Under the Rose - Kathryn Nolan

1

Sam

I had been banished to the land of private detectives.

“My father and I appreciate your discretion,” I said as smoothly as I could manage. “Especially during this difficult time.”

Abe’s usually impassive features softened. “Agents go through difficult situations all the time, Samuel. I told your father that you were welcome as our consultant for as long as it takes. It helps to stay busy.”

I nodded. “Thank you, sir.”

Although what helped even more was having a father who was acting Deputy Director of the FBI. “Consulting on cases with a firm of private detectives” was an interesting way to describe what this situation really was. I was hiding.

I was stranded at Codex until my father released me.

“I’d appreciate it if the details of my current situation were kept private from your team,” I added.

Abe lifted a brow. “You’re here to provide valuable insight and nothing else. Codex is lucky to work with an FBI agent of your caliber.”

It was a tiny act of kindness. Yet my gratitude for my former instructor threatened to sweep me away. Abraham Royal was a stern-looking white man in his early forties, his dark hair graying at the temples. His expectations were ruthlessly high. But he had an unyielding loyalty to those he respected.

Banishment or not, it was comforting to be back under his careful supervision—and to know I still had his respect.

“Selfishly, I’ll admit that I’m glad to introduce you to another side of criminal justice,” he said. “The FBI isn’t the only agency that can hunt down stolen books.”

I allowed a slight smile. “I don’t doubt it. But I’m a Bureau man, through and through.”

He made a sound of disapproval as he leaned against his mahogany desk. “You always have been. I’ll just have to be content with having the Deputy Director in my debt.”

“His gratitude for this will certainly pay off for Codex,” I said. “He pulls all the strings, as you know.”

Abe’s expression was cryptic. “That he does.” His eyes flicked to the clock on the wall. “The rest of the team will arrive in a minute. I haven’t made them aware that you’re coming. The element of surprise is a crucial part of my leadership style.”

“And teaching style.”

“That is correct,” he admitted. “I don’t miss the Bureau worth a damn. But I miss teaching at Quantico. It’s inspiring being in the room with those new recruits, all so eager for the future.” He looked at me, as if waiting for my agreement.

Inspiring. It was a bizarre word coming from a man renowned for his seriousness. Had there been eagerness brimming over in those training rooms? Because I’d assumed every other future agent had felt as terrified and anxious as I had.

“Yes, sir,” I finally said. “What’s your team like here?”

“Perfect.”

“That’s high praise,” I said.

“When you can handpick your team, it improves everyone’s morale—and effectiveness—tenfold. These detectives are sharp, focused, hard-working.” He tilted his head. “Funny.”

Abe was not a man known for his humor. But there was a lightness to him I’d never seen when we’d worked together at the Bureau. It was telling that he’d left and founded his own private detective firm within that same year. My former instructor had been a model of virtue. He’d also been permanently furious and endlessly agitated, not one to sit still for long without a cause.

“Funny and hard-working,” I said. “Sounds like a good fit for me for a few weeks.”

“You look like you could use a laugh,” he said. And this time, the compassion in his face was so obvious I had to look away. Voices echoed in the narrow stairwell behind us, then a door opened. Abe’s body language grew even lighter, almost jaunty, as a tall black man and a dark-haired white woman strode into the room.

Abe Royal was happy. Yet if you listened to my father—and I never had a choice not to—any person who abdicated their responsibility to the Bureau was bound for mediocrity.

“Henry, Delilah, good morning,” Abe said. “I’d like to introduce you to our new consultant, Special Agent Samuel Byrne. We worked together during my last year in the Art Theft unit.”

“And he was my most terrifying instructor at the FBI’s training academy,” I added.

Abe looked pleased at the description. “Thank you for that, Sam.”

“New consultant?” the dark-haired woman asked.

Abe shrugged. “Surprise,” he drawled.

The man stepped forward first. Like Abe, he wore an expensive suit. “I’m Dr. Henry Finch. In my former life, I was a rare book librarian working in Oxford at the McMaster’s Library.”

“Henry’s boss