Page 31 of Freeing Hook

Charlie and I exchange a glance. “You don’t often visit in the middle of the night,” she says.

Captain Astor blinks, like the passing of time has taken him by surprise. Snuck up on him like an undesirable task. “I’ve been poring over the blueprints of the Carlisles’ manor. Was about to transition to freshening up on the target when I realized my intel had gone missing.” He stares pointedly at the stacks of parchment piled on the bed.

“It was Wendy’s idea,” says Charlie, who I at first assume is abandoning me to the captain’s wrath, until she adds, “She’s rather brilliant, you know.”

Charlie fixes the captain with a stare that is somehow both pointed and pleasant.

“I told you to have her memorize the fact sheet on Cortland and Cressida Rivers,” says Astor, not bothering to hide his annoyance given the way his boot is tapping against the floor.

Before Charlie can defend me, I spout, “I already did.”

Astor flicks his hardened gaze toward me. “How Cressida and Cortland met.” I might break into hives for how he doesn’t even bother to raise his pitch at the end and make it a question.

“She was his tailor,” I answer all the same.

“Her parents’ names.”

“Fredrick and Opal.”

“How she broke her arm as a child.”

“She fell out of a tree.”

“Type of tree.”

“Pear.”

“Cressida’s puppy’s name.”

I offer him a knowing look. “Cressida hates animals. She made her husband donate his Labrador to an orphanage whenthey wed.” Pleased with myself would be an understatement for my reaction when the captain’s scowl deepens. “You know, one would think you would want me to succeed, considering we’re working together.”

Charlie’s head has been oscillating between the two of us the entire time. She yawns, then slides her hands from her hips to her knees before bouncing off the bed and whipping her shawl around her shoulders.

“Where are you going?” asks Astor.

“Somewhere that’s not within clawing distance of the two of you,” she says cheerily, before hurrying out the door, leaving me alone with the captain.

“Why’d you convince Charlie to steal the Carlisle files?” are the first words out of his mouth.

And just like that, I’m riled. Though I shouldn’t be surprised given my company. “You don’t get to do that,” I say.

“What do I not get to do?”

“Tell me I’m too witless to come up with original thought, then accuse me of scheming.”

For once, the captain appears speechless. He crosses his arms, tracing his thumb up the ridge of his forearm.

But I’m not done. “Empty-headed or conniving?”

“Pardon?”

“You have to pick between the two,” I say.

“Fine,” says the captain, his jaw clicking. “I pick conniving.”

When my mouth seeks to curve, his gaze lingers there. “Why do you look so pleased?”

I purse my lips and bite down on my tongue, trying and failing to hold back my response. “Maybe that’s the one I was hoping you’d pick.”

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