With my own smirk, I turned to the woman standing next to me, who I was sure appeared as her usual calm and confident self to this group of detectives. Only I sensed her hesitant nervousness. Only I understood her feeling of being a social misfit who never quite fit in—that was a struggle I knew intimately. A struggle I knew and respected.
“Before I am skewered, please introduce yourselves to the sixth member of our team here in London. Sloane Argento, a PI from Brooklyn currently working to find Bernard with the McMaster’s Library.”
I was positive that Henry had already informed them of this on the plane. But, still, the very real looks of surprise, then intrigue, then mutual admiration that flowed across their faces reminded me of just how emotional—just how vital—this case was for us all.
They took turns shaking Sloane’s hand.
“Dr. Henry Finch, former special collections librarian.”
“Delilah Barrett, former police detective.”
“Freya Evandale, proud Quantico drop-out.”
“Sam Byrne, former special agent.”
Sloane shook their hands, maintained strong eye contact. And unleashed the wide, charming smile that was her trademark. Every member of my team melted toward her like flowers to the sun.
“It’s nice to finally meet all of you,” she said. “I own my own investigative firm in Brooklyn, and I’m being paid by Henry’s old boss to catch Bernard. And I’m truly looking forward to calling Abe on his epic bullshit with the rest of you.” She cast her eyes at me. “Skewer, if you will.”
“Well, I’ll be damned,” Freya drawled, propping her hands on her hips. “Now how did you meet our Office Dad again?”
“It is a mathematical impossibility for me to be your dad,” I interrupted.
Sloane’s smile only grew, her shoulders relaxing. “I picked his pockets, tailed him across the city, and accidentally booked a hotel room right next door to his.”
Four heads swiveled toward me as one. Four sets of eyebrows shot right up.
“Seems like those Hawaiian shirts did the trick, huh?” Freya shrugged.
“No comment,” I said.
Delilah flagged down a passing server. “Any chance you can send a bottle of wine to our table? And yes, we know it’s breakfast time.”
36
Abe
Once seated, our table was piled with an odd assortment of tea, wine, and scones with jam. Beneath the table, Sloane’s leg was pressed to mine in a silent show of support I appreciated more than I could say.
Across the table, the familiar sounds of teasing and messy affection among my team dragged forth a feeling I couldn’t deny was yearning. I’d gone and missed them, even though it had been barely a week since I’d seen them last. And now they’d gone ahead and flown across the world to fight my fight before I had even, technically, asked.
Again, their devotion reminded me of that beautifully wrapped gift—only this time, I wanted to work on my ability to open it. Enjoy it. Not be afraid to receive their loyalty and affection. I wasn’t a betting man, but I’d place my money on this new openness being Sloane’s doing.
“So forty-eight hours is all it took, huh?” I asked, spinning my teacup between my fingers.
Delilah smiled at me above her wine glass. “It was the night we pulled an all-nighter to close The Black Stallion case. There was way too much alcohol and coffee involved and combined.”
Henry grimaced. “Worst hangover of my life, actually.”
“It had kind of been our office inside joke,” Freya continued. “The only time Abe would ever dare to go on an actual vacation was only if he could catch Bernard Allerton while doing it.”
Next to me, Sloane made a kind of hmmmmm sound. Hiding a smile, I placed my palm on her knee and squeezed.
“And as much as we all support you in breaking your workaholic habits,” Sam said. “You’re not the kind of guy who would enjoy ten days of leisure.”
“You’re a hunt a man to the ends of the earth kind of guy,” Freya continued. “Which is why we adore the shit out of you, of course.”
“And here I thought I was being slick,” I said mildly.
Henry glanced at Sam. “That night, all of us punch-drunk and up late, Sam got an email from his contact at the FBI.” Henry dropped his voice immediately. “The email contradicted what had been sent earlier and now listed London as one of the highly likely places where Bernard could be. And it’s only been nine weeks since The Empty House case, and I, for one, feel like we’re closer to catching him than ever.”