Under the Rose

by Nolan, Kathryn

  “I think it’s too coincidental not to be them,” I argued. “Especially given the timing. We’ll all be ecstatic if the real letters are found, regardless of who finds them. But my instinct says they’re here in the hotel.”

  “I hear you, I do,” he said slowly. “Unfortunately the evidence this other firm has must be strong—and tempting—for them to directly approach her.”

  I let out a long sigh. “I know,” I conceded. “You’re right. I’m working as fast as I can. If we only have until midnight, I’ll make it work.”

  A pause on the other end. “Where’s Sam been in all of this?”

  I bit my lip. I couldn’t say I don’t know but I didn’t really know. “He didn’t call you?”

  “No.”

  Interesting. He’d been all talk four hours ago about going in guns blazing.

  “Sam is…has been working the convention floor. Getting a sense of what rare books are available, who’s selling, who’s buying.”

  “Freya,” Abe said, “is there a personal reason why you and Sam aren’t standing right next to each other right now?”

  “Not at all. We just thought it’d be fun to separate. You know, work the room, make friends, influence people.” I kept my tone carefree.

  “Don’t,” he said sharply. “I’m serious. This is your first big case in the field, and you need to stick with Sam. Partners are smarter together. And safer. You need to get out from behind that computer and get your sources to trust you. Get them to take you and Sam to those letters. Because if that other firm comes up empty, we still have a contract and a fast timeline.”

  “That’s a tall order, boss.”

  “I gave this case to you because I know for sure you can handle it,” he said.

  It was a sincere compliment that I no longer felt I deserved.

  “I understand, I do,” I managed. “We’ll get it done.”

  “And, Freya?”

  “Yes?”

  “There’s no stronger pairing than the two of you together. Whatever is pissing you off about your partner, I highly recommend you get over it.”

  He hung up.

  “Remember when you asked me if this was fun?” I sighed, handing Delilah her phone.

  “Abe pissed?”

  “Pressure’s on,” I said. “Scarlett has a competing offer from an agency that swears we’re chasing our own tails.”

  “Maybe this will help.” She reached down into a plastic bag she was gripping, revealing a white carton of noodles from my favorite Thai restaurant.

  My hands flew to my chest in a swoon. “Girl, you didn’t.”

  She shrugged, looking innocent. “You’ve brought me a lot of noodles when I’ve been undercover. Can’t I return the favor?”

  I leaned against the wall, digging in with a pair of chopsticks she passed to me. My stomach grumbled—we’d been running around, and I’d barely eaten. “Thank you. You are the Hermione to my Ron.”

  “Meaning?”

  “You’re my soulmate.”

  Delilah grinned. “Don’t tell Henry.” She let me eat in peace for a moment, which I appreciated. I needed to figure out what the hell Sam and I were going to do. We had an invitation to an “event” tonight at Dr. Ward’s room, but I wasn’t even sure where Sam was.

  When I glanced up from my guilty reverie, Delilah was assessing me just as Victoria had done.

  “Noodle coming out of my nose?”

  She smirked. “Wondering when you first started thinking you couldn’t handle this side of our job.”

  I coughed on the spicy sauce. “Warn a girl before you take a direct hit, detective.”

  She crossed her arms. “And don’t act like you’d ever let me talk down about myself or my abilities. You’re my number one cheerleader. Why can’t I be yours?”

  “You are,” I promised. “But it’s okay to admit what your strengths and weaknesses are. Charming book thieves into giving me the information I need has never been my strength. I’ve never…” I looked down at my noodles, trying—and failing—to suppress a memory of the panic I’d felt during my undercover training. Sam was always alert and calm next to me, while I had to hide my sweating palms and labored breathing. It was hard to go from smartest person in the room to person most likely to fail. “I’ve never been good, Delilah. That’s your job. Sam’s job.”

  “When Abe hired me, he told me my partner was going to be the smartest undercover operative he’d ever met,” Delilah said. “Why do you think he reached out to hire you, and you alone? He didn’t call Sam. He called you.”

  “He knew I was probably looking for a job. Most Quantico washouts are.”

  “Leaving Quantico isn’t the same as not being skilled.”

  I shoved my glasses into my hair, rubbing my eyes. “I disagree.”

  “I’m merely repeating unbiased information that I’ve learned,” she said kindly. “Do with it what you will. But it’s intriguing evidence, don’t you think?”

  “You and Henry ever roleplay sexy cops and robbers?”

  She snorted. “Master evasion. Point to Evandale.”

  “That’s Birdie Barnes, to you.” I hugged her. “Thank you for the noodles. And the cheerleading.”

  “Keep us in the loop and be careful tonight,” she said. “I’m serious. You got duct-tape and zip-ties?”

  “I’m always packing that kind of heat.”

  “And where is Sam, by the way? I could hear Abe asking about him.”

  Never be best friends with a former police detective. They forget nothing.

  “Investigating,” I shrugged. “We were able to get into Birdie and Julian’s hotel room, which is conveniently located next to Thomas and Cora’s. We’ve both been using it as unofficial headquarters all day.”

  “So you’ve split up?”

  “Uh, we’re working different leads.”

  “I’m sure Abe already told you to work together with your partner, right?”

  “Yes, ma’am,” I said.

  “If you don’t kill each other, or kiss each other, you’ll do just fine,” she said.

  “Who said anything about kissing?”

  “Who said you two were subtle? And I’m still waiting on you to tell me the full story.”

  I had to suppress a laugh. “Okay, okay, I have to go. Important detecting business that requires me to don a cocktail gown and put on even more makeup.” I unzipped the black garment bag she was holding, peeked inside. It was a long, shimmery, gold-sequined number. Definitely un-Freya-like. “You put the yoga pants on under this, right?”

  “Birdie Barnes probably owns a single pair of yoga pants. And they’re the kind repped by Gwyneth Paltrow.”

  “Good character note,” I said. “I’m going to slip out. I’ll be—we’ll be—at this shindig by 9:00. We’ll radio in after that. Hopefully with the letters or a way to get the letters. Midnight or bust, I guess.”

  “Go get ’em,” Delilah said. “Remember what I said. You’ve got this under control.”

  But as I slipped out of the alley and back into the lobby, teeming with booksellers and thieves alike, I didn’t believe I had anything under control.

  Especially without Sam.

  20

  Sam

  I’d found a tuxedo at a bridal shop down the street and mingled through the book convention for hours. There were no jarring realizations, except that rare booksellers were a chatty and eccentric lot, and they’d talk to you about gilded edges without interruption. As Julian King, I questioned dozens of people about the George Sand letters.

  But learned not a single thing I could sink my teeth into. They were only aware that the letters were going to be featured in the new Sand biopic. A few times, I tossed out Freya’s code word—Reichenbach Falls—but if they answered in the affirmative, I was lost on what to do next.

  Suffice it to say, I was fucking frustrated.

  I refused to acknowledge why I hadn’t threatened Dr. Ward like I swore to Freya that I’d do. Tonight, I’d
ply the man with gin and tonics and scare him into handing over those damn letters. Then I was getting the fuck back to Virginia.

  With fifteen minutes to go before our mysterious meet-up with Ward, I stalked down the carpeted hallways leading to Julian and Birdie’s hotel room. The door opened, and there stood my irritatingly stubborn rival.

  “Sa-Julian, there you are,” Freya stuttered, as startled to see me as I was.

  Cora and Thomas are in there she mouthed, pointing to the room adjacent. I nodded my quick understanding and swallowed a massive sigh of relief. I’d been worried about Freya—yet another distraction.

  I took in her extraordinary appearance—golden hair in a sleek bun, dark lipstick, and a long, shimmering gold dress that clung to every illicit curve of her body. My frustration now competed with a scorching arousal—a dark desire in my veins, a temptation to take her by the wrist and drag her back to that hotel bed, letters be damned. She was slight, delicately curved, skin glowing from the reflection of those sequins. With her glasses on, Freya had officially achieved Hot Glamorous Librarian status, and it was fucking with my willpower.

  “I’ve been looking for you, Birdie,” I said, gaze steady on hers. “Are you ready?”

  “Ready as I’ll ever be.” There was an obvious shake to her voice. One ear listening for movement next door, I stepped close until our faces were inches apart.

  “Are you okay?” I asked, concerned.

  “Yeah,” she whispered. “I’m okay. How about you?”

  “Fine. I was doing my own thing.”

  “Same here.”

  My jaw clenched. “Did you achieve anything?”

  Freya glanced down the hall before pulling me behind the door, propping it open an inch. She crooked her finger, and I lowered my head so she could whisper at my ear. “The Alexanders messaged Birdie on the website, confirming that we need to go together to whatever this event is in Ward’s room. They’ll be here any minute. We don’t have much time.”

  Her soft mouth at my ear was wreaking a special kind of havoc on my nervous system.

  “Abe called,” she whispered. “Another firm approached Scarlett because a source told them the Sand letters were being stored at a location in New York. If they’re right, they’ll have visual confirmation by midnight.”

  “What?” I asked. “That’s not possible. They’re here. I feel it in my gut.”

  She pursed her lips. “I told Abe the same thing.”

  “This is bullshit,” I said. “That other firm is following a false lead. We’re this-close to finding them. They can’t compete with our brilliance.”

  Her expression was disbelieving. “Are you sure? Because I think our professors at Quantico would give our work thus far a C-plus at best.”

  “Nothing wrong with a C-plus,” I lied—and she knew it.

  “For you, maybe. I never got below an A-minus.”

  “And neither did I,” I said, smiling a little despite the mounting stress of the moment. Freya straightened the gold strap gracing her collarbone, fingers lingering. I tore my eyes away from the delicate hollow, only to catch the light pink flush in her cheeks.

  “So. Midnight,” I said, shaking the daze from my voice. “We’ll know who won.”

  “And we’ve still got a ticking clock regardless,” she said. “The letters need to be back in L.A. by Tuesday. If they’re wrong…”

  “We’re right,” I said. Her lips curved, competition sparkling in her expression. “Let’s compare what we learned this afternoon before they arrive.”

  She nodded. “I spent the afternoon reading past exchanges between Birdie, Julian, and other people in their inner circle. Messages between Thomas and Cora show a deep friendship between the four of us, although messages were deleted, and the remaining ones seemed coded.”

  “They’re fucking smart.”

  “Very,” she said. “Thomas legit thinks he’s cursed. He only speaks to Birdie about it.”

  Our faces were close—too close—ostensibly to whisper. But it meant I was surrounded with her scent of tea and cookies and much too tempted by the heat of her skin. Skin I had finally tasted.

  “I talked to Roy,” Freya continued. “He’s still pissed Julian and Birdie blew him off that one time he wanted to meet. I told him it was because the shipment was stolen.” She pushed onto her tiptoes to reach my ear—she wobbled, and I wrapped an arm around her lower back to steady her. She didn’t move away. I didn’t let go. Her breasts pressed against my chest, and my mouth dipped dangerously close to the curve of her neck.

  “Roy’s a fucking creep.”

  “I agree,” she said. “What did you learn?”

  She peeked through the one-inch door gap. Voices were growing louder through the walls. The second my lips landed at her ear again, she shivered—I felt it, felt her body’s response to my body’s nearness. I wanted to scrape my teeth and lick her throat and taste the curve of her neck.

  “I talked to Ward,” I whispered. “Someone’s stolen a book from him—he believes it’s a member from their ‘inner circle.’ He said he’d kill the person who did it.”

  “It’s all swagger,” she murmured. “Right? The man’s an archaeology professor.”

  “Roy has secrets, and no one seems to trust him. Ward’s on the hunt for someone who betrayed him. And Thomas is ‘cursed,’” I summarized. “What the hell is going on?”

  Her eyes were a kaleidoscope of changing greens. “I don’t know. But maybe”—she bit her lip—“maybe we could try this crazy thing called working together. And I’m only suggesting it because Abe’s pissed. He expected us to be together when he called, not gallivanting about on our own.”

  Abe was the magic word for me—but even as I was compelled to follow orders, I was also compelled to do things my way. It was like a boxing match happening right in my gut.

  “We’d have to agree on a plan though, and we can’t seem to do that,” I said.

  “It might be our only option,” Freya replied. “You did a good job. With Ward and all. Gaining his trust is vital.”

  “You look like you’re trying to swallow nails.”

  “It’s not every day I give you a real compliment.” Her brow lifted. “Okay, now you. Quick before they get here.”

  “That’s good info on Roy. And good info from the website. You’re an expert computer-whiz.”

  And incredibly beautiful.

  “Okay.” She blew out a breath. “Failing on this case isn’t an option for me. Is it for you?”

  “Failure has never been an option for me,” I said. “You know that.”

  Her face softened. “I do. Maybe this whole partner thing ain’t half bad. We can bicker in our off hours. You know, unwind a little. Drink a glass of wine. Piss each other off.”

  “But you love bickering with me.”

  “I don’t love it, you make me bicker with you,” she retorted.

  “That was a joke. You should try them.”

  Her answering smile was a slow, breathtaking reveal—it was silly Freya, the side I rarely got to see. “Another joke? That’s your second one today. What’s next…having fun?”

  “This isn’t fun?” I said.

  “You know it’s not.”

  “Don’t forget I also know when you’re lying to me,” I replied, giving her the tiniest grin. Her breath hitched, as if I’d surprised her too.

  “Running after a suspect down an alley and chasing them in a car did bring up a few nice Quantico memories,” she whispered. “It was practically a Norman Rockwell painting.”

  “We have nice memories.”

  “Yeah, like three.”

  “And I cherish all of them.”

  Another silly smile from her—bigger this time. Dazzling.

  But just like that, it dimmed. Replaced with a look that was half-seductive, half-nervous. “Is our almost kiss one of those memories?”

  Freya had no idea how desperately I wanted her, how fiercely I craved her body against mine. Even now, with su
spects six feet down the hall, I was inclined to fall to my knees in front of my gorgeous rival. Slide all those sequins up, up, up her thighs. Let my feverish fantasies direct every caress, every lick.

  “We finally agree,” I said. “Our almost-kiss is the very best one.”

  21

  Sam

  This was a hazy distraction from the intensity waiting for us right down the hall. But Freya’s beauty and that skin and her scent were a temptation I was struggling to resist. I was sure that my father would categorize wild, uninhibited sexual attraction as an emotion as useless as stress, anxiety, and panic. If a man wasn’t crushing his weaknesses—feelings—then he was beholden to them. This was a common refrain in the Byrne household—and so very different from my mother’s free-spirited approach to life.

  “You have your clutch? Your shawl?” Thomas Alexander’s voice echoed in the carpeted hallway, screeching through the intimacy of this strange, dream-like moment between the two of us. We were still half-wrapped together, faces too close. I coughed into my palm, stepped back, smoothed my lapels.

  Tried to force away my erection.

  “Yes, darling, I have everything. Oh, is that Birdie and Julian I see?” Cora trilled.

  “Oh, yes, hello,” Freya called out, disguising the tremble in her voice.

  We can do it, I mouthed. She nodded at me, exhaled. Winked.

  “We’re ready to go.” Freya opened the door wide, unleashing a megawatt grin on the couple.

  “Please let me apologize again,” Thomas said, taking Freya’s hand. “Our fear reduces us to blathering idiots in times of great unrest.”

  Freya demurred, but I didn’t fully buy his new nice-distinguished-guy act. Every action thus far indicated he was quick to distrust and quick to throw his weight around. But if Freya could rely on whatever connection they’d developed online, maybe she’d keep his confidence.

  “It’s truly fine. We’re all on high alert. And very glad to be in a community of our peers,” she said.

  The elevator doors slid open. Inside stood Roy Edwards and six other older, wealthy-looking people in tuxes and gowns. Three men even wore top hats and tails. They all greeted Thomas and Cora—and even Freya and me—with good cheer and a kind of buzzing excitement.