Bernard Allerton. So now I sat at the window, watching Mycroft’s Pub across the street and hoping I didn’t look too obvious.
The amount of money I’d be paid if—when—I caught Bernard played on a loop in my brain. Money, opportunity, freedom. Recovering those prints from Birds of America for The Murphy Library had been the crucial entrance into this world. And catching Bernard was the ticket to bigger clients, better jobs, and a chance to be free from any financial burdens holding me back. As disappointed as I’d been after leaving Abe that night, I’d reminded myself that this meant if I discovered a straight shot at Bernard, I’d be the one to take it.
There was a rumble in the distance that could have been a train. I took a fortifying sip of vodka, enjoyed the burn in my chest. The bookstore, Adler’s, was lit full of patrons tonight. I’d watched from the side window as they came and went in the past two hours, and now a small circle was set up with people on chairs. A bearded white man, maybe mid-thirties, was leading a discussion and pointing to a book at the same time.
A door opened in the back of the pub and my eyes darted to the sound. Seemed like regulars, laughing with each other, cheering about a sporting event. I watched them as covertly as possible, drinking my martini. They appeared harmless. Yesterday I’d camped out here, ordering drinks and meals every few hours, and no one had noticed or at least hadn’t cared. Today, it was more obvious I was sitting here, by myself—not talking to a single soul. I’d come undercover as Devon, carrying Sherlock Holmes mysteries and prepared to give a story to any Society members that could spot me here, somewhat out in the open. Just resting my feet after a few frantic days of sight-seeing!
No one had bothered me, yet. For every second I observed Mycroft’s for movement, I kept one ear trained on my surroundings. I was no stranger to the shady underbelly that existed in the brightest of places.
My first case, when I was barely twenty-three years old, was a simple cheating spouse. I’d been given a presumed location by a scorned wife and found myself in a run-down motel parking lot awaiting this woman’s husband and his mistress.
I’d barely concealed myself as the pair made their way past parked cars and toward room #6. My entire childhood was spent engaged in illegal con tricks with my parents, where every day was cloaked in a malicious secrecy. But being a PI was legal, and I was performing a contractual service, all of which numbed my senses to fear. In the broad daylight, surrounded by a busy street and a handful of strip-malls and photographing a middle-aged man, I felt not a hint of threat.
The cheating couple was on top of me a second later, their violence born from the terror of getting caught. The husband ripped the camera right from my hands and smashed it to the ground. The mistress was a force to be reckoned with, and I’d only escaped her clutches by using the self-defense moves I’d been practicing at night. Later, back at my apartment, I realized how extremely lucky I’d gotten. I didn’t believe in nine lives. Just this one.
I didn’t make a mistake like that ever again. And if I wasn’t going to have the extra safety of a partner—Abe—then I couldn’t afford to lose focus.
Another rumble in the distance. I twisted in my seat, bringing my ear closer to the windowpane. Definitely a big truck. I released a breath, pressing a loose strand of hair back into my high bun. If there was a storm tonight, would I go to Abe? Knock on his door and beg him to… what? Take care of a practical stranger who had stolen from him and followed him around like a weirdo?
Besides, I’d never told anyone about the night my parents had left me alone in a motel even dingier than the one where a cheating spouse had tried to beat me up. I had been seven, and my parents were working a long con on a rich couple in the area, attempting to gain access to their circle of wealthy friends so they could commit identity fraud. My parents loved this kind of manipulate-cheat-dash lifestyle. We were staying in a midwestern city in Tornado Alley. My parents had left the TV on for me, tuned to