Page 7 of The Eagle's Vault

“So, you’re from Boston?” I stood still, waiting for a response, but none came. “Your brother mentioned he had some meetings here this week. Family business, I assume?”

The blowtorch cut off. “That’s right.”

No, she definitely hadn’t been flirting. Of course, if she’d opened my lovely lady, I probably would have been angry, too.

Maybe compliments would fix it. “I’ve heard of Barton Safes. Excellent reputation. The curved keyway on the Model T-3? Brilliant.”

Come on, Leigh, give me something to work with here.

Silence. At least she hadn’t told me to piss off. Again.

“I heard there’s a new T-4 that adds a paracentric keyway coming out soon.”

“How would you know that?” Her accusation sliced through the thick canvas, hitting too close to truths she couldn’t know.

Like how I’d broken into Barton Safes and Locks three weeks ago with my crew. We’d been in there prepping for a job and spotted some specs made for The Fenix Group—the mysterious group who kidnapped one of my team members and brought us to Europe.

She wouldn’t be involved with them, would she? Our analysts had already researched the Barton staff and said everyone appeared clear—no sudden windfalls, no suspicious travel. So maybe not.

Still, I chose my words carefully. “Just rumors I’ve heard. I like to test out the latest designs companies put out.”

“Is that why you drilled into my safe? Three times?” Her questions came rapid-fire. “Then patched two of them up, hoping I wouldn’t notice how inept you are?”

“Whoa, hold on. I didn’t drill into your safe.” And I certainly wasn’t inept. I hadn’t needed a drill when I had my Reynolds tech. And even if I had, any patches I did would have been seamless.

The blowtorch reignited, signaling an end to our conversation. I was being dismissed.

“No comment?” I tapped the wall of the tent. “I said I didn’t drill into your safe.”

“Considering Edoardo didn’t mention any other attempts on the safe, it was obviously—”

“Show me.” I strode around the entrance of her makeshift tent, ignoring her protests, and slipped inside.

Leigh’s ponytail swung as she turned—that answered that question—flaming blowtorch in hand. Her dark eyes flashed behind safety goggles. “Get out!”

The scent of heated metal, burned oil, and something vaguely sweet hit me as I got closer. “Where?”

Her shoulders fell and she switched off the blowtorch. “By the hinges.” Lips tight, she gestured toward the safe. “Drilling over there’s little more than vandalism.”

I closed in on the spot she pointed to. Definite signs of tampering, other than the hole they’d drilled near the mechanical override. The metal around the hinges was smooth. But not smooth enough. I pulled off a glove and ran my fingers over the area, searching for anything out of place. “Looks like someone did a hasty job.”

She placed the blowtorch on her worktable. “So, not you or your—what do you call her? Co-worker?”

I crouched, glowering at the safe, rather than turning my gaze on Leigh. Cute, but a pain in the ass already. “Considering we work together, yes, she’s my co-worker.”

Leigh made a noise in her throat. “So why isn’t she up here working with you?”

“Because she gets bored easily,” I said aloud, more to myself than to her. “Whoever did this wasn’t very skilled. They left clear marks of their work.”

“Maybe that’s the point. To make it seem like a less-skilled job than it actually is.”

I frowned, considering her words. It was possible. But why would someone want to do that? Was it a ploy to throw us off their tracks? Or was there something else at play?

Surely not. The sabotaged camera had to be involved, and no matter what Jayce said about it being easy to get into the library, normal humans would have found it a challenge without climbing gear.

I pulled my company phone from a pocket and swiped to an analytics program.

Leigh’s presence neared me, and I caught a whiff of pears. Shampoo, probably. If she didn’t wear makeup, no way she was wearing perfume. She peered over my shoulder.

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