SIXTEEN
AS WE WALKEDalong the corridor towards Oliver’s cabin, Norton brushed past us, his glasses askew on his nose.
He offered a bow, a daft smile on his face. “Good afternoon, Miss Williams, Mr Satchwell.”
“Actually, we are... never mind. Thank you, Detective.” I bobbed a curtsy.
“Goodbye.” He trotted away, waving a hand.
I winced, watching him as he muttered under his breath. “Will he return to normal?”
“Give him a few weeks, and he’ll be better.” Rennie knocked on Oliver’s door. “Oliver?” When no reply came, he picked the lock with a metallic rod faster than I could say ‘thief.’
“That’s impressive.”
He grinned. “An agent’s basic skill.”
Since Oliver was double-crossing us, I felt no shame or guilt about rifling through his room.
The air was thick with the smell of Oliver’s cologne. It wasn’t unpleasant, but it was one of those perfumes that stuck in one’s nostrils for a long time. Like Rennie, Oliver had a meticulously organised room. Shirts and trousers were neatly folded in a pile. His shoes formed a row in the wardrobe, and his shaving kit sparkled, as if recently scrubbed.
“Do they teach you how to be perfectly tidy in Sheltenham?” I asked, opening the drawer of the nightstand. “My father is the same. All order and tidiness.”
“The cadets are punished if they leave their clothes around the dormitory. Messy rooms aren’t tolerated. Unshaven chins are considered an abomination. And table manners have to be excellent.”
“Hades, is there anything the cadets aren’t punished for?”
He paused while searching the dresser, brows drawing together. “I don’t think so. Maybe only for not... No, I can’t think of anything.”
“I was joking. Oh, leave it.” A folder fell to the floor when I rummaged through a satchel.
A document with the Royal Occult Bureau’s symbol spilt out of it. The paper was the formal authorisation to catch the lamia alive. All the stamps and signatures from the British office of the bureau in Cairo filled the document.
“Rennie, come here.”
His heat enveloped me when he stood next to me.
I pointed at the bureau’s symbol, the crown with the letters ‘R. O. B.’ underneath. “I think this is a forged document. The gold of the crown isn’t as shiny as it should be. I remember that, when I was a child, I was mesmerised by the way the crown shone in the light, reflecting the colours of a rainbow when tilted at the right angle. Father told me it was printed with a special type of ink to recognise counterfeit documents.”
He took the paper and inspected it in the sunlight. “I think you’re right. It’s a good imitation, but not perfect. It doesn’t mean Oliver is doing anything illegal, though.”
“How can you say that?” I expected a little more enthusiasm from him. “He forged a paper.”
“Maybe someone tricked him, and he honestly thought the document was genuine.”
I pouted. “I don’t believe it.”
“Neither do I, but a man is innocent until proven guilty. We need stronger evidence than this.”
My shoulders slumped. “We’ll keep searching, then.”
He took my chin and tilted it up. “You’ve done a brilliant job.” He brushed his lips against mine, too chastely for my liking.
Before he could pull away, I dug my fingers into his thick hair and held him close for a proper kiss. He responded immediately. His arms circled my waist, and his tongue darted over my lips. The stubble on his chin scratched my cheek when he tilted his head to deepen the kiss. It wasn’t my fault if wetness dampened my drawers. Rennie had the power to ignite my lust with a single, fierce kiss.
The metallic scraping noise coming from the door jolted us. Someone was entering. Rennie took my hand and shoved me under the bed. We snuggled closer as the door opened and someone entered. Judging by the new cloud of perfume hitting my senses, it was Oliver.
“Hell,” he muttered.
