At 8:01, the Codex team were in their positions. Abe and I strolled casually down Baker Street on a fake date. Henry played the role of lonely academic at the pub across from Adler’s. Delilah was an American auction fanatic, excited to meet bidders at Kensley’s. And Sam and Freya were literally hiding in the shadows of the parking lot.
The night had a liquid dream-like quality to it. A brief respite from the rain had the clouds overhead dispersing, revealing the moon. It seemed like everyone in London was out, enjoying the nice weather, as Abe and I kept tabs on the Sherlock Holmes museum. Which was dark, empty, and closed.
“Don’t forget to breathe,” I said to the exquisitely handsome man next to me.
“Hard to do when you’re around, Ms. Argento,” he murmured.
I touched my hot cheeks. “Oh my god, was that a line?”
He made a show of turning casually toward the museum, checking things out. “See? I’m fun.”
We shared a quick smile before getting back to the business at hand. Abe Royal slowly dressing me like I was a priceless artifact was an experience I would never be able to forget. My body had never felt so achingly alive, so seen and revered. It had propelled me to speak the truth, to step out on the tight rope of my emotions regardless of whether or not he followed.
He had. I’m still here, chaos and all.
What happened after tonight was a conversation we’d yet to have, but all I needed in that moment was confirmation that this intensity was gripping us both equally. Over seven days, I’d gone from concealing my name from this man to sharing secrets that had never seen the light of day. I hadn’t burst into flames either or gone running back into the shadows.
I wasn’t them.
My parents wouldn’t have partnered with Abe in the first place, let alone risk cold hard cash to do the right thing and call the authorities. If Argento Enterprises was going to continue to flourish the way I wanted, then recognizing I was truly on the right path was as vital as scoring big clients.
Our phones buzzed at the same time with a text from Sam: Julian and Birdie just arrived. Delilah, I’ll text you a physical description and what they’re wearing.
Abe gave me a short nod. We walked around to the back of the Sherlock Holmes museum, noticed nothing out of the ordinary.
“Maybe this wasn’t the right place for us to watch,” he muttered.
I wasn’t so sure either. We were trying to stake out all the suspicious places where Bernard could be hiding, but the museum seemed absolutely uninhabited—at least from the outside.
Another text at 8:10 came through, this time from Delilah: I see Julian and Birdie. I also see Humphrey and Eudora. Auction starting soon.
A minute later, Henry’s message indicated that Adler’s was also closed. No other suspicious activity. Abe’s entire body was tight and practically shaking with nerves. We kept walking, looping back around, until I directed us to a nearby bench.
Auction starting, Delilah said. Julian is coming in hot with the bids.
“Dammit,” Abe said. “They’re the key, right?”
“Except they’re legitimately purchasing these papers,” I pointed out. “They’re not the thieves. Although maybe Bernard is paying them to do this, then we catch them in the hand-off to Bernard.”
“Or they’re the distraction,” he said softly.
I crossed my legs, draping the fabric around my heels. “Did we ever settle on what the final piece of that paper meant? Irene says it’s a go. Who is Irene?”
“A member of the Society that we never suspected, perhaps?” he suggested.
“I checked,” I said. “The whole list of all the members. It feels like a symbol or a secret message or—”
Abe looked at the museum before turning to me quickly. “The Sherlock Holmes story A Scandal in Bohemia has a character named Irene Adler. The woman. Not a romantic love interest, but the woman that bested Sherlock and captivated him with her wit and cunning.”
A thousand lightbulbs exploded over my head. “Shit, that’s right. I remember this story. The Society members have a significant love/hate relationship with Irene Adler.”
“I’m going to guess Bernard loved her,” he replied.
I clapped him on the arm. “Adler’s Bookshop. Irene says it’s a go. Something is going to happen there.”
Abe leaned forward, elbows on his knees, and gave one last look at the museum. “Okay,” he finally said. “I think you’re right. Let’s move.”
We both stood as our phones rang out with another update from Delilah. Bidding went fast. Julian and Birdie are the winning bidders at $6 million. They’re being swarmed by a lot of people, including the media. They don’t look very happy about the number of news cameras here.
A beat later, from Freya: We’ll stay outside, grab them when they finally head to the parking lot.
“But what are they—” Abe started, until his phone rang with a call from Henry. He placed it on speakerphone immediately, pulling me in close.
“What is it?” Abe said, tense.
“The second Delilah told us they’d won, every single light in that bookstore came on,” Henry said, voice barely above a whisper. “The person flicking on the lights was Peter Markham. And, Abe, listen, this sounds bizarre, but I think I know why we recognized him.”
Abe and I bent close, breath frozen.
“I think that man is Jim Dahl.”
Abe’s fingers tightened on the phone. “The fake intern who stole the George Sand letters?”
“We all studied his picture the day Sam and Freya went to tail him,” Henry said. “And it was bothering me, why I couldn’t place him. I pulled up our old emails from Francisco, with Jim’s employee photo and compared it to pictures of Peter Markham online. Same height, same face shape, same eye-color. He’s dyed his hair and added a beard.”
“That’s why,” Abe said swiftly. “I knew we knew him. We’re coming. I’ll call Freya and send Delilah your way. For god’s sake, don’t let him out of your sight.”
Abe grabbed my wrist as we started sprinting toward the street where the cabs were.
“Dahl the forger, right?” I said, thinking back to that day in Bernard’s office when Abe had explained the many characters of The Empty House case.
Abe hailed a cab, face lit up with every emotion under the sun. “I assumed Bernard used Dahl as one of his many thieves. Maybe he’s his forger.”
“An expert forger is exactly what Bernard would need to ensure he was never caught,” I said. “The letters of authentication, for one thing. And Henry’s signature on those documents, right?”
He looked at me like I’d just presented him with a rare first edition of his favorite book. “Right,” he said, in awe. “You’re absolutely right.”
We jumped in the first cab and Abe had the driver speed toward Adler’s. While I sent Delilah a text ordering her to meet us, Abe called Freya.
“What’s up?” she whispered. “Sam and I are literally hiding behind a Dumpster.”
“Henry saw Peter Markham in person, and he thinks he’s Jim Dahl in disguise.”
“Fuck a duck,” Freya swore. Muffled, she repeated the same thing to Sam, who had a similarly crude reaction.
“Do you see the resemblance too?” Abe asked.
More muffled speaking before Freya got back on the line. “We’re accessing a picture of Peter Markham from his website. Let me look at it again.”
We could only stare at each other and wait. My heart was in my throat with every second.
“Abe, we think it’s him,” Freya said grimly. “I can’t believe this. Sam and I got pretty close the day we tailed him to the book festival. He was never apprehended, same as Julian and Birdie.”
“Have Sam call his dad and get him to send help your way to the parking lot. I’m sure the authorities will want Julian and Birdie arrested once we tie them in with Dahl and Bernard,” Abe said, face pressed to the window.
“Got it.” Freya hung up, and Abe reached for my hand in
the darkness. We sat, hands entwined, for five jittery minutes until the cab braked to a fast stop in front of Mycroft’s Pub.
Abe and I snuck inside as soon as we could, giving us a perfect view of the bookstore windows—hopefully without Peter noticing the two private detectives dashing down the street. Henry motioned us to his small table in the corner.
“He’s in the bookstore, no other signs of movement,” he said.
Delilah strode in a second later—looking glamorous in a floor-length gown—reaching for her fiancé’s hand.
“Are you okay?” she asked.
Henry pointed at the store. “We need to get in there.”
“Did those papers really go for six million dollars?” I whispered to Delilah.
“Yes, and Eudora seemed edgy—she jumped a mile in her seat when the auctioneer hit the gavel. James Patrick seemed about ready to puke.”
“And Humphrey?” I asked. I’d seen the very dregs of human nature, knew the universe wasn’t always a pattern of just good people and bad people. But I desperately wanted Humphrey and Reggie to be plain old good people.
“They were sad. They were…” Delilah bit her lip. “They appeared devastated to see it bid on like that. Reggie kept patting Humphrey on the back and telling him he was going to be okay.”
Sudden movement in the bookstore had all of us ducking to the side, peering out cautiously. There was Peter, cleaning up a few books, writing on a sheet of paper. Everything appeared innocent as hell, but all four of us knew how easily that façade could be built.
“Sam slipped me this,” Delilah said, exposing a tool I recognized.
“To pick locks?” I asked, surprised.
Abe pocketed it immediately. “I have a little experience with this. Sloane, do you think you can get Peter to the door while the three of us find the closest side door?”
I smoothed my palms down my dress. Nodded through a long breath. “How long would you need?”
“A minute,” Delilah said. “Maybe two. Also, because Freya’s not here, I would be remiss if I didn’t point out that our extremely ethical boss, Abe Royal, is about to break into a bookstore without cause or a warrant.”
“Oh, how the mighty have fallen,” Henry mused.
Abe lifted a shoulder, cast a sly grin at my questioning look. “Told you I could be fun.”
44
Sloane
I wouldn’t have much time to grab Peter’s attention and get him to trust me. The last time Peter Markham had seen me, I’d been throwing a drink in Eudora’s face after being accused of being a private detective. I didn’t need much time, though. I only needed him to doubt his perception of me for a minute while distracting him from Abe breaking into his bookstore.
I strode as confidently as I could across the street while Abe, Henry, and Delilah snuck around the back. Peter was shoving a book back onto a shelf when I knocked on the window. It startled the shit out of him, which was good. Fear weakened our defenses.
The second he turned, confused, I waved and flashed him my most charming smile. I tracked the few seconds it took for him to recognize who I was—but when he did, the panic that overtook his body felt like taking a jumper cable straight to the heart. Because as much as I’d hoped we were on the right path, there were enough what ifs about tonight to rattle my certainty. Yet his raw reaction at the sight of me felt like a blazing, neon sign that declared ‘trouble is afoot.’
Peter took a step back, already turning, when I pressed my face to the glass and said, “Didn’t we once meet at Reichenbach Falls?”
He froze. Spun back around, face a mixture of intrigue and anxiety. He was still silent, still frozen in place.
“Peter, I’m not who Eudora says I am,” I called through the glass. “I’m here in London because I’ve come into possession of something. A big something.” I paused, noted the slight drop in his shoulders. “A big something that could use your special and unique skillset.”
“Leave or I’m calling the police,” he said, slowly backing away. His head whipped around, toward the back, so I tapped on the glass again.
“But I can pay,” I said. “Whatever amount you received for your last job, double it, and that’s where I’d start.”
Peter was a thief, after all. And so, like many con artists before him, he took a reluctant step forward toward the person offering him money. Which was when I saw Abe, Delilah, and Henry slipping out from behind the cash register.
Peter jumped hard, back into the bookshelf, and whatever Abe was saying with that cool, impassive face of his had Peter paling dramatically. Henry walked over quickly, let me in as he checked to make sure we hadn’t been noticed. He flicked the switch next to the door, blanketing the store in near darkness. A backroom light cast an eerie glow through the space.
Behind Henry, I caught the flying, graceful movements of Delilah, who put my own hand-to-hand skills to an instant shame. Within a minute, Peter was trussed up and immobilized. Although he was furious.
She slapped a piece of duct tape over his mouth. Shrugged.
“Well done,” Abe said, pulling a chair in front of Peter. He sat with a kind of elegance, crossing his legs like we had all the time in the world. Henry and Delilah were fanning out, searching. I wasn’t convinced a whole team of Dresden security guards weren’t about to stream—
“Oh, goddammit,” I said as our three best Dresden friends came in through the same back entrance and launched themselves at us with frightening speed. Peter was yelling behind his duct tape as Delilah and Henry tag-teamed the first guard, taking him to the ground with ease.
With that same elegance, Abe stood, picked up his chair, and walloped the second guard across the back. Delilah threw tape across the room, and Abe bit a piece off to restrain his wrists.
The third guard was my old pal Linebacker. The moment he threw himself at me, I pepper-sprayed him—again. Then picked up the closest hardcover book and smacked him across the face with it. Delilah kicked his knees out, sending him to the ground before subduing him.
“Nice moves,” I said. She was breathing hard, hair a bit mussed, but other than that still looked gorgeous in her gown.
“Not so bad yourself.” She winked.
“She’s always had a Xena Warrior Princess vibe going on,” Henry told me.
“So three guards,” Delilah panted. “And no emergency button, as far as I could see. Which means Peter has this place watched. They must have seen us enter and followed behind.”
Peter was still staring at us with wide eyes as the guards wiggled like giant fish nearby. Abe kicked the chair out of the way and crouched in front of the man.
“I don’t know what your actual name is, Peter. I do know that two months ago, in Philadelphia, you masqueraded as an intern at The Franklin Museum where you stole the George Sand letters. And helped to steal a rare first edition of Don Quixote from Dr. Bradley Ward. And I’m going to guess that you know where the hell Bernard Allerton is.”
Peter’s entire body shook until he composed himself, lifting his chin and glaring defiantly.
“Abe.”
Delilah’s voice was thick with emotion. She stood in front of a giant bookshelf with the words The Great Game scrawled in elegant cursive over the top. All three of us were there in an instant. Delilah was breathing quickly, fingers shaking as she reached for the books.
“It’s an entire Arthur Conan Doyle collection,” she said. “And this row right here is just copies of The Hound of the Baskervilles.”
Henry and Delilah exchanged a shocked look.
“What?” Abe said sharply.
“The last time Henry and I encountered a copy of The Hound of the Baskervilles,” she said. “A secret passageway appeared behind a bookshelf.”
45
Abe
I crouched down next to Delilah, tracing the row of thirteen red spines.
“Where?” I asked. “At Victoria’s?”
Henry blew out a breath. “The way that Delilah and I accessed Victo
ria’s secret passageways was by pulling a book from her bookshelf. It unlocked the door and sprang it open. The Hound of the Baskervilles is Bernard’s favorite. He…” Henry cleared his throat. “He would always talk about Victoria whenever he was handling that book. We had a rare first edition at the McMaster’s Library he was unbearably proud of.”
I turned from my prone position and stared at Sloane. Her eyes dazzled with pure excitement. “Any guess why there are thirteen of them?”
“Thirteen members of The Empty House,” Henry said. “Bernard loves his symbols.”
Sloane dropped next to me, cupped my face with her palm. “Together.”
I struggled to swallow past this rising emotion—that even if searching for Bernard turned up fruitless, meeting this woman, trusting this woman, falling for this woman was actually bigger, bolder and much more beautiful.
“Together,” I repeated.
I pulled the first book. Nothing.
“It’s only because I’m nervous,” Henry said. “But I feel compelled to share with everyone the relevance of the name of this bookstore.”
“Irene Adler, the woman, right?” I said to Henry.
Sloane pulled the second and third book. The fourth book. The fifth book.
Nothing. Her lips pressed into a grim line.
I pulled the sixth book and the seventh.
“Exactly,” Henry said. “And she only ever appeared to Sherlock Holmes in disguise. Hiding in plain sight. He never saw her as she truly was.”
Hiding in plain sight. I looked over at Sloane.
The eleventh book. The twelfth book.
Nothing.
Delilah squeezed Henry’s hand.
Sloane hooked her finger into the thirteenth copy of The Hound of the Baskervilles and pulled it. Waited—every single one of us holding our breath.
The entire bookshelf creaked open.
“Oh my god,” Sloane whispered.
An intense calm settled through my body in that vital moment, a total clearing of my nerves and my racing thoughts. I remembered ten years ago, a file landing on my desk with the research I’d requested on a famous librarian in England that didn’t seem quite right. Four years ago, starting Codex and wondering if I’d ever have the chance to go after him for real. One year ago, sitting in front of a guilt-stricken Henry as he nervously shared his remarkable story.
In the Clear (Codex Book 3) Page 29