“The back door wasn’t breached,” she said as she picked at one cuticle with a nail.
“It could have been and whoever this was covered his tracks well.”
“We don’t know it’s a him,” she pointed out. “We don’t even know if it’s a person. It looks like a big white blob to me.” She snorted, trying to make light of the situation. “Should we call Area 51—tell them they have an escapee?”
She liked to lighten the mood in tense situations. That was her MO. He loved her for it.
Slowly, he let his hand fall from her shoulder. His nerves were on edge. Hers were buzzing just beneath the surface. He had to think clearly or he would let his emotions make his decisions for him.
She released a sigh, all traces of mirth lost to the gravity of the situation. “I don’t want the police here.”
“Why not?”
“The fundraiser is in two weeks,” she stated. “I’ve nearly finished curating all the pieces we need for the auction. It’s not just Zephyr’s reputation riding on this. It’s the Colton Foundation. Not to mention the artists themselves. The gallery can’t afford any bad press or suspicion.”
Conflicted, he felt the knots of his jaw tense, watching her profile as she ran through the footage again. “Do you trust me?” he asked quietly.
Her eyes swung to his, wide and fathomless. He watched her pupils dilate as her gaze raced across his face. “Of course I do.”
He tilted his chin at the screen. “Do you trust me to handle this?”
She narrowed her eyes. “How?”
“I need your answer.”
She looked back at the computer, frowning at the unidentifiable shape. Shaking her head, she said, “I don’t want you to do anything that’s going to get you hurt.”
“I won’t.”
Glancing back up at him, she searched his eyes until he felt his toes curl inside his shoes. “Promise?” she whispered.
He resisted the urge to run his fingertips across her cheek just to feel the softness of her. “Promise.”
She gave a nod. “Okay,” she said with some reluctance.
Relieved, he let the rough framework of a plan solidify into place. He had work to do and two weeks to do it.
“Full disclosure?” she asked.
He drew his attention back to her unerringly. “Of course.”
She bobbed her head in a decisive motion before pulling the middle drawer of her desk open. From its depths, she took something out, wrapping her hand around it tightly. “The first time the alarm pinged, I found this at the back door.”
When she held it out, he opened his palm so she could drop the metal object into it. He frowned at the silver rod. “What is it?”
“I believe it’s a bar rod for a style of bolo tie. The kind cowboys sometimes wear. If you turn it over, you can see a longhorn skull brand.”
He flipped it over and angled the rod toward the light. “What does it mean?”
She lifted a shoulder. “Maybe it’s a maker’s mark. A signature. But I don’t recognize it. I’ve been asking around discreetly among local jewelers, but no one’s been able to identify it. Even if someone did, I doubt we could trace it back to its owner based solely on that.”
He thought about it. “You mind if I keep this?”
“What good will it do?”
“You never know.”
She eyed the piece for a moment before she looked away. “Take it.”
