Under the Rose - Kathryn Nolan Page 0,81

reached Abe’s front door—it was 3:00 in the morning, and the summer sky was still dark. We’d had coffee and sandwiches and giant bottles of water, and I felt buzzy and exhausted all at the same time. I knelt, depositing Freya on the ground. As soon as I saw her fully beneath Abe’s doorway light, I realized her throat had two mouth-sized hickeys.

I touched one with my fingertip. “I marked you.”

Her lip curled. “You did.”

“Should Abe…”

Her eyes widened, and she yanked down her bun, pulling her hair to one side to cover the bruises. Good catch, she mouthed. She peeked into the side window with her hands cupped around her face.

“We’re in luck,” she said. “As usual, Abe Royal is burning the midnight oil.”

She pressed her finger to the buzzer. Abe had the door opened not five seconds later. Dressed in a pressed suit, of course.

“Did you ever stop and think there was a reason I never told my employees where I lived?” he remarked.

“Don’t hire a computer nerd if you don’t wanna get found.” Freya grinned. “And let the record show that Abe Royal does sleep in a suit.”

“Dear god, please tell me you didn’t wear basketball shorts as an undercover operative?” he asked coolly. He looked tired though—even the suit couldn’t hide it. “And where are your shoes?”

“I won’t lie to you and say I didn’t dress this way,” she said. “And you can’t ask me to wear stilettos with this outfit.”

Abe’s lips twitched at the ends, but he stepped back, opening the door wider.

“I have a feeling the two of you are here to argue with me.”

I nodded my head at him as we stepped inside. “Evening, sir. Or morning. Thank you for seeing us on short notice.”

Abe settled back on a low gray couch next to a glass table. He sat easily, one leg crossed over the other, sipping coffee. “Short notice? I’ve just been surprised by the two of you during a normal person’s sleeping hours.”

“Right,” I said, sheepish. “Thank you for opening the door.”

“Sit,” he said. “Tell me what’s happening and why the two of you aren’t sleeping, per my express orders.”

“Because Sam and I believe we should be at this underground auction tonight. Undercover, as Julian King and Birdie Barnes. Thomas has been messaging Birdie all evening. I’ve referred to the letters multiple times—the Sand love letters—and he’s made it as clear that they’ll be there.”

She showed Abe the messages.

He took the phone, scrolled through. “Very interesting.” He looked at us. “Except the authentication of the other letters is already underway. They appear to be real.”

“The last forgery cases I worked were so realistic they had to authenticate it twice to spot the inconsistencies,” I told him. “In the years since you’ve left Art Theft, the forgers are getting better. Smarter. It’s not unlikely that they could have a very, very good forgery on their hands.”

“I don’t disagree,” he said. “But we have no contract, no money to do this.”

“If we get the real letters back, we’ll get the money,” Freya said.

“From your updates, this group of individuals is a powder keg—guns, tempers, and a tendency to get their way no matter what. That’s a volatile situation I’ll not have my agents walking into.”

“Sam can retrieve his gun from the bathroom where we stored it,” she said.

“A gun which can be taken from him,” Abe countered.

“Abe,” she pressed, “these people are working closely with Bernard within an organization that illegally sells rare books and art. And your two agents have been invited to participate. Maybe we don’t find the letters, but we’ve got open cases and still-missing books that could be sold tonight. It could still be a win. Or depending on how much access we get, we take a ton of pictures and report all of these fuckers to the police.” She patted Abe’s knee. “We both know you love a good arrest.”

“I do love getting people arrested.” Abe sighed almost wistfully.

“So? Huh? We’re in?” Freya nudged him, winking at me. As usual, she was joking through her own talent—putting forth a concrete argument for action even though she’d admitted in the car that she was unable to handle high-pressure situations. I wondered if she ever realized that even though the Bureau wasn’t the right fit, she shined here at Codex.

I didn’t wink back at her, but I smiled genuinely until her cheeks flushed.

Meanwhile, Abe was facing away, lost in thought.

“What’s the worst that can happen?” she said. “The two of us