Page 4 of Smokescreen

As the auctioneer started talking at a rapid, rhythmic pace, people gathered around the stage.

Olive stole a glance at the corridor where the office was located.

Just then, Skip Carson stepped out and closed the door behind him.

Of course, he wanted to be out here for the auction.

This might be Olive’s best chance to find the information she needed.

She glanced at Trick. “I’m going in. You ready?”

“Just give me the sign.”

Olive glanced around once more to make sure no one was watching. Then she casually strode toward the office.

She gave Trick a nod. The next moment, Trick “lost control” of the horse he wrangled. As the stallion rose up on two feet, the crowd gasped and backed away. Several stable hands stepped in to help.

With everyone’s eyes glued to the horse, Olive used a special lock-picking tool to unlock the door. Then she slipped into Skip’s office, locked the door behind her, and let out the breath she’d been holding.

Step one: complete.

But Olive was nowhere near finished.

She glanced around the space. The inside of the office was bright, with multiple windows—windows that allowed sunshine to illuminate Olive.

Trophies Skip had received from his many award-winning quarter horses stood on a wooden shelf against one wall. A large leather saddle sat on a wooden stand in the corner of the room. She had expected a bigger, fancier desk. Instead, an old metal one like a schoolteacher might use stretched across the center of the room.

Where could she find the information she needed?

She’d start with the desk.

She sat in the beat-up leather chair and reached for the bottom drawer, where all the files would most likely be stored.

Her eyebrows flicked up when she saw the vast amount of papers that had been stuffed in the small space. Locating anything inside wouldnotbe easy.

With no time to waste, she began to thumb through the files, looking for any correspondence that would indicate who’d gotten Reid banned from this event.

“Everything okay in there?” Trick asked in her earpiece.

“So far, so good,” Olive murmured. “This might take a while to find, however. Skip just might be a packrat.”

“Time isn’t on our side.”

“I know.”

She continued to shuffle through the files, looking for anything useful.

“Olive, head’s up. Someone is?—”

The rest of Trick’s sentence was cut off as the sound of the auctioneer’s chant cut into their feed.

“Trick? What did you say?”

He said something else, but Olive couldn’t make out what. His words sounded choppy, cut off with every other syllable.

In the meantime, she needed to keep looking. She didn’t have any time to lose.

Her gaze stopped on some letters shoved into a file folder. She quickly searched through them.

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