In the Clear (Codex Book 3)

by Kathryn Nolan

  “Goddammit.” My head dropped to the wet machine, fingers clenching in a soaked dress. I could care less about clothing, but my research, the evidence, my computers were essentially my entire business, my entire life. Abe’s hand landed on the top of my head, stroking lightly.

  “This is a very real fucking message,” he said. “People could have been hurt. Or worse. This isn’t a lame attempt at mugging us to make us feel unsafe. If we don’t listen, I don’t think their next threat will be one we’ll be able to ignore.”

  I looked up at him from my squat. His fingers sifted across my forehead. “Bernard is scared.”

  “Very much so.”

  “So we can’t leave now.”

  He gave me a half-smile. “Glad to know I’m not the only foolish one in this partnership.”

  “No, sir, you are not,” I said. A very un-Abe-like fabric caught my eye. “Is that a Hawaiian shirt?”

  His hand left my head. He rubbed it once down his face. “A going-away gift from my team. They thought these shirts might lead to romance.”

  “You’d never wear this,” I teased.

  “I swear it,” he replied.

  “You packed it anyway?”

  The slightest blush lit his cheeks. “It was their gift to me. Of course I would bring it.”

  The way this man restrained his emotions incited a tender ache in my chest. “How about that romance?”

  His eyes dropped to my mouth. Our kiss. That kiss. “Romance has found me on this trip. Unexpected, to say the least.”

  Now I was blushing. And blushing hotter when my fingers uncovered a soggy book beneath the shirts. “Wed to the Pirate Captain?” I read.

  “Another gift,” he grunted.

  I peeled open a page, aimed a discerning smile at the man standing over me. “You intrigue me, Abe Royal.”

  “The feeling’s mutual.”

  He held eye contact, and I finally realized I was kneeling. In front of Abe. Whose expression was equal parts lust and a growing affection.

  “I don’t mean to bring us back to—” he started.

  “Of course,” I said, startled. “Of course, we, uh… we need to talk to the police.”

  I stood up, righting myself, re-orienting my body away from his.

  “We need to inventory the damage,” he said. “And I’m going to suggest when the manager comes back that we share whatever room he has available to us.”

  “Uh, what?”

  His face softened. “Twice now we’ve been directly threatened in our rooms. They’ve followed us here, lit our rooms on fire, delivered missives beneath our doors. We need to stick together for safety, and we need them to list us under aliases. Eudora doesn’t believe our undercover names anymore, but I have no idea if, or how, she’d be able to discover our legal names. Either way, I want neither of them listed on the hotel’s guest register. Especially if there’s someone working here we can’t trust.”

  “Abe.”

  The man in question swallowed, looking uncomfortable. “Yes, Sloane?”

  “We almost lost a source because we couldn’t keep our hands off each other in a public restaurant. How the hell will we abide by our no fucking rule when staying in the same room, in the same bed?” My breathing was already rapid at the thought of it—from anticipation, from worry, from sheer arousal.

  “We’ll make sure they have a trundle bed,” he said, a distinct roughness in his voice.

  “Two people can fuck in a trundle bed.”

  “Sloane.” Even rougher.

  “We’re just… Abe, I think we’re in the most danger because we’re the closest to our target. I want to be safe. I want to stay with you, I do. Our rule has to stay.” I paused, scraped the bottom of the barrel for my last shred of willpower. “Right?”

  “Right,” he said. “Yes, absolutely. The auction is in seventy-two hours. We’re not animals.”

  No, we weren’t. But we’d been prepared to fuck like two people with no common sense or rational thought, and if that didn’t make me an animal, I didn’t know what did.

  “Exactly,” I managed.

  “Unless my being in a room with you is too unpleasant or uncomfortable, then obviously we can—”

  “—no, I want to,” I interjected. “I guess… I guess the thought of being in a room alone right now is even scarier. We need… we need to be able to strategize and stay focused.”

  “Focused,” Abe repeated.

  “On the case.”

  “Of course,” he replied.

  We stared at each other for far too long, chests rising and falling. I fully understood the danger we were embarking upon. Except not being in constant eyesight after everything that had happened felt more dangerous.

  A dance of painful emotion rippled across his normally stoic face. “Listen, I believe I need to—”

  There was a knock on the door, stopping whatever he had been about to say. He shook his head, opened it to reveal police officers and hotel security, here to take our statements and talk about our safety moving forward.

  I passed my hand across my laptop, devastated at the loss of my investigative tools. Invigorated at the thought that we were close to Bernard.

  And terrified to admit I’d be more comfortable taking on a team of Dresden guards by myself than sharing a hotel room with Abe fucking Royal.

  28

  Abe

  Two exhausting hours later, and we were finally relocated to room #486—which had two regular beds and a trundle bed, eliminating the temptation we didn’t need to sleep together.

  A hotel security guard would keep watch over our room, just in case. The police officers had taken our statements, heard about our threats, promised to get back to us in a few days with their reports and progress. None of it mattered. I would most likely be flying back to Philadelphia at that point, regardless of what happened. But having extra protection couldn’t hurt.

  Our clothing was still soaked and being laundered by the hotel, who’d dropped off pajamas and sweats for us from their gift shop. Every electronic item I’d left in that room was ruined, every note, every folder. Yet, as I watched Sloane peer outside the hotel window at the newly stormy weather, I understood none of those things were as important as keeping her safe. I would have pushed for the two of us to stay together regardless of our intense attraction—would have pushed to protect her. If I were here with Codex, I would have demanded all five of us stay in the same room and barricaded the door from intruders. Freya would most likely have turned it into a slumber party with snacks and alcohol and horror movies.

  I would have spent the night awake, watching over them as they slept.

  Off, on.

  Were these actions really the actions of someone like my father? An aloof asshole beholden to his most selfish desires? Or was I more than that? Because, staring at Sloane sitting gingerly on the bed, I knew walking out was the furthest thing from my mind. The image of Sloane being tackled to the ground as she screamed was going to haunt me for the rest of my life.

  I tossed my jacket on the bed and rolled up my sleeves, tearing at my tie. Grabbed the first-aid kit the hotel left for us and ice from the machine in the hallway. Then I got down on my knees in front of Sloane, who kept staring at the rain outside like she feared it would bite her. When she dragged her gaze to mine, registered the ice and the bandages, up went those walls again. But her external discomfort was possibly from the “unconventional childhood” she’d mentioned and been unable to say more about. I got the very strong impression she hadn’t been cared for. Ever.

  “Can I take a look at your ankle?” I asked.

  “Okay,” she said.

  I slowly unzipped her thigh-high boots, freeing her feet. Bare, smooth legs. Bare, pretty feet. Even with all that we’d done at that bar, this act alone felt overwhelmingly intimate.

  I looked at her ankle, which luckily wasn’t swollen. When I touched it, she didn’t wince. Happy with that news, I placed a bandage across a nasty scratch on her thig
h, checked her knuckles and fingers for signs of injury.

  “These will be sore tomorrow,” I said.

  She touched my own split-open knuckles. “So will these.”

  I lifted a shoulder. “I’m more concerned with this gorgeous jaw of yours.” A purple bruise shaded the skin, and I grimaced in sympathy—which only caused my own bruised jaw to ripple with pain.

  “We’re a hot mess.” She smiled.

  “All part of the job when you’re chasing a criminal mastermind.” I held out the ice. “May I touch you there?”

  Cheeks pink, she said, “Yes.”

  I gripped the non-bruised side of her face. Tilted it gently.

  I held the ice to her skin, caressed the bruise. “It’s okay if being cared for is a brand-new feeling for you.”

  Her eyes slid toward mine, relief there. “It’s extremely new,” she said.

  I wasn’t used to seeing her so reserved, so quiet. I cleared my throat. “I was my mother’s caregiver after her car accident, after my father left. This stuff comes easy to me now. We spent a lot of time in hospitals and at medical appointments. I spent a lot of time bandaging her up when she banged into things.”

  Sloane kept looking at me, so I kept talking. “Her traumatic brain injury left her in a coma for three days, and when she woke up, it took about four years for her to recover from the after-effects. Three months for her to stand on her own and walk again, but her balance was impacted for a long time. Thus the bandaging.”

  I gave a wry smile, wrapped ice in a towel and laid it across Sloane’s fingers. “Her speech fully returned about eleven months after, with a lot of hard work on her part. And her rehabilitative nurse, Jeanette. And after school, and in between when I worked, my mother and I did things like this. Or flashcards, or memory exercises, or muscle strengthening.”

  “How long did you care for her?” she asked.

  “Two years,” I said. “Then I started my undergraduate at Penn. I considered deferring for a year, but my mother had Jeanette, and I was able to come home every weekend. We made it work, although it was hard. Harder than I ever thought it would be.”

  “Where is your mom now?” she asked.

  I grinned. “Well, she married Jeanette.”

  Sloane laughed—a bright, happy sound. A surprised sound. “Well good for her.”

  “That’s what I say.” I tilted her head from left to right, searching for more injuries. “They live in Miami in a retirement village for vibrant seniors. Brain injury is a lifelong journey to healing, and even twenty-five years later, there are things that happen to her because of it. She’s a little more forgetful. She struggles in big groups of people or loud parties. Some of her memories never came back. Yet she’s rebuilt her life from the ashes, found love and joy. She’s a real inspiration.”

  “And your dad?”

  “Just a ghost,” I said softly. “A non-entity in my life.”

  She placed her non-injured hand on my chest, right over my heart. “Told you it was in there.”

  I grabbed it, squeezed it, then touched her face one last time, this time for the very selfish reason of just because. Sloane picked up another ice cube from the tray and held it to the bruise on my own jaw. The shock of it sent a hiss through my teeth.

  “Sorry,” she said quickly, removing the ice. I gripped her hand, brought it back.

  “Just a shock,” I said. “It feels good. It helps.”

  “I’m not very good at caring for… anything,” she said. “I don’t even think my parents gave me BAND-AIDs when I fell as a kid.”

  I had about a million questions about her parents, but I sensed the gravity of each bite of information she gave up, respected that space.

  Outside our room, the London skies poured with heavy rain. Sloane tracked the sound.

  “You’re doing great,” I said. “This is the second time we’ve iced each other. I’m starting to sense a pattern.”

  A tiny smirk returned to her face and I was goddamned grateful to see it. “That’s right. The first time we fought off a man together. We didn’t touch each other.”

  “A lot has changed,” I said, burying untold emotion and yearning within that one simple phrase. The sensations of tonight came back to me with a painful need—Sloane’s lips, her kiss, her skin, her hair. This small room, these shared beds, our few dry things mingling together on the counters and dressers. “I broke our rule tonight. I’m sorry.”

  I was still on my knees in front of her, too captivated to move. As she stared at me, lips parted, I backed away. Stood up. Moved six feet away from her beauty.

  “I kissed you back,” she said. “You don’t have to apologize. We were caught in a moment.”

  “Trust is our main rule though,” I said. “Kissing you betrays our trust. The trust that I’ll respect you, respect what this case means to you.”

  “Honesty is part of those rules,” she countered, ever the challenge. “The honest truth is that I’m happy I know what it’s like to be kissed by you, Abraham. If you’d gone home, back to Codex, and I’d never known, I would have always regretted it.”

  I wanted this woman so badly it was actually painful. My bruise was a paltry expression of it.

  “My attraction to you is all-consuming, Sloane.” I watched her jolt on the bed, respond to words I’d never thought or spoken aloud. Ever. “I couldn’t not know what your lips tasted like.”

  “And what was that?” she asked, smiling a little.

  “Marshmallow.” I unleashed a real, full smile—didn’t hide it or rein it in, like I usually did. “There’s my honesty.”

  Immediately her shoulders softened, eyes softened.

  “We’ll need more rules, though” I said. “I’ll take this trundle.”

  “Abe, the bed next to me is—” she started.

  I shook my head. “I cannot sleep in a bed near you, Sloane.”

  Lust carved ragged edges into the words, and I saw the way they affected her—the tangible arousal writ across her face.

  “Okay,” she whispered. “No touching. No sleeping together. No kissing.”

  “At least I’ll be able to see you steal my things if we’re staying in the same room together,” I managed, trying to be light.

  She grinned, looking shy. “And I’ll finally get to see what a man like you does on vacation.” Sloane bit her lip. “Partners, still?”

  “Partners,” I promised. There was more to discuss now, more than this electric chemistry. We’d been interrupted before I could tell Sloane the conclusion that had smacked me upside the head the moment my brain had a second to process everything that had happened tonight: the attack, the fire, the threats, the destruction of our things. The giant auction, the many suspects, the vastness of London.

  I needed Codex.

  I needed my team. I needed four brilliant minds to shoulder this burden and help me. What good was a vigilante manhunt against Bernard Allerton if I failed because I didn’t—wouldn’t—do what was right and necessary? Because I clearly wasn’t my ghost of a father. I’d run to Sloane in the middle of the night, protected her. Had turned to her when I was vulnerable, felt the pain of her pain. I wanted to do right by my team—overly protect them and ensure their safety at all costs. I wanted to do right by Sloane—keep her close, guard her from any dangers lurking in the corners. I could only be like my father if I remained bound to my pride and blind to my own vulnerabilities. It had taken a raven-haired bombshell with a skill set that rivaled my own to bring me to my knees and my senses.

  “Since we’re still partners,” I said, “I need to talk to you about something important.”

  She was instantly wary. “Okay.”

  I slipped my hands into my pockets, fully knowing now what we needed to do. I wasn’t sure how Sloane was going to take it. Her thirst for revenge was as real as mine. But her walls and her fear and her resistance to working with a team were also very real. Technically this was her client, her career, her contract to win or lose.


  “This case, this work we’re doing, has gone from zero to sixty in a matter of hours. As talented as the two of us are together, as partners, I’m worried the auction will be overwhelming, and we’ll miss our one shot to catch a thief in the act. I always believed that Bernard was here in London. Now I’m as sure as ever.”

  “Which means?” she asked.

  I couldn’t decipher her tone. I forged ahead. “Which means I think it’s time I call Codex.”

  29

  Sloane

  Rain thrashed against the hotel window, and every time I blinked, I swore I saw lightning. Tonight, this night of sharing a room with Abe, was not a good time to have a full-on panic attack because of a little thunder. Especially since the two of us were squaring off like caged lions, attuned to each other’s bodies, every small movement, every indication of vulnerability. Except, instead of the threat of physical attack, we were waiting to pounce on each other like sex-starved teenagers.

  Which was how I ended up sitting against the headboard of the bed, blankets pulled around me, while Abe remained tall and impassive by the dresser.

  Telling me he was going to call Codex.

  “You want them… here?” I asked, surprised. A little shocked.

  A little jealous although I loathed admitting it.

  He looked to the side for a second. “You were extraordinarily accurate when you questioned my ability to pair up to capture a man who has always been my equivalent of the white whale. I’ve spent these past few days wrestling with that attitude, with this antiquated idea that Bernard was mine, and mine alone, to bring to justice. He has deeply impacted the lives of all four members of my team. Especially Henry. At first, I was genuinely concerned that if I told them why I was here, it would only get their hopes up. Only disappoint them when I—” He paused, toed the ground. “When I failed again.”

  When Abe caught my eye, the fire there took my breath away. “But here’s the thing. I think we’re going to fucking catch him.”