Simon held up the long knife he'd removed from Mal's left arm. "If I wasn't a trusting sort of person, I'd say you were trying to get yourself killed." He raised an eyebrow. "Oh, wait. I'm
a trusting sort of person. What in the
were you thinking?"
"I didn't hardly start it!" Mal protested.
First Zoe had given him an earful halfway to the rendezvous, and now that all her worries had proven absolutely valid, Simon had to pick up where she'd left off.
"Client picked the drop point, not me."
"And the fact that you were supposed to meet outside a bar called the Hanged Browncoat didn't give you, oh, the smallest notion that this was a setup?" Simon demanded.
Jayne snorted from the infirmary corner, where the doc had just disinfected and bandaged the bullet graze he'd acquired. "Me, I'm surprised they didn't slice your gorram hand off, Mal.
And now that there's no deal—"
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