possession of other antiques that Bernard had stolen for her,” I added. “Their romantic relationship ended a decade ago, according to Henry. But he appears to have been her main contact any time she wanted a book for her collection. And when she was brought in for the theft, she didn’t give Bernard up.”
“Wait,” she said, “Bernard Allerton was in… love? Eudora mentioned that he’d had an American girlfriend.”
I pondered this for a moment. “I’m not sure the man can love, at least not the way other people can. I believe he probably felt real affection for her, though. I always thought Victoria might be his vulnerability in the end.”
She was biting her lip and shaking her head. “A man like that is unable to love. I think his vulnerability is his greed.”
A wide range of emotions moved across her face, and I struggled to interpret what they meant. Struggled to admit I wanted to see beyond her sultry, confident mask to the vulnerable woman beneath. I was pretty sure her past wasn’t filled with sunshine and fucking rainbows. Maybe because I recognized an emotional skittishness that mirrored my own.
I tapped the cane that Bernard gripped in some of the pictures on the wall. “Bernard had this cane and a hunch in his back for years. You can see it in all of the recent photos. But Henry told me that the night he confronted Bernard, he stood on his own without the cane. Had a lower voice even, plus a straight posture.”
She huffed out a breath. “I know this game. A disguise that plays on people’s sympathies. We would never suspect our elderly grandfather of trying to steal our shit. It allows con artists to hide in plain sight.”
“Because the human mind loves to make up excuses when we don’t want to admit what’s right in front of us,” I said.
Oddly enough, Caroline had said something similar the night we’d broken up. She had reminded me, quite pointedly, that while I checked off her list of desirable qualities in a romantic partner, there was nothing else there. I was a well-dressed package complete with ambition, drive, intelligence, and a rising career with the FBI.
What I wasn’t was in love.
Off, on. Off, on.
Sloane brushed past me in a quick, back-and-forth pace through Bernard’s office. She was talking quietly to herself.
“Are you getting ideas?” I asked.
“Everything’s coming together, you know?” she said. “I’m happy we’re… I mean it’s nice to, like… have this.”
“What?”
She shrugged. “A partner to bounce ideas off of.”
“Don’t get used to it,” I said. “You’re back to being a lone wolf after this, remember?”
I’d meant it to be light and playful. I caught the hurt in her eyes before she clapped her hands together. “Are we going through Bernard’s office or are you just going to stand there?” Now she gave me a flirtatious smile, a silly tap of her foot as she crossed her arms like the world’s sexiest drill sergeant.
“Partners for twelve hours, and you’re already issuing demands?”
“I’m very demanding,” she purred. “Now get to work, Royal.” She clapped her hands again, and I retaliated by undoing my cuff links and slowly rolling my shirtsleeves to my elbows. She sashayed past me and yanked open a filing cabinet full of papers. “I’ll take this one. You take the desk.”
“Yes, ma’am,” I said. And we got to work. As partners. In Bernard Allerton’s office, surrounded by a lifetime of lies and deceit and inventive manipulations. I’d always assumed I wanted to punish that man more than anything else in my life—more, even, than I wanted to see my father punished for abandoning us.
Yet that need was quickly outpaced by another, more pressing need. The need to watch Sloane as she quietly sank to the ground, surrounded by files, the curtain of her black hair obscuring half of her face. The need to lean forward on my knees, wrap my arm around her waist, and yank her beneath my body; the need to fuck her on this office floor with one hand pressed to her mouth to keep her quiet in this historic library.
The need to ask her more, listen more, learn more. The desire to unravel a mystery as captivating as the ones I’d been chasing my entire life. The mystery of the woman who had bewitched me from the second I’d laid eyes on her.
Which was a shame, since I had plans to revert to being a lone wolf after this as well.
22
Sloane
Two hours later, and