I analyzed the teasing lightness I had in my chest whenever Sloane was around, the desire to show her things, tell her things, whisk her away to wild and exotic vacations. “Very much so,” I said—voice rough at the edges. I slipped her dress up her thighs, over the swell of her ass, along her ribcage, rising rapidly with breath. At her bare breasts, I moved the fabric softly over her hard nipples, tying the straps behind her neck.
She looked down at herself. “How do I look?”
“You are the most enchanting creature I have ever seen,” I said. I bent down, kissed her cheek. “Chaos personified.” Hands on her shoulders, I turned her toward the mirror so she could see herself.
“What I can’t figure out,” I continued. “Is why I’m craving this type of chaos for the first time in my life. My life was strict order before you came along. I can’t get enough of you.”
I smoothed my arms around her waist and kissed her throat.
“Racing headlong into passion is something I’ve never done before,” she whispered. Sloane and I weren’t the kind of people who eagerly shared their feelings. I recognized this as a verbal sidestep to ‘I like you a lot.’
“I’m happy we’re racing together,” I said, knowing she’d understand my own sidestep.
“I think whatever this is,” she said. “Is different. It’s why it feels so important.” She swallowed, paused. “So… life-changing.”
Talk about a gift I never wanted to stop opening—Sloane’s shy vulnerability was enough to repeatedly bring me to my knees.
“Tonight,” she continued. “Whatever happens, we do it together. Like we said.” She held my hands tightly.
“Together,” I promised. “And I’m still here, chaos and all.”
“And I’m not going anywhere,” she whispered.
43
Sloane
At 8:01, the Codex team were in their positions. Abe and I strolled casually down Baker Street on a fake date. Henry played the role of lonely academic at the pub across from Adler’s. Delilah was an American auction fanatic, excited to meet bidders at Kensley’s. And Sam and Freya were literally hiding in the shadows of the parking lot.
The night had a liquid dream-like quality to it. A brief respite from the rain had the clouds overhead dispersing, revealing the moon. It seemed like everyone in London was out, enjoying the nice weather, as Abe and I kept tabs on the Sherlock Holmes museum. Which was dark, empty, and closed.
“Don’t forget to breathe,” I said to the exquisitely handsome man next to me.
“Hard to do when you’re around, Ms. Argento,” he murmured.
I touched my hot cheeks. “Oh my god, was that a line?”
He made a show of turning casually toward the museum, checking things out. “See? I’m fun.”
We shared a quick smile before getting back to the business at hand. Abe Royal slowly dressing me like I was a priceless artifact was an experience I would never be able to forget. My body had never felt so achingly alive, so seen and revered. It had propelled me to speak the truth, to step out on the tight rope of my emotions regardless of whether or not he followed.
He had. I’m still here, chaos and all.
What happened after tonight was a conversation we’d yet to have, but all I needed in that moment was confirmation that this intensity was gripping us both equally. Over seven days, I’d gone from concealing my name from this man to sharing secrets that had never seen the light of day. I hadn’t burst into flames either or gone running back into the shadows.
I wasn’t them.
My parents wouldn’t have partnered with Abe in the first place, let alone risk cold hard cash to do the right thing and call the authorities. If Argento Enterprises was going to continue to flourish the way I wanted, then recognizing I was truly on the right path was as vital as scoring big clients.
Our phones buzzed at the same time with a text from Sam: Julian and Birdie just arrived. Delilah, I’ll text you a physical description and what they’re wearing.
Abe gave me a short nod. We walked around to the back of the Sherlock Holmes museum, noticed nothing out of the ordinary.
“Maybe this wasn’t the right place for us to watch,” he muttered.
I wasn’t so sure either. We were trying to stake out all the suspicious places where Bernard could be hiding, but the museum seemed absolutely uninhabited—at least from the outside.
Another text at 8:10 came through, this time from Delilah: I see Julian and Birdie. I also see Humphrey and Eudora. Auction starting soon.
A minute later, Henry’s message indicated that Adler’s was also closed. No other suspicious activity. Abe’s entire body was tight and practically shaking with nerves. We kept walking, looping back around, until I directed us to a nearby bench.
Auction starting, Delilah said. Julian is coming in hot with the bids.
“Dammit,” Abe said. “They’re the key, right?”
“Except they’re legitimately purchasing these papers,” I pointed out. “They’re not the thieves. Although maybe Bernard is paying them to do this, then we catch them in the hand-off to Bernard.”
“Or they’re the distraction,” he said softly.
I crossed my legs, draping the fabric around my heels. “Did we ever settle on what the final piece of that paper meant? Irene says it’s a go. Who is Irene?”
“A member of the Society that we never suspected, perhaps?” he suggested.
“I checked,” I said. “The whole list of all the members. It feels like a symbol or a secret message or—”
Abe looked at the museum before turning to me quickly. “The Sherlock Holmes story A Scandal in Bohemia has a character named Irene Adler. The woman. Not a romantic love interest, but the woman that bested Sherlock and captivated him with her wit and cunning.”
A thousand lightbulbs exploded over my head. “Shit, that’s right. I remember this story. The Society members have a significant love/hate relationship with Irene Adler.”
“I’m going to guess Bernard loved her,” he replied.
I clapped him on the arm. “Adler’s Bookshop. Irene says it’s a go. Something is going to happen there.”
Abe leaned forward, elbows on his knees, and gave one last look at the museum. “Okay,” he finally said. “I think you’re right. Let’s move.”
We both stood as our phones rang out with another update from Delilah. Bidding went fast. Julian and Birdie are the winning bidders at $6 million. They’re being swarmed by a lot of people, including the media. They don’t look very happy about the number of news cameras here.
A beat later, from Freya: We’ll stay outside, grab them when they finally head to the parking lot.
“But what are they—” Abe started, until his phone rang with a call from Henry. He placed it on speakerphone immediately, pulling me in close.
“What is it?” Abe said, tense.
“The second Delilah told us they’d won, every single light in that bookstore came on,” Henry said, voice barely above a whisper. “The person flicking on the lights was Peter Markham. And, Abe, listen, this sounds bizarre, but I think I know why we recognized him.”