you.”

Quinn let her gaze drop over the royal blue gown she wore and stared at herself with fascination. It was a long satin gown with a sweetheart boat neck, fitted waist, and a slit in the flowing skirt that only showed when she walked. It was stunning, and it made her look and feel beautiful, but it wasn’t something she was likely to need, so she shook her head with regret. “It’s nice, Francis. But I don’t see myself going anywhere I’d need a dress like this. It’s kind of fancy.”

“It’s an elegant evening dress, my dear,” Francis corrected her as he walked around, tugging her skirt out so that it made more of a bell shape that emphasized her tiny waist. “And I’m sure Jet would love to take you somewhere you could wear it. Wouldn’t you, Jet?” Pausing in front of the pilot, he pushed the other man’s mouth closed and grinned before repeating, “Wouldn’t you, Jet?”

“Huh?” Jet muttered, his eyes sliding hungrily over Quinn.

“Well, if he won’t, I will,” Tybo, another one of the four Enforcers accompanying them on this trip, offered with a grin.

Valerian, also an Enforcer, gave his opinion in a more solemn tone. “It would be a shame for you not to buy that dress, Quinn. It’s stunning on you.”

“It is,” Marguerite, Mary, and Sam agreed in stereo. Russell, the fourth Enforcer, merely grunted in the affirmative.

Biting her lip, Quinn turned to peer at herself in the mirror. She was sure it was a foolish purchase. It would probably be years before she had an opportunity to wear it if at all, but in the end, she couldn’t resist and nodded at Francis.

“Oh, goodie!” Francis clapped happily. “Then my work here is done. We have absolutely everything you could possibly need for a proper wardrobe. Except the frilly feminine bits,” he added. “But I shall leave that up to you ladies and take Jet to be properly outfitted. First, though, Quinn, go slip out of that gown and we’ll pay for it and your other selections while you get dressed. Then Valerian and Tybo can take them to the SUV while Jet and I go to a men’s store and Russell escorts you ladies to one of those expensive intimate apparel stores.”

“No,” Valerian said at once. “We’re supposed to guard Quinn . . . and Jet,” he added when Francis elbowed him in the side.

“And you will as soon as you finish moving the clothes to the vehicle,” Francis responded soothingly. “But that’s why Russell and I are here too, and I will guard Jet, while Russell guards Quinn. On top of that, Sam, Mary, and Marguerite will be with Russell and our sweet Quinn until you return. I’m sure the four of them can keep her safe for a few minutes.”

Valerian didn’t look pleased, but didn’t argue further. Instead, everyone turned to look at Quinn, who was frowning at Francis and not heading into the dressing room as instructed.

“I just realized I don’t have my purse or . . . anything,” she ended weakly. “The plane—”

“Yes, dear, we know,” Marguerite said reassuringly, ushering her into the changing room. “That’s why Francis said we would pay. It is going on the Council credit card.”

“But—”

“Your luggage was lost in the plane crash. Insurance will pay to replace them and reimburse the Council. It’s fine,” Marguerite assured her, closing the dressing room door, and quickly unzipping the dress.

“Are you sure?” Quinn asked with a frown. It hadn’t even occurred to her that insurance might pay to replace her clothes, although she supposed if it had been a commercial flight she would have expected it.

“Of course I’m sure. Here, step out of the dress, dear,” she instructed, drawing the gown off her shoulders and down for her to step out of. “There we are. Now I’ll leave you to dress and take this out to the men so they can take everything to the register.”

Marguerite was gone before Quinn even realized that she was standing there in nothing but a pair of panties. Shaking her head, she picked up the bra she’d had to remove when trying on the blue gown. She quickly put it on and did it up, but her mind was on that elbow Francis had thrown at Valerian before the other Enforcer had added Jet’s name. There had been several little incidences like that on this outing. Tybo’s teasing comment that he was there to guard her body . . . and Jet’s too, of course, he’d added after Valerian had nudged him. The way Tybo, Valerian, Francis, and Russell had ranged themselves around her as they’d walked from the car into the shopping center, leaving Jet and the other women to follow. Why hadn’t Jet been in the center of the men with her?

Those were just a couple of examples. There had been more and Quinn fretted over them as she pulled her jeans and T-shirt back on. She was doing up her running shoes when she recalled Mary saying she suspected Mortimer had taken the men to the garage because they had some news about who the target of the bomb might be. She’d then speculated that the two of them hadn’t been included in the talk because the target was Quinn, and they were concerned that she was too fragile to take the news well.

Call her paranoid, but she was beginning to be convinced Mary had been right. The question was whether the other women had been let in on it or not by now. She suspected Dante would have told Mary, but surely, if that were the case, Mary would have shared the information with her? Quinn thought, and immediately frowned at the possibility that the other woman did know and hadn’t told her, because that meant she too believed Quinn might not handle it well. Had her comment that the others didn’t know how strong she was just been something to build up her self-esteem?

Or, Quinn worried, after learning who might be behind the attacks, had Mary agreed that she might not be able to handle it? That was a distressing possibility, especially when she considered that everyone in her previous life already thought her dead . . . except Pet and Parker. And they were the only ones in her new life aside from Pet’s husband, Santo. But Quinn didn’t for a minute think one of them could be behind these attempts to kill her. Although, she acknowledged, she’d definitely have trouble accepting that either of them might want her dead. Shaking her head at the ridiculous direction her mind was going, Quinn decided that rather than let her mind run off in crazy directions, she would wait and question Mary on the subject in their next session, which would apparently be in a couple of hours.

The thought made her sigh. She was not looking forward to another grueling three-hour emotional roller coaster ride, and had been taken by surprise when Marguerite had mentioned perhaps going to dinner and a movie after shopping, only to have Mary nix the idea, saying she planned on another session with Quinn that night. She hadn’t known a second session was planned for that day and was a little dismayed to learn there was. Quinn wanted to clear up her issues and move on with life, but hadn’t expected to try to do it all in a week.

Now that she was thinking about that incident, she recalled Sam catching Marguerite’s arm and urging her away from where Francis was holding up a blouse in front of Quinn to see if the color would suit her. She’d watched with curiosity as Sam had whispered in the older immortal’s ear, and now recalled the surprise and concern on the woman’s face, and then her murmured, “Oh, I see. Another time, then, of course.”

Pondering that little incident, Quinn left the dressing room to join the women and Russell, who immediately positioned himself at her side and took her elbow to escort her from the store.

Tybo and Valerian were just finishing up at the till as they passed them, and Russell stopped to get the Council credit card from him. He then urged the men to be quick at taking the bags of shopping to the vehicles, before urging Quinn and the other women out of the store.

The lingerie shop was at the opposite end of the mall, and the women talked and laughed excitedly as they made their way there. It soon became apparent to Quinn, from their chatter, that she would not be the only one leaving the shop with purchases, and she wasn’t surprised to hear Russell’s resigned sigh as he escorted them into the store. The man followed her around like a guard dog, positioning himself a few feet away with his arms crossed and a forbidding expression on his face each time she stopped to look at panties and bras. That expression was enough to keep two of the four salesgirls from bothering him, but she suspected he used mind control on the other two when they approached to bat their eyes and ask if he “needed help.”

“Oh, this would look lovely on you, dear,” Marguerite said, grasping her wrist and tugging her to the next display table where a red lace bra and panty set was on a model of a female torso.

Quinn eyed the set dubiously. The bra was pretty, but the panties—“It’s a thong, Marguerite.”

“Yes, dear.” She picked up a pair off the table and held them up in front of Quinn’s hips. “Aren’t they sexy?”

Quinn peered down at the scrap of red lace, pursed her lips, and grimaced. “Maybe, but wearing thongs for any length of time can irritate your vajayjay. At least they do on me. And this one is synthetic,” she added, taking the thong from Marguerite and examining the material. “That’s just an invitation for bacteria to camp out down there. The last thing I want is to have to take in more blood because my body is fighting bacterial vaginosis due to a thong that isn’t even comfortable.”

“Oh,” Marguerite said, nonplussed. Snatching the thong back, she dropped it on the table. “We’ll find something else, then.”

“What about this?” Sam asked, holding up a pretty white lace bra and panty set. Turning it inside out, she indicated the strip of cloth at the crotch and said, “I think this little strip is cotton.”

Quinn walked around the table she was at to reach Sam and took the set from her. It was pretty, probably sexy on, and the lace was along the top of the panties, leaving only cotton where her skin needed to breathe to avoid infections. She nodded. “This is nice.”

“Oh, good, they have them in several colors,” she pointed out. “I’ll go see what else I can find while you pick out the color and size you want.”

“Thank you,” Quinn murmured, and quickly selected sets in white, pink, and baby blue. She raised her head to glance around the store then, hoping something else would catch her eye, but froze when her gaze landed on a man standing outside the store, staring at her through the window.

He was tall for an Asian, and extremely good-looking, but for some reason Quinn felt fear explode inside of her like Fourth of July fireworks. Every corner and crevice of her body was suddenly filled with a terror she didn’t understand . . . and she wasn’t the only one. Someone was screaming beside her, the sound loud and panicked, but there were other screams too, these ones just as full of fear but tinged with agony. She began to tremble as a chill started to slide over her body, like a will-o’-the-wisp, following the terror coursing through her.

“Quinn?”

She was surprised to be able to hear Marguerite call her name over the panicked shrieking, but couldn’t look away from the monster. She didn’t dare, and then a shopper stopped at a table between her and the man and he was briefly blocked from view. When the shopper moved on a heartbeat later, he was gone.

“Quinn?” Marguerite was starting to sound alarmed, she noted in some separate compartment of her mind, and wondered how long the woman had been trying to get her attention. And who was that screaming? Why wouldn’t they stop?

“Quinn!”

Turning toward the woman now approaching her with concern on her face, Quinn took a step toward her and then suddenly dropped as every muscle in her body went limp. She felt the crack of her head slamming into the floor before the lights went out.

“Are you sure you don’t want to try anything on?”

Jet smiled and shook his head as they set the clothes Francis had helped him pick out on the counter. “I’m good, Francis. We got everything in my size. Thanks for your help. It went faster with the two of us working.”

“My goodness, yes, it did. But that’s only because you didn’t balk at some of my selections like Russell and the other he-men immortals would. It’s their age, of course,” he added with a little shake of the head. “Every one of them thinks black is the height of fashion.”

Jet grinned at the claim, but didn’t counter the man’s words. He saw a hell of a lot of black on his plane at times. It often looked like he was flying a funeral procession around, but he said, “After years of wearing mostly green or the brown desert flight suits in the navy, I like color.”

“And it looks good on you,” Francis assured him, and then smiled at the woman who rushed up to start checking them out. She was quick and efficient and nearly done when Francis’s phone began to ring.

Jet raised an eyebrow when Francis pulled out his phone and frowned at the display.

“It’s Russell. Here, pay for this while I take the call,” Francis said, handing over a Council credit card.

Nodding, Jet accepted the card and watched the man move toward the door of the store as he answered the phone and pressed it to his ear. Shrugging, he turned back to the woman as she announced the amount owed and smiled at her as he handed over the credit card.

“Does he have to sign, or can you?” the woman asked a moment later.

“I will,” Francis announced, suddenly appearing beside him.

“What’s happened?” Jet asked at once. The man’s usual good humor was noticeably missing, his expression one of grim concern.

“I’m sure it’s nothing,” Francis murmured, forcing a smile for the cashier as he finished with her and began to gather up the bags. “Let’s go.”

Jet helped with the bags and followed the man out of the store before asking again, “What’s happened? What did Russell say?”

“It was Sam using his phone. Hers is apparently home, plugged into the charger. She forgot it,” Francis told him. Moving more quickly now that they were out of the store, he added, “Quinn fainted in the lingerie shop. Russell gave Sam his phone and told her to call us.”

Jet felt concern slide through him at this news, and asked, “Was she low on blood or something?”

“Sam didn’t think so. She said she wasn’t sure what happened. She heard Marguerite call out Quinn’s name and glanced up to see her rushing across the store toward her and then Quinn turned, took one step, and just collapsed,” he explained, and then added grimly, “Apparently, she hit her head when she fell. She must have hit hard, because Sam said she lost quite a bit of blood before the nanos stopped the bleeding. They’re taking her back to the SUV, and hope she will be awake by the time they get there so they can give her blood.”

“Why would she faint?” Jet asked, trying to understand something that seemed incomprehensible to him. “I’ve never heard of an immortal just fainting suddenly like that. I didn’t even think it was something that could happen to you guys.”

“Neither did I,” Francis admitted. “Short of post–life mate sex or being shot with a dart, immortals don’t faint.”

“You don’t think she was shot with a dart?” he asked with alarm.

Francis shook his head at once. “Russell would have made sure Sam mentioned that.”

“Unless he didn’t notice the dart,” Jet pointed out.

Francis considered that briefly, and then cursed and pulled his phone back out. A moment later he was talking to Sam again, asking if they’d checked for a dart.

“They’re going to check once they get her to the SUV,” he told him as he put the phone away a moment later.

Jet nodded, but didn’t comment as they began to walk a little more swiftly, moving at just short of a run.

“There they are,” Francis said a few moments later as they rushed into the parking garage under the mall.

Jet grunted. He could see the small group gathered at the back of one of the two SUVs they’d used to transport everyone here. All of them were there, even Valerian and Tybo. Either the two men had still been at the vehicle when the others had reached it, or they’d encountered the group on the way back inside and had returned to the SUVs with them.

“How is she?” Jet asked sharply, pushing his way through the group, desperate to see for himself that Quinn was all right.

“She’s still unconscious,” Marguerite told him as he reached the woman who sat sideways on the back bumper, brushing hair away from Quinn’s face as she lay in the back of the SUV. Marguerite’s voice was filled with concern as she added, “I think we should get her back to the house and give her blood using an IV.”

Nodding, Jet leaned past her, tossed his bags on the other side of Quinn, and then scooped the petite woman into his arms. By the time he walked quickly around to the back door on the driver’s side, Valerian was there holding it open for him. Jet immediately slid in and settled Quinn in his lap.

“Do you want me to do up your seat belt for you?” Sam asked as she got into the back next to him, with Marguerite following.

Jet started to nod and then said, “Wait.” His gaze slid to Valerian and Tybo as they got into the front. “Did you guys check the vehicles?”

“Check them?” Tybo asked blankly.

“Well, they blew up my plane,” he pointed out grimly. “I wouldn’t put it past them to . . .” He didn’t bother finishing; both men had cursed after his comment about them blowing up his plane, and were already out of the car.

“You don’t really think . . . ?” Sam began with concern, and then jerked around with surprise as Marguerite suddenly opened her door.

It was only then Jet heard Valerian barking, “Get out, get out, get out!”

Cursing, he turned toward his own door, relieved when Tybo opened it and he was able to scramble out of the vehicle with Quinn.

“Away from the car,” Tybo muttered, grabbing his upper arm and urging him quickly back toward the elevators they’d taken down to the parking garage. Clasping Quinn tight to his chest, Jet glanced over his shoulder to see Valerian, Francis, and Russell hustling the women after them.