I wanted to smash that whiskey glass in his fucking face.
“It’s probably easy, holed up in this fancy safehouse, to keep pulling the strings on your criminal empire,” I said. “But you shouldn’t have orchestrated a deal so close to home. What was James Patrick going to do for you anyway? If Julian and Birdie didn’t win, would he have feigned ignorance of the theft? Did he make it so that they could win?”
“JP is a yes,” Sloane drawled. A violent shiver worked through Bernard’s body. “It’s amazing all the people who will be implicated when you’re arrested. How quickly this flimsy house of cards is going to fall. All because of Arthur Conan Doyle.”
Bernard’s laugh was extravagant. “If you think I’ve worked my entire life to build something with the fragility of a house of cards, Ms. Argento, you’re a damned fool.”
A protectiveness surged in me, causing my hands to form into fists. At this point, I should have known better. Sloane could protect herself.
“If you think you’re going to escape the law again,” she said slowly, as if speaking to a child. “Then you’re fucking irrational. Humphrey misses you, by the way.”
The first sign of emotion—however distant—flashed across his face. “Humphrey is the human version of a bloody golden retriever. He misses everyone when out of sight for more than two minutes.”
“Funny that you never told him,” she said. “Never told him who you really are.”
Bernard took a long sip of whiskey but kept his eyes trained on us. “A man can’t have one friend who sees the best in him?”
“Ah,” I said. “It makes more sense now. I’m sorry to discover your friendship with Humphrey was always about placating your delicate ego, Bernard.”
He laughed again, but it was bitter and violent sounding.
“Victoria misses you too,” I added. “She narrowly avoided prison time because of you.”
I was swinging for the fences, trying every vulnerability we knew about the man. The look on his face told me he’d kept tabs on his lady love.
“Victoria is not a woman who can be caged.”
“You don’t even care that she protected you?” I said.
His jaw tightened. He swirled the liquid in his glass. “Sacrifices, Mr. Royal. We all make them in this life. Besides, I’ve heard Victoria is doing fine for herself now. A little house arrest won’t keep her down.”
“Is this your house arrest?” I said, an edge to my voice.
“If you think I’m giving away any actual secrets to you,” he said. “You’re an even bigger fool than she is.”
I chuckled softly, brow raised. “My contacts at the FBI have assured me the members of The Empty House are feeling less loyal towards their leader since you left them to rot in jail. So keep your secrets, Bernard. They should be coming to light any day now.”
Tension stretched between us. I wasn’t sure how much longer the man was going to play along.
“I’ve been on sabbatical for eleven months.” Bernard shrugged, lazy. “You can ask Eudora. You can ask Louisa, my boss at the McMaster’s Library.”
“Oh, Louisa,” Sloane said. “She hired me.”
The glass paused at Bernard’s lips. “What an intriguing development. This space I’m living in has always been made available for members of the Sherlock Society. We’ve had many covert meetings here. I’m not doing anything wrong or illegal by living here.”
I glanced furtively around the room. It was a small space but stylish—it was shaped like a one or two-bedroom apartment. Except no windows, and the only entrance appeared to be through the secret bookshelf.
“Sound-proofed?” I guessed.
“For privacy,” he said, smiling like a shark.
I gave him the same dangerous-looking smile. “The man formerly known as Jim Dahl is also tied up out there,” I said. “In case you were wondering where he was.”
There. That shocked him—or whatever Bernard’s version of shock was. His face blazed with true anger, only momentarily. He hadn’t liked that. His shark-smile deepened, grew sharper at the edges.
“Thank you for the information,” he said. “I had been wondering. Which, if that’s the case, means I’d love to bring the two of you into my, what did you call it, flimsy house of cards? I offered something similar to my former colleague,” Bernard said. He looked right at me. “You know him, don’t you?”
I gave him a curt nod.
“And he didn’t take the bait?” Sloane asked.
“Oh, it wasn’t bait, Ms. Argento,” Bernard said. “It was five million dollars. My colleague, Henry, is one of those silly men that believe scruples, morals,