Page 23 of The Shadow of the Count
“I have a car for us. Can we arrange a courier for the luggage?”
“Of course.” Clark never worried about such mundane things as cost. He just waved his hand.
They would just have to find the ship’s representative on the dock. “I’ll be right back.” Donnie knew how exhausting traveling was. He could handle this.
He arranged for all the luggage to be portered to the villa, and then headed back toward the little group of his friends.
Donald.
He blinked, searching for the source of his name. In fact, he turned in a complete circle but couldn’t find anyone.
His belly felt tight, and he began to feel trapped, caught, his throat closing up again.
“Don?” A hand landed on his shoulder, and it was like a bubble had popped. Jeb stood there, eyebrow raised. “You get it all squared away?”
“I did. We need to go. There’s something off here.”
“Then let’s skedaddle.” Jeb steered him back toward the others.
It was a comfort, to know that Jeb cared, that his Texan friend didn’t question his gut feeling. In fact, when they had been in Egypt, Jeb had been a staunch defender when many of them had thought Charles was losing his sanity.
They got into the car, all of them piling in like cordwood.
“Seriously? We can’t hire another vehicle?”
“Don’t look a gift horse in the mouth, Donnie,” Clark said cheerfully. Such an ass. “Here we go.”
“What have you two been up to in the States?” Douglas asked Jeb and Clark. “Have you seen each other often?”
“Not often enough,” Clark singsonged, and Jeb glared.
Ah, some things never changed.Those two were like oil and water and, in fact, had nearly come to blows a dozen times in Egypt.
“I’ve been doing some bodyguard work for an oilman or two.”
“That sounds interesting,” Charles said.
Clark snorted. “Sounds dreadfully boring.”
“It was decent money. It was fun as hell.”
“You’ll have to tell us all about it. I might need it for a role someday,” Douglas said. Though Douglas was doing fewer movies all the time. Hollywood hadn’t lost its love for him, Donnie thought. Douglas had lost his love for it.
Now Douglas had tasted real adventure, the long days on a set suited him less. So did the constant worry about the press. In Europe, Douglas was less widely recognized, so his dalliances were less remarked upon.
Jeb chuckled. “I can do that over a long night of cards, but right now, I think Don needs to let us know what’s happening. Fill us in.”
Donnie started at the beginning—from the moment Peter left through the asylum to the moment he found his breath stolen at the tavern.
“Good heavens.” Charles shuddered, and of all of them, he knew how Donnie felt. He had been the focus of the long-dead mummy in their last adventure. “This sounds serious, Donald.”
“It does. You say you have a physician, and he has no ideas?” Clark asked.
“None. He’s flummoxed. He thinks it’s a disease of the blood.”
“I would like to examine your friend, if you don’t mind.”
“I do not.” Clark might have been a seminary student, but Donnie knew what sort of skills he had. He might have an idea that Richard could never conceive of, since he did not truly believe in anything that was not a medical excuse.
