Chapter 4
Chapter Four
Colum: Why is there a stereotype that French men are hot?
Franco: I think the stereotype is that French people of any gender are hot.
Colum: Sure enough.
Franco: WAIT
Franco: COLUM
Franco: DO YOU HAVE A CRUSH ON A FRENCH GUY?
Colum: … No.
Franco: LIAR.
Franco: Take a pic of his ass and I’ll tell you if he’s really hot or not.
X avier leaned one shoulder against the wall, head cocked as he studied Colum O’Connor. There was something tragic about the other man. Xavier saw the bone-deep sadness that had healed only on the surface, the wound below still there.
Someone poked his back, and Xavier turned to look at Annie, who stood just behind him at the top of the staircase.
“Excuse me,” she said with a sunny smile.
Rather than step out of the way, Xavier turned, putting his back to the wall—making space but forcing her to walk past him.
He’d been told before that his habit of antagonizing people made him an asshole, but he didn’t consider it antagonizing. He liked to know what was real. Not truth—a concept he considered almost a fairy tale—but the reality of who a person was. Maybe Annie really was all sunny smiles and social niceties, but he always assumed there was more to someone.
With Colum, he knew there were layers to be unwrapped. The man seemed both shy and unafraid of confrontation, which should have been a contradiction. Add that to the sadness and the way that Colum brushed back his hair with an arm corded with subtle muscles…
Xavier realized his gaze had slid back to Colum, so he refocused on Annie.
She was still smiling, still waiting for him to move so she didn’t have to brush by him to enter the second-floor rooms.
Xavier arched a brow and looked her up and down.
Annie blinked, then returned the favor, the same sunny smile on her face. Her eyes told him she liked what she saw.
He liked what he saw, too, the thin sweater dress hugging her breasts and ass just enough to make him think dark things.
As far as he was concerned, there were two options. Kind, smiling Annie was either a virgin or a treasure trove of kinks. There was no in-between.
He felt himself smile at that thought, and his smile must have given away the flavor of his thoughts because Annie’s lips parted as she inhaled slowly. Her lower lip looked very biteable.
“Excuse me,” she said again, stepping past him. There was plenty of room, so the fact her hip brushed against his crotch was deliberate.
Behind her back, Xavier grinned. He loved when people knew how to play the game.
“Colum,” Annie said, “Xavier’s here.”
Colum didn’t look up. “Who?”
Xavier winced, and Annie snorted out a laugh.
At that, Colum looked up, blinking behind his glasses. “What’s funny?”
“You, taking Xavier down a peg,” Annie said cheerfully. “At least, I found it funny.”
Colum’s gaze hopped to him, and Xavier arched a brow.
“Oh. Xavier.” Colum’s words sounded dismissive, but the look in his slightly wide eyes was telling.
Still, Annie started cracking up, dropping onto the couch and picking up her cup of tea.
“Do you want to know what I found?” Xavier asked, exasperated.
“Found about what?” Colum asked.
Annie sputtered, hand over her mouth full of tea, as she started laughing. She put her cup down and collapsed sideways on the couch.
Xavier felt his cheeks warm. Mon Dieu , was he blushing with embarrassment?
“Your face…” Annie spluttered.
Colum was starting to look alarmed. “Ah feck, what’d I say? I can be a right fecking gobshite.”
It took Xavier a minute to process what he’d said—Xavier’s English was fluent, but apparently not good enough to understand an Irish speaker without thinking about it.
Annie continued to laugh—though she sat up—in a way that made Xavier want to put her over his knee. That would either shock her, or she’d really enjoy it.
Again, his expression must have reflected the direction of his thoughts, because Annie abruptly stopped laughing as she studied his face, swallowing hard.
Better.
Xavier walked over to Colum, gripped the other man gently by the front of his shirt, and tugged him from the desk chair.
Colum looked from Xavier’s fist to his face and back.
A little shiver shook Colum’s shoulders, and he too swallowed.
Xavier switched his grip to Colum’s shoulder, turned him toward the seating area, and guided him to the couch, pushing him down next to Annie.
Annie’s eyes had narrowed, and once Colum sat, she put a hand protectively on the same shoulder Xavier had just gripped.
“Next time, use your words, Xavier.” There was a bite to Annie’s smile.
He arched a brow and dropped into the armchair, setting his bag on the low table in front of them.
“I read the manuscript,” Xavier said. “And I know what we’re looking for.”
That got both of their attention.
“You think it’s with the theater stuff donated to the museum?” Annie asked.
“I do,” Xavier agreed.
“I told you, Franco already went through the personal items,” Colum said. “So it’s definitely not there.”
“Who is Franco?” Annie asked.
“Er…” Colum ran a hand through his hair, and Xavier’s stomach muscles tightened, his cock twitching. “I fecking hate keeping track of who knows what.”
“I’ve never heard you say Franco,” Annie said instantly. “Xavier?”
“I know no Franco,” he deadpanned.
Colum looked back and forth between them, and a small smile touched his lips.
“I looked into the museum you mentioned,” Annie said. “They don’t have much on display due to size, but they have a huge inventory. We’re going to need time to go through it all. I figured we’d start with stuff from the old Union Square Theater?—”
“We won’t have to go through it all,” Xavier interrupted. “I know what we’re looking for.”
“A prop from Vera ,” Colum said immediately.
Xavier shook his head. “No. That would be too simple.”
“What are we looking for?” Annie asked, sounding slightly exasperated.
“Wait, wait, are you saying I missed a clue?” Colum demanded.
Xavier sat back, enjoying Colum’s narrow-eyed glare. “Yes.”
“No, I didn’t.”
“You did.”
“I won’t be having that, I know what I’m about,” Colum shot back, looking genuinely insulted by the idea that he’d missed something.
“Apparently not.” Xavier was getting irritated. He could have already explained what he’d found if only the two of them would shut up.
“Xavier, enough,” Annie said, still touching Colum’s shoulder protectively.
Xavier’s irritation blossomed. Snatching up his bag, he pulled out a tablet with the scanned images of each page of the partial manuscript.
“In the manuscript, Wilde talks about secrets, yes?” Xavier tapped his tablet, bringing up the images he’d annotated of key pages in the manuscript. “Here, he says that in a letter to his ‘American friend’—”
“Marie Prescott?” Annie asked.
“—he wrote to her and said, ‘A fool keeps secrets in their head, while a wise man has no secrets to keep.’” Xavier pointed at the image. Wilde had emphasized the supposed quote from his own letter with an underline.
“I remember that part,” Colum interrupted. “Clearly Wilde’s using that to explain or justify why he’s writing down all these secrets.”
“So Wilde’s calling himself a fool?” Annie asked. “Or a wise man, because he’s not going to keep the secrets?”
“Not unprecedented that he called himself a fool,” Xavier said with a shrug, then quoted Wilde. “‘The real fool, such as the gods mock or mar, is he who does not know himself. I was such a one too long. You have been such a one too long. Be so no more.’”
“So he told Marie Prescott in a letter that he was a fool if he kept his secrets in his head,” Annie summarized. “Add that to the clues about the play that was produced in New York, and our plan to head there tomorrow sounds better and better.”
“Yes, but what are we looking for? Wilde told us.” Xavier arched a brow, looking between them and tipping his head toward the tablet he held up, inviting them to answer.
Colum’s gaze flicked over the tablet, then Xavier’s face. He slumped a little, and Xavier hated that he looked so defeated. Merde , he should have approached this differently.
Then Colum looked up, calm and focused. The intense, sharp intelligence in the other man’s eyes was incredibly attractive.
“What did I miss?” Colum asked in a low voice.
“He never wrote that to Marie Prescott,” Xavier said. “The quote about the wise man and the fool.”
“That we know of,” Annie countered. “Is every letter they ever sent to one another published?”
“According to her estate, yes,” Xavier said. “I searched every library to check. And even if it was written in some long-lost letter, why would he repeat that particular line? Why is this line the only time he underlines a quote?” Xavier tapped the image of the page again. “There are plenty of quotes in the manuscript, but he underlined this one.”
Annie sighed. “You could have started with that.”
“The underline only confirms what I already thought,” Xavier snapped, annoyed once again.
“Xavier, get to the point.”
He carefully set down the tablet. “My apologies, why don’t you tell us what you’ve learned instead. How are you helping?”
Annie didn’t stop smiling, but there was a glint in her eyes.
“Why are you here? What do you do?” Xavier demanded.
“I’m an art expert.”
Xavier felt his lips quiver in a sneer, but he held it back. “You work in a museum?”
“No, I work for an auction house as an?—”
Xavier thrust up from his seat, cursing.
“Er, what’s this, then?” Colum looked back and forth between them.
“Do you know what the commodification of art has done to the world?” Xavier snapped. He might have been answering Colum’s question, but he looked at Annie. “It has eroded the intrinsic value of art—real art is both priceless and worthless. But now, the first thing anyone mentions is how much something is worth. The value is what impresses people rather than the art itself.”
“Ohhhh, I see.” Annie rolled her eyes. “You’re an art snob.” She looked him up and down. “And probably come from money.”
She was right, and the fact that she was only pissed him off. “What’s your percentage off a sale? How much do you make each time you sell a piece of an artist’s soul? Do you think about the artists who don’t create what’s in their heart because they’re worried it’s not commercial enough? That an investor won’t want it?”
“You do come from money, don’t you?” Annie stepped out from behind the low table, toe to toe with him. “Because how dare artists want to be paid, not just for a single piece of art but for the years it took them to perfect their craft.”
“What do you do with the things that don’t sell?” Xavier purred down at Annie. “Do you burn them or just throw them away?”
“I’d be careful up there, on your high horse. Unless, of course, you’ve never, ever sold one of your paintings, or the original handwritten version of one of your poems, for money.”
She’d looked him up.
“Those were auctioned for charity,” he said through his teeth.
Annie pushed up on her toes to whisper in his ear. “And who conducted the auction, mon cheri ?”
Dear God, her accent was terrible. Xavier hissed his disapproval.
“Was it someone like me?” Annie dropped back on her heels, smiling that sunny smile.
Xavier reached for her, with every intention of grabbing her and kissing that smile off her pretty face. She raised her eyebrows in challenge even as her gaze drifted to his lips, and he curled his hand into a fist, shoving it into his pocket.
“ A Midsummer Night’s Dream ,” Colum said from the couch.
As one, they turned to see Colum had picked up the tablet and was studying the page of text.
“Fool. Head. Marie Prescott, which means theater.” Colum looked up. “The manuscript is hidden in a Nick Bottom costume, a donkey’s head from a production of A Midsummer Night’s Dream .”
Xavier tried not to be annoyed that Colum had jumped ahead, ruining his planned dramatic reveal. Though the other man didn’t have it quite right.
“No.” Xavier dropped heavily into the armchair. “A skull, from Hamlet .”
“Poor Yorick,” Annie said, and Colum laughed.
Xavier smiled too but hid it by rubbing his lips with two fingers, before continuing. “Marie Prescott never acted in Hamlet , but her theater produced it. Wilde was a great admirer of Shakespeare and considered Hamlet the epitome of melancholy. That,” Xavier nodded to the manuscript, “is full of Wilde’s famous wit but also anger and melancholy.”
Annie had her phone out and looked up. “One of the museum’s most notable pieces on display is a plaster skull from an 1885 production of Hamlet at Union Square Theater. The piece is notable for being oversized, supposedly to make it easier for the audience to see the features of the skull, but it was so heavy the actor had trouble holding it up.”
Xavier had tried researching the contents of the museum yesterday to see if they had a Yorick skull but hadn’t been able to find anything—the museum website and reviews were sparse. Annie clearly had access to other information.
“Big enough to hide a manuscript in?” Colum’s words made them all look at the safely encased original. The pages weren’t large; if the rest was the same length and on the same size paper, it was possible it was rolled up and hidden inside an oversized prop skull.
“I’ll make arrangements for us to visit the museum, and we should book flights. Tomorrow morning work?” Annie stood as they nodded. “More than likely, we’ll have to buy it.” She smirked at Xavier. “You can be the wealthy investor who wants to purchase it.”
Xavier bared his teeth in a faux smile.
“I’ll go make some calls.” Annie looked at her phone. “Actually, I may go on to my hotel. This could take a while. I’ll see you both tomorrow at the airport.” She raised a hand. “And, boys? I can walk there myself. I don’t need an escort.”
Silently, they watched Annie leave, her steps light on the stairs.
When they heard the door close, the atmosphere shifted. Xavier wasn’t sure why, until he looked over and found Colum staring at him. He immediately looked away, running a hand through his hair.
Xavier rose and held out his hand. Colum looked puzzled but reached up, gripping Xavier’s wrist.
That allowed Xavier to close his own hand around Colum’s wrist in a warrior clasp, and when Colum pulled against the hold as he stood, Xavier jerked on his arm, causing Colum to stumble forward half a step.
He caught himself with mere centimeters separating their bodies.
Xavier inhaled. Colum smelled like old books, wool, and tea. It was a soft, dark scent that made Xavier think of rainy days curled up with a lover.
Their gazes met, Colum’s bright green behind the lenses of his glasses.
Gently, Xavier released his hand, reached up, and took the glasses off Colum’s nose. He pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and, still holding Colum’s gaze, cleaned the lenses.
He placed the glasses back on Colum’s face, brushing his hair back as he skimmed his fingers along the legs to make sure they were positioned correctly on his ears.
Colum’s lips parted on a heavy exhale, his attention shifting to Xavier’s lips.
Xavier let his fingers trail from Colum’s ear, along his neck, to his collar. Colum shivered, eyes sliding shut.
He wanted to kiss this man softly, gently. The flip side of the aggression he wanted to use on Annie.
But they had work to do. A mystery to solve.
Xavier stepped back. “ A bientot , Colum.”
Colum’s eyes widened as Xavier turned to leave, scooping his tablet and bag off the table. At the top of the stairs, he turned back to look.
Colum was standing where he’d left him, arms crossed, an almost befuddled look on his very kissable face.
They had work to do, but Xavier had no problem mixing business and pleasure.
The chase was half the fun.
The security alarm jerked Colum awake. He went from a restless sleep to sitting bolt upright, heart racing, in less than a second.
His body reacted, but it took his brain a second to catch up and identify the “whoop” sound. Spinning, he grabbed the security terminal he kept on his bedside locker. The screen was lit up by the grainy image of a dark figure fiddling with the knob on the front door of the archive.
Rage, sweet and hot, poured through him, overwhelming the fear that also bloomed at the sight.
Someone was trying to break into his archive . Steal his books .
Colum jerked on a jumper over his sleep shirt and pants and grabbed his glasses. In half a dozen running strides, he was jerking open the door of his basement flat. The stone of the steps up to street level was painfully cold against his bare feet. The dark-clad figure whipped around as Colum jerked open the iron gate at the top of the stairs. Two steps, and he’d whipped around to mount the half dozen steps up to the archive.
This was where Colum’s lack of plan showed. He hadn’t gotten much further in his thought process than “protect the archive.”
But as he reached the wide landing at the front door, the dark figure pulled back one arm, and Colum realized he’d miscalculated.
He leaned away, mindful of the none-too-tall railing on either side of the landing and the long drop down into the light well and onto his small patio, which he’d get to experience if he fell over.
Which also meant he didn’t lean back far enough. The dark-clad figure—wearing a hood and a face mask—surged forward, leading with a fist.
Ouch.
Pain burst in the side of Colum’s face, and he bent, hand over one eye, the other watering, the bridge of his nose stinging from where his glasses had been knocked off.
He braced himself, painfully aware that he was vulnerable to another punch or kick, but he was scared to run blind, given that he could either stumble down the steps or tip over the railing and fall a full story.
Adrenaline thrummed through him, and his mind and body both screamed at him to move. Do something. But common sense held him still until he could clear his vision enough to see where he was going.
Colum blinked frantically, listening for any sound of attack.
Instead, his assailant’s retreating footsteps meant that he’d thwarted the break-in.
Well done, self.
Straightening, Colum picked up his glasses—grateful they weren’t broken—and went to the door. He tried the knob, but it was still locked. He sighed in relief but paused. He needed to call someone. Probably?
Colum slowly made his way downstairs to his flat, grabbing his cell phone, keys, the security terminal, and some slippers. Taking his hand from his eye, he blinked until his vision cleared, then scrunched up his features. Ouch. His face hurt.
Now equipped with the bare necessities, he made his way back to the archive front door, locking his own door behind him.
Dropping into a chair in the empty office, Colum stared at his phone. Call someone. He needed to call someone.
The obvious choice was Eric. Besides the fact that Eric was practically family, he was the fleet admiral, and this might be the kind of thing he’d want to know.
But it wasn’t Eric he called.
Not even sure why he was doing it, Colum called Annie and Xavier.