Shot Through Velvet by Ellen Byerrum

Author:Ellen Byerrum [Byerrum, Ellen]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Publisher: Penguin Group, Inc.
Published: 2011-01-31T23:00:00+00:00

Chapter 21

Gregor Nikolai Kepelov was beefy and muscular. His bald head, handlebar mustache, and cool blue eyes added to his formidable appearance. He was once a KGB agent, or so he said, and his Russian accent seemed to be genuine, if a little unpredictable. He scowled at Lacey, but he smiled down at Marie, his zaftig Gypsy fortune-teller. Marie jumped up and squealed at the sight of him. She grabbed him for a big hug and a kiss.

Marie, who said she could see into his soul, clearly adored the man. Lacey thought it proved love was not only blind, but the product of a heaven with a peculiar sense of humor. Kepelov’s expression of ardor was that of any man in love. While Lacey didn’t trust the ex-spy, he was growing on her.

“Ah, Smithsonian, still you give me evil eye.” His smile turned into a wide grin.

“I do not. It’s more of a calculating reporter’s eye.”

His chuckle came from deep in his gut. “I forgive you, because you are Marie’s good friend. And mine.”

Kepelov and Stella hugged next. “Gregor, you guys want to stay for pizza? It’s on the way.”

“Another time,” he said. “We have jambalaya in crock-pot at home. One of Marie’s New Orleans specialties.”

Kepelov and Brooke hugged each other as warily as two bears. Brooke said nothing, but she observed everything. Lacey knew her friend didn’t know how much to trust the big Russian either. They had all been there in the storm the day Nigel and Stella were on the cliff, Marie bringing them blankets in the snow, looking like something out of a Russian fairy tale, a spot of bright color in the white landscape. The experience had bonded the little group together in some way, yet Brooke always hesitated before offering her friendship. Lacey thought she was also probably hoping Kepelov would spill some dark, ancient, Soviet-era secret to her for Damon to report to the free world. Lacey was next in line for a Russian bear hug.

“Lacey Smithsonian, how long are you going to test me?”

He sounded like Griffin. Was it true? Was she such a tough grader? Did her friends’ men have to jump through hoops to reassure her? Even her own man?

“Until I am sure you really love my friend Marie and aren’t just using her psychic powers to find you Fabergé eggs. Or other lost treasures of the Romanovs. Or something.”

Lacey was still half-afraid Kepelov might be trying to use Marie in some strange way for her dubious psychic powers. Marie was a dear and she seemed to have genuine flashes of ESP, but her abilities were sketchy. They came and went as the moon waxed and waned. Marie’s psychic vibrations that famously tapped the Eyes of Horus on her shoulders, though often provocative, were not terribly useful. Except when it came to the weather. For predicting rain and storms, she was the cat’s pajamas.

When Marie fainted because her visions were so frightening, her friends were alert to danger. But Lacey

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