Delilah slid into the chair next to mine, gripping a mug of steaming tea. She’d found me at the True Hearts coffee shop—my favorite place in Philly to enjoy a dog-eared book and Earl Grey tea on rainy days. Sunny days too.
“Officer Barrett,” I teased. “Come to interrogate me?”
She shrugged an elegant shoulder, but her lips raised in a smile. “Figured you might like a little help on the summary you’re working on for Abe. I’m curious about what kept you up all night.”
I was comforted by her presence. Delilah was my best friend, my favorite stakeout buddy, and my daily hero. She was a beautiful badass—and watching her fall for Henry (and plan their wedding) had been too precious for words. But I also liked having her analytical brain when I was throwing out theories, seeing what might stick.
“And you’re not here to ask me about Samuel Byrne, right?”
“I mean, if he comes up.”
I bit my lip, knew I couldn’t avoid it. I’d left Codex a few hours ago—Sam had been deep in discussion with the rest of the team, and I was in desperate need of space. Everywhere I looked, his big, muscular body was crowding our tiny office. And every time I heard that gravelly voice, I kept tumbling back into memories I’d rather forget. Today was the third time I’d walked into a room and been shocked by the presence of Sam Byrne. It was some cosmic pattern I couldn’t break. The first was day one at Princeton, when his arrogance, paired with his too-handsome-face, was immediately aggravating.
The second time was day one at Quantico. I was 25, and three years had passed since I’d last seen Byrne at our Princeton graduation. Most people intent on being accepted to the FBI’s training academy spent a few years working in the field of criminal justice, which I’d done. And I knew about Sam’s FBI aspirations, knew his father was a high-ranking official for the Bureau who expected his son to follow in his footsteps. I just didn’t expect to walk into class and bump into Sam’s giant chest.
“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” he’d said with a full-on glare. I’d merely gawked, slack-jawed. Stunned into a rare silence. And then I was furious. Of course, there were only two seats left in the auditorium that day. Two seats next to each other. Which he and I had slunk into, heads down, then spent the entire class whisper-bickering with each other. As if those three years hadn’t passed at all.
Delilah prodded me with her finger. “Earth to Frey.”
I blinked, sighed. “If you let me babble on about my half-baked ideas, I’ll let you ask one question about Codex’s newest consultant.”
“Deal,” she said. She clinked our mugs together and settled back into her chair. “What’s the hot gossip from Under the Rose?”
I turned my screen to face her—the website itself was innocuous. It operated like Craigslist for rare books, with subgroups and the ability to direct message buyers and sellers.
“Do the names Julian King or Birdie Barnes mean anything to you?” I asked.
She shook her head.
“I’ve been fucking around in these different subgroups, learning their language. Seeing if any trends appear that Codex should be aware of. Searching for patterns.” I clicked, opening a screen where the discussion revolved around rare letters.
“Julian King and Birdie Barnes run King Barnes Rare Books in San Francisco. They’re always on this site selling extremely rare first editions, usually signed. Big-ass price tags.”
She cocked her head at that. “How much?”
“Half a million dollars. A million. Obviously, the transactions happen separately, but the price tags and the quality of the items sparked my attention.”
“Legal though, right?”
I fiddled with my bun, pressing wayward strands back into formation. “I think so? They claim to have letters of authentication, but we both know that can be bullshit. The thing about these two is they’re like…rock stars. The Beatles of rare books. They’re being virtually fawned over left and right, although not a single picture of them exists online. Nor permanent records, and I searched all night. Website and social media pages are bare of any identifying information, although they appear to be crazy active.”
Delilah sipped her tea. “Sounds like something a criminal would do, doesn’t it?”
I leaned forward. “That’s what I’m thinking. These two are shady as hell, so I’ve been tracking who they’re talking to, who they seem close to. Right now, it’s a couple named Thomas and Cora Alexander.”
“I do know them, actually,” she said. “They’ve got an antiques collection that rivals Victoria’s. Manhattanites with a penthouse overlooking Central Park. They’re on Henry’s shortlist of suspicious rich people that live on the East Coast.”
“Wait, really?” I asked, the wheels of my brain spinning faster.
“Really,” she promised. “The presence of the Alexanders plus shady booksellers is an interesting combination.”
I shoved up the sleeves of my oversized sweater. Tapped on the screen. “This group right here, the ones chatting about rare letters, they’re using code words when they speak to each other.” I scrolled through for Del, pointing out all the times they’d sprinkled the phrase house and empty house throughout their frequent messages. “It’s a subtle pattern but…I don’t know, it’s setting off alarm bells for me.”
She hummed a little, eyes scanning the screen. “People talk about their houses. Sounds innocent, Frey. Right?”
“I don’t think it is, actually,” I said. “I need to tell Abe about it. See if I can’t dig deeper and get to know the people in this group.”
“Do it,” Delilah said. “I trust you and your computer genius.”
“Who’s gonna make the office memes, if not me?”
“What you do is more than that, and you know it,” she said softly—she was always calling me out over our mugs of tea. “I think you’ll do great going undercover with Sam, should the occasion arise.”
“Sneaky bitch,” I smirked. “Is this your one question about our new consultant?”
I was almost grateful for the redirect. Admitting my fears and anxieties about going undercover wasn’t something I was ready to do. Especially not to a woman who was so damn good at it.
She tapped her chin. “Actually, no. I want to know if Sam was the man that changed you.”
“What are you talking about?”
Delilah set her mug down. “The night at the Copernicus exhibit, when I told you I had fallen in love with Henry, you told me you’d had an enemy at Quantico that you hated. That the feeling was so strong it changed you. Is that Sam?”
I sputtered through a startled laugh. “I must have been off my rocker, Del. Yes, Sam Byrne is the man I was talking about. But he didn’t change me one bit. The only purpose that smug asshole serves on this planet is to compete with me constantly. And piss me off. Sam’s a robot workaholic with no capacity for humor or joy. I’m not entirely sure why he’s here in Philly, but the sooner he leaves, the better.”
Her blue eyes danced with intrigue. “And you don’t love him?”
“Byrne?”