The Rogue Hunter - Argeneau Series - Book 10 Page 0,3

with torches and stakes.

"Right," Bricker said dryly. "But what would any self-respecting vampire—rogue or not—be doing here? We haven't seen a streetlight in hours. It's black as pitch out here and has been forever. If there's anything at all beyond the headlights of our car, I'd be surprised."

Mortimer chuckled. "There's a lot more than you think beyond the headlights."

"Bears, raccoons, deer, and bunnies," Bricker said, obviously unimpressed.

Mortimer shook his head, but waited to negotiate a rather sharp curve in the road before saying, "We've probably passed a couple hundred cottages and houses since getting off the main highway. Believe me, hidden in the darkness are loads of people."

"Maybe," Bricker allowed with some disgruntlement. "But I guarantee you there won't be a single immortal among them."

"No?" Mortimer arched an eyebrow even as his lips twitched again.

"No," Bricker assured him. "No self-respecting immortal would stick himself out here. It's just not our scene."

"Right. So… What?" he asked dryly. "You're saying that all self-respecting immortals are presently hanging out on the other side of the globe where it's winter and the days are shorter?"

"No, of course not," Bricker growled with irritation. "But they aren't likely to be at a cottage. They'll be in cities like Toronto and Montreal where they have underground concourses and don't have to expose themselves to the sun to go places and do things."

Mortimer nodded, but didn't agree or disagree. The truth was, he knew a lot of their people would indeed be spending the summer in such places. While mortals enjoyed the underground cities in the winter because it allowed them to avoid the bitter cold outside, and some sought it out in the summer to avoid the harsh heat, immortals simply enjoyed the underground concourses during daylight in both summer and winter. It gave them a freedom they had never imagined they might enjoy before the advent of such things. They could walk around during daylight without worrying about the damage it was doing to them.

Mortimer peered at his partner, noting the dissatisfaction on his handsome, angular face and the frustrated way he ran one hand through his dark curls. Glancing back to the road ahead, he pointed out mildly, "The intelligence we have says that half a dozen mortals have been spotted with bite marks."

"I know, but it makes no sense that a vampire would hang out up here."

"And maybe that's why he or she is," Mortimer said. "After all, as you say, it's the last place anyone would expect to find an immortal… and because it is cottage country, it's full of mortals who come and go, concentrate on sun and fun, and don't bother neighboring cottagers."

Bricker looked startled at the suggestion. It obviously wasn't something he'd considered.

"You have to admit it's a pretty good place to hide out," Mortimer continued. "Almost every cottage we've passed is surrounded by trees, and the people up here feel safe so they won't be as aware or cautious… A rogue immortal would be a wolf among sheep."

"I suppose you're right," Bricker murmured, his expression thoughtful. "It's dark as death out here. He could creep up on people around a campfire, lure someone into the trees for a bite, and be gone without ever being seen."

Mortimer grunted in agreement, his attention on the small, green, numbered markers among the foliage on the side of the road. Each glowed brightly in the headlight's beam and each marked a driveway that disappeared into the trees, leading to cottages that they couldn't see from the road. Their cottage turned out to be the last one leading off the gravel road. Mortimer steered them down the dirt lane, wincing as they bumped over ruts and rocks. They traveled through trees for at least a full minute before the headlights flashed on a brown building ahead.

"Welcome to the boonies," Bricker said with a sneer. Holding on to the strap above the passenger door to steady himself during the bumpy ride, he added almost under his breath, "This so isn't my bag."

Mortimer smiled faintly and admitted, "It isn't really my bag either, but it's someone's or we wouldn't be up here."

"Right. Our rogue," Bricker muttered unhappily.

"And Decker," he pointed out. "It's his cottage we're using as a base while we're up here."

"Yeah, but he always was a strange bird," Bricker said. "Only he would enjoy living at the end of the world."

Mortimer smiled faintly at the insult to their comrade Decker Argeneau Pimms. As hunters for the Council, they often worked in concert with other