Under the Rose

by Nolan, Kathryn

  “Thank you for that,” I said. “For believing in me.”

  “What are partners for?” she said.

  “But let’s focus on those letters first, potentially life-changing decisions second,” I replied. “And we’d need Abe’s approval to go back undercover.”

  “Do we?” She pouted.

  I ghosted our lips together. “You know we do.”

  “You can’t just kiss me to get me to agree with you, Agent Byrne,” she said dreamily. “But I agree with you.”

  “Then we need coffee and sandwiches,” I said. “And to go find Abe. Is he at the Codex offices, you think?”

  She shook her head. “It’s way too early for that. I think we need to surprise Abraham Royal at home. He’ll love it.”

  34

  Sam

  Abe lived in a sleek-looking loft near Philadelphia’s City Hall. The lofts looked out of place jammed between two historic-looking brick buildings that Freya told me had been constructed before the American Revolution.

  “Those gym shorts fit okay?” I asked, turning to Freya in the seat next to me. She’d tossed her ravaged dress and was shimmying into my clothing.

  “They reach past my knees.” She laughed. “But I’ll roll them up twelve thousand times, and they’ll fit just right. I appreciate the outfit change, by the way. You look a little less sexed-up than me.”

  I checked my bowtie in the mirror one last time, hoping Abe wouldn’t notice the missing buttons from my shirt. “Are you wearing those heels or do you want a ride to the door?” I asked, shutting off the car.

  “Ride, please.”

  I came around the car and opened her door. “Hop on my back,” I said, kneeling.

  She wrapped her arms around me, and I hoisted her legs onto my waist. Stood and shut the door.

  “Is this what it feels like to be superhero tall?”

  “Why do you keep referring to me as a superhero?” I asked, secretly pleased.

  “It’s your whole vibe, Byrne,” she said. “You’re telling me that if our planet was in dire peril from a mysterious archvillain, you wouldn’t suit up and save the world?”

  “Of course,” I replied.

  “See? That’s what I mean,” she said. We reached Abe’s front door—it was 3:00 in the morning, and the summer sky was still dark. We’d had coffee and sandwiches and giant bottles of water, and I felt buzzy and exhausted all at the same time. I knelt, depositing Freya on the ground. As soon as I saw her fully beneath Abe’s doorway light, I realized her throat had two mouth-sized hickeys.

  I touched one with my fingertip. “I marked you.”

  Her lip curled. “You did.”

  “Should Abe…”

  Her eyes widened, and she yanked down her bun, pulling her hair to one side to cover the bruises. Good catch, she mouthed. She peeked into the side window with her hands cupped around her face.

  “We’re in luck,” she said. “As usual, Abe Royal is burning the midnight oil.”

  She pressed her finger to the buzzer. Abe had the door opened not five seconds later. Dressed in a pressed suit, of course.

  “Did you ever stop and think there was a reason I never told my employees where I lived?” he remarked.

  “Don’t hire a computer nerd if you don’t wanna get found.” Freya grinned. “And let the record show that Abe Royal does sleep in a suit.”

  “Dear god, please tell me you didn’t wear basketball shorts as an undercover operative?” he asked coolly. He looked tired though—even the suit couldn’t hide it. “And where are your shoes?”

  “I won’t lie to you and say I didn’t dress this way,” she said. “And you can’t ask me to wear stilettos with this outfit.”

  Abe’s lips twitched at the ends, but he stepped back, opening the door wider.

  “I have a feeling the two of you are here to argue with me.”

  I nodded my head at him as we stepped inside. “Evening, sir. Or morning. Thank you for seeing us on short notice.”

  Abe settled back on a low gray couch next to a glass table. He sat easily, one leg crossed over the other, sipping coffee. “Short notice? I’ve just been surprised by the two of you during a normal person’s sleeping hours.”

  “Right,” I said, sheepish. “Thank you for opening the door.”

  “Sit,” he said. “Tell me what’s happening and why the two of you aren’t sleeping, per my express orders.”

  “Because Sam and I believe we should be at this underground auction tonight. Undercover, as Julian King and Birdie Barnes. Thomas has been messaging Birdie all evening. I’ve referred to the letters multiple times—the Sand love letters—and he’s made it as clear that they’ll be there.”

  She showed Abe the messages.

  He took the phone, scrolled through. “Very interesting.” He looked at us. “Except the authentication of the other letters is already underway. They appear to be real.”

  “The last forgery cases I worked were so realistic they had to authenticate it twice to spot the inconsistencies,” I told him. “In the years since you’ve left Art Theft, the forgers are getting better. Smarter. It’s not unlikely that they could have a very, very good forgery on their hands.”

  “I don’t disagree,” he said. “But we have no contract, no money to do this.”

  “If we get the real letters back, we’ll get the money,” Freya said.

  “From your updates, this group of individuals is a powder keg—guns, tempers, and a tendency to get their way no matter what. That’s a volatile situation I’ll not have my agents walking into.”

  “Sam can retrieve his gun from the bathroom where we stored it,” she said.

  “A gun which can be taken from him,” Abe countered.

  “Abe,” she pressed, “these people are working closely with Bernard within an organization that illegally sells rare books and art. And your two agents have been invited to participate. Maybe we don’t find the letters, but we’ve got open cases and still-missing books that could be sold tonight. It could still be a win. Or depending on how much access we get, we take a ton of pictures and report all of these fuckers to the police.” She patted Abe’s knee. “We both know you love a good arrest.”

  “I do love getting people arrested.” Abe sighed almost wistfully.

  “So? Huh? We’re in?” Freya nudged him, winking at me. As usual, she was joking through her own talent—putting forth a concrete argument for action even though she’d admitted in the car that she was unable to handle high-pressure situations. I wondered if she ever realized that even though the Bureau wasn’t the right fit, she shined here at Codex.

  I didn’t wink back at her, but I smiled genuinely until her cheeks flushed.

  Meanwhile, Abe was facing away, lost in thought.

  “What’s the worst that can happen?” she said. “The two of us are killed by a secret society or whatever?”

  “If I say no, you will merely do it anyway and go against my orders,” he said.

  “That’s very Henry and Delilah.” She smirked. “And yes.”

  Abe looked directly at me. “We’ve got big problems though.”

  “Name ’em,” she said.

  “If you are to go undercover and bid on these letters, you’ll need access to millions of dollars. What I know of shady black-market auctions is that you can’t just walk in, bid, and walk out whistling. They expect you to give up your offshore bank account as soon as you’re inside. And they’ll expect a wire transfer immediately between the accounts.”

  “Okay,” Freya said cheerfully. “Can Codex float like ten million?”

  “You know we can’t,” Abe said. But he was still staring at me. My nerves started to hum, sensing his thought pattern.

  “And we’d need better tech than we have,” he continued. “A team that could go in and rescue the two of you if you needed it.”

  I rubbed the back of my neck, looking away from Abe. A few hours ago, sitting in the back seat of my car, I’d started to feel the very beg
innings of freedom from the Bureau. The smallest sense that maybe, just maybe, I could do this on my own.

  No, please don’t say it.

  “Sam, I think you know what we need to do.”

  “Wait, what?” Freya asked, looking between the two of us.

  The silence dragged until she nudged me.

  I sighed. “You honestly think it’s necessary?”

  “I wouldn’t suggest it if I didn’t,” Abe said.

  “Won’t involving them void our contract? Scarlett wanted no authorities involved, no splashy press.”

  “She’s already voided the contract,” he countered. “Now it’s about getting the damn letters back. It’s about justice.”

  Freya rubbed her hands together, expression excited. “That’s the spirit, old chap. Now what the fuck are you two talking about?”

  Abe glanced at his watch. “And if I remember your father’s work habits, he’s already in the office terrorizing his staff.”

  “Oh, goddammit.” Her head fell back against the couch. “Not that asshole.”

  I pulled out my phone. Asking my father’s help right now felt like the worst possible thing I could do. Would this help him trust me again? Or would this only prove his point that I was now too soft to do the job of a real agent?

  It’s about justice.

  Except Abe was right. A win for this case could only come with the help of the FBI. There wasn’t another option. But maybe it could still be my and Freya’s win. A case that we’d close together, as partners. And I’d do anything to make her smile at me again the way she had today. Like her smile was a gift, and I was the luckiest bastard in the world to receive it.

  “Abe’s right.” My tone was grim but determined. “We need the Bureau.”

  35

  Freya

  Abe left the room to call and wake Henry and Delilah. And Sam, with a curt nod, slipped into the back bedroom to call the Deputy Director of the FBI.

  I lasted all of a second before I went to stand outside, giving Sam a tiny wave as he put the phone to his ear. Call it a consequence of our earth-shattering sex, but I was feeling extra-protective of my partner.

  And I knew firsthand the effect his father had on him.

  Our eyes locked in the dawn light, and my heart sparkled with feeling. Sam was the first sexual partner I’d ever been that unrestrained with. There was no shame or discomfort, no hesitation. I took what I wanted, and Sam let me. I had a sneaking suspicion I was the first woman to truly see Byrne unleash his inner sex-beast. The man had fucked me with the single-minded determination to get me off. And when he had come—when quiet, stoic Sam let out a hoarse, gratified groan against my breasts—I’d nearly climaxed again. I’d loved every fucking second. And then I’d gone and spilled my secrets.

  I’d loved every second of that too.

  Never—not in a million, billion years—could I have anticipated that Sam and I would give in to our angry sexual frustration. Then end up sweetly holding each other while unveiling our personal mysteries. I missed you, Freya. I missed you so much. It was a bittersweet ache, acknowledging all that we’d denied each other over the years—attraction, intimacy, romance.

  Friendship.

  I leaned against the door, arms crossed, and listened to him request an exorbitant amount of Bureau resources on the fastest deadline imaginable. It couldn’t have been comfortable to be that vulnerable to a man I knew was an egotistical, smarmy shithead. And as I watched my partner pace back and forth, his body language screamed tension. His only verbal contribution was “Yes, sir.” or “No, sir,” in a clipped, respectful tone. I wanted Sam to tell me what was going on with his ex-partner, with his job, with his mental health. But his walls remained high and guarded.

  Sam ended the call, slapping it against his palm before joining me in the hallway.

  “He’ll do it,” he said. “He wants all of us on a video call in an hour.”

  I blew out a breath. “That was fast, huh?”

  “He pulls the strings,” he said. “Plus, you know he has a unique way of getting people to do his bidding.”

  “I remember.” I took his hand in mine. “But we’re still the ones kicking ass. Not him.”

  He ran a hand through his hair. “I’m expected back in Virginia to meet my new partner tomorrow morning.”

  “Oh,” I said awkwardly. “I mean, right. I guess I thought you were going to be our consultant for a few weeks?”

  “Me too,” he said quietly. “But it appears as if my consultant role is being terminated early by my father.”

  I bobbed my head, tried to keep my tone casual. “Sure, sure. Sounds good.”

  This was the real complication of our hot, angry fucking. This warmth in my chest had finally been given room to breathe, to blossom. Which was bad news, since Sam was heading back to the FBI after this anyway.

  His expression was etched with concern. But before he could say a word, Henry and Delilah burst through Abe’s front door with more coffee and swift questions. We spent an hour getting everyone up to speed and tossing out strategies and ideas. The hour flew, and before I knew it, Abe was casting his computer screen onto the large white wall in his living room.

  The face of Andrew Byrne appeared. I hadn’t seen him in seven years, but he hadn’t aged. His hair was still short and silver, expression still sharp and critical despite the early hour. The minute the call began, I watched Sam shrink into himself—the action was minute, subtle. But I knew Sam.

  I wished Andrew Byrne were here in person. I’d slap him in the fucking face.

  Henry, Delilah, and I were squished onto the couch. Abe was sitting in his high-backed chair like a king. Sam stood ramrod straight.

  “It’s nice to see you, Andrew,” Abe said mildly, one finger at his temple.

  “You as well,” Andrew replied.

  They were both obviously lying.

  Abe introduced Henry and Delilah—but stopped when he got to me. The Deputy Director concealed his reaction to seeing me well. I remembered what Sam had said in the car—my father said you were the brightest trainee he’d seen in a long time.

  “Ms. Evandale,” Andrew said. “You appear well.”

  “Sir,” I said shortly.

  Abe arched his brow at me.

  “Thank you for helping us,” I said through gritted teeth.

  “The FBI’s help is obviously needed,” Andrew said, eyes cast off to the side as he read a document. “You were right to call me, Samuel.”

  Sam was silent.

  “You’re welcome for gaining entry to an elite secret society the Bureau’s been trying to access for years,” Abe said dryly.

  I cough-laughed into my fist.

  “Come now, Abraham. We would have gotten there eventually. Pity you got there and can’t move forward without our help.”

  “The clock is ticking, gentleman,” Delilah cut in. “Surely we can continue fighting over jurisdiction after we prepare our agents to go deep undercover. What can the Bureau do for us?”

  I nudged Delilah’s shoulder with mine. “You’re a bad bitch,” I muttered.

  “I would just prefer if you didn’t get shot tonight.”

  “Same, girl,” I replied.

  Andrew sighed audibly. Put the document down and stared at us from his office at Quantico. “The Bureau is intrigued by the names that Samuel brought forth. Dr. Bradley Ward and the Alexanders have high status and an extreme amount of privilege. The fact that you believe they may be connected to Bernard Allerton is additionally intriguing.”

  Intriguing was surely Andrew’s codeword for we’re shitting ourselves.

  “And Roy Edwards certainly has some cache,” I added. “Trust fund brat with a penchant for attention-seeking tabloid exploits. I’m sure he wasn’t on a short list of potential criminals.”

  Andrew’s mouth thinned. “Also intriguing. Of course, all of this could end up being hearsay. This auction could be perfectly legal and above board. And if that happens, I will blame the r
esulting waste of time and resources entirely on all of you.”

  That knife-sharp gaze landed on Sam, who seemed to accept it gratefully.

  “And yet, if the Bureau truly thought there was much risk, they wouldn’t be this intrigued, nor would they be allocating any of their precious resources,” Abe replied. “The truth of the matter is that Samuel and Freya have managed to uncover a tight-knit circle of criminals who claim Bernard Allerton as their leader. We all know the man wouldn’t deign to show his face this evening. But a capture of any of these suspects could lead to Bernard’s future arrest.”

  Andrew pursed his lips. “And your little firm will get money.”

  “A sinful amount, yes,” Abe replied immediately. “You see, it’s a win-win.”

  Andrew’s sneer was full of vitriol. “I do see,” he said. “The Bureau will provide agents on the ground that will be listening in along with the Codex team. If Samuel or Freya are in apparent danger, we will send them in. The goal, of course, would be to arrest everyone in attendance on sight.”

  My pulse spiked with pure excitement. Sam slid his gaze toward mine, nodded.

  “Freya and Sam will be provided with earpieces that are on their way to being delivered as we speak. I understand Sam will have his weapon?”

  “Yes, sir,” Sam said.

  “Evandale?” Andrew looked at me. I held up my palms.

  “My hands are considered weapons, sir.”

  Sam shot me an uncharacteristically wolfish grin.

  His father continued as if I hadn’t spoken. “The teams will wait in unmarked cars parked within a two-block radius of the location of the auction. Do you believe it’s in the hotel?”

  “That’s our best guess,” Sam said. “But I can make sure Freya or I give clues throughout the night.”

  Sam’s father waved his hand on screen, and an assistant delivered a slip of paper. “My staff is setting up a bank account for Julian King. I’ve located fifteen million dollars.”