12
“Would you believe me if I said I’m not a spy?”
“No.” I slid off his lap and onto the seat next to him. “Why should I believe anything you say? You told me you were a private detective.”
“You told me I was a private detective.”
“You agreed with me.”
“I didn’t disagree with you. There’s a difference.”
“Only to a spook!” I straightened as much as I could in the soft, deep seat and looked haughtily out the window.
“And what would you have done if I’d told you I was CIA?”
I shrugged to indicate my total lack of interest in him or his lies. And then made the mistake of looking at him to see how he liked the cold shoulder. The back seat of the limo closed us in a dim intimacy that put interesting shadows across his clean cut face and highlighted his bright, white smile. He smelled of
