We stepped into a museum teeming with people, the buzz of the audience high and excited. Henry and I were once again strolling through Philadelphia high society, but it was all different. We were different. And Henry seemed easily in his element as usual—I remembered that first night at the art gallery, watching him study each painting as if he wanted to decipher every one of its secrets. He was doing it now, examining each artifact, uncovering its hidden seams.
Freya already had two glasses of champagne and was pressing one into my hand. She’d grumbled about dressing up again—but cheered up considerably when I let her wear my garter belt of zip-ties.
“One hour,” I teased, holding up my finger.
She rolled her eyes. “You know me so well.” Freya nodded at the display shining in the middle of the room. “I still can’t believe she really had it. Just like this, in her mansion, while 300 people milled about at a party.”
“Victoria is the reason why Codex will never go out of business,” Abe said pointedly. “There will always be people like Victoria who believe they deserve to steal a piece of history simply because they can.”
“What’s the word on her?” Henry asked. “Did she go underground, like Bernard?”
Abe shook his head. “The FBI scooped her up for questioning the morning after the party, thanks to some of the incriminating evidence you two uncovered. I submitted your photos to my contact at the Art Theft department as well as Francisco.”
Henry gave me a small smile.
“All I know so far is she’s hired the best criminal defense lawyer in the country.”
I felt that twinge again, thinking of Victoria sitting in a prison cell. But my eyes landed on the book, and I remembered just how carelessly she’d gone about the whole ordeal—as Abe had said, how confidently she operated in the shadowy world of rare book theft. She appeared unconvinced that what she was doing was a crime, and people like that only ended up stealing and stealing until one day they were caught.
Good Victoria. Bad Victoria. She was effortlessly both.
“Can we go see it?” Henry asked.
Abe nodded, directing us toward the glass podium where a crowd was gathered around. A docent was quietly illuminating the audience with facts about the text, but I tuned him out, content to merely gaze at it. The gravity of the moment stunned all four of us into a shared silence. It was open to its seminal page—the science that posited the revolutionary theory that the planets of our solar system orbited the sun.
I studied the concentric circles, thought about all the tiny decisions and actions that set in motion the discovery of this theory; the hand printing of this specific book, the banning of it, the many people and hands who had owned it over the past 500 years.
Victoria stealing it.
And finally: Henry and I fleeing with it in the night, against all odds.
Henry couldn’t contain the joy on his face. I watched him stand with Abe—he fit here, at Codex. He belonged.
“I know, in this field, it’s easy to get caught up and captivated by people like Bernard or Victoria,” Abe was saying softly, mostly to Henry. “They dominate the landscape with their privilege and their power. But at the end of the day, people will steal regardless of the legal implications. In the middle of it all, is the book.”
“The book is the most important,” Henry repeated, and I could tell he really believed that. Even with his sudden interest in crime and punishment, he was a librarian at heart, would always be a librarian. That dedication would be the key to Codex’s future success.
His eyes slid toward mine, and I wondered if he was thinking what I was—that in this vitally important moment, I wanted to hold his hand, kiss his wrist, lean against his body and have him caress my hair. I wanted us to celebrate as partners—professionally and romantically. The urge was so strong I had to plant my feet and lock my knees to keep from going to him.
“I don’t like to repeat myself, as you know,” Abe said. “But I think it goes without saying that you two pulled off our most successful recovery to date.”
Henry nodded, hands in his pockets.
“Thank you,” I said. “It was an honor. Henry’s first case in the field.”
“So what do you think?” Abe said. “Your three-month probationary period is up. Does Codex suit you?”
“Absolutely,” he said, face brightening. “I’m not sure I can go back to being a librarian now.”
“Yay!” Freya cheered. “Welcome to the team, Henry. Permanently.”
I couldn’t look at Henry now. I glanced back at the book, felt a surge of pride. And a surge of…what? What was it exactly?
“You kept the rings?” Abe said.
“Yep,” I said, sounding nervous.
“Good.” Abe studied the room, as if he could already sense our next case brewing in this room of high society and underground thieves. “I think the Thornhills might come in handy in the future. People love a married couple.”
I gulped. I wasn’t going to lie and say these weeks of dirty marital fantasies hadn’t been part of the fun. But how was I supposed to pretend to be in love with Henry and then hide these feelings?
“You’ll have to fight me for her, Henry,” Freya said with mock ferocity.
“You’d win. Hands down,” Henry said, chuckling into his drink. He seemed comfortable, relaxed.
Happy.
“I’m going to find a restroom,” I said quickly. “Be right back.”
I made my way through the crowd on shaky legs, leaning my back up against the wall that led to the bathrooms and taking a few rapid breaths. It was quiet and cool here, far from all the people.
“Delilah Barrett?”
I turned to find, of all people, Margaret Pierce. My former coworker who was going after Mark Davis.
“Margaret,” I said, brow furrowed. “What are you…what on earth are you doing here?”
“I work security for the Franklin Museum now,” she said, and I finally realized she was in uniform. “I can’t believe you’re here. I’ve been meaning to talk to you.”
For a moment, I could only gape at her. Even after Freya had mentioned her website to me, I still felt like I was gazing at a unicorn—something magical that couldn’t quite be believed.
“Freya told me about you,” I finally said.
“I’m sorry?”
I shook my head. “My, um, my coworker. She found your website. You’re looking for testimony. About Mark.”
Margaret gave me a sweet smile, filled with the kind of understanding that exists between victims of the same crime. “I am. About a year after you left, Mark seduced me into a pretty intense relationship and fired me under the guise of—”
“Taking out the trash,” I said, dazed.
Her lips pressed together. “Exactly. I was pretty important to the political campaign he was running at that time. ‘Women like Margaret Pierce and Delilah Barrett have no right to hold the office of a public servant.’”
Anger boiled in my veins, white-hot and dangerous. “He said that?”
“In one of the many articles about me, yes.” I could see pain in her expression, but also a purpose. A direction for all that fury.
“I know what he did to you,” Margaret said gently. “And I think we have the potential for a case. That man shouldn’t be allowed to hold public office. He is corrupt in every single way.”
“I saw him at a party last week,” I blurted out. “I threatened to stiletto him in the face.”
Margaret glanced at my arms. “I have a feeling you could do that.”
“How did he get to you?” I asked, suddenly desperate for details.
She leaned against the wall. “I was a rookie cadet. He wasn’t my direct supervising officer, but we were in the same office building. I thought he was handsome, charismatic.”
I nodded along, recognizing the beats of this story.
“There was another couple dating—in secret, technically, but also somewhat openly. It was causing a flurry of dr
ama, people were worried about bad press again. I think he saw me as his next opportunity. He fired me and he fired the couple too, all three of us on the same day. All three of us were technically in violation of personnel policies…but in my instance, so was he.”
“Margaret,” I said, “he had me delete any evidence of our relationship, emails, text messages.”
“I did the same.” She tilted her head. “But I think we still have a chance. I know how hard it is to tell the story, over and over. How it takes a little piece of you every time.”
I swallowed hard at that.
“But I want to at least try and fight him, even if it’s painful. I need to at least try.”
I finally returned her tentative smile. Remembered Henry’s words from this morning: he only takes what I allow him to take. Hadn’t I just proven that my instincts were intact? That I could reach out, trust, be vulnerable? Mark hadn’t taken those things at all—he’d merely put them into hiding.
But I was a great detective. I’d recovered them. I’d raced through a dark hallway and taken out guards and protected my partner; had given myself up to hot limo-sex and beautiful intimacy and chocolate-chip pancakes with a man who made me happier than I’d ever thought possible. My instincts, my trust, my very being was still there, right where I’d left it.
“Will I be named in the paper, you think?”
“Not necessarily,” she said. “But if you decide to use your name, then yes.”
“Good,” I said. “I want him to know it was me.” I lifted my chin and Margaret squeezed my hand. “I’ll do it.”
“Thank you,” she whispered. “You have no idea what this means to me.”
“And to me,” I said, squeezing back.
49
Delilah
Freya found me in the hallway a few minutes after Margaret left.
“What happened?” she asked, noticing the look of shock on my face. But when I relayed what had happened—the strange, fateful meeting of two women who experienced the same crime—she merely took my hand and squeezed it, just like Margaret had.
She leaned against the wall and rested her shoulder against mine. Abe and Henry were perfectly framed for us in the distance—Henry talking animatedly over the glass case, Abe listening with mild bemusement.
“Are you upset?” she asked.
“No,” I said. “No, I feel absolutely wonderful.”
My heart was thudding against my chest the longer I watched Henry. I thought about all those tiny decisions that had led a five-hundred-year-old manuscript from its first printing, all the way back here.
Maybe there was another decision too—the real reason why I was standing here, watching Henry like a lovesick teenager.
“I have to tell you something,” I started, “and I’m not quite sure what the solution is yet.”
“You’re falling for Henry.”
I turned to her—she was looking at me with clever eyes. “Anyone ever tell you you’re too smart?”
“All the time.”
“You think Abe knows?”
“I doubt it,” she said. “He’s pretty dense when it comes to human relationships. And it’s not like the two of you are overly obvious. But I did always think it was interesting that Victoria Whitney thought you were newlyweds that night at the art gallery.”
I had forgotten all about that. What had she seen then that I was now discovering?
“I don’t think…I don’t think we can work together,” I said. “Abe would never allow it.”
Freya chewed on her bottom lip. “I think you’re right.”
I’d already come to this conclusion but hearing her confirm it still sent a bolt of disappointment through me.
“I’d do a lot of things for you, Delilah,” she said, “but I can’t keep this secret for you. And I can’t protect you from Abe.”
“I know. And I don’t want to pursue this in secret. That makes it wrong, dirty, like what Mark did to me. I’d like to…” I trailed off, watched Henry staring at a handful of buttons beneath glass—some piece of clothing from the past. He saw their value, he understood the stories carried in on the dirt, the lives touched by each tiny bit of metal. “I’d like to fall in love with Henry out in the open.”
Freya let out a long sigh at that. She looked…sad.
“I know,” I said. “Things are going to change.”
“I’m going to miss my partner,” she said softly.
“I won’t go far, promise,” I said. “Still friends.”
She beamed at that, tucking a strand of hair back into her bun. “I dig it. I guess I still need someone to eat donuts with every morning.”
“I’m your girl,” I winked.
But her eyes grew wider. “What are you going to do about it, though?”
“I have an idea,” I admitted. A dozen lightbulbs were flaring to life in my brain the longer I admired my formerly fake husband. “But I need to be sure. By tomorrow, something will have happened. Can you keep a secret just for tonight?”
“Yes, I can,” she said.
I watched her shove up her glasses with one finger. “Have you ever felt this strongly about another person before? Like it’s all you can ever think about?”
“Strongly like you and Henry?”
I nodded.
Her smile was half-formed. “Once, back at Quantico, before I left.”
Freya didn’t speak much about that time in her life. I only knew the basics: she’d been a rising star at the FBI training academy, poised for greatness, until she’d left. Abe had apparently first met Freya while teaching at Quantico and had been so impressed with her natural skill set, he’d thought of her immediately when he founded Codex.
“Was this person…a boyfriend? Girlfriend?”
“Ugh, worse,” she said. “He was my enemy.”
Her nostrils flared, jaw clenched hard. Freya wasn’t really the type of person who seemed to ever get angry—she was light-hearted, nerdy, funny. But as soon as she started speaking, her spine had gone rigid.
“Pushed your buttons that badly, huh?” I asked.
“In all kinds of ways.” She shook her head. “So it was different, because I hated him. But there’s a thin line between love and hate. I’ve been on the hate side, so I sort of get it. It changes you.”
Henry’s eyes caught mine easily in the crowd. I felt him calling to me, longing for me. Even in this crowded, public space, I could feel his craving.
I loved this job to the core of my being—but hadn’t I loved eating chocolate-chip pancakes with Henry in his sunny kitchen just this morning? Or maybe it was okay that I loved both of these things equally. If I didn’t, it wouldn’t be a sacrifice.
“Whatever happens, we’ll still have our taco stand,” Freya said with mock seriousness.
I looped my arm through hers.
“Let’s go mingle,” I said, pulling us back toward the crowd.
Back toward my destiny.
50
Henry
Delilah appeared serene and calm at the end of the evening—chatting with Freya, making small talk with the guests, peering at the exhibits. I had no idea what was going on behind those blue eyes of hers—and no idea if she’d ever tell me. According to Abe, we’d be fake married and on another case as soon the Thornhills were needed again.
I didn’t know how the hell to feel about that. But I did know that standing around with my coworkers and pretending like I didn’t want to kiss Delilah Barrett absolutely senseless felt terrible.
All four of us were leaving—standing at the top of the steps with the skyline glittering below—when Francisco found us, hands out in apology.
“Delilah,” he said, grasping her hands. She arched her brow at him. “Please accept my deepest apologies for the things I said to you the other night. Completely unprofessional and highly unwarranted. Obviously, you knew what you were doing.”
“She did,” Abe said protectively. “Delilah is the reason we approached you that night.”
/>
“And the reason we got the book back at all,” I inserted.
She flashed me a sly look. “I remember you having quite a hand in our success as well, Henry.”
“Both of you,” Francisco said, shaking his head. “I am embarrassed and ashamed. That’s all I can say.”
“Is payment being processed?” Abe asked.
“Of course.”
“Then no more apologies are necessary.”
I watched Delilah hide a smile behind her hand. But she shook Francisco’s hand sincerely. “Tempers were high. We’ve all been there. It has been an honor being a part of this book’s journey.”
Francisco didn’t look entirely convinced that he shouldn’t keep apologizing. But then he startled us both by turning, clamping a hand on my elbow. “I didn’t want to say this the other night. But I wanted to tell you how sorry I am about Bernard. He fooled us all.”
My brow furrowed. “I’m sorry?”
The first time I’d met Francisco he’d indicated that he knew of me. Because of Bernard Allerton. But for what reason, he’d never said.
Francisco leaned in close to me and dropped his voice. “I know it’s not entirely public knowledge, but word travels fast in the antiquarian community. You know that. I’m aware of what transpired between you and Bernard. Believe it or not, you were gaining quite the reputation yourself before you joined Codex.”
My young successor. My heart broke—just slightly—at the reminder. And I wondered if I’d ever be able to think about that night without the deluge of guilt, regret, and utter sadness.
“I…had no idea,” I said.
“He was a mastermind. The access I gave Bernard when he’d come to visit the museum was extraordinary. He could have walked out of here with any number of things. I shudder now to think of how easily he manipulated me.”
Delilah was staring at me with wide eyes.
“In my experience,” Francisco said, “half the people in this room would do what Bernard did if they had the time and resources. Human beings are a covetous lot. Men like Bernard make a living out of fooling people.”
Behind the Veil Page 29
