The words tumbled out in a blaze of honesty—I couldn’t stop thinking about Bernard, fleeing into the night. Victoria, getting away with a crime because of her wealth and prestige.
When did my priorities start shifting?
“We’re not letting it go,” Abe said. “We’re ensuring it gets recovered regardless. That’s our job.” He pinned Delilah with a steady look. “We are not the police.”
A cavernous room appeared on the screen—high ceilings, crystal chandeliers, scarlet carpet running the length of it. It smacked of high society and ostentatious wealth, with gold filigree and nineteenth-century portraits of royalty.
Passageways. There was that tug again—the memory of Bernard, taunting me in my dream. What was it?
Delilah shifted in her chair. “What do you think, Frey?”
Freya glanced up from her laptop, sliding her glasses up her nose. “We’re bumping up against a deadline we have no control over,” she said. “If we had another week, two weeks, I think you and Henry would have been able to build up the kind of trust you’d need to get her to show you that manuscript. I mean, in some way, the way she acts around you, I believe she wants to. Henry is a renowned expert she wants to impress, and she’s clearly obsessed with him. I believe we would have had a real shot of her showing it to you if we had more time. But we don’t. We have this party and a team of armed maniacs potentially guarding it. It’s too risky.”
An understanding look passed between Delilah and Freya—and Delilah sank backward in her chair, shoulders slumped. I’d never seen her look defeated and I found I didn’t like it. It made me want to drop to my knees, tell her everything was going to be okay. The desire to comfort her was sudden and overwhelming.
“Okay,” she said to Freya. “I hear you.” She turned to Abe. “And I understand.”
“Do you though?” he pushed.
“Yes, I do. And I would never put my partner at risk.”
Even in this office, surrounded by our coworkers, the look in her eyes revealed her faith in me, in us. The knowledge of that had my heart bruising against my ribcage.
But now that we’d finally gotten there—to this point of real trust—we were charging ahead into a situation with our hands tied.
“Is that Victoria’s house?” I asked, directing our conversation to the pictures on the screen. Every time I looked at that room, I felt that mental pinch.
“It is,” Freya said. “Victoria had this house designed in the Tudor style—this is the great room. And it’s not even the biggest or nicest room in that house. But I’m guessing it’s the one she uses for parties so I wanted you to see what you’d be stepping into.”
There was a wall of curved doors off to the right-hand side. They were painted in gold. “Do you know where those lead?”
Freya clicked through more pictures. “These are from a profile the paper did on her home a few years ago. So I’m not sure exactly where they go.” There was a picture of a massive library with four fireplaces and bookcases so high they required a ladder. Victoria was leaning against the case with her arms crossed and a secretive smile. Freya clicked: a professional-looking kitchen. A courtyard garden. An indoor swimming pool. A long, carpeted hallway.
The memory suddenly sparked to life: Four, maybe five years ago. Bernard and I preparing to give a tour of the McMasters Library special collections. I was handling a first edition of The Hound of the Baskervilles, which happened to be one of Bernard’s favorite books. The students were in training to be librarians—Bernard was a true celebrity for them. And he was watching me examine the manuscript with a careful eye.
As I placed the book gently on a soft piece of velvet, his expression took on a wistful gleam.
“I once knew a woman, Henry. A lifetime ago now. And she loved books so much she built secret hallways to hide her favorites.”
Secret hallways.
“Are you okay, Henry?” Freya asked. “You look like you’re chewing on something juicy.”
I was okay—and I didn’t know if this random memory that had been bugging me was juicy or not. But it wouldn’t leave me alone.
Delilah’s spine was still curved forward, mouth set in a flat line. My partner would know what to do with this information—would know how to follow the scent to the end.
“I’m fine,” I said, tucking the memory away to share with Delilah when we were finally alone. “Just a little nervous about tonight.”
“I think we all are,” Freya said. “I’ll be on the walkie with the two of you on the ride out there, giving you any updates we might have. Abe and I will be ready to talk to the police if you get eyes on the book or any other suspicious activity. And Dorran will be poised for a quick getaway, should it be needed.”
Abe and Freya kept talking about tonight as if a literal gunfight was an inevitably. My eyes strayed to Delilah, her calm presence. The strength I knew she possessed, the power. I’d never do anything to put my partner at risk. I tried to imagine the man I’d been three months earlier—my days of silence and ancient pages; my nights of elegant dinner conversation and European streets.
There was no point in even making a comparison.
Abe pinched the bridge of his nose, exhausted. “How do we all feel about this?”
“Guilty,” Delilah said. “I feel like I rushed us into this mess, and now we’re at the end of our rope before the extraction has even been attempted.”
“Don’t,” Abe said. “We’ve certainly gotten ourselves into stranger situations. Tonight will be…interesting. You’ll read the room. Play off of Victoria’s vulnerabilities. See where it gets you.” He studied the both of us. “And you’ll get home safely.”
We both nodded.
Freya attempted a cheery smile. “Now let’s eat our feelings and get you two dressed up for a fancy party.”
33
Delilah
An hour before Dorran was set to arrive, Freya walked into the tiny office that we shared and closed the door behind her.
“I brought you a present,” she said. “Also, what are you doing?”
She placed a small package, wrapped in tissue paper, near the black heels I was planning on wearing. She grabbed my shoulders and spun me toward her.
“My eyeliner,” I said. “And I love presents.”
Freya shook her head, plopped me into the closest chair. “Let me do it for you. It’s smudged all over the place.”
“That’s because my hands are a little shaky,” I said.
She made a humming sound beneath her breath and gripped the pencil. “Well, it’s a big night. Lots of nerves. Look up for me.” I did, enjoying the gentle comfort that came from having your friend do your makeup for you. “You’ll be fine, though, for the record. You and Henry will attack whatever problems might arise tonight.”
“That’s true,” I said, wondering which problems she was referring to. There was a current tie for how will we recover this book and am I developing feelings for Henry?
Both were the reason for my smudged eyeliner.
“I’ve never seen Abe admit failure like that,” she said, voice quiet.