“Fine. What do we do now?”
“Now we wait.”
It didn’t take long. The bartender finished with her customers at the other end and drifted back their way. “Darryl will show you back.”
They followed the Jack’s security through a door markedEmployees onlyand down a narrow hallway. Dizzie kept her head turned away from the camera mounted above the Jack’s door. Though she’d changed her appearance, better safe than sorry.
Their escort rapped on the door and stood to the side.
The electronic lock released with a soft snick and he pulled it open for them. The heavy door didn’t make a sound when it closed behind her and Killian.
The Jack sat behind a large, old-fashioned wooden desk. Dizzie didn’t know anything about antiques, but she was pretty damn sure it was one. The desk wasn’t the only old object in the room. Wooden bookshelves filled with paper books lined one wall. An old-fashioned globe sat on a coffee table between two chairs that were probably covered with real leather.
“What can I do for you, Dizzie, Mr. St. John?” The Jack’s casual reveal of their names pulled Dizzie’s attention back to the bar owner where it belonged.
She shouldn’t be surprised that the Jack knew their identities. The Jack had a finger on the pulse of the city and was always informed. Probably why they were here.
Dizzie took a deep breath. “I was told you have rooms for rent.”
“I would recommend a hotel if you’re looking for a tryst.” The Jack’s voice was dry.
“Safe rooms,” Dizzie corrected quickly. Her face burned and she knew she’d turned bright red.
“What have you heard?” An undertone of displeasure accompanied the mocking smile.
Somehow she’d said the wrong thing and she had no idea how to fix it. “Whispers,” Dizzie clarified. “Quiet words in dark corners.”
Killian stepped forward and stood between her and the Jack. “I have a proposition for you,” he said.
“I did not see that coming,” the Jack drawled.
Killian ignored the innuendo and barreled forward. “Here’s what we need.”
Lips pinched, Dizzie glared at him as he took over. Still, her way hadn’t worked well, so what did it hurt.
“I’m listening.”
“May I?” Killian gestured toward the chairs in front of the desk. The Jack nodded.
Dizzie took one seat, perched on the edge. The negotiations that were about to take place were outside her comfort zone. Hell, being in the Jack’s office was outside it. Killian, though, appeared in his element. He leaned back in the chair like he owned it. The Jack watched them both with a smirk.
“We have some information that we would like you to share,” Killian began. “We also need a room and we would like to use the bar to speak with anyone who responds to said information.”
“You’re offering a reward for information for the New Amsterdam Hotel bombing,” the Jack said.
“How did you know that?” Killian asked.
“I have my sources. Given the bomber is sitting right next to you, I’m not sure what other information you’re expecting.”
“Dizzie is another victim. I want whatever information people have,” Killian said.
He believed her.Pleasure mingled with the guilt that she felt—and probably always would feel—when Killian defended her. His response had none of the hesitation he’d had when he originally questioned her.
The Jack and Killian continued to negotiate terms around her.
Killian tossed a credit stick across the desk.
The Jack swiped it through a credit reader and verified the balance. “This will get you three nights. You can meet in the bar.”
