The Rogue Hunter (Argeneau #10)

The Rogue Hunter (Argeneau #10) Page 6

"So you're telling us that you really are in a band?"

Sam asked dubiously, her gaze slipping away from Bricker to Mortimer. For some reason she was sure that he'd tell the truth here. Mortimer, however, was avoiding her gaze and concentrating studiously on his burger.

"Yes. We are," Decker assured her, drawing her gaze across the table to where he sat. Once she was looking at him, he added, "We're not that big a deal, though."

"Yet," Bricker inserted. "We just got our first recording contract and we-"

"What's the name?" Sam interrupted suspiciously.

"Name?" Bricker echoed, and she didn't miss the alarm that flashed across his face.

"Of your band," she explained dryly.

His gaze shot to each of the other men before he blurted, "The Rippers."

"The Rippers?" Decker echoed with what sounded like dismay.

Sam turned her narrowed gaze his way to find him glaring at Bricker, but then he gave his head a little disgruntled shake and glanced back to her. Clearing his throat, he managed to say, "Yes. The Rippers."

"We've been arguing about the band name," Bricker explained smoothly. "We have to decide by the end of our stay here. We're debating between a couple of them, but I like the Rippers the best."

"The Rippers, huh?" Sam said dubiously, and glanced at Alex and Jo to find them both looking at her. Apparently, as she was the lawyer in the family, sorting out whether this was the truth was her jurisdiction. She turned her gaze back to the men, her expression considering, and then asked, "You've just got your first recording contract?"

The men each nodded in turn.

"Wouldn't you have to choose the name before signing the contract? It would have to be on the contract, wouldn't it?" The question shot out of her mouth like a bullet, aimed at Mortimer. His eyes widened, his mouth freezing mid-chew.

"The contract just listed our names and said 'henceforth to be called The Band," Bricker drawled, appearing to be enjoying himself as he threw the legalese around. "There was some kind of codicil about the name to be chosen by us, with the recording company's approval, of course. That's why we're here, really. We just spent three months in the studio making the first CD. We came up here for a break and to figure out what we want our new name to be before heading out on tour to promote the CD."

"New name?" she asked sharply. "So your band had a different name?"

"Oh yes," he assured her, and then said, "Before the contract we opened for other bigger name bands, touring as Morty and the Muppets."

This brought a choking cough from Mortimer, and Sam glanced his way to see him pounding his own chest as he coughed up the bit of burger that had apparently gone down wrong. She watched with concern until his coughing stopped and some of the redness left his face, and then turned back to Bricker and asked, "Who did you open for?"

"Oh, well, the... er..." He paused and smiled wryly. "I bet you're a good lawyer."

"Very good," she agreed calmly. "And compliments aren't going to help your case."

Bricker nodded and then said, "We've mostly toured Europe up until now, opening for bands like Oasis and the Darkness." He paused to sip at his beer and then announced out of the blue, "Mortimer's the lead singer."

Sam glanced to the man in question as he suddenly began to choke again.

"All right, that's enough," Decker snapped, leaning around to thump Mortimer on the back. "It's time to help convince them."

Seeing that Mortimer had gotten down the bit of food he'd been choking on, Sam turned her gaze expectantly to Decker.

"We're in a band. Not a very successful one," he added, making Bricker groan. "The band is called the Rippers." His lip curled as he said the name, and then he slid an amused glance Mortimer's way and made him groan by adding, "Mortimer is the lead singer."

Sam opened her mouth to shoot another sharp question at him, but the question died in her throat as Decker's gaze narrowed on her. For some reason, it suddenly all seemed perfectly plausible, and she found herself relaxing back in her seat with a nod, satisfied this time that it was true. They were having dinner with the members of the band the Rippers... formerly Morty and the Muppets. Wasn't that nice?

"Would anyone like some dessert?" Jo asked, and Sam glanced her way to see her smiling cheerfully, apparently equally satisfied. "Alex brought up a lovely flan with her and we thought we'd have that. I'm afraid there's no coffee without power, but..." She shrugged.

"Flan sounds good even without coffee," Bricker assured her, and she smiled and stood.

"I'll get those," Sam said, standing to help when Jo began to collect the dirty plates.

In the next moment, the subject of what the men did for a living was completely forgotten and everyone was getting up, collecting plates and condiments to carry inside. Without power to run the pump there was no water, which made washing dishes out of the question, so they simply scraped the plates clean and set them in the sink. With everyone helping, the table was cleared in no time and the flan and small plates replaced the earlier mess. Everyone took a piece of the sweet offering, but Sam noted again that Decker seemed only to mush up his dessert and push it around his plate.

"This is excellent, Alex. Thank you," Mortimer murmured as he finished his.

"Would you like more?" she asked, flushing with pleasure.

"Yes, please."

"I see you have your appetite back," Bricker said meaningfully, and Sam glanced curiously from one man to the other, noting with interest that the comment seemed to annoy Mortimer.

"So where is the nightlife here?" Decker asked abruptly, distracting her.

Sam smiled wryly at the question. "There isn't one, really."

When the men exchanged a glance at this news, frowns gracing each face, she added, "I mean nightlife in cottage country is vastly different from nightlife in the city. You are all from Toronto, aren't you?"

"What would make you think that?" Decker asked with interest.

Sam considered the question and then admitted, "I'm not sure. You just seem to be big-city types. You know, seen it all, been everywhere, bought the T-shirt and the movie-of-the-week DVD."

"I think we pretty much have," Decker said dryly, and the other men nodded solemnly.

"I suppose you see a lot while touring in a band," Alex commented.

A small silence went around the table, and then Bricker announced, "Mortimer and I are from the L.A. area."

"L.A.?" Sam asked with surprise. She wouldn't have pegged them as L.A. people. At least not Mortimer.

"Just outside L.A.," Mortimer corrected even as she had the thought. Apparently he didn't want to be associated with the city.

Bricker nodded agreement and then added, "Decker is from England."

"England?" Jo glanced at the man in question with surprise. "You don't have an accent."

"I moved over a long time ago. I make my home in Toronto now," he said, and then added under his breath, "Not that I'm home much."

"Oh yes." Jo nodded, her ponytail bobbing. "I suppose you're on the road a lot."

"Back to this nightlife business," Mortimer said, sounding a bit abrupt.

Reminded of their original question, Sam quickly explained, "There isn't much up here to begin with, but even less on Sunday night."

He frowned. "No bars or nightclubs?"

"There's a bar in the Lakeside," Jo reminded her.

"The Lakeside?" Bricker asked.

"A small hotel in town. Although calling it a hotel is rather ambitious," Sam said, thinking of the dingy little place. She knew there were rooms on the second floor but wouldn't have risked sleeping in them. "It has a bar on the main floor, but I don't know that the bar itself is actually open on Sunday nights."

"There's always the Andersons," Alex said.

"What is that?" Mortimer asked.

"Cottage party central," Sam said dryly. "There's always a party at the Anderson cottage, even on Sundays if they're up here."

"They're up here," Alex announced. "I saw Jack out in the boat earlier when I was sinking the beer and pop."

"Would they have a party even without power?" Bricker asked.

"Especially without power," Sam assured him, and then explained, "You can't read without power to keep the lights on, or play cards, or even watch television." She shrugged. "There's nothing to do but sit around the fire and visit."

"Where is the Andersons' cottage?" Decker asked curiously.

"The far end of the lake."

Mortimer nodded slowly. "So we take the main road and...?"

"You can't go by car," Sam said at once.

"You can't?" Bricker asked with surprise.

"Well..." She paused and frowned uncertainly and then said, "I suppose you can, of course, but I can't direct you there that way. The only way I've been there is by boat."

Sam glanced at her sisters in question, but both shook their heads. No one could show them the way by road.

"But you know the way there by boat?" Bricker asked.

"Yes."

"I don't have a boat," Decker pointed out quietly.

"The girls do," Bricker said cheerfully. "They can take us."

Sam was just stiffening at the presumptuous words when Alex said, "We'd be happy to."

Sam stared at her with amazement. Of the three of them, Alex was the most likely to get upset by such presumptuousness, but she was smiling and... Sam frowned as she took in her smile. It was rather empty and vague, lacking any of the sharpness and intelligence of the usual Alex. In fact, it appeared more like a mask than anything. Concern claiming her, she glanced at Jo. The two of them exchanged worried frowns, and then Jo suddenly looked away toward Bricker and visibly relaxed. In the next moment, Sam herself was relaxing in her seat as her confusion melted away.

"It's all right," she heard Decker say. "Everything is fine. Just relax and go with it."

At least she thought he said that. Though the truth was, it sounded more like it was in her head than her ears. Despite that, his words seemed perfectly reasonable to her, and she felt her worry slipping away.

"Goddammit, Pimms! You too, Bricker. Both of you, cut it out," Sam heard Mortimer snap, but couldn't seem to work up any curiosity about his upset. It was as if she were cocooned inside a bubble of calm and unconcern. She wasn't even curious when the men all suddenly rose as one and moved away from the table again. She was completely happy to simply sit there staring at nothing.

Mortimer led the men to the end of the deck, then whirled to face them and snapped, "Stop doing that!"

"Relax, Mortimer, we aren't hurting them," Decker said soothingly.

"The hell you aren't," he growled. "How would you like to have your free will taken away?"

Decker arched an eyebrow at the question. "We've done this a thousand times with a thousand different mortals while working together. What makes this time different?"

Mortimer opened his mouth, and then abruptly snapped it closed, his teeth grinding together. He had no answer. They had indeed done this previously, and he'd never before had a problem with it. Reading and controlling the minds of mortals was just another tool they sometimes used in their hunt for rogues. It didn't normally bother him, but this time... Eyes narrowing on Decker's expression, he accused, "You've been taking control of them on purpose."

"I don't know what you're talking about," he claimed, expression innocent.

"The hell you don't." Mortimer sighed wearily and ran a hand through his hair. He was pretty sure the man was trying to provoke him into admitting that Sam was his life mate. Mortimer wasn't ready to do that yet, but he also didn't like the way Decker kept taking control of Sam. "Just stop doing it, okay?"

Decker considered him silently and then said, "If it's what you wish, I won't control Sam anymore."

Mortimer nodded stiffly.

"Does that mean we can't control Alex and Jo anymore either?" Bricker asked.

"No," Decker said at once. "It means that-if necessary-we will control Alex and Jo. However, we'll leave Sam for Mortimer to deal with."

"But he can't control Sam," Bricker pointed out. "What if she gets upset about something or asks too many questions again?"

"Then it will be interesting to see how he deals with her, won't it," Decker said with dry amusement, and turned to move back to the table.

Mortimer let his breath out on a slow sigh as he followed them back to the table. For some reason he felt like he might have just made matters worse.

"I guess we'll have to take both boats."

Alex's comment as they stepped onto the dock made Sam pause and glance over the two small boats on either side of the dock. One was a gold runabout and the other a small aluminum fishing boat. Neither would take six people.

"Surely we can all fit on one," Bricker said, moving up between them with the cooler he'd volunteered to carry. It was stuffed full of bottles of beer, cans of pop, and the last of their melting ice, yet he carried it as if it were weightless. The man was stronger than he appeared.

"There are six of us and the speedboat only sits four, the fishing boat five," Sam answered. "Each only has one life jacket per seat." It wouldn't be safe for the six of them to pile onto one boat even for this short journey. Safety first had been drummed into them from youth when it came to boating. Glancing at Alex, she shrugged and said, "So we'll split into two groups. You captain one boat and I'll take the other."

"I get the Goldie!" Alex blurted at once and scrambled into the speedboat. Once safely onboard she turned back, stuck her tongue out at Sam, and said, "Neener neener neener."

"Oh, very mature." Sam laughed, shaking her head as she moved to the other side of the dock and the waiting aluminum fishing boat.

"Here, I'll go first." Mortimer was suddenly there, clambering down into the boat before her. Once standing in the bottom, he turned back and offered his hand, a concerned expression on his face.

Sam had been clambering on and off boats all her life and almost shunned his help, but knew this was because of her proven clumsiness caused by the ear infection. Knowing it would be more than humiliating should she refuse his help and end up getting a dunk in the lake, Sam heaved an inner sigh and accepted the hand he offered.

"Thank you," she murmured as she stepped onto the bench and then the floor of the small metal boat, but he didn't release her until she'd stepped back to settle herself on the seat in front of the outboard engine.

Telling herself it was all her own fault for not taking care of the ear issue when she should have, Sam set about opening the tank vent on the outboard motor. Once she'd finished prepping the engine, she forced a smile to her lips that probably came out as more of a grimace, and glanced around to see who else was joining them.

The answer was no one. The dock was empty. Everyone else had followed Alex onto the speedboat, taking the cooler with them.

"Must be my deodorant," Sam muttered with disgust as she turned back to prime the engine, but knew it wasn't true. The Goldie was the cooler of the two boats. She'd have taken it herself had Alex not beaten her to the punch.

"Would you like me to do that?" Mortimer asked with concern when she grabbed at the starter cord and pulled it out with no effect.

"No, thank you, I..." Her voice died as he was suddenly there, urging her out of the way so that he could pull the cord for her. Of course, it started on the first tug for him. She'd warmed it up for him, Sam told herself, muttering a thank-you as she reduced the choke and throttle while he moved back to the center bench.

Hanging on to the tiller handle, she leaned to the side and quickly untied the back rope fastening them to the dock. The boat tilted a little wildly in the water as Mortimer immediately jumped up and moved to the bow to take care of that rope.

Sam closed her eyes against the dizziness that immediately swamped her, but then forced them open again and managed a somewhat sickly smile as Mortimer moved back to his seat, sending the boat bobbing about again. Apparently her smile wasn't very convincing, because his expression immediately became concerned again.

"Is everything all right? Do you want me to drive?"

"No," Sam said at once, and then asked curiously, "Do you have a pleasure craft operator's license?"

"A what?" He looked startled.

"I gather that means you don't," she said with amusement, and then informed him, "You have to have a license to captain a boat here in Canada."

"Dear God, they license everything nowadays," he muttered with a shake of the head.

Sam smiled faintly and then said, "If you want a life jacket, there are two under your bench there."

Mortimer glanced down to see the glowing orange life jackets they always kept on board. He shook his head, however. "No thank you; I trust your driving."

Sam shrugged. She didn't like wearing one herself.

"See you later guys! Much later," Alex taunted.

Sam glanced over just in time to see Alex throttle the Goldie and send her shooting away from the dock. Eyes narrowing, she took up the challenge and throttled the aluminum boat's engine, sending her own craft shooting forward.

"I'm sorry!" she cried, throttling back immediately when Mortimer, not expecting the action, slid off his seat and onto his butt on the bottom of the boat.

"Don't worry about me," he yelled back, dragging himself back onto the bench. "That was a challenge if I ever heard one."

Sam glanced after the speeding boat with longing, but shook her head. "This engine is powerful, but not as powerful as the Goldie's."

"Maybe," he agreed. "But we don't have four people and a heavy cooler on board either."

Mouth widening into a smile, Sam nodded. "Hold on!" she warned, and sent them shooting forward again. She ran the engine full out and managed to catch up to the other boat about halfway along the lake to the Andersons. She and Mortimer both waved gaily at the occupants of the other boat as they pulled alongside. They couldn't hear the answering boos and disparaging shouts over the engine's roar, but their expressions and gestures were telling enough. Sam and Mortimer shared triumphant grins as they pulled out in front, widening the distance between the two boats. The fishing boat might not normally be as fast, and she certainly wasn't as pretty, but she'd won that race for them, Sam thought affectionately, and almost gave the old boat a pat.

"There's only room for one boat," Mortimer pointed out, his concerned gaze moving over the ninety-foot, L-shaped dock and the boats all bobbing alongside it as she throttled down.

"Alex can tie Goldie to us," Sam said with unconcern as she steered them toward the last open spot. It was a common enough occurrence. In another hour or so there would be several boats tied off others, and some with three or even four boats off them.

Mortimer reached out, preparing to keep them from bumping into the dock, and shook his head as he took in the scene. "This is one huge dock."

Sam chuckled at his amazement. It was a huge dock, five times bigger than the next largest dock on the lake, but it had grown slowly over time. Jack Anderson added another ten feet every couple of years as the size of his parties grew.

"How many people come to these parties?" Mortimer asked, his gaze moving with amazement over the mass of bodies milling around the huge glowing fire on shore as Sam shut off the engine and they coasted the last few feet up to the dock.

"Pretty much everyone on the lake and several from neighboring lakes have been here at one time or other," she said, leaning to the side to grab the dock even as he did. "Jack makes them open parties. That way no one complains about the noise."

"They don't seem that noisy to me."

"The power's out," she reminded him. "Normally we would have heard the music from our cottage. As it is, they're reduced to strumming guitars or battery-operated radios that won't play as loud."

Mortimer nodded, and they both fell silent as they tied up to the dock. Once done, he helped her onto the dock, and they both paused and turned back to watch as the Goldie approached.

"All right, all right, go ahead and rub it in! You beat us," Alex called as the Goldie coasted up beside the fishing boat, and Decker and Bricker worked to secure the slightly larger boat to the smaller one.

"Would I do that?" Sam asked with a grin.

Alex snorted as she left the helm and moved to follow the others now scrambling from one boat to the other and then to the dock.

"Jesus. This is a Sunday night in cottage country?" Bricker asked, peering over the dancing and laughing people on shore with amazement as he stepped onto the deck with the cooler.

"If they're up here at their cottages they're on holiday," Sam pointed out with amusement. "Every night is Friday night when you're on vacation."

"And here I thought cottage country was all about peace and quiet and listening to crickets at night," Bricker said wryly.

"You've got a lot to learn, my boy," Alex teased as they all started up the dock.

Jack Anderson himself saw them approaching and met them at the foot of the dock. He had been a good friend and fishing buddy of their father's, and gave Sam and each of her sisters a bear hug in greeting before turning to the men for introductions. He'd barely finished assuring them they were all welcome before another boat arrived. Admonishing them all to have a good time, he then hurried off up the dock to direct the newcomers to tie themselves up to his own boat.

"Come on," Sam said, and led the group to a relatively open spot around a fallen log near the trees at this edge of the party. "This seems like a good spot. Bricker, set the cooler down there beside the log; someone can use it as a seat if they like."

She watched him set it down, frowning over the fact that he didn't look the least strained under the weight. A touch on her arm distracted her, drawing her around, and a smile of greeting claimed her lips as she recognized Margo and John Hemming, who had a cottage two doors down. They were only the first to approach. Everyone knew pretty much everyone else up here, and since this was the first time Sam and her sisters had been at the cottage this year, they were greeted like long-lost relatives. On top of that, everyone was curious about the three men they'd brought with them.

Sam suspected it was all a bit overwhelming for the men. Shortly after Bricker set down the cooler, the men had a powwow, and then Decker and Bricker slid away to mingle with the crowd. Mortimer remained behind, however. He stayed with Sam and her sisters, meeting everyone who came over, smiling and chatting and proving he could be extremely charming. The man had a sharp wit, could set everyone laughing with a mere comment, and handled it all beautifully. Still, even Sam was relieved when everyone eventually drifted away to meet and greet others, and they were left to relax and simply enjoy themselves.

"It's a pretty tight community up here, isn't it?" Mortimer said, sounding surprised as he followed her to the log by their cooler.

Sam nodded as she settled on the fallen tree trunk. She waited until he'd seated himself next to her before saying, "You kind of have to be. It's not like the city where police, fire, ambulance, and even grocery stores are near and handy. Everyone looks out for everyone else up here."

"You passed the test, by the way," Alex announced as she dropped onto the log on Sam's other side.

"What test is that?" Mortimer asked with surprise.

"The once-over by the other cottagers," Jo explained with a laugh as she laid claim to the cooler for a seat. "Why do you think we were so mobbed for such a long time?"

"Because you are three young women who are as charming as you are attractive, but you've all been so wrapped up in your careers that you haven't been up as much as you used to be and your presence has been missed," he said with a certainty that left all of them briefly silent.

It was Jo who finally broke the silence by saying, "Yeah, well, maybe, but they were still giving you the once-over."

"So you said," he murmured with amusement. "You also said I passed."

"Yes, you did," Sam assured him.

"How would you know that?"

"Because everyone was giving a thumbs-up behind your back," Alex announced in dry tones.

When he turned a questioning glance to Sam, she nodded solemnly. "Not very subtle maybe, but it works."

"Hmm," Mortimer muttered, but he was scowling as if the idea of being judged didn't sit well with him.

Jo laughed at his expression and pointed out, "This is a good thing, Mortimer. The other cottagers can make life difficult for people they don't like."

"I'll have to warn Decker about that," he muttered.

"Later," Jo suggested with a laugh and then said, "In the meantime, if I were to go drag Bobby and his guitar over this way, would you sing us a song?"

Sam frowned with concern and began to pat Mortimer's back as he choked up the mouthful of beer he'd been in the process of swallowing.

They were all silent as he regained his breath, but the moment he seemed recovered Jo asked, "Was that a yes or a no?"

"Oh, leave him alone, Jo," Sam said. "It's what he does for a living. He'll hardly want to do it while on vacation."

"Right," Jo said unhappily, and then pursed her lips and asked him, "So what do you like to do on your downtime?"

Mortimer hesitated for a minute and then admitted, "I'm not sure. I don't get much downtime."

"Ah." She nodded knowingly. "A workaholic like our Sam."

Mortimer opened his mouth as if to protest the label, but paused as Bricker suddenly appeared before them.

"We found someone Decker thinks you should meet," he announced, a solemn expression on his face.

Mortimer raised his eyebrows, but excused himself and rose to follow the man through the milling people.

Distracted by watching the two men disappear into the crowd, Sam didn't notice the way Jo scooted over to take up the empty spot Mortimer had left until Jo bumped Sam's shoulder with her own, and said in a teasing, singsong voice, "I think he likes you."

Sam glanced at her with surprise. "Who?"

"Mortimer," Alex said dryly from her other side. "Who else? The man hasn't left your side since we got here."

Sam felt her face grow warm, but shrugged. "I'm not in the market for a boyfriend, thanks."

"Why not? You're free and single now."

Sam wrinkled her nose at the now. Up until six months ago she'd been engaged to her high school sweetheart, Tom Granger, but he'd broken it off at Christmas. She shouldn't have been surprised by the timing; he'd never been the most sensitive soul. Timing wasn't the only thing about him that had sucked. While he'd seemed sweet and considerate when they were dating in high school and at university, things had changed considerably once they'd graduated and moved in together.

Tom had worked a nine-to-five job as a law clerk with the city, while she'd worked much longer hours at the firm, yet she'd come home late in the evening to find him sitting with his feet up waiting for supper. When she asked why he hadn't started the meal, he'd always claim he wasn't hungry, but then he'd always been more than happy to eat her food when she cooked it. She'd soon realized that the truth was he was too damned lazy to cook and was leaving it for her to do.

He'd also offered little help with cleaning. There was no need to bother, he'd always insisted; the house looked fine. When she brought up the subject or complained, he'd claimed that her standards were just higher than his. But it had been hard for Sam to ignore that if his mom called and said she was coming over, those lax standards of his suddenly jumped upward to match her supposedly higher ones and there was a mad dash to clean the house.

Tom hadn't even been willing to do the manly-type stuff around the house. Sam was the one who'd spent her rare time off climbing a ladder to clean the eave troughs in the fall. When a pipe burst and their basement flooded, she was the one who'd had to call in the plumbers and the city to tend it, and when it came to insulating the attic of the older house they'd bought together-

Sam cut her thoughts off. Just thinking about these things upset her all over again. Every incident had left her feeling more and more on her own, as if they weren't a couple at all, but as if it was her house, her responsibility, and he was just visiting and needn't help out or take some of the burden. It had left her feeling unloved and taken advantage of.

Worse yet, while she'd been killing herself at work and doing everything around the house, he'd been running around whining that he wasn't happy, that she worked too many hours, that he hated their house with all its "time-consuming needs," and so on.

"It's been more than six months, Sam," Jo said gently, distracting her from the distressing memories.

"Yeah." Alex nudged her from the other side. "What are you planning to do? Swear off men and join a convent?"

"Maybe," Sam said, thinking the idea wasn't without merit. Honestly, men could be such a pain. The lawyers she worked with all seemed to be selfish, greedy, demanding bastards. Not unlike Tom.

"Tom was a jerk," Alex said abruptly. "Don't let him put you off men."

"I thought you liked him," she said with surprise.

Alex made a face. "He was all right at first, but by the end I was ready to strangle him myself."

Sam's jaw dropped. "Really? You never said anything."

"How could I?" she asked helplessly. "You were with him forever. Everyone thought the two of you would marry. I mean, you were talking marriage after graduation, but then you got that job and were so busy and put it off and the two of you just moved in together..." She shrugged and then shook her head. "I couldn't make you uncomfortable by telling you I thought you could do better. But I kept hoping and praying you'd see what an egotistical little jackass he was."

"Egotistical little jackass?" Sam echoed with a slow smile.

"Definitely," she said firmly. "He was envious as hell when you were approached by Babcock, Hillier, and Bundy. Everyone else was happy, and he claimed he was too, but you could see the resentment and bitterness on his face that it was you and not him. He was miserable about it and set out to make you miserable too."

"Really?" Sam asked, almost eagerly. She'd been obsessing over her broken relationship ever since it had ended. While she'd been angry and resentful of Tom's behavior, his insults to her attractiveness and womanliness at the end of their relationship had still hit home and left their mark. Her logical mind had reasoned that if he'd loved her enough and found her attractive enough and wanted to keep her, surely he would have tried a little harder? Surely he would have helped out. The logical answer to that question was that she had somehow been lacking and not worth his expending the effort to keep her. She truly hadn't been "woman enough," as he claimed.

"I don't think Mortimer is anything like Tom," Alex added suddenly.

Sam stiffened. She wasn't ready to get back into a relationship. She didn't want to be told, once again, that she wasn't good enough, or didn't give enough, or was insecure and needy when she tried to get her mate to help out. She needed time to lick her wounds and rebuild her self-esteem, because-sadly enough-she'd allowed Tom to take that from her. She, who had been top of her class in high school, and on the dean's list in university. She, who had worked her butt off and earned her law degree and got a much-sought-after job... She had achieved all that on her own, and yet eight months of living with Tom had taken away her sense of achievement, her belief in herself, and left her feeling like an unattractive, useless drudge.

Sam didn't know how that had come to pass. It wasn't like she could point to a day when he walked up and snatched it from her. It had been a gradual process; one incident after another, one letdown after another. Refrain after refrain, it had built up into an entire song-the "You Ain't Good Enough" blues.

"And Mortimer's cute," Jo said, drawing her out of her thoughts and making her mouth tighten.

"So was Tom," she pointed out dryly, and could feel both of her sisters staring at her, suddenly silent. After a moment, they both turned their attention to watching the people around them, and Sam let her breath out on a slow sigh as they let the subject drop. She was grateful for it. She was better on her own for now, Sam thought firmly. She would concentrate on her career, climb her way up the totem pole, and maybe go out dancing at the clubs once in a while with her sisters or friends to let off a little steam.

"Where are we going?" Mortimer asked when Bricker led him all the way across the sand and right out of the group of par tiers onto a path through the trees.

"Decker found someone with bite marks," Bricker announced over his shoulder. "At least we think they're bite marks, but we needed a flashlight to see it better. I told him you have a penlight. You do have it, don't you?"

"Yes, of course." Mortimer reached into his pocket for the small penlight he always carried with him. It had come in handy countless times over the years, and he often wondered that none of the other enforcers bothered to get one. Maybe he'd get Bricker one for Christmas, he thought absently as he followed him into a small clearing where Decker waited with a young blond woman who looked no more than eighteen. Obviously presently being controlled, she stood docilely, her expression blank.

"We've read her thoughts, but he's blanked them, of course," Decker announced as Mortimer stopped in front of the blond, switched on his penlight, and ran it quickly over her neck until it landed on the bite marks.

"Of course," he murmured, peering at the marks for a moment before announcing, "They're fresh."

"How fresh?" Decker asked, crowding up next to him to see the small marks under the penlight's beam for himself.

"Like minutes-old fresh," Mortimer said dryly. "Our rogue is at the party, or he was."

Decker frowned. "He might have fed and fled."

"Would one be enough?" Bricker asked, drawing their questioning glances. "I mean, she's the only one we've found with bite marks. Would that be enough to satisfy him?" His gaze shifted to the girl's face. "She doesn't look overly pale. Do you think he took enough from this one that he'll stop and leave now, or might we be able to catch him in the act?"

Mortimer shifted the small beam of the penlight to the girl's face, taking in her relatively healthy color, before shining it on her eyes to examine them. "It doesn't look like he took much at all. If he's not supplementing with bagged blood, then he'll definitely have to hit more than this one, if he hasn't already."

They all turned and glanced back toward the light and laughter.

"They're like sheep in the field with a wolf among them," Bricker murmured.