The Rogue Hunter (5 page)

Mortimer raised his eyebrows at the ambitious plan. "Do you intend to help your neighbors decide to sell? If not, it could take a while."

"I have time," Decker pointed out dryly.

He couldn't argue that point, Mortimer supposed. Barring murder or an incredibly rare accident, time was the one thing they all had a lot of.

"The heat up there didn't help me sleep either," Bricker commented, and then added enviously, "It's much cooler down here."

"The air conditioner must not have kicked in," Decker said with a frown. "I'll have a look at it."

"It can't kick in; there's no power," Mortimer announced, forestalling him.

"No power?" Decker asked with surprise. "It was on when I left last night."

"It wasn't when we arrived," Bricker informed him.

"Christ." Decker turned to stride away across the room to a refrigerator. He pulled the door open and groaned when the light didn't come on. Even without the light, it was bright enough in the rec room to see the neat rows of bagged blood inside. Blood that would now be useless.

"It'll be tainted," Decker said with disgust. He bent to feel the bags anyway, but apparently wasn't pleased with their temperature. Straightening, he closed the door with a slam. "The storm must have knocked it out. I should have checked when I came back. The tiniest rainstorm can knock out the power up here."

"Don't worry, we brought plenty of blood. You can share ours," Mortimer told him.

"Well, it won't be any good either if you put it in the refrigerator upstairs," Decker pointed out.

"We didn't," Bricker assured him, and quickly explained the special cooler they'd brought.

"How long will it run on battery?" Decker asked.

Mortimer frowned. "I think they said twenty-four hours."

"Well, there's no need to run it down. I have a generator. I'll go turn it on and we can trade the bad blood in the refrigerator for your good blood." He started for the stairs, muttering, "This means another trip to the dump tonight."

"I didn't see a generator when I looked around last night," Bricker commented.

"It's out behind the cottage in a shed," Decker explained, disappearing up the stairs.

The sudden silence as the growl of the lawn mower next door died reminded Mortimer of the women. He was swinging toward the window to peer out again when the racket that had woken him was replaced with the blare of music.

It seemed they were done mowing the lawn. Alex was pushing the mower back toward the garage and Sam was moving toward the deck stairs. She paused abruptly, however, when the third sister, Jo, rushed out of the cottage with three clear bottles with golden liquid and lime slices floating in them. Despite the distance, he could make out the name Corona on one of the bottles. Mexican beers then.

"It's starting to look like the neighbors are party animals," Bricker commented, moving up beside him to peer outside. "I hope they don't keep us up every day with loud music."

A burst of laughter slipped from Mortimer's lips. "Three women do not constitute a party, and having a beer at…" He paused to glance around until he found a clock on the wall. The fact that the second hand was still moving told him it was battery operated and—hopefully—correct. It wasn't as early as he'd supposed. "A beer at four p.m. after mowing the lawn in this heat hardly makes them party animals."

"If the power's out, how are they playing music?" Bricker asked.

Mortimer didn't comment, but glanced toward their neighbors. Alex was back from the garage sans the lawn mower, and she and Sam had each taken one of the bottles of golden liquid. Jo was now only holding one bottle. She was also doing something of a dance and trying to get the other two to join her.

"It must be a battery-operated CD player or something," Bricker said after moving to the light switch next to the sliding glass doors and flicking it on and off with no effect.

"Or maybe they have a generator too," Mortimer suggested.

He'd barely spoken the suggestion when the air was filled with the very loud sound of an engine roaring to life. The generator, Mortimer realized, and glanced toward Bricker. He immediately flicked the light switch again, grinning when this time it turned on.

They were both silent for a moment, and then Bricker asked hopefully, "Do you think it's got enough current to run the air conditioner as well as the lights?"

"No," Decker answered as he stepped off the stairs and moved to rejoin them. "This generator came with the cottage when I bought it. It's old and not very powerful despite how noisy it is. I've been meaning to replace it, but haven't got around to it. I'll have to look into it, I guess. In the meantime, this one will run the refrigerator and some lights, but I wouldn't tax it more than that."

Bricker looked truly disappointed at this news, which made Mortimer wonder just how hot it was upstairs.

"Look," Bricker said suddenly. "It would seem the noise has caught the attention of your neighbors."

Mortimer and Decker followed his gaze out the window. Sure enough, all three women stood stock-still, their gazes focused on this cottage.

"How the hell did they hear the generator over the sound of their music?" Decker muttered.

"The generator is pretty loud," Mortimer pointed out, and then fell silent as the women began to move as one, crossing their yard toward the border of trees that separated the properties.

"Damn," Decker muttered.

"This is easily resolved," Mortimer said calmly. "We'll just convince them that they don't want to come over here. I'll take the clumsy one."

"Which one's that?" Bricker asked with confusion.

"The one with long hair."

"Right." He nodded. "I'll take the one with the ponytail."

"I guess I'll take the other one then," Decker said dryly.

Mortimer smiled faintly and then concentrated on Sam, sending his thoughts out to find hers and take control of them. He was vaguely aware of first one sister stopping and then the other as he worked, but Sam continued happily forward, oblivious of his struggles to get into her thoughts and take control. Something he seemed to be having difficulties with. Frowning, he redoubled his efforts.

"Um, Mortimer," Decker said with concern as Sam continued along the trail. Leading the way, she hadn't yet noticed that her sisters had both stopped and were no longer following. "What's happening?"

"Nothing, just give me a minute," he muttered unhappily and redoubled his efforts. Another moment of silence passed, but he still couldn't seem to get into her thoughts.

"Are you going to stop her or not?" Decker asked with exasperation. The two other sisters stood like frozen dolls, waiting for the men to put a thought in their heads and release the control they had over them. But the men were waiting for Mortimer to get control of Sam. Only he didn't appear to be able to do that. "Mortimer?"

"I'm trying," he snapped with frustration.

"
Trying
?" Bricker asked.

Something about the tone of his voice made Mortimer give up on the woman and turn a reluctant gaze to the other men.

They were both staring at him wide-eyed.

"Can't you get into her thoughts?" Bricker asked.

"Of course I can," he said quickly, irritation making his voice short.

"Then what's the problem. Stop her," Decker insisted.

Mortimer turned back and tried once more.

"You can't, can you? You can't get into her thoughts," Bricker said with what sounded like mounting excitement.

It wasn't shared by Mortimer. He scowled, but finally admitted, "No, I can't."

"I'll handle it," Decker murmured.

The moment she was under control and still like the others, Bricker slapped Mortimer on the shoulder. "Woowoo! Congratulations, Mort, my man!! You've found your life mate."

"Shut up, Bricker," he growled furiously.

"You're not looking happy," Decker said slowly, and then pointed out, "Most immortals would be jumping for joy at the prospect of finally meeting their life mate."

Mortimer opened his mouth to snap again, but then let his breath out on a sigh and said more calmly, "And I would be too if she truly were my life mate. But she isn't. She can't be."

"She can't?" Decker asked with surprise, and when Mortimer shook his head firmly, asked, "Why not?"

"Well, just look at her, Decker," he said, amazed that he would even ask. "She's clumsy and awkward and flat and—That woman in no way resembles the mate I—" Mortimer snapped his mouth shut before he could blurt the words
have fantasized about for well over seven hundred years
.

And he had. In his eight hundred years of life, Mortimer had lain awake many a night imagining what his life mate would be like. In his dreams she'd been blond, and cool, and intelligent in a sexy Jessica Rabbit kind of way. He smiled just thinking about the glamorous cartoon character, and then his eyes settled on the woman named Sam, and his smile died. This woman was nothing like the fantasy character. Tall, skinny, awkward, and clumsy, she was more like Olive Oyl. She even had the dark hair, though hers was long.

Mortimer's seething thoughts were distracted when Decker patted his shoulder sympathetically.

"I have a certain vision in my mind of what my life mate will be like too," the other immortal admitted. "Mine's Angelina Jolie in
Mr. and Mrs. Smith
… or
Tomb Raider
… hell, pretty much in any role she's played. But I'll probably end up with a short Betty Boop."

Mortimer closed his eyes on a sigh as he realized that Decker had read his thoughts, something he normally wouldn't be able to do. It was starting already then, he thought unhappily, the lack of control over his own mind, leaving his thoughts vulnerable to every immortal who wished to read it. Like not being able to read the life mate's mind, this too was a symptom of meeting the life mate. He supposed he'd start eating soon too, and not that fake push-food-around-your-plate business he normally indulged in to keep Bricker company. No. He'd really start eating; scarfing down food, enjoying it, and hungering for more.

Damn. This was the last thing he'd expected from this trip.

"Jessica Rabbit?" Bricker said suddenly with disbelief. "Olive Oyl? Jeez, Mort. I mean, I've heard of sexism, but… seeing women as cartoon characters? You've got a major problem there, my friend." He shook his head. "Maybe it wasn't such a good thing we watched that animation marathon on television last week. It was my fault. You didn't want to watch it, but I—"

"Bricker," Mortimer said wearily, running a hand through his hair. "This isn't your fault and it isn't about cartoons. She just isn't to my taste."

A moment of silence passed as the men all turned to peer at Sam. Decker had taken control just as she'd stumbled and landed on her butt on the muddy path under the trees between the two properties. She still sat there, living proof of her own clumsiness.

Mortimer noted the exchange of glances between the other two men, and then Decker asked, "So, how old are you, Mortimer? Eight hundred and something, isn't it?"

"Yes," he agreed warily, knowing it wasn't just mild interest.

Decker nodded. "And how many women have you met in that time that you can't read?"

His mouth tightened at the question. Sam was the first. And it had been a long eight hundred years too. Lonely. Was he being a fool?

No, Mortimer decided grimly. If he was judging the woman on her looks, that would have been one thing, but it wasn't just that. It was her complete lack of grace and—What if she really was an alcoholic? Maybe that was why he couldn't read her, he thought suddenly. Maybe she was drunk right now and—

"Alcohol usually makes it easier to read them," Decker pointed out quietly, revealing that he was still reading Mortimer's thoughts. "A drunk's thoughts might be sloppy and disorganized, but they have no barriers at all when drunk."

Mortimer peered at Sam again, knowing he was being a fool to even hesitate.

"Do you really want to wait another eight hundred years for another possible life mate to come along?" Bricker asked quietly.

Mortimer grimaced at the idea, but argued, "We're up here to do a job, not chase women around."

Bricker arched one eyebrow and then turned to Decker and asked, "Am I right in guessing that you don't know much about the social scene up here?"

"Yes. How did you know?"

"You don't even know your neighbors," he pointed out dryly, and then suggested quietly, "So, these gals may come in useful. We could perhaps learn the social hot spots and where most people go… which will be where the rogue is."

Decker nodded slowly and then followed his thought to the obvious point. "And it will give Mortimer a chance to get to know this girl and better decide if she wouldn't make a fine life mate after all."

"Exactly." Bricker beamed.

Mortimer grimaced, but nodded in reluctant agreement. He'd give Olive Oyl a go, but really, he couldn't see them suiting. She just wasn't his sort at all.

"Hello?"

Mortimer turned sharply to see the woman in question now standing on the other side of the door. Tall, slender, lips curved in a wide smile, Sam peered at them through the screen.

When he turned to glare at Decker, the other immortal shrugged and said, "I was controlling two. I lost my concentration."

Mortimer snorted, not believing it for a minute.

"We heard your generator start up and decided to come over and introduce ourselves," Sam said cheerfully, recapturing his attention. "We'd have done it sooner but you're never here when we are."

When the men simply stared, she tilted her head and added with a grin, "If you actually
are
here now. You
are
the owners and not just renters taking the cottage for the week or something, aren't you?"

"I'm the owner," Decker announced, sliding the screen door open and stepping out into the shade of the deck to take her hand in greeting. "Decker Pimms."

"Hello, I'm Samantha Willan," she said, accepting his hand. "And these are my sisters Jo and—Oh."

Sam blinked in confusion as she turned to gesture to her sisters, only to find them absent. A frown claiming her lips, she stepped back the way she'd come and squinted toward the yard where the other two women still stood. Mortimer followed her gaze, grimacing when he saw that they were both frozen in their own yard, their expressions blank.