Adventure of Dallas Fontaine 2

The phone sits on speaker, its battery icon already fading. Dallas keeps his voice level and tells Harbor Unit the wedding comes first, that whatever they want can wait until Monday.

The room stays quiet after the words land. Morning light slides through the blinds, striping the bedspread and Elena’s hands as she rests them on the window frame.

Elena turns from the glass with a small, relieved smile, the kind that reaches her shoulders before it reaches her mouth. Murderbone gives a low huff and settles tighter into the rug.

Jackson’s voice crackles thinly through the speaker, more warm than official now. Dallas has a rare, easy stretch of silence in front of him, the kind that does not ask for blood or badges.

Dallas nods toward Elena, lets the plan stand, and the morning finally feels like one. Jackson’s line goes quiet on the speaker, leaving only the soft hiss of air and Murderbone’s steady breathing.

Elena reaches for her bag with a teasing glance at Dallas, already looking more vacation than worry.

Dallas tucks two mini bottles under the loose fall of his Hawaiian shirt, then smooths the fabric flat with one palm. The speakerphone stays silent on the nightstand, like it knows better than to interrupt.

Elena checks the room once, then swings her bag strap over her shoulder and heads for the door with a small, satisfied smile.

Murderbone rises from the rug and falls in beside Dallas, alert eyes on the hallway while the room’s morning light thins behind them.

In the corridor outside, Dallas and Elena fall into step together, the elevator down waiting somewhere ahead.

The hallway opens into the breakfast area, all soft clatter and sun glare. Dallas and Elena take their seats without haste, and Murderbone plants himself by the chair with his eyes on the door.

A server sets down coffee and a plate of eggs, then glances at Dallas like she recognizes trouble and chooses not to ask about it.

Dallas reaches for the folded message again, and the 'no public desk' line catches the light between his fingers.

At the entrance, a hotel attendant pauses with a polite envelope, then stops when Murderbone lifts his head. The silence that follows asks Dallas a simple question, coffee first or Harbor Unit first.

Dallas keeps his eyes on the plate and lets the envelope sit untouched. He takes a bite, and the first real warmth of the morning settles in with the coffee.

She smiles into her mug, relieved rather than worried, and tears a piece of toast with slow, easy hands.

Murderbone lowers his head by an inch, still watching the doorway, but the tension in his shoulders eases when Dallas keeps eating.

Dallas reaches for more coffee, and the envelope remains at the entrance like a problem that has been politely asked to wait. One corner of the flap shows the Harbor Unit seal.

Dallas drains the last of his coffee and sets the cup down with a quiet click. He lifts two fingers toward the lobby attendant, then points to the sealed envelope waiting by the entrance.

The attendant stiffens, glances at the Harbor Unit seal, and comes forward anyway.

He carries the envelope to the table with careful hands and places it beside Dallas’s plate, untouched and official.

Murderbone watches the attendant retreat, then settles again without breaking his line on the room. The seal sits between the coffee cups, waiting for Dallas to decide whether the morning stays his.

Dallas opens the Harbor Unit envelope with a thumb along the seam, slow and clean. Elena leans in from across the table, and Murderbone’s ears lift at the scrape of paper.

Inside is a single card, folded once, with a district address, a direct extension, and the line, no public desk.

Dallas turns the card just enough to catch the light. The Harbor Unit seal is crisp, but the message is brief, almost careful.

The dog gives the doorway one hard look, then settles closer to Dallas’s chair, still watching.

Dallas lifts the card a little higher and angles it toward Jackson across the room, letting the question hang plainly between them.

Elena lowers her mug, studying Dallas instead of the envelope now, while Murderbone keeps his nose pointed toward the hall and waits for Dallas to decide.

Dallas lets the card rest on the table between the coffee cups. Jackson’s eyes flick to it, then back to Dallas, the answer already settled in his posture.

Elena’s mouth quirks with dry amusement, but her hand stays near Dallas’s sleeve. Murderbone remains by the aisle, steady and watchful, as if the hallway itself has offended him.

The envelope stays open, untouched, while the three of them settle back into breakfast like the call was always going to lose.

Dallas eases back from the table, and the question lands like a small, hopeful offer instead of a plan.

Murderbone shifts once, then settles by the aisle as if he approves the destination but not the route.

Dallas reaches for the envelope out of habit, then stops. The open card just sits there, waiting, while the breakfast smell wins the room.

Jackson folds the card shut with two fingers and slides it aside, not reading it again.

The plan becomes real in the same breath, not because anything outside changes, but because the table does. Plates are pushed back, chairs scrape, and the morning narrows to towels, sunscreen, and the first clean step toward the beach.

Dallas stands, and the breakfast table answers with the scrape of chairs and the clink of cups. Elena reaches for the towel stack, already smiling like the day has agreed to behave.

Jackson gives a short nod, but his phone buzzes once on the table. The screen flashes the Harbor Unit extension again, with no public desk stamped underneath it.

Murderbone rises halfway, ears pricked, then lowers again when Dallas reaches for the hotel map instead of the envelope.

At the lobby window, a clerk points out the shore route on a paper map. It is the first clean opening all morning, and it is only two blocks from the dock.