Under the Rose - Kathryn Nolan Page 0,6

about. But he didn’t change me one bit. The only purpose that smug asshole serves on this planet is to compete with me constantly. And piss me off. Sam’s a robot workaholic with no capacity for humor or joy. I’m not entirely sure why he’s here in Philly, but the sooner he leaves, the better.”

Her blue eyes danced with intrigue. “And you don’t love him?”

“Byrne?”

She was silent, letting me dangle.

“Is this how you used to get people to confess, Officer?”

She smirked. “Okay, you do love him.”

I balled up my napkin and threw it at her face.

She swatted it away with nimble reflexes. “And you definitely want to kiss him.”

“Please.” My palms were now sweating. “I’d rather French kiss a cactus.”

She didn’t need to know about the four straight months of late-night study sessions Sam and I had undertaken together. We were the top students at the FBI’s training academy—which meant we were always the two students left in the library. Always alone. Competing constantly and under enormous stress. Bickering.

And it used to make me stupid horny.

When Sam wasn’t looking, I’d stare at the lock of hair falling across his forehead, the stretch of his worn Princeton sweatshirt over those magnificent shoulders. I’d get caught in a looping fantasy—of shoving the notebooks and pens and highlighters off our long table and dragging Sam onto it. Wondering what would happen if I pushed my serious, honorable rival to take out his study stress on my very willing body.

“You’re thinking about having sex with Sam right now, aren’t you?” Delilah’s voice was annoyingly smug.

I tapped my computer screen. “I’m thinking about our thieves, thank you very much.”

Delilah Barrett crossed her arms with a secretive smile. “And you need to work on making your lies more convincing.”

4

Sam

The faster I ran, the less I panicked.

Outside the windows of the gym, dawn was breaking over my Philadelphia hotel. This standard “fitness center” looked exactly like my gym back in Virginia. My hotel room felt less sterile than the white, unadorned walls of my apartment. When you lived your life in service to the Federal Bureau of Investigation, having a personal life was a luxury. Enjoying your own home was a luxury. Goddamn sleep was a luxury. After a twelve-hour day, my only cure for the heavy exhaustion was forcing my way through grueling workouts. More miles, more weights, more sweat. After, I enjoyed the briefest respite from the anxiety that had taken up permanent residence in my chest.

By morning, however, it inevitably roared back with the ferocity of a lion, suddenly uncaged. And that was only if I was lucky enough to sleep through the night.

I reached down and increased the speed on the treadmill.

I was heading into my second day at Codex and didn’t need to bring the remnants of my incident into Abe’s well-run operation. And I definitely didn’t want Freya fucking Evandale to know about my newest vulnerability.

My cell phone rang, and I touched my earbuds, answering a call from the Deputy Director. I hadn’t called him “dad” in a decade.

“OPR informed me that they’ve gathered everything they need to reach a decision on their investigation.” My father’s tone was clipped regardless of the hour of the day. He also hadn’t formally greeted me in a decade either—that wasn’t the parenting style of Andrew Byrne.

“Good to know, sir.” I reluctantly slowed the treadmill to a stop, mopping my face with the end of my shirt.

“They informed me that you were very cooperative in talking about Gregory’s crimes.”

“Of course.” I bit off the end of that sentence—because I didn’t do anything wrong. When my ex-partner’s crimes had been discovered, my father assured me he knew I hadn’t participated in Gregory’s years of deception. But the Deputy Director of the FBI couldn’t tolerate an agent who’d been so easily misled. And he certainly couldn’t endure the media frenzy of a son under investigation from the Office of Professional Responsibility.

Andrew Byrne had a perfect reputation to uphold—and knew a small private detective firm in Philadelphia where he could hide me from the spotlight.

Even though I knew I was innocent, his actions only fueled my veiled guilt.

“Do you know when they expect a decision?” I asked.

“As soon as possible. Until then, keep your head down. Abraham told me he’d keep you busy with minor cases. They’re private detectives. It can’t be that hard.” There was a long pause, riddled with judgment. “You should have plenty of free time to fix this.”

I winced, happy no one was around