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I took the clothes. “Are you the doctor on this case?”

“No, I’m a nurse.”

“You got a name?”

He gave a small smile. “Ben, I’m Ben.”

“Thanks, Ben. I’m Anita. Why do I need the scrubs?”

“To guard against infection.”

I didn’t argue with him. My expertise was more in the line of taking lives, not preserving them. I’d bow to the experts. I put the scrubs over my jeans, tying the string tie as tight as it would go. The legs of the pants still bagged around my feet.

Ben the nurse was smiling. “We weren’t expecting them to send us a policeman so . . . petite.”

I frowned at him. “Smile when you say that.”

His smile brightened in a flash of white teeth. The smile softened the face and made him seem less like Nurse Ratched and more like a human being.

“And I’m not a cop.”

His eyes flicked to the gun in its shoulder holster. The gun was very black and very noticeable against the red shirt. “You’re carrying a gun.”

I slipped a short-sleeved shirt over my head, and the offending gun. “New Mexico law says I can carry as long as it’s not concealed.”

“If you’re not a policeman, then why do you need the gun?”

“I’m a vampire executioner.”

He held a long-sleeved gown out towards me. I slipped my arms through the sleeves. It tied in the back like most hospital gowns. Ben tied it for me. “I thought you couldn’t kill a vampire with bullets.”

“Silver bullets can slow them down, and if they’re not too old or too powerful, blowing a hole in their brain or heart works. Sometimes,” I added. Wouldn’t want Ben to get the wrong idea and try to take out an intruding vamp with silver ammo and get munched because he trusted my opinion.

We had some trouble getting my hair up under the little plastic hair thing but finally managed it, though the thin ridge of elastic that held it in place scraped the back of my neck every time I moved my head. Ben tried to help me with the surgical gloves, but I put them on myself, no problem.

He raised eyebrows at me. “You’ve put on gloves before.” It wasn’t a question.

“I wear them at crime scenes and when I don’t want blood under my fingernails.”

He helped me tie the mask around my neck. “You must see a lot of blood in your line of work.”

“Not as much blood as you see, I bet.” I turned with the mask over my mouth and nose. Only my eyes were left uncovered and real. Ben looked down at me, and his face looked thoughtful. “I’m not a surgical nurse.”

“What is your specialty?” I asked.

“Burn unit.”

My eyes widened. “Are the survivors burned?”

He shook his head. “No, but their bodies are still like open wounds, just like a burn. The protocol is similar.”

“What do you mean their bodies are an open wound?”

Someone tapped on the glass behind me, and I jumped, turning to see another man in an outfit just like mine glaring at me with pale eyes. He hit an intercom button, and his voice came clear enough to hear the irritation in it. “If you’re coming inside, then do it. I want to sedate them again, and I can’t do that until you’ve had a chance to question them, or so I’m told.” He let go of the button and walked farther away behind a white curtain that hid the rest of the room from view.

“Gee, I’m just on everybody’s happy list today.”

Ben put on his mask and said, “Don’t take it personally. Doctor Evans is good at what he does, one of the best.”

If you want to find a good doctor in a hospital, don’t ask other doctors or referral services. Ask a nurse. Nurses always know who’s good and who’s not. They may not say the bad stuff aloud, but if they say something good about a doctor, you can take it to the bank.

Ben touched something on the wall that was a little too big to be called a button, and the doors whooshed open with a sound like an air lock opening. I stepped inside, and the doors hushed closed behind me. Nothing but the white curtain now.

I didn’t want to pull that curtain aside. Everyone was too damned upset. It was going to be bad. Their bodies were like open wounds, Ben had said, but not a burn. What had happened to them? As the old saying goes,