“Henry’s work,” Delilah demurred. “When he worked at the Central Park Library about five years ago. I was always embarking on some serious research project for the foundation, so I just had to have his help whenever I was in New York City.”
Her words jarred my memory.
“Every time she came in, I noticed her,” I said, slipping my hands into my pockets. “It’s hard not to.”
I contemplated Delilah’s profile, framed in the golden light of the auction house. A capricious tendril of hair lay against her cheek. And even though we hadn’t discussed it, I brushed it behind her ear.
“We’d talk about our favorite authors, the most beautiful passages in literature. I always knew I’d fall for a well-read man,” Delilah purred.
Victoria beamed and clutched her wine glass, enthralled. “You must have known.” Victoria laid a hand on Delilah’s arm. “Didn’t you?”
“Know what?” she asked.
“That he was your soul mate, of course, darling,” Victoria replied. “Was it love at first sight?”
But Delilah was saved from answering by the appearance of a hulking, military-looking man dressed in all black.
One of the guards from the other night.
Fear gripped me. Had we been identified as we ran through the woods, jumping over logs and narrowly avoiding tripwires?
“Oh, Sven,” Victoria said airily. “What is it?”
He said something low in her ear, and she shook her head dismissively.
“It’s about to begin,” she said. “Come join me, lovebirds. Sven’s gotten us seats toward the front.”
Victoria led us through a crowd of people desperate to get her attention, just like the other night. Items were beginning to roll out onto the stage, and the auctioneer was tapping her gavel against her palm with a vicious impatience. The room was a hive of wealth and gossip.
And as soon as we sat, Victoria clapped her hands together again. “Henry, I’m assuming a rare book librarian speaks French.”
“You assume correctly.”
She placed a catalog into my hands. “Read this for me.”
“Um…I mean, sure,” I said. Delilah’s thigh pressed into mine. As she read over my shoulder, an earthy, lavender scent floated up from her hair. I breathed in—pictured a field of wildflowers, Delilah in the sun.
Flipping the book open, I searched for the Gauguin letters and attempted to focus on the sea of French sentences.
Inhaled—thought of Delilah’s soft skin beneath this dress.
Exhaled—and caught Sven glaring at me.
15
Delilah
“Tell me what this says,” Victoria commanded. She tapped the catalog across Henry’s lap, opened to display the Gauguin letters.
He read it softly to himself, cleared his throat, and began to speak. Henry’s deep voice curled around the heavy French vowels in a seamless accent—the sound of it was like a bite of decadent dessert. I fluttered my eyes closed, let his voice slip through me. Whatever he was reading sounded as scholarly as it did filthy.
Would a husband like Henry do that for his wife? Whisper dirty words in her ear in four different languages?
He adjusted his glasses after he finished. “To be quite honest, this appears to be a letter regarding the dissolution of their marriage.”
“Divorce?” Victoria asked. “I thought it was a love letter.”
“There is passion here. But anger, not love.” He handed the booklet back to her. He was dressed in a light tan suit, collar open, no tie. The triangle of dark brown skin exposed there was tempting; his throat, his pulse.
Victoria was shaking her head, earrings dangling. “No, no. That won’t do. I can’t have that in my home.”
She began flipping through the booklet with Henry, asking his opinion on different items up for auction, which he gave willingly. So I zeroed in on Sven, Victoria’s terrifyingly large bodyguard, who’d been glaring at Henry and me like bugs he was looking forward to stepping on.
He couldn’t have seen us the night of the stakeout. If he had, and recognized us, Henry and I would be on the ground right now.
But still. His glare felt like a sunburn and it sent my mind spiraling toward possibilities.
“We have a few moments alone.” Henry’s mouth was at my ear like it had been on the night in the woods. “Victoria went to see Bitzi.”
I cast my eyes over—saw Victoria and Bitzi laughing uproariously.
“You can see how much they hate each other. It’s obvious,” Henry said.
His hand landed on my knee. I could feel the tip of every finger. “Are you okay, though?”
“I’m good,” I whispered. We locked eyes. “You?”
He nodded. “You gave more colorful detail about how we met than we discussed.”
“Just…reading the moment.” I kept my tone light but inwardly cursed myself. Getting swept up, pushing the boundaries—that’s how Mark had manipulated me. Convincing me to tap into unprofessional passions that were better kept locked away.
Henry’s thumb caressed the side of my knee. And up, just once. And just barely.
“She probably thinks you’re whispering sweet nothings into my ear. But we’re clearly arguing over those paint choices for our kitchen renovation,” I joked, reorienting my thoughts.
“Of course,” he agreed. “Do fake Henry and Delilah have fake kids? A fake dog? That’s something else we can bicker about.”
Victoria was moving back through the crowd—watching us with a swooning expression.
“I’ve asked you to mow the lawn three times this week, and you still haven’t.”
His laughter against my ear was a low rumble. I felt my cheeks flush. I liked making Henry laugh—it was a sound as joyful as it was sexy.
“What are you two giggling about?” Victoria admonished with a teasing smile.
“A funny memory,” Henry said.
I let out a big breath—this was for the case. The easy affection. The flirting.
This wasn’t the same as Mark.
“The auction’s about to begin,” Victoria beamed. “Do you have your bid paddles ready?”
Henry and I waved ours obediently as the lights dimmed. Like a switch being thrown, my bloodhound senses reared up. Maybe it was Victoria’s nearness. Maybe it was the presence of antiques and rare books being paraded around without adequate security. As a cop, there was a literal—and metaphorical—armor that helped me move through a space like this. Handcuffs and a badge could do a lot of damage. As a private detective, my vocation was to examine body language and look for clues in discreet nods, to move between worlds seamlessly without alerting others to my presence.
This room felt filled with secret handshakes and shadowy back hallways. Auction houses like the Shane-Arbor staked their reputation on verifying the authenticity and provenance of their items. And yet in the past two years, Codex had tracked down stolen books right to their doorstep. Which meant if Victoria hadn’t stolen the Copernicus—if all of this was one giant, colossal fuck-up on my part—the real thief could be in this room.
I accidentally locked eyes with Sven. He attempted his most menacing look, but I refused to turn away.