“A very odd coincidence to meet here of all places, don’t you think?” Eudora asked. “Especially since Gertrude passed your message along. We most certainly did not make plans, although that was a brilliant way to learn my location this evening.”
Sloane didn’t blink. “Gertrude, the old bat! I was asking her to help me arrange plans for the future. A dinner or maybe drinks at a nice restaurant. Why would I be spying on you?”
“Maybe because you two aren’t Holmes-loving Americans but rather private detectives sticking your noses where they do not belong?” Eudora’s teeth were pointed as knives when she flashed them at us.
This time, Sloane and I held eye contact long enough to allow a brief connection to pass through. Which was, essentially, we’re fucked, time to go.
“I wish,” Sloane said breezily. “I’m an office assistant at a big insurance firm, as you know.”
“And I’m a lawyer, unfortunately,” I said. “I guess I’ve always wished I was a detective.”
“Funny that I’m so coincidentally bumping into the two of you, given what I’ve just learned,” Eudora said. “Peter had an eye-witness view to the two of you assaulting a man in an alley, which doesn’t seem like the kind of thing an office assistant and lawyer would engage in, does it?”
The snarling dog was out. I could see it now, what Sloane had said people’s descriptions of the real Eudora could be.
Sloane held up a solitary finger. “First, have you ever coordinated a staff meeting for forty-five people in an HR department, Eudora? Things get ugly. I’m no stranger to threatening people with violence. Especially when we’re going to serve cake.”
I repressed a smile.
“And secondly,” I added. “Devon and I were enjoying a nice drink at the bar before the bartender tried to roofie us and then have someone attack us in that same alley.”
“I don’t know what your great game is,” Eudora hissed. “But the Sherlock Society doesn’t need two ignorant Americans stomping about and ruining our club. If you’re going to start drama where there is none, you should get the hell out of this city.”
They were almost the exact same words that had been scrawled on the threats left beneath our doors at The Langham Hotel.
“If you know what’s best, if you know what’s smart, you’ll fly home back to your office jobs and legal degrees.” Her tone dripped with sarcasm.
“Ms. Atwood and I aren’t finished with our vacation.” I rocked back easily on my heels, half-tempted to whistle. “So we’ll be staying. Won’t we?”
I turned to Sloane, who was now holding her martini glass with exquisite precision. Her expression telegraphed a message I couldn’t decipher—but it felt like I needed to be paying attention to whatever plan she had brewing behind those eyes. Eyes that moments earlier had been staring into my soul like she was trying to memorize it.
“We will be staying, of course,” Sloane said, cheerful. “Should we get drinks again soon, Eudora? I enjoyed the time we spent together.”
For a moment, Eudora faltered. Then she steeled her spine. “No,” she replied. “If I see the two of you again at a Sherlock Society event, I will call the authorities.”
Sloane and I exchanged a glance. “Very well, then,” I said. “I’ll be prepared to greet the authorities at the next event. Devon, shall we?”
Her smile curved, pretty like a diamond and just as sharp. “We shall.”
Sloane splashed her entire martini into Eudora’s face.
Eudora shrieked, Peter cursed, and Sloane was moving through it all like an Olympic swimmer gliding through water.
I was powerless not to follow, reaching her in time for her to grip my wrist and move us through Midnight Apothecary. Guests were openly staring, the entire restaurant hushed as we moved around tables and made our way through the back door. Sloane flew down the spiral staircase, and I was fast on her heels. The street in front of us was silent, but there was a large, wooded park running next to the bar. The road across from that rushed with cars. Most importantly, taxis.
We didn’t even have to discuss the plan, although I had questions, so many questions: about the martini, Eudora, the bookstore owner, our cover. But I was tethered to my adrenaline, starting to run around the building with Sloane. If our cover was blown, and Eudora was responsible for the threats against us, I wasn’t comfortable with sticking around with nary a soul around.
“If we go this way,” Sloane panted, running. “We can make it to the next street—”
She hit a wall of a man.
Hit him hard enough to send her flying backwards, arms outstretched, scream muted at the last minute.
I dropped to one knee, caught her before she could hit the ground. The urge to protect her from any harm wrapped around my throat.
“You okay?” I whispered against her hair.
“Yeah,” she gasped. “Yeah, I’m fine.” I stood, lifting her easily. I kept my fingers wrapped around her wrist. The man’s shirt said Dresden Security, and his muscular figure wasn’t nearly as scary as the look on his face. I scanned him for weapons—a knife, maybe, in his front pocket.
“Can I help you, sir?” My tone was light. “You seem to have taken out my companion. That’s not very nice.”
“You didn’t get our message, did you?” His voice was thick. American.
“You left us a voicemail?” Sloane asked. The man’s nostrils flared in response. “Or like a text? My text messages are out of control right now.”
“We were told not to harm anyone,” the Dresden guard said. “Which is why you got a note instead of much worse.”
“GHB seems much worse than a note, frankly,” I countered.
The man glowered. “You are to leave London immediately.”
Sloane and I looked at each other. Shrugged. “I think not,” she said. “Thank you for the suggestion.”
She took off running, reading my mind.
Except the second she darted around the mountain man, another guard stepped from the shadows and tackled her to the ground.
She screamed.
My heart jerked like it was being torn clear of my body. Before I could make a move, the first guard punched me right in the fucking jaw.
27
Sloane
I didn’t see the blur of movement to my right.
Not until it was tackling me to the ground.
My attacker was built like a linebacker, but I’d trained well for this exact scenario. Distantly, I was aware the other guard had clocked Abe, sending him down. Fury lanced through me, white-hot and vengeful. I’d taken these classes to defend myself—from the past, from my present, from anything terrifying that might be in my future. I’d only ever considered my own personal safety to be the goal.
Now, I barely registered the linebacker landing on top of me. If the other guard hurt Abe, I was going to rip him limb from limb.
The linebacker was still on top of me, wearing a smirk I didn’t fucking appreciate. With my arms outstretched, I was able to scramble in my purse for my pepper spray. I turned my head, squeezed my eyes shut and nailed him right in the face, holding my breath to keep from breathing it in.
When he rolled off me with a snarl, I punched him right in the dick.
My lungs expanded, grateful for air, making me dizzy. The linebacker was yelping as I started to stand, watching Abe executing a complicated-looking series of Krav Maga defenses in his suit, with hardly a hair out of place. His expression was dangerous, revealing the FBI agent who’d trained for twenty years for situations just like that. The guard made another big lunge for Abe, who ducked easily then kicked the man in the side of the knee and slammed his palm into his throat. The guard fell back, gasping for air. Abe was staring right at me.
“Hey,” I panted. “Are you o—”
“Sloane, look out,” he yelled.
The linebacker backhanded me across the face. The force of it smacked me to the ground like a high-speed train. Stars catapulted across my vision, a searing he
at cracking across my face. Abe was sprinting toward me, and the guard was already standing over me, eyes streaming from the pepper spray.
So I kicked my leg straight up and caught him square in the groin again.
He collapsed.
“And… down he goes,” Abe said approvingly. He had me against his body in a second. He gripped my face with unbelievably tender fingers, examining the spot where I was hurt.
“It’s just a scratch,” I said, smiling a little. I touched the bruised skin around his jaw, and he winced slightly. The thought of Abe’s pain was unbearable.
“You?” I asked, struggling to keep my tone breezy.
“I’ve survived much worse, believe me,” he said.
The linebacker groaned, tried to sit up groggily. Abe punched him in the nose. Shook out his fingers with a quiet grunt. “Man’s got a face like a bank safe.”
The back door of the Midnight Apothecary opened, and Eudora and the bartender stepped out, spotting us. Eudora shrieked again.
Abe and I turned as one and raced toward the headlights on the other side of the park. I was wearing a short dress and high heels, and the twisting roots and trees kept trying to drag me down.
And my face fucking hurt.
A crashing behind us sounded a lot like the guards. Commotion, yelling, Eudora’s voice echoing through the night. A root caught around the tip of my boot, and I went crashing into the undergrowth.
“Shit,” I cursed, hitting hard and back on my feet a second later. Abe gripped my arm, turned behind him, then back at me.
“You won’t like this,” he said.
“What?” I gasped, bent over at the waist.
I was deposited on his shoulder like a sack of potatoes. “We’re close to the street, and I think this might be the fastest way,” he said apologetically.
I looked out, saw my linebacker muscling towards us with pure fury radiating from his brick-like shoulders.
“Run,” I said, too scared to think of my pride and the fact that I was having to be carried like the fainting maiden I wasn’t. But Abe was strong, his body moving through the woods and toward the street like a track and field star. We lost the guards, reached the road, and my arm was already waving in the air to hail a cab before my boots hit the concrete.
“You’re the only man I’ve ever let carry me,” I said, grinning when a black cab squealed up to us.
Abe passed a hand through his hair and opened the cab door like a gentleman. “Your chariot.”
With a smirk, I jumped inside and pulled him in after me. “Langham Hotel, please,” I said to the driver.
“And I feel it important to note I feel grateful you allowed that to happen,” Abe said. “I promise it was more out of concern for you breaking your ankle than a belief that you can’t handle your own. We only have to ask Goon #2 how his face and groin are doing.”
I huffed out a short laugh, let my head fall back against the car seat. Gazed at Abe, who bore a similarly surprised expression. “So I think our cover’s been blown, what do you think?”
He rubbed his mouth. “Yes, I believe you may be right.” Reaching forward, he plucked a small twig from my hair, a leaf from behind my ear. I tugged at the knot around his tie, centering it.
Beneath the adrenaline and the sharp bite of fear, my body remembered what we’d been doing right before this evening had taken a more dangerous turn. I had not an ounce of shame about what I’d been prepared to do to Abe in that bar—couldn’t find an iota of regret for wanting to fuck him on the couch. It would have been all too easy to free his hard cock, shove my underwear to the side, and ride him until pleasure overtook us both.
In the cab, he cupped my face with both hands again, long fingers sliding against my scalp. I leaned my cheek against his palm for one final second. Being touched by this man just felt so good. I was literally helpless to resist him. And I wasn’t a woman who was generally helpless.
He leaned in, wrapped his arms around me, and kissed my forehead for a perfect few seconds. “I was terrified you had been hurt, Sloane,” he whispered. “I’m not used to the way it affects me.”
I basked in this display of raw, human tenderness. My body seemed to crave this even more than our passionate make-out back at the bar. Words froze in my throat, refusing to be spoken aloud. I did wrap my arms around his neck and held on tight, giving Abe Royal a long hug. After a full minute, I pressed my lips to his cheek, once, twice, three times. His fingers flexed along my spine, keeping me close.
This chemical attraction between us had almost cost us catching Eudora in the act of meeting Peter Markham. And it had definitely contributed to every single misstep right after, including being surprised by the guards. Our devastation was leading to dangerous distraction. So with monumental effort, and labored movements, I eventually untangled myself and reached into my purse, revealing the real reason why I’d tossed my drink in Eudora’s face.
“Sticky fingers strike again,” I said, holding out the piece of paper in the gold wash of streetlights filtering in through the windows.
“What is that?” Abe asked.
“It’s whatever note Eudora placed in her pocket from Peter,” I said. “We may have gotten a bit too distracted—”
His mouth twitched.
“—but this might be a helpful piece of the puzzle.”
He took it, then proceeded to stare at me like I was a miracle. “How?”
“I watched her place the note in her pocket. I splashed the vodka into her face and used the momentary confusion to snatch it right up.” I turned my index and middle finger into a pair of scissors, pinching them together. “It only took a second.”
He opened it, peeling back the pages. In big black ink, there were a few scrawled lines. JP is a yes. Irene says we’re a go.
“I don’t know what the hell any of that means,” I said slowly. “Except doesn’t this handwriting look familiar to you?”
I reached into my purse and pulled out the threat we’d both gotten. I’d kept it in there for this kind of moment. Side-by-side, it was obvious they were a match.
“I’ll be damned,” Abe drawled. “Either Peter Markham wrote that threat or is taking messages for the person who did.”
When we pulled up to The Langham Hotel, two firefighters were walking out of the lobby and back to a truck with flashing lights. Groups of people stood huddled in corners, and I saw hotel staff rushing around with blankets and bottles of water.
“Interesting,” I said slowly, glancing at Abe. We paid, exited the cab quickly, only to be immediately rushed by two important-looking staff members.
“Ms. Argento,” the one man said. “Mr. Royal, we’re so glad you’re here. We weren’t sure—”
“What happened?” Abe said sharply.
The man escorted us into the lobby, past groups of people—and gasped when he saw our faces. “Dear god, are you alright?”
“One hell of a baby shower, trust me,” I said. “Now what’s wrong? Something with our rooms?”
“I’m so sorry to tell you two small fires began in your hotel rooms about an hour ago,” he said. Alarm bells exploded in my brain. Abe was gripping my wrist. “No one was hurt, the fires didn’t spread, and the brigade got here quickly enough, thank heavens. Seems like faulty wiring with one of the lamps in your room, Mr. Royal. The spark caught and spread to Ms. Argento’s room, unfortunately. The sprinklers went off, and while they did their job, I can’t speak for the state of your laptops and other items.”
Abe’s fingers tightened on my skin. I knew his mind must be racing at a sheer gallop as quickly as mine.
“The police will investigate, of course, and in the meantime, we’ve been gathering your items and getting you new rooms, and obviously the Hotel will pay for everything, and I mean everything. We will spare no expense, and please know we feel positively dreadful about all of this.”
“Especially since we were also threatened just last night,” Abe said. “I would find it hard to believe these two sit
uations are separate or random.”
My fingers were flexing open and closed, adrenaline starting to shiver up my spine again. I didn’t yearn for these threats, yet each one was another clue, another lead, another tie to Bernard’s anger at our existence. Regardless of whatever this manager or the police believed, Abe and I knew this was no coincidence.
“Of course,” the manager said, looking seconds away from fainting. “Both our security and the police are conferring as we speak and will be by shortly to take statements.”
“Can we see our things first?” Abe asked. “Privately?”
We were ushered into a small side room by a group of apologetic staff—but Abe was having none of it. “Sloane and I need to look through our things without interruption.”
The manager nodded and said, “I’m so sorry, I didn’t realize you… knew each other?”
“Yes, we do,” Abe said curtly and slammed the door in his face. Exhaled long and slow before finally turning around and making eye contact.
“Before we evaluate what happened, I need to tell you something,” he said. “The guy, the guys, who attacked us were wearing shirts that identified them as Dresden Security.”
I cocked my head. “Why do I know that name?”
“I’m sure you’ve come across them in your travels as an investigator,” he said. “They’re a private security firm favored by the extremely wealthy and the extremely criminal, often overlapping. They’re trigger-happy and more than willing to do their worst if a client asks. They have been used by Victoria Whitney, Dr. Ward—”
“—and let me guess, Bernard,” I interjected.
His nod was grim. “That night, with the bartender, I think our attacker was Dresden.”
I ran my hand through my hair, stared at our wet and watery clothing. “And I bet those same guards did this, don’t you think?”
“Absolutely,” he murmured, coming to stand next to me and staring at all of our water-damaged items. He picked up his laptop, which was as drenched as both of mine. My files had curled in on themselves and were soggy to the touch. All of the pictures splattered and ruined. I tried to turn my laptop on—a fruitless endeavor that had me sighing with real frustration.
In the Clear (Codex Book 3) Page 19
