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Sophie put on a bright smile as she approached their latest mark. Karel Veselý was a big, ruddy man, the kind whose height came from genetics and whose other measurements came from hours and hours at the gym with the finest instructors. He was clearly bored with the exhibition gala his father's peers had thrown, and just about ready to alleviate that with more alcohol. Her assistance on that would be heartily appreciated.
At least, it would probably have been. Instead she was pipped to the post by a familiar, badly-shaven man who steered Veselý in the opposite direction, while an elegantly-dressed woman stepped in her path. It was a purposeful interruption, the kind that brooked no refusal. She could hear Eliot sounding the alert in her ear. Parker was closer than he was, and she could just about see the head of blonde hair turn in her and Veselý's direction- only to stop abruptly and turn back.
"Excuse me," the woman said, smiling up at her. It was, Sophie suspected, slightly insincere, more in the way of verbal fencing than the usual social repartee. "I just love your earrings. They're so stunning, are they custom-made?"
We have to go, we have to get out now, Parker was hissing. That guy with Veselý, I've tangled with him before. He's that guy, Holmes, from London. Investigator or something.
Sophie, disengage, ASAP, Eliot said, only not barking his words by virtue of volume. That woman was with Holmes, they split up to divide the both of you.
Disengage, Soph, Nate agreed. Regroup in the back. Hardison, can you identify the woman, so we have background on her too?
Sophie stopped paying attention at this point, responding to the woman in kind with partly feigned, partly sincere delight at being flattered. "Oh, thank you! Goodness, do they look that good? I'll have to send the maker a message. These independent jewellers, you know, they could stand to get more appreciation."
Nate and Eliot both made token protests when she clearly ignored them, but said nothing further. If she was going to ignore them, there was no point in distracting her while she was working. She kept up the light banter, she introducing herself by her current alias of Lucy Connaught, the woman introducing herself as Joan Watson. Hardison chimed in to elaborate on Joan Watson: former surgeon, former sober companion, current police consultant. Had solved a few notable murders and thefts.
They wandered off to discuss the exhibits, the vase of glass made by Lalique himself, the sweeping beauty of the reproductions of furniture designed by Mucha, and the jewel of the exhibition, the newly resurfaced Boucheron Wave Tiara. Somewhere in the middle, Sophie offered her arm to Joan, who took it. If she and Holmes sought to divide the team from their quarry, Sophie considered, it could only be fair to keep them divided after their accomplishment. Nate had moved on to other plans: both he and Parker had crossed paths with Holmes, and it was likely that the man might recognise Eliot too, so Hardison was forced to step up. She could distantly hear both Hardison and Veselý enthusiastically discussing football as Holmes doggedly stuck with them.
She wouldn't need to worry. They were having fun without her. Besides, she was having plenty of fun herself. Joan was, unexpectedly, the best company she'd had in a while.
"I hope you had a good long look at Ms Devereaux, Watson," was all Sherlock said when they reunited. "I'd no idea she was in New York, but robbing an exhibit at its gala event has been her MO for a good number of years. We'll have to get an updated file on her."
Keep her occupied, he'd hissed as he strode through the crowd. Without much idea of what he wanted her to do, Joan had simply gone with her instinct. If her instinct came very close to hitting on the woman, well, she wouldn't bring that up. Sherlock would do that. He always did.
Now Joan said, "She was interesting. Would make a good Irregular just for Art Nouveau knowledge. How'd it go with Veselý? You got an extra friend, too."
Sherlock frowned, reflecting. "Hall's no doubt an associate of Devereaux. I'd suspected she was going to charm Veselý into taking her to see the exhibits 'privately', but if she needed a fingerprint Hall could have gotten that just as well during our talk. We must keep our eyes open for now."
"Talk the curator into sharing tonight's security footage," Joan suggested. "Just to make sure Hall and Devereaux are working together."
She wouldn't mention the number 'Lucy' had given her. Not just yet.
The number was real, but Joan wasn't sure who was more surprised when Lucy-Sophie answered the phone.
"I'm so pleased you called," the woman gushed, sounding just a little bit flustered (was that an act too, Joan wondered). "It was such a lovely chat we had that evening, I've been hoping to continue it. Would you be free for lunch sometime?"
They agreed on a location for lunch the next day, and by the time Joan hung up and went to see how Sherlock and Marcus had spent their morning, her cheeks were warm, the way they'd been that evening. She wouldn't tell Sherlock, she decided. Just for now. Sophie Devereaux was a civil kind of criminal, so danger was still a possibility (look at Moriarty, Gruner, March), but from the file Sherlock had, ahem, requested, it was low on the scale.
Sophie told Nate right away, because he was a control freak and would have something to say about the possibility of compromising the con. To his credit, he didn't start with that. He started with a caution.
"Do you know why you did that, Soph?"
She fixed him with her most unimpressed look, but since he was clearly up on his self-righteous, protective pedestal, it had very little effect. "Why I ingratiated myself with someone working with the mark in an investigative capacity? Enlighten me, Nate."
"I meant, are you being honest with yourself about why you're going to lunch with her. You seem a little… emotionally invested. Just a little."
"First of all, you make it sound as if none of us ever have been before, and secondly, what advice column did you take that… from…" No, it wasn't his words, but it also wasn't something from an advice column, because he never read those except to talk with Parker about people's perceptions so she could craft better cons. "Have you been talking to Maggie?"
The crooked, rueful smile he gave her was answer enough even before he spoke. "Well, yeah. Back when you and I broke up, actually, because if there's anyone to go to about how to be friendly with your new ex, it's your old ex, right?"
Well, that definitely decided the topic of discussion the next time she met Maggie for coffee. "Or not being overbearing about your new ex dating again? All right. What does Maggie have to say about me flirting with someone on the other side of the law again?"
At lunch, the first thing Joan said once the waiter had gone was "Should I still call you Lucy? Or is Sophie better?"
It was a good excuse to study the woman across the table. Startled for only a moment, a fleeting dismay, then smoothing into a smile different to before. Now there was amusement in those eyes, less of an automatic wall (or, Joan suspected, a wall rearranged elsewhere). She didn't dissemble, didn't bother to lie. No glancing around for any accomplice or bodyguard to signal trouble. She simply propped her chin on her hand and studied her in turn. "Whichever you like, Joan. I do like being Sophie better, but you weren't chatting with Sophie two nights ago."
"I'd like you to be Sophie with me now," Joan said firmly. "Since you're giving me a choice."
Sophie sighed, and reached for a roll to butter. Deliberately looking away. From the list of suspected crimes, Joan was certain that this woman could probably look her in the eye and lie that she had been in San Francisco two nights ago, so sincere that she would have to be believed. Breaking eye contact here was for a purpose. Besides, since she'd admitted it so quickly, it was obvious that she'd done just as much digging beforehand.
"I really had hoped we could have a nice meal before getting to our vocations," Sophie said, exaggeratedly sad, chin down so that when she made eye contact again she was peering up through her lashes. "Not that we can't. It's just distracting when I've come prepared for a date and then you spring work on me."
Joan's mouth moved faster than her thoughts, and only after she heard herself say "No reason it can't be both" did she realise what she'd said. Sophie looked as surprised as she felt, which was a bright spot. The waiter reappeared with their entrees, which gave Joan a moment to collect herself, decide how she'd go about this. Focus entirely on (pleasant) interrogation? Keep the banter light and text Sherlock under the table so they could make it back to the brownstone without having to bring Marcus into it too?
Then her brain short-circuited again as the waiter left and Sophie said, pensively, "I suppose you should know, I just don't do well with getting rewarded for informing. No amount of kisses or orgasms has ever gotten me to open up."
Plan B. Definitely Plan B. "I can't say I'm good at that either," Joan said, trying to keep her voice light. "Theory but no practice, you know?" (Maybe plan C, Joan decided as Sophie choked on her water. That was the first time she'd gotten the woman properly off guard.)
Sherlock resisted making a comment when Devereaux walked in right after Watson, but only just. He was halfway through another essay for Everyone regarding relationships in YA fiction, and perhaps with Devereaux here he could disregard that completely.