Page 4 of Under Arthur’s Protection

If the FBI had already been through here, why call us? We were a fledgling company, founded less than six months ago. Sure, we all had experience in private security, but not enough to argue with the FBI. Unless this was one of those small-town things I’d been warned about.

‘Small-town people will give you work just because you’re there, then they’ll offer you cookies and fucking lemonade,’ my father had said. Maybe he was right. This was our first local contract, and maybe they’d hidden cookies somewhere.

“On the upside,” continued Sam, “I pushed to keep the specifics out of the press conferences. No inventory lists, no mention of Caine-Ferraro’s by name. As far as the public knows, the FBI seized contraband at an illegal auction. That’s it.”

“What about the people who were at the auction? Or involved in organizing it? People talk, especially when they’ve lost something valuable.”

“Lost,” chuckled Gwen. “How many were arrested?”

She wasn’t part of our security conversation, but she wasn’t ignoring it either. While we’d been talking, she’d moved to the far side of the table. She jotted in a notebook, likely measurements, given the measuring tape she had stretched across the pommel.

“Fewer than a dozen. Plenty more who’ll be interviewed, but those won’t likely go anywhere.” Sam rolled her eyes. “I can get you the Bureau’s contact if you want their threat assessment.”

“I do.” That would tell me who we could expect to test the facility, if anyone at all. There were more seized items elsewhere, but they weren’t my concern. “How public is your company’s relationship with the FBI?”

“It’s just the Caine-Ferraro’s Fine Art Investigations subsidiary that has the federal contract, not the conservation studio. I’ve only been in business for a bit over a year, and my team’s gone up against a few unsavory characters, so I’ll send you those names, too.”

Excellent. She wasn’t defensive about the gaps. That was one less hurdle. “We’ll want to review the full facility, including camera placement, entry points, loading dock, and street access.”

“I have all the security feeds and building specs in my office upstairs.” Sam gestured toward the door. “We can go through everything.”

I wasn’t ready to leave yet, so I wandered over to the sword. “Why was this mixed in with the paintings? It doesn’t feel like it matches the time period or the theme of the auction.”

“The auction included several pieces of arms and armor,” Sam said, “but the others were all dated from the 1500s or later. Much easier to authenticate.”

“The sword was the outlier?” I asked Gwen, as though she were the expert on the FBI action.

“The sword is complicated.” Gwen’s gaze rose to meet mine. That’s what I’d been looking for. For those hazel eyes. “The deterioration of the blade makes initial dating difficult. The pommel is in far better condition, which may be a clue, or maybe it was simply owned by someone who prized gold over steel.”

“Do you think it could have been a repair or a later addition?”

“Possible.” She rolled up her fabric measuring tape as she nodded. “I need to verify the metal composition, confirm whether the pommel is actually gold, analyze the enamel inlay, and run a few other tests. There’s also what appears to be an inscription on the pommel that I spotted before⁠—”

Her eyes flicked in Lance’s direction, and I let mine follow. His lips quirked up the way they always did when he saw a beautiful woman. Hell, when he saw a woman, period. They knew each other, didn’t they?

Of course Lance knew her.

“Before Lance arrived, that is.” She placed a gloved hand on the golden pommel. “I’ll need better imaging to read it.”

“How long will you be working here?” I asked, calculating how long I needed to be on this job.

“A few days for preliminary authentication. If the inscription turns out to be interesting, it could be longer.”

They regularly had millions of dollars’ worth of artwork stored here. The FBI already said the security was passable, and I agreed. Insurance would cover any losses if someone managed to get inside and grab it. But my gut also told me the sword was special.

Lance and I—along with the other men who were founding this company with me—had spent years in northern Afghanistan, protecting archaeologists and dig sites during the 2010s and up until the US forces left the country. I was all too familiar with what gold and treasure did to people. Both to those who saw it as nothing but currency, and to those who saw it as history.

An artifact’s worth wasn’t only in its monetary value.

“Beautiful, isn’t it?” said Gwen, who’d drifted closer to me. Or I’d drifted closer to her? She smiled, and my chest tightened. Her eyes caught the overhead lights, and⁠—

“Perimeter?” said Lance.

“What?” I practically snapped at him.

“I said—” He stood on the opposite side of the table from Gwen and me, his head tilted in that familiar way he used when he was rescuing me. “Should we review the security feeds and building specs upstairs, or do you want to walk the building’s perimeter first?”

“Feeds,” I said, stepping away from the sword. From Gwen. “Let’s review the feeds first.”