And, according to Abe, Henry’s former boss was a notorious book thief.
I watched Henry adjust his glasses as he accidentally caught my eye across the room.
I looked away quickly.
Patrons decked out in pearls and mink coats buzzed around us, chattering, laughing, gossiping. Like moths, attracted to the glittering light of wealth.
A few were talking loudly about the upcoming Copernicus exhibit at The Franklin Museum three weeks away. It was a Philadelphia high society event all right. And we were searching for a thief that had stolen the twenty-third copy of Ray Bradbury’s Fahrenheit 451. Codex had been hired yesterday to track it down, and Freya had spent all night in online underground markets where the provenance of items was of less concern to the potential buyers than their rarity.
“I got pretty cozy with a seller who was very excited to share they’d recently come into a first-edition manuscript of a ‘famous book about fire.’” Freya used air-quotes with an arch of her brow.
“Clever,” I said. “Did they use the code?”
Freya nodded, eyes traveling through the crowd. Henry had moved on to the next painting, which he examined as deliberately as the first. “Didn’t we once meet each other at Reichenbach Falls?” she quoted. It was a reference to the famous Sherlock Holmes story where he fakes his own death. “But when I tried to pin him down on meeting him tonight for a buy, he’d only direct me here.”
“We’ll find him,” I promised, body already vibrating with adrenaline. There was nothing I loved more in this world than the hunt. “I bet I could flash him my gun and he’d run off scared as a rabbit.”
Freya gave me an approving look. “Are you carrying beneath that dress, Delilah Barrett?”
I shrugged, sipped champagne. On instinct, my hands moved to a side-holster that wasn’t there—a habit I hadn’t lost, even though it’d been two years since I’d left the police force. Instead I forced a smile, discreetly nodded at my leg.
“Thigh holster,” I whispered. “I’m never not packing heat.”
Freya tapped her temple. “Computer nerd. I’m never not packing heat.”
I swallowed a laugh. She might have been Codex’s resident hacker and a self-described Quantico washout, but she could still kick ass like an almost-FBI agent. It was why we made such a good team.
I scanned the crowd for anything strange. I recognized a few of Philadelphia’s famous rich people—most notably Victoria Whitney, the wealthiest woman in the city. An eccentric heiress, a beloved philanthropist, a lover of all things antique and rare. She was standing in the middle of a group of avid listeners, pontificating about a piece of art like she was Julius Cesar.
“I didn’t know Victoria would be here,” I said, senses prickling. “I always expect her to show up to these events with a white tiger on a leash.”
Freya snorted. “Me too.” She lowered her voice even further. “What are we supposed to do with Henry again?”
I let out a frustrated sigh. “I’m on babysitting duty per Abe’s express orders. I need to make sure he doesn’t do anything stupid.”
Henry had been hired on a probationary basis a few months ago—and while he’d been studying and passing his private detective exam, he’d been helping Freya with research and authenticating manuscripts when we recovered them. He’d been supremely useful in that area, but Abe had suggested he come along tonight, even though it was way too early to let a complete newbie out in the field.
“Yeah, you should probably…go do that.” She grabbed another glass of champagne from a passing waiter wearing a bow tie. “Bring this to him. It’ll settle his nerves.”
I watched Henry’s large palm smooth down his tie as he slid his other hand into his pocket. He was chatting amiably with an older couple, and his body language was loose, open. Oddly enough, the former librarian looked comfortable in this high-wealth crowd.
“On it.” I grabbed Freya’s elbow. “Go mingle, listen, try to start conversations about Sherlock Holmes. Our target will bite.”
She winked and tossed me a fake salute. “See you in a few. Have fun babysitting the nerd.”
“You’re the nerd.”
“Oh, that’s right.” She tapped her temple again before fluttering away. I passed Victoria Whitney as I walked, her chin tilted and brows raised as she lectured. Henry saw me approach and smiled before he caught himself.
“Drink,” I said, handing him the glass.
“I’m sorry, am I supposed to acknowledge you?” he whispered. “Doesn’t that blow our cover?”
“We don’t technically have a cover,” I whispered back. “Just…talk to me. Like normal. We’re here enjoying whatever the fuck this thing is.” I waved my hand at the painting behind him. This time he smiled for real—a slow reveal of full lips and perfect teeth.
“Are you…doing okay? You seem like it.” I said, a little envious of his ease. Crowds like this made me itchy.
His shoulder lifted. “I spent the last ten years charming people so they would donate to libraries. I know this world.”
I nodded. “And art?”
“I have a minor in art history,” he said. “But modern art I know nothing about.”
I watched him assess the painting behind me—face open, as if taking in every detail. “You like it, though,” I said.
He thought for a minute. “I do.”
As if previously choreographed, we started to wander through the rows. Up close, Henry smelled like old books and cedar.
He dropped his head closer to mine. “Should I go up to people and ask them if they’re fans of Ray Bradbury?”
I grimaced. “No. That’s very obvious.”
“Then should I go up and ask them if they’ve ever been to Reichenbach Falls? I feel like I should be doing something and I’m just standing here.”
“That’s our job,” I said quietly. We were rounding the corner—Victoria came into view. I felt that same prickle again—like electricity zipping along my scalp. “Yours is to listen. React. Don’t draw attention.”
“Okay,” he sighed. “I’m a little more nervous than I’d care to admit, Delilah.”
He had a deep voice that curled around the syllables of my name.
“Don’t worry. You hide it well.”
He narrowed his eyes at me behind his square glasses—but his lips twitched in amusement.
“So it sounds like I should ask if anyone here has stolen something recently.”
“That’s the spirit,” I replied, looking around him at Victoria. Although the seventy-year-old was diminutive in size, her entire being screamed power. Another man was trying to get her attention, and his profile was eerily familiar.
Through the crowd, I spotted Freya staring daggers at the man.
For the tenth time that night, I cursed Abe’s insistence I bring Henry along. I knew he needed field training but I also needed Freya by my side. Something was about to happen—I could sense it.
With as much grace as I could muster in stiletto heels, I moved close to Victoria Whitney just as the man reached forward to grasp her elbow.
Henry opened his mouth to speak. My hand landed on his chest as I shook my head imperceptibly. His brow furrowed.