“Yours, and my panther’s, and so help me if you’re both wrong…”
Baptiste merely smiled knowingly, and then asked how Marin’s last job had gone. As was his way, he let his Child know that he didn’t approve of his being an assassin, but reiterated, as always, that at least he was eliminating only evil men—or women on rare occasions.
* * * *
Saturday after work, two days after Marin had returned to Denver, although of course Tyler had no idea that he’d been gone; the young man took his two most recent drawings to the gallery that handled his work.
“You’ve outdone yourself,” the owner said after studying each of them. “I would hazard a guess these will sell as soon as they’re hung.”
“Thank you. That would be nice.”
The owner took a checkbook from the desk drawer, wrote one out, and hande
