“Of course not,” Abe said. “But if they’re not making any headway, let us get it back for you. You know we can do it.”
Confronted with the enormity of this case—its high-profile nature, the stakes, the money—I was hit with the full extent of the risk Abe was taking. But he appeared cool and confident perched on the desk while goosebumps broke out across my skin.
“All of this is a disaster,” Francisco said quietly. “The museum that’s loaning us the copy is beyond furious. I’ve had to lie to the press. The board is out of their minds. It’ll be my head on the block if this gets out.”
Freya slid a concerned look my way. Maybe Victoria had hinted at the missing Copernicus because Francisco had told her—not because she was the thief. My stomach rolled violently at the thought—had we leapt to all the wrong conclusions already?
But Abe forged ahead, unperturbed. “Codex can recover it. You know how high our close rate is. Higher than the FBI.”
“Yes, and it will cost me a small fortune,” Francisco replied. “Right?”
Abe lifted a shoulder. “You know our prices. Would you rather pay Codex or lose a priceless manuscript for good?”
Francisco pushed himself up from the chair. “Don’t patronize me, Abraham. You know which option I would prefer. But I can’t just pay you. I need the treasurer to sign off on your exorbitant fee.”
“Don’t let the treasurer tell Victoria,” Freya put in. We all turned to look at her—her head was cocked, giant glasses glowing in the dim light. “If we suspect it’s Victoria, it’s best if she doesn’t know about Codex. That will only impede her trust. From the way she was talking tonight, she clearly thinks what law enforcement has done so far is a joke.”
Abe gave her an approving look. “Yes. What she said.”
Francisco sighed irritably. “If I employ Codex in the recovery of this manuscript, are you seriously going to entertain the absurdity of Victoria Whitney as your suspect?”
“Who we entertain as our suspect is not within the client’s responsibility,” Abe said. “Absurd or not.”
“You go after Victoria and you’ll only end up embarrassing yourselves.” Francisco’s harsh tone had me itching to jump to Abe’s defense. But he was still collected, merely shrugging as if going after the most notorious woman in Philadelphia was neither here nor there.
“I’m serious, Abraham.”
“As am I, Francisco.”
Another stare-down ensued until Francisco finally caved. “Give me until the morning. And I hope I don’t have to remind your staff of the intensely confidential nature of this ordeal.”
“They won’t say a word,” Abe promised.
In a fog, I followed everyone back through the dark hallways and out the side door, the spring wind whipping through my curls. I’d felt so confident back at Codex, but now that we faced the possibility of tracking this book down, I was doubting every single thing I believed I knew.
Freya wrapped her arm around my shoulders and gave me a squeeze. “We’re a dream team, remember?”
I tried to smile at her but I could tell my worry was in plain sight.
“So…good meeting,” she joked. “Guess we’ve got a new case. Any ideas on how we get into Victoria’s good graces?”
Abe ran a hand through his hair, staring out at the skyline of Philadelphia, which glittered brighter than the few stars we could see. When Henry’s phone rang, it startled all of us.
“Unknown number,” Henry said, staring down at the screen.
“Put it on speaker,” Abe instructed.
Henry did, and when he answered an unfamiliar voice responded.
“Good evening. Am I speaking with Henry?”
“You are,” he said smoothly. “And you are…”
“Cecilia. I’m Victoria Whitney’s personal secretary. She gave me your number this evening and asked me to invite you to attend an art auction with her next week. You and your wife—” There was a muffled sound. “Delilah?”
I took a step back. Abe stared at us both like we’d been dipped in solid gold. He circled his finger in the air, as in keep going.
“Um…oh, yes,” Henry replied. “Delilah is my wife.”
His eyes on mine were apologetic.
“Wonderful. And I didn’t quite catch your last name. Henry and Delilah…”
He searched desperately for inspiration. A few seconds ticked by. “Thornhill,” he finally said. “Henry and Delilah Thornhill.”
An almost illicit feeling shivered up my spine at the thought of being a wife. His wife.
“I shall add your name to the list for entry. It’s very exclusive, you understand. I will call to confirm later next week. Good evening.”
The line went dead—Henry looked like he’d seen a ghost, parading up the museum steps. Freya hummed the “Wedding March” again.
Abe assessed Henry and me with narrowed eyes as if sizing us up. “Looks like we’ve discovered the way into Victoria Whitney’s good graces. Henry and Delilah are getting married.”
8
Delilah
Abe and I perched on the top of the stairs at the Franklin Museum. My stilettos were in my hand, bare feet on cool concrete. My dress was wrinkled, my makeup smudged, while Abe seemed prepped for a photo shoot even at one in the morning.
He’d asked me to stay back and sent Freya and Henry home.
“I can tell you’re angry with me,” he said.
“I’m not,” I replied, flexing my toes.
He pinned me with a knowing stare until I relented.
“I’m not angry. I’m confused.”
“Whether you’re confused or angry,” he continued, “leave it at home on this case, Delilah. We’ve taken the biggest job in Codex’s short history, and I need everyone sharp and unemotional.”
When Abe had hired me, I’d been gone from the police department for barely six months. I’d spent half that time recuperating with my fathers—both park rangers who lived four hours away in a nature reserve. Back home, I could slip into who I used to be: the girl who grew up in a rural, small town and understood the forest that surrounded our cabin more intimately than breathing.
But as soon as I’d come back to Philadelphia, I ached to my core. I wanted a badge, a gun, criminals to hunt down without mercy. The world was filled with a universe of wrongs and making them right was my life’s purpose. Freya was the partner—and friend—I’d always yearned for.
Abe was the kind of boss who garnered your respect within the first five minutes of meeting him. So I knew he was right.
And I was still mad. And confused. “Henry’s first day in the field was six hours ago.”
“And how did he do?”
“He’s smart. He knows a ton about the world that Victoria operates in.” I remembered the way she’d gazed at him—the way she’d fluttered and purred like a woman on a first date. “He charmed her,” I admitted. But didn’t want to admit that I knew one of the reasons why: my fake husband was devastatingly handsome.