Wyatt smiled a little, thankful that the pretty blonde’s interest in the candlesticks had just been a whim. After she’d missed out on the funky tree lamp, she’d probably hoped not to go home empty-handed, then realized how ugly the candlesticks were.
And maybe she’d still win something else, but she wasn’t going home with these.
He stuck his paddle into the air, catching the auctioneer’s gaze and buying in at a fraction of what he was ready to spend. He might yet need that excess, however, with the way the bidding was going.
Made no sense. The candlesticks looked worthless to him, but he knew his taste in art wasn’t exactly top shelf.
The bidding climbed.
At thirty-five hundred, one of the other bidders dropped out. Then the hot blonde next to him jumped back in.
He stared at her, openmouthed and disbelieving before he caught himself and focused on the battle that he’d yet to win. It cost him four grand to regain his lead. “You’ve got to be kidding me,” he muttered.
She moved to the edge of her seat as if being a few inches closer to the auctioneer might help her win. “You’re not getting them.”
Her hand shot up again. Forty-five hundred.
“You wanna bet?” He put his paddle in the air and kept it there. Forty-seven fifty instantly became five grand.
She wiggled her paddle back and forth, sending the bid up another two hundred and fifty. “No bets. Just me winning. And you losing.”
Her sassy response almost made him laugh, but he wasn’t about to let his emotions get the best of him while she was the temporary enemy. When this was all said and done, maybe they’d discuss his victory over coffee.
He thrust his hand up higher and took the lead with a solid six grand. That was his max, but he was confident she’d back down. Six thousand dollars was a lot of cheddar for a lousy pair of candlesticks, and nothing about her said she was rolling in disposable income. Not that she looked destitute. Just not like Mrs. Gotrocks, either.
Speaking of…he checked her hand. No ring. Not that he cared if she was married or not. Just his general sense of observation kicking in.
Somehow, her other hand remained raised—and stayed there until the bid hit sixty-five hundred.
His paddle was the one that came down.
There were no other bidders at that outrageous price, and after a quick countdown, the auctioneer banged the gavel and finalized the sale. “Paddle 1541 has the winning bid.”
She gasped and grinned. “Holy holly, I won. I won.”
He frowned. Suzanne was not going to be happy. But she’d capped his bidding at six thousand, so the loss wasn’t his fault. He pulled out his phone to text his client and give her the bad news, but the blonde next to him got up.
She gave him a little smile. Clearly, she wanted out now that she’d gotten what she’d come for. “Sorry.”
He stood as well and moved into the aisle. “No problem. I was about to leave too.”
She joined him in the aisle. “I meant about you not winning.”
He shrugged. “No big deal. I wasn’t bidding on them for myself. I was here as a proxy.”
“Huh. Me, too. I guess those ugly things are really worth something after all.” Her smile broadened. “Well, I should go pay and collect the candlesticks. Have a nice night.”
“You, too.” He watched her go to the auction house desk and get in line to pay. One person ahead of her. Interesting that she hadn’t been buying those for herself. Could she be the reason Newt hadn’t shown up? If she was his agent, that was a pretty sly move on the old man’s part.
Pretty being the key word.
He’d never anticipated his competition adding another player to the game, which bothered him. A year off the force and he was already losing his touch? That wasn’t good. That wasn’t good at all.
Had a shapely figure and a stunning face distracted him that much?
With a grunt of disgust, he went back to his phone. He shot the text to Suzanne, then started to put the phone away, but she sent a response right back. She must have been waiting.
He read it. As he’d suspected, she wasn’t happy, but it was game over now.
Another text came in from her, threatening not to pay him. Fortunately, he had their agreement in writing. An old private detective friend of Wyatt’s had suggested he use a simple contract with clients. Now he was glad he had followed the man’s advice. Still, Wyatt frowned as he answered. I did what you asked. You capped the spend, not me.
You should have bid higher.
He rolled his eyes. Not without authorization.
Did Newton buy them?
No.
A brief pause. Ask the buyer if they’ll sell to you. I’ll go as high as 10K.
He let out another sigh. If she’d have gone that high to begin with, this probably wouldn’t be an issue. Will do.
He put the phone away and looked up to see where the blonde was. She was heading through the door with a box in her arms. The candlesticks, no doubt.
He went after her, pushing through the crowd that was milling about, nearly getting swatted with a bidding paddle on his way.
The parking lot was packed with cars, but no people. They were all inside. And her blonde head of curls wasn’t hard to see. She disappeared around the corner of the building, juggling the box on one hand and using the other to pull out a key fob.
He followed, and when he came around the building, he spotted her. She was opening the back of a black SUV, much like the one he’d rented, but she was still a few yards away from the vehicle. She must have done it with the remote.
He was about to call out to her when two men came out of nowhere and rushed her. He reached for the gun that was no longer there, a habit that refused to die when his adrenaline kicked in. One man grabbed her while the other wrestled the box out of her grasp.
Wyatt charged. “Hey, get away from her.”
Startled, the men shoved Marigold down and bolted. The candlesticks fell out of the box, smashing to the ground. The man who’d been holding the box glanced at the shattered pieces, then tossed the box and took off after his friend.
Wyatt let them go and helped her up. “Are you okay?”
“I don’t know. I guess so.”
He gave her a quick once-over. Her elbow and forearm were scratched and bleeding from where she’d hit the pavement. He gently took hold of her hand, turning her arm so she could see the damage. “You’re not okay. You’re hurt.”
She swallowed. “I-I didn’t even feel that. Until now. Ow.”
“Adrenaline,” he said. “Dulls the pain receptors so you can keep fighting.”
“But I didn’t fight. I didn’t do anything.” She was trembling.
“That’s okay. Sometimes fighting back can get you hurt worse.” He helped her over to the back of the open SUV. “Why don’t you sit here for a second? Catch your breath.”
She nodded and sat. Definitely in a little bit of shock.
“Did you know those men?”
“Not at all.” She squinted a little. “I’m not sure I even got a good look at them.”
“Then you probably don’t recognize them from anywhere, huh?”
“No.”
She wasn’t crying. Yet. “I guess they were after the candlesticks.”
“I guess. Oh!” She sucked in a breath. “They’re completely ruined, aren’t they?”
“Don’t worry about that. Listen, I’m going to call the cops.”
“I don’t think they can fix them.”
His brows went up. “This has nothing to do with fixing the candlesticks. You were just assaulted and the victim of an attempted robbery.”
She nodded. “Right. Of course. I’m just a little shaken up.”
“Completely natural. Don’t worry, I’ve got this.” His phone buzzed as he took it out. Suzanne again.
Did you get the candlesticks?
No. And you don’t want them. They got broken.
He tapped the button to bring up the phone, but she responded again. Completely?
Yes. Many pieces. Honestly, what was the point of this?
Did you see them get broken? Was there anything else that happened?
He made a face at all her questions. But then, he supposed a repaired family heirloom might still be valuable for the memories it held. He took a picture of the remains of the candlesticks and sent it to her. There were still some large pieces left, but repairing them would only make the candlesticks uglier. You can see what’s left for yourself. Do you want me to try to get the pieces for you?
More seconds ticked by. Like she was thinking. Then finally, Yes.