Free Wilderness of Mirrors by Ella Skye Page B

be dead on with the details.
    She faced away, her gaze fixed on the fields below Barkley.
    Nigel swallowed and took three steps in the direction of the palladium window’s upper curve. He balled his fist and rapped sharply against the leaded pane. A dog barked somewhere.
    “Nigel? Is that you banging about?”
    He ignored Kate’s question and stared at the greasy marks his knuckles had left upon the pristine glass.
    The blonde remained motionless. Only his head was spinning. Bloody hell.
    Nigel drifted through the upper hallway, a ghost himself, until he made the washroom. The vomit was real. The blood on his shirt as well. And blackness closed in on him like a fucking sandstorm.

Chapter Six
    “C hrist almighty. Look at the floor. Is that blood? What in God’s name is the matter with him?”
    It was his brother-in-law’s composed tone that finally silenced Kate’s ringing voice. “He’s probably got the flu, Kate. Go downstairs and have Eleanor make a pot of tea. Go on. I’ll see to him.”
    There was a reluctant clip to the retreating heels.
    Then, “She’s gone, old boy. Care to tell me what really happened?”
    Considering Nigel wasn’t certain himself, he paused before testing an answer. He had come to on the floor, propped up against the side of the claw-footed tub, his sister and her husband standing above him, faces etched with concern.
    The marble was cool beneath his left hand. The ringing in his head had abated somewhat, but a chemical-induced thickness clogged his thoughts.
    “I thought you were out.” Best to ignore questions you couldn’t answer.
    David shook his head. “Not for the day. You know Kate. I wasn’t going to get out of this. I’m a prize.” He radiated irony, spreading his hands wide and glancing down at his gangly, unremarkable form.
    Nigel managed to chuckle. “A prize?”
    “Yes. The highest donor to Princess Diana’s land-mine charity gets a free consultation and procedure with me.” David pushed back his sleeves from bony wrists and rummaged the linen closet.
    “New breasts?” Nigel shifted himself so the back of his neck could chill on the tub’s rim.
    “Or a face-lift.”
    They both laughed while the tap ran until steam coated the mirror. David sluiced a hand towel through it, and then squatted down with a pile of supplies. “Can you tell me what happened or is it need to know?”
    Nigel cleared his throat. “Just a bit of a scrum in the desert. I stupidly took something for the pain this morning.”
    “Without food?”
    Nigel nodded.
    “Never a good idea.” David’s hands touched Nigel’s shirt buttons. “Do you mind?”
    “Do I have a choice?”
    They viewed the uncovered red plaster. “Knife or bullet?”
    “A Baikal IJ 70 pistol from a meter away.”
    David ripped away the bandage and pressed a white towel against Nigel’s ribs. “Hold that a moment. That’s Russian made, isn’t it?”
    “Mmm. An easily concealed little bitch.” At least that’s what he kept telling himself.
    “Lift it away now. Good.”
    Nigel felt the soft pressure of a second heated towel, glad David wasn’t Kate. She’d have broken a few more of his ribs on principal. Organic Pima cotton was frightfully expensive.
    “Your doctor did a decent job stitching you up. Do I know him?”
    “No.”
    “Well, we could use him at the practice. Lift your arm. Good. What about the thigh?”
    Nigel held his breath until the plaster was secure. “I had hoped you’d’ve missed that.”
    “Not likely. You can button your shirt.” David rolled up the towels and shoved them into the bin beneath the massive double-sink. “You’re sitting like a rod’s been jammed in your leg.”
    “Kate didn’t notice.” Nigel had worked very hard to hide his pain. Hide his awkward gait. It was humiliating to know it hadn’t mattered.
    David eyed him. “Maybe not. Though she does worry about you. I don’t think she’s ever believed you do actuarial work.”
    Nigel grabbed hold of the tub