I rolled my eyes. “Not even Keith. I promised my source I wouldn’t tell a soul, and I meant it.” I stepped closer and pressed a hand to his chest. “And unfortunately, that includes you.”
His jaw hardened.
But to my surprise, he didn’t argue. “You’re going to let it go that easily?”
“This isn’t easy.” He exhaled through his nose. “But I have to respect your promises.” He snorted. “Don’t look so surprised.”
“I’m not surprised.” The lie came too easily. “Okay, I’m a little surprised. I thought I’d have to fight you on it.”
“I have plenty of my own secrets, and you’ve respected my need to keep them. The least I can do is respect yours.”
“Thank you.”
He started to say something, then stopped, then tried again. “Maybe one day we won’t have as many secrets between us.”
I gave him a skeptical look. “You’re going to tell me what alphabet agency you’re working for?”
“If I were working for a federal agency,” he said mildly, “at some point in the future, I’d tell you.”
I wasn’t sure I believed him. Or maybe I wasn’t ready to deal with what that if implied. I lifted a brow. “I’m still not telling you the name of my source.”
He laughed, an honest-to-God laugh that caught me off guard. “And as I said before, I respect your promises.”
“Thanks, but let’s get going because I’d like to hit up my other two sources tonight.”
We continued down the sidewalk, and I squashed the impulse to warn him that he was still recovering and that he needed to tell me if all this walking became too much. I knew he’d be lying on the ground, bleeding from his ears, before he’d admit anything was wrong.
Which meant I had to keep an eye on him.
We walked several more blocks, side by side, our fingers brushing every so often. The urge to reach out and take his hand was surprisingly strong, but I resisted. For one thing, we weren’t on a date. For another, I suspected neither of us were hand-holders.
Funny, how a week with James had me questioning that.
When we approached the Brass Magnolia, James scanned the exterior of the brick building, then turned to me. “This isn’t what I was expecting.”
“You thought it would be a dive bar?”
“Yeah,” he conceded. “This place looks a little high-class for an informant.”
“You’d be surprised.” I glanced up and down the street. “You’ll need to stay out here.”
His eyes darkened. “Like hell.”
“James,” I said in a warning tone, “if he sees you walk in with me, he won’t talk. In fact, I suspect he’d never talk to me again.”
“We shouldn’t be separated.”
“I’ll be fine, but if I’m not out in five minutes, text me. And if I don’t respond, then you can come in.”
He pulled out his phone and started a timer. “I’m holding you to that.”
Several seconds had already counted down.
I almost protested but decided it wasn’t worth it and went inside.
The bar had once been a bookstore with rich wood paneling and old-school trim, and the current owner had used that to his advantage. The Brass Magnolia had a private-club feel without the rich boys wearing blazers and ascots. Booths lined the walls, and tall-backed leather barstools ran along the counter. The lighting was dim, but not so dark you couldn’t see—just enough to make everything feel expensive.
I’d spent plenty of time here over the three years since it had opened.
