Hannibal Rising Read Online Free PDF Page B

add that, whether he took the job or not, he intended to track down whoever tried to make worm food of them.
    Pickleman’s face puckered in worry. “Did I hear correctly? You’re thinking of turning Sam down?”
    “I haven’t heard why I was sent for yet.”
    “I told you. Sam wants to do that. But you can’t have come all this way only to refuse. It would upset Sam terribly.”
    Fargo looked for a hitch rail but there was none. He led the Ovaro to the base of the mansion steps and let the reins dangle. The stallion was well trained; it wouldn’t stray off. The gray-haired servant had followed him so Fargo made it plain. Patting the saddle, he said, “Anyone touches him, I’ll crack their damn skull. Understood?”
    Again the servant looked at Roland who motioned. The servant gave a slight bow and walked off.
    Fargo shucked the Henry and cradled it in his left elbow.
    “You won’t need that inside,” Pickleman said with an amused twinkle in his eyes.
    “It goes where I go.”
    “I must say,” the lawyer remarked. “You’re about the most strong-willed person I have ever met, and that includes Tom Senior.”
    “Follow me,” Roland said.
    The interior was as lavish as Fargo expected: polished floors, mahogany furniture, paintings, even a few sculptures. The servants who passed them always bowed their heads.
    Fargo was led to a sitting room the size of most saloons. Roland indicated a divan and said he would go fetch Sam.
    The lawyer began to pace.
    “Nerves bothering you?” Fargo asked.
    “Sam won’t like the attempt on our lives. Not one little bit. And when Sam gets mad—” Pickleman didn’t finish.
    “I’m not fond of being shot at, myself.”
    “Highwaymen, I tell you. Everyone knows that road is used almost exclusively by the Clyborns. They figured to kill us and rob us.”
    Fargo had noticed a portrait. It showed a big man in his fifties or sixties with the same broad shoulders and bushy eyebrows as Roland. The artist had captured the man’s piercing gaze and a sense of brooding power. “Thomas Clyborn?”
    “Senior, yes. As you can tell, he wasn’t a man to be trifled with. Sam is very much the same.”
    “What about Tom Junior?”
    “He’s the oldest of the four boys. But how shall I put this?” Pickleman scratched his chin. “Tom the younger isn’t exactly a chip off the old block. Fact is, there are some who suspect he’s not from the same block at all if you take my meaning.”
    Before Fargo could reply, into the room swept a force of nature. That was the only way to describe her. She was tall and ravishing, with rich auburn curls, cherry red lips, sharp hazel eyes, and high cheekbones. Her dress had to cost hundreds of dollars. She swept in and stood poised like a monarch about to deliver a speech, those hazel eyes of hers flicking from the lawyer to Fargo and then raking Fargo from his hat to his boots.
    Fargo grinned. She was undressing him and studying him and taking his measure all in that one look.
    “Samantha!” Pickleman blurted.
    It hit Fargo that this was the “Sam” everyone had been talking about. She was as fine a figure of a woman as he ever set eyes on. He caught a whiff of expensive jasmine perfume, and down low, he stirred.
    “So you’re the famous scout?” Samantha Clyborn asked in a voice as husky as a caress.
    “That he is,” Pickleman confirmed. “I’ve brought him from town just as you requested.”
    Samantha focused on the lawyer. “I didn’t ask you to bring him. I told you to. But I don’t recall saying anything about having him shot at.”
    Pickleman blanched. “Roland told you? Be reasonable, Sam. How was I to know outlaws were lying in wait?”
    Roland and others appeared behind her. Since they weren’t wearing uniforms Fargo took them to be members of the family.
    “Well?” Samantha Clyborn was addressing him. “Are you going to stand there mute or say something?”
    “Why did you send for me?”
    The vision of loveliness smiled.