“Hold it right there.”
Dead-Eye was in front of her in a heartbeat, his hand under his jacket as a tall man walked into view in the hall. He stood immobile, waiting.
But it wasn’t Frank. It was another man, and a woman and child suddenly appeared behind him and started talking to him.
“Nice day,” Dead-Eye told them with a smile.
“Huh? Oh. Yeah.” The man smiled back and herded his family ahead of him down the hall.
Dead-Eye stood aside to let Cappie out. “Wait until one of us makes sure it’s safe,” he told her in a kind tone. “Men who commit battery without fear of arrest are usually not planning to go back in prison, if you get my drift. He might decide a bullet is better than a fist.”
“Sorry,” she said. “I didn’t think.”
“That’s what we’re here for,” the other man said, following her out the door and closing it. “We’ll think for you.”
“Were you thinking, just then?” Dead-Eye grinned.
The other man indicated his sleeve. The hilt of a large knife was in his palm. He flexed his hand and snapped it back in place. “Learned that from Cy Parks,” he said. “He taught me everything I know.”
“Then what are you doing with Eb?”
“Learning…diplomacy.” He said it through gritted teeth. “They say my attitude needs work.”
Dead-Eye opened his mouth to speak.
Cappie beat him to it. “And you think I need an attitude adjustment?” she exclaimed.
The other man shifted restlessly. “We should get to the hospital.”
Cappie just smiled. So did Dead-Eye.
* * *
When they got to the hospital cafeteria, it was already full. One of the tables was occupied by a somber Dr. Rydel, moving eggs around on a plate as if he couldn’t decide between eating them or throwing them.
Cappie’s traitorous heart jumped at the sight of him, but she didn’t let her pleasure show. She was still fuming about his assumption of her guilt, without any proof except the word of a man who was a stranger.
He looked up and saw her and grimaced.
“Want me to frisk him for you?” Dead-Eye asked pleasantly. “I can do it discreetly.”
“Yeah, like you discreetly frisked that guy at the airport,” the dark-eyed man muttered. “Isn’t he suing?”
“I apologized,” Dead-Eye retorted.
“Before or after airport security showed up?”
“Well, after, but he said he understood how I might have mistaken him for an international terrorist.”
“He was wearing a Hawaiian shirt and flip-flops!”
“The best disguise on earth for a spy, and I ought to know. I used to live in Fiji.”
“Did you, really?” Cappie asked, fascinated. “I’ve always wanted to go there.”
“Have you?” Dead-Eye looked past her to Bentley, who had gotten up from the table and was moving toward them. “Now might not be a bad time,” he advised.
Bentley had dark circles under his eyes from lack of sleep. But he was just as arrogant as ever. He stopped in front of Cappie.
