Abe was silent. And when he didn’t answer, Freya reached back and squeezed my hand. “We get the damn book back.”
32
Henry
That night I dreamed of the heavens.
In my dream, I held the Copernicus. The ancient manuscript had intricate gold flowers woven through the pages. Their leaves grew around a universe sparkling with planets, orbiting a fiery sun. I had the strangest sensation that the pages were speaking to me, calling to me through the gilded edges.
Bernard appeared—briefly, muttering something about passageways. And when I woke—startled at 6:00 am, alarm blaring—my first thought was revenge.
My second—and more captivating thought—was about Delilah.
And by the time I made it to Codex, an incessant pulse was the only sound in my ears. Nerves, anxiety, adrenaline—the metronome was the same. A driving charge that compelled me up the spiral staircase, shoving the office door open with more force than was necessary.
The bang had everyone swiveling toward me. But I only had eyes for the blue-eyed woman with tape-wrapped hands, holding a punching bag mid-swing.
“Now that Henry’s here, we need to talk final plan.” Abe beckoned us into his office with one single finger. Freya scooped up her laptop, seven notebooks, scrap paper, and a handful of pens—looking more serious than usual.
Delilah picked up her notebook and pulled on her faded Temple University sweatshirt, biting her lip as we stared at each other.
“Hey,” she said, almost shy.
We hadn’t spoken about the closet, and I needed her to know that it hadn’t been only a sexy game to me.
I peered into Abe’s office, made sure they were thoroughly distracted. I reached for a pen in my suit jacket and grabbed the notebook from Delilah’s hands. I missed you last night, I scribbled. Turned it around so she could read it.
She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear like I’d asked her to the school dance. Her answering smile was a revelation. My fake wife took the pen—brushing our fingers together as she did so—and wrote, I missed you too.
“Are my field agents coming or am I having a meeting with myself?”
“Yeah, yeah,” Delilah called back. “We’re coming.”
I followed her into the office. The screen behind Abe’s head displayed a gigantic photo of Sven, of all people. Freya was perched on the edge of Abe’s desk, knee jiggling.
“Are we making a plan for tonight?” Delilah said, immediately composed.
Freya and Abe exchanged a look before he scrubbed a hand down his face. “Freya dug into Dresden, the company Victoria has hired to provide her private security. I’m assuming they’ll be there at the party tonight.”
“Absolutely.” Delilah nodded. “She’s completely exposed. It’s the smart thing for her to do.”
Freya clicked through a few images on her laptop—they popped up on the screen. Headlines about Dresden, a mug shot of Sven.
“I’ve been going over this case in my head all night.” Abe scowled. Cracked his knuckles. Glared out the window. “I believe I have backed us into a corner that none of you are going to like. Getting into her house is good. Having her show you her collection is even better. You’ll have your hidden cameras and can take pictures of anything you see out in the open. But I think we all need to admit that the likelihood Victoria Whitney shows you this book is very, very slim.”
I’d been so focused on getting to her house I hadn’t even considered this next part. Mostly because I figured Abe would have a plan.
“Then there’s the new information Freya found last night.”
“Dresden has made headlines recently for hiring trigger-happy maniacs.” She tilted her head at the face behind her. “Like Sven. Last year they were being paid by that singer, Winona Shine, as bodyguards while she was on tour. They shot into a crowd they thought was getting restless, injuring four people.”
“Jesus,” Delilah muttered. “And they’re still getting work?”
Freya shrugged. “They’re for the non-discerning customer that operates in the shadier edges of our society. I have no idea how Victoria came into contact with them, except that several of her wealthy peers have used them in the past.”
“Keeping up with the Joneses,” Abe said dryly. “If you’re going to hire private security, you want to make sure they’re the best. These guys, in a certain circle, are considered the best.”
“Sven appears to be a bit of a psychopath,” Freya said, “but as long as you avoid him tonight, I think you should be…okay.”
The worry lines around Abe’s mouth were concerning. “What are you trying to say?” I urged.
“Tonight, our best guess is that Victoria Whitney has orchestrated some kind of buy or transport for this book,” Abe said. “And she has 300 people at her house. Her security team will be strapped with weapons and eager to please their very rich client.”
Delilah appeared unperturbed. “I’ll carry my weapon if it makes you feel better.”
“Not in a dress and not with her guards watching everyone as they come through the door. Delilah Thornhill would not need to carry and conceal a handgun.”
Delilah sat back, fists clenching. “So say Henry and I are able to find the manuscript.”
“Highly unlikely,” Abe cautioned. The worry lines deepened.
“Just if,” she clarified. “If by some stroke of luck, Victoria says ‘hey you wanna see something neat?’ and it’s this goddamn book…you want us to leave it?”
Abe leaned across the desk with a grave expression. “If she shows you this book, take as many pictures as you can. Do not give yourself away as Codex agents. Leave the party immediately and call the police to report sighting stolen property.”
“But that means we’ll forfeit our contract,” Delilah argued. “And even if the cops get a warrant quickly, she could send the book out a back door with Sven. We could lose it.”
“We could lose it either way,” Abe said. “One way doesn’t involve my employees getting shot by a psychopath.”
Delilah blew out an angry breath.
“Delilah,” Abe said firmly. “What’s the most important thing? Always.”
I remembered having this debate with her -- how firmly she wanted Victoria to be punished.
“The manuscript.”
“Actually, it’s your safety,” he said, brow arched. “But yes, a very close second is the manuscript. I know you hate it. Fuck, I hate it. I’ve been up all night going over our options and I’m at a complete loss. We haven’t even touched transporting a 500-year-old manuscript out of a party. It’s not something you can wrap in a cocktail napkin and place in your purse.”
Freya was scrolling through pictures on her laptop, replacing the ones of Sven with interior shots of Victoria’s mansion. “At least if you get confirmation, I think it’s likely cops could come before she moved it.”
But Abe sounded less confident. “Henry, what are you thinking about?”
Delilah caught my eye. “I’ll admit, her violent guards are less than ideal. But it feels like a lot of work to let the book go.”