Page 2 of Made of Steele
“Yeah, it’s them,” Patrick said. “The fourth guy isn’t on the site though.”
“Go back to the warehouse. See what’s going on. Make sure the brothers aren’t under duress. But whatever you do, don’t get caught surveilling them. I’m on my way.” She kicked off her pumps.
“Should I call the police?”
“No.” She slid her feet into her running shoes. “Make sure the brothers are okay. When I get there, we’ll inspect these items. See if they’re really what you think and not some mass-produced décor pieces that World of Crafts plans to sell.”
“How are you going to do that?” His breathing increased as if he was heading to the warehouse.
“I honestly don’t know, but I’ll figure it out on the way.” She ended the call and shoved her phone into the pocket of her suit jacket. She tied her shoelaces, grabbed her backpack, and raced for the door.
The office hallway was dark and ominous feeling. Not because she feared an intruder waited in the dark to assault her, but that phone call could mean her worst fear was coming true. She’d been the chief operating officer for Steele Guardians for the past two years, and she’d already made one mistake. Big, giant, colossal mistake right after she’d taken charge that had nearly taken the company down. Each and every day since then, she feared she would fail her family again.
World of Crafts importing stolen antiquities right under Steele Guardians’ noses could not only destroy their business reputation but could destroy Steele Guardians too. If they didn’t have their reputation—they didn’t have anything. She had to do the right thing here.
Maybe she should call 911. Or was this really something simple? If so, why were the brothers hiding their actions with a looped-in security feed?
I wouldn’t mind some guidance here.
She kicked up her speed, pausing to get a key for WOC’s main door from a locked cabinet at the end of the hallway before getting into her car. Her tires rolled over wet roads, mile after mile, toward the industrial area with warehouses and shipping containers near the airport. Not a vehicle in sight. Not unusual for midnight on a weekday.
She passed Christmas lights, but for once, they didn’t do a thing to improve her mood. Thankfully, the usual winter rain had taken a break and continued to hold off for her drive.
She approached WOC’s main headquarters, the sign at the road matching the garish red and blue neon ones at their retail stores. Shadows shrouded the single-story building with large glass block windows and the overcast night hid the moon. The only light came from a streetlight to her rear, the red and blue glow of the sign, and the twinkling white Christmas lights lining the front window. An older model red Jeep sat in the lot. Surely not one of the owners. They seemed to be swimming in money and drove flashy vehicles. Most likely Patrick’s Jeep.
She started to climb out of her vehicle when her grandad’s and dad’s warnings came to mind.
Forget how headstrong you are. Take care. Don’t rush. Approach with caution.
Former law enforcement officers, their warnings had saved her life numerous times as a deputy. They’d drilled caution into her, but since she’d left law enforcement, her leap-before-you-look personality had returned.
And tonight? Tonight she needed to take a moment. Be proactive. Protect herself.
She retrieved her Glock from her backpack and clipped the holster on her belt.
She took out her phone and located the group text for her sisters and typed—Heading into WOC headquarters. Patrick says something is going down with antiquities. Maybe stolen. Call me if you haven’t heard from me in 30 minutes.
Roger that, came the text from Teagan’s youngest sister, Ryleigh, who was a night owl too.
Seriously, Mackenzie texted.Can’t this wait for morning?
Urgent.Teagan typed back. She could easily imagine Mackenzie in bed, the text having just woken her up, pushing her long blond hair from her face as she grimaced at the phone. Ryleigh, on the other hand, would be sitting behind her computer, tracking some cyber creep for her job as an FBI agent and wouldn’t be hitting the sack for hours yet.
Teagan silenced her phone and stepped into the brisk evening. The sweet, pungent zing of coming rain filled the air, but not a drop fell on her walk to the front door. She looked inside the big lobby window to the security desk in the corner, where Patrick should be sitting behind the tall desk with multiple monitors. Or would be, if she hadn’t told him to return to the warehouse to check on the brothers.
Had she sent him into danger?
Her stomach cramped as she unlocked the door. Inside, she paused to listen.
Nothing save the door whisking closed behind her.
“Patrick!” she called out, hoping he’d returned and had gone to the restroom at the far side of the space.
No response.
She locked the door and pulled her jacket back for access to her weapon. Stepping across the room, she passed the long reception desk painted a bright red to match the sign. The company’s logo, a world with its name in blue letters, had been painted on the front. The graphic had seen better days, the top letters worn, maybe from visitors leaning against the desk over the years.
The unisex restroom door saidunoccupied, but she jerked it open anyway. The overhead light flashed on. She took a quick look.
