“He was Lieutenant Davis then,” she replied. “And yes. He was my direct supervisor. And my boyfriend.”
That stopped me in my tracks.
I turned, listening.
“He was also the man who fired me.”
21
Delilah
The coat room felt stifling with Henry in it.
He was too tall, too strong, too devastatingly handsome. My feigned faint had been a literal trust fall—but he’d caught me as if I weighed nothing; laid me on the ground like I was the person he cherished the most.
The moment could have belonged to Mark—who had become even more of an asshole in the two years since we’d seen each other last. And a tiny part of me would always have the pure joy of threatening to stiletto Mark’s fucking face.
But that memory was honestly insignificant compared to opening my eyes to Henry’s lips, hovering inches from my own. To hear his husky voice when he kissed my temple and declared me brilliant.
And I’d always treasure the memory of Henry stepping between Mark and me in a clear act of protection.
Not that I needed the help—I surely did not. I just liked knowing I could have it.
Henry reached for the door after my pronouncement, closing it with a soft click. “Do you want to tell me what happened?”
“Not really,” I admitted. “It’s a shitty story. But I think we should tell each other things like this. If we’re going to keep being partners.”
“I think so too,” he said. His eyes held a kindness I desperately needed.
“Two years ago, I thought I had fallen in love with my supervisor,” I began. “Mark Davis, the man out there. He was older than me by two decades and very…” Charming wasn’t the right word. Not now that I knew Henry. “Convincing. He was very convincing. As you can probably guess, it was forbidden for a supervisor to date his subordinate in the police force.”
“You’re not really a rule breaker, Delilah.”
“No, I am not,” I agreed. I rubbed my fingers along my collarbone, and Henry tracked the movement. “We snuck around, dating each other, for about a month. This is where the young, foolish, and stupid part comes in.”
He grimaced. “I told you the other night that you’re none of those things.”
“Falling for that man was very foolish,” I said quietly. “It cost me a career I’d worked a long time for. And a good deal of other things. But I got very swept up in the idea of our love. Star-crossed lovers kept apart by their jobs. The moment his mask fell away, I couldn’t believe I didn’t notice how evil he was before. I’m sure you felt something similar when you finally saw Bernard for who he was. And now, being here with you and seeing Mark tonight, I feel embarrassed to have lost my job for that fuckwit.”
Henry’s lips twitched at the ends. “He was, perhaps, one of the biggest fuckwits I’ve ever met.”
“I tend to agree.” We shared a private smile. “He was the one who actually fired me from my job. And obviously he did not get into any trouble and has been getting promoted ever since.” I let out a long sigh, leaning back against the wall for support.
“You know,” he said, “I would actually really enjoy seeing you stiletto his face.”
“And I would do it if I wasn’t so exhausted from having a trust fund,” I said, quoting Victoria.
His laughter was sexy and full-throated. The catharsis, the adrenaline, the relief of sharing even the tiniest pieces of this story with my partner—emotions were weaving through my body like the first warm breeze after a frigid winter. There was a release, a blossoming, a thawing. I smiled at Henry and it felt marvelous.
“There it is.”
“What?” I asked.
“Your real smile,” he said. “You look like that when you talk to Freya. You even smile like that at Abe.”
“I’ve known them for a long time,” I said. “Codex is my second family.”
He rubbed his jaw, eyes crinkling at the sides. “You haven’t smiled like that for me. Except when you’re Delilah Thornhill.”
We were both quiet for a moment—I noticed, again, the tight space. The closed door.
“I don’t want to steal the source of that smile, but what happened the day you were fired?”
I blew out a noisy breath, the memory forcing its way in like it always did. I’d paid extra special care to my hair that morning, added a dash of lipstick, a spritz of perfume. The day was supposed to be monumental—and I wanted to feel beautiful.
What we have here, Ms. Barrett, is a very serious violation of our personnel policies. And an extremely serious violation of trust.
“Can I tell you that part another time? It’s…hard for me to tell it.”
“Of course you can,” he said.
“I want to end this night on a high note, where Victoria confirmed our invitation to the gala. And I almost kicked an asshole in the dick.”
“Abe told me this job would have moments of tedious boredom,” he mused. “So far he has been wrong.” With a flourish, he held out my jacket, nodded down at it. “Your coat, Mrs. Thornhill.” I walked over, turned around. “I’m neglecting my husbandly duties. Victoria instructed me to take you home to bed.”
I was grateful that Henry couldn’t see the effect those words had. Bed. Such a mundane word and yet I hadn’t shared a bed with anyone since Mark. These past two years at Codex had passed in a blur of closing cases with Abe and stakeouts-and-tacos with Freya. I wanted to hunt down stolen books and trust my instincts again.
Take you home to bed.
“For all their faults, arguing over trash day and who didn’t load the dishwasher, I think Henry Thornhill would take very good care of a wife who just fainted from exhaustion,” I said.
The heat of his chest warmed my back. I slid one arm into the right sleeve, then the left.
“Yes, I think he would.” His deep voice set off goosebumps.
I knew how he would take care—bringing me tea, wrapping me in blankets, stroking my hair as I fell asleep. Our bed would be deliciously warm with the softest sheets, such a glorious contrast to the sensation of his hard body.
A husband like Henry would know how to wrap his arms around my waist in the morning; know how to wake me with his lips along my ear, my throat, my shoulders. A husband like Henry would know how to slip his talented fingers between my legs and bring me to a slow, lazy, decadent orgasm as dawn’s rays broke through our window curtains.
Henry’s breath caressed the nape of my neck. “Before we go,” he said, “I need you to know that I fully understand what you’re capable of. I know you don’t need my protection.”
His mouth lingered on my hair. A few tendrils of hair had caught beneath the coat collar. His fingers dipped beneath, freeing them, stroking the back of my neck.
“I liked that you stepped in for me,” I murmured. “Thank you.”
For one perfect moment, we stood there, not touching, just breathing in unison. When I finally turned around, Henry was right there. There was no one watching us—no case to work, no fake identity. I didn’t really need to step into his body heat, lay my hands on his chest, and brush my lips to his cheek. The scent of his skin, the play of muscle beneath his shirt, the muted sigh, low in his throat—it was a full body sensory experience.
I pressed my lips firmly now. A proper cheek kiss. “And thank you for catching me when I fell.”
“You knew I would,” he said, and there was no question about it. I had known he would. His large hand cupped my face, fingers sliding into my hair with a poetic devotion. I pulled back an inch, but that hand held me still, trapped my mouth close to his.
“I did know.” I beamed at him again, and his answering grin felt like a new beginning.
“If there are people fucking in here again, I swear to God—” A harried assistant stormed into the small room, forcing us apart. “Um…oh. Wait, were you—”
“We were just leaving,” Henry said curtly. “My wife and I had a splendid evening. Please give our rega
rds to Ms. Whitney if you see her.”
As soon as he and I made it back outside to the busy city streets, the spell between us had been broken. Dorran and his limo were waiting for us, idling at the curb. Once inside, it was hard for me to meet Henry’s eyes—so I looked out the window instead. Avoiding the temptation I suddenly had to crawl across those seats and settle on Henry’s lap.
“I’ll, uh, call Abe,” I managed. “Give him the rundown on tonight.”
“Oh good,” he said. “We’re still on for tomorrow? Kicking my ass, so to speak?”
“Bright and early.”
We rode the rest of the way to Henry’s home in silence—and I distracted myself by counting every row home we passed. I didn’t need to make any more passionate mistakes this evening. When we arrived, he gave me a brief nod of goodbye.
“Good night, wife,” he said.
“Good night, husband,” I replied. I couldn’t begin to decipher his expression—but he held my eyes before slamming the door. As we drove off, I allowed myself a single glance out the back window, not surprised in the least that Henry Finch cut a striking figure beneath the glow of a streetlamp.
And that he was watching me too.
22
Henry
Delilah was the embodiment of agile strength.
She was blasting music and hadn’t heard me come in—didn’t notice me discretely watching her in skilled motion. Her stance was relaxed, left leg back, hands at her face as she jabbed at the bag. In the last week, I’d grown accustomed to Delilah in cocktail dresses and floor-length gowns. But there was something so intimate about her face, scrubbed of makeup, her loose tank top with a faded Temple University logo. Her bare feet and toenails painted chipped pink. It felt like I was seeing Delilah-on-a-Saturday-morning; the girlfriend I’d drag out of bed for brunch—then back to it for sleepy weekend sex.
She struck the bag so hard it rocked back.
All the blood in my body rushed south.
Something had changed between Delilah and me in that coat closet last night—a vital aspect had shifted. I’d been given a gift that I’d worked hard to earn. However small, I intended to hold on tight.
After a series of fast jabs, she spun around and finally saw me.
Her smile was astonishing.
“Hey,” she said, panting. “I didn’t hear you come in.”
“Didn’t want to scare you,” I said. “Have you taken out all of your aggression on that thing?”
She studied the punching bag, hands on hips. “I was planning on taking my aggression out on you, actually.”
She was joking—and so I laughed.
But she didn’t have to know what her sweet kiss had cost me—the effort not to haul her up against the nearest wall had probably taken years off of my life. Years and a bit of my sanity. The soft tendrils of her hair beneath my fingers had been as captivating as the gilded edges of a book. I’d had to stop myself from leaning in and smelling her.
And her lips on my cheek had been a seduction that kept me awake all night. Over and over, I’d reached between my legs to palm my cock, if only to quiet the persistent ache. I imagined those lips on my throat, on my chest. Wanted her beneath me—writhing as I pinned her down, scraping her fingernails down my back. Knew that if I ever got that woman into my bed, I wouldn’t stop making her come until she begged. But every time I let my fingers stroke, I stopped. Because it felt wrong in all the right ways to fuck my hand and fantasize about my beautiful coworker.
“Where do you want me?” I tossed my gym bag on the closest desk. Abe and Freya would be joining us in an hour, but until then it was only us.
“Take your shoes off and come over here,” she said. “I rolled out our old mats in case you fall.”
“Pretty big assumption that I’ll fall, right?”
“Pretty big assumption you think I won’t take you down.” She smirked. She indicated I should hold my hands out, so I did, letting her wrap my hands in protective tape.
“Tell me what you know about self-defense,” she said.
“Literally nothing.”
“Okay, newbie. I can’t speak for other private detective agencies, because I’ve only ever worked here, but Abe’s always valued having his agents be able to protect themselves.”
“Do you really think we’ll ever be in a situation where we need it though?” I countered. “Everything we’ve done so far has been safe.”
“Except for the trip wire. And we’re currently tailing a woman who employs trigger-happy armed guards.” She was suddenly very serious. “I have a license to carry a concealed weapon, but at the end of the day, we’re not the police. We’re not FBI agents. It makes us very nimble. But it also leaves us exposed.”
I rubbed the back of my neck. “You know, when I took the private detective exam, I never expected a situation like this.”
“That’s why we’re practicing. You’re my partner, Henry. I want to protect you.”
“And I want to protect you,” I said softly.
“Good.” She crossed her arms, tilted her chin. “In the FBI, Abe had training in Krav Maga, which is a form of self-defense first developed for the Israeli army. But a lot of officers in the FBI and the police force receive training in it because it’s so efficient.”
“So Abe has the training. You have the training. And Freya…”
“Underwent some basic training at Quantico before she left,” she said. “That’s why we’re here.”
I flexed my fingers in the tape. Shrugged. “Okay then. Show me what you got, Barrett.”
“It would have been really fucking cool if you’d said that and I executed some complicated roundhouse kick.”
I liked this goofier Delilah.
“But it’s not fancy. It’s just very, very effective.”
She walked over to me and I caught a whiff of lavender. Without makeup, her blue eyes were even prettier. “Is it okay if I touch you?”
“Of course,” I said, watching her drop down and grab my left ankle. “Okay, back up a foot.” She steadied my right leg. Stood and grabbed my wrists, bringing my hands six inches from my face. “Picture holding a basketball.” Delilah mirrored the movement until I got it. She admired her handiwork.
“You look like a badass,” she said.
For a few minutes, she showed me basic punches: a jab, a cross. Made me watch as she demonstrated the lightness of her back foot, the way it punched her body forward, the strike of her fist. She strapped black pads to her hands and said, “Hit me.”
“Delilah,” I said. “I have my PhD in library science. I’ve never hit anything in my life.”
“Last night, with Mark, he went to grab me and you caught his wrist. You anticipated his movement, used force with precision. I was impressed,” she said.
“Don’t patronize me.” I took a step back, shaking out my arms. Plus that had been different—that response had been fueled by one thing only: the desire to protect my partner.
She was shaking her head.
“I’m not patronizing you,” she said. “Come on. Hit.” She assessed me for a second. “Picture Bernard.”
“Seriously?”
“Yes, seriously,” she urged. “Give me everything you’ve got. You know I can take it.”
My nostrils flared, wondering if punching was a good way to channel the pent-up sexual energy that had been thrumming in my veins. But I’d been given a directive.
Same as Victoria, Bernard had received countless awards for his philanthropy and work in our field. I’d sat through many a dinner applauding Bernard’s esteemed accomplishments, in awe that of every single librarian who’d ever angled to work with him, he’d chosen me.
My young successor he’d always say. Like Victoria, moving gracefully between the worlds of good and evil. Because the extraordinarily wealthy could.
I hit the pad.
Delilah shook her hand out dramatically. “I wouldn’t want to be Bernard right now. But keep your back leg loose and twist at yo
ur hip more.” She demonstrated again—jab-jab. “Hit me.”
I struck back in a mimic of her fast movements. “Nice,” she cheered. “Now keep going.”
Her eyes were shining with good humor.
“You’re not fucking with me?”
“Nope. And I didn’t tell you to stop, Dr. Finch.”
A growl rose in my chest. I wanted Delilah to command me to my knees. So I let it out through my fists—striking, stopping, striking again. She paused every few minutes to give me feedback. But it felt good.
“Cathartic, right?” she said, slightly out of breath. I was panting, sweat slicking my back. I ran every single day, but this was a different kind of physicality. “Were you imagining every single person who’d ever returned an overdue library book?”
“How did you know?”
She handed me the pads. Strapped on thin gloves. “Now we’ll switch. Get ’em up, Henry.”
I lifted, eyed her perfect form. The intensity with which she glared at my hands.
“Who are you picturing?” I asked softly, already knowing the answer.
“I didn’t like seeing him last night.” Her fist landed so hard I rocked back a step.
“You good?”
“Yeah,” I said, stretching my neck. “Don’t hold back.”
She whaled on the pads for a full minute before she bounced back, chest heaving.
“Cathartic, right?” I repeated.
Her mouth curved.
“Were you a natural when you first learned at the academy?” I asked.
“I picked it up pretty quickly, yeah,” she said. “Not that I didn’t fall on my ass constantly. I was nervous too. I wanted to be an officer so badly that I tried really hard to be the best every step of the way. Looking back on it, I think one of the reasons that Mark chose me was my over-eagerness. My desire to please my superior officers. I was an easy target.”
There was another minute of precise jabs. My palms were starting to sting, even through the pads.
Behind the Veil Page 14
