Page 43 of The Shadow of the Count
Clark’s gaze sharpened. “Not just a trick of bad lighting?”
“No. No, it was uncanny.” Peter had no doubt whatsoever. “I swear to you. It was him.”
“Damn.” That was Charles. “Damn, damn, damn. I was hoping it was coincidence, us being involved. It’s never that easy.”
“It’s not me!” Don yelled, the sound shocking in the elegant room, the outburst subsiding as quickly as it came.
“Well of course not, Donnie,” Douglas said, very reasonably. “But much like poor Charles, perhaps he’s chosen you as the representation of his lost…what? Love? Family member?”
“He had a spouse, I know, but there are no children, at least no living ones.” Peter shuddered. “I took one book.”
“Hmmm. Well, we should find out what Yvgeny knows when he gets back.” Clark waved a hand. “It’s nearing sundown. It comes so damn early here.”
Jeb appeared in the doorway, a bit disheveled. “Got us outfitted. Get your gewgaws, Clark.”
“Infidel,” Clark muttered under his breath.
“You know it.”
Peter bit back a smile. It would probably be unwelcome, but he did appreciate how some things never changed. Clark and Jeb growled. That was how it was.
It satisfied him, deep within—the crashing of two apex predators, Clark with wealth and intellect, Jeb with bravado and sheer courage.
He rather adored them when he didn’t want to hit them with a rock.
The problem was that one always came with the other.
“What are you thinking about, Peter?” Don asked, and he looked around, finding everyone staring at him.
“How we are who we are, I suppose. Sorry, did I miss something?” Sometimes his woolgathering led to an embarrassing lack of attention.
“Not really. Just the part where Jeb’s offered to cut Lyle’s head off for us.”
“Oh…” He didn’t dare look at Don. “Well, of all of us, he has the strongest arm.”
“And the best aim,” Douglas said drily.
“And the strongest stomach. All we need you for, Donnie, is to identify the man, fair?”
Don stared at Clark. “How would you know?”
“What do you mean?” Clark frowned, clearly unsure what Don was asking.
“That he has the strongest stomach? Does he decapitate on a regular basis?”
“Well, I am the hired gun, Donnie. When was the last time you shot a man? A live one?” Jeb’s blue gaze burned into each of them one at a time. No one would do well to question Jeb when it came to his job.
“Easy, Tex.” Clark rolled his eyes. “The lad’s allowed to be unhappy. He’s got to face an old friend tonight and put him to rest. You know how that hurts.”
“I do.” Jeb’s face went stony, and he turned away. “I’ll be in the main hall.” He strode toward the door.
Don huffed out a breath, looking to Jeb with a panicked expression, then running after the cowboy and taking his arm. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. That was awful of me. I’m just frightened and unnerved about Lyle.”
“We’re all het up.” Jeb’s expression softened. “Suffice to say I been where you are, Donnie. It ain’t good. I’m sorry for it.”
Don hugged Jeb hard. “Me too. God, this is atrocious.”
“It sure is.” Jeb patted Don’s back, and Peter couldn’t summon the least bit of worry. Jeb was their friend, all the way. “Don’t worry, Donnie. We’ll muddle through as best we can.”
