In the Clear (Codex Book 3)

by Kathryn Nolan

  Sloane was laughing, following along with Humphrey’s antics, asking questions about every single item beneath that glass. She was one hell of an undercover agent, but the woman in front of me was honestly connecting with these two scholars. It was no cover, no lie, no con.

  I bent down and kissed the ball of her shoulder.

  Also not part of our cover.

  Every item, Humphrey exclaimed over. “We’d heard he kept letters from Teddy Roosevelt, but to see them in bloody person. Daniel, look the man’s signature. So bold!”

  I bent down and eyeballed a small piece of history—a letter exchanged between two famous men who respected each other. This letter, preserving it, protecting it, that was what Codex was. I saw Sam and Freya speaking to a group of people, felt Sloane’s hand in mine, knew Delilah was patrolling the parking lot while Henry was searching for missing clues. Every single one of us was vital to protect the history right in front of us.

  “Extraordinary,” I said. “A once-in-a-lifetime experience. I’m saddened to think of these items disappearing into a private collector’s hands tomorrow, if I can be brutally honest.”

  “We all are,” Reggie said sadly. “These belong with the Society.”

  “I won’t be able to bear the auction tomorrow,” Humphrey said. “Not now that I’m seeing them here like this.”

  I scanned the crowd and found James speaking with Eudora, caught the guards at various hallways leading away from this main room. We’d studied a map online today back at the hotel and knew there to be three exits, this front entrance, and a giant basement of storage we were positive was heavily secured. And where were the—

  “Oh, I love being betrayed by my closest colleagues,” Eudora said in a voice that sounded sweet but dripped poison. All four of us turned from the table. She beamed a nasty smile our way, flanked by two security guards.

  “Humphrey, didn’t I ask the Society not to associate with these two liars?” she asked.

  “Oh, Eudora,” he thundered. “Didn’t I once ask you not to speak to me like I was your damned child?”

  Nostrils flaring, she ducked her head. “Keep your voice down, you fool. The media could be here.”

  “Then you’ll love not making a scene,” he replied, cheerful. “Daniel and Devon are my guests, and you will now shut the hell up.”

  In another world, Humphrey would have made a great addition to the Codex team. Sam and Freya hovered in the periphery. I held my palm out below my waist, flat as in stay. With a curt nod, Sam turned slightly and pretended to point something out to Freya.

  “Never mind,” Eudora said, eyeing Sloane and me like a particularly tasty lunch. “You’re not the fool, Humphrey. These two are, since apparently they care not at all about their own personal safety.”

  “Sorry for dumping that martini on you last night,” Sloane said. “Bill me if you can’t get the stain out.”

  I hid a smile behind my hand. Watched Eudora turn flame red before spinning on her heel and leaving. The guards followed, but in no way did I think we were safe to move about.

  “Is that what this is all about?” Humphrey asked. “You stained her dress?”

  “I have no idea,” Sloane said. “Does she usually physically threaten people?”

  He stroked his beard in thought. “Yes, she does.”

  “What a leader,” I said. “No wonder you all miss Bernard.”

  “Now that’s a leader,” Humphrey said. “Oh, is that a diary I see?”

  Humphrey and Reggie rushed back to the glass while Sloane and I had a moment alone. With a conspiratorial look, she shifted back into the crowd, dragging me with her. As casually as we could, we pushed the boundaries of what was available to us, peered into hallways and calculated guards-per-exits. Watched James and Eudora conferring, watched the Sherlock Society members stare at the glass table. All of it went into a mental catalog for later discussion, but I felt frustrated that we still couldn’t figure out how this plan to steal these papers might go down—or if there was even a plan at all.

  I had one eye trained on Freya and Sam throughout our wandering. Eventually the four of us converged, in front of Doyle’s diary and close enough to Humphrey to feel his protection. I nodded again at my team—concealed a smile at their disguises.

  “Evening,” I said to Sam.

  “Hello,” he replied. Directly behind us stood a group of people speaking in excited tones and whispers, pressing against our backs to view the antiques. I knew all four of us were listening, could feel our focused energy. There was rapid discussion of what was found, the legacy of the family, the auction house, the potential bidders, tomorrow’s event.

  And then—new people must have arrived. We could hear names and greetings. More pressing against us to see the items. Something rooted me to the spot, a name I’d caught that set my teeth on edge.

  “So sorry,” a voice said. “I didn’t quite catch your names?”

  There was a pause. My pulse spiked. I strained to hear again what the man had said.

  “Julian,” was the reply. “Julian King. And this is my business partner Birdie Barnes.”

  39

  Abe

  Only years of rigorous training kept Sam, Freya, and me from outwardly reacting to the names Julian and Birdie. My first thought was an unprofessional “what the fuck” followed by a roar of noise in my ears. I exhaled as slowly as I could, slid my eyes to my left to find Sam’s jaw set hard.

  “You know,” I said to Sloane. “I’d love to get some air. How about you?”

  One look at me was all it took. “Absolutely,” she said quickly.

  Two people forced their way between my shoulders and Sam’s. The man tapped the glass, turned to his female companion. “Birdie, it’s just darling. Have you ever seen such magnificence?”

  Sam caught my eye over Julian’s hunched back. We’d had no indication of Julian and Birdie’s whereabouts since Sam and Freya had assumed their identities to infiltrate The Empty House. We didn’t even know if they were real people.

  Would they recognize the two people standing next to them, even in disguise? The two private detectives who had used their names to help arrest their circle of friends?

  Slowly, as if walking away from a bomb, the four of us backed away, careful not to draw any attention to our movements. Humphrey was nearby, but we couldn’t risk drawing his bellow our way. I gripped Sloane’s hand as we kept moving, heart bruising my ribcage, breath short. Our measured steps seemed to take an eternity, and once we reached the center of the room, all four of us turned and rushed quickly through the heavy front doors.

  “Let’s call a cab,” I said, beneath my breath. “Calmly.”

  Nodding, Sam raised his hand as we reached the curb. Glancing back to make sure we hadn’t been followed, I called Delilah. As soon as she picked up, I said, “Get back to the hotel.”

  “Done,” she said.

  A cab stopped in front of us, and we climbed inside. After slamming the door and giving the driver instructions, we stared at each other.

  “Is someone going to tell me what the hell is going on?” Sloane asked. Her phone rang. “Shit, it’s Humphrey.”

  “Don’t answer,” I said. “You can call him tomorrow and invent an excuse.” I ducked past Sloane to find Freya and Sam open-mouthed and shell-shocked. “Tell me you heard what I heard.”

  Freya and Sam exchanged a look. “I believe I heard that couple introduce themselves as Julian King and Birdie Barnes,” she said. Each word seemed heavy with the deeper implications of what this meant. I rubbed a hand across my mouth, momentarily distracted by the persistent alarm bells ringing and ringing in my head. The federal agent in me knew that all of these people coming together was no fucking coincidence.

  I nodded at Sloane. “Tell her.”

  Freya let out a long, shaky breath. “When Byrne and I went undercover to infiltrate that secret society, we assumed the identities of a real couple I’d been following online. We later learned they were highly
skilled con artists.”

  Sloane’s eyes shot up to mine at the word con artists.

  “They owned a bookstore in San Francisco, and their names were Julian King and Birdie Barnes.”

  “What the fuck?” Sloane said.

  At the time, Freya knew Julian and Birdie to be new members of The Empty House and were beloved in the antiquity’s community. The couple bailed on attending the Antiquarian Festival—an act that ultimately allowed Sam and Freya to assume their identities.

  They were never seen or heard from again.

  No pictures of them existed online; no patron had ever actually met Julian or Birdie in person. At first, we assumed they were involved with Bernard. But after the case, and their disappearance, Freya’s best conclusion was they were probably con artists operating in the rare book world—buying books illegally, selling them illegally, burning bridges left and right while pretending to be on everyone’s side.

  In the chaos of the arrests, Julian King and Birdie Barnes’s real names and personas had fallen to the wayside, and to my knowledge no legal actions had been taken against them.

  My mental alarm bell became an air raid siren. Glimmers of what I knew I should do next bubbled up in my mind, twisting my stomach and tightening my throat.

  “So what in the fresh hell are they doing here?” Freya added. “And why in the fresh hell are they using those names?”

  “I haven’t a goddamn clue,” I said. “Sam?”

  “Sir,” he said.

  “You know what we need to do, right?”

  Cowboy mission or not, if the Codex team had encountered real criminals, wanted by the FBI, we needed to actually call the FBI. I was too overloaded on adrenaline to feel much about it, although I knew I’d be disappointed later. To get so close only to bring in the big guns would potentially wound my pride forever.

  “We’ll call the Deputy Director as soon as we return.”

  “Wait, Sam’s dad, you mean?” Sloane asked.

  “The word dad gives him a lot more credit than he deserves,” Freya said.

  Sam chuckled softly. “You’re not wrong. He’ll know the nature of the FBI’s involvement with them and what we need to do.”

  The cab stopped in front of the hotel. We jumped out and raced to the room, expressions a mixture of grim determination and wild excitement. I opened the hotel door to find Henry and Delilah, pacing about.

  “I just made it back,” Delilah said. “What happened?”

  “Julian King and Birdie Barnes were at the event tonight,” Freya said, tossing her bag onto the bed.

  “Holy shit,” Henry and Delilah said in unison.

  “Our thoughts exactly,” I said.

  Freya dropped her head into her hands. “I cannot fucking believe it. When I heard their names, I swear to god my heart actually stopped beating.”

  “I hate to say it, but it could be random,” Sam said. “We always thought they were an intermediary between illegal buyers and illegal sellers. Maybe word has gotten around in the rare book community that a major haul is being auctioned tomorrow, and it attracted the vultures.”

  “Maybe,” I said. “None of this feels random, though.”

  “Abe, we have to call this in,” Delilah said.

  “I know.” I looked at Sloane, who was already seated behind Freya’s laptops with a focused expression. “Sloane.”

  We made eye contact over the top of the screen. “What is it?”

  “If we call the Deputy Director, and they have to take action here, and it leads to catching Bernard, I mean we’d all hope it would, but your contract, I’m not sure what Louisa…”

  Sloane shook her head immediately. “My deliverable is finding Bernard and giving him to the proper authorities. So whatever road leads to Bernard’s capture is the one I want to be on. And con artists like Julian and Birdie deserve to be behind bars. Call him.”

  I swallowed hard. “It could still work out well for you, career-wise.”

  She waved her hand. “Let me worry about my contract. You do what we’re supposed to do.”

  I held her midnight gaze for a second longer than was professional—because I understood what she was potentially letting go. I had watched this case become more and more personal to Sloane and less and less about the money or prestige. Still, it was her career potentially on the line, not mine.

  “Thank you,” I said. She winked at me—flirtatious—and I busied myself with shedding my jacket before I did something stupid like kiss her in front of my agents.

  “Sam, how quickly can you get your dad on the phone?”

  “If its urgent, he’ll step out of a meeting to speak with me,” Sam said. “Give me a second.”

  Deputy Director Andrew Byrne and I had always had a contentious relationship. At the Bureau, we’d butted heads often, and when I’d left to start Codex, he’d made his disdain apparent and very public. The man’s lack of respect for private investigators was well-documented, and having to involve him in The Empty House case had been a pissing contest I hadn’t enjoyed. The man despised when I was right, and I’d never admit the few times he’d been. Stealing his son from the Bureau to work for Codex had been the final nail in the coffin for our working relationship.

  Sam stood, on the phone, shaking his head and speaking quietly. Freya was perched on the table where Sloane sat—they were both watching Sam carefully. Delilah paced along with me, while Henry sat in the chair with his arms crossed, thoughtful.

  “Hey,” I said to Henry. “Anything at the bookstore?”

  “Nope,” he said. “It was dark, the sign indicated they were closed for the night. Nothing sparked a memory, unfortunately.”

  “Okay,” I said, clapping him on the shoulder. “Good work though. We’ll keep Peter on the back burner.”

  Sam’s voice on the phone grew louder, drawing my attention. “Yes, sir,” Sam was saying—and handing the phone to me.

  I put the phone on speaker again so the whole team could listen in. “Hello, Andrew,” I said.

  “Abraham,” came the curt response.

  Nostrils flaring, I caught Freya’s dramatic eye roll. “My team and I are working a case in London right now, and we believe may have stumbled upon two persons of interest in The Empty House case.”

  “Who?” Icy but professional.

  “Julian King and Birdie Barnes,” I said.

  There was another long pause—sounds of a door closing. “And what are American private investigators doing in London?”

  I looked at Sam, who nodded at me. “Looking for Bernard Allerton.”

  The name hung heavily in the tense air—I had five people watching me while attempting to discern what the hell we did next.

  “To be clear, you and your entire team are in London searching for one of the FBI’s most wanted men?” Andrew repeated.

  “Yes,” I said.

  The seconds ticked by—slow, dramatic. And then the Deputy Director of the FBI cleared his throat. “So you must have received my email?”

  40

  Sloane

  “I’m sorry, what did you say?” Abe asked, looking truly astonished. Sam was on his feet, striding toward the sound of his father’s voice on the phone.

  “The confidential email,” Andrew Byrne said. “The one with the reports. You must have gotten it?”

  Sam snatched the phone up. “Dad.”

  I saw Freya’s face soften. So did Abe’s.

  “Yes, Sam?”

  “What did you do?”

  “I merely sent an anonymous email to your supervisor letting him know my thoughts on where Bernard Allerton might be,” he said. “We are all familiar with the various shortcomings, shall we say, of the Bureau. At times.”

  Abe and Sam stared at each other. “And what would you like us to do with this information?”

  “I believe you know,” the Deputy Director said. “Or I wouldn’t have sent it.”

  Tension radiated from Sam’s posture. Every person in the room looked suspende
d mid-action—breathing fast, bodies bent forward. “And you sent it to Abe and not to me?”

  The room filled with sounds of rustling paper and Andrew clearing his throat. “My decision had no bearing on your abilities, Samuel. It’s less suspicious for an email to end up in a former colleague’s inbox than in my own son’s. And I assumed Abe would take swift action with the information and involve you immediately.”

  Sam shot a wry smile at his supervisor. “He did involve us. Although not immediately.”

  Abe held out his palms in apology, his own smile tugging at his lips. “I’ll be apologizing for the next decade.”

  Sam re-focused on the phone call. “Then do you know why Julian King and Birdie Barnes might be in London, flashing their names around at a private auction?”

  “Julian and Birdie weren’t ever a focus on any investigation,” Andrew said. “I was in a meeting last week, reviewing the testimony of the members we arrested. Because you and Freya assumed their identity, The Empty House members all believe they were part of a wide-scale federal sting operation. Julian and Birdie, in their minds, never actually existed as real booksellers. The Empty House members believe Julian and Birdie were two undercover FBI agents, working them over for a case the whole time, even online.”

  Sam turned to stare at Freya, who was chewing on her lip. “I guess…” she started. “Shit, I guess that makes sense, though.”

  “From a Bureau perspective,” Andrew continued, “We don’t have any records of Julian and Birdie’s existence—not the store, not any sales, nothing.”

  Abe paced, hand on the back of his neck. “Is that why they’re comfortable using those names out here, in London?”

  “Well, the only people who think they might be criminals are the eleven members of The Empty House, and they’re all about to start their prison sentences,” Freya said. “To people in London, would they have any idea who they were?”

  I’d never actually interacted with Julian and Birdie, but if they were anything like my parents, they lived their lives with a strong sense of self-preservation and an even stronger sense of confidence. A confidence that could absolutely put them at risk of being caught.