blame this one on Stephen
Resolve was cooking up the latest batch when she came in, slow and quiet and making no effort to hide. He raised his eyebrows slightly. “I thought you were dead,” he said. “I was pretty sure of it, in fact.”
“Dead?” She laughed. “Yes.” She put down her bag, kicked it across to him.
Without stopping, he leaned over enough to see the head inside. “Thorough.” His hands were steady. “You can’t shoot me right now.”
“This is delicate work. If you jostle me–” a gentle threat– “you’ll blow us both up.”
“You never know,” Hope said, and pulled out her gun. “Hope springs eternal.”
The explosion echoed her laughter.