Henry let out a low whistle as I said, “Well, fuck me.”
Andrew looked directly at his son. “Samuel, fifteen million is the maximum amount I can get in that account. Will you be doing the bidding for the Sand letters?”
“I will,” Sam said.
“Bid smart. I’ll need a visual confirmation that it is, in fact, the George Sand love letters. Once your hands are on those letters, my agent on the ground will give the team the call to move.”
A heaviness settled throughout the room—an acceptance of what we were all about to do tonight.
“Do we know anything about their capacity for violence?” Andrew asked.
Sam and I exchanged a glance. “I think they could be a violent bunch, yes. But for the most part, it’s all talk. No action,” he said.
“Your getting wounded would be a nuisance,” Andrew said. “Please don’t.”
“Your concern is truly endearing,” Abe said.
Andrew ignored him. “I need to get to a meeting, but my staff will be calling shortly to coordinate. Do we need anything else?”
“No, sir,” Sam said.
Andrew nodded, then disconnected without saying goodbye. And I had to physically fight the urge to get up and wrap my partner in a hug.
“That’s your father?” Henry asked.
“He has a unique communication style,” Sam said. He slipped his hands into his pockets, affecting a relaxed stance.
“Sam’s father and I disagreed often,” Abe said. “If you couldn’t tell.”
Delilah hummed next to me. “He must have been pissed when you started Codex.”
Abe tugged on his cufflinks, but his lips were tipped into the tiniest smile. “Words were said, yes.”
Delilah squeezed my hand. “I’ll run point with the Bureau agents, get you set up with the earpieces. Henry can pull together information on any open cases we have. If the letters aren’t there, we should be on the lookout for anything hot and currently missing.”
Henry pushed his glasses up his nose. “I’ll pull together a list of any books we weren’t able to recover. We can even do a little light Sherlock Holmes studying, get you prepped for any additional code words.”
“Speaking of,” Delilah interjected, “we need a verbal code if the two of you are in direct danger and need rescuing.”
“What about help, we’re in danger?” I suggested.
“Something a little less obvious.”
“Mention the Copernicus,” Henry said. Delilah squeezed his knee—it was a reference to the manuscript they’d recovered from Victoria Whitney’s mansion.
Sam was nodding along. “Is that a Copernicus?” he tossed out. “Wouldn’t set off any alarm bells necessarily.”
“I like it,” I said. “Although I very much doubt we’ll be in danger. We need to bid, get the letters, have the money wired from the Bureau’s fake account, and get the hell out of there.”
“Without blowing our cover,” Sam added.
“You can do it,” Abe said firmly. “I meant what I said to the Deputy Director. They’re pretending like they’re doing us a favor. But they don’t have two agents with access like you two have created. You’re helping them.”
I let out a massive sigh, resting my elbows on my knees. My nerves sparked like little fireworks in my belly—a sensation that felt more like excitement than fear. Flush with sex-confidence and Sam’s newly garnered trust, I’d barreled in here and demanded Abe pull the trigger on this bonkers plan. A month ago, I might have wanted to be the undercover bad-ass, but I would have tamped it down. Now?
Sam stood next to me, and when I looked at him, I recognized what Abe had been trying to show us all along. We were stronger together.
We could accomplish anything—together.
Next to me, Delilah and Henry were already a blur of motion—talking through tasks in a verbal shorthand that betrayed the many levels of their intimacy. Abe crossed his legs, leaning back in that regal-looking chair. Our boss and former instructor pinned Sam and me with an intense stare.
“You were the most brilliant students I’d ever had the pleasure of teaching at Quantico,” he said seriously. “Even if one might have not completed the training in the traditional sense, there’s a reason why the two of you are right for this job. And right together.”
“Yes, sir,” Sam said hoarsely.
“Thank you, Abe,” I said softly.
“Do not let him get hurt,” Abe said to me.
He glared at Sam. “Do not let Freya get hurt. I want the two of you to sleep here for a few hours. Henry and Delilah can handle working with the Bureau. Is there anything else I need to know before tonight?”
I held up one finger. “Sam and I might have broken into Philosopher’s Hall.”
He sighed. “If I wasn’t impressed, I’d be pissed. Now go sleep.”
36
Freya
Sam and I were back at The Grand Dame hotel. Fifteen hours had passed—hours in which we’d both napped, fitfully. Prepped and strategized with Henry and Delilah until my brain felt overflowing with tactics. I knew every random factoid about Sherlock Holmes I could manage, had elite technology placed into my ears, and knew the floor plans of this hotel inside and out. All day, we’d monitored the Under the Rose site, but the only messages Birdie received were from Thomas, confirming tonight’s details. Meet us at our hotel room at 8:00 pm. We have your masks.
We strolled through the lobby beneath the long, white banner declaring the 60th Annual Antiquarian Book Festival. Past the lobby, I could see booksellers dismantling their booths and packing their historic tomes. How strange that Sam and I were about to enter a world where those same books were bartered illegally. The difference between the two was like night and day—the conference room blazed with light and good-humored chatter.
Sam and I were descending into a world much, much darker.
The ornate elevator doors dinged open, and we slipped inside. The doors closed, and we turned to face each other—our first minutes alone since we’d had insanely hot sex in the back seat of his car. Sam had the audacity to wear a white tuxedo jacket, black bowtie, black pants. Hair slicked back, jaw clean-shaven, eyes midnight blue. He looked like a superhero dressed for the opera.
I wanted to ravage him in this fucking elevator.
“Can you hear me, Frey?” Delilah’s voice—tinny on the earpiece.
“Loud and clear,” I answered. Surprisingly, my voice shook not a bit.
Sam touched his ear, head tilting subtly. “I can hear you,” he repeated. Henry was in his ear.
“We’re listening in on you both,” Delilah said. “Me, Henry, and Abe. The other agents.” There was a flurry of here, here, testing from the ten agents scattered in unmarked cars near the hotel.
Her voice was light, but I’d known Delilah for two years now. Her subtext was don’t say anything you don’t want our boss to hear.
I let out a grateful sigh. “Thank you. Knowing the three of you are close makes me feel like I’ve got magic powers.”
“Of course,” Delilah said. “We’re Codex. It’s what we do. And you are going to be amazing. You don’t even need magic.”
“We are amazing,” I said, smiling at Sam. His expression was impassive.
The elevator dinged as it neared our destination on the second floor.
“Time check,” Sam said loudly, glancing at his watch. “We’ll be at the Alexanders’ door in two minutes.”
“Got it,” Delilah said. “We’re going quiet now. But we’re on and listening. I’ll see you on the other side. With donuts.”
I was left with a low hum in my ear but no more voices. Even still, Delilah’s hidden presence provided the final piece of confidence I needed. Smoothing my hands down my gown, I exhaled. Looked up. Caught Sam staring at me with blatant lust. With a sardonic smirk, he pressed his finger to his lips. Pointed to his ear.
I shrugged. Gave him a funny twirl in my gown. It had come from Delilah’s never-ending closet of
gorgeous eveningwear. The black, clingy dress was cut low, my hair in a bun to ensure no one could spot the earpieces.
Sam took a giant step toward me. Paused the elevator right below the second floor. We came to a grinding halt.
“Time check—ninety seconds,” he said.
But he wasn’t looking at his watch. He was still staring at me.
Sam’s knuckle landed right on my sternum, bared by the dress. It dragged up the valley between my breasts. Slowly, slowly along the front of my throat, raising my chin. Our breathing was whisper-quiet. We couldn’t say a word but didn’t need to. For the first time in years, we couldn’t hide our truest desires beneath the armor of endless bickering. He dipped his head, coasting his lips over mine. Sweetly. Tenderly.
I pressed onto my toes, deepening the kiss. My arms wrapped around his neck, and his hands glided lazily down my spine. Our tongues met, mouths urgent, everything quiet. Instead of sexual frustration, this kiss betrayed our other, even more secretive desires. Not the sexual ones. It was every memory of the two of us filled with kindness, awareness, late-night jokes. It was caring, protection, real trust. It was the intimacy of knowing someone since you were eighteen years old, watching them grow into their honor, grow into their brilliance.
I remembered how young and boyish Sam had looked the day I brought him that cookie. We were just babies, barely twenty-five, but as he sat there, surprised at my gesture, I hadn’t wanted to fight with him or kiss him angrily. I’d wanted to stroke his hair, hold his hand, curl up on a couch and watch movies as I snuggled my head against his chest. This pure romantic yearning had stuck with me like a sharp thorn—a reminder that if I let Sam Byrne into my heart, there was no going back for me.
I clung to my partner, shuddering as we broke apart. He swallowed hard, ghosted his lips along my temple.
He hit the elevator button again. With a jerk, we started moving.
“Thirty seconds,” he said, stepping clear of me. His voice was still professional, but he kept our hands entwined until the doors slid open on the second floor. We stepped out, strode down the carpeted hallway. My heart beat wildly in my chest—even more so when Sam gave me one last wink before knocking on the hotel door.
Cora Alexander—resplendent in a silver gown—opened her hotel door immediately. At the sight of us, her hands flew to her mouth.
“Well, don’t you two look like royalty,” she squealed. Over her shoulder, she called out, “Darling, Birdie and Julian are here.”
To us, she dropped to a stage whisper. “And your masks are simply divine.”
Sam and I smiled at each other as Julian King and Birdie Barnes—rare book thieves, members of a secret society, undercover private detectives with federal agents listening in our ears.
“Oh, I can’t wait,” I said.
37
Sam
“Come in, you must be nervous,” Cora said, opening their hotel room door wider. Their room was even more ornate than ours, and they were both already dressed in their black-tie attire.
“We’re sorry about leaving so dramatically last night,” I said, catching Freya’s eye. “Dr. Ward was kind enough to let us slip out a side window. Birdie couldn’t go through the tunnels again.”
“Completely understandable considering your claustrophobia,” Cora said, waving her hand in the air.
“I trust you’ve ascertained the funding needed for tonight?” Thomas asked.
Freya and I nodded. “We are ready and prepared to take those letters home with us,” I replied.
Cora was busying herself with two masquerade-style masks. She brought a black and gold mask over to me, patting the edge of the bed. Amused, I sat, and she tied it around my face, covering the top half but leaving my nose and mouth visible.
Freya watched with barely disguised humor.
“How do I look?” I asked.
“Like the Phantom of the Opera but handsomer,” she said. “Tell us all about tonight’s festivities. Julian and I have been talking about it for ages. I can’t believe it’s finally here, and we’re actually about to attend.”
“Well, this evening is an opportunity for members of The Empty House to mingle with others who have interests that lie outside of societal norms,” Cora said. “The core eleven of us will be in attendance for the auction, of course. But rest assured, if you and Birdie have come looking for things that are more exotic, that will be available for purchase as well.”
I heard nothing but a low hum in my ear—pictured all of Codex and the team of agents listening intently.
“As you know, not everyone understands what we do or why we do it. But money is power, and we have both money and power. There should be no limitations to the breadth of your passions and desires. If you are wealthy enough to afford the rarest artifacts in the world, tonight is where you are allowed to purchase them.”
“Not enjoy them in a museum,” Freya said.
“Who enjoys antiques more? Antique-lovers or a bunch of snot-nosed children on a school trip?” Thomas sneered. “Our collection is legendary. Leaders and royalty from around the world salivate over the items of history we own.”
“It’s true,” Cora said. She presented Freya with her mask—black lace with a plume of black feathers off one side. “Can you see without your glasses on?”
“Not even a little bit,” Freya said.
“Pity.” Cora narrowed her eyes. “I guess I’ll have to tie it around your head with your glasses on.”
Freya made a non-committal sound but subjected herself to Cora’s ministrations.
“The masks are a symbol of our privacy and trust,” Cora continued. “In fact, the whole system is based on trust. We agree to protect each other’s identities, but if there’s a weak link, that system shatters. We’ve brought you into this circle. If you do anything to betray that trust, we will be in danger as well. It was initially described to us as a sort of mutually assured destruction. One member exposing another exposes us all.”
“Naturally,” I said, as calmly as possible.
“It’s important to know that you might recognize people here this evening, even with the masks on. Very powerful and wealthy people. Do not acknowledge them. Do not use their names. Do not use your own names.”
“Of course not,” I promised.
The black rims of Freya’s glasses only added to the intricate lace and beadwork of her mask. Her eyes were brilliantly emerald, lips a deep red, gown elegant and scandalous in equal measure. She fractured my focus even while standing in a hotel room with two known thieves—she was that striking. This woman had clung to me in an elevator—shuddering, sighing—not ten minutes earlier, and I’d been sorely tempted to keep kissing her. Keep undressing her, keep revealing the mysteries of her naked body. She possessed a seductive comfort, drawing me in, making me feel strong.
Which was the exact opposite of the conversation I’d had with the Deputy Director. How many times must I bail you out, Samuel? He’d made it clear that being under investigation usually made what I was requesting goddamn impossible.
But, he’d said, I’ve had them make an exception for you. I’m not sure how much more leeway I’ll be able to provide after this.
Abe had seen the situation differently, oddly enough. His view positioned Codex as the hero, positioned Freya and me as valuable assets doing what the agency wasn’t able to do—gaining vital, intimate access. Abe wasn’t wrong. And I didn’t know what that meant for my father. Or my future.
“I know I wasn’t making it clear last night at our dinner,” Freya said to Thomas, “but I really do understand the true cost of Roy’s threat of blackmail. For the four of us and for The Empty House. And I agree that we keep this information from Bernard. It only makes all of us look unreliable.”
Thomas glanced at me and visibly swallowed. “Yes, well, I’m still truly sorry for the way I behaved. I’m short-tempered at the moment.”
I gave him a respectful nod. But if he made my partner feel uncomfortable again, I wou
ldn’t hesitate to protect her.
“You wouldn’t be short-tempered if you hadn’t gone and told Roy that you’d stolen the Cervantes,” Cora snapped. All the air rushed from the room. Freya and I stayed silent, cautious of the couple’s unraveling. Tempers were always risky. But outbursts often led to gems of truth.
Thomas looked apologetic and then incensed. “A night of too much liquor and too much confidence I’m still paying for, I know.” He cast a sideways look at Freya. “The curse was already in full effect, however, before I even told Roy I’d stolen the Cervantes. Birdie knows that.”
“Roy’s blackmail is part of the curse,” Freya said soberly.
With an exasperated sigh, Cora swept into the walk-in closet and slammed the door. Grimacing, Thomas tugged on his bowtie. “I’ll admit I made a mistake spilling what I’d done to a trust-fund brat deep in gambling debt. But The Empty House made an even bigger mistake allowing him entrance into our club.”
Gambling debt did fit Roy’s personality—high risk, high wealth, high drama.
“To Roy, trust is a bargaining chip,” Thomas continued. “He’ll sell it to the highest bidder. Or use it against you, in the case of his threat. If Ward found out I stole his book or if Bernard found out we were being blackmailed, all four of us could be in real trouble.”
“We agree,” I said. “After the auction, we’ll need to make a decision about Roy immediately.”
“We’ll go with the plan that Birdie came up with,” Thomas replied.
“Of course, we will,” Freya said.
Cora strode back into the room, wrapping a cream-colored shawl around her shoulders with an irritated expression. “When we first accepted Roy, we were wary of his new money. His family connections were shallow and couldn’t hold a candle to the rest of us. But his other, more nefarious interests allow him to move within circles where many things we covet are more accessible.”
“Which did make him a trusted asset,” Thomas said defensively.
“Until he became our largest liability,” she argued. “I know our leader doesn’t care a whit about who wins those letters this evening. But it must not be Roy.”
Under the Rose Page 23
