In the Clear (Codex Book 3)

by Kathryn Nolan

  Henry leaned forward. “If you don’t mind me asking, how did Louisa connect with you?”

  “Do you guys remember the stolen Audubon illustrations a few months ago?” I said.

  Delilah grinned. “Yeah, and it was the obsessive bird watchers who had stolen it. The four of us couldn’t stop talking about it.”

  “That’s the one,” I replied. “That was my case. My first real case working in antiquities theft. Louisa went to school with the Board President of The Murphy Library, so when she was calling around, seeking contacts, my name came up.”

  “No shit,” Sam said. “You closed that case on your own?”

  “Sure did,” I said.

  “That’s fucking impressive,” he said. The other three detectives were nodding, approving.

  “And how old are you?” Freya asked.

  “Frey.” Delilah laughed.

  “It’s okay.” I smiled. “I’m twenty-seven.”

  Another round of nodding heads and low whistles. “Damn,” Freya said. “Five years younger than me and significantly more badass.”

  “Well, I’m amazed with your slate of closed cases these past months,” I said, still smiling.

  Delilah tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, looked at her fiancé. “Do you think Louisa considered hiring us though? I mean, she almost hired Abe when all of this first happened.”

  Henry peered at me. “Sloane’s talked to her more recently than I have. What’s your gut sense about her right now?”

  It was beyond strange having Dr. Henry Finch seated on my hotel bed, given not five days ago I thought he might be an actual suspect in this case. I remembered Abe’s firm insistence to me that he was innocent; I remembered the emotions on his face as he gazed at old pictures of Bernard and Henry together. At the time, I couldn’t pin them down, but I now knew those emotions as protective. From the little I’d seen of this highly educated academic, he was too good for this world. I’d always hated the word gullible because that placed the blame on the mark whose only fault had been being trusting and open-minded. And how could you blame a person for those endearing qualities?

  Over time, I was learning most children weren’t raised like I was—to view other human beings as many means to many ends.

  The man in front of me was the kind of person my parents would have targeted. And thinking about Bernard taking advantage of him for ten fucking years was infuriating.

  “The truth?” I said, and Henry nodded. “She’s well aware that your firm is a force to be reckoned with. In fact, if I don’t catch Bernard by my contract’s deadline, she promised to fire me and hire someone else.”

  Freya wrinkled her nose. “Ouch.”

  “She seemed embarrassed,” I said to Henry. “Embarrassed and feeling guilty. As much as she might have considered hiring Codex, I don’t believe she wants to confront you. Or Abe.”

  Delilah squeezed Henry’s hand. “Henry was right all along, too.”

  Henry sighed, squeezed back. “I’m one piece of this story though. Abe… I can’t even tell you his reaction the night we first met, the night I handed him the first real evidence painting Bernard as a criminal rather than a librarian. He’s not always open with the tough stuff, but it’s basically his vendetta.”

  “Agree,” Sam said. “The year I worked with him at Art Theft, it was all he cared about. But goddamn, I thought he was right to care. The red flags were there; we just needed someone like Henry to set the process in motion.”

  “You mean send him into hiding,” Henry said grimly.

  “Almost every con artist goes into hiding at some point. You didn’t make Bernard do anything he wasn’t already planning on doing,” I said. “He may be in hiding, but we’re about to find his ass and send him to prison. That couldn’t happen if he was still operating his con and avoiding punishment.”

  “What that babe said,” Freya cheered.

  “We are going to find his ass,” Sam mused.

  Henry was watching me expectantly. “I have a lot of experience working with con artists,” I said, surprised at how tense my throat felt, how much I wanted to shield Henry from feeling badly about things out of his control. “Your actions were the first domino needed to get you all here.”

  “To get us here,” Freya added. “You’re a part of this story now too, Sloane.”

  “Oh,” I said, biting my lip. I caught Delilah watching the nervous gesture, so I straightened my spine and went for sultry over shy. “Happy to help and to fluster Abe when needed.”

  Four identical smiles beamed at me. I took a precious second to sink into their goodwill and acceptance. This felt nice.

  “So are we talking about how our boss has a big fucking crush on you?” Freya asked.

  I huffed out a shocked breath. “We are… enjoying spending time with each other.”

  “In a shared hotel room,” Delilah said slowly. “For safety purposes.”

  I crossed my legs, attempted nonchalance. “After the fire, sharing a room did feel safer. But things between us have progressed. Romantically.”

  Freya and Delilah were shaking their heads slowly. Even Sam had a pleasant look on his face.

  “I can’t fucking believe it,” Freya said. “If you thought taking a vacation was out of character for Abe Royal, whatever you two are doing is basically in the next stratosphere. You are definitely a first.”

  I wished my heart didn’t dance in my chest at the thought of being a first anything for Abe. But there it went, twirling around, refusing to behave. I awaited their collective judgment, unsure. Except all four of them seemed happy. Freya wrapped her arms around me in a tight hug. Eyes wide, I stared back at Sam over her shoulder.

  “She’s always been excitable.” He smirked.

  When was the last time I’d received a hug from another woman? A woman who could, possibly, be my friend?

  “You can also hug me back,” Freya whispered. I was at least six inches taller than her, and I had no idea how to arrange my limbs, but eventually I hugged her back.

  “What’s happening?” I asked.

  “Byrne and I have known Abe for a long, long time,” she said. “We can tell you that the guy doesn’t do romantic anything.”

  “According to your boss, he doesn’t make a lot of room in that cold heart of his,” I said, brow arched.

  Delilah snorted. “If only he could see his face every time he looks at you. If there’s a key to that man’s heart, you’ve got it.”

  “No pressure or anything,” Henry said cheerfully. I burst out laughing—surprised, relieved, unsure of what entirely was happening. Key or not, team or not, I did have a self-sufficient life to get back to in Brooklyn after this. My apartment wasn’t a home. Yet up until now I hadn’t been searching for more than a place to lay my head while staying afloat.

  I potentially had a key to Abe’s heart I shouldn’t want. And a foot-loose and fancy-free heart of my own I was now unable to control. This situation’s potential for devastation was growing by the second.

  The door to the hotel room swung open, and all five of us froze like kids caught misbehaving. Abe Royal appeared with bags of food and a suspicious expression.

  “Were you all engaging in light-hearted frivolity?” Abe asked.

  “Does doing body-shots off of Byrne’s six-pack count as frivolity?” Freya asked.

  “Evandale,” Sam growled—but one wink from his girlfriend, and the former FBI agent melted like butter.

  “Gossiping about your supervisor does count,” Abe said mildly. “As would body shots, if we’re being technical about it.”

  “We would never talk about you, sir,” Henry said soberly.

  Eyes narrowed, he placed the food down gingerly. Avoided looking at me as he pulled items from bags and drinks from containers. “Eat,” he said, smile wry. “Grab coffee and water, nap if you need. We’ve got less than forty minutes before the four of us need to be at the auction house.”

  There was a burst of energy in the room, a comf
ort to prepping and eating together, even in the middle of another country. When Delilah walked past me, she laid her hand on my arm.

  “I’m really happy you’re here,” she said.

  “Me too,” I said. And meant it. “I’m not sure I could have even attempted it without a team.”

  “I get the feeling you’re the kind of woman who can pretty much do anything if you put your mind to it,” she said. “Which is my kind of woman, by the way.”

  She wasn’t wrong—I’d done far worse and much harder in my life than what we were about to do during the next two days. But I’d done it alone, which was a different kind of hard.

  The next forty minutes were a frantic blur of eating and dressing while Codex teased each other and chatted about the case. By the time the four of them were done and ready to meet us in the lobby, the silence in my and Abe’s room was weird.

  Abe and I made eye contact—alone—for the first time since they’d arrived that morning. We let out twin sighs of relief, exchanged dual, flirtatious smiles. The hotel had returned our previously soggy clothing, freshly dry-cleaned and pressed. Abe’s navy suit was hot enough to be outlawed in fifty states—as was the slow and lingering way he was studying me.

  “You look like a Grecian goddess in that dress,” he said in a rough voice. “One that’s up to no good.”

  I blew him a kiss. “Naughty Athena?”

  “Exactly.”

  I caressed my dress. It was a pearl satin, floor-length and high-necked. My hair was swept to the side in a low bun. Desire hung, tangible, between us.

  “After you, partner,” he said, holding the door open.

  Just past him, one foot out the door, I turned to say thank you. Instead Abe grabbed me by the elbow and yanked me against his body. A second later, his lips were on mine, his fingers diving into my hair. I lost myself in this stolen kiss, let him consume my mouth, taste me, dive our tongues together while pressing every single inch of his body to mine. With a moan, I shoved him back against the wall, let him drag my leg high around his waist, palm splaying across my ass with a possessiveness I loved. Then he was rocking his cock between my legs. Once, twice, three times, and there I went, shaking already. Our mouths separated, I gasped in air, my sex clenched, needing to be filled, stretched, fucked by Abe.

  He grabbed the back of my neck firmly, thumb tracing my jaw to land on my chin. Tilted it until our eyes were locked together. “I’ve been waiting to kiss you all goddamn day.”

  “It was worth the wait.” I tried to catch his mouth again. He dodged me, kept my chin lifted.

  “My team likes you,” he said.

  My mouth curved. “I like them.” I let out a shaky breath. “I like seeing you with them.”

  “Is that so?” His thumb caressed my lip. “Do you want to know what flustered me today, Ms. Argento?”

  “What?” I whispered.

  “Remembering how it felt to fuck you on the dresser,” he said.

  I didn’t need reminding. My memory flooded with every aching, delicious sensation—every moan and pant, every rough word and dirty bruise. And just when I thought Abe might kiss me again, he let go. Resumed his position at the door with his palm outspread, looking goddamn immaculate.

  “After you, still,” he said, with a dangerous smile. “Unless you’re too flustered.”

  38

  Abe

  I stepped out of our cab and beheld Kensley’s Auction House fully for the very first time. It was internationally renowned, and there tended to be one in every cosmopolitan city in the world. The London location was a four-story white building with gold-and-purple lights and international flags blowing in the slight breeze. A large, excited-looking crowd had already gathered, many in deerstalker hats and carrying pipes. A vintage marquee lighted by bright, white bulbs proclaimed Sherlock Holmes Lives! in black letters.

  I turned, hand extended, and helped Sloane step gracefully from the cab in her flowing dress. We’d managed to restrict our conversation to tonight’s event during the short ride through town. The restriction didn’t apply to my fantasies, which included getting on my knees in that cab and burying my tongue between her thighs. The day had been a riot of emotions, many of them challenging for me to navigate, but one thing I knew for certain was the pride I experienced watching Sloane interact with my team. I’d sensed her initial hesitancy thawing away, and whatever conversation had happened while I’d picked up our dinner had shifted attitudes—for her and for them. I just wasn’t sure what it all meant. And I had not a goddamn clue what Sloane and I were to do two days from now, when our separate lives would almost assuredly slip back into place.

  “Thank you, Daniel.” She smiled, scanning the crowd in front of the building. I looked and found no indication of Dresden, although auction security guards would surely be present inside. “Any sign of our favorite friend?”

  “I’m sure we’d hear him first,” I said. We had asked Henry, multiple times, what his sense had been about Bernard’s supposed best friend. Henry had been as unsure as we were, though he’d admitted to always being charmed by the man.

  As if spirited from the sky, Humphrey and Reggie appeared, dressed as Holmes and Watson, bellowing our names across the crowd. I caught Sloane’s eye, smiled, then reached down for her hand and entwined our fingers.

  “Valiant! Enchanting! Dashing!” Humphrey said, crushing us to his barrel chest. “Reginald, have you ever seen two people more fit to be our dates this evening?”

  Reggie tipped his hat to us, looking tiny next to his giant, red-haired husband. “I don’t mean to diminish his compliment, but Humphrey does say that about most of our dinner guests.”

  Sloane laughed. “We’re in fine company.”

  “Truly a night to be remembered,” Humphrey said. “Can you imagine, glimpsing Doyle’s words, written in his own hand, unveiling secrets we can only dream about.”

  Society members were filling in, calling to Humphrey. From the corner of my eye, I caught Sam and Freya in their disguises appear at the edge of the crowd. They both gave me a quick nod. It had been a long time since I’d had the privilege of being in the field with my agents.

  “Can you imagine if Bernard could be here?” Sloane said, slipping her hands through Humphrey’s extended arm.

  Humphrey winced. “I tried again, sent him message after message. Eudora assured me he was made aware and that he couldn’t possibly return given how far away he is right now.”

  “Where on earth is he?” I asked, keeping my tone teasing.

  “It’s beyond my understanding,” he said. “We’ll simply have to remember every single detail so we can relay to him upon his victorious return.”

  We stepped inside the auction house and into a room with a magnificently domed ceiling and classic paintings on the walls. In the very center, beside heavy security and beneath glass, were the secret pages of Arthur Conan Doyle. Even I felt compelled to see them, and until now they’d been nothing more than a convenient clue, leading us closer to catching Bernard. The sincere awe on the faces of those surrounding the table kick-started my interest.

  I glanced at Humphrey and Reggie—two boys on Christmas morning, spying a puppy with a red ribbon beneath the tree. They were already moving forward. Sloane and I followed, diligent. These two were our shield from Eudora’s wrath tonight.

  A sharply dressed white man, with a yellow bowtie and a gray mustache, greeted Humphrey and Reggie warmly. Sloane squeezed my fingers, and I assumed she also recognized him to be James Patrick. JP is a yes.

  “And Daniel and Devon, of course,” Humphrey was saying. “My esteemed American guests. Fans so devoted they flew all the way here to spend time with the Society.”

  A split-second of anger flickered across James’s face before he concealed it. I caught it, and I guessed Sloane did as well. “Eudora’s told me so much about you,” he said. His handshake was much too tight, jaw much too clenched. Sloane sized him up like a sparring partner she couldn’t wait to defeat.


  “Has she?” Sloane asked. “What an absolute treasure. Daniel and I have been delighted by the warm reception she’s given to us, especially since we know how busy she is.”

  Security guards appeared at the far edges of the room—a solid flank of stoic muscle. They wore uniforms identifying them as Kensley security, not Dresden, but I felt confident they were for Sloane and me.

  “A treasure she is,” James said. “Humphrey, do you have a moment?”

  “I do not!” Humphrey said, clapping James on the arm across the table. “I only have eyes for this at the moment, as do my esteemed guests.”

  Sloane cast a sideways glance my way. Thank fucking god for Humphrey Hatcher. Of all the people I thought might be inadvertently helping me catch Bernard Allerton, I’d never anticipated it being his best friend. Another guest grabbed James’s attention, but I didn’t miss the scathing look he cast my way.

  The table we stepped up to displayed the contents of Arthur Conan Doyle’s undiscovered private effects, which Humphrey was viewing with the devotional posture of a penitent.

  “This,” he said, tapping the glass. “This is the man’s wallet. His wallet. Have you ever seen such a thing?”

  Sloane bent over, looking sincerely captivated. I stared at her beautiful profile, backlit by the golden light, similarly captivated. When she placed her hand on Humphrey’s arm, there was such vulnerability in the gesture. I hoped, more than anything, that Humphrey Hatcher was an innocent man. Maybe it was his affectionately paternal nature that drew both Sloane and me in, that grabbed our trust and held on tight. While I at least had two mothers and Codex in my life, Sloane had not a single soul—not a funny cousin or a kind uncle or a grandparent she could call.

  “It makes him human,” she said, smiling when Humphrey’s face brightened. “Brings him closer to us.”

  “Enchantress, you read my soul,” he said. “To think of a genius using something as pedestrian as a wallet. I mean, it boggles even the most serene of minds. And this, see this right here? A letter to his brother, Kingsley, before he passed away after the war. These are drawings… Reggie, look at the drawings.”