The Rogue Hunter (21 page)

It seemed obvious to Mortimer that Sam was angry at him. He supposed she held him responsible for this mess. He couldn't blame her. If he'd just chosen the towel over the boulder, or, hell, even the sand—

"This could only happen to me," she said suddenly. "It is so me to be… er… relaxing in the water and end up covered in leeches."

"Relaxing, huh?" he asked dryly. If she'd found what they were doing relaxing, he'd been doing something wrong. When Sam blushed, she apparently blushed everywhere. Mortimer could see the color rising under the pale, naked skin splayed before him. Feeling bad for adding to her discomfort, he tried to distract her and said the first thing he thought of. "Actually, I'm sort of relieved that leeches are all it was. When I first felt it, I feared you had some kind of strange growth."

Sam was not impressed, he realized as she rose up slightly on her arms to swivel her upper body and look at him. The glare she turned his way could have singed the hair off a cow. Mortimer soon understood the true source of her resentment and anger, however, when she snapped, "Why did they all attack me? You haven't got a single one on you, but they're on my back, my front, my sides. What kind of karma is that?
You
picked the damned boulder."

Mortimer bit his lip as she flopped back on the table. He really had no idea why not him. The only thing he could think was that an immortal's blood was somehow unattractive to leeches. He couldn't say that to her, however. Clearing his throat, he bent to remove another one and said apologetically, "Perhaps my blood is bitter."

Sam released her breath on a gusty sigh, dropped her head on her folded arms, and moaned. After a moment, she raised her head and said quietly, "I'm sorry. I don't mean to be so snappy. It's just that my back itches like crazy, and my skin feels like it's crawling with the horrid little things, and this is just plain humiliating. I'd rather be dunked in boiling oil than suffer this, and all I really want to do is get into the hottest bath I can manage, scrub every inch of my skin off, and go to sleep and forget this night ever happened."

Mortimer said quietly, "Not all of it, I hope."

After a brief silence, she admitted into her arms, "No. Not all of it."

His lips curving with relief, Mortimer turned his attention back to the leeches. As he worked, he got quicker at removing them. Still, it was a relief to drop the last one into the pot where he'd been placing them.

"I'm done with your back," he announced. "If you'd like to roll over, I'll get the few off your front too."

Mortimer braced himself, expecting a protest and having to convince her, but it appeared she'd rather have the leeches off than preserve what was left of her dignity. After the briefest hesitation, Sam sighed with resignation and began to shift on the table. Mortimer schooled his face into a neutral expression as she turned over. His gaze ran over her clinically once she settled on her back. Much to his relief, there were only a couple of leeches here. There had been ten times that on her back and sides.

Mortimer was quick to remove the ones from her front. At least the ones he could see. His gaze slid to her groin as he removed the last visible one from her thigh. He turned away to drop the last leech in the pot and set the plate back over it before saying carefully, "I think I have them all, but you might want to check the spots I can't see."

Sam peered at him with bewilderment as she quickly sat up and pulled up the towel she'd been lying on to cover herself. "You've seen everything. And in glaring light," she added unhappily.

"Not everything," he pointed out, gesturing vaguely toward her groin as she slid off the table.

Sam froze.

"No," she breathed, paling. In the next moment, she'd disappeared into the bathroom.

It was a tiny bathroom. Mortimer had noticed as much when they'd toured this cottage. It had a toilet, sink, and shower all crowded in so tightly, one would have difficulty turning around in the room. He bit his lip as he heard her banging about inside, presumably performing acrobatics in an effort to get a look between her legs, and then remonstrated with himself about finding any of this amusing. This was a terrible situation. One that had put a halt to any possibility of their finishing what had started in the water. Perhaps ever. Sam might think of leeches every time he kissed her from now on and shrink from him with disgust.

That wiped the smile off Mortimer's face.

Aware of the silence now from the bathroom, he moved to the door and listened briefly before asking, "Sam? Are you all right? Do you need a mirror? I have one in my shaving kit I could fetch for you."

"No, there's a hand mirror in here," she said, sounding strained. "It's just hard—It's so tiny in here—Just a minute," she ended finally, not bothering to explain.

"Okay." Mortimer said, managing to bite back the words
shout if you need help
. He didn't think she'd appreciate the offer.

Another moment passed, and then he heard her relieved sigh through the door. "No more leeches. I'm going to take a shower."

The hiss of the water turned on immediately, so Mortimer didn't bother to answer. Moving away from the door, he peered around the room, his gaze landing on the plate-covered pot. Deciding it might be best to get rid of that before she came out, Mortimer quickly scooped up the pot and headed out of the cottage. It was on the edge of the small front porch that he paused, unsure what to do with the little critters. His first instinct was to somehow kill them, but they had only been doing what they needed to do to survive. Just like his people did.

Mortimer's gaze dropped to the pot in his hand, and he grimaced. He didn't fancy pulling them out one by one and stomping on them for that. He also couldn't think of another kinder way to kill them. He'd heard salt might do the trick, but if so, he suspected it would be a long, painful death. Rather like being staked out in the sun was for his kind.

Nope. He just couldn't do it. It was back to the water for them, Mortimer decided, and immediately started down the path, eager to get the chore done before Sam came out of the shower. He was pretty sure she wouldn't appreciate his solution to the situation. She'd probably like to roast them all slowly in the oven at this point.

Dark as it was, Mortimer had no more trouble now negotiating the path than he had when he'd gone in search of Sam on returning from meeting the boys. He released the leeches in the lake and was leaning off the dock, waving the pot in the water, rinsing it out, when he heard the growl of engines. At first he thought it must be boats, but after a moment a group of riders on Sea-Doos came into view around the point.

Lifting the pot out of the water, Mortimer gave it a shake and then sat back on his haunches to watch the four Sea-Doos. It looked like two men and two women, and they appeared to be having a good time. Too good a time. The group were obviously drunk and likely to get themselves killed mucking about on the lake at this hour, Mortimer thought as he watched them turn, narrowly missing one another, and then roar back around the point and out of sight again.

Shaking his head, he stood and headed back toward the cottage, but wondered if there was somewhere to rent Sea-Doos up here. They did look like fun, and he wouldn't mind trying them out. He did have a rogue to find, and now the missing Cathy Latimer too, but surely they could find a free moment at some point to enjoy themselves.

Sam was still in the shower when Mortimer reached the cottage. Steam was wafting from the cracks above and below the door of the bathroom, suggesting she was trying to boil herself alive. He wouldn't doubt she was probably scrubbing herself raw as well. Sam had really been upset by having the leeches on her. He could have told her tales of them being used for medicinal purposes when he was younger, but she would have thought him nuts if he announced that he was eight hundred years old and had seen pretty much everything there was to see in this world.

Mortimer set the pot and plate in the sink and then headed back out of the cottage again. He'd left the cooler in the SUV when he'd first returned. He hadn't wanted to carry it inside while Sam might be up and about, so had brought in only their clothes and groceries earlier. The bathroom door had been closed when he'd entered, and he'd at first assumed she was in there, so had quickly unpacked the groceries and stowed them away. It was only after he'd finished that he'd found she wasn't in the bathroom after all and rushed outside in search of her. He'd been relieved when he'd heard the faint splashing of water from the lake and followed the sound to the shore to see her there.

He should have headed back up to the SUV to retrieve the cooler then and plug it in, in his room. However, the blood had been the last thing on Mortimer's mind when he'd seen the pale glow of moonlight reflecting off her skin.

Now he was thinking of the blood, however, and hurried out to the car to retrieve it, grateful to find her still in the shower when he returned. Once he had it plugged in, in his room, Mortimer moved back out to the kitchen and glanced around. When his gaze landed on the pot and plate he'd set in the sink, he decided to wash and put them away so there was no evidence to remind Sam of her unfortunate adventure when she came out of her extremely long shower.

Grabbing up the bottle of dish soap on the sink, he poured a healthy amount into the pot and then turned on the hot water. A sudden shriek from the bathroom made him whirl and rush toward the door, but he found it locked.

"Sam? What's happening?" Mortimer shouted.

"Nothing! I'm fine," she gasped at once, probably afraid he was about to break down the door. She had a right to that worry, as he'd been about to do just that. "The water just went cold. I guess I used up all the hot."

Mortimer's eyes widened, and he hurried back to turn off the tap as he realized he'd probably diverted all the hot water by turning on the sink tap.

"I'll be out in a minute."

Mortimer grimaced at her words and set about frantically cleaning the pot and plate and then rinsing and drying them both to remove the evidence that it was he who'd ruined her shower. He'd just finished putting the two items back where he'd found them and was laying the dish towel on the counter to dry when the bathroom door opened and Sam stepped out.

Mortimer turned to offer her a smile, his eyes widening when he saw that she was red as a lobster from head to toe. A result of the combination of hot water and scrubbing, he suspected. Her hair was slicked back and damp, and she had wrapped her towel around herself toga style. She was also sidling toward the hall to the bedrooms.

"I'm going to bed. Thanks for… everything. G'night," she mumbled, flushing even redder.

"Good," Mortimer began, but she was already whirling away and rushing off up the hall as he finished, "night."

So much for their first night alone together.

The insistent, not to mention irritating, ring of her phone woke Sam in the morning. Rolling over in bed, she reached down to feel around on the floor for her purse and then dragged it up onto the bed with her as she sat up. She didn't bother digging through the contents, but simply upended the purse and then snatched up her phone when it tumbled out with everything else.

"Hello?" Sam said groggily into the phone.

"Good morning, Samantha. I'm sorry. Obviously I've woken you up."

Straightening at the disapproval in Clarence Babcock's voice, Sam cleared her throat. "Yes. I stayed in one of the cottages here at the Latimers', but I hadn't realized I'd be staying when I headed here and had no clothes or groceries, which meant a bit of a drive to collect them. It was quite late by the time that was accomplished," she explained, framing her words carefully so that she wasn't lying. There was no need to mention that it was actually someone else who had made the drive and that she had merely stayed up to wait for him. She'd rather leave Mortimer out of it for now.

"I am sorry about intruding on your vacation this way, and I sincerely appreciate your aiding us, Samantha," Mr. Babcock said solemnly.

"That's all right, sir," Sam said at once, feeling guilty. She hadn't meant to make him feel bad. She just hadn't wanted him to think she was a layabout. Clearing her throat, she changed the subject. "I haven't heard from Sergeant Belmont, so I'm guessing there's no news yet, but I'll call and check with him and then get right back to you."

"Good, good. That will be fine. In the meantime, I'm afraid Martin and Trisha are stuck in Europe for the moment. It seems a rather severe weather system has all flights canceled. Martin's hoping to catch one of the first flights out, but I've been checking with the airline, and they don't seem to think they'll be able to start moving planes until tomorrow morning."

"Oh." Sam bit her lip and waited to see what else he had to say.

"I intended to drive up there with them when I talked to you yesterday, but I'm afraid in all the worry, I quite forgot about the Manning case starting today."

Sam stiffened at the mention of the Manning case. It was a big deal for the firm, and she wasn't surprised when he said, "I have to be there. I might even have to have my son collect Martin and Trisha from the airport and drive them up tomorrow, though I'm hoping I can arrange something so that I can get away."

She shifted on the bed and almost sighed aloud at the expectant silence that followed, but finally offered, "Did you want me to stay here then and keep an eye on things until tomorrow?"

"That would be very kind of you, Samantha. Thank you. I appreciate it."

"Right," she sighed. "Well, I'll call Belmont now and see if he has any news."

"Thank you. Be sure to call me back right after."

Sam assured him she would and then said good-bye and snapped her phone closed, ending the connection. Grimacing at it, she then set it on the bedside table and quickly scooped everything back into her purse before tossing the sheets aside and getting up. She wasn't calling Belmont until she was dressed. Sam just didn't have the heart to talk to the odious man in her nightie, especially not the one she was presently wearing. The short, see-through black lace camisole belonged to either Alex or Jo. Sam was very surprised when she'd found it among the things they sent, but then she'd realized that she shouldn't be. Her sisters were trying to get her laid. How humiliating was that?