The Rogue Hunter (22 page)

Shaking her head, she quickly stripped off the delicate nightie, pulled on clothes, and then grabbed her phone and left her room.

Sam wasn't at all surprised to find the kitchenette/living area empty when she entered. It was early yet, and she had no doubt Mortimer was sleeping. She set her phone on the counter and moved to make coffee. Once that was done, she grabbed her phone and moved out onto the front porch to make her call so that she wouldn't wake Mortimer.

What followed was the most frustrating ten minutes of conversation she'd ever suffered. When the phone was answered with the O.P.P. spiel, she asked for Belmont and was told to hold. She held… for several minutes, and then the very professional-sounding woman who had answered explained that he was out investigating an "incident." Since Sam had been asked to hold at first as if he were in, she didn't believe that for a minute, but could hardly call the woman a liar.

Instead she asked, "May I speak to Constable Mack then, please?"

"He's off today," came the reply.

Sam began to tap her nails impatiently against her thigh as she considered what to do next. Finally she asked, "Well, then, is there
anyone
there who might be able to update me on the progress in the search for Cathy Latimer?"

There was a hesitation and then the woman asked her to hold again. Sighing, Sam waited impatiently for the woman to return, stiffening when she heard the click of the call being reengaged.

"I'm afraid there's no one here who can help you at the moment," she was told. "I'll have Sergeant Belmont call you when he returns. Have a good day."

"Oh, but—" Sam began and then growled with frustration as a click sounded, followed by the dial tone. Snapping the phone closed, she forced herself to take a deep breath and calm down. She'd just have to wait for his call. Unfortunately, while she did, she'd have to report back to her boss that she'd learned absolutely nothing. So much for her riding herd on the police, Sam thought dryly as she punched in the number for the office.

Much to her relief, she found herself talking to Mr. Babcock's secretary, Madge. Mr. Babcock had already left for court and wouldn't be available for the rest of the day unless it was an emergency.

"Is it an emergency?" Madge asked carefully.

"No," Sam said at once. "If he calls in looking for a message from me, just tell him that the police have no news yet and I'll get back to him as soon as they do."

"All right," the woman answered easily, and then added, "I hope you're at least getting to have a little fun up there, Samantha. You
are
supposed to be on a well-earned vacation."

"Yes, well… such is life," Sam muttered.

"No, such is how you're allowing life to treat you, dear. Don't sit up there in the Latimers' cottage waiting to hear from people all day. You have your cell phone. Go have a little fun while you wait for calls."

"But Cathy—"

"I've known Cathy Latimer since she was a child," the woman interrupted, reminding her that she'd been Mr. Babcock's secretary for nearly thirty years. "That girl is constantly running off and doing this or that and scaring everyone silly. Don't let her antics upset your vacation; you need to take some time for yourself today and have fun."

"She may have been troublesome in the past, Madge, but I think she might really be in trouble this time," Sam said quietly. She'd dealt a lot with the woman while working for Mr. Babcock and always liked and respected her opinion, but this time she was sure Madge was wrong. "The door to the house was unlocked and ajar, and there was an uneaten sandwich and drink there and—"

"I know, I heard all of that from Clarence," Madge interrupted. "I still think it's just Cathy being irresponsible again. But whether it is or not, you're not expected to hunt for her yourself. That's a job for the police. From what I understand, Clarence just wants you to keep calling and harassing the police in the area so that they don't forget to look for the girl. You can have fun between phone calls, can't you?"

"Yes, I suppose," Sam said reluctantly.

"Well then, do it," Madge said firmly. "Life's too short to work as hard as you do."

"Yes, Madge," she murmured, wondering if the woman wasn't right. She
could
have fun between phone calls to Belmont. And if he didn't call by noon, she'd call again. And if she still couldn't reach him, she'd go down to the O.P.P. office in person and hunt him down.

Finding her mood lifting immediately, Sam smiled and said into the phone, "Thank you, Madge."

"You're welcome. Now hang up and go have fun."

"I will. Have a good day." Sam closed her phone more gently this time. Feeling much better than she had after the call to the O.P.P. station, she slid it into her front pocket and then headed back into the cottage.

There was no sign of Mortimer yet, but the coffee was done. Sam poured herself a cup and then started checking out what groceries he'd brought back with him. She would have settled for a piece of toast or a bowl of cereal. What she found was a box of pancake mix, some maple syrup, and sausage links. Her sisters had always bugged her about needing to put on weight, and she supposed this was their attempt to try to help in that area. However, Sam had always had difficulty putting on weight. She ate like a horse and never gained an ounce. It was depressing. She had met several women who claimed they could gain a pound just looking at food and didn't doubt them for a minute, but she'd give a lot to trade her metabolism for theirs for a couple of months just so she'd look less like a half-starved war camp victim.

Sam set to work making pancakes and sausages. It was nearly done and she was just wondering whether she should wake Mortimer up or just set his aside to be warmed later when his door opened and he stumbled up the hall into the kitchen. He wore just his jeans and carried a stack of clothes that only half hid his gorgeous chest. He also looked half asleep, his hair standing up in all directions in a manner she found adorable.

Mumbling something about a shower, he ducked into the bathroom.

Sam let her breath out on a slow hiss as the door closed, hiding all that male beauty. Had she nearly had sex by the lake last night with that specimen of male perfection? It must have been a fantasy. No one that pretty would be interested in someone as bony and flat as her.

Shaking her head, Sam turned back to her cooking and pondered why he'd bothered with her. A drive downtown could have garnered him at least half a dozen willing beauties. And every one would probably have had a better figure than she. Sam was very aware that she had not exactly been blessed in that area. She had been teased and called names like Twiggy, Olive Oyl, and "the boobless wonder" as a teenager. And then her figure had been one of the things Tom had complained loudest about in the months before leaving.

It wasn't just her lack of figure that made her wonder why he'd bother with her. Added to that was the fact that it seemed she hadn't been much blessed with grace or luck lately either; first there was this ear infection and the way it made her constantly trip over her own feet, and then there was last night. Sam doubted there were many people, men or women, who could have gotten themselves nearly eaten alive by leeches in the middle of an intimate moment.

Aware as she was that she was presently lacking in anything resembling a figure, grace, or even luck, Sam found it hard to imagine Mortimer might be interested in her in that way. She wasn't completely without self-esteem. Sam knew she was smart, and she did have a rather successful career, but it wasn't a woman's career or her brains a man was interested in taking to his bed, so—all in all—it was pretty hard for her to believe Mortimer could really be interested. It made more sense that last night had been some sort of an aberration. He'd been there and horny, and she'd been available, naked, and easy… at least until the leeches latched on and ruined things. She supposed Mortimer had just settled for her because she was on the spot. It was a depressing thought and one she tortured herself with while she waited for him to reappear from the bathroom.

Sam had just flipped the last pancake when the bathroom door opened and a waft of male cologne floated out to intoxicate her.

"Mmm, food," Mortimer murmured.

"Yes, I—" Sam nearly bit her tongue off in surprise as one of Mortimer's hands slid around her waist from behind and he gave her a quick kiss on the ear. He then reached around and above her to retrieve plates from the cupboard.

"I'll set the table, shall I?"

"Thank you," Sam mumbled, feeling her face flush as he gave her waist a little squeeze and moved off with the plates. She stared down at the pancakes for a second, and then glanced over her shoulder at the man.

Okay, Sam told herself as she watched him hum under his breath and set the table, so they were going to play house while they were here, but she shouldn't take it to heart and start imagining that it meant they were in a relationship. He was just taking advantage of the situation, settling for what or who was available. And so was she, Sam assured herself, but was surprised her nose didn't grow.

Rolling her eyes at herself, she asked, "How many pancakes do you want, Mor—Garrett?"

Mortimer paused beside the table and turned a surprised face her way, and Sam grimaced, but said, "I think of you as Mortimer because the guys call you that all the time, but I thought I should probably call you by your first name since we—" She stopped abruptly, not saying the
nearly had sex
part. Flushing over the words she hadn't said, Sam tried, "I mean if we're going to—" Her words stuttered to a halt once more.
If we're going to what? Sleep together? Be boyfriend and girlfriend? Sheesh
.

"Most people call me Mortimer, but you can call me Garrett if you like," Mortimer said gently.

Sam immediately wrinkled her nose, and then realizing what she'd done and that he—of course—had noticed, sighed and explained, "I don't really like the name Garrett. It reminds me of a rather annoying relative we had growing up and—" She fell silent as he crossed the room and took her face in his hands, amusement clear in his expression.

He kissed her gently and then confessed, "I don't really like Garrett either. It's not even really a first name. It was my mother's maiden name. And the only time anyone calls me Garrett is when I'm in trouble, then it's 'Garrett Gordon Mortimer,'" he said in deep accusing tones.

She smiled faintly, but then asked dubiously, "Gordon, huh?"

"No better than Garrett, is it?" he asked dryly and laughed at her expression. Releasing her, he said, "You can call me whatever you want, Sam. Mortimer, Mort, Mo." He shrugged and moved to the table, adding, "Or make up a pet name for me."

"A pet name," Sam murmured thoughtfully, turning back to rescue the last pancake from being burned. Retrieving the plate of pancakes she'd been keeping warm in the oven, she slid the last one on it and then turned off the stove and moved to the table. "Any suggestions of what this pet name could be?"

Mortimer tilted his head thoughtfully as she set the pancakes down, then began to lift some onto his plate when she gestured that he should.

Sam settled in her seat and waited curiously, but the man was taking his time. Before he answered she'd taken two pancakes onto her own plate, buttered them, poured syrup over top, cut off a piece, and popped it in her mouth.

"Sweet Toes?" Mortimer suggested finally and then jumped quickly to his feet to rush around and thump her back as she began to choke on her pancake. "God, I'm sorry. Are you all right?"

"Sweet Toes?" Sam gasped with disbelief as he continued to thump her.

Mortimer grimaced. "It was something my mother called my father."

Her eyes widened incredulously at this news and she unthinkingly said, "I can't wait to meet them."

"You can't."

Sam stiffened and then felt herself flush. "No, of course not. I didn't mean to suggest that there would be any reason for you to take me to meet your parents someday, I just—"

"I'd love to be able to take you to meet my parents, Sam," he interrupted solemnly, and then added, "But I can't because they're dead."

"Oh, I'm sorry," she offered quietly.

Mortimer's lips twisted into what she suspected was supposed to be a smile, then he kissed her cheek, straightened, and moved back to his own chair. Sam watched him, her mind in something of an uproar. He'd said he'd love to be able to take her to meet his parents, and she was now wondering if that was because he liked her, or if he'd meant that he'd just love to be able to take anyone to meet his parents, that he wished they were still alive?

Sam pondered the question briefly and then realized what she was doing and nearly smacked herself in the head. In high school a teacher had once told her she thought too much, and she seemed to be proving his point right there that moment. For God's sake! Was she going to analyze every little thing the man said? She had to stop this. Now. She needed to just sit back and enjoy the experience for what it was. Whatever that was. Or she'd drive herself crazy.

"Okay, so Sweet Toes is obviously no good," Mortimer said suddenly, reclaiming her attention.

"Well, I…" She paused to clear her throat and then admitted, "I just don't see myself calling you that."

"How about something more standard then like
dear
, or
honey
?" he suggested, and then added huskily, "I'd like to be your honey."

Sam gaped, hardly believing he'd just said that. Surely there was no way to misinterpret those words? Surely he meant—

The ringing of her phone interrupted her excited thoughts, and Sam scowled and even considered ignoring it until she recalled where she was and why. Cursing under her breath, she snatched up her cell phone and stood to walk toward the cottage door as she snapped it open.

"Yes?" she barked as she stepped out onto the small porch on the front of the cottage.

"Ms. Willan?"

Sam managed not to grind her teeth together as she recognized Belmont's voice. The man's timing was incredible. Pushing that worry aside, she said, "Yes, Sergeant. Thank you for returning my call. I was ringing you for an update on Cathy's case."