The band struck up a jazzy arrangement of the wedding march as a guy in a white smock and an official-looking leather book came forward. At the other end of the tent, Quint elbowed his way to the edge of the crowd, his face the explosive red of nuclear meltdowns.
The guy with the book took his turn at the microphone. “Friends and family, as your official celebrant, I am pleased to—”
“Like hell!” Quint bellowed.
He threw his napkin on the ground and started pushing through the crowd, straight for Nick and Addison.
I grabbed Rico’s shoulder. “Tell Dante to kill the mic!”
Rico didn’t even ask what was going on. He waved a frantic hand at Dante and then drew his finger across his throat. I took off to intercept Quint just as Addison stepped in front of Nick, who then tried to step in front of Addison. They tangled up in their chivalry, which allowed Quint the chance to grab Nick’s arm. Portia remained to the side, her face smooth and alert, a connoisseur of train wrecks. And Bree had her phone in front of her face, filming the unfolding drama with rabid glee.
Quint got right in Nick’s face. He shoved the microphone away, but his words were loud enough for everyone to hear. “She’s using you, you idiot!”
Nick didn’t back down. “Shut up!”
“I get to say whatever the—”
“I said, shut up! I have had it with you!”
I shoved myself between the two men. “And that is enough of that.”
Quint made a fist. I pressed my hand flat against the center of his chest.
“There are over a hundred cameras on you right now,” I said. “So unless you want this to be how your name gets in the news this week, you need to calm your ass down.”
Nick’s voice rose. “Go ahead! Put it in the news! I don’t care! I’m sick of you, sick of your rules, and sick of this fucking show!”
Addison took his arm. “Baby—”
“No!” He shook free. “I am goddamn tired of his shit!”
Quint’s face was purple. “I don’t care what you’re tired of! I have hauled your ass out of jail, out of drunk tanks, out of whorehouses! I have paid for rehab after rehab after rehab, paid for doctors and more doctors and lawyers, so many fucking lawyers!”
“I never asked—”
“—so, no, you don’t get to get married without my permission!”
Addison shouldered into the melee. “He doesn’t need your permission because the judge granted me full conservatorship this morning!” She whipped out a piece of paper and waved it in his face. “Check your mailbox.”
Quint put a finger in Nick’s face. “I dragged myself all the way to the other goddamn side of the country for you!”
“The judge—”
“Fuck the judge! You ruined us once already with your astoundingly bad choice of a wife, and I’m not—”
Nick launched himself at Quint, who swung for him. I ducked as Addison yanked Nick back, but Quint kept on coming. He managed to get a blow to Nick’s chin before I grabbed his arm and snatched it behind him.
He tried to twist out of my grip. “Let me go! I—”
I adjusted the angle of Quint’s arm, and his knees almost gave out. His face squeezed, and he froze, panting in fury. I moved close behind him so that the audience couldn’t see what was going on, so that only he could hear me.
“You struggle. You hurt. You decide.”
Quint snapped his head around. “Let me go right now, or I will—”
I pulled his elbow up, and he cursed. I put my mouth right next to his ear. “You either calm down, or all of these people get to watch me calm you down. Your choice.”
Quint relented. He nodded once, and I released him. I didn’t move, though, stayed right on his ass in case he pulled some new nonsense. He didn’t, but he remained red-cheeked and smoldering, pure volcano-about-to-spew furious.
“You will regret that,” he said, and jerked his jacket straight.
He stomped out of the tent. Nobody moved, but I could still hear the clickety whirr of cell phone cameras. The room was a stew of confusion…except for the bartender. She’d come from around the bar and was standing in neutral position, her hands open, shoulders dropped.
Addison took off at a run, Nick right behind. They vanished through the tent flap into the night. Portia hoisted her second untouched martini in my direction, as if the scene were a private staging just for her entertainment. Rico motioned to Dante, who took up his cello. One quick confab with his group later, and some nerve-smoothing jazz filled the tent.
I heard footsteps coming fast, and Trey appeared in the doorway. He surveyed the tent, breathing hard, looking confused and alert and totally thwarted.
I jogged over to him. “Hey. Show’s over. Did you hear everything?”
“I did. What did you do to Quint?”
“Rear wrist lock.”
“Well done.” He was breathing more regularly now. “Where did they go?”
“I don’t know. Quint stomped off thataway, Nick and Addison the other way, and Portia’s still here.”
Trey pulled out his radio. When the station answered, he delivered a series of ten-code orders. Around us, the gathering moved back into drinking and gossiping mode.
“A wedding.” He shook his head some more. “I did not predict that.”
“I didn’t either. But it explains why Nick wanted to be here—he wanted to get the deed done before Quint could wreck it.”
“Then why not have it done civilly, at the courthouse. Why here? Why now?”
“Good questions.”
Trey was still watching. He and the bartender exchanged a look of complicit understanding. She nodded toward one of the waiters, who put down his tray of champagne flutes and followed briskly behind Nick and Addison. I noticed the telltale bulge at his ribcage as he slipped out the side door. The bartender moved back behind the bar, eyes sharp for further disturbance.
“So now we know two of Finn’s covert team.”
“We do.” Trey tilted his head, listening through the earpiece. “Nick and Addison have a man on them. The secondary operative
