Behind the Veil

by Kathryn Nolan

  “You’ve been spending a lot of time with that new couple,” Bitzi said. “The handsome one?”

  Victoria was smug. “Henry and Delilah Thornhill, yes. They’re quite the treasure.”

  “He is unbelievably handsome,” Bitzi said, shaking her head.

  “They’re very much in love,” Victoria said, eyes dreamy. “I believe they’ll serve us well in the future. They’re fans of the falls, as you know.”

  Delilah went ramrod straight. Behind the two of them, the party was in full swing.

  Bitzi dropped her tone. “Have you heard from him recently?”

  She didn’t say who the him was—but I had a guess. They shared a knowing a look—and then were interrupted by Sven lumbering over, looking pissed as hell.

  Fuck. How many minutes had it been since Delilah incapacitated that guard? We’d been wandering around these hallways with no sense of time.

  “Ms. Whitney?” he asked. “We, uh…we have a problem.”

  Victoria glared at him. “Interesting, since I pay you an exorbitant fee to have no problems.” She cocked her head and Bitzi fled the scene.

  “The two people you let into the library? They’re missing.”

  Victoria stroked her martini glass with one manicured talon. “Well, where could they possibly be?”

  Sven leaned in as Delilah and I inhaled as one.

  “Do they know about the library?”

  Understanding flooded Victoria’s features. “They’re not… I mean, they couldn’t possibly…” And then she straightened up. “George should be manning the entrance, so if they did figure it out, he’d have them trussed up like pigs by now,” she said, tone icy.

  Sven gave a tight nod and left.

  For a single moment, unaware she was being watched, Victoria placed an adorned hand at her throat. Her fingers were trembling, just slightly. Compassion—or maybe sympathy?—twisted through my veins. But before I had time to analyze it, Delilah was already yanking me down the hallway, and we were running. We took a right, then another right, the walls seemingly closing in as they grew darker, the wallpaper a mocking red.

  And the walls became books.

  All the way down the damn hallway—built-in bookshelves from floor-to-ceiling, spilling over with them.

  “Oh my God,” I whispered. Bernard had been right. Victoria had built a second library into these hallways. Her favorites. There were children’s books here, contemporary novels, spy thrillers mixed in with antique-looking classics. They weren’t arranged perfectly like the previous library but placed haphazardly, with no discernible organization.

  On one of the walls hung a black-and-white photo of a young woman who looked a lot like Victoria. She was reading to a group of small children. The inscription on the frame said Celeste Whitney.

  Victoria’s mother. The woman whose head was filled with figures.

  Delilah stared at me with wide blue eyes, fingers on the shelves. Her head tilted back, way back, to take it all in. The ceiling was painted like the Sistine Chapel, but instead of angels and gilded clouds…it was the universe.

  And in the center: a blazing sun.

  For a moment, I forgot my adrenaline, forgot my fear and could only bask in Victoria’s beloved novels. A true book lover like me. How could two people be drawn to the same passion—but embrace that passion from two different sides of the moral compass?

  The silence was shattered by the harsh sizzle of another radio. We froze like wild deer, trapped in car headlights. Static sounds crackled—to the front? Or behind us?

  “Nothing here, though,” came a deeper voice at the very end. “I think Sven’s losing it.”

  Delilah’s arm shot out, pushing me behind her. She grasped the gun, holding it low in front of her.

  “No one’s come for it. We’re all set for the transport tonight. We gotta get these—”

  I watched Delilah turn the corner and surprise yet another bodyguard. Bigger than Sven, he was just startled enough to reach for his gun two seconds slower than she did.

  With steady arms, she held the gun up to his face.

  “Hey there,” she said.

  From his hip, the radio crackled with voices.

  “She’s got a—” the guard started. He shut up when Delilah cocked the weapon and pointed it right at his crotch. He raised his arms with a sheepish expression.

  The radio voices were shouting now, and the hallway filled with a red, flashing light.

  But Delilah was cool and collected.

  “What’s this?” she asked. For the first time, I noticed he was standing in front of a door with a small keypad.

  The guard just smirked at her.

  In a blur of movement, Delilah had the point of her stiletto pressing at his dick, gun back at his face.

  “What’s this?” she said again.

  “I think you know what it is,” he said through gritted teeth.

  “On your knees,” she said, indicating with the gun.

  He dropped heavily, and I watched miles of Delilah’s gorgeous legs appear as she slid down her lace garter.

  She placed the fabric into my hand. “You zip-tie while I try my hardest not to shoot him in the dick.”

  “Ah, come on, lady,” the guard protested.

  But Delilah merely arched a brow. I unhooked a tie and bound his wrists—in what was probably the most surreal moment of my professional career. The flashing lights had sped up, and I didn’t miss the tightness around her mouth.

  She was as worried as I was.

  “Keypad numbers,” she barked. “What are they?”

  “1 2 3 fuck you,” he said.

  And then he was doubled over, wheezing in pain—because Delilah had kicked him square in the groin. She yanked his head back and lowered her face an inch from his.

  “Keypad numbers,” she repeated, like she was asking for directions to the bus.

  “1…5…4…3” he gritted, face contorted in pain.

  She nodded at me.

  I punched in the code, my pulse racing so fast I felt light-headed. Any second now I expected another fifty guards to stream out from behind the walls and drag us off to Victoria’s secret dungeon.

  Distantly, I swore I heard footsteps. My chest was heaving, lights flashing, walls closing in…

  Click.

  I opened the door and stepped into a small, dark room. I could tell it was temperature controlled, light-controlled—all the makings of the rooms I’d spent my career in.

  Very old things would be kept in here: ancient tomes and scrolls and maps with markings that said here be dragons.

  Delilah joined me a second later, having duct taped the guard. “Do you see the—”

  She stopped, struck completely silent.

  Time screeched to a shuddering halt—one snap and the world paused in its orbit. The room was draped in utter stillness; pale, smooth walls hushed the sounds of the messy havoc right outside the door. My heart slowed, my lungs gasped for air, my mind rushed to contemplate the sight in front of me.

  There, in the middle of the room, backlit by gentle light, was a book encased in glass. Together, we stepped forward until the tips of our feet touched the stand.

  It was small—smaller than I imagined, bound in vellum with gold lettering: De revolutionibus orbium coelestium, Nicolaus Copernicus.

  On the Revolution of the Heavenly Spheres.

  “You were right, Delilah,” I whispered.

  The realization that we’d found the book felt like standing in front of a gale-force wind. I completely forgot to breathe. My fingers ghosted over the glass case, itching to touch something that had become a legend in my mind. Astonishment flooded my nervous system, sent chills racing up and down my spine.

  “Henry.”

  I brought Delilah’s hand to my mouth, kissed the center of her palm as we turned to stare at each other. The one thing we had desperately searched for was here, right in front of our eyes, and as the lights flashed and the guards ran toward us, there was noth
ing I wanted more than to kiss Delilah Barrett until the end of time.

  “Delilah.” My voice was a rough scrape.

  I want to kiss you.

  I want to fuck you.

  I want to…

  Her eyes closed, throat working. “I…I…”

  “Tell me.” I kissed her palm again, her fingers brushing my mouth.

  “I…see Victoria’s portable case, the one from the other night,” she managed. “Can we put the book in there?” She turned toward the door. “Um…very quickly?”

  Adrenaline ripped through me. “Right, of course.”

  I shook my head, moved to the case. The glass was heavy as I lifted and I flinched, expecting another alarm.

  “There’s probably a silent one,” Delilah said.

  I nodded, picking up the portable glass case with the handle. My fingers moved quickly along the edges, searching for an opening.

  The front panel slid open.

  I blew out a grateful breath.

  The Copernicus was secured to a mount which removed pressure from the spine, allowing it to keep its shape. I lifted the mount as Delilah held the door open.

  “In my jacket pocket, there’s a tube of mounting glue,” I said. “Can you grab it?

  Her hand slid inside the fabric and retrieved it.

  “The glass bottom,” I indicated. Holding the mount was making me fucking nervous. I was holding my breath, afraid to breathe on it. “Glue it.”

  “Did you have this in your pocket the entire night?” she whispered as she spread glue over the bottom.

  “A man has to have his secrets,” I whispered back.

  I slid the mount inside and secured the bottom to the glue. I remembered doing this with Bernard for an exhibition, my second day on the job.

  “Will it hold?” Delilah asked.

  I let it go gently, like a grenade with a hair-trigger pin. Closed the door of the case. Nodded tightly. “It’ll get us back to Codex.”

  “We have to run now,” she said. “As fast as we can.”

  “What if they catch us?” I asked.

  “Keep fucking running.”

  “Do you know where the exit is?”

  “Not at all. My plan was to run until we reached the end of the hallway and pray there’s a door. We just have to make it to the woods, okay?”

  “Carrying a 500-year-old book in our hands.”

  Gun cocked, she winked at me and pushed open the door. With the exception of the flashing lights, the hallway was silent. Delilah waved me forward as she raced ahead of me. The case made running awkward and slow—and by the frantic look on Delilah’s face, I wasn’t going fast enough.

  There were footsteps, echoing in the passageway. Gruff voices and squawking radios and I could sense people near us.

  “Faster, faster,” she chanted, stumbling through the near dark.

  Fear coated my tongue, choked my throat. Each turn seemed to take us deeper into this labyrinth of a house.

  We were trapped.

  Hopelessly lost.

  Victoria’s maze of secret hallways was infinite.

  41

  Delilah

  I understood only one directive: keep Henry safe. As we fled through the hallways, my mind couldn’t even comprehend that we had a book in our hands. We were trapped in a maze of hallways that was never-ending, seemingly growing narrower, darker. More confusing. But I needed to stay focused if I was going to get us out of here without Sven the Psycho catching us.

  The hallway ended—abruptly. A midnight-blue door that pulled open in one smooth, clean motion.

  “I’ve got it,” I whispered over my shoulder, grinning at Henry.

  Starlight flooded my eyes. The night air was startling in its crispness—so different from the old, stuffy air of the hallways. It was so exhilarating I almost didn’t see the guard, posted right outside.

  I turned and was bringing my arm up with the gun when the guard kicked it from my hand.

  And then Henry’s fist—sailing through the air, cracking him square on the nose.

  “Motherfucker,” the guy wailed.

  Henry punched him again.

  I scooped up my gun in the commotion and yanked Henry’s arm before we got stuck in a fight.

  “Run run run run,” I chanted, racing across the green vastness of Victoria’s lawn, the white river of the Milky Way shimmering over our heads. The forest appeared at the edges of her luxurious pool—the same one Henry and I had run through not two weeks ago.

  The one with the trip wires.

  I whipped out my cell and dialed 3 for Dorran, barking the word “now” into the phone. There was the puff of a silencer, and a bullet whizzed into the grass at our feet.

  With all of my weight, I pulled Henry behind the first tree, shielding him with my body, gun aimed at the ground.

  I chanced a glance—saw three of the guards pointing at the woods, yelling into radios.

  “Delilah,” Henry gasped. “As much as I appreciate literature, I’d prefer if we didn’t die over this book.”

  “I agree with you,” I said, peeking around the trunk. “They’re only trying to scare us. I don’t think Victoria wants a shootout in her backyard during her party.”

  “I don’t think she wants her Copernicus to be stolen either,” he said grimly.

  “There’s tripwires that way.”

  “I remember,” he replied.

  Headlights beamed off of his face. Dorran, at the far edges of the mansion. The flashlights and raised voices were getting closer.

  There was no more time.

  “We’re running to the limo alongside the house. Not through the woods. People might see us through the windows, but that’s fine—the guards won’t shoot us in front of guests. Drop to the ground and cover your head if you need to.” He was panting, glasses askew, lugging around a heavy glass case as we ran for our lives. “I’ll protect you.”

  He barely nodded his understanding before we were a blur of limbs, racing toward the safety of the limo. Shouts for real now—we were definitely being chased.

  To the right of me—a wall of trees.

  To the left—the red brick of Victoria’s mansion.

  In front—the small glowing rectangle of the limo’s doors, swung wide open.

  I was running so fast that I hit the side of the car with a bang. Grabbed Henry’s arm and hauled him first into the limo. Sven was a hundred yards away, glaring at me like I was a bug he was extremely excited to step on.

  He was reaching into his holster, but my gun was up in a flash, stopping him in his tracks. His lips curled in a snarl.

  “She’ll come after you,” Sven taunted.

  “I’d like to see her try,” I said. Slid into the limo, slammed the door, and Dorran peeled away so fast I flew backward on the seat.

  Henry and I could only stare at each other, wide-eyed and panting.

  “Am I dreaming,” I gasped, “or is that the fucking book?”

  I couldn’t contain my grin—even as my body rippled with tension.

  “That’s it,” he said. “Or it’s at least highly likely.”

  He placed it on the floor in the far corner, nestled snugly. When he did, I noticed that his knuckles were split open and bleeding.

  “Henry, you’re hurt,” I said, springing to his side of the limo. He was already shedding his jacket and rolling up his shirt sleeves. He examined his broken skin with mild curiosity. I knew it was just the adrenaline, masking the pain. “Also, that wasn’t a bad hit. You knocked him right out.”

  “I thought he was going to hurt you,” he said simply.

  The intensity that passed through our shared gaze had my knees weak. I busied myself with the first aid kit Freya had been smart enough to stash in here. With his other hand, Henry slipped out his phone.

  “This will sting,” I said, but he didn’t wince.

  “You were right about the book,” he said softly.

  “And you were right about the hallways.”


  His slow, charming grin was contagious. Victory rushed through me, making me feel light-headed and hopeful. Dazzlingly with sheer joy. Laughter gripped me—bubbling up like a fountain. When Henry started laughing too, tears rolled from my eyes, all the weeks of tension and fear and nerves fleeing through the sound.

  “Is Abe really going to murder us?” he asked, still laughing.

  “We went against his orders. But we got the book back. I’d say it’s fifty-fifty.” I wiped my eyes.

  He dialed Abe, put him on speakerphone.

  “We made this choice together, as partners,” I reminded him. “I’d do anything for you, Henry.”

  The words slipped out as Abe picked up. “There better be an explanation for why my undercover agents are just now responding to my countless messages,” Abe said. “And we were shot dead is only a partial excuse.”

  “We have the Copernicus,” I said.

  Abe didn’t say a word.

  “I’m not fucking with you, I promise. Call Francisco.”

  Another long pause.

  “Did the guards come after you?” he finally asked.

  “A little,” I hedged. “Nothing a little hand-to-hand combat and a gun couldn’t solve.”

  “And where did you get the gun?”

  Henry and I locked eyes over the phone. “I took it.”

  “All limbs accounted for?”

  This was Abe’s grumpy way of confirming we were safe.

  “Yes,” I promised.

  “I’ll see you at the office.”

  And he hung up.

  42

  Henry

  Delilah was patching me up like an expert, bandaging every cut on my knuckles. It didn’t hurt—not at all—not with the most adrenaline I’d ever experienced pumping through my bloodstream. My muscles were shaking, nerves screaming—if the limo had broken down and she instructed me to run all the way back to the office, I would have.

  Her head bent over, my hand splayed open on her thigh. Every time she inhaled, the curve of her breasts pressed against the top of her dress. The tips of her fingers, stroking along my skin, sent shivers of awareness up my spine.