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52
anyway, Eric had said—compared to the safety of her and
her brothers? She could point to any one of them, and the
murderer would be “caught.”
Rebekah frowned as she scanned the group. “You said
there were only four,” she murmured. “Which of these were
caught after I came here?”
To her surprise and mild alarm, Eric hesitated. In what
light filtered in through the small window, his expression
was unreadable. “I am a fair man.” Pride rang in his low
voice, but there was an apology in the words as well.
“Madame, if you know one of these criminals, then I am
sure it could only be one of the ones who arrived recently.”
In other words, he would not narrow down the choice for
her, for fear that she would mistakenly think she recognized
one just because it was convenient. That made things
considerably more difficult: If she pointed to the wrong
thug, Eric would know it. Should she fail the test, she might
even arouse his suspicions toward her.
She glanced at the caged men; perhaps she could make
some kind of guess based on which were the least filthy? It
was not an easy distinction to make. Then, to her delight,
she realized that she actually did know one of the faces .
. . and had seen it just the night before she had killed the
wagoner and his wife. Green eyes glittered brilliantly out of
his swarthy face, and his left arm was bound in a grimy sling.
Elijah had broken it, she remembered, when the other man
had surrounded her brother and attacked him, six to one.