picked up a card. “And this started just the last couple of years?”
Teddy nodded and chuckled, his gaze on his cards as he shifted a couple. He discarded before saying, “Yes, since the vamps came to town.”
Katricia’s eyes widened. “You mean our people have been killing and—?”
“No,” he assured her quickly. “Much to my dismay, it isn’t the vampires committing the crimes but the mortals, and they’re attacking the immortals,” he admitted with disgust and shook his head before adding, “Mind you, in each one of those cases, those mortals would have claimed that the inoffensive vampire, or immortal, was the monster. It really makes you shake your head in wonder.”
“Hmm,” Katricia muttered, taking her turn. She didn’t bother asking why the mortals had attacked the immortals. Her guess would be fear. People did the stupidest things out of fear. As she discarded, she asked, “So what is the job coming up?”
“Chief of police,” he answered, picking up a card.
Katricia stared at him blankly as he discarded, and then pointed out, “But you’re the police chief of Port Henry.”
Teddy smiled faintly, and teased, “A top-notch detective, I see.”
“Ha ha,” Katricia said grimly. “Why would you need a replacement? You obviously love your job. Every time it’s come up in conversation today—” She shrugged helplessly and finished, “I could tell you love it.”
“I do,” he agreed mildly, and then gestured for her to continue with her turn before pointing out solemnly, “But I’m getting old.”
“You’re not old,” she said at once. “You’re just a baby. Cripes, I’m ages older than you.”
“I’m old for a mortal,” Teddy said patiently. “Retirement is coming up. Someone will have to take my place. Someone who can deal with immortals would be good and you could do that. I’ll talk to Lucian and if he thinks you can handle the job, we’ll see what we can—”
“I don’t want your job, Teddy,” Katricia said quietly, and it was true. She didn’t want it. She also didn’t want him to give it up when he so obviously loved it. And he wouldn’t have to once she turned him, but she couldn’t tell him that. She frowned over that fact with frustration and simply said, “I’d rather work with you than take your place.”
Teddy was silent for a moment, his eyes locked on her briefly, and then he suddenly set down his cards and stood. “I’m ready for a drink. How about you?”
Katricia set her cards down and got up as well, voice eager as she asked, “Coffee again?”
Teddy chuckled, but shook his head as he moved from the coffee table in front of the fireplace to the kitchen. “Are you kidding? You were wired all day from those two cups at breakfast. I give you coffee now you won’t sleep tonight.”
“Sleep is overrated,” Katricia said with forced good cheer.
“Not for an old mortal guy like me, it isn’t,” he assured her wryly, retrieving a gift bag from the top of the refrigerator.
“What’s that?” Katricia asked curiously.
“Whiskey,” Teddy answered, and proceeded to open the sealed bag. When he caught Katricia’s raised eyebrows, he shrugged and pulled out the bottle inside, explaining, “It’s the same thing every year. Twelve-year-old scotch.”
Katricia nodded, but leaned around him to read the gift card as he retrieved two glasses from the cupboard. “Elvi? Uncle Victor’s Elvi?”
Teddy grunted and poured some whiskey into each glass. “Elvi knows I like this whiskey. She gives it to me for Christmas every year and Mabel makes me cookies, a hat, scarf, and mitts. I drink the whiskey, eat the cookies, and even wear the hat and scarf, but the mitts . . .” He grimaced and shook his head.
“Mitts not your thing?” Katricia suggested with amusement, but her gaze was on his face as he set down the bottle and touched the tag on the gift bag, turning it so that he could peer at the signature. She couldn’t help noting the soft affection of his expression. She’d also noted the emotion in his voice when he’d said Elvi’s name. It had been different than when he’d said “Mabel,” almost husky and warm and . . . and she didn’t really like it, Katricia thought grimly.
“No, mitts aren’t quite my thing,” Teddy acknowledged, letting go of the gift tag to smile at her wryly. “Hard to pull the trigger on a gun with mitts on . . . Not that I’ve even had to pull my gun more than a time or two over the years. Still, I