that read Kensley Auction House.
I took Sloane by the wrist and halted her brisk movement.
She turned, face still smiling, bright with energy. “What’s wrong?”
“Who taught you to lie?” I asked. Beneath that sultry facade beat the heart of a vulnerable loner, hungry for justice. And dammit if I didn’t want to get to know that woman better. A lot better.
Sloane sized me up fully—then immediately dropped the act. She brushed a strand of hair from her face, hunched her shoulders—a first for her.
I felt like a bastard. “You don’t have to—”
“My parents,” she said, interrupting me. “My parents taught me how to lie. It was how I was raised. I had a very unconventional upbringing.” Her shoulders moved back again, equilibrium achieved. “That’s why I’m good at it. That’s why I’m good at going undercover. It’s all one big lie.”
My hand curled into a fist by my side. “Sounds like your parents were assholes.”
Her smile was bitter. “That’s the goddamn truth.”
24
Sloane
We were at our location, with Eudora’s weekly appointment starting in fifteen minutes. Abe and I didn’t have time to say anything else while lingering publicly in front of this bar. But I did hook my pinkie finger through his and apply the lightest pressure. He looked stunned, in a good way.
“The rules we made can be helpful,” I said. He pressed back with his finger.
As we walked up the curving staircase to the bar, every single part of me was shaking. Which was neither smart nor safe for the situation we were about to enter.
I stopped us as we reached the open space—a large, wide patio filled with trees, flowering vines, potted plants, and a plethora of twinkling fairy lights. Chairs were arranged around firepits, and waiters served cocktails that appeared to be fragrant and magical. As we approached the hostess, I knew we’d need a table that concealed our presence. I felt like our covers still held with Eudora—but depending on who she was meeting, her perspective of us could rapidly change.
After speaking with the friendly hostess, we were led to the far right corner where a small, cozy couch was entirely surrounded with bushes and trees. A firepit blazed in the center. I stood where the couch was, getting an idea of how much of the venue we could see. There was a perfect circle of missing branches—like a porthole in a ship—that would let us watch every damn table.
“This is wonderful, thank you,” I said, giving a little clap.
The hostess smiled brightly. “All October we’re hosting campfires.” She pointed at the blaze. “I’ll bring you two some marshmallows.”
“And a whiskey for me,” Abe asked.
“Dirty vodka martini,” I added.
I perched on the couch, holding my hands to the warm flames. Nodded at the porthole. “Check out this view.”
Abe stared at the branches, the surrounding high trees, the privacy. “If she comes in the same way we did, we’ll see her first and won’t be caught off-guard.” He studied the minuscule couch. With a hard swallow, he unbuttoned his jacket and sat. We were shoulder-to-shoulder, thigh-to-thigh. If I swung my leg up, I’d be straddling him.
“So now we wait,” he said. “See who she meets. Depending on who it is, perhaps Devon Atwood and Daniel Fitzpatrick can intercept her, press her for auction info.”
“I think that’s a grand plan,” I agreed. “And I have to say, I’ve sat through a lot of boring stakeouts. This isn’t a bad one for sitting for a couple hours.”
He leaned back against the couch, arm up, crossed his ankle over his knee. This position of relaxed leisure was even more tempting. Our hostess arrived with our drinks and a tiny plate of marshmallows with two sticks for roasting.
“Thank you,” I said.
She gave us a nod and left us to our own devices. Abe set his drink on the table, untouched. “For cover, not for drinking,” he said.
“Good call,” I murmured. The elephant in the room, at least for me, was being joined to Abe’s side in a romantic bar, surrounded by secluded trees in front of a roaring fire.
It was not a situation where I needed any extra looseness. But I did like seeing him spike a marshmallow on a stick. He handed it to me, looking uncharacteristically boyish in the crackling firelight.
I allowed it to roast, watched the flames dance and lick across the sweet surface. When I pulled the marshmallow free, blowing on my fingers, he flashed me a serene smile that curled my toes.
“Why did you choose criminal justice