Dane
"Well, fuck, Dane," Harry threw his pen down and folded his arms. "Fuck."
"Are you arresting me, or trusting me?"
"Fucking trusting you—but I don't! Don't you think I do, because I don't!" he said, pointing at Dane's nose. "If we're going to do this, there's going to be some rules, and you're helping me out with some stuff."
"Anything."
Harry shook his head a muttered another curse before he leaned his elbows on the table again and locked eyes with Dane. "You are keeping yourself completely out of sight until you've got these files to me. Completely. You go see your guy in a damned armored vehicle, I don't care, but no one sees you—not even Bert."
"Done."
"No one can know you're out, Dane. If anyone gets wind of it, I can't control the bleed."
"Don't worry, they won't."
