The Rogue Hunter (25 page)

Neither of them spoke again until they'd finished eating, but the moment he pushed his plate away, Sam asked a bit abruptly, "So, other than sex, drugs, and rock and roll, what do you like best about being in a band?"

"I don't like sex, drugs, and rock and roll," he assured her with a frown, and then realized what he'd said and added, "I mean I do. The sex, that is, not the drugs and rock and roll." When that just made her tilt her head and eye him with further confusion, he added, "I mean, I like sex but not with groupies or anything like that."

"But not the drugs or rock and roll?" she asked.

"Right." He nodded and then stopped and shook his head as his brain picked apart the words. "No, not right. I like rock and roll too, obviously. I'm in a band, but I—It's just the drugs I don't like… and the groupies," he added, and then stopped and tried to sort out her expression. Her lips were twitching, but he couldn't tell if it was with amusement or disgust. Deciding moving the conversation along might be good, he blurted, "Travel. I like that part of my job."

And it was true. Mortimer had always enjoyed seeing new places and people.

"Where all have you played?" she asked curiously.

"California, Kansas City, New York. We've pretty much been to every state, as well as every province in Canada," he said honestly.

"Your band has played in Canada?" Sam asked with surprise.

Mortimer grimaced, but managed to avoid lying by saying, "We've worked in lots of places in Canada."

"Not Toronto," Sam said with certainty. "I'd remember a band named Morty and the Muppets playing in Toronto."

Mortimer groaned inwardly at the horrible name, and then turned to the waitress with relief as she brought the bill.

"I think we've done about all we can looking for your boss's goddaughter today," Mortimer announced as they walked out to the SUV. "Why don't we take Madge's advice and do something fun?"

"Like what?" Sam asked curiously.

He was silent for a minute, his thoughts working. The truth was, Mortimer felt like he should be working, but he'd really rather spend time with Sam. It was a new situation for him to find himself in. His job as an enforcer had been the focus of his life for a long time. It had ruled where and how he lived, whom he interacted with, and… well, basically every aspect of his life. Until now. Now he found his sense of duty battling with his desire to be with Sam, and he was struggling. Part of him felt honor-bound to concentrate on the job at hand, while the other part was arguing that he'd given a lot of years to the Council working as an enforcer and deserved some time off.

Mortimer was hoping to settle the issue by doing both at once as they had this morning. Since the hunt for Cathy Latimer wasn't turning up anything, he'd decided he should maybe poke around one of the other bite-sightings spots and see what he could find. The closest one was at a bakery in a town called Haliburton. One of the workers had apparently sported a bite mark on her neck about a month ago, so in answer to Sam's question, he suggested, "We could drive to Haliburton and see what it has to offer."

"Haliburton?" she asked with surprise.

"I saw it on the map. It looks a little bigger than Minden and isn't far away." When she hesitated, Mortimer added, "You have your cell if Belmont calls with any news."

Recalling Madge's words of wisdom, Sam managed a smile. "Haliburton it is then."

Haliburton turned out to be just what Sam needed. She found herself relaxing as they enjoyed a leisurely stroll along the few short blocks downtown. When Mortimer stopped to peer over the listings in the window of a Realtor's office, Sam raised her eyebrows.

"Thinking about buying down here?" she teased.

"More likely up in Magnetawan," Mortimer answered seriously, and when her eyes went round, added, "It's relaxing up here. Nice. I like it. And the company is good."

Sam's heart fluttered briefly and she blushed as he met her gaze, but then his eyes slipped past her and brightened.

"A bakery!" He urged her through a small courtyard beside the Realtor's toward a building that stood back farther from the road. "I haven't had fresh-baked bread in centuries."

"Centuries, huh?" Sam laughed at what she knew must be an exaggeration and allowed him to usher her inside.

Mortimer liked his baked goods. Sam came to that conclusion as she watched him nearly clean out the bakery. The man spent a good deal of time talking to both women who worked in the bakery, but also bought six different loaves of bread, every last bit of apple strudel, plus several other items. They were both weighed down with packages when they finally left. It made it rather shocking to her when he said, "We should stop at the grocery store on the way back."

"The grocery store?" she asked with disbelief.

"We don't have anything for breakfast tomorrow morning," he pointed out. "I think I'll make you bacon and eggs. Those were really good when I had them in Huntsville."

Sam chuckled and shook her head. If there was one thing she'd come to learn about Mortimer, it was that he really liked his food.

They stopped at the Independent grocery store in Minden on the way back. Mortimer once again proved his love for food by buying way too much. He was in good shape, without a bit of fat on him, so the only thing she could think was that he either had a metabolism like her own, or he really worked his food off while on stage. Having seen the way some singers bounced around under the hot lights during a performance, she suspected it was the latter.

"How does barbecued steak sound for dinner?" Mortimer asked as he parked the SUV beside the cottage.

"Sounds good," Sam decided as she slid out and moved around to the back to help him with their purchases. "I'm going to try to call Belmont again, but then I'll get started on it."

"I'll cook," Mortimer offered, and Sam sucked in a breath, not so much surprised as almost afraid to believe she'd heard right. Seeing her expression, he raised an eyebrow and asked with amusement, "What? You've never seen a man cook before?"

"Not for a while," she admitted wryly. While her father had made the occasional Sunday breakfast and barbecued with the best of them, her ex—Sam pushed that thought away. Garrett Mortimer wasn't Tom, and she had to stop comparing them. Besides, Mortimer had already won that race hands down.

"Well, this is the twenty-first century," Mortimer announced as if she might not have noticed. "I have it on good authority that men cook now."

"What authority would that be?" she asked with amusement.

"Some magazine I read last year in Tallahassee," he answered promptly.

"Tallahassee?" she said with a laugh.

"What's wrong with Tallahassee?" he asked at once.

"Nothing," she assured him quickly, and then admitted, "It's just that the way you say it suggests you've never actually cooked yourself."

"I haven't," he admitted, lifting most of the bags out of the truck, leaving her only two. "But it's not brain surgery. It can't be that hard."

"Don't say that around Alex," Sam suggested dryly as she gathered the two remaining bags and closed the hatchback to follow him to the cottage.

"I'll get this stuff put away. You call Belmont," Mortimer said as they stepped inside.

Sam hesitated, but then took her phone outside to make the call. She wasn't terribly surprised to be told he was out of the office, but this time she didn't allow herself to get irritated. She merely left a message that she'd called and then called Mr. Babcock, relieved when she reached his voice mail and didn't have to speak to him personally. She was leaving a message when Mortimer came outside with the steaks and began to fiddle with the barbecue that sat on the porch to the side of the door. Concentrating on what she was saying, Sam wasn't really paying attention to what Mortimer was doing until a sudden whoosh and his curse drew her attention to where he appeared to be trying to barbecue his hand.

Ending her message much more abruptly than she'd intended, Sam snapped her phone shut and rushed to his side as he snatched his hand and the barbecue lighter out of the base of the barbecue. "What did you do?"

"Nothing," he said soothingly. "I was just trying to get the barbecue started."

"From the top?" she asked with dismay.

"Is there another way?" he asked with surprise.

"The hole!" Sam exclaimed with horror as she realized he'd turned the gas on and reached in to light the thing. "Underneath. See the holes. Those are—You stick the lighter up through those. You don't light it from the top."

"Oh." He glanced at the barbecue and shrugged. "Well, no harm done."

"No—You could have—" Sam stopped and took a deep breath. He could have really hurt himself and was damned lucky he hadn't. Letting her breath out slowly, she said, "You've never barbecued before either?"

"No, but there's a first time for everything. I'm fine," he assured her. "And it's lit now. I can cook. Why don't you go on inside and get the wine?"

"Maybe I should do this for y—"

"No, I'm cooking. If you want to be helpful, you can bring me my wine. I poured us both a glass."

"But—"

"No," he insisted, pushing her toward the door. "In you go. I'm the man. I get to barbecue while you stand around and look cute."

Sam blushed at the suggestion, but allowed him to urge her to the door. Inside she found that—aside from having opened and poured the wine—Mortimer had already thrown together the Caesar salad mix and cut up bread and set both on the table along with plates and silverware. Shaking her head, Sam turned to pick up the wine and hurried back outside to be sure he didn't blow up the barbecue.

Chapter Thirteen

"Strudel and wine?"

Mortimer glanced up from the table on which he'd just set strudel, a freshly opened bottle of wine, and a deck of cards, and considered Sam's expression as she stepped back inside. Her voice had been amused and she was trying to smile, but he could tell by the set of her jaw and the tension in her shoulders that the phone calls hadn't gone well. He wished she hadn't insisted on trying Belmont again once they'd finished their meal, but she was a woman who took her responsibilities seriously, and the man hadn't bothered to return her calls since that morning. The least he could have done was check in with her, if only to tell her there was nothing new to report and he was still looking.

"No Belmont?" he asked instead of responding to her comment.

"No," she admitted with disgust, irritation flaring up in her eyes. Shaking her head, she added, "Mr. Babcock was angry enough at the man evading my calls that he's calling some 'friends.'"

"Friends?" Mortimer asked as he pulled out her chair for her.

"Hmm." Sam grimaced as she sat down. "I suspect he'll call the commissioner of the Provincial Police. The commissioner is friends with Mr. Babcock and the Latimers."

"Ah." Mortimer nodded as he moved around to his own seat. "I suspect the elusive Sergeant Belmont is about to find himself in a world of trouble."

"Maybe." Sam sighed. "If so, he brought it on himself, the turkey. Still, I'm sorry I failed Mr. Babcock like this."

"You didn't fail him," Mortimer said firmly. "You've done everything you could, including looking for her yourself. And on your vacation. Sergeant Belmont is the problem here. He really should be keeping in touch with you and letting you know what's going on."

Sam relaxed a little at his words, and then glanced at the goodies on the table and raised her eyebrows as she asked again, "Strudel and wine?"

"I was hungry for dessert, but thought you might need a drink after your phone calls," he explained.

"And the cards?" she asked, glancing at the deck in the center of the table.

"Your sisters sent those. I thought you might like to play something."

"I like cards," Sam admitted, brightening visibly. "What shall we play?"

Mortimer hesitated and then suggested, "Poker?"

"What would we use for chips?" she asked.

Mortimer considered the situation and then suggested, "We could play truth poker."

"What's that?"

"If you win a hand, you ask me a question that I have to answer truthfully, and vice versa."

Sam's eyes widened, but after the briefest hesitation, she nodded.

Smiling, Mortimer collected the deck of cards and began shuffling.

She watched for a moment and then commented, "I've never heard of this version of poker."

"Neither have I, I just made it up," he admitted with a laugh.

"Really?"

Mortimer shrugged. "Your sisters suggested strip poker, but I didn't think you'd go for that."

Sam groaned. "You'll have to forgive them. They weren't raised right."

He grinned at her apology. "Don't they have the same parents as you?"

"Yes, but they didn't listen to them and I did," she responded at once.

Mortimer chuckled and began to deal. When he'd come up with the idea of truth poker, it hadn't occurred to him that he might be causing himself some problems should Sam ask the wrong question. Fortunately, he'd dealt himself a good hand.

"Go ahead, ask your question," Sam said grimly as she scooped up the cards.

He almost teased her, but she was obviously as nervous about what he might ask as he was, so he merely said, "What's your favorite flower?"

"Gladiolas," she answered promptly and offered him a bright smile. Sam was unquestionably relieved that he'd asked such an easy question and was much more relaxed as she dealt the next hand. She began to tense up again, however, when she picked up her cards, and Mortimer soon understood why. She'd dealt herself a horrid hand. He won the round with a pair of threes.

"Go on." She sighed as he began to collect the cards. Despite his first question, it seemed obvious she was expecting a more personal, possibly embarrassing question this time.

"What's your favorite candy?"

Her shoulders slumped and she peered at him with a touch of confusion, as if suspecting he was up to something with these easy questions, but not sure what. Still, she answered, "Hazelnut chocolates."

Mortimer was on a roll and won the next hand too, this time asking what her favorite food was. Sam just shook her head and answered, "Chinese," as she dealt the next round.