agents in the Art Theft department. In your opinion, how would Julian and Birdie be running an illegal operation through their legal bookstore in San Francisco?”
I clicked my nails on my mug. “We could have connections to libraries and museums. A shady contact who steals the books. We give them a cut, turn around and sell it for a significant profit. Masquerade as a legitimate bookstore, but underneath we’re illegal as hell.”
“At a place like the book festival…”
“We’d be looking to acquire illegal books. And legal ones, of course, to maintain the fa?ade. Solidify the relationships we have to build trust. Close the circle and keep it tight.”
His expression brightened. “That’s our angle. Sexy thieves looking for illegal wares while maintaining our allegiances.”
“I think that’s absolutely what Julian and Birdie would do. At least the Julian and Birdie we’re going to be,” I said. “And I can’t believe I got you to say sexy thieves.”
His gaze lingered on my lips. “I can’t believe we had a fairly civil conversation that ended on agreement.”
“I’m sure a pig will fly past this window any second,” I replied. We almost smirked at each other.
“I like your kitchen,” he finally said. “Do you have books hidden in your pantry?”
Cheeks warm, I hooked my index finger on the pantry latch. Tugged it open to reveal five shelves full of paperback books instead of the requisite cans of soup.
“You know me so well, Byrne.”
“I do though,” he said.
“Oh, um…” I mumbled. “I guess that’s true.”
Sam looked about as awkward as I felt. He went to stand by a wall I’d painted bright yellow and decorated with framed vintage book covers. From the top of a bookshelf, he picked up a blue frame. I knew the picture well—wished, suddenly, that I’d hidden it from view before he arrived.
“You and your mom?” he asked. I stepped closer, careful not to let our shoulders touch. As embarrassed as I felt, the picture still brought me happy sparks of joy.
“That was my fifth grade Halloween costume,” I explained. In the picture, I was wearing a short red wig and rocking a pantsuit like a powerful woman in a sitcom. My mom wore a suit and a long pea coat, her hair tucked into a men’s wig. “We went as Agent Mulder and Scully from The X-Files, of course. My mom was so obsessed with David Duchovny, she volunteered to be him immediately.”
Sam looked more wistful than anything. “You always said she was nerdier than you.”
“She raised me right,” I said proudly. “Also, all night I got to flash a fake FBI badge and say things like Mulder, that’s just not plausible. And she’d say, The truth is out there, Scully. It was my favorite Halloween, actually.”
His throat worked as he continued to stare at the faded picture.
“Did your mom dress up with you at Halloween?” I asked cautiously. His mother had died when he was twelve. In all the years that I’d known him, he’d only spoken of her a handful of times. He always looked like he wanted to say more.
Now, he nodded his head and said, “She loved anything that felt like magic.”
In the remaining silence, our shoulders had drifted closer, barely brushing. I took a step back from his natural magnetism—only to find him pinning me with a discerning look.
“What?” I asked.
“You always did want to be an FBI agent, didn’t you?”
Regret slid down my spine. Why hadn’t I hidden this damn picture?
“I did,” I said, raising my chin on instinct. Steeling my voice. “But dreams don’t always work out.”
He flashed me a strange look. Then put the frame back—gently. But as I moved past Sam toward the hallway, he reached out. Caught my wrist and held me still.
“Are we sparring, Agent Byrne?” My voice fluttered. His thumb swiped once across my pulse point before he let go.
“Are we avoiding talking about our fight in the stairwell? The one from yesterday?”
“Oh, that,” I said flatly. I tugged at the sleeves of my sweater, avoided looking directly at him. “Listen. You and I have a long…history together.”
“Correct,” he said. “And?”
“You’ve made it clear that, given the choice, you wouldn’t want to be my partner. And I don’t want to be your partner either.” The words flew out quickly, but I didn’t enjoy the feeling they left in their wake. “Four days is all we’ve got. Then I’m sure your dad will pull you back to the FBI, right?”
His throat worked. “I could be consulting a bit after.”