Page 52 of Soulmarked

I refused to acknowledge how good he looked in said monkey suit. The tailoring emphasized his broad shoulders and lean strength in ways that were entirely unfair.

“Speaking of waste,” he continued, “your Director Sterling. He knows more than he's saying, yeah? About Phoenix, about what's really happening in the city.”

I tensed slightly. “What makes you say that?”

“The way you talk about him. Like you're not sure if he's protecting you or watching you.” Sean's eyes scanned the street as he spoke, professional despite his complaints. “Plus, no one gets to his position without knowing what really moves in the shadows. Trust me, I've dealt with enough government types to know when they're playing dumb.”

He wasn't wrong, but I wasn't about to admit it. “Sterling's complicated.”

“Everything's complicated with you, isn't it? You ever give a straight answer, or is that against some federal code?”

I stopped at the next corner, checking the address against my notes. “Life's complicated. Especially in our line of work.”

“Doesn't have to be.” His voice dropped lower, carrying an edge of something that definitely wasn't professional. “Sometimes it's simple. Like right now, you're avoiding my questions because you don't trust me, but you keep watching me when you think I won't notice.”

Heat crept up my neck. “I'm making sure you don't blow our cover.”

“Sure you are.” His smile was knowing enough to make me want to punch him. Or do other things I definitely shouldn't be thinking about while on a case. “Just like you were making sure my tie was straight by getting that close.”

“You're impossible.”

“That's what all the gents tell me.”

Movement caught my eye. A curtain twitching in one of the Victorian monsters that lined the street. Just for a moment, but enough to raise the hair on the back of my neck.

“We're being watched,” I murmured, resisting the urge to reach for my weapon.

Sean's posture shifted subtly, predator replacing federal agent. “Yeah. Have been since we turned onto this street. Whatever's hunting here, it's got eyes everywhere.”

The houses seemed to loom closer, their shadows stretching despite the mid-morning sun. A wind chime tinkled somewhere nearby, the sound discordant and wrong.

“Still think this is a simple case?” I asked, scanning windows that reflected nothing but darkness despite the hour.

His shoulder brushed mine as we walked, the contact seemingly casual but deliberately grounding. “Nothing's simple with you involved, fed. I'm starting to accept that.”

The admission shouldn't have warmed something in my chest. But like everything else about Sean, it complicated things in ways I wasn't ready to examine too closely.

“Let's try the local coffee shop,” I suggested, nodding toward a faded storefront with peeling paint that proclaimed “Millbrook Morning Brew” in vintage lettering. “Small towns like this, baristas know everything about everyone.”

Sean gave me a sideways glance, a hint of respect in his eyes. “Not bad thinking for a fed. Though I'd have gone with the bar.”

“It's 10 AM.”

“Yeah, and?” He shrugged. “Early bird gets the gossip. Plus bartenders are way more likely to know the good stuff. Nobody tells their darkest secrets to the person making their latte.”

The bell above the door jingled as we entered, drawing the attention of the few patrons scattered among mismatchedtables. Conversation faltered momentarily as locals sized us up with that particular small-town scrutiny reserved for outsiders. I could almost hear their thoughts.

I approached the counter where a woman in her sixties with a nameplate reading “Martha” watched us with undisguised curiosity.

“Morning,” I offered my most disarming smile, the one that made me look more academic than federal agent. “Could we get two coffees, please? Been driving all night.”

“Sure thing, honey.” Martha's eyes darted between us. “You boys passing through or here on business?”

Sean leaned against the counter, adopting the casual charm I'd seen him use on witnesses before. “Bit of both. Actually, we're looking for information about a former resident. Professor O'Brien? Taught at the university a few towns over.”

Martha's hands stilled on the coffee machine. Just for a moment, blink and you'd miss it. “O'Brien? Don't know much about him. Kept to himself, that one.” She busied herself with the drinks, avoiding eye contact. “Two sugars?”

“Black for me,” Sean said, sliding a twenty across the counter. “And we'd appreciate anything you might remember. Even small details help. We're documenting local academics for the university archive.”

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