We spent the rest of that evening hearing about the details of our “operation.” That was a word I had hoped to encounter only as a child’s board game or in a hospital setting, but clearly I was in deep because our operation included cover stories, a vast array of books, and a long string of crimes that I was—counter to all my instincts—supposed to claim instead of avoid. Basically, what Boone was asking of us was in direct opposition to my entire personality and moral code. I was glad we had beer.
“What you’re saying,” Beattie summarized after Boone had given us the run-down, “is that we’re seasoned professional book buyers and forgery experts. We buy and sell books on the black market AND not only identify forgeries but create them, too. Am I understanding?”
“Precisely,” Boone said. “Now, are you ready for the specifics of your assignment?”
I swallowed the rest of my third beer and sat up a little straighter. “This is our assignment as spies or our assignment as book smugglers?” I asked.
Frank glanced at me and smiled. “Good question.”
“Thank you,” I said with an enthusiasm fueled both by alcohol and by a determination to make the most of a situation I really didn’t want to be in. “So, Boss?”
Boone rolled his eyes. “Both, actually. Let’s go with the spy part first, shall we?”
I nodded. “What do we need to do?”
“Your mission, should you choose to accept it,” Boone grinned as if he’d just said the cleverest thing ever, “is to get yourselves invited to an auction that is coming up tomorrow night. Once you’re there, we need you to give us intel on who is shopping, what books are up, and, if possible, who is running the show.”
“Oh, is that all?” Adaire said with a shrug. “Tomorrow, you say? No problem.” The sarcasm in his voice was dripping all over everything.
“How, precisely, are we to get ourselves invited to this auction?” I asked as my brain tried to remember all the ways spies in the movies got into private events. “Do we have a contact?”
Boone grinned. “No, we don’t have a contact. But we do have a network of folks who have loose ties to some of the people involved. You’ll be meeting with one of them tomorrow morning first thing.” He shared this information so matter-of-factly that I might have thought he was telling us about our breakfast options at the hotel.
“And this person is...” Aaran asked, far more calmly than I would have mustered.
“His name is Allan Victora, and he’s a book seller here in Cape Town. His reputation is a bit, shall we say, muddy, and in order to avoid an investigation into his affairs, he has agreed to assist us with this inquiry.”
“Great,” Adaire said, “Our contact is a shady bookseller.”
“I wouldn’t go so far as to say he’s shady. More savvy. He’s stayed carefully on the right side of the law, but just barely.”
“Which makes him the perfect contact,” Aaran said with a nod. “Good.”
I probably shouldn’t have taken as much comfort in Aaran’s confidence as I did, but given that he’d been doing spy work for years, a fact that I was still coming to terms with, I figured he knew what made for a good contact and what didn’t.
I still, as usual, had about a thousand more questions. I started with the most obvious. “And what books are involved here?”
Boone’s face lit up. “Oh, Poe, you’re going to love these. We’re focusing on a specific collection of South African legends and lore. Each is bound separately and beautifully, and each is very, very rare. Only twenty-five copies of the entire set were printed, and we know that twenty-four of them are held in museums or private collections around the country.”
“But the twenty-fifth is unaccounted for?” Beattie said. “You want us to see if it’s up for sale at the auction.”
“Precisely, Beattie. Precisely.” Boone looked like a proud parent, and I kind of wanted to smack the smile right off his face.
“What’s your role in all this?” I asked with the secret hope that he had some crap job like sitting in a hot van doing surveillance.
“Ah,” he said. “Another excellent question. I am playing the role of the smuggling ring’s lead.” He quirked one eyebrow.
I groaned. “Seriously? But I thought this was supposed to be an American ring.”
“And you think I can’t play an American?” he said in the most god-awful American Southern drawl I’d ever heard. It made the exaggerated speech of Kyra Sedgwick in The Closer look mild. But it was the way he shifted into a languid stoop that really made my blood boil.
“That’s how you do an American?” I said. “Great.”
Ivan was laughing. “Actually, that’s pretty good,” he said before he caught the looks that Beattie and I shot him and clammed up.
“Are you coming to the auction?” I asked.
“No,” he said. “I will be on standby to consult, though.”
“Let me guess? As both the spy and the buyer?” Adaire asked as he rolled his eyes.
“Now you’re getting it. You have my full authority to act as necessary at the auction, but if you need to consult with me, I’ll be available.” Boone tweaked his ridiculous mustache.
“Are we trying to buy the collection?” Beattie asked. “Or is this reconnaissance?”
“Well, that will be your call once you get the lay of the land,” Boone said. “If it seems you need to make a purchase to enhance credibility, you will have the funds and the authorization to do so. If it’s enough to simply assess the situation, then that’s fine as well. It will be your call.”
As we walked back to our hotel that evening, I wasn’t sure whether to be flattered or terrified that Boone trusted us enough to make our own decisions at the auction. And I wasn’t sure why it mattered to me what he thought. The guy was a scoundrel. A handsome scoundrel, but a scoundrel nonetheless.
Adaire held my hand as we walked and I wanted to make small talk, to flirt with him a bit. But it just wasn’t possible for me to come up with anything, not with all this weight hanging over us. I wondered, not for the first time, if Adaire and I would ever have the chance to just date.
Back in our suite, we ordered room service and decided to relax with the South African version of Survivor. I had been a big fan of the show in its first few seasons in the US but then had gotten bored. This version, however, was gripping, probably because of the cultural differences and the accents.
By the time we were three episodes in, we all had our favorites and were placing casual bets on who would take the title. I had my bet on a tiny blonde woman from Durban who was wily and lithe and had dominated the physical competitions so far. Physically she looked like the underdog, but I thought she could pull it off. BB had no opinion, having slept on my shoulder through all of the action.
Eventually we had to go to bed so that we got at least some sleep before our breakfast meeting with Allan Victora. I wasn’t sure I would be able to sleep, but the beer and the excitement must have caught up to me because as soon as Adaire wrapped his arm around me, I was out.
When our alarm went off at 6:30 the next morning, I was already up and ready to go. I’d slept well but found myself wide awake at 4:30. The moment my eyes were open, my anxiety about the day had kicked in. Fortunately, the view from our suite was spectacular as dawn started to arrive in Cape Town, and so I’d spent a meditative and relaxing few hours at the window taking it all in.
Well, taking it in and drinking copious amounts of the coffee room service provided every half hour at my specific request. When the server brought a basket of what looked like biscuits, I was thrilled… until I tried to bite into one and found I might need a crown as a result. I dipped the bread-thing into my coffee and muddled through, grateful for the bread to soak up some of the liquid and, hopefully, prevent me from being too jittery.
The hard biscuits weren’t enough to counter six cups of coffee, so by 7:00 I was bouncing on the balls of my feet by the window, anxious to get going. “You guys ready?” I said as soon as I heard a bedroom door open. But when I turned, I saw Aaran’s hair standing straight out from his head, and beside him, Beattie looked like she’d been attacked by an 80s stylist with a penchant for teasing out hair. They were clearly not ready.
Adaire, however, stepped out from our door looking combed and fresh. When he gave me a quick kiss, I smelled his aftershave, something limey and sweet. I liked it.
While we waited for the other two to shower and dress, I let him finish off the last carafe of coffee I’d ordered and told him about the magnificent sunrise I’d witnessed. “Even though I wasn’t over the water, the reflections of the gold off the ocean were amazing,” I said even as I realized that describing a sunrise was just about as effective as taking a photo of it. Nothing did the real thing justice.
Still, the view was stunning and for a few minutes we sat, arms around each other, watching the city wake up below us. It was a tender, quiet moment, and for some reason it made me just a little bit sad.
That feeling was quickly replaced by anxiety, though, when Aaran and Beattie came out and we all headed toward the elevator. The ride down to the lobby was silent, and even as Aaran got directions to our meeting location, the silence felt heavy among us. I got the impression that none of us really wanted to be doing what we were about to start doing.
But we were all professionals, and we’d made an agreement. So as soon as we walked into the café and saw a middle-aged man with a graying beard sitting by the window, just as Boone said he would be, we put on our game faces and picked up our personas. It was on.
“Good morning, Mr. Victora,” I said as I put out my hand. “I’m Poe Baxter, and these are my associates Adaire and Aaran Anderson and Beattie Andrews. Thank you for meeting us.” I was so grateful that we were able to use our real names because I knew that I would definitely slip if I had to remember a nom de plume not only for myself but for each of my friends as well.
“Your reputation precedes you, Ms. Baxter,” he said. “Thank you for meeting me.”
I smiled and tried to keep the confusion off my face since I thought we had been the one to request the chance to meet with him. “Our pleasure,” I said, hoping I wasn’t creating a snafu that would disrupt this whole process. “What can we do for you?”
Allan smiled. “It is my understanding that you are an expert in books in the folklore realm, is that correct?”
I nodded. “Yes, folklore, fairy tales, and legends are my specialty. How may I be of service?” Again, I was fortunate that my cover allowed for my actual knowledge. I was still getting up to speed on the bookish stuff, but I knew my folklore inside and out.
“You may have heard,” Victora said, “of a certain collection of South African legends that is just now entering the market. I’m interested in procuring that collection if,” he stressed that word heavily, “you determine they are authentic and worth the amount they could achieve at auction.”
I studied his face for a moment as my brain tried to catch up to the situation. As I had understood it, Victora was (at least on the surface) on the up and up as far as his book trade was concerned. But now he was asking me if I could help him acquire a collection of books at a black-market auction. Things in our plan were going a bit awry already and we weren’t even finished with breakfast.
“You are aware,” Aaran said quietly, “That tonight’s event may include some, well, shall we say, sub-legal situations?”
Victora nodded. “I am, which is why I contacted you. My understanding is that part of your specialty as a team is in acquiring, as you say, sub-legal items. Am I mistaken?”
Beattie said, “While we don’t flaunt that particular skill, you have received good information, Mr. Victora. What arrangements are you proposing?”
I was feeling a little shocked by how well we were handling this significant shift in our process, but I went with it. “Yes, please tell us your terms, and we will then tell you if we feel we can proceed in good faith.” I needed to maintain appearances that I was the one running the on the ground show so that our various cover stories stayed intact.
Aaran was our muscle, the one who kept us safe and who was, according to Boone’s portrait, the one most underestimated because of his physique. Adaire was the brains of the operation, the silent one who did the research and record-keeping. Beattie was the book expert, forgery detector and forgery creator. And I was the team leader, tasked with keeping us all on track as well as consulting on my own specialty in folklore. Aaran also specialized in military texts, Adaire in literary works, and Beattie in children’s books. Our covers were rich and deep, and they aligned with our life experiences enough that we could manage them easily and without much thought.
Now, though, I needed for Victora to remember I was the one in charge. “What is our cut?” I said because I knew that this was, for most folks in business—be it above board or below—the most crucial question.
“20 percent of the purchase price,” Victora said without a pause, “if the books are authentic, and if I make the sale.”
I laughed out loud. Even in my limited experience as a book buyer, these terms were ridiculous. “20 percent of the purchase price, up front... and then an additional 10 percent of the final selling price, should you sell,” I said. “We’re not here to make contingent sales for you. I’m not a real estate broker.”
Beside me, Beattie snickered.
Victora looked a little put off. “You want me to pay you before I’ve made any money on the purchase myself?”
I stared at him, absolutely baffled by his arrogance. “You want me to work for you, in a high-risk situation, without being paid?” I stood up and prepared to walk out. I had my principles, and one of them was that I did not work for free, not even to help break down a smuggling operation.
Fortunately, I didn’t have to carry through with my walkout because Victora stopped me. “Fine,” he said. “20 percent of purchase as soon as the collection is acquired.”
I stood still and shook my head. “You still aren’t getting it. We. Do. Not. Work. For. Free,” I said with a pause between each word. “You pay us 20 percent of your maximum bid before the auction, or we don’t bid for you. Period.”
Victora’s face turned a very purple shade of red, but he nodded. “Fine. Meet me back here at 4 p.m. for your payment.”
I sat back down. “We’re not done yet. What’s your maximum bid?”
He told us, and I said, “We’ll need payment in cash. Small bills.” Then, I stood again and my friends stood with me. “See you at 4,” I said.
I walked out of the café with my colleagues beside me and a little swing in my step. I felt like a total badass. Apparently my friends agreed because after we turned the corner, Beattie said, “Woman, I didn’t know you had it in you.”
“Well done, Poe,” Aaran said. “Handled like a true professional with a reputation to back up their position.”
Adaire leaned over and kissed my cheek as he whispered. “That was sexy.”
I blushed and thanked them all, then took a few minutes to celebrate my victory. But my celebration was short-lived.
After a few minutes of walking around the city, Aaran said, “Now, our only need is to find out where the auction is.”
I stopped walking. “Shoot, is that something I should have asked Victora?”
“Most definitely not,” Aaran said. “He would expect you to know already.”
I nodded and began to walk again, but now, all my bravado had bled away. “How are we going to find out where the auction is?”
“We’re not,” Beattie said as she took out her phone. “Boone needs to do something to earn his pay.” She dialed and put the phone to her ear. “We’re all set with Victora. Now it’s your turn.” She told him about our need. “And now we’re enjoying the city. Don’t call us. We’ll call you.” She hung up, and I got the distinct impression that Boone had been about to say something when she did.
I gave her a high five. I loved my best friend almost as much as she loved me.
For the next couple of hours, we wandered around the waterfront, stopping into shops that interested one or the other of us and partaking in samples from the various food trucks around the city since our breakfast meeting had not, after all, actually involved breakfast.
By the time Beattie called Boone back, we were all stuffed and carrying a variety of bags with our purchases. Given that our paycheck from our employers was guaranteed and that we had yet to have a single personal expense on this trip, we had all decided to splurge a little.
I didn’t often turn to shopping as my stress relief—I was more of a yoga, meditation, and snacks kind of woman—but today it felt good to just spend some money on silly things. I bought myself a toy monkey in a straw hat and a beautiful blue sundress, and I didn’t feel a bit of my usual guilt for spending the money.
My shopping high faded as we rode the elevator up to our suite and Beattie relayed what Boone had told her. The auction was in the back of a restaurant in the center of Cape Town. According to Boone, we were expected at 7 p.m. on the dot and we’d be asked to show credentials in the way of cash to be allowed to enter. We would also be frisked for weapons and wires, so our ability to have outside help would be limited.
“He did say, though, that he had gotten Frank and Ivan in, too. They’ll be there as hired security if we need anything,” Beattie added as we unloaded our purchases on the dining room table in the suite. “That’s something, I guess.”
“I’ll take Frank’s presence over a wire any day,” I said. I loved Frank for a lot of reasons, but in this case, it was his sheer size and specialized know-how that made me grateful he’d be there. “I’ll call Victora and tell him we need our payment and the cash for the auction.”
Aaran pulled my hand away from my phone before I could dial. “Don’t do that, Poe. Remember, he knows about the auction, so he knows the terms. If he shows up without the cash, then we don’t go.”
“But then we can’t make the purchase and get this ring broken up.” I said, feeling a little panicky.
“If we blow our cover before we even get to the auction, then we’ve failed anyway,” Adaire said. “He’ll know, Poe. If Aaran says he’ll know, he’ll know.”
I still felt shaky about the whole situation, but Adaire was right. Aaran had been doing this far longer than I had, so I needed to trust him. I needed to trust him and I needed to get a nap. My early morning was catching up with me. I headed into our room, lay down on the bed, and stared out at the sky until I dozed off.
Approximately thirty-seven seconds later, Adaire was waking me up with a kiss on the cheek. “If you want to eat before the auction, we need to get moving,” he said.
I sat up and stretched, and when I ran my fingers through my hair, I realized there was no amount of coiffing that was going to manage this mess. “I need to take care of my hair. Give me ten,” I said.
Adaire laughed and walked out into the living room as I went to duck my head under the bathroom sink and do what I’d been doing since high school: the wet and style. Within five minutes, I had my hair under control, and in ten I was in the new dress I’d bought. I even put on some makeup.
I spun around as I entered the living room, and everyone whistled. I had to admit, I felt pretty good in the sapphire blue halter-topped dress. The silver sandals I’d slipped on with it were a good complement, and they were comfy to boot. If I hadn’t been about to go infiltrate an underground book auction, I would have felt pretty good about myself.
I was actually really nervous, and my friends seemed to be, too. Adaire kept playing with the hair at the nape of his neck, a tell I’d finally figured out meant he was nervous, and Beattie was peeling the skin off her cuticles. Only Aaran seemed calm and at ease, but I noticed he was a little less than patient with all of us when we dawdled in the room before getting the elevator to go down to dinner. There was nothing easy about what we had ahead of us that night, and we were all showing the stress.
Fortunately, our dinner at a seafood restaurant down the street was lovely. I had, of course, the steak, and it was delicious. The single beer I ordered helped ease my nerves, but since I drank it slowly along with my food, I was quite sober and aware when we left to go to the auction a few blocks away.
Aaran had done the pickup from Victora at 4:00 as planned, and as expected Allan had brought not only our payment but also the full cash, in a separate briefcase, for the purchase of the book collection. The briefcases Aaran and Adaire now carried looked pretty much like anything a businessman in the city might carry, except for the double-locking mechanism on each. Even that was hardly noticeable in the evening light.
After receiving the combinations for each briefcase from Victora, Aaran had come back to the room and changed the combinations. As we walked, Beattie told me “He said we couldn’t take any chances that Victora might double-cross us. This way, the money is inaccessible to anyone but us and those we give the combination to.”
I thought that was pretty genius on her boyfriend’s part, and unlike me, Aaran had a mind of steel so he wouldn’t forget the combinations. That was something I couldn’t guarantee from myself, given that numbers tended to leak out of my head like melting ice from a colander.
We were just a block or two from the auction now, and while we’d made a very careful plan earlier in the day, my nerves made me feel like I needed to go over it again. “So first, we’ll go into the auction under our cover names,” I said with as much certainty as I could muster.
Aaran rolled his eyes but nodded. “We’ll let the bidding go up a bit, and then you’ll bid for us, Poe,” he said with what felt like true calm.
“My job is to be by your side and look like we’re consulting on how much we are willing to pay,” Beattie added. We had already decided exactly what we were bidding to start and what our highest bid would be, but given the nature of the auction and our cover, we’d decided it was best to make it seem like we’re consulting in process. The hope was that our “on the fly” bidding might give off an air of confidence.
“And if the bidding goes higher than we can afford?” Adaire asked, posing the question that had been plaguing me all day.
“We quit,” Beattie said without hesitation. “We are businesspeople, and this is business. We don’t spend more than we plan.”
I took a deep breath. What she said made sense, but I wondered what we were going to do about Victora if we didn’t get his books. That idea made my heart run like a speeding horse.
Aaran’s voice was, again, calm and firm. “We make notes about who the buyers were and how they paid, and then we report back to Victora with a plan to approach the buyers directly with a little of his persuasion.”
I groaned. “So, he threatens them, and we get the books anyway. Great.” I was liking this role as undercover agent less and less. “But at least it’s a plan, I guess.” At least we wouldn’t get killed.
The restaurant the auction was in practically screamed, “Illicit activity happens here,” with a single light over a speak-easy door. Fortunately there wasn’t some password that we needed to know and our cover names and cash got us in as expected.
Inside the atmosphere got much more posh but still a little icky-feeling. Bronze wall sconces lined the room, giving off a golden light. A polished wood bar in the corner reminded me of a cash bar at a hotel wedding, but the man serving drinks was definitely a very high-end bartender given the way he shook the martinis and flipped the tumbler without even looking at the crowd. His show was all finesse out of habit, not because he was seeking tips. I figured he was also probably security, and if he was paid as well as I expected, he didn’t need the extra cash. I didn’t even see a bowl on the bar where someone might tip him if they wanted.
Whatever that situation was, I was clearly out of my league. I fiddled with the strap on my dress and tried to look calm. Given the way Beattie looked at me with concern, I was clearly failing.
I figured at this point, a little more alcohol might help loosen me up, so I walked over the bar. “Ms. Baxter,” the bartender said, “what can I get you?”
My heart rose up to my throat when I heard my real name. I looked at him carefully and decided I had no choice but to just act natural. Protesting that he had me confused with someone else would just have made me more suspicious. “A dirty martini please. With gin,” I said
He nodded and then glanced over to where Aaran stood. “Anderson is looking good these days. Last time I saw him was in Beirut.”
A wave of relief passed through me. “Ah yes, Aaran is a fine-looking man, but I prefer my date.” I smiled at Adaire who was watching me carefully.
“The other Mr. Anderson, indeed.” He handed me my drink with a cocktail napkin beneath it. “Have a good evening, Ms. Baxter.”
I glanced down at my drink and saw a small square drawn in the exact center of the napkin with small x’s marking spots where the bar was, near an unmarked door behind me, and to the left of the platform that I assumed would be used for the auction.
I’d seen napkin messages before, so I felt confident in assuming this one showed where Boone’s men were stationed. The fact that there were at least three of them here made me feel a little more secure, though I wasn’t sure why the bartender had felt it important to let me know that information. Maybe he could sense my anxiety.
I made my way back over to Adaire and passed him my drink, with the napkin, while I adjusted the strap of my dress, and then took back only my drink. “Look at the layout,” I whispered into his ear with a smile.
He played along well and smiled before kissing my cheek, glancing at the napkin, and then carefully folding it in half before slipping it into his pocket. “Good,” he said quietly. “Looks like we’re about to begin.”
On the platform, a woman in a silver sequined gown that looked very much like one Vanna White would wear, only more expensive somehow, was standing next to a podium with a large, leather-bound book in her gloved hands. Behind the podium itself, a grim-looking man in a suit held a gavel and a sheet of paper.
“Gathered Friends,” he began, and I couldn’t help but be pleased he used a gender-neutral term for the people in the room. Maybe mobsters were more inclusive than I knew.
“Our first item up for auction is a fourteenth-century dictionary.” He went on to describe the handwritten book, the monastic order that had created it, and the further provenance of the tome. At certain moments, the woman next to him would carefully open the book and display a pair of pages, and the illuminations were simply gorgeous. It wasn’t one of the books we were here to buy, but it sure was a beauty.
A few more books of equal quality and stunning condition were sold before our set of South African folktales came up. I had done my research on the four-volume set already, and I knew it was gorgeous and rare. But the internet photos and information didn’t compare to the real beauty of the books.
They were bound in a dark-blue leather, embossed with silver on both the spine and front and back covers. The end sheets were a gorgeous marbled paper that included the blue from the covers and also introduced a light green and a bit of pink. The edges of the pages were leafed in silver and the pages of text themselves were printed on a heavy cream paper with a font that my research told me was Garamond, one of the oldest and most beautiful fonts out there. The books were, in short, exquisite artifacts.
But when you added in that they were also rare and contained some of the only written tellings of early legends from the tribes that would come, in time, to be located within the territory of South Africa, they were, in my opinion, almost priceless. That said, we did have a price in mind.
Given the way the crowd had perked up when this lot came to the stage, it seemed we had our work cut out for us. As the bidding began, Beattie and I shifted closer to one another and started whispering, mostly about how terrified we were but also about when we were going to put in our bid. When someone hit our target number, I raised my small paddle and raised the bid by $5,000.
For the next couple of minutes, things got very tense. When it became clear that it was down to us and one other bidder, we looked over to see a man who looked to be a Pacific Islander and very, very wealthy if his suit was any indication. I’d bid, then he’d bid, and so it went until we were within $10,000 of our limit. The auctioneer had lowered the bid increases to $1,000 each, and with each raise from our competitor I felt the sweat stream going down my back get deeper. If this didn’t end soon, I’d have the Amazon River gushing down my back. In a backless dress, that wasn’t going to be pretty.
Fortunately, the man in the expensive suit quit just $2,000 below our maximum, and Beattie and I won the set. Given that this was my first auction of this sort, I wasn’t sure what happened next. I’d been basing my earlier behavior off what I’d seen on TV, but now I was at a loss. Fortunately, Beattie wasn’t and steered me behind the curtain behind the stage, where another gaunt man in yet another pricey suit greeted us.
“Ms. Karot,” he said as he looked at me.
I stared at him blankly for a moment until I realized he was talking to me, or to my cover persona. “Oh yes. That’s me.”
The guy frowned for a split second but then continued. “How would you like to pay? We accept cryptocurrency, electronic bank transfer, or cash.”
“Cash, please,” I said as Aaran stepped beside me and laid the briefcase on the table. “You’ll find the full amount here.” I tried so hard to sound smooth, but I felt just about as fake as I had when I was in ninth grade and pretended to know all the lyrics to “Shake Your Rump” at a dance and got laughed off the stage.
The man in the suit, who suddenly reminded me very much of Lurch from The Addams Family, waved two fingers over his shoulder, and a woman in a suit and horn-rimmed glasses hurried over and began to count the cash with a speed that made me a bit dizzy.
When both of them were satisfied that the full amount was there, Adaire took the books, now wrapped in a black velvet bag and placed in a translucent plastic box that I was already scheming about how to convert into larger travel accommodations for BB the world-traveling hamster, and we headed toward the front door.
I was already beginning to feel the elation that always came after a scary hard thing was finished when I heard someone at my left elbow say, “Poe Baxter, is that you?”
The same panic I’d had at the bar flushed down my entire body, but Aaran reacted quickly by slipping my arm through his and keeping me moving.
“Don’t stop,” he said through a smile. “You cannot break cover.”
I smiled back at him and picked up my pace, feeling Beattie and Adaire right at our heels. At the door, I saw one of the men the bartender had identified for me standing nearby, and he gently but quickly cleared the people from our path and then stepped in front of the door after us. I heard him say, “I’m sorry, sir. This exit is only for those who have made purchases today.”
Behind me, the voice that had called to me said, “But I know her. We used to teach together.”
The door shut then, and I was glad for Aaran’s arm because the last thing I needed right now was to be identified by my ex-boyfriend.