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J uliana eyed the man standing at the threshold. When the guys had talked about Archibald Griswold, she’d pictured someone like them, but older. Someone fit who preferred jeans or fatigues. Someone who, if you looked closely, appeared a little battle-weary.

She had not pictured a man with a long white beard, barrel chest, and piercing blue eyes dressed in a Hawaiian shirt, khaki shorts, socks, and sandals. Nor had she pictured him so…big. Not overweight, but big-chested and easily six foot four or five. He’d probably be handsome if he shaved, but as it was, he looked like a cross between Santa Claus and Jeff Bridges in The Big Lebowski .

He scanned the room, ignoring Simon. When his gaze landed on Agent Parks, it lingered.

“Professor Griswold,” Parks said, surprising Juliana. “I’m surprised to see you here.”

“Not surprised to see you,” he countered. His voice held no judgment, just a statement of fact.

“What are you doing here?” Simon asked.

“You don’t even like us,” Viper said.

Griswold lumbered in and sank onto a chair. “I don’t like anyone; don’t take it personal,” he said, grabbing an empty mug and helping himself to coffee.

“Oh, we don’t,” Monk muttered, the first words he’d spoken since sitting down.

Griswold narrowed his eyes at Monk as he poured. “I’m here because Aaron Lowery and Dean Polinsky stole about 150 pounds of gold. There are very few things in life I dislike more than soldiers, but corrupt soldiers is one of them,” he said, repeating what Viper had told them.

“You have proof of that?” Parks asked.

“Nope, and you won’t find any. Not hard proof, anyway,” Griswold answered. “But here’s what I do have.” As he spoke, he pulled out two files from a ratty canvas biker bag and set them on the table. Juliana reached for one, but Viper gave a little shake of his head. She withdrew her hand.

“I’ve confirmed that all three men were deployed to the area where the remaining 450 pounds of gold was later found,” Griswold started. “So were a lot of men, so that in and of itself isn’t that interesting. What is interesting is this,” he said, tapping one of the files.

“Which is?” Parks prompted without missing a beat. Juliana didn’t think Parks had any idea what they suspected about how the blackmail started. If she were in the agent’s place, she’d be asking a million questions right about now, but maybe that’s why she was a librarian, not a federal agent.

“Transcripts of their interviews,” Griswold answered.

“They were interviewed?” Viper asked.

“Susan Klein was responsible for handling the confiscated bullion,” he said, as if that explained everything. Everyone else, including Parks, nodded, so apparently it did.

“And?” Simon prompted.

“They all three said the same thing. That they’d heard rumors of the gold, but nothing more. They said the exact same thing,” he repeated.

“Rehearsed,” Juliana mumbled, mostly to herself. Griswold inclined his head. “Why would Gregor let them walk away with it all, though?” she asked.

Griswold shrugged. “Maybe he didn’t want to risk getting caught—he didn’t have the best service record. Maybe Polinsky or Lowery threatened him. Maybe he was playing the long game and planned to use the information at some point. Who knows?”

“That strengthens our argument that what happened back then is behind what’s happening today,” Simon said.

Agent Parks held up a hand. When she had everyone’s attention, she spoke. “It sounds like you all have gathered enough information to paint a picture that spans over three decades. My focus has been on Gregor’s activities in the past four years. You all have a lot to catch me up on.”

Juliana looked to Simon, who nodded. Then leaning back in her chair, she took a deep breath and walked both visitors through everything they’d uncovered in the past few days.

An hour and lots of questions later, Agent Parks and Professor Griswold knew as much as they did. A moment of silence descended on the room and although not that much time passed, a wave of exhaustion washed through Juliana. As if sensing her discomfort, Sherman rose and set his nose on her thigh. With a smile, she sank her hand into his silky fur, reveling in the feel of his soft warm body leaning against hers.

“What does ‘Barlow him’ mean?” Agent Parks said, fingering the transcript of the conversation. “Lowery asked Polinsky if they should ‘Barlow’ Gregor.”

Everyone but Griswold shook their heads. The professor drummed his fingers on the table, then dragged a beat-up laptop from his bag. Simon dutifully rattled off the Wi-Fi password when asked, but otherwise, no one spoke.

A few minutes passed, then Griswold grunted. “Private Ray Barlow,” he said. “Was deployed in the same unit as Gregor, Polinsky, and Lowery. He died three days before the stash was officially found—I’m assuming it was unofficially found by the triad before that.”

“Cause of death?” Agent Parks asked.

“Nonhostile,” the professor responded.

“Nonhostile?” Juliana asked. “What did he die from then?”

Griswold hit a few more keys, paused, then frowned. “According to the file, a self-inflicted gunshot wound.”

“I’m going to take a wild guess and say that man didn’t kill himself,” Monk said.

Griswold inclined his head. “I can get a hold of actual records, but given what Dr. Morganstern?—”

“Call me Juliana,” she said.

The man’s startling blue eyes fixed on her; he nodded, then dropped his attention back to his screen. “Given what Juliana heard, I’d wager Barlow was either a part of the theft, or found out about it, and was killed to keep him silent. You are going to bring these men down, Agent Parks.” Not a question, not a suggestion, a statement.

“Yes, and it will be my pleasure,” she replied.

Griswold gave a curt nod, then closed his computer. “What do you plan to do now?” he asked, pinning Simon with a look. Juliana might have felt a little insulted that he’d directed the question at the men, but mostly she was glad his attention wasn’t fixed on her.

Simon crossed his arms and leaned back. “As Juliana keeps pointing out, everything we have is conjecture. It’s painting a clear picture, but we have no hard proof.”

“Wasn’t Philly going to look into the officers we suspect might be on Polinsky’s payroll?” she asked.

Monk nodded. “He got through a few yesterday, but I don’t know the specifics of what he found.”

“If we can follow the money trail from Gregor to Polinsky to the officers, that would help,” Viper said.

“But will there be a money trail from Gregor to Polinsky?” Simon asked.

“Polinsky mentioned payouts, but we don’t know if the dealers paid the cops directly or if Polinsky paid them,” Juliana said.

“We may not find enough evidence to support a warrant, but we have enough to bring them in for questioning. I have experience getting people to talk,” Agent Parks said.

“What was in the evidence sent to you?” Viper asked the agent.

“I can’t go into details, but he had unusual payments in the books. Both incoming and outgoing. Everything added up in the end, but the transactions were unusual.”

Juliana wanted to ask what that meant, but knew the woman wouldn’t provide any additional details so she dropped the matter.

“My team can dig into the officers, but I wouldn’t mind a head start with whatever you’ve already gathered. When is this Philly going to be back?” Parks asked.

Viper lifted his phone. “Assuming there weren’t any issues with the inventory, any minute.”

As if on cue, the door opened and Philly stood there. His gaze scanned the room, his brow furrowing when it landed on Professor Griswold. That wasn’t the reaction that caught Juliana’s attention, though. She’d expected that one. However, the shock on Philly’s face when he saw Agent Parks had Juliana straightening in her seat. For the tiniest of moments, Philly’s body drew taut, and a look so raw flashed across his expression. Not even a heartbeat passed, though, before his easy grin appeared.

“Well, hello, Callie,” he said. Monk didn’t move, Viper cocked his head, and Simon leaned forward. Everyone looked at Agent Parks.

Her eyes narrowed, but other than her knuckles turning white as she gripped the arms of her chair, the agent didn’t otherwise move.

“Cat got your tongue, Callie?” Philly said.

Her nostrils flared, and she flexed. “Fuck me,” was all she said.