Page 5 of Hawkeye
The meeting ended a few minutes later. Josie still refused to surrender the box, but I stayed close as we crossed the event grounds toward the secured parking area. The auction-house security officer locked it into the padded transport case, and Josie climbed into the company vehicle after giving me one last uncertain glance.
The SUV pulled away. I swung onto my bike and followed.
Wynnock Auctioneers occupied a restored stone building with discreet lighting, tall windows, and enough visible security to confirm they regularly handled objects worth more than most houses. The company vehicle entered through a private gate, and I parked near the lobby while Josie and the security officer took the case into the restricted wing. I settled into one of the leather chairs and waited, ignoring the receptionist’s repeated glances at my cut.
Josie returned twenty minutes later with her bag over one shoulder, and the tension around her mouth eased now that the box was back inside the vault.
“The box was safe,” she pointed out as she approached. “You didn’t have to follow us, Hawkeye.”
“I know. Wasn’t following the box.” I stood and let the meaning settle between us. “And call me Calder.”
“But…” She stopped, reconsidered, and lifted one shoulder. “Okay, Calder.”
My name in her voice tightened something low in my body. The club, the military, and everyone at Black Castle called me Hawkeye, but I wanted Josie to say Calder when she was breathless beneath me and when she woke with my arms around her.
“I’m following you home, too.”
Her brows rose. “Is that also not about the box?”
A corner of my mouth quirked up. “You’re getting faster.”
Josie’s brow furrowed. “You don’t know where I live.”
“You can tell me, or I can learn when you pull into the driveway.” I grinned. “Or I can have Cipher send the address to me.”
She licked her lips, and my eyes tracked her pink little tongue, distracting me enough that I almost missed what she said next. “That sounds alarmingly close to stalking.”
“Stalkers hide.” I stepped nearer and watched her pulse jump at the base of her throat. “I’ll be directly behind you, and you’ll know exactly why.”
“Which is?”
“I want to know you made it home.” My gaze stayed on hers. “And where home is.”
Josie studied me as though she had not expected such a blunt answer. The dimple appeared again when her mouth tried not to curve. “That is alarmingly direct.”
“Saves time.”
She shook her head, but the warmth in her eyes told me the objection was mostly for form. “I need to clock out.”
“I’ll be here.”
Her car was parked beneath one of the employee lights, a faded compact with cloudy headlamps and a rear panel bearing a dent large enough to annoy me at first glance. The tires looked serviceable from where I stood, but the rest confirmed my earlier decision. Josie caught me inspecting it and narrowed her eyes before climbing behind the wheel.
“Not a word,” she warned through the open window.
“We’ll discuss it tomorrow.”
“There is no ‘we’ in my car.”
“There will be, baby doll.”
She rolled her eyes and backed up, then pulled out of the lot. I followed close enough that every other driver understood the space behind her belonged to me.
Our drive ended at a narrow two-story building with a colorful vintage boutique on the ground floor and apartment windows above it. A private metal stair climbed along the side, while a gated alley ran behind the neighboring businesses. I parked beside her compact and took in the dark corners, roof access, rear entrance, and weak light beneath the stairs before joining her on the sidewalk.
“My mother owns the boutique,” Josie explained, noticing where I was looking. “We live upstairs.”
I nodded and walked her toward the private stairway. She started talking before we reached the first step, moving from Kenny Simon’s daughter to the maker’s partial stamp and the family photographs she hoped might show the original arrangement inside the box. Her hands moved as she spoke, bangles sliding over her wrist, and the dimple kept appearing whenever she caught herself getting carried away.
