vulnerability.” Sure, that sounded good.
“I don’t, actually,” Freya said. “You’re not jealous, are you?”
“Hardly,” I bit out. We passed another row of antiques—long, scrolling maps bearing the names of countries that no longer existed.
“Were you serious about what you said earlier?” she asked, voice a whisper. I bent my head to be near hers, our fingers moving close on a glass case. “About the violence? Being concerned for our safety?”
I cleared my throat. “Yes. Six months ago, the Bureau lost an agent while breaking up an illegal art theft ring. It’s not as bloodless as we used to think.”
Freya touched her bun, straightened her pearls. “Okay. I get it. And I’m so sorry for your agent.”
It was another tenuous truce. But instead of strengthening my trust, it only made me feel muddled.
“Thomas and Cora are ready to dine with you.” A voice slashed through our whispered conversation. Roy, the creepy trust fund kid.
We both startled—Freya knocked a book to the floor with her flying arms. She immediately dropped down, grabbed the book, and smacked the top of her head on the table.
“Ow, fuck me,” she squeaked. I stilled her by the shoulders. My thumb stroked the curve of her hairline as she watched me, looking grateful. She appeared to be in physical pain, which I’d never seen before. Sparring on the mats was one thing. Freya actually hurting herself was another thing entirely. It made me want to crack the table in two, throw it in the garbage.
“Uh, hello?” Roy said impatiently.
“Apologies from Birdie,” I said, turning to face him. Freya stood on wobbly legs. “She’s easily startled. Did you say the Alexanders are ready for us?”
“Yeah.” Then he gave Freya a look of open admiration—trolling his gaze down her body. The action had me reaching for a gun that was no longer in my holster.
“I think your fly is down,” she said. He blushed furiously—saw that his fly was, indeed, open. He made a toddler-like sound of frustration. And when Freya met my gaze with a tiny smirk, I gave her a nod of approval.
“Anyway,” he continued, “Thomas and Cora wish to see you on the balcony.”
“How was Dr. Ward?” Freya asked, following him through the crowd of booklovers. “His speech sure was passionate.”
“You know how he is,” Roy spit out. “Needs to make everything into a fucking show. It’s why I have to wait until Saturday night to get what I came here for. But I have money and I want it now.”
“What a jerk,” she said.
“He’s a pompous ass,” he added.
We followed Roy through a small dark hallway lit with gas-lamps, although it was barely 9:30 in the morning. The schedule Freya and I had found online had listed a continental breakfast and mingling hour that I assumed would be awkward and brightly-lit with coffee and stale bagels. I’d attended more criminal justice conferences than most. The ‘breakfast networking hour’ was always terrible.
We stepped into an ornate, high-ceilinged room with a long table piled high with food. One wall was filled with open doors that led to a balcony terrace and a view of the city of Philadelphia.
Thomas and Cora, looking even more polished than they had twenty minutes ago, waved us over.
“Thank you for waiting while we attended to business,” Thomas said, eyes darting around. “Please, join us.”
Freya and I perched on chairs at their table next to the ledge of the terrace. The morning skyline glittered behind us. Large pots filled with roses and evergreen bushes provided a feel of privacy.
While the server took our orders, I studied our companions. Big, shiny diamond ring on Cora’s left finger. Matching diamonds in her ears. Most likely in her fifties but Botox-ed. Her clipped, mid-Atlantic accent spoke of boarding schools and elocution classes. Thomas appeared similarly sophisticated, dressed like a wealthy New York City oil tycoon.
Roy, meanwhile, twitched like a weasel, shifting like he expected a goon squad at any second. As the server asked for my breakfast order, Roy took a call and stalked off with a harried expression.
Thomas and Cora visibly relaxed with his absence.
Thomas leaned over our small cups of coffee. “I trust you’ll be ready for our festivities. I remember being nervous my first year. But you’ll do great.”
“Of course,” I said. “We’ll be attending with the two of you?”
“How else would you get there?” he asked, quizzical.
“Just verifying,” I said.
Breakfast was served, but Freya and I didn’t touch our food.
“We appreciated what Dr. Ward said about trust,” Freya said, once the server