A Study in Seduction

by Eva Chase

“This is private property.”

  “Of course it is,” Sherlock said in a boisterous voice that held no trace of his usual clear even tone. “You’re Lenny, yeah? Richter passed on word for us to check that everything’s in order for the new shipment.”

  Lenny frowned and reached for a clipboard he’d left on one of the boxes. “How new? I’m not expecting anything else until next week.”

  John’s eyebrows leapt up. “Did you miss the message, then?” he asked, roughening his own voice. “Last-minute bid on some item that must be pretty special from how urgent he sounded about it. That’s why he wanted everything double-checked.”

  Sherlock neatly picked up the thread. “Good thing we came by. Imagine how unhappy he’d be with you if he showed up tomorrow and you had no idea.”

  Lenny’s skepticism hadn’t totally faded, but he couldn’t help paling at that suggestion. Richter didn’t go easy on his employees.

  “It’s possible the manifest didn’t come through,” he said. “Do you have it?”

  “We thought you’d have it. For fuck’s sake, don’t let on you missed this one. We can sort it out. You’ll know the thing when it turns up.”

  That was my opening. I rolled my eyes. “If it even does. I wouldn’t put it past him to back out on the bid after all this. The boss’s moods have been all over the place lately.”

  “Tell me about it,” Lenny muttered.

  “That’s true.” Sherlock grimaced. “Ever since the guy got back from Germany, he’s been on kind of a tear.”

  We were improvising now. If I let him keep going, no doubt Sherlock would have spun a good tale to lead Lenny down the right path. But if I wanted to keep the consulting detective invested in me and this case, I’d better appeal to him the right way too. Show I could play at the same level. Excite that intellectual ego of his.

  “It started before he left Munich,” I said. “He rang the office while I was in—I had to field the call. He asked some strange questions and sounded kind of odd too.” I cocked my head at Lenny. “You were over there with him, weren’t you?”

  I knew he had been, and I knew Richter had been edgy, even if it hadn’t been because he’d just committed a murder, which was what the guys would think I was extrapolating from.

  Lenny nodded. It was always easier to get someone to simply confirm rather than to volunteer information outright. “He was a little… restless. He came by to check on the shipment a bunch of times before we flew out.”

  Sherlock waggled a finger. “Right. Do you have the crates from that lot around? We should take a look at their condition.”

  “They’re right over there.” Lenny pointed. “They were new ones for this trip—they should have at least a few more uses in them.”

  Several plywood boxes nearly as tall as me stood in one corner of the warehouse. A piney smell tickled my nose as we walked over.

  Sherlock circled them and stopped by the third. He tapped one corner. “There’s extra wear here compared to the others.”

  John considered it. “He must have opened it again at that end to pop something in last minute, don’t you figure?”

  A shade of Sherlock’s usual knowing smile crossed his lips. “I think you’ve hit the nail on the head.”

  John’s chin rose at the praise. Lenny sauntered over to see what we were talking about. Now was my chance to steer the great detective straight to our ultimate target.

  “He knew he was going to stick something in at the last minute,” I added. “Now the stuff he was talking about makes sense. He was carrying one of the pieces around with him until right before the plane was supposed to leave. One of the really valuable ones he was worried about getting nicked, I guess?”

  Sherlock glanced at me, both wary and curious. Lenny stared at me for a few seconds, long enough to provoke a flicker of worry in me that I’d pushed too far. Then he let out a short ragged laugh.

  “I don’t know about the value, but you’re right, he held onto the one thing until it was time to head out. Had it in an inside pocket on his jacket and kept his arm tucked over that spot the whole time. I’d never seen him that protective of one of the pieces before.”

  “Huh,” Sherlock said with a casual air. “What, was it the Hope Diamond?”

  “He’d wish. I don’t know. He kept it so close I didn’t even see it.”

  The detective snapped his fingers. “Maybe it was something about—I overheard him mentioning a call he sounded upset about.”

  Good man. He was following the assumption that something must have brought Richter and the murdered councilor together that night, throwing out a possibility so the manager had the opportunity to confirm or correct him. Leading him straight to the other clue I’d wanted him to stumble on.

  “I don’t know about a call,” Lenny said. “He was only in the hangar briefly here and there. But there was—this messenger came in with a note. The boss left the airfield for a while after that. Who knows?”

  He shrugged, his mouth flattening as if he’d realized he might have gotten talking a tad carelessly. That was fine. He’d delivered all the information I could have hoped for.

  Sherlock veered back toward the topic of the supposed new shipment that might or might not arrive tomorrow, and after a quick back and forth, we were on our way again. The detective kept up his bowlegged gait all the way back to the car.

  “Well, you all made it back in one piece,” Garrett said as we climbed in. “Did the plan pan out?”

  “I’m increasingly convinced that the situation was some sort of blackmail,” Sherlock said. “A photograph that was torn up, a note that disturbed Richter and sent him running presumably to confront the man who sent it, all the crimes he’s managed to suppress proof of…” He swiveled in his seat to peer at me, his gaze as sharp as ever within his disguise. “How did you make that leap about Richter carrying one particular item around with him?”

  I wasn’t going to tell him I’d seen it with my own eyes.

  “The crate,” I said. “The scrapes on the corner suggested it’d been opened at least three times. Something was packed and then removed and then put back in, I guessed. The marks of the nails supported that conclusion—it was only fully sealed once. He didn’t close the lid tight right away because he knew he was going to be returning something there. If he was worried enough not to leave that artifact in the crate, why would he leave it somewhere else? It had to be on him.”

  “Yes,” Sherlock said. “I came to the same conclusions myself, just not quite as quickly. You’re a swift one with your observations.” He sounded impressed, but at the same time his gaze felt more analytical than awed, as if he was searching for more to my answer.

  “I do my best,” I said, smiling innocently back at him. “I wasn’t sure—it was only a possibility that seemed worth pursuing.”

  “Indeed.” He eased back in his seat. “I would be highly surprised if all of Richter’s unusual behavior isn’t tied to the murder. I believe our next order of business should be getting our hands on a manifest listing the contents of that particular crate.”

  And that would lead him straight to the final, perilous prize.

  Chapter Ten

  Jemma

  A few sofas sat around the edges of the hotel lobby, and I’d positioned myself on the one that would be right in John’s line of sight when he left the evening seminar he was attending. Tucking my legs up in front of me and resting my tablet on my knees, I nibbled on the sweet creaminess of a custard tart and checked the latest coded emails and bank transfers.

  This chunk of money could go off to my account in Sweden, that one to the Cayman Islands. This contractor I’d send a little bonus to for a job well done. That one was going to need a visit from Bash if she strayed any farther.

  Some people were just that stupid. As if they didn’t realize I was paying enough attention to make sure they never got to make the actual attempt to screw me over. I hadn’t built the most finely tuned network of illegal activity in the world b
y looking the other way.

  For a few minutes, I skimmed through my database of contacts. This operation would be a lot more straight-forward if I hadn’t needed to keep my trio of crime-fighters engaged but unaware. The trouble was, Stefan Richter had plenty of contacts and plenty of sway in the criminal underworld too.

  The guy who’d been meant to pave the way to my score in Munich had flipped and gone to tattle to Richter at the last minute. Bash had gotten to him before he’d been able to say much, but I couldn’t be completely sure of any of the lowlifes here either. Especially when Richter might have already spread the word that someone was out to steal from him.

  I needed connections from the other side of the divide between criminal and crime-fighter. Sherlock and his friends were going to handle that for me as long as I played this right. I’d worked for nearly ten years to get to this point. I could be patient.

  I switched to one of the local news sites in case I’d find something useful to riff off in the stories I was spinning. I’d made it through twelve pages of corrupt politicians, corporate negligence, and mass layoffs—who were the real villains in this world, exactly?—before the tap of John’s walking stick reached my ears.

  Keeping my gaze on the screen, I ran a hand through my hair so the waves rippled. The movement would catch his eye.

  Sure enough, here came that soft tapping across the floor to my seat.

  I glanced up when he was five feet away. John smiled down at me with the warmth that always made me feel he was actually glad to see me. Only because he didn’t know what I really was, of course.

  “What are you doing out here at this hour, Jemma?” he asked.

  I rubbed my eyes. “I guess I lost track of time.”

  “Good book?”

  “Something like that.” I looked toward the elevators and hesitated, letting my mouth slant downward just slightly.

  John caught even that small sign of discomfort, as I’d expected he would. He propped himself against the arm of the sofa. “Is something the matter?”

  I produced an awkward laugh and waved off the question. “It’s nothing. I’m being silly.” I pushed myself to my feet, paused, and set off toward the elevators.

  John kept pace with me. “I have trouble imagining you getting caught up in anything ‘silly.’ Maybe I can help. I promise I don’t judge—and I’ve certainly gotten myself worried about plenty of things that seemed silly in the aftermath.”

  I stopped in front of the elevators and pushed the button. Then I exhaled as if overcoming my reluctance. “After going out and talking to that Lenny guy today, knowing that we’re dealing with a murderer and a rapist who’s very good at covering his tracks… I started feeling a little nervous about being in my room alone. If I were at home, the situation wouldn’t get to me like this, but in an unfamiliar place—like I said, it’s silly. This building is more secure than my apartment.”

  “Nope,” John said with a playfully definitive air. “Definitely not silly. As a doctor, I declare that a totally reasonable worry considering the circumstances.”

  The elevator arrived with a ding. As we stepped on, I lowered my head with a swipe at my mouth.

  “I feel guilty, too,” I said. “I got the three of you wrapped up in the case. You’re probably in danger because of me. The more we keep investigating, the more danger it’ll be. This is my job; I’m supposed to face those threats. But you—”

  “Hey.” John set his hand on my shoulder with a gentle squeeze. “I carry out the work I do knowing there’ll be threats along the way. Sherlock and I have tackled some pretty horrible characters before. I’m glad I got the chance to contribute to a case this big.”

  “We’ll see how glad you are by the end of it,” I muttered, but I gave him a hint of a smile at the same time.

  The elevator whirred to a stop at the second floor. John’s room was on the fourth. I tensed as the door slid open and then squared my shoulders.

  “Why don’t you come back to my room, just for a bit?” John said abruptly. He wet his lips. “A little friendly conversation might help settle your nerves. I mean, if you’d rather just get back to yours, that’s completely fine—”

  “You know, I think that would be just what I need,” I said before he could stumble any further in clarifying his invitation. “Thank you.”

  He beamed at me, but he obviously wasn’t sure of where this night might lead. I’d better make my interest a little more clear.

  He jabbed the button to close the doors. As his hand dropped back to his side, I caught it in mine. My fingers tucked against his warm skin, and I stroked my thumb over his knuckles in a gentle caress.

  John didn’t say anything, but the air in the space between us warmed just a little. He adjusted his hand to twine his fingers with mine, like an answer to my proposition.

  I suspected Garrett in the same situation would have tossed me on the bed—or maybe on the desk again—the second we walked into the room. John let go of me to amble over to his dresser.

  “I picked up a bottle of sherry so I wouldn’t be tempted by the mini bar. Would you like a drink?”

  He couldn’t help playing the gentleman, could he? I smiled in amusement and perched on the end of the bed. “Why not? I trust you chose good stuff.”

  John poured us each a dollop of amber liquid in the room’s tumblers and handed one to me. Instead of sitting next to me on the bed, he turned the desk chair around to face me and sank onto that.

  “You said before that you thought you might travel around like your parents did,” he said in a casual conversational tone. “Where do you think you’d go first if you uprooted?”

  A little more “getting to know you” before we got down to the fucking? His earnestness about this whole process was almost endearing. I could humor him.

  “I’d like to spend more time in Iceland at some point,” I said, somewhat at random. “And Peru—the little bit I saw of it was lovely.”

  “You really have been all over, huh?”

  “I did tell you.” I took a sip of the sherry, absorbing the rich nutty flavor. “What about you? Did the military take you many places?”

  John’s hand dropped instinctively to his hip. “I was only stationed in Iraq,” he said. “A couple different bases. I’m sure if I’d been able to complete my tour, I’d have moved around more, but…” He shrugged. “These things happen.”

  He sounded genuinely regretful that he hadn’t spent more time around bazookas and mines. “And now you have this,” I said, gesturing at him to indicate his new career.

  “Yes. It’s hard to say I’d trade this life for another one. Maybe I missed my real calling until now.”

  He brought his glass to his lips, considering me. My gaze lingered on the ripple of his throat as he swallowed. How lucky I was to have my trio of crime-fighters made up of three such physically appealing men, as different as they were from each other.

  “What drew you to this calling?” he asked. “Every police officer I’ve talked to has some kind of defining moment or urge they can point to.”

  I’d locked eyes with a lot of men over the years. I’d told lies to nearly all of them. But something about this man, in this moment, brought out an impulse to offer him an answer as close to the truth as I was capable of. I took a gulp of sherry to see if it would burn away the whim, but the sensation only prickled deeper.

  Why not? It wouldn’t hurt anything. He’d probably like the simplified version at least as well as anything I could make up.

  “Someone who was very important to me died a long time ago,” I said. “I’ve always felt like I should have been able to prevent it. I don’t want anyone else to meet the fate she did if I can help it. So, here I am.”

  I held the memories at a distance where they couldn’t hit me with more than a muted ache behind my sternum.

  “I’m sorry,” John said.

  “You’ve got nothing to be sorry for.” I drained the last of my sherry and set the glass down on the carp
et. “Like I said, it was a long time ago.”

  “Still, that’s the sort of experience that stays with you. And the sort no one should have to go through.”

  “And yet so many of us do.” I leaned back on my hands, studying him, the alcohol having left me with a faint but pleasant tingling in my head. “Can I ask you a question now?”

  The corners of his lips quirked up. “That seems only fair.”

  “The three of you have worked together all this time,” I said. “And then suddenly you have this woman you hardly know tagging along everywhere you go. Sherlock is focused on the case, and Garrett has obviously had some concerns about some interloper crashing your party, but you’ve been nothing but welcoming right from the start. Why is that?”

  John’s smile turned uncharacteristically mysterious. “Maybe I recognized a kindred spirit.”

  If he’d known anything about the real Jemma Moriarty, he’d be aware that we couldn’t have had less in common. I’d been more jaded than John Watson since the day I was born. I guessed his perceptions meant I’d done my job well.

  I held out my hand. “If that’s the case, kindred spirit, what are you doing all the way over there?”

  Desire lit in his eyes. He set his glass, the sherry only half drunk, down on the desk and crossed the short distance to the bed without bothering with his walking stick. He stopped in front of me. Gazing down at me, he brought his hands to my face and teased them over my hair.

  “Jemma,” he said. “You are a gem. A brilliant jewel.”

  I trailed my fingers up his broad chest over his dress shirt. “You’re pretty shiny yourself.”

  John laughed and lowered his head. His mouth found mine, careful and tender. So different from Garrett in this too, and yet with its own little thrill.

  I gripped his shirt, urging him closer, and he deepened the kiss with a probe of his tongue. As we kissed and came up for air and kissed some more, one of his hands trailed down to trace the curve of my shoulder.

  I yanked his shirt from his trousers. This position was perfect to get him panting with need.