a precious weakness in her armor. It wasn’t the full story I suspected she was hiding from me, but she was revealing a secret. Maybe not the best-kept secret—we both knew we’d been trying not to kiss each other for years.
I allowed myself the tiniest paradise—pressing my lips to the fluttering pulse-point at the base of her throat. Sugar—her skin smelled and tasted of it. Her shaky exhale threatened to crack me wide open.
“Wanting to kiss each other is certainly something we can agree on,” I murmured against her skin. She laughed, very quietly. “Let me go. Come with me. And let’s go solve this case. We’ll do it together.”
She shook her head—stubborn as ever. “I’m not picking a fight with you, I promise.”
“And neither am I.”
“Your plan is a mistake. I can feel it, Byrne. Stay with me. Please.”
I lifted my head and we stared at each other—our expressions rippling between arousal and anger. Freya slipped her hands from my waist and crossed her arms.
“We’re partners who can’t even agree on the right course of action,” she said.
I didn’t reply—it was another truth.
But I did take a step back from her, my hand already on the doorknob.
“You’re actually going?” Her voice had gone flat, the charged moment disintegrating.
“I’m going to go get those damn letters.” It came out harsher than I intended and hurt flared in her green eyes. I didn’t have to give voice to the elephant in the room—that separating went against our training and was usually the dumbest thing to do.
She stepped away from the door, posture defiant. “We’ll see about that, won’t we?”
“We will.”
It wasn’t an unusual way for us to end an argument, but as I clicked the door shut behind me and stalked toward the elevator, I didn’t feel my usual blend of smug victory or bristling irritation.
It felt strange, even wrong, acting without her by my side. But all I had were my own internal instincts about this case, and they were pointing me like a bloodhound in the direction of Dr. Ward. If I’d learned anything from Gregory’s betrayal, it was that partners didn’t always have your back. And they didn’t always care about justice.
The doors binged open, and I stepped into a long, carpeted hallway. I was in the hotel basement.
Goddammit. I’d let Freya and the almost-kiss distract me so much I’d hit the wrong button. Wasn’t this where the speakeasy had been?
It didn’t look like a typical basement—one wall opened up into a large circular area, where a stage or bar would have been. White tablecloths draped over the shapes of tables and chairs, and a dirty-looking chandelier hung in the middle. I knocked my fingers against the left wall—hollow. Probably covered by construction crews after the cops had raided the place one too many times in the ’20s. Gas lanterns still graced the hallway. Black and white photographs hung in evenly spaced rows with gold plaques inscribed beneath. They appeared to be of Philadelphia high society of the era—jazz singers, local politicians, heirs, and heiresses. The wealthy and elite of one of America’s oldest cities.
Why was every room in this hotel dark as a dungeon? I peered closer at one inscription. Dutch Luciano and Charles Lansky, well-known bootleggers, dance with Viola Stark at The Grand Dame’s annual New Year’s Eve ball.
The fact that this hotel displayed pictures of known criminals made me itchy. I felt drawn to faces in the photo I was staring at—smug, smirking. These people embraced being criminals and enjoyed getting away with it. It pissed me the hell off.
My ringing cell forced me back into the present moment.
“Byr—hello?” Fucking distracted.
“Samuel.” It was my father. Glancing past my shoulder, I stepped into the closest shallow corner, lowering my voice.
“Yes, hello, sir.”
“Abraham has debriefed me on the details on this case. I trust you’re on your way to solving it?”
I hesitated, examined the empty hallway. “I am, sir.”
“Close it faster,” he said. “It will go far in instilling my confidence in your abilities as an agent again.”
The elevator doors slid open, revealing Dr. Bradley Ward, hat and all. I stepped back into the alcove but felt fully exposed. The man was whistling like it was a fine spring morning.
“Yes, I understand,” I said.
Dr. Ward tipped his hat to me before continuing down the hallway.
What the hell was he doing in the basement?
“Listen,” my father said, “I fully anticipate a positive result from the internal investigation. And I fully expect you to be back here at the