I held her body steady as she peered down—felt her shock when she recognized it for what it was. We were balanced together, tilting back on the balls of our feet. Were there wires behind us? In front? I took rapid, shallow breaths, and beneath my arm, her body rippled with coiled strength.
A series of branches crashed to our left. Flashlight beams crisscrossed like spider webs nearby.
Delilah lowered her raised foot to the ground—gently. No sound. I let my palm drop from her mouth, but she was still pinned to me.
“Gun,” she hissed, wiggling her elbows against my ribs. “Henry, I need my gun.”
“Sorry,” I hissed back, for what felt like the hundredth time that night. I let her arms go, watched her grip the weapon with both hands—lowered at her side but ready.
The beams of light were definitely getting closer.
I yearned for the ability to read her mind, shoot a gun, do something other than continue to put us at risk. Every element of Delilah’s still, focused posture screamed hunter while I was bumbling around like prey.
With incredible balance, she pivoted toward me, avoiding the wire.
“On the count of three,” she whispered, “we run.”
She held up one finger, and an explosion of sound came from Victoria’s house. Sound and a blinding light.
Two. Her second finger went up.
The guards were perilously close.
She didn’t even get to three. We took off toward the car in a dead sprint, racing with arms pumping and legs flying over logs and leaves—and then jarring back onto the asphalt.
I tasted fear in my mouth, like old copper pennies.
But there was no denying the feeling concealed beneath the fear: exhilaration.
I didn’t dare look behind me as we reached the car at the same time, throwing open the doors and jumping inside. Delilah started the car and peeled away, tires squealing, and it wasn’t until we were back on the main road before either one of us truly exhaled.
“Please don’t ask me a Victoria question right now,” I managed.
Her knuckles were white against the steering wheel, but the rest of her was oddly composed, as if already anticipating the next step of the investigation.
“Who were those guys?” she muttered, dialing Freya. As the dial tone rang out, she chanced a whip-fast look at me before putting her eyes back on the road. “Henry, are you okay?”
“I’m absolutely fine,” I said, somewhat amazed. “A little confused. Slightly shaken up. But I’m not hurt. Are you okay?”
But before she could answer Freya clicked on. “What happened?” she asked.
As Delilah relayed the details of the guards, I fixated on her check-in with Freya—the easy way they communicated. There was a comfort there I admired—they were friends, partners, coworkers—all of it blended together in a way I knew Delilah and I would never get to. At least not for this case.
“Armed guards and trip wires,” Freya mused over the phone. “What is going on with our kooky heiress?”
“It could be the Copernicus. It could be something else entirely. We could have stumbled into a hotbed of perfectly legal activity.” Delilah bit her lip—looking nervous for all of a second before she stopped herself.
“Maybe the Thornhills could get her talking about it on Saturday,” I suggested.
Delilah drummed her fingers on the wheel. “I like that idea.”
I hid a smile behind my hand.
“I’ll talk to Abe and we’ll debrief tomorrow,” Freya said. “Get home safe, okay?”
“I’ll bring you more donuts tomorrow,” Delilah said.
“And that is why I’ll love you forever.” Freya clicked off and I saw the happiness in Delilah’s face recede—only to be replaced with a stilted silence.
“I’m sorry,” I said.
“For what?”
“Giving us away back there. Exposing us. I should have been more careful.” I had a feeling the sound of that breaking twig was going to haunt my dreams.
Her brow furrowed, but she didn’t respond. Finally, I said in my best Victoria voice, “Where did you and Henry go on your first date, my darling?”
She glared at me in disbelief and huffed out a frustrated breath. “Okay, fuck, you got me.”
“I’m giving you a hard time,” I said. Outside the window, the city’s skyscrapers narrowed down to brick rowhomes on cobblestone streets. “Do you want to try again?”
“Yeah,” she said. “Hit me.”
“Where did you go on your first date?”
“The art museum. Then out for drinks. I knew right away he was my…” She stopped.
“Your what?” I asked.
“Never mind,” she stumbled. “Concise. No details. We went to the art museum and out for drinks.” She parallel parked in front of my brick rowhome with the dexterity of a native Philadelphian. “You’re sure you’re okay?” Her voice was soft.
“Better than okay,” I promised. “I’ll see you in the office tomorrow.”
I was halfway to my door when she rolled down her window. “Henry?”
I turned back, crouched down at the car door so I could see her. “Did you forget something?”
“Yes, I mean, kind of,” she said. “It’s just…thank you. For grabbing me before I stepped on the trip wire. You were paying attention and I wasn’t. You had good instincts tonight. And uh…” She glanced down at the steering wheel. “You know everyone does things like that in the field. We can’t control what happens to us out there. Twigs snap.”
The surprise compliment dragged a smile across my face. “You were right, by the way.”
“About what?”
“You are a tough fucking teacher.”
That comment earned me a real smile from Delilah—full lips and a dimple in one cheek. “And you’re a quick fucking study.”
13
Delilah
It was late when I found Henry in his darkened office, surrounded by piles of open books and handwritten notes. I stood in the doorway for a long time before he realized I was there, so intently was he studying the words.
It’d been three days since we’d staked out Victoria’s house. Our debut as a married couple was the next day.
And in those three days, I’d almost managed to forget what it had felt like to be pinned against Henry’s hard body as my foot balanced over that tripwire. His hand over my mouth, his mouth at my ear, the threat, the adrenaline—it was a memory as erotic as it was romantic. Because Henry had protected me from danger, and I hadn’t experienced that in a long time. Watching him now—deep in thought, immersed in language—sent a spark of awareness glowing between my legs.
“You should go home soon. Get some rest,” I said—quietly, so as not to startle him. The lamp on his desk cast the only light.
“Delilah,” he said, turning to look at me. “I didn’t know you were still here.”
“Following up on a couple leads Freya found.” I shrugged. “None of them panned out. For better or worse, Victoria is still our main target.”
He leaned all the way back in his chair, rolling his neck. He’d shed his suit jacket and slipped off his tie, leaving his white shirt unbuttoned at the neck. “Come sit,” he said. “I’ll show you what I’m working on.”