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It seemed completely incongruous to see Dawn standing there by the bed, wearing nothing but a smile and a sheer gown that draped over her right shoulder and completely exposed the rest of her, but somehow less than her usual gorgeous state thanks to the presence of the .44 in her left hand (the naked side... he had the presence of mind to notice that), smoke still wafting out of the barrel of the silencer—almost as incongruous as the hole in his gut, made by a bullet from a gun that no one should have been able to get close to him, because no one ever got that close to him except—which was why, as incongruous as it seemed, it also made perfect sense, and as the blackness slowly encroached on the edges of his vision, it left him at last with nothing but the strangely wistful expression of the one person capable of betraying him...
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