Play with Fire

chapter Fifty-One

AND SO EVERYONE went home – except for Quincey Morris, who was already there. He offered to drive Libby Chastain to the airport, and she accepted, but on the way neither of them had much to say to the other. Silence between them was usually comfortable, a simple acknowledgment that there was nothing interesting to talk about at the moment. But this time the quiet had an uneasy quality – although, if asked, neither of them could have told you why.

As the Mustang slowed to a halt outside the door to the United Airlines terminal, Morris reached down and popped the trunk so that Libby could retrieve her bag.

Often at such moments or parting, Libby would lean over and kiss him on the cheek – but not this time. “Pleasure saving the world with you again, cowboy – if that’s what we did,” she said. “Let me know if you get a lead on book five of the Corpus Hermeticum.”

“Will do,” Morris said crisply.

She got out, slammed the door, and turned toward the rear of the car. Through the half-open window Morris called, “Libby!”

She turned back and looked at him.

They held the look for half a second before Morris said, “You take care now, hear?”

Libby gave him a half-smile and said, “Sure will. You too.”

Then she was gone.