Under the Rose - Kathryn Nolan Page 0,47

thing I could sink my teeth into. They were only aware that the letters were going to be featured in the new Sand biopic. A few times, I tossed out Freya’s code word—Reichenbach Falls—but if they answered in the affirmative, I was lost on what to do next.

Suffice it to say, I was fucking frustrated.

I refused to acknowledge why I hadn’t threatened Dr. Ward like I swore to Freya that I’d do. Tonight, I’d ply the man with gin and tonics and scare him into handing over those damn letters. Then I was getting the fuck back to Virginia.

With fifteen minutes to go before our mysterious meet-up with Ward, I stalked down the carpeted hallways leading to Julian and Birdie’s hotel room. The door opened, and there stood my irritatingly stubborn rival.

“Sa-Julian, there you are,” Freya stuttered, as startled to see me as I was.

Cora and Thomas are in there she mouthed, pointing to the room adjacent. I nodded my quick understanding and swallowed a massive sigh of relief. I’d been worried about Freya—yet another distraction.

I took in her extraordinary appearance—golden hair in a sleek bun, dark lipstick, and a long, shimmering gold dress that clung to every illicit curve of her body. My frustration now competed with a scorching arousal—a dark desire in my veins, a temptation to take her by the wrist and drag her back to that hotel bed, letters be damned. She was slight, delicately curved, skin glowing from the reflection of those sequins. With her glasses on, Freya had officially achieved Hot Glamorous Librarian status, and it was fucking with my willpower.

“I’ve been looking for you, Birdie,” I said, gaze steady on hers. “Are you ready?”

“Ready as I’ll ever be.” There was an obvious shake to her voice. One ear listening for movement next door, I stepped close until our faces were inches apart.

“Are you okay?” I asked, concerned.

“Yeah,” she whispered. “I’m okay. How about you?”

“Fine. I was doing my own thing.”

“Same here.”

My jaw clenched. “Did you achieve anything?”

Freya glanced down the hall before pulling me behind the door, propping it open an inch. She crooked her finger, and I lowered my head so she could whisper at my ear. “The Alexanders messaged Birdie on the website, confirming that we need to go together to whatever this event is in Ward’s room. They’ll be here any minute. We don’t have much time.”

Her soft mouth at my ear was wreaking a special kind of havoc on my nervous system.

“Abe called,” she whispered. “Another firm approached Scarlett because a source told them the Sand letters were being stored at a location in New York. If they’re right, they’ll have visual confirmation by midnight.”

“What?” I asked. “That’s not possible. They’re here. I feel it in my gut.”

She pursed her lips. “I told Abe the same thing.”

“This is bullshit,” I said. “That other firm is following a false lead. We’re this-close to finding them. They can’t compete with our brilliance.”

Her expression was disbelieving. “Are you sure? Because I think our professors at Quantico would give our work thus far a C-plus at best.”

“Nothing wrong with a C-plus,” I lied—and she knew it.

“For you, maybe. I never got below an A-minus.”

“And neither did I,” I said, smiling a little despite the mounting stress of the moment. Freya straightened the gold strap gracing her collarbone, fingers lingering. I tore my eyes away from the delicate hollow, only to catch the light pink flush in her cheeks.

“So. Midnight,” I said, shaking the daze from my voice. “We’ll know who won.”

“And we’ve still got a ticking clock regardless,” she said. “The letters need to be back in L.A. by Tuesday. If they’re wrong…”

“We’re right,” I said. Her lips curved, competition sparkling in her expression. “Let’s compare what we learned this afternoon before they arrive.”

She nodded. “I spent the afternoon reading past exchanges between Birdie, Julian, and other people in their inner circle. Messages between Thomas and Cora show a deep friendship between the four of us, although messages were deleted, and the remaining ones seemed coded.”

“They’re fucking smart.”

“Very,” she said. “Thomas legit thinks he’s cursed. He only speaks to Birdie about it.”

Our faces were close—too close—ostensibly to whisper. But it meant I was surrounded with her scent of tea and cookies and much too tempted by the heat of her skin. Skin I had finally tasted.

“I talked to Roy,” Freya continued. “He’s still pissed Julian and Birdie blew him off that one time he wanted to meet. I told him it was because