Under the Rose - Kathryn Nolan Page 0,34

the wall, and Sam sat next to me, my ankles against his thigh.

Our faces, when we set the glass to the wall, were barely a foot apart.

“This must have been the reason why she ran,” Cora was saying—and I heard it, clear as a bell, amplified by the glass. Sam’s face brightened.

“It’s a nightmare. You see this happening at stores like Walmart”—Cora said Walmart like it was disgusting—“but certainly not a place like Kensley’s. This is a crisis, Thomas.”

Kensley’s? he mouthed at me. I shrugged. It was the largest auction house in the country, but I didn’t know what they were referring to.

“They also could have been running because they’re not who they say they are.” That was Thomas.

“They knew the code. They have IDs, for Christ’s sake. You can stop being paranoid. You harassed that poor girl.”

“I don’t believe she’s a poor anything, my darling. With all that’s going on, we cannot trust as easily as we once could.”

I pointed to my laptop on the floor. He grabbed it, placed it in my lap. I typed Kensley’s in the search bar and waited to see what news would pop up.

“Besides, we have bigger problems.”

“Bernard?”

I got so excited I acted without thinking. Grabbed Sam’s hand, squeezed it. He shifted, and the left side of my body lined up with the right side of his body. My heart was a steady thud in my chest. His tantalizing nearness and the name Bernard were equally intoxicating. More words were said, mumbles, indistinct chatter.

Sam shook his head at me. What are they saying now?

Don’t know, I mouthed back.

But then I was just left holding Sam’s hand. I dropped it, stared at the collar of his shirt instead of his annoyingly attractive face.

There was a rustle. Silence. Thomas and Cora weren’t speaking. I took the opportunity to peek at my laptop. The first article said Kensley’s Announces Wide-Scale Data Breach; Thousands of Customers’ Information Leaked.

My little hacker’s heart leapt.

It was a clue.

“It was a mistake to ever involve him. It’s blackmail, plain and simple.” Thomas said.

“Blackmail,” Cora replied. “In this day and age. It used to be we were all civil.”

Boots. High-heels, stepping away. Thomas and Cora were still talking but had moved to the door—which we heard open and close.

“They’re gone,” I whispered. I put the glass down.

“And we learned nothing,” Sam said.

I held up a finger. “Not necessarily.” I turned my screen around to show my reluctant partner. “I’m going to hack Birdie and Julian.”

15

Sam

Freya sat barefoot and cross-legged next to me, pen in her mouth. Her tidy Birdie bun had grown loose, strands tumbling out. I blinked—saw Freya at 25, in sweatpants and a giant sweatshirt, pestering me to share notes from our counter-terrorism class.

“Watch me work my magic,” she was saying now, voice muffled by the pen. “This is where computer nerds shine.”

“How are you going to hack Julian and Birdie?” I asked. She truly had excelled in all things tech at Quantico—a fact she’d yell at my retreating back whenever I passed her on the running track.

“Well, it’s only a hunch right now. Give me one second, and I’m going to blow your ever-loving mind.”

“Just like in the fake bomb threat hostage situation,” I said mildly.

She snorted, which felt like a different kind of victory. I studied her profile as she typed. My rival had the audacity to look achingly beautiful in this quiet moment.

“Hell yes,” she suddenly cheered, giving herself a high-five. I hid a smile, tried to read over her shoulder.

“Tell me,” I said.

“You have to admit first that I’m the most incredible person who’s ever lived.”

“Bold request, Evandale.”

“You’ve known me since I was eighteen years old. You’ve had enough evidence to support my completely objective claim.”

A low laugh rumbled in my throat—slipped out before I could stop it. A lightness was breaking through my chest.

“You’re the most incredible person who’s ever lived.” I paused. “Next to me.”

“Oh, you’ve got jokes now?”

“I have a sense of humor.”

“Spoken like a true robot.” But she was smiling. Dancing in her seat. Whatever was on that screen had made her giddy.

“Show your robot partner what’s on that screen.”

She brushed strands of hair from her face. Our knees touched, but she didn’t retreat. “How do you feel about things that are morally…gray?”

“I’m opposed to them. Obviously.”

“Give it time. I’ll corrupt you.”

“You’ve been saying that since Princeton and it’s never happened,” I said. “What was that dance you used to try and get me to go to? The Valentine’s Day one but