Under the Rose

by Nolan, Kathryn

  Freya caught my eye, before shifting her focus back to the Alexanders. “Truthfully, I’m still astonished Roy can afford to bid on this item given his debts.”

  “That’s because what he’ll pay for the letters is a mere drop in the bucket of what he owes,” Thomas grumbled. “I wouldn’t be surprised if he traveled with private security to this event. Last I heard, Roy Edwards had pissed off a lot of dangerous people.”

  Heading into a mystery location with this chaotic secret society was feeling less safe by the minute.

  “At the end of the day, he’s not the kind of person we want owning such a conspicuous item,” I said, starting to understand the threads of their rationale. “He can’t help drawing attention to himself.”

  Cora pursed her lips. “And we know it’s even worse than that. He’s already bragged that his ‘connections’ will pay triple the price to own these letters.”

  “But he can’t sell right away,” Freya said. “That’s idiotic. He’ll only…”

  “Bring the entire Empty House down with him?” Cora smirked. “Our thoughts exactly.”

  They were truly backed into a corner. The mutually assured destruction aspect was clearer now. Once you allowed someone into this elite club, you were bound to each other through your shared criminal acts.

  “Remind me, what deadline did Roy give you to pay him so he doesn’t tell Ward?” I asked.

  “Sunday night,” Cora answered. “Roy believes he’ll be leaving this city in possession of those letters and five million dollars richer.”

  I could see the effort it took for Freya to keep her expression neutral.

  “We’ll make sure we bid high enough,” I said firmly. “They’re ours. We have the money.”

  “How much?” Thomas asked.

  “We’ve made fifteen million available,” I said.

  Thomas didn’t bat an eye. “Should be enough. Ward sure did enjoy pushing everyone’s buttons last night. He’s always loved putting on a show.”

  “He sure does,” Freya said.

  “Oh! We almost forgot the final piece.” Cora unlocked the hotel room safe and removed four small silver items. Handed two to Thomas and presented them to us. “The speakeasies had their membership cards, of course,” she explained. “For tonight, the members of The Empty House wear these pins—to make sure you’re recognizable beneath the masks. Recognized and trusted.”

  It was an intricately detailed red rose, about one inch long. Freya’s lips curved when she recognized the symbolism.

  “This is very special, Cora. Thank you. We understand it’s a noble responsibility.” Freya touched Cora’s shoulder before putting hers on. She reached for mine, meeting my gaze as she slipped the sharp point through my lapel. Like last night, she placed her palm over my heart—warm, soothing. A caress I felt deeply.

  “How does it look?” I asked, voice gruff.

  “Incredible,” she replied.

  I could see the pulse fluttering at the hollow of her throat. What she’d told me about leaving Quantico painted a more accurate picture of her nerves in the field. I knew Freya had made the right choice, for herself and for her health. But I sensed something deep down she didn’t care to admit—Freya believed the reason she’d struggled during training was that she wasn’t actually talented. She downplayed her skills continually, never seeing her true value.

  “This is very special,” I said to Cora, but eyes still on Freya. She flushed a little before disengaging, turning back to face our elegantly dressed thieves.

  Cora tipped her head. “Do you know what the two of them look like, Thomas?”

  He was red-faced, still distracted. “No. What?”

  She seemed truly thrilled. “The next leaders of The Empty House.”

  38

  Sam

  “We must be heading back into the tunnels?” I asked. A few people had come and gone on the elevators as we’d descended—but if our elegant attire and garish masquerade masks intrigued them, they didn’t say.

  “Definitely not,” Thomas said. “Ward didn’t tell you? It’s a whole affair. Takes him weeks to pull together—longer because it all has to be done in secret.”

  The doors opened at the basement level—the old speakeasy Cora had told us about. The place where I’d bumped into Ward that one time. He’d been getting things ready.

  “Oh. We’re in the basement,” I said for the agents listening in. There was no one in the hallways, but the space felt crowded with a low noise, shuffling feet and muted conversation. The hair on the back of my neck stood straight up.

  Cora stepped over to the hollow wall I’d tapped on. Knocked four times. She was clearly enjoying herself. Freya kept her hand looped around my arm.

  A knock came back.

  Cora knocked three more times.

  And then the hollow brick wall transformed into a door, opening up six inches. Freya’s hand tightened as a large guard waved us inside. Dr. Ward stood next to him, surrounded on both sides by golden sconces, flickering with candlelight. He wore his Indiana Jones hat with his tuxedo, and I could see the gun holstered on his hip. It had a pearl handle. Freya must have seen the same thing—her hand left my arm and very lightly touched the small of my back. Abe had loaned me his gun.

  “Welcome to the auction,” Ward said with a grin. “The night you’ve been waiting for. I trust that the two of you have come prepared to bid. To bid and to win.”

  “Yes, sir,” I said.

  The guard peered at us suspiciously—the mask blocked my peripheral vision, which was spiking my adrenaline. I didn’t like having one of my senses compromised when I was about to walk into a dark, secret basement with a bunch of people I couldn’t trust. The guard was gigantic, and his uniform read Dresden Security. He scowled like he’d made it his mission to scare the shit out of us. His eyes hardened when they landed on mine, and I didn’t dare back down.

  “I greet each attendee personally to ensure discretion and secrecy are of the highest order,” Ward continued. “Do not use names or say anything that identifies the people in this room. Your phones and identification will be removed from you and stored in this safe. Pictures and recordings are absolutely prohibited. Do not mention what happens this evening to any other person in your life. Spots available for this auction are extremely limited. The general public has never—and will never—know about it.”

  Freya and I nodded as we removed our wallets—stripped of anything identifying other than our fake IDs. We’d been smart enough to leave our phones back with Codex.

  “I’ll need to pat you down for weapons and hidden cameras,” the guard grunted.

  “Are weapons common at this event?” Freya asked, staring pointedly at Ward’s gun.

  “Don’t you worry your pretty little head,” Ward said. “I’m never not carrying a gun. But I’m the president. Which means everyone else needs to drop their weapons here for safe-keeping.”

  Her fingers dug into my arm. “This pretty little head isn’t even a bit worried.”

  I looked at the guard. At Ward. At Thomas and Cora watching us expectedly. Which action would earn us more trust?

  With my palms up, I stepped away from Freya and faced Ward and the bodyguard. “I have a gun holstered at my back. I’m going to reach for it and place it on the desk.”

  The other man went for his own weapon, but Ward stopped him. “Wait.” Ward stared openly at me. “Although I’m surprised to find you carrying a gun.”

  “My father is an excellent marksman,” I said. Which wasn’t a lie. “The shooting range is the only place where we’ve ever connected.”

  His expression shifted. “Ah, I know this well.”

  “I’ve had a license to carry for years.” I was reaching behind me as I said this, unclipping my gun. I showed it to Ward, flipped the safety. Removed the magazine. “But this is my baby. Take good care of it.”

  The guard didn’t answer, merely took the weapon and deposited it in a locked safe. We submitted to another pat-down,
ensuring we didn’t have cameras taped to our bodies. Thanks to the Bureau’s fancy tech, our earpieces weren’t detected.

  A bald, bespectacled man appeared behind Ward. “He’ll take your account information and prep the wire transfer,” Ward explained. “If you do, indeed, win, the transfer will happen as soon as the item is in your hand.”

  “Wonderful,” I smiled. Reached into my pocket and handed over the account information the FBI had created for this very moment. With a nod, the man left—preparing to move millions of dollars if we were lucky enough to get those letters.

  “It’s amazing that the basement at The Grand Dame can be transformed like this,” Freya said. “The book convention is happening —”

  “Only two floors away,” Ward said. “Amazing, isn’t it? We live in a world where lies are buried inside deeper lies, where everything’s a smoke screen. Nothing is real. For every law-abiding book convention in this world you’ll find, well…” He spread his arms and indicated the hallway behind him, “You’ll find this.”

  It was a large, low-ceilinged room with dark, paneled walls and flickering candlelight. Jazz music floated in on speakers I couldn’t see, and my eyes were drawn to the backlit stage at the far end. A long, low bar glittered with glasses and liquor, and the space was filled with men and women adorned in masks. Feathered, beaded, sequined—it was disorienting. As an FBI agent, I was used to scanning faces, recognizing suspects, and categorizing them instantly. Instead I faced a sea of people who were unfamiliar, all dressed in confusing garb.

  “Absinthe?” asked a hostess.

  Freya selected an oddly shaped glass from the tray. “Perfume bottles?”

  “A nice touch, don’t you think?” Ward said.

  “I should have worn a flapper dress,” she exclaimed. “I had no idea.”

  “It’s high time this kind of circumventing of the law was celebrated in our society, and not scorned,” he said.

  “And the hotel staff…?” she ventured.

  Ward slipped his hands into his pockets. “As it is so awfully true in the history of this world, you can do anything if you pay people off.”

  “How quaint,” she said.

  A man and a woman in elaborately feathered masks grabbed the attention of Cora and Thomas, which left us alone with Dr. Ward.

  “When does bidding start?” I asked.

  Ward stepped closer to me, as if sharing a secret. I dipped my head in anticipation.

  “I don’t know who you think you are, but god help me if you bring a weapon into my house again.” Then he clapped me hard on the shoulder before nodding and walking away.

  A reckless man with the only gun in the room—besides the armed guard—was not an ideal situation. Especially one who’d been pissed—rather than pleased—at the presence of a perceived threat.

  Freya was at my side in an instant. She tilted her head, listening. A beat later, I heard Henry in my ear. Abe wants to know if you’re safe. If not, get out of there now.

  “How are you feeling?” Freya asked. “Excited or…?”

  “Excited,” I said firmly, watching her reaction. She nodded. “It’s a lot to take in, but I feel confident about our plan to bid.”

  Me too, she mouthed.

  Please be careful, Henry said urgently in my ear. I tracked Ward’s movements—he was glad-handing around the crowd like a local politician. Thomas was eyeing Ward covertly, sulking. Unpredictable.

  There was movement at the stage—long tables covered in velvet tablecloths being rolled out. Freya and I moved through the back as couples laughed and the jazz music swelled. One of the side rooms was open. In the center was a red curtain. I was intrigued by the scuffling sounds coming from behind.

  “I’m curious to know who will take this beauty home tonight.” It was Roy, suddenly next to us with a scowl on his face. He looked out of place surrounded by soft conversation and jazz. I realized he wasn’t wearing a mask of any kind. I touched mine, shifting it.

  There was a sound like thunder from behind the curtain—a roar that rattled my bones.

  Freya jumped a foot in the air, hand on her chest. “Jesus fucking Christ, what was that?”

  Roy’s scowl deepened. “Wouldn’t you like to know?”

  My partner sized up Roy and clearly found him lacking. “Where’s your mask?”

  “I’m not afraid of anyone in here,” he grumbled into his drink. Although his jittery fingers and cagey gaze betrayed his lie. “Any word on who this mystery bidder is going to be tonight?”

  “Bidder on what?” she asked, stroking her nail down the perfume bottle.

  “The only thing here everyone wants.”

  “Couldn’t it be everyone in this room?” she asked.

  “Funny, because word on the street is that it’s you,” Roy said sardonically. “And you forget that you owe me. Twice. So if I were you, I’d reconsider your plan.”

  His eyes flicked over Freya’s head to meet mine. I glared at him until he took a step back, tugging at his collar.

  “We were told members became bloodthirsty on the night of the auction,” she sighed.

  “We had a deal,” he whispered urgently. “No one in this room understands the situation that I’m in.”

  I wasn’t afraid of Roy—he was an annoying pissant I could knock unconscious in a millisecond—but those shifting loyalties were alive and well tonight. The confined space, the low ceilings, the way the masks concealed facial expressions…everything felt much, much more dangerous.

  “I don’t recall making any such deal with you. I know what I want,” Freya said. “And I’ll be taking it.” She extended her hand for him to shake. “May the best woman win.”

  Roy walked away with a sneer.

  I would let Freya Evandale take me however she wanted.

  “Interesting conversations we’re having this evening,” she said quietly.

  “I don’t trust him,” I said quietly. “Not one bit. Especially after what we learned back upstairs.”

  She grimaced. “We’re in agreement.”

  We watched as Roy slithered through the crowd, drawing stares at his unadorned face. The seats by the stage were starting to fill. The auction was about to begin. And the scuffling behind the curtain had grown louder.

  “What’s behind it?” I asked again, desperately curious.

  Freya twitched the material back an inch and froze in abject terror. I was by her side in two strides, grabbing it from her fingers.

  It was a giant, rattling cage. Inside was a full-grown white tiger, snarling like we were his next meal.

  39

  Freya

  “Oh my god, what the fuck,” I wheezed, leaping a foot back from the wild carnivore prowling in a cage much too small. “I didn’t know they’d be auctioning off exotic animals tonight. I’ve always wanted to see a white tiger, I guess.”

  Exotic animals, stolen rare books, it’s a lot of the same people, Delilah whispered. I nodded, touching my throat. I knew this rationally, but being confronted with the strange, creeping tension of this evening was unsettling.

  “As much as I want to keep hanging out with this tiger, I think we need to be seated,” Sam murmured.

  “Let’s do this,” I replied.

  After a furtive glance over his shoulder, he kissed my palm, the tips of my fingers, the inside of my wrist. I needed the reminder we were in this together.

  Thank you, I mouthed to him, cupping his face for all of a second. We slipped back into the auction room. The old bar was carved with art deco designs and lit up with lightbulbs. The bartender could have stepped right out of the Prohibition era. The jazz music, the masks, the pearls and bowties, the absinthe in perfume bottles. Dr. Ward was a showman, and tonight was certainly his show.

  “Your bid paddle, sir,” one of the attendants said, passing us a paddle with #13 in the center.

  “Some would call that number unlucky,” I said.

  “Not Ward.” Sam studied the man on the stage. “Ward doesn’t belie
ve in luck. Only opportunity.”

  Ward motioned for the two of us to sit in the very front row. Sam and I sat in the two seats on the left side, next to the narrow aisle. The stage was short—barely six inches in height—which brought Ward directly in front of us.

  Sven stood guard by the only exit. He was employed by the “morally gray” security firm that Victoria Whitney had hired to protect the manuscript she’d stolen. Sven had shot at Henry and Delilah as they ran from her house. The firm was beloved by the rich and fucking shady, and their sole motivation was money.

  And Sven had taken Sam’s gun.

  Roy swooped into the empty seat to my left. “Remember our deal,” he whispered in my ear. I turned up my nose and didn’t reply. All we had to do was get our hands on those letters, transfer the funds, and let the FBI do the rest.

  As long as Ward didn’t feed Sam and me to that tiger first.

  “Let us begin,” Ward said. “Once an item is presented, I will open the bidding. Once the winner is selected, they will be escorted to the back room to pay immediately, securing their ownership. All of you will be provided with letters of authentication as well as letters confirming the legal sale of this item. Keep these in your records should you ever have any problems.”

  Sam glanced at me sideways. How could they provide those letters for items that were stolen?

  “Up first for the animal lovers in our audience.” Ward smirked with glee, and the audience tittered. The prowling, caged tiger was rolled across the stage, and I felt utterly heartbroken for it. My mind spun with the implications—implications that Delilah and Abe had been talking about for the past year. The criminal underworld bled across boundaries and barriers, and thieves like Victoria Whitney were common. But that meant thieves like Ward and Bernard were common too.

  The bid paddles flew up rapidly, winnowing down to two bidders who were furious with each other by the time the winning $2 million bid was announced. I schooled my features, trying to watch with a neutral expression. And when they won—a glamorous-looking couple that dripped wealth—the woman wiggled her fingers at the bars like the tiger was a kitten at a shelter.