by Eva Chase
I tossed a couple bags onto the bed from the errands I’d run while Bash had tracked Richter to a convenient location. “Four blue jackets, to your exact specifications. I bought them each at different stores so no one would think a batch purchase was odd.”
“Exactly what I should have suggested,” Sherlock said with a snap of his fingers.
“I think you sent me to do it so you wouldn’t need to figure out all the necessary suggestions.” I winked at him and dropped onto the edge of the bed next to my loot. “Where are we at?”
“All things considered, I believe we’re remarkably well-prepared. I got the call that the van was ready about an hour ago.” His gaze lingered on me for a beat too long to be totally relaxed. He motioned to John. “Did you want to get in a little more practice with the blowtorch? We have that spare pane.”
All right. I had two potential stumbling blocks left in front of me. No need to get fancy. I could tackle them one at a time.
“There’s a disturbing lack of coffee in this room,” I said. “I feel I can best contribute by getting some of the good stuff from downstairs. Garrett, help me carry?”
It was a bit of a weak excuse, but I’d wanted it to be. I wanted him to pick up on the fact that I was angling for a conversation.
“Sure,” he said with an expression somewhere between curious and wary, and followed me out.
I waited until we’d almost reached the elevators. “How are you doing with all of this?”
Garrett shrugged, but his shoulders tensed. “It’s fine. The plan is coming together. Sherlock is… He’s Sherlock, but not really all that much more so than usual. I’ll just be glad when we’re done.”
The elevator arrived with a chime. I gripped Garrett’s arm gently as we stepped on and turned to face him.
“I hope you know how much I appreciate the way all three of you have taken on this case as if it’s your own—you especially. You have so much on the line. I don’t see that kind of courage or commitment to justice very often.”
I really did appreciate those qualities in him, whatever had stirred them to the surface in this particular situation. He was helping save my life, even if he didn’t know it. A little honesty helped sell the words.
The tension in Garrett’s body ebbed. “That’s why I picked this job,” he said. “So I could contribute something good to the world while other people are doing their best to destroy it.”
“Evil doers beware,” I said in a teasing tone. My fingers trailed over his wrist. He gazed into my eyes and grasped my hand abruptly, leaning in at the same moment. His mouth caught mine with all the determination he’d had that first night.
A second later, the elevator chimed at the ground floor. Garrett pulled back as the doors slid open with a curse under his breath. “Elevators,” he muttered.
As we headed toward the dining room, I twined my fingers with his and let my voice dip low. “I’m here until Sunday. Maybe tomorrow, after the farewell dinner, we could… celebrate a very successful conference, just the two of us?”
A smile that was nothing but pleased crossed Garrett’s face. I’d picked him for my last night here. He’d won twice over.
“I’d like that,” he said, his gaze lingering on my face. “And if you ever happen to be in the city again…”
Or maybe he simply enjoyed being around me.
I shoved that thought away. He enjoyed the woman I’d shown him, a woman I’d catered to his tastes. That was the whole point, after all.
“Let’s hope I have the opportunity,” I said.
Now I had two secure on the line, with one still in danger of wriggling off the hook.
By the time we returned with the coffee mugs, my third fish had apparently decided to take matters into his own, er, fins.
“Sorry to send you off again,” Sherlock said, aiming his piercing gaze at Garrett, “but John would like to work with a structure as close to the actual display case as we can find. He won’t be able to carry it alone, and I need to get the emblems on.” He tapped the jacket he’d spread on the table. “Will you lend him a hand?”
“As long as I can bring my coffee with me,” the detective inspector said, looking pleased to have something else to do to distract him from the looming heist. John met him at the door with a clap to his back, and then Sherlock and I were alone.
My first instinct was to toss out an excuse and get the hell out of there, but I stood my ground. If he was going to insist on working through whatever was nagging at him, it was better that we did it now rather than half an hour before go-time.
I ambled over to the table and nodded at the thin metal contraption in the corner. “So, that’s going to cut the power for us?”
“Assuming we set the cable up properly, but I don’t expect that’ll be too difficult.” Sherlock placed the replica of the security company’s badge he’d had some associate manufacture on the jacket’s breast and raised the hotel iron with a faint hiss of steam. “Jemma,” he added, looking at the task in front of him rather than at me, “can you think of anyone who would have known you were heading out to Regent’s Park the other day?”
He asked in an off-hand way, but my skin prickled with the importance of the question. This was his first feint. He was feeling me out.
And his main concern was Bog’s brief haunting by the fountain. Damned shrouded one.
Sherlock must be trying to put together the pieces of how that hazy figure could have appeared. I couldn’t blame him for not being convinced it was yet another trick of the light. Either I’d created it or someone else had. So I’d give him an imaginary someone else.
“It’s possible,” I said slowly, as if thinking back to that afternoon. “When I requested at reception for them to have a taxi there for me, the concierge asked where I was off to, and I told him the truth. I didn’t want to risk him hearing me direct the cabbie and wondering why I lied. There might have been someone else in the lobby close enough to overhear.”
“Did you see anyone lingering near the fountain courtyard when you came to meet us?”
I frowned. “No. I checked as I approached to make sure no one looked to be close enough to overhear us, and I kept an eye out through the whole conversation.” I let my eyes widen. He knew I was smart enough to follow his thread by now. “This isn’t about our plans. You think someone might have followed us there and… created that weird lit-up figure we all saw?”
“The thought had crossed my mind,” Sherlock said calmly. “Considering the number of events in close succession. Have you experienced strange light effects like that or the one in the dining room before?”
I shook my head. “No. It is strange. But it seems even stranger to think someone would be doing it on purpose. What possible reason could they have?”
“That was where I was hoping you might enlighten the rest of us. You have a quick mind, and you know your situation better than any of us could.” He set aside the first jacket and laid out the second.
I sank into the chair opposite him and brought my hand to my mouth in thought. I needed a story he’d accept that wouldn’t incriminate me or make him too nervous about my involvement in the heist tonight. It wasn’t hard to think of one. All I had to do was remember why I’d picked this trio in the first place.
“I’m not sure if there’s anything specific to me,” I said. “I came on my own, and I’d be surprised if there’s anyone here who already knew me. But an awful lot of people here know you, and presumably John and Garrett in relation to you. If I were going to pick a most likely possibility, I’d say one of the other attendees has seen how closely I’ve ended up associating with the three of you, and they tried to disrupt that closeness out of jealousy. I find the idea pretty far-fetched, though.”
A waft of steam rose off the iron as Sherlock finished the second jacket. Heat tickled over my skin. He set the iron down and rubbed his chin. “It is,” he said. “But the explanation would fit with human nature of a certain sort. I’d hardly assume that every
individual here is of the most stable emotional makeup.”
He was buying the ploy. With a little more of a nudge, we’d be back on solid ground.
I wet my lips. “You don’t think someone like that could compromise our plans tonight, do you? I’d swear no one could have been close enough to overhear us, especially with the sound of the fountain—that was why you picked that spot, wasn’t it?”
“Indeed. And I’ve been extremely careful while arranging our supplies.” He paused and raised his head to meet my gaze. “I’d hoped I could have said the same of you.”
A chill quivered through my chest. I wasn’t sure what he was talking about now. “Of course I’ve been careful,” I said. “I haven’t mentioned the gallery or Richter in public. I kept an eye out during every errand I’ve run. I want to see him caught and brought to justice at least as much as any of you do.”
“Then why did you arrange to cross paths with him today?”
Shit. I held my face impassive, my mind whirling. How could he know about that one brief instant? Did he know what I’d done beyond simply “cross paths” with Richter?
His street-kid squad. There might have been a homeless teen I hadn’t noticed tucked away at the edge of some alley. The informer couldn’t have been close then—no one had heard my conversation with Bash or seen the scalpel. All they could know was that I’d gotten close to Richter.
“Did you have me followed?” I demanded with what felt like appropriately righteous indignation.
“For good reason, it seems,” Sherlock said. “Although no, you weren’t followed per say. I simply put out the word to certain parties to keep an eye out if they saw you on the streets, to see if anyone else was following. Why would you risk drawing Richter’s attention when we’re so close to our goal?”
His eyes stayed fixed on me, analyzing every particle of my response. I folded my hands together on the table.
My poker face was at least as good as his. I could navigate this unexpected storm.
“I kept my hood up and my head low so he wouldn’t get a good look at me, which would only matter if he’s seen me in the German news reports about the investigation. I just wanted to see him, once—to get a proper measure of him. When you three break the case and have him in custody, Freising will probably pass it over to your jurisdiction. I’ll be heading home. I might not get any other chance to even look at the man I’ve been chasing for three weeks.”
“So you let ego guide you.”
He was one to talk about ego. I drew myself up straighter. “I thought it was possible I might notice something about him that would help tonight as well. But maybe that was ego too.”
It was ego Sherlock could relate to better. He was still frowning, though. I’d given him the best possible answers, but he wasn’t happy with them. It couldn’t sit well with him that he’d misjudged the situation. Any second now, he was going to suggest they could go through with the heist without me, that it was safer that way.
I had to head him off at the pass with something that made him even more uneasy. I tossed out the trick I’d been holding in my back pocket.
“Are you trying to suggest that I should back out of helping tonight? If I really thought our plans were at all compromised, I swear to you I would. This whole effort has been built on my work—I should at least be there—I’ve been practicing for the switch-offs.” I sucked in a breath. “If this is really because of the other night and the dare thing, I’m so sorry. I got a little carried away—the last thing I wanted was to offend you. I hope you won’t dismiss my contributions over that.”
Sherlock’s posture stiffened as the jab landed. Mine relaxed a smidge in turn. Whatever gods there were, let that be enough.
He opened and closed his mouth a few times before he worked words out of it. Funny how mentioning the dared kiss opened John up but shut Sherlock down.
“I’ve put that incident completely out of my mind,” he said finally in an equally stiff voice. “And I can assure you that I would never let some sort of petty retaliation guide my decisions. I apologize if I’ve given the impression that was my intent. I agree, I’ve seen no indication that our plans are compromised. We’re more likely to succeed with you than without. I’d only ask, steer clear of our target for the rest of the day?” He managed a small smile.
My lips quirked upward in return. “I can make that promise without any trouble at all. Here’s to bringing the bastard down.”
Both Richter and the shrouded one who’d better not come any closer to ruining my plans.
Chapter Twenty-Five
Jemma
“That should do it,” the kid said, looking up from the receiver box he’d been fiddling with in the back of the van. He couldn’t have been more than thirteen, his hair cut ragged and his too-small jacket going threadbare at the elbows, but apparently he knew radios—or at least certain tricks you could play with radios—better than anyone else Sherlock knew. “You’ll catch the call from that frequency, and the other place will be blocked. All you’ve got to do is answer.”
Right now the box was only emitting a static crackle, but Sherlock looked satisfied with that. “Your assistance is greatly appreciated,” he said, and handed over a few tenners.
From his seat at the front, Garrett watched the kid scamper out the back. “Are you sure we can trust him not to shoot his mouth off?” he asked when Sherlock had closed the doors.
“He doesn’t know enough to have much to say,” Sherlock said. “But yes, I’m sure. I’m a rather good judge of character.”
I had to catch my lips from twitching into a grin. A giddying combination of excitement and anxiety jittered through my nerves. I curled my fingers around the cuffs of my security guard jacket sleeves, itching for a sugar cube, but I’d left everything with Bash except the absolute essentials.
“There isn’t much time left for anyone to interrupt us anyway,” I said.
John glanced at his watch. He’d taken the driver’s seat, naturally. “With the way we placed the spikes in the driveway, if they’re on schedule they should be calling in the delay in just a couple minutes.”
Sherlock held up his hand, cloaked in the same flexible leather gloves we all wore, and hunched over the receiver. “Quiet, then.”
We sat there, braced in the dark of the van with only the thin light of the streetlamps seeping through the tinted windows, listening to the wavering static. I leaned into the firmly padded seat and clasped my hands together on my lap. My heartbeat counted out the seconds until a blunt voice broke from the hiss.
“Team Three, we’re having a little van trouble. Can you hold off departure? Over.”
Sherlock grasped the mic. “We hear you, Team One,” he said in a brusque tone. “We can hold. How long do you expect to need? Over.”
“I’m hoping no more than half an hour. We’ll call in on thirty if it looks like longer. Over.”
Sherlock motioned to me. I already had my hand on the door handle. I darted out and yanked off the black sheet that had been covering the copied logo. John started the engine as I hopped back in.
“Half an hour,” he said with a breathless laugh.
“If we do this right, we’ll only need three quarters of that,” Sherlock said.
The van lurched forward and roared along the city streets. We’d parked in waiting only a few blocks from the gallery. I pulled the scratchy curls of the light brown wig Sherlock had offered me over my head and adjusted my prescription-less glasses on my nose.
Sherlock had gone darker, with a unibrow and a beard to match the team leader of the real security detail. John’s blond locks were tucked under a chestnut fringe with a coordinating moustache. Garrett had gone coppery auburn.
“Time to make the call?” the detective inspector asked, holding up his phone.
Sherlock paused until we’d turned the corner toward the gallery’s back alley. “Now.”
We cruised into the alley past the police surveillance, looking for all the world like
the team they’d been expecting. Garrett brought the phone to his ear. He pitched his voice higher with a distressed strain.
“Yes, I’d like to report a hate poster I just saw. It’s truly horrible—I can’t imagine if my children saw the picture they’ve printed on it. I wrote down the exact post. Can you get someone out there to take it down as soon as possible? I thought I saw a police car already nearby.”
As he gave the details to the dispatcher, John parked beside the matching van that Team Three had arrived in. He slung his duffel bag over his shoulder. Garrett flashed a grin at me as he hung up the phone. For all his hesitations, he couldn’t help enjoying getting one up on his Scotland Yard colleagues.
And I couldn’t help returning his grin. Yeah, I might miss that competitive determination a little after this was done. Who knew if I’d ever see it again?
Sherlock leapt out of the van first. He keyed in the passcode another of his young allies had spied out for us, and we strode behind him into the gallery’s back rooms before spreading out as if beginning our patrol. Only Sherlock passed the departing team with a salute that partly hid his face.
“Quiet night, as usual,” the other team leader said. “Try not to get bored out of your minds.”
Then they were gone, and the gallery was ours.
Garrett hustled off to loop the camera feeds pointed at the Richter exhibit. The rest of us waited for his signal and then hurried to the exhibit’s doors. John handed Sherlock the code-breaking device from his bag.
He had to get this done and get us into the exhibit room before the power cut out. Otherwise we’d lose our chance to stimmy the motion detectors.
Sherlock opened up the side of the keypad and fiddled with the wires. Garrett pinged us that he’d gotten in place standing watch by the back door. Numbers flickered on the device’s screen. I resisted the urge to shift on my feet.
