When Caden joined them in the corridor, Isaiah decided it was time to get his newly formed trinity away from the austere headquarters and find them somewhere quiet to chat and get to know one another.

“I believe there will be a car waiting for us outside. It’s been a long day and we’ve had a lot of things thrown at us. Why don’t we grab something to eat?” he suggested.

Tess nodded. “That sounds wonderful. I was too nervous to eat lunch earlier. I’m afraid I’m not a local, so I’ll have to leave the restaurant choice to the two of you.”

Isaiah looked at Caden. “I’m not from Boston either. Caden?”

Caden glanced at the time on his phone. There was no denying from the stiffness in his shoulders and the scowl that never seemed to leave his face that Caden would rather eat dirt than dine with them.

Isaiah wasn’t sure how to respond to the man’s outright anger. It wafted off of him in waves.

“Teatro is good if you like Italian. It’s probably pretty quiet right now. Theater crowd won’t start showing up for a couple of hours.”

Tess started to put on her jacket and Isaiah stepped closer to help her slide it onto her shoulders.

“I love Italian,” she said.

Caden gave them a curt nod and walked three steps ahead of them to the elevator and then out the Boston Public Library doors. As Isaiah expected, a limousine was waiting for them.

They directed the driver to take them to the restaurant, then sat in silence for a few moments. Isaiah wasn’t a quiet person by nature. His mother had told him throughout most of his childhood that there was no crime in letting a quiet moment last.

He grinned at the memory, missing his mother, who had passed away a year earlier. Glancing at his new wife-to-be, he wondered what his mother would have thought of Tess.

Isaiah wasn’t a legacy of the Trinity Masters. In truth, he suspected he was probably a bit of an anomaly in the organization, not recruited until he was in his late twenties. Since joining, he’d learned most members were either legacies or initiated shortly after college.

“Where are you from?” Isaiah asked Tess, his ability to remain silent finally stretched too taut.

“Washington, D.C.”

Isaiah reared back. “Really? I have a home in Loudoun County.”

“I didn’t realize you lived so close to the city.”

He tilted his head. “You say that like you know me.”

Tess grinned. “I’m a huge Isaiah Jefferson fan. I recognized you in the altar room from a picture I’ve seen on the jacket of your books. We actually have another connection as well. I’m the Director of Exhibits at the Smithsonian.”

“Oh my God. Of course. Tess Hamilton. You’re the youngest director in the Smithsonian’s history. I read an article in the newspaper about your promotion. I saw your work on the Jefferson Bible exhibit. It was wonderful.”

“I actually contacted your publisher just prior to the launch to get your opinion, but I was told you were out of the country on a book tour.”

Isaiah never ceased to be amazed by how small the world really was. “She didn’t tell me that. Though she was the one who told me it had opened upon my return to the States and suggested that I go check it out.”

Throughout their conversation, Isaiah kept an eye on Caden. While he sensed the man was listening to every word they spoke, Caden’s gaze was locked on the scenery outside the window.

“How about you, Caden?” Isaiah asked, trying to draw him into the conversation.

“How about me what?”

“Where are you from?” Isaiah asked, pointedly ignoring the sharp tone in Caden’s voice.

He hadn’t expected his question to stump the man, but there was no denying the pregnant pause and considering look on Caden’s face.

“West Coast,” he said at last.

The answer was vague, but Isaiah didn’t bother to ask for more specifics. Caden wasn’t in the mood to talk.

Or so he thought. He was pleasantly surprised when Caden asked, “You’re a writer?”

Isaiah nodded. “Fiction. Thrillers. Mysteries.”

“They’re more than that,” Tess said, leaning forward. “They are an amazing blend of history and fiction. Your knowledge of American history and architecture, specifically that of the Jeffersonian time period, is incredible. You weave so much of the Jefferson lore into your stories, and I’m absolutely in love with Joel Hemings.”

Caden glanced at Tess. “I don’t know who he is.”

She smiled. “He’s the hero of Isaiah’s books. The super-hot police detective who solves all the crimes with the help of a nerdy female professor who teaches at UVA.”

“Evie isn’t nerdy,” Isaiah protested with a laugh.

Before they could continue the debate, the limo stopped in front of the restaurant. The driver gave them his number, promising to return when they finished their meal to take them to the hotel.

Once they were seated, Isaiah ordered a bottle of Barolo and an antipasto platter for the table. The restaurant was beautiful inside. Though not particularly large, the ornate vaulted ceilings gave the room the appearance of being much larger. The lighting was dim, and the hostess had placed them at a corner table that added to the intimacy of the meal. Caden had chosen well.

The barrier they’d very briefly broken through in the limo reappeared as Caden fell silent once again, his eyes roaming around in such a way that Isaiah was left wondering if the other man was paranoid or seeking an escape route. His fiction-fueled brain decided it was a bit of both. Maybe Caden was in law enforcement, or a spy. No, the other man was giving off a distinct paranoid vibe.

He grimaced. If Isaiah had to pick his worst fault, it was his tendency to constantly view the real world around him as some fantastical landscape better suited to his stories. Why the hell would Caden be paranoid or on the run? He dismissed his whimsical fantasy and tried to concentrate on reality.

“Are you currently working on a new story?” Tess asked him. Caden may be closed off and distant, but Tess was refreshingly friendly and open.

“I’m in the research phase of my next book. Usually takes me a few months to gather information, develop the characters in my head, create a plot. This story is fighting me a bit. Vague ideas that I can’t seem to make take any sort of form.”

Tess waited until the waiter poured their wine, then took a sip and continued the conversation. “Sounds fascinating to me. I wish my brain worked that way. I’m much more boring. A total ‘just the facts, ma’am’ kind of person.”

“I suspect that’s an important skill to have, considering your profession. History exhibits tend to demand accuracy.”

She laughed and took another sip of wine. “You’d be surprised how many don’t.”

Caden was no longer ignoring them, but Isaiah wasn’t sure his attention was an improvement. The other man’s gaze remained steadfastly on Tess’ face, watching her. His actions weren’t lost on Tess, who flushed slightly.

Isaiah couldn’t resist reaching across the table and running the back of his fingers over her cheeks.

“I’m blushing, aren’t I?” Tess sighed. “Curse of a redhead. I wish I could control it. It gives people the wrong impression of me, makes them think I’m shy or easily intimidated.”

“You aren’t?” Caden asked.

She shook her head and Isaiah was impressed—and slightly aroused—by the strength in her tone when she said, “No. I’m not.”

Isaiah lifted his glass. “How about a toast? To a future waiting to be written.”

The three of them tapped their wineglasses together. Caden’s scowl seemed to fade a bit. Time to take advantage of the thaw.

“What do you do for a living, Caden?”

Once again, Isaiah noticed the slight pause and his mind went wild. There was a mystery to solve right at this very table and its name was Caden Anderson.

“I’m a venture capitalist, primarily investing in tech start-ups. Graduated from Stanford with degrees in business and computer science.”

“Wow.” Isaiah was impressed. “I love the sound of that. May have to pick your brain for future book material.”

Caden nodded. “I guess I’m going to have to buy one of your books to read.”

Isaiah shrugged and laughed. “You don’t have to buy one. I have a closet full of print copies. You can take your pick. Although I realize thrillers aren’t for everyone. What’s your usual genre of choice?”

“I haven’t had a lot of time to read for pleasure the past couple of years.”

Isaiah wanted to dig deeper, but the waiter returned to take their order. After he left, Isaiah filled up their glasses, emptying the bottle.

“I assume you’re both legacies?” Isaiah asked.

Tess and Caden nodded.

“I’m a late bloomer. Didn’t join the Trinity Masters until I was twenty-nine. I must admit I’m a big fan of the perks of membership. I’ve made some important connections. One of which has led to my first book being optioned by a Hollywood studio. With any luck, it’ll hit the big screen in a couple of years.”

Caden’s attention was piqued by that information. “Twenty-nine? I didn’t realize they recruited new members that late. How old are you now?”

“Thirty-four. And you?”

“Twenty-seven.”

He and Caden looked at Tess, who added, “I’m twenty-nine. Facing the big 3-0 birthday in just a couple of months. I must admit I assumed you were a legacy, given your pen name, Isaiah,” Tess confided.

“A nod to my ancestry. You see before you the product of an affair our third president had with his slave, Sally Hemings.”

“I saw the interview you did on The Today Show about discovering your lineage,” Tess said. “Absolutely fascinating. I have a famous ancestor as well.”

“The world will never be the same,” Isaiah quoted, adding the tune to the song as he finished it. “Alexander Hamilton?”

“One and the same. Needless to say, I’m constantly serenaded with Lin-Manuel Miranda songs these days anytime I introduce myself to people.”

Isaiah chuckled. “I can think of worse things to hear over and over. I had a cousin named Roxanne and believe me, I grew to hate that song as much as she did over the years whenever she met someone new.”

“What about your family, Caden?” Tess asked. “Any famous founding fathers in your closet?”

Caden’s face shut down, and Isaiah realized in an instant any strides they’d made in getting him to open up had just been lost. “No.”

Isaiah tried another tack. “Does your family live on the West Coast as well?”

“My parents are dead.”

Tess reached over and placed her hand on Caden’s. “I’m sorry to hear that.”

“Don’t be.”

Caden only spoke two words, but they fired up a million questions in Isaiah’s mind.

The rest of the meal passed with Tess and Isaiah locked in a continual tug of war with Caden. Every now and then, he’d ask them a question and it felt like he was lowering his guard. Then they’d ask him one in return and the walls flew back up.

Isaiah let the silence in the limo hover as they rode to the Boston Park Plaza, all of them lost in their thoughts. Tess was distractedly toying with her hair as she looked out the car window, and Caden’s scowl was back in place as he rubbed his chest.

Isaiah recalled the scar he’d seen there.

Yet another question, another part of the mystery of Caden. The man had more layers than an onion. Isaiah wondered how long it would take to peel all of them away.

Once they reached the penthouse, Isaiah headed straight for the wet bar. “According to the doorman, we’re the first people to stay in this room in six months. He said there was a fire that destroyed almost the entire floor. Said the hotel sank well over a million dollars into the repairs.”

“It’s beautiful,” Tess said, dragging her fingers over the back of the plush black leather couch. Caden had drifted along the short corridor, glancing into the other rooms before coming back to join them.

“It was a fire bomb,” Caden said, leaning against a wall.

“Really?” Tess asked.

Caden nodded and looked away, not bothering to add more.

Isaiah reached for a bottle of wine. “This is a good merlot. I can open it, if you’d like. Or there’s a bottle of Grey Goose as well if you’d prefer to switch over to vodka tonics?”

“I better stick to the wine or I’ll be singing later,” Tess teased. “And believe me, you don’t want to hear that.”

Isaiah opened the wine and poured them all a glass. “Why don’t we sit on the couch and get to know each other a bit more?”

Caden refused the wine Isaiah offered, reaching into his pocket for the folded piece of paper they’d been given by the Grand Master’s adviser. “I think we should take a look at the poem. Try to come up with a plan of attack.”

“Plan of attack? You make this sound like a war council,” Tess joked.

Caden didn’t share her humor. “You said your family has a copy of this poem. Can you call your dad and ask him about it?”

Tess nodded, then sat up when she realized Caden was waiting for her to move. “You mean right now?”

“The sooner we finish this task, the sooner…” Caden didn’t finish the sentence, and Isaiah had a sinking feeling that was because their partner wasn’t in a hurry to get to the wedding, but anxious to do his duty and disappear. Which made no sense. That wasn’t how the Trinity Masters worked.

“Why don’t you call, Tess? Maybe your father will offer some information that will give us an idea of where to start.” Isaiah hung back by the bar, watching Caden’s face as Tess placed the call and spoke to her dad.

From her initial blush and short answers, it was apparent her parents knew she’d been called to the altar and were grilling her for details. “I’ll call you tomorrow when we can talk more, Dad. For now, I’m sort of in a hurry and I wanted to ask about the framed poem in the attic. Do you know where it came from?”

After a pause, she said, “I see, did Granddaddy tell you anything about it?”

“Put him on speaker,” Caden murmured.

Tess lowered the phone and hit the button, allowing them to all hear her father’s response. “No. I don’t recall him saying much about it. Just that it was a copy of an original poem penned by John Adams, and that it was very valuable and old. Mentioned it was the only printed copy in existence and it had been drafted by John Adams himself. I told my dad it should probably be donated to a museum, but he made me swear that would never happen. He insisted it had to remain with the family. We should probably be ashamed of ourselves for not taking better care of it. I mean, the ink is faded and sort of hard to read. You can hardly make out the tiny fan Adams drew in the lower right corner anymore.”

“Fan?” Tess asked. “I don’t remember seeing a fan.”

“See what I mean?” her dad joked.

Tess appeared to have gotten her wry sense of humor from her father. “Was there something drawn on the fan?”

“No, no. Nothing like that. More like a tiny doodle of a fan shape. No bigger than a pea and positioned next to his initials at the bottom. I assume it’s nothing more than a flourish.”

“And you said John Adams only made one copy of this poem?”

“Yeah. Apparently, he fancied himself a poet, kept a journal full of his verses. He gifted this one to the Hamiltons for some reason. Probably because he mentioned us in the poem.”

“Do you know what the poem means?” Tess asked.

“No. To tell you the truth, I never thought about it. If it doesn’t involve differential equations, it may as well be written in Greek as far as your aunt and I are concerned. Your mother is the writer.”

“Nonfiction, Dad. She made it pretty clear to me years ago that poem was something she viewed as unnecessary clutter.”

Her dad chuckled. “Yeah. She’s sitting here right now listening to me. Wants me to tell you that you are more than welcome to come get the thing and keep it in your apartment if you want.”

“Tell her I’ll stop by as soon as I get back to D.C. and take her up on the offer.”

“You’ve made her very happy.”

“One more question, Dad. Do you know where John Adams’ journal might be? The one with all his poems?”

“Couldn’t say for sure. Aren’t most of his books in the Boston Public Library? The rare books room? You could always look there.”

Tess looked up at Caden and then Isaiah, as if to see if they had any more questions. They both shook their heads.

“Thanks for all the info, Dad.”

“You have to give us something here, Tess. We’re all dying to know. Are you pleased with the Grand Master’s choices for you?”

Tess turned off the speaker phone and ventured a short way down the corridor. The scant distance and her lowered voice still carried, and Isaiah listened as she offered her father a rushed reassurance that all was well, followed by a hasty goodbye.

Once the call was disconnected, she returned to the room and sat on the couch. “Sounds like we should go back to the library tomorrow to see if we can find the journal.”

Isaiah joined her on the couch. “I like that idea. I think our best bet is to follow the poem as we would a map. Take it in order, step by step. The first verse is about the Trinity Masters in Boston and apparently this ancient foe—”

“The British Empire?” Tess interjected.

Isaiah nodded and continued. “That seems to make sense, given the time period. They did something to George Washington, stole something.”

“And Adams is calling on the future sons and daughters,” Tess added.

“Us.” Isaiah couldn’t deny his excitement over this task. He’d been struggling to come up with a plot for his new mystery, suffering from a slight case of writer’s block, and suddenly a real-life adventure had been dumped right in his lap. If this didn’t get the blood pumping again, he didn’t think anything would. “So we need to discover if Adams left any other clues. I don’t think that fan drawing was a frivolous doodle.”

“It could be a clue. Something that might be explained in his journal.” Tess’ eyes were bright and wide, gleaming with the same enthusiasm Isaiah felt.

Caden still stood across the room, silent.

“What do you think, Caden?”

Caden walked toward them. “Sounds like as good a place as any to start. Someone brought our stuff here from headquarters and put it in the bedrooms. I’m going to fire up my laptop and try to do a little research in my room.”

“Caden,” Tess began, but he didn’t let her say anything more.

“It’s been a long day, I’m afraid. I didn’t receive my letter until very early this morning, then I had a long drive to Boston. I need some rest. Some time,” he added.

Tess nodded slowly, and Isaiah could see she was reluctant to see him go. He felt the same way. However, given Caden’s behavior all day, he didn’t see anything improving if it was like the man said and he was tired. Perhaps a good night’s sleep and time to process the day’s events was exactly what they all needed.

Isaiah decided to let him escape. For now. “Sounds like a good idea. Shall we reconvene here in the living room around nine tomorrow? We can grab some breakfast and then head over to the library to do a little snooping around.”

Caden sighed, the sound full of relief. Clearly, he hadn’t expected his getaway to be so easy. “I’ll see you both in the morning.”

Tess watched him leave, then turned to Isaiah. “Guess I’ll go to bed too.”

He leaned toward her, giving her a soft kiss on the cheek. “It’s only the first day,” he murmured, trying to reassure her. “I have high hopes for this trinity.”

She grinned, though there wasn’t as much happiness in the look as Isaiah would have liked. “So do I.”

Tess left as well, closing the door to the bedroom opposite the one Caden had disappeared into.

Isaiah picked up the glass of wine on the coffee table and downed it in one long swig.

The instant he was alone, he knew he’d made a mistake. He should never have let them leave the room.