Page 34 of Hawkeye

“Damn straight, baby doll.”

The enjoyment I had from the ride back to Wynnock quickly disappeared when I logged in and pulled the documents. The release language was wrong. Michael’s signature didn’t look right. The lot number did not match.

I shook my head. “Tippon actually expects us to roll this stuff out to the loading dock for them to pick up when they have no legal claim on any of it.”

“Who would meet the courier if this were real?” Calder asked.

“Me.” I turned the tablet so he could see my name on the hold. “I flagged the lot and wrote the condition report. An apprentice usually wouldn’t be in that room, but my specialty makes me one of the few Wynnock employees who handle military pieces.”

“The lot isn’t their target. You are.” A muscle jumped in his jaw. “As much as it fucking galls me, the best play is to let them think we’re giving them what they want.”

A chill raced up my spine. “You’re sure.”

“You’ll never be in any true danger,” he assured me, determination gleaming in his eyes. “My brothers will cover the loading dock, alley, and street. We’ll put a decoy case at the counter so the real lot isn’t at risk. And we’ll move the remaining Wynnock staff into secure offices so they can’t fuck this up for you.”

I took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “Then I guess we just need to fill Mr. Smythe in on the plan.”

He slid his palm against my lower back to guide me toward the director’s office. “Ask for the blue provenance tags if anything goes wrong on your end.”

My brows drew together as I shook my head. “Those aren’t an actual thing.”

“Exactly. You say it, and I move.”

Using a fake term for a code word made sense. “And after I say it?”

“You step toward the records office door. Whoever comes for you will be handled by my brothers.”

We had just enough time to put everything in place before the courier arrived at the loading dock. The decoy case sat at the intake counter, empty of anything Tippon could use. Calder stayed hidden by a cabinet on the wall to my left, watching me from the reflection of a brass-fronted display cabinet across from me. Trigger and Wraith manned the dock, dressed in Wynnock uniforms. Smoke was in the alley.

Wraith sent a text when the courier pulled into the lot. I took my spot behind the intake counter and pasted a smile on my face when the courier came in with a clipboard.

“Good afternoon.”

His smile didn’t reach his eyes. “Afternoon. I’m here for the Tippon pickup.”

“I need to check your paperwork.”

He turned the clipboard my way, and I glanced down at the false release I had already read.

“I’m sorry. The lot number on this doesn’t match the hold.” I tapped the top page of his paperwork. “I need corrected authorization before anything leaves the building.”

“Tippon has a standing relationship with this house.” His eyes narrowed as he flipped to the back of the packet. “The senior appraiser already signed. Hand over the case.”

His eyes went to the loading door, then back to me. His weight shifted as his muscles bunched, and I had a bad feeling things were about to go sideways.

“I need the blue provenance tags before I can release anything.”

14

HAWKEYE

Iwas moving before Josie finished the warning phrase. The courier’s eyes cut toward the loading door as his right hand shot across the intake counter, abandoning any pretense of having come for the ledger. His fingers closed around Josie’s wrist, and he yanked hard enough to drag her shoulder forward.

Josie yanked her whole body backward before he could pull her around the end of the counter. His face tightened, but his grip held, and he hauled her another step toward the loading door where the second man waited beside the van. Josie caught the heavy brass catalog weight with her free hand, slammed it against the inside of his wrist, and hooked her other arm around the edge of the counter when his fingers loosened.

I crossed the remaining distance and caught his forearm before he recovered. One hard twist broke his grip on Josie, then I drove his upper body over the counter and put him face-first on the floor. His shoulder strained beneath my knee as I locked his arm behind him, and the choked curse he spat into the tile confirmed he was still conscious enough to answer questions.

“Move again,” I warned near his ear, tightening my hold until the joint creaked, “and you lose the arm.”