Page 8 of Hawkeye

After a beat, Mr. Smythe inclined his head. “Very well. And once the men responsible are identified?”

Stryker waited long enough to reply that the director shifted his weight. “The robbery crew is Black Crowns business.”

He didn’t spell out that the Black Crowns would be the ones to dole out justice to the robbery crew, but he didn’t need to.

“New information comes to Hawkeye or me.” Stryker tipped his chin toward the wall behind me, where Calder remained.

Mr. Smythe looked like he wanted to argue, but he finally nodded. Considering the club’s influence and their merciless reputation, it was a good call.

I was surprised that I didn’t feel an ounce of guilt over the agreement, even knowing what might happen to anyone involved in the robbery. But they had torn a man’s medals and letters out of a house while his daughter was burying him. The idea of the Black Crowns reaching those men first gave me more satisfaction than it should have.

Stryker guided Maren out of the room with Judge right behind them. On the way out, he gave Calder a loaded look that I didn’t understand. But he didn’t react to whatever his club prez was trying to silently get across to him.

Mr. Smythe let Calder stay where he was as he doled out directions. I was assigned to help with the appraiser review, while others would tackle identifying which consignments needed immediate attention.

Priority was given to opening military lots with engraved names, service numbers, family photographs, or identifiable personal inscriptions. Recently sold military lots were next, because the buyers could provide photographs and preserve the objects while prior ownership was checked again.

I started to build a list. Three recently sold lots contained personal items that were easy to trace. One had a named medal group. Another had an engraved watch with a packet of service letters. The last included a formal military photograph with a surname printed on the studio mount.

Several people began contacting the buyers and searching for matching burglary reports.

Calder pushed off the wall once the first number started ringing. “You’re done for an hour. I’m feeding you.”

He took me to a diner two streets over, sliding into the booth next to me before stretching his long legs out.

After we ordered, he asked, “How did you get into this kind of work?”

“I was born into it.” I flashed him a quick smile before telling him about sorting buttons into jars while my mother priced jewelry. “When I got older, I realized customers needed the story more than the object.”

He nodded. “Makes sense.”

The server dropped off our plates, and I finished before Calder since he ordered two cheeseburgers and fries. Leaning back, I explained, “My grandfather repaired clocks and built display cases. He taught me to never replace an original component merely because a new one would look cleaner.”

His knee bumped mine under the table and stayed there. “I like knowing you see beneath the surface when others don’t, baby doll.”

“Thanks.” I ducked my face as heat filled my cheeks.

Calder dropped some bills on the table to cover the check, then guided me back to the auction house with his palm on my lower back. When we walked in, Mr. Smythe caught us first. “One buyer has already agreed to provide photographs of a military collection purchased several months ago. We should have them soon.”

I set my bag down and reached for the list I had started before lunch. “Then I better get back to it.”

4

HAWKEYE

By nine the following morning, I had corrected two route plans, reassigned a field supervisor who apparently believed discreet protection meant parking a black armored SUV beneath the client’s bedroom window, and informed another that a six-page explanation did not improve a bad decision. I usually had more patience for training people through their mistakes, but every delay kept me farther from Wynnock Auctioneers and the woman I had spent too much of the morning picturing beneath me.

Smoke leaned against my open doorway and followed my gaze. “You know staring at the clock won’t make the meeting end faster.”

“Neither will listening to you,” I replied, signing the final field authorization. “But here we are.”

His grin widened as he stepped inside. “Does Josie know you’re this pleasant when she’s not around?”

“She hasn’t had to sit through your route assessments.”

“That wasn’t an answer.”

“It was the one you earned.” I closed the file and slid it across the desk. “Take that to Stryker, then find something useful to do before I decide you need more responsibility.”