March 10, 1939

Jennifer hated being late. She was never late for appointments if she could help it. She prided herself on being organized and punctual and professional in everything she did. As a woman trying to make her way as a private eye, she had to devote herself wholly to her job and pus all other concerns aside. Usually she did fine with it.

But of course today, of all days, the subway was running late. She had torn around like crazy last night to get ready for today, to be ready first thing in the morning. She talked to Bernice Waverley, the no-nonsense landlady of her building, about her extended absence and assured her the rent would be paid while she was gone. Bernice also agreed to look after Jerry, Jennifer's beloved orange cat. That had been the most difficult thing, actually, gathering all of Jerry's food and bowls and toys and things and handing him over. Six months without her feline friend would be difficult. Especially because she didn't know where she was going or what she was doing for the next six months.

She'd been up early, well before the sun, so she could take her blonde hair out of the curlers she'd slept in. Jennifer also put on her nicest brown tweed suit, the one that was tailored to fit her waist and hips absolutely perfectly. She spent longer than usual in the mirror, fixing her stockings so the seam up the back was straight. It felt a little silly to be so vain all of a sudden, but this was the FBI. This was her big break. This was everything she'd ever wanted. She had to look the part.

And then the subway was late. She shifted her weight anxiously as she waited at the platform up in Harlem. The sound of the saxophone player busking off to the side did not comfort her like it usually did. She looked over to him and the way his fingers played over the brass keys of his instrument. He noticed her watching, the whites of his eyes stark against his dark complexion, and he winked at her. Jennifer felt her lips twitch into a smile. But the stress of being late overtook her and she looked away to glance down at her watch. She was going to have to run from the station to the FBI building at this rate.

The train finally arrived and she piled in with the rest of the myriad of people making their morning commute from Harlem to the more fashionable and business-oriented areas of Manhattan. They did make up a little time by the time they reached the stop at Canal Street where Jennifer got off. She had five minutes to go five blocks down Broadway to the FBI building. She'd been right: she would have to run.

Thankfully, Supomo's office was on the sixth floor. Jennifer could catch her breath while waiting for the elevator, and while she was in the elevator, she could see her reflection in the shiny gold doors and fix her hair as best as she could. Her stockings were off-center, but there was nothing she could do for that. The suit looked great, and she was only two minutes late when the doors opened to the sixth floor.

Jennifer was greeted by the bustle of what looked like an ordinary office. Men in dark suits and pretty secretaries going every which way. There was a distant clacking that indicated to her that there was a typing pool nearby, just out of sight. The dark wood desks and the matching wood paneled walls and the forest green carpet on the floor and the low hum of activity told Jennifer that she was in a place of importance. The people and the setting were serious. And now, she was going to be part of it.

"Miss Mapplethorpe?"

She turned to see a young woman with curly dark hair and perfect red lipstick smiling at her. "Yes," Jennifer answered. "I'm here to meet Special Agent Al Supomo."

The young secretary nodded. "They're waiting in the conference room. Follow me, please."

Jennifer followed the young woman down a corridor and wondered who they could possibly be. She would find out soon enough. The FBI was a mythical institution in her mind. The pinnacle of what any investigator could ever hope for. Though obviously as a woman, Jennifer had no such ambitions. Not really. How she'd come to be recruited by the FBI for an undercover operation was a mystery she wanted to solve, however. Supomo obviously knew a lot about her, but how had she gotten their attention in the first place was something she'd need to figure out. A private investigator wasn't supposed to be well-known. It hindered her job. And Jennifer was damn good at her job, she knew. But the FBI had to know that, too, or she wouldn't have been recruited for whatever this operation was.

The secretary knocked on a heavy-looking door and then opened it without waiting for a response, gesturing for Jennifer to walk through. And there, seated around an enormous table, were half a dozen men, all in dark suits with nearly identical benign expressions on their faces.

Supomo spoke up to greet her. "There you are, Miss Mapplethorpe. Welcome to the FBI."

Nick had arrived on the sixth floor of the FBI building at exactly nine o'clock on the dot. He was lucky the subway was running on time from Midtown. It was important to be on time to things, especially the FBI.

Nick still had no idea what he was doing here, but he had spent the afternoon and evening yesterday informing the few people in his life that he'd be out of town until sometime in October. The main thing he had to deal with was getting rid of the food in the icebox so it wouldn't go bad in his absence. There was a nice old couple who lived next door, so Nick gave them his perishables. And then he had to do what he could to clean things up so there wouldn't be a mess left in the house. He had spent the last two years renovating his brownstone. The former owners had let it fall into disrepair—most people did during the Depression, not having money to feed their family, let alone do upkeep on houses, assuming they could afford to keep the house at all—and Nick had hoped to put the money he inherited from his mother to good use. She'd always wanted him to be able to get out of the old neighborhood, and he had. He hoped she'd be proud of where he was now, owning his house in Manhattan and solving homicides with the NYPD and now being recruited to the FBI.

As soon as Nick had arrived at the FBI, Supomo had been waiting to greet him. "Right this way, Detective Buchanan. You can meet the team."

He'd been led down a hallway of dark wood—the cheap kind that government buildings used to try and look impressive—to a huge door. Inside were four men in suits identical to Supomo's. Maybe they were FBI standard issue.

"Have a seat, Buchanan. Your new partner should be here any minute, and then we can get started."

That was news. Nick hadn't known he was going to have a partner. But he didn't know what the hell this operation even was. He was going undercover, so it would probably be helpful to have a partner. Nick had done a little undercover work with the police, but that was just for a few hours at a time. Six months was a long time. Yeah, it was definitely best he have a partner to help him keep his head on straight for all of that.

The members of Supomo's team introduced themselves and their positions. Jimmy Smith and George Walker would be their support team, keeping nearby during the operation. Spencer Jones would be setting up recording equipment to help get evidence. Patrick O'Toole was their go-between along with Al Supomo.

All of that was well and good, but Nick still didn't have any clue what he and his partner would need support for or where they would be going or what evidence they were supposed to be collecting. Obviously Supomo wanted to keep that to himself until this mysterious new partner showed up. Nick didn't bother asking any questions just yet, knowing that his patience would be rewarded with further information.

A knock at the door caught everyone's attention. The door opened, revealing two women. One, small and slim with curly dark hair, smiled and held the door for the other, and closed it when the second woman walked in. Upon seeing this woman for the first time, Nick was struck with two things.

First, she was easily one of the most beautiful women Nick had ever seen. She wore a brown suit that highlighted an incredible knockout of a figure with a small waist and curvy hips. Her legs were long and lean, from what he could see from where her skirt stopped just below her knees. Her skin was pale gold, as was her hair. What struck him most, though were her turquoise eyes, bright and big and intelligent. She was absolutely stunning.

The second thing Nick realized upon seeing her was that he knew her. Well, not exactly. He didn't know her name or what she was doing here. He'd never met the woman. But he knew her. He'd seen her before. Plenty of times, actually. She was often found at his crime scenes with a camera. Reporters usually were like that, but he'd never gotten annoying questions from this woman like he had from other reporters. She just kept out of the way and took her pictures and watched everything with those eyes of hers.

And now those eyes were darting around the room, taking everything in and looking at each of the men before her in turn. When her eyes met Nick's, something flipped inside his stomach.

"There you are, Miss Mapplethorpe. Welcome to the FBI," Supomo greeted. "Have a seat," he told her.

She did so, not saying a word.

Supomo continued, "Alright, now that we're all here, we can get started." He introduced Miss Mapplethorpe to each of the four FBI men, getting her up to speed where Nick was. And then he reached Nick. "And this is Detective Nick Buchanan of the NYPD. He'll be your partner for this operation. Buchanan, this is Miss Jennifer Mapplethorpe, private investigator."

Ah so that was it. She was a private eye. No wonder she was sniffing around crime scenes. She was probably working alongside the police on her own on a lot of those cases. Strange he'd never actually talked to her before. Private eyes were useful sometimes. Maybe she had a contact with another Homicide department.

While Nick was lost in thought, Supomo opened the folder before him and took out two big manila envelopes, passing one to Nick and one to Miss Mapplethorpe. "Here are your operation details and your aliases. You're going to be going undercover for us as Trish and Wesley Claybourne. You'll get to spend three days in a hotel getting to know each other and your new identities while we finish getting the shop set up. And then you'll be moving to your new home. The Claybournes are real people who ran a shop in Great Neck that was a front for criminal activity. We arrested the real Claybournes and put them in prison. You two will impersonate them and open a new shop in Brooklyn, and the contacts of some former clients of the Claybournes will get in touch with you to perform the same service in Brooklyn that they did in Great Neck. Jones is wiring the store to record what happens. And the hope is that after six months, we'll have enough evidence to conduct a big sting and get some of the filth out of Brooklyn."

Nick looked up from his envelope to Miss Mapplethorpe across the table from him. She was going to be his wife for the next six months. Well, he could think of worse ways to try out marriage and worse women to try it out with. It still left the question of why him and why her? But the envelope of information about the Claybournes and this FBI operation was pretty thick. And he had three days to learn it all. With her.