Bloody Awful Page 2

  “You’ll feel a whole lot better still when we get you out of there.” She grabbed a pair of strong hands and scrambled up the side of the ditch on her knees but when she tried to stand, her right leg buckled under her and she cried out in pain.

  “Damn!” She forgave herself swearing. “I think I’ve done in my ankle.”

  Before she barely finished speaking, he’d scooped her up in his arms. Nice strong arms at that. Rubbing her face against the twill of his mac wasn’t part of the plan, but she did it anyway, leaning into him as his arms held her close. He smelled of hard-working male and fresh air. Her heart gave a little flip and another.

  Come off it! This feeling helpless had to be affecting her nerves. She was used, quite literally, to standing on her own two feet and was most definitely not going whoosy over the first strong man who picked her up. Ridiculous!

  She gave a little giggle, which he probably took for impending hysterics. He stiffened and held her very carefully. “Better get you on dry land.”

  Good point, her legs were cold and wet and she was probably dripping all over him. Whoever he was.

  He sat her on the bonnet of his car and in the weak light from the torch still somehow in his hand, she looked down at her ankle. Her foot hung crooked.

  “It’s broken.” Just what she did not need with new evacuees due any day now. And she’d torn her stockings. Where was she going to get another pair? She couldn’t cycle into Dorking with her leg in a cast.

  “You look bad. Is the pain awful?”

  She looked up at his face. Small wonder his voice sounded familiar! It was the supervisor from the plant. The absolutely dishy man that half the single women in the village (and a few of the married ones) were constantly mooning over. And he’d had his arms around her! “Mr. Barron!”

  “Guilty as charged.” In the beam of light he smiled. It was a very nice smile. Sexy even. No, it was not! Sexy was not what she needed right now. Helpful, strong, responsible, thoughtful. Not sexy.

  “Mr. Barron, I hate to bother you, but would you mind driving me to the hospital?”

  He hesitated. For all of three seconds. “That bad is it?”

  “Afraid so.” She lifted her leg a little. “Look.”

  “Crikey! I’ll get you there. And I’m sorry! Let’s put you in the car then. Back seat might be best, you can prop that leg up.”

  It wasn’t the most luxurious back seat in the world. The stuffing was coming out of the cracked leather in a couple of places, but with a rolled up blanket behind her and what was left of her nurse’s cape over her legs, she was as comfortable as she could hope to be.

  With her battered bicycle on the roof, they headed down the hill. “Won’t take us long, I hope,” he said. “I feel terrible about this. I should have seen you.”

  She knew just how limited human eyes were in the dark. “Don’t worry about it. I’m not dead yet.” Crippled and disabled maybe.

  “I should hope not! I’d never be able to show my face in Brytewood again if I’d dispatched the nurse to the hereafter.”

  “I’m not heading there any time soon, I hope. Assuming you make it down this hill safely.”

  “I’ll get you there, don’t worry.”

  It sounded very much like a promise.

  Balderdash! More like an earnest hope on his part.

  Or hers.

  Sitting in the dark, she had a serious talk with herself. She was in shock. That was it. She’d seen the symptoms in patients. Confusion went along with it. Her chest was tight because she was suffering from shock. She’d had a nasty tumble and broken her ankle. That was why her heart was racing and she was feeling like jelly inside.

  It had absolutely nothing to do with Andrew Barron up in the driver’s seat. She was out of her mind. The man hauls her out of a ditch (after putting her there in the first place) and she goes all wobbly. Ridiculous! The utter last thing she needed was involvement with a human male. It was bad enough Sergeant Pendragon suspected she was a bit more than she appeared.

  But she’d brushed him off and everything was fine.

  She’d be fine,

  Just as long as she never, ever, felt Andrew Barron’s arms around her again.

  Chapter Two

  “We are facing a difficulty.” Hans Weiss glanced at the other two vampires in his landlady’s unheated parlor. He wasn’t entirely convinced they weren’t involved somehow. How else could a vampire disappear without a trace, except at the hand of another stronger, older vampire?

  “Difficulty?” Schmidt said, his voice sharp with worry. “You, my friend, are sounding too much like these damn island monkeys. It is a disaster!”

  Bloch appeared to agree. “What I want to know is how Eiche was exterminated. Assuming he really is destroyed and not just gone to earth somewhere.”

  That amounted to an accusation of desertion, but Weiss let it pass. For now. Who wasn’t concerned at the apparent destruction of a fellow vampire? And a loyal, committed German to boot.

  “Can we really rely on this fairy?” Schmidt asked. “What if she’s lying?”

  “Our masters believe her,” Weiss pointed out. “Seems taking her blood forged a connection that they are using to track us.”

  “They might have warned us,” Schmidt muttered.

  Bloch just scowled.

  “That would have defeated their purpose. We all enjoyed her blood and her struggles. Too late for regrets.” Weiss said. “We have to accept reality and go forward. They want results and we need to provide them.”

  “Or they’ll do what?” Bloch asked. “Report us to Churchill and his cabinet?”

  “Some of us have bloodkin being slowly starved,” Schmidt reminded him. “We can not risk them.”

  “Before I risk my existence, I want to know what, on this accursed island, can destroy one of us?”

  Weiss held back the smile. Bloch had handed him the perfect opening. “I agree, my friend. And that is your assignment. Find out what or who has this power and we will destroy them.” Bloch’s barely concealed temper was a delight to behold. He could not refuse without admitting the task was beyond him. They also needed him for another task. But that could wait.

  Bloch recovered fast. “And no doubt you have a good cover set up for me?”

  Sarcastic bastard! Weiss smiled. “That we will tailor for you.”

  “Indeed.”

  “Pity our agent was arrested,” Schmidt said. “She would have been useful.”

  “She still will be.”

  “Indeed?” Bloch smiled. “Is she sending messages from the Tower of London?”

  “No, I go to her.”

  “In prison?” Schmidt sounded totally amazed.

  “In hospital. Remember she had that fall?” Not any sort of accident, Weiss was convinced. “She was arrested, yes, and repeatedly questioned, but she’s still in traction. Can’t be moved. She’s in a private ward in hospital. Most convenient.” He couldn’t resist the smile. “We have another two weeks, I believe, before she leaves for prison and subsequent trial. Plenty of time to pick her brains. We will see her tonight.”

  In different circumstances, Bl*och would have enjoyed the run. Nothing like racing across open country in the dead of night, leaping railway lines and rivers, and outrunning a blacked-out train to remind one of the invincibility of vampires. Eiche he discounted. The arrogant fool had no doubt been ridiculously careless. Present company was another thing entirely. He resented and despised Weiss: smug, opinionated and acting as if he were running the war for his own entertainment.

  But his means of access to the hospital where Miss Waite was imprisoned was nothing short of ingenious. Of course the bombing raid that had the hospital staff running around at sixes and sevens to cope with the injured made it even easier. If the Luftwaffe had arranged it for their convenience it couldn’t have been better. A climb up a dark corner of the building and short dash across the roof, with all the delicious human pain and suffering under their feet, followed by a short swi
ng down to a darkened window.

  “I thought you might be dropping in,” Miss Waite said, as they climbed in through the window and Weiss eased the sash down. “How are things?”

  “We need your help,” Weiss said, as he crossed the room.

  “Fair enough,” she replied. “Tell me though, is my erstwhile nephew safe?”

  Weiss hesitated all of three seconds. “Eiche? That’s partly what we came about.”

  “Thought so. Snooty police and a chap from London were down here this afternoon. Going on they were all about how he’s disappeared from Brytewood and did I know where he was.” She gave a chuckle. “I told the truth, said I had no idea. Got away alright then, did he?”

  “He can’t go back to Brytewood.” Clever that. Weiss always did have a way with words. “We need your help to get another agent into the village.”

  She looked from Weiss to Bloch. “What the blazes can I do, flat on my back, handcuffed to the bed?”

  She had a very good point but Weiss brushed her concerns aside. “Quite a lot, my dear fraulein.” That was risking it a bit. Damn! Had Wiess no sense of survival? He’d be jabbering on in German next. “You know that village in a way we do not. What do they need? If we can send Willi in as a vital addition to the community, he will be welcomed and pass with less scrutiny. What does that village lack?”

  She laughed. “What isn’t it short of!” She shook her head, adding a few more creases to her wrinkled forehead. “Let me think.”

  They waited in the silent room, as she plied her mortal mind to their problem. Bloch hoped she didn’t suggest he arrive as a traveling acrobat or fortune teller.

  “Ever baked bread?” she asked, with a sly twist to her mouth.

  “Not in the past hundred years or so.” That took the edge off her smirk. His father has been the baker in his village. “Bread’s just flour, yeast and heavy work.” Which would be a snap with vampire strength. No more straining of muscles to heave sacks of flour or knead mountains of dough. “What do you have in mind?”

  For a mortal flat on her back, she was downright gloating. “Our village baker was one of the first casualties of the war: run over during the blackout. The shop sits empty and there’s a small flat above it. You lot work out the logistics of getting some sort of authorization and identity card, and taking over the lease, or perhaps requisitioning it and you’ll be in business. The village will welcome you with open arms. Their only other choices now are a bus into Leatherhead to buy bread or to make do with the dreadful stale stuff Sam Whorleigh has shipped in from Dorking.”

  Not quite the cover Bloch would have chosen but worth the sacrifice for the cause. “I’ll be Block the Baker.” Sounded like a character from a children’s card game.

  Weiss was thoughtful a minute or so. “The papers will have to be faked and sooner or later the cover will get blown but should stand for a month or so. We can do a lot of damage in a month.”

  “Good show!” The old biddy smiled as if she’d single-handedly defeated the army and air force together. “Pity I won’t be there to see it.”

  “Yes,” Weiss replied very quietly, with a meaningful glance at Bloch. “You won’t be.”

  Her smug expression lasted just as long as it took Weiss to grab her wrist and put his hand over her mouth. “Take her femoral,” he hissed, as he bared his fangs and bit into her wrist.

  Sucking on an old lady’s thigh wasn’t exactly a thrill. But it was blood and Weiss was in charge so Bloch pulled off the covers. Amazing how much she still struggled but he held her unplastered leg to the mattress and, leaning over the bed, bit. Funny how wrinkled old crones still had warm, rich blood and plenty of it. They both fed until her struggles ceased and Bloch felt her heartbeat slow to a standstill. He lifted his mouth, cleaned the wound with his tongue and rearranged the covers over her lifeless legs.

  Weiss did the same, smoothing the sheet under her chin.

  “We’ll have to get busy with your papers,” he said. “We’ve no time to waste, and there’s no one there now to expose you.”

  Other than the vampire killer. Unless that ridiculous fairy had it all confused and Eiche had skived off on his own.

  Weiss was out of the window. Bloch followed, up to the roof, and down the dark corner, just as several ambulances came speeding up the drive, sirens going. How wonderful. The bombs they’d heard earlier must have landed well.

  Chapter Three

  Gloria wanted to crawl away and hide. As if falling in a ditch wasn’t bad enough, Andrew Barron insisted on driving right through an air raid before parking in a space reserved for ambulances and carrying her into Casualty, refusing all offers of wheelchairs or trollies, striding across the place as if he owned it, and putting her on the first free bed before drawing the curtains around her. “I’ll make sure someone sees you right away,” he said, and disappeared, with a rattle of curtain rings.

  Didn’t he realize patients were seen in strict order according to the severity of their injuries? If he knew, he obviously didn’t care. Darn him! She was absolutely in no condition to get up and run after him and to top it off, the bright lights overhead let her see just how muddy and disheveled she was. He hadn’t even stopped to take her shoes off before covering her with a blanket. Yes, the warmth was welcome but honestly!

  “Let’s have a look at her,” a voice said as the curtains were pulled back. “You have a seat over there, sir. We’ll let you know how she is in a jiffy.” A doctor she didn’t recognize crossed to her bed. “What happened to you, then?”

  “I fell off my bicycle in the blackout.” She’d leave off the little detail about Andrew cutting too close. “I landed in a ditch. Luckily Mr. Barron found me and brought me in. I think my ankle’s broken.”

  He was about to make some comment about patient diagnoses—she could sense that from the look on his face—when he noticed her crumpled and muddy uniform. “District nurse?”

  “Yes. I’m Gloria Prewitt from over in Brytewood. I was on my way home from making a visit when this happened.”

  “Let’s have a look at the damage.” Didn’t take much more than a look, and a few winces on her part, as he took off her shoe, for him to concur. “We’ll have you off to X-ray and get it set for you. You won’t be riding that bicycle for a few weeks, nurse.”

  They had wheeled her down the hall, Andrew, ignoring the orderly’s disapproving glare, following close behind, when the first ambulances arrived.

  Gloria understood. A mere broken ankle ranked a long, long way behind air raid casualties. Andrew wasn’t too impressed at her being shunted into a corner. She calmed him down by telling him she was better off forgotten. If someone remembered her, they might take the bed from under her. Her ankle was beginning to ache and she was only too glad to have it propped up and supported.

  Andrew chafed at the delay. “Surely I can get someone to take you up to X-ray. For two pins, I’d wheel you up there myself.”

  “They will. Once things calm down.” Assuming there wasn’t another raid. “Andrew, would you be really kind and see if you can scrounge a cup of tea?”

  He nipped off and returned bearing a tray, two brimming enamel mugs of tea, two bowls of soup and slabs of bread and dripping. “I told the woman in the canteen I was on my way to take my girlfriend out to dinner when she fell and broke her ankle. She took pity on us.”

  “So I see.” Gloria wasn’t too sure about the “girlfriend” bit but…“Thanks.” She took a long swig of tea before balancing the bowl of soup on her lap. “I’m famished and if the casualties are bad, we could wait all night.” The soup was cooled and too salty but full of onions and potatoes and even chunks of meat. It would keep her going, but surely he needed more than bread and soup for dinner. “Mr. Barron, do you want to go on home?”

  “And leave you here? Good lord, no!”

  “We could be hanging about all night.”

  “Won’t bother me.” He gave her a grin. “Of course, I’d much rather you called me Andrew. Afte
r all we are sharing a bed.”

  She almost spluttered her soup over the aforementioned bed. It was on the tip of her tongue to make some sharp comment until she met his eyes. Seemed after all, she was very glad he was keeping her company sitting on the end of her bed. They could be here ages and waiting with him was better than being alone. Far, far better.

  Andrew wasn’t too sure what to make of it all. The second his cheeky comment was out of his mouth, he regretted it. Until she smiled. A lovely, wonderful accepting invitation of a smile.

  Yes, dammit, he was very happy to be sitting on her bed. Even if it was only a sterile, iron hospital bedstead. What sort of bed did she sleep on at home? A romantic four-poster with curtains? Unlikely in her little cottage. A lush divan with silken cushions? Perhaps a classic mahogany one, with a high curved head.

  “Soup’s not bad is it?”

  “Eh?” Fast switch called for here. She wanted to discuss vegetable soup and he’d much rather picture her in a bed with silken hangings and linen sheets. Or no hangings at all. No sheets even. Dammit, dispense with the bed. “Yes, pretty good.”

  “Yes, thanks for getting it. I enjoy a good bowl of soup.”

  Self-possessed, confident Nurse Prewitt was fumbling for conversation. Could be the shock and pain but maybe she was feeling what he was. “It’s good but the company makes it smashing.” She blushed. Not much of a blush, just a little pink across her cheeks, but he found it totally wonderful.

  He was nuts: he’d half-killed her and now he was making passes.

  “Mr. Barron. Andrew,” she said, her voice severe but a little smile quirking her mouth. “You’re flirting.”

  “Would you rather talk about hospital soup?”

  She chuckled. A deep, sexy earthy chuckle as her green eyes glinted. “We could talk about bread and dripping.” She barely finished the sentence before she laughed again.

  “I can think of far more fascinating subjects.”

  “Really? What would they be?”