“I didn’t know that,” Abe said, forehead pinched.
“Not that many people do,” I said. “Sam and I had the misfortune of running our campus’s Criminology Club together. When we weren’t stuck in all of the same classes.”
We’d competed against each other for club president so viciously our classmates assumed we shared political aspirations. We didn’t. Our shared aspiration was winning.
“Our glorious leader does know that Sam and I spent four months together at Quantico before I dropped out.” I leveled Abe with a searing glance. His hands went up in surrender—then paused to pick an imaginary speck of lint from his pristine suit. “Funny you forgot to mention to either of us we’d be working together.”
“Didn’t see the need,” he said airily. “And besides, I would have hired Samuel whether you liked it or not.”
“Well, it’s certainly fine by me, sir,” Sam said, jaw clamped tight.
“And me as well,” I said swiftly. I avoided Delilah’s bemused expression—worried I’d crack beneath the pressure of it. My best friend still carried the bloodhound instincts that had made her such a remarkable police detective. Later, she’d be grilling me like I was a hostile suspect.
“Moving on,” Abe said, “there is one more piece to this situation that I have kept from the three of you. I taught Sam at Quantico, along with Freya. We worked together in the Art Theft unit my last year with the Bureau before I left to found Codex. As I was leaving, Sam agreed to bend a few rules to keep me apprised of what was going on in the world of rare book theft.” He nodded at Sam. “You technically all know Sam as my contact at the FBI.”
My blood chilled. Abe’s connection to the FBI was a legal gray area that Codex cheerfully operated in. There were certain things private detectives couldn’t pursue; we were paid by clients to retrieve stolen goods, not to bring criminals to justice. But if we stumbled into anything illegal we made sure to document it for Abe’s contact. It was a two-way relationship—sometimes when the FBI was stuck on a case, they shared details with us too.
Anything to get the damn book back, as Abe would say. And apparently that contact had always been Sam.
“Seems like we’ve been working together for a while now, Evandale,” Sam said. His blue eyes were dark, confident.
“Seems like we have,” I said, silently fuming.
“It makes Sam’s role as consultant an even better fit, given he’s been supplying vital information for some of our cases the past three years,” Abe said.
I narrowed my gaze at my boss—and he replied by holding out a second donut on a plate. “I know you take bribes in the form of cinnamon and sugar.”
I took the plate slowly, not sure if I was in the forgiving mood yet. My brain couldn’t process this new, glaring reality—the man I used to compete with all through school and during my training was suddenly sitting in the Codex office like he’d always worked here.
I felt like a college freshman again, instantly trying to prove myself.
How was that possible?
And worse, in the seven years since I’d washed out of Quantico, I’d ceased being a rising star. I was sitting next to a badass police officer, a rare book librarian who spoke four languages, and a former FBI agent so supremely talented that his leaving to start a private firm sent shockwaves through the industry.
Oh, and Sam, a highly trained and decorated federal agent.
Me? I was a glorified computer nerd with a love for wizards and baked goods.
“So now that we’re all on the same page,” Abe continued, “let’s get to work. I want our focus to be getting Sam up to speed on any open cases and figuring out how we’re going to work the book festival opening tomorrow. I want strategies.” He looked right at me. “And later, I want a summary from you of the new code words you mentioned.”
Sam’s stare slid my way, curious.
“And I want the two of you partnered on the next case we catch.”
I shook off the fog of Byrne’s irritating good looks. “What? Me and Delilah?”
“No. You and Sam.”
“You’re joking,” I sputtered.
Abe flashed a rare grin. “Come now. Have you ever known me to tell a joke? The two of you were expert partners at the academy. There should be no problem here, correct?”
Sam cleared his throat. “Actually, sir, if I may—”
“We’ll probably kill each—”
Abe held up a palm. “Scratch that. I wasn’t actually asking for anyone’s opinions. The next case that walks through those doors will be handled by the two of you. Together.”
The first day I met Sam, I was instantly wary of the arrogant jock who swore he knew everything there was to know about fighting crime. We were only eighteen, but he was already confident. Brash. Brilliant.
And fucking hot.
That first day we met, every brain cell had flashed the same word, over and over. Now, against my better judgment, I allowed my gaze to land back on Byrne’s. And there went my brain cells, agitated with a threat I thought I’d never see again, declaring the presence of my sworn adversary and all that he represented.
Danger, danger, danger.
3
Freya
My cursor hovered over a phrase that lacked gravitas but piqued my interest: We’re certainly looking forward to having an empty house this weekend.
It was probably a banal discussion of weekend plans, the type of thing work colleagues mutter to each other as they walk out of the office.
But I was pretty sure it was a fucking code phrase.
For the past three years, I’d worked as Codex’s resident computer nerd, using my skills to track down stolen manuscripts online. And the majority of that work consisted of using a website called Under the Rose. On its surface, it was a legal marketplace for private sellers and private buyers—they discussed gilded edges, conservation techniques, light restrictions for vellum pages. Using one of my many fake avatars, I witnessed sales of maps, books, letters, and illustrations.
Beneath the legal exterior was a murky world of thieves.
The world of antiquities was one of academic glamour and wealthy privilege. It was a world that operated on trust and handshakes and a shared passion for rarity. Which allowed a devious underworld to flourish, especially online. Identities could be hidden or forged, relationships were transactional, and bank accounts were difficult to trace.
Last year, I’d discovered a secret barrier on the Under the Rose site. A way for buyers and sellers to virtually wink.
Didn’t I once meet you at Reichenbach Falls? It was a Sherlock Holmes reference and not a well-known one. If the person replied “yes” then they could be trusted with an item that had been stolen. If they said “what the fuck is that?” then you moved on. Victoria Whitney—who’d been caught red-handed by Henry and Delilah—had responded to that code. As had her frenemy, Bitzi Peterson, and their co-conspirator, Alistair Chance.
We believed Bernard Allerton to be the original purveyor of this code.
Except now, I was convinced I’d found another one.
The next level of crooks.
“Thought I’d catch you here.”