Page 19 of Hawkeye

“That gray packing blanket looks familiar, too.” I peered more closely at two of the photos. “I think it’s in both of these.”

Calder let out a low whistle. “The overhead lights in the reflections on polished metal surfaces might be a match too.”

The camera angle changed, but the room did not.

“They staged everything in one place and submitted it as proof of source.” I sat back with a sigh. “The objects are the focus of photographs, so it’s hard to see the lie around them.”

He met my gaze. “That’s why he cropped the room differently every time.”

“He thought the background would become invisible if the objects were valuable enough,” I agreed.

His grin was so wide, the corners of his eyes wrinkled. “Worked on everyone but you.”

I blushed at the compliment, which earned me a deep chuckle as he pulled out his phone.

“Cipher. I need you to pull the yard surveillance footage from the estate company and overlay it onto the backgrounds in the source photos. Josie noticed that the room where they’re taken doesn’t change. Hoping we caught an image inside that matches.” He listened, his green eyes narrowed. “Tell Ghost we need to tighten the surveillance on the dispatch building. It’s a good bet for where that room is.”

He ended the call and set the phone on the desk.

“Good idea.” I looked at the three pictures again. “If something in the yard matches, Chet has been photographing stolen property on his own land and calling it provenance.”

“Strikes me as dumb enough for that to be true.”

I hoped so. The man deserved to pay for the havoc he’d wreaked.

Pushing to my feet, I murmured, “I’d like to get back to the restoration while Ghost is checking all that out.”

Calder followed me into the connected room. I tied the apron on, gloved up, and went to work on the medal ribbon that was next on my list.

“Too much exposure and the fibers twist,” I told him without looking up. “Or the dye starts to move. Either way, I lose the line of the original work.”

He took the chair by the door and watched me work. When I reached a stopping point and set the controlled-humidity timer, I turned toward him and noticed the edge of a hawk climbing his left collarbone, the black ink disappearing beneath his shirt.

“You still owe me the story behind your name.”

Calder glanced at the timer. “You’ve got eleven minutes left on that ribbon. The story takes ten if you let me finish it.”

I quirked a brow. “That sounds like a challenge.”

“It’s a warning about interruptions.”

My cheeks heated at the reminder. “That was not my fault.”

“Fair point.” He beckoned me closer. “Then sit down, and I’ll share the story with you.”

8

HAWKEYE

Ileaned back in the chair, studying the woman who could talk for an hour without taking a full breath but was now watching me with unusual patience. “Early mission under Stryker’s command. We were moving through a district that had already been cleared twice when something along a rooftop shadow looked wrong.”

“What looked wrong?” she asked, immediately proving my warning had been justified.

“Edge wasn’t clean.” I tipped one shoulder, remembering the hot concrete, dead air, and narrow piece of glass that had flashed for less than a heartbeat. “There was a man under camouflage with a rifle trained on the team. I caught a reflection off his optic and put him down before he fired.”

Josie’s lips parted slightly, but she did not look disturbed by the blunt ending. Her eyes moved over my face as though she was fitting the story into everything she already knew about me, and the admiration slowly warming her expression felt far too good. I had received medals, commendations, and plenty of backslapping from men who understood exactly how difficult the shot had been, but none of it had landed like Josie looking at me as though she had discovered another piece worth preserving.

“Stryker called you Hawkeye after that?”