stride as confidently as I was able to through the lobby.
I’m Birdie Barnes, motherfucker.
That is until I spotted a familiar, elegantly dressed, white-haired woman walking out the doors and toward the sidewalk.
A woman who could totally not see Delilah Barrett—because Delilah and Henry had technically stolen a book right from under her and gotten her arrested in the process.
Victoria Whitney.
19
Freya
“Victoria,” I trilled. “Yoo-hoo.”
I was halfway across the lobby, and Victoria was frozen between two sets of double doors, seconds away from stepping out onto the sidewalk where Delilah was standing. I dialed Delilah’s number and heard her say, “Frey, is that you?”
I kept the line open as I skidded to a breathless stop in front of Victoria.
She turned fully and took me in with a cool assessment. Victoria was dressed in all black, with heavy pearls and her white hair swept into a low bun.
“Did you just yoo-hoo me?” she asked. One hand clutched her purse, the other, the door.
“Apologies,” I said humbly, “I’m still a bit jet-lagged from our flight out of San Francisco. I’m discombobulated.”
“And you are?” she asked.
“Birdie. Birdie Barnes,” I said.
A lightness came over her features.
“I’ve heard whispers about you and your partner, Julian,” she said. “And yet I don’t know you. How is that possible?”
I fluttered my hand to my chest. “We must rectify that immediately. I’m assuming you’re a lover of antiques?”
Victoria’s smile was inscrutable. “One could say I have a penchant for them, yes. You’ve surely heard of my collection?”
“Everyone knows your collection,” I replied. “If you’re ever in need of anything, anything at all, let Julian and me know. We often come into items you can’t always find in regular rare book stores.”
A slight tilt to her brow. “Ah. I see. We are of the same ilk.”
“You could say that.”
She was eagle-eyed, examining me like a rare first-edition she wanted to steal.
“I have a feeling about you and your Julian,” Victoria said. “You are the blood of the next generation. Young, attractive, wealthy.” She dropped her tone. “And understanding of the many complexities of what we do to acquire what we love.”
“What an honor and a compliment I will treasure,” I said. “Are you enjoying the convention? Do you attend every year?”
“Of course,” she said. “The book festival is the most notable rare book gathering in the country. And I’ve been homebound for quite a long while.” She laid a hand on my arm. “I’m redoing my kitchen, and it has been ghastly. I tell you, you can’t find good contractors these days to save your life.”
“One of the tragedies of our time,” I sighed. Redoing my kitchen was an interesting interpretation of I was placed on house arrest by the FBI.
Victoria peered out the door, waving at a black limousine that was pulling up to the curb. “I’ll be returning tomorrow, but I have dinner guests arriving, and someone needs to oversee the cleaning of the portraits. Let’s discuss more at a later date, Birdie, shall we?”
“We shall,” I said. My heart was crammed into my throat—unsure if I’d given Delilah enough notice. But Victoria sailed through the doors and floated out to her waiting limousine with not a single care in the world. I was secretly pleased to see that house arrest couldn’t stop Victoria from being, well, Victoria.
As soon as she was out of view, I stepped outside, scanning the sidewalk for Delilah. I expected to find her crouched behind a telephone pole, wearing an ill-fitting fake mustache and glasses.
“Frey. Psst. In here.”
I turned around. She was in the narrow alley between The Grand Dame and the museum right next to it.
“Close call,” I said. “Did you get my signal?”
“I did. But don’t worry, I was already hiding. I figured at least some of our contacts might wonder what Delilah Thornhill was doing here,” she said, referring to the fake-married-name she’d used when first partnered with Henry. “I didn’t expect it to be Victoria though.”
“Of course,” I said, exhaling. “You always think ahead.”
“How’s it going in there?” she asked.
I glanced back toward the street, made sure no one was lurking. I gave her a quick rundown of what we’d uncovered but left out my fight with Sam.
Delilah listened, eyes widening at appropriate times. “Nice work. Even though it’s terrifying at times, it’s kind of fun, right?”
“I’m pretty sure I’m failing miserably,” I said. “I’m only about twenty-five percent sure about what we should be doing, or how we’re ever going to get those letters back.”
“You’re doing what a private