“You can't fire me," said Quincy. "I fwit."
"'Fwit?'" said Dunne.
"It's flanguage, dumbass!" Quincy pounded his fist on the table, making the plates and silverware jump. "I fucking quit!"
Dunne ran fingers through his sandy brown hair, stealing a look around the restaurant. Every customer, waitress, and busboy in the place was staring at Quincy at once.
Maybe a late dinner after flying in to Asheville, North Carolina hadn't been such a great idea after all. The mood at the table had been lousy from the start. Hannahlee hadn't even been eating, just drinking ice water.
That, in fact, was what had led to the outburst. Quincy had said something about Hannahlee not eating anything. Then, he had said this:
"Are you still anorexic? Is it true you had an eating disorder during the filming of Weeping Willows?"
At which point, Hannahlee had raised her index finger. The Bullshit Detector.
And she had flicked it all the way to one side. Held it horizontal and quivering, pegged to the maximum reading.
She had locked her fiery green gaze upon him like a gun sight. "No more blog fodder," she had said. "I give you nothing."
Quincy had scowled as if she were insane. "'Blog fodder?' What in Gawain's green manhood are you talking about, my dear?"
"I know you've been posting online," Hannahlee had said. "From your cell phone. You couldn't resist breaking the story on the internet, could you?"
Quincy had chuckled. "Zounds! What the fuck's the finternet? Some sweetmeat or the like?"
"Halcyon's paying you a stipend," Hannahlee had said. "By selling reports to the news sites, you've been double-dipping. And you know what that is." She had flicked her finger hard several times, as if the needle on the gauge had been bouncing. "Bullshit."
"Okey-fenokee, Pokey." Grinning, Quincy had seized Hannahlee's finger. "So are the rumors about the anorexia true?"
Hannahlee had reached out her other hand. "Give it to me. Your phone."
Quincy had laid a French fry in her palm. "My food? You got it!"
Hannahlee had tossed the French fry in his face, then leaned across the table. "You're fired."
And that was when it had gotten nasty. That was when Quincy had pounded the table, drawing stares from around the restaurant. That was when he'd told her he'd "fwit."
So now, everyone in the restaurant awaited the outcome. Watched to see if the ponytailed giant lashed out at the poor woman.
He stared at her across the table, shoulders heaving, smiles nowhere to be found. She stared back at him with teeth clenched.
Dunne should have known better than to try to defuse the situation. "Hey, guys," he said. "I'm sure we can work this out."
Neither Quincy nor Hannahlee said a word in reply. They continued to stare at each other, giving no sign that either was considering compromise or surrender.
Then, finally, Quincy made a move. He pulled a cell phone from the pocket of his black-and-red vest and held it in front of Hannahlee's face.
"Hi! I'm Quincy's cell phone!" He said it in a high-pitched voice. "Wait till you see the next item on the news sites. The one about your behavior at this dinner table!"
That said, Quincy swept the phone back into his vest pocket, got up, and slid out of the booth. Dunne watched as he bounded into the night, leaving the sound of the jingling doorbells in his wake.
As Dunne turned to Hannahlee, he felt a wave of relief. He was sure they were better off without unpredictable, uncontrollable, irreverent Quincy in the mix.
Still, Dunne thought he should steer clear of the subject for now. He didn't want to look like he was gloating.
"When should we leave for Sensophile tomorrow?" He held up his cup as the waitress approached, and she refilled it with coffee. "Eight A.M., maybe?"
Hannahlee locked him in her fiery emerald gaze. "Are you going to quit, too?"
Dunne was caught off guard by the question. "Why do you ask?" He frowned nervously.
Hannahlee continued to stare. "Would you have signed on if you'd known we'd be facing a killer? That your life would be in danger?"
Dunne covered his hesitation with a sip of coffee. "Of course."
Hannahlee raised her index finger and flicked it all the way to one side. "Bullshit."
"Excuse me?" Dunne was stunned to be the target of the Bullshit Detector for once. "Are you calling me a liar?"
"I'm thinking about firing you," said Hannahlee.
"What?" said Dunne. "Why?"
"Because you drink coffee." Hannahlee winced. "Why do you think?"
Dunne stared at her, speechless, for a long moment. He remembered the way she'd looked at him after they'd hidden from the killer. After he'd run from the fight.
Maybe she'd seen through him. Maybe she understood him better than he'd thought.
"What do you want me to say?" Dunne sat back and folded his arms.
Hannahlee's green eyes flared. "I've made terrible mistakes in my life." Her voice rose, edged with anger and sadness and power. "But I've stopped running from them."
Dunne looked away.
Hannahlee got up from the table. "I won't let my mistakes turn me into a liability anymore." She snapped up the check and started toward the register.
Then, she stopped and turned. "Should Quincy and I wait for you in the morning?"
"What?" Dunne frowned. "But he quit."
"Not for long. Trust me," said Hannahlee. "But don't let that stop you."
"From what?" said Dunne. "From quitting?"
"I'll leave it up to you," she said. "This time."
And then she was gone.
Dunne was left sitting at the table alone, head spinning from the events of the past few minutes. It was as if the three of them, after traveling together for days, had finally reached critical mass. Time to let off steam or melt down.
Dunne tried to take a sip of coffee, but his hand was shaking too much. He felt like he'd been smacked around.
As he put the cup down on its saucer, he wondered how Hannahlee seemed to know so much about him. Did she have a knack for reading people? Was she just a good guesser? Or had she studied his background before the mission?
And if she'd studied his background, just how much did she know? Some of it...or all of it?
Dunne held his head in his hands. The thought that Hannahlee...Lianna Caprice...Kitty Willow...knew all of it filled him with shame. The thing that he'd done, that had ruined his life, had been despicable.
He wondered if he could even face her again. If he could bear to feel the weight of her accusing gaze and know that she knew.
If he could stand before her ghost, as he did so often in his dreams, and smother in the heat of her rage. Choke as she cut his throat. Scream as she shot him in the face.
Not Hannahlee.
His wife.
He wondered.