Under the Rose

by Kathryn Nolan

  Only Roy looked creepy and ill at ease.

  “I know where we’re all going,” Cora mused as we stepped inside. “Prepare yourselves.”

  She pressed the button for floor number thirteen.

  I squeezed into the very back corner, Freya standing directly in front of me. Every time she swayed, the curve of her perfect ass brushed across my still-hard cock. I gritted my teeth, tried to think of anything—anything—that didn’t involve me going mad with lust.

  But if we were alone, just the two of us, I would have told her to wear what she felt comfortable in. That was how I always saw her. That was how I liked her.

  “I can tell you’re thinking about it,” Cora said, turning around. The packed elevator did the same, heads revolving as one. Freya stepped back until her shoulder blades brushed my chest.

  “Thinking about what?” I asked, steeling my tone.

  “Don’t be scared,” Cora said. “I was, my first time. But I promise—it’s not nearly as scary as it seems.”

  Ding.

  The elevator doors opened, and Freya managed a sideways glance that said what the fuck.

  I bit down hard, stomach in knots. I wanted to beat the hell out of the stubborn side of my brain that had pushed me to storm out of our hotel room this afternoon instead of planning for tonight. A lack of foresight betrays an impetuous mind, my father would have said.

  We arrived at the door to the penthouse hotel suite. And in front of that door was an extremely large guard that I recognized—he’d been the hulk working the metal detector.

  “If you’d please wait in an orderly line, Dr. Ward will see you one person or couple at a time,” the guard instructed.

  Our elevator companions stepped neatly to the side, as if scripted, silently awaiting their turn. Individuals and couples slipped inside every time the guard called next. The line moved rapidly as I tried to settle my racing thoughts.

  Cora touched Freya’s arm with a white-gloved hand. “This isn’t even the scary part,” she said, voice lowered. “But it’s only a few questions, and the two of you have prepared for this. If you don’t play the game, you can’t get what you want.”

  “Next,” the guard said softly, escorting Thomas and Cora in. He stayed put, which meant Freya and I had an audience.

  She turned fully toward me, eyes wide behind her glasses. I felt the same encroaching fear, but if we didn’t restrain our nerves, we’d be in worse trouble. I reached for the first comforting memory that popped into my head—one I played on loop whenever I needed to feel happy.

  “You know what I was thinking about today, Birdie?” I said, one eye on the guard behind her. “The cafe in the hotel lobby reminds me of that time you brought me coffee to our shop. Coffee and that chocolate-chip cookie the size of my face.”

  Freya gazed at me quizzically—until comprehension dawned. “Your father had just been for a visit. I remember. I can’t remember what you two spoke about, but you’d been upset with the results.”

  I’d been more than upset. I’d done poorly on a counter-terrorism assessment, and my father had been there to witness it. He’d admonished me after class—like I was a 10-year-old schoolboy, not a 25-year-old man about to become an agent. Halfway through his lecture, I saw Freya, framed by the open door, her face filled with true sympathy.

  Thirty minutes later, my father was gone—and she slipped quietly into the seat next to me with my favorite coffee and that goddamn cookie.

  If it helps, she’d said, I think you performed better than I did. Your dad can suck it. It had stunned a grateful laugh from me—a rare moment of frivolity between two competitors. And a rare reminder Freya had known me for a long time. Longer than any of my friends, in fact.

  “I’m not sure why I’m remembering it so strongly now,” I continued, “except that I’m not sure I ever thanked you for it. It was a hard day.”

  “No thanks necessary, Julian,” she replied. “You would do the same for me.”

  She began straightening the bowtie I’d purchased mere hours earlier. Smoothed her hands down my shirt, palm pausing directly over my heart. I’d been trying to protect her with a sweet memory, and now she was trying to protect me.

  “Mr. King? Ms. Barnes? Dr. Ward will see you now.”

  22

  Freya

  Dr. Ward will see you now.

  My heart leapt in my throat.

  The need to have Sam—my partner—by my side for whatever was about to happen next was abundantly clear. How silly and fucking shortsighted we’d been to separate like that. Abe’s voice on the phone had not only been disappointed but gravely concerned. Because we weren’t undercover as two imagined people. Sam and I had assumed the identities of real people, which meant our cover was stronger—but not as likely to hold up to questioning.

  We could give award-winning performances as sexy thieves, but all it would take was one person who’d met Julian and Birdie in real life to point out that we weren’t them. The threat was very real. The threat could be waiting for us inside this penthouse.

  The hulking guard stepped aside as we opened the door to Ward’s suite. A small foyer with dark, rose-patterned wallpaper and sconces on the wall awaited us. Dr. Ward sat on a chair in the middle, one leg crossed gracefully over the other. His tuxedo jacket gleamed in the candlelight—but I caught a hint of a leather holster, right hip. The man was high-class with a literal finger on the trigger.

  Sam’s palm rested on the small of my back, his fingers sliding beneath the edges of the sequined fabric. Birdie and Julian were business acquaintances who probably didn’t touch like this, but Sam must have known I couldn’t face this man without it.

  “Our newcomers have arrived,” Ward drawled, nodding at the two of us.

  “Thank you for having us,” Sam said, deep voice calm.

  “I can sense your nerves from here,” Ward said. “Though this room would make anyone nervous. In Prohibition days, those suspected of treachery were dragged into rooms like this, hidden within the penthouse suites. A party could be going on right outside”—at this, Ward knocked on the door behind him—“and no one could hear the interrogations happening within these four walls.”

  What the actual fuck.

  “How lovely,” I mused. “I love that kind of violent history.”

  “Yes, I’m sure you do, Birdie,” Ward said. “The two of you have been the talk of our little circle for some time now. You can imagine my guests have anticipated your arrival.”

  “We aim to please our customers,” I said. “Julian and I are proud of our role. We take that responsibility seriously. As your guests can attest, it’s meaningful to provide them with their specific desires. Especially those that are the hardest to come by.”

  “Indeed,” he replied. “You are quite the pair of heroes. And I like heroes. I don’t, however, like liars.”

  Goosebumps raked along my spine. Sam’s palm shifted—gliding up to my shoulder blades and back down again.

  “We despise liars,” Sam said. “How can you not?”

  “So you understand what this game is about,” Dr. Ward said. “It’s vital to test loyalty at every step of the way. Thomas and Cora spoke plainly to me of your authenticity, but you really can never be sure.” He straightened his glasses, cleared his throat. “We’ve met once before, of course. Tell me where.”

  Sam stiffened next to me, and I could only guess his instinct was to demand the letters and get us out of here. But between Ward and the burly guard behind us, that felt like a risky shoot-out we couldn’t afford to provoke. Before he could act, I blurted out, “Reichenbach Falls.”

  Sam’s fingers flexed on my skin.

  Dr. Ward nodded his approval.

  It’d been a big leap on my part—he could have met Julian and Birdie for a Slurpee at the goddamn 7-Eleven. But I knew what these book thieves were all about. They liked the spy shit.

  “I approached your empty house once before,” Ward said. “You probably didn’t recognize me, howev
er.”

  Was that a question? I remembered what Henry had said about the origin behind the empty house code word. “You made a fine…bookseller,” I stammered. His eyes narrowed, and I injected steel into my tone. “A bookseller in disguise. Quite the shock but welcomed nonetheless.”

  Ward’s lips twitched. Sam was vibrating.

  “Indeed,” Ward said. “Just one more question. What’s the quietest way to assassinate a foe?”

  The answer bloomed in my mind. Hadn’t Henry given us this juicy tidbit yesterday?

  “Not you,” Ward said. “Julian will answer.”

  Sam’s face blanched slightly before he let me go, slipping his hands into his pockets. He rocked back on his heels. Stalling, I guessed, but to an onlooker, he looked handsome and in control.

  “Simple,” Sam said. “I’d hire a sniper and give him an air rifle.”

  Dr. Ward smiled. Chuckled a little. “That is my favorite part of that story.”

  “You can learn a lot from Sherlock Holmes,” Sam said.

  Ward leaned forward. “I don’t play favorites, but if anyone was to secure those letters, I’d like it to be the two of you. Not that fucking weasel. You best come prepared for a fight. Do you understand?”

  I shivered at the hard glint in his eye.

  “We do,” Sam said.

  “We’ll be leaving shortly. Go have a drink. And you’re not claustrophobic, are you?”

  I was claustrophobic. Very.

  Sam’s fingers stroked back along my skin. I hated crawling through those tunnels on the practice field at Quantico. Sam used to crawl next to me and pick an argument about a test score. It aggravated me to no end. Although now I wondered if he’d done that on purpose to help me. A distraction.

  “Of course, we’re not,” Sam said.

  “Good on ya,” Ward said. “I could never tolerate that kind of weakness.”

  I watched Sam’s jaw set. For all I knew, Sam could have been terrified of small spaces as a child. But if he was, his father would have forced him to suppress his fear.

  Ward opened the door and revealed the most glamorous hotel suite I’d ever seen. Wall-to-wall windows let in the glittering skyline, but the room itself had the same turn-of-the-century feel that Julian and Birdie’s hotel room had. A gleaming, mahogany bar took up one part of the room, a bright chandelier bathed the room in twinkling light. I felt truly transported in time—if Ward’s guests had turned around in flapper dresses, with long, skinny cigarette holders, I wouldn’t have been surprised. Nine people were arranged elegantly on crimson fainting couches and high-backed, ornate chairs. Thomas and Cora. Roy. A few faces I recognized from the convention—all booksellers.

  Were they all thieves?

  Thomas and Cora were waving to us from their fainting couch. But I made a beeline for the shiny bar top, Sam on my heels.

  “Two gin martinis, please,” I asked the bartender. As he prepared our cocktails, I touched my bun. Released a shaky breath. Technically, Sam and I shouldn’t be touching a drop of alcohol while on the job, but I needed a drink to come down from whatever the hell had just happened in there.

  “I’m guessing that weasel Ward’s referring to is Roy?” Sam murmured, careful to keep his voice low and our faces close.

  “Mm-hmm,” I hummed. “Apparently we have competition for what we want.”

  My nemesis caught—and held—my gaze. “Interesting that you think you can’t do this job. You were incredible back there.”

  My cheeks went hot. Everything went hot. Maybe compliments from Sam were now turning me on more strongly than fighting with him.

  I made another play at straightening his bowtie and kept staring into his steely-blue eyes. “Thank you. You have a perfect memory, as usual. Nice save.”

  “A-plus work—what do you think?”

  The bartender handed us our martinis. I clinked my glass against his. “I agree.”

  Ward walked into the room, and the conversation immediately tapered off. He placed his hat on top of his head and nodded our way. “Would The Empty House please welcome our newcomers, Julian King and Birdie Barnes.”

  Polite applause rang out as Sam and I flashed stilted smiles. What was next? Rich person fight club? Strip poker with diamonds on the line?

  Ward moved to the center of the room. Roy scowled at him. Cora beamed like a student. Thomas pulled at the collar of this shirt.

  “Tomorrow night is often the highlight for most of us during the convention. A chance to bid on the items you actually came here to see.” Ward turned in a circle smugly, loving the attention. “A chance to own a piece of history that you wouldn’t normally get a crack at. Julian and Birdie, you’ve been warned. This crowd can be quite bloodthirsty.”

  Light amusement rippled through the room. It set my teeth on edge.

  “There’s a reason why we wear masks,” Ward added.

  Masks?

  “But our benefactor likes to see all of us dine together the evening before. To cement the bonds of trust that make what we do so special. I’ve loved antiques since my first archeology class in college. But I’ve never had the privilege to be with this many like-minded people until our circle was formed. It’s not about old wounds or previous misconceptions. You can act on that tomorrow night. Tonight is about civility and celebrating our values.”

  I gulped half of my martini by accident, coughing at the burn. The sound rang out in the hushed room.

  Ward stared at me like a vulture.

  “Sorry,” I said weakly.

  The man strode confidently to the scarlet-red door in the far corner of the room. As he opened it, I caught a glimpse of utter darkness just as the bodyguard appeared. In his hand was a tray of lit candles.

  “Philadelphia is a city filled with secrets. Like the bootleggers, we of The Empty House understand that laws are meant to be…” He paused here, to a few nervous giggles. “Stretched and manipulated to fit our liking. Like the bootleggers, we are the tributaries between the auction houses and the black market. We are the navigators of murky waters, my friends. And yet who here isn’t afraid to get a little murky once in a while?” He gave a charming wink to Cora, who flushed like a princess. “Tonight we descend beneath the streets to travel the paths criminals traveled before us. And tonight we dine and celebrate the rare and the antique in a building that is sublimely rare and antique.”

  The guard passed him a candle, which painted his face in a ghoulish light. He was going to take us into that dark room, and I was already not okay. Two sets of candles were passed our way. Sam took one, I took the other. The room was rustling as the nine others began gathering their things while balancing their candles.

  Sam dipped his head to my ear.

  “Tight spaces still make you nervous?”

  “Yes,” I whispered back. So he had known. He nodded but didn’t say another word.

  “Come, come,” Ward waved us over. The guard followed closely—a lurking presence at our back. Thomas and Cora were in front of us, Roy nearby. Once we were in a tight circle, Ward stepped to the very front and led us through the red door. A narrow hallway led to a steep flight of stairs.

  “Watch your step, Birdie,” Sam said. And then he threaded his fingers through mine. His grip was firm. His thumb stroked the inside of my palm as I silently freaked out. I didn’t like dark spaces in general. As a kid, my mother would keep our tiny house blazing with light to eliminate the shadows. My mother was claustrophobic too and understood the fear of tight spaces. Find something good to focus on, she used to tell me. Now I tethered myself to the sensation of Sam’s hand in my own—callouses on his fingers, the short hairs on his wrist. The way he’d sought to comfort me immediately.

  Maybe we could be partners, after all.

  There was more nervous laughter from the front as we descended into the darkness. But I was only aware of the blood rushing in my ears and the guard behind me. I was so distracted I almost didn’t notice when the floor leveled out, the low tunnel stretching far
ahead. It was cool, almost cold, and I could hear water dripping all around us. I squeezed Sam’s hand, and he squeezed back, pressing the sides of our bodies together.

  Everyone stopped. All I could see was Dr. Bradley Ward illuminated in the center, smiling in the flickering candlelight.

  “Have no fear, Julian and Birdie,” Ward said. “Everyone struggles with the path we take to our annual dinner the first time they do it. But it’s not to invoke a threat, I promise.”

  The low grunt I heard from Sam matched my own assessment. Which was bullshit, it’s not a threat. Dr. Ward was in control of this show—from the bodyguard to this creepy tunnel trail. And he wanted you to know it.

  “Where…” I coughed again, throat dry, “Where are we?”

  “We are in the bootleggers’ tunnels that stretch beneath The Grand Dame and several notable historic buildings in Philadelphia.” Ward knocked on the stone with a look of pride. “Only the true criminals are lucky enough to walk them.”

  Sam squeezed my hand one more time. “Must make us true criminals, then.”

  23

  Sam

  I wanted to arrest the hell out of every person in this fucking tunnel.

  Their brazenness alone had me grinding my teeth to stay in character. The real intention behind Dr. Ward’s speech was becoming clear. It wasn’t calling out those who had the audacity to tarnish this community’s reputation with their illegal actions. The real message had been tucked inside his bombastic words—the coyotes are at our door.

  The man despised liars and cheats, was concerned about recent arrests and his own stolen property. His actual fury had been directed at the threats he perceived toward The Empty House. Those deceptive coyotes were a code for law enforcement or anyone else getting in their way.

  Which made being trapped in this tunnel with him a lot more dangerous.