Aura plucked a passport from her bag while Greyson fished his from his pocket. The man examined them and then handed the blue books back. “Looks good. Follow me.”
Greyson reached for Aura’s hand, lacing their fingers in a tight grip. She met his eyes with a hint of a smile before facing forward again, following their guide past rows of battered lockers to a tiny, enclosed office space in the back.
Was she pretending? Was this Aura or Amber?
Fuck if he knew. Firing weapons of all shapes and sizes was his strong suit. Playing mind games was not.
A man in a black turtleneck with dark hair and bright-green eyes sat behind a metal desk. He stood as they entered. “You must be the Smiths?”
“Yes,” she replied and pointed to her chest. “I’m Amber.” She glanced at Greyson. “And this is my husband, Greg.”
She took a seat on one of the folding chairs across from the man in the turtleneck, while Greyson peered back at the guy who’d brought them inside. He turned the corner, disappearing the same way they’d come in.
“Sorry about Shaw,” Turtleneck Guy said. “He’s not a people person.”
Greyson faced forward and sat in the chair next to Aura. Careful to keep his Savannahian drawl in place, he said, “And you are?”
“I’m Lennox.” He looked at Aura. “We emailed about the antique sword.”
She smiled. “Good to meet you in person.” She patted Greyson’s leg. “We’d love to see it to verify the authenticity before we make the wire transfer.”
Lennox shook his head. “I’m just the middleman here.” He leaned forward, resting his crossed forearms on the desk. “This is how it’s going down. I’ll confirm you have the funds available to complete this transaction. Once we clear that hurdle, Mr. Mamon will bring the sword for your inspection. Not before.”
Greyson tensed, but he kept his mouth shut, reminding himself that Aura was a pro. This was her territory. He was her muscle in case she needed backup.
“Oh, I’m sure I can pass verification. How do we go about that?” Aura was laying the southern accent on thick, and the way she leaned toward the desk had her breasts pulling the fabric of her shirt tight against her chest.
Greyson narrowed his eyes as Lennox struggled to keep his attention on her face. He crossed his arms, his thumb caressing the handle of his Glock. He’d be jealous as hell if he didn’t know this was all an act.
Lennox cleared his throat. “I have a secured escrow account to hold the money. Once it hits in there, I’ll text you the time and address to meet Mr. Mamon.”
Greyson arched a brow, glancing at Aura. It wasn’t his money, but it seemed like a big gamble to trust these strangers to keep their word. It’d be so easy to take the money and disappear.
She ran her hand up Greyson’s arm. “Oh, I don’t even let Greg here hold my money, and I love him,” she purred.
His ears perked at her use of the word “love.” What the fuck was wrong with him? Maybe seeing Colton, Keegan, John, and Drake with their women had flipped some kind of switch inside him. In over 250 years on this earth, he’d never been in love. That wasn’t going to change now.
But he couldn’t deny hearing her say the word did something to him.
Aura turned his way, her gaze boring into him as she patted his leg. “Greg, baby, can you run to the car and bring the portfolio from the trunk?”
There was nothing in the trunk, but he nodded. “Sure thing, love.” He eyed Lennox. “I’ll be right back.”
He wished he could read her mind, but he trusted she’d get word to him about what she really needed. It damned sure wasn’t an invisible portfolio. He wasn’t happy about leaving her alone with Lennox, but she was armed and almost as good a shot as Greyson. If that bastard made a move, he’d be sorry.
Greyson left the office and started on the path through the lockers when he noticed a break in the metal line. He slipped between them, peering into the shadows. Stacks of oversize crates were stenciled with numbers and the name Lupine Lumber.
Lupine. He ran his tongue along his teeth. Weren’t lupines another name for werewolves? He would’ve laughed it off a few years ago, but when Keegan and Char had been attacked at the maritime museum last year, they’d received backup from a couple who’d been visiting from Nevada. They’d left Keegan with a business card and the knowledge that immortal pirates weren’t the only secret the United States government was keeping from the population.
Werewolves weren’t fiction. They were living, breathing people.
And if werewolves lived in America, it wouldn’t be a big stretch to find them in Scotland, too, would it? He shook off the thought. It was probably just clever marketing. He had moved deeper into the warehouse when his phone buzzed in his pocket.
Put Shaw in the car.
He read Aura’s text once more and smirked as he pocketed the phone and changed course for the front door. He wasn’t sure what she had planned, but they needed to find out where the sword was stored, so catching these two and making them talk would be the first step.
Shaw sat on a folding chair, eating an apple as he stared at a magazine on his lap.
He was a couple inches shorter than Greyson, but his build was solid. He also had a gun holstered at his hip, and possibly one hidden under his pant leg.
Greyson crept up silently in the shadows. His head snapped up, and Greyson froze. Holding his breath, Greyson frowned. He hadn’t made a sound.
Shaw sniffed the air and set the magazine aside. He dropped the apple core in a trash barrel and stood up, sniffing again. Greyson had showered before this trip, so no way body odor had exposed him. Shaw took a couple steps in his direction and stopped.
Greyson drew his weapon and stepped into the light. “Scream and I’ll put a bullet in yer head.” He didn’t bother covering with Greg’s accent. “Don’t move.”
He approached Shaw and took the gun from Shaw’s holster.
Suddenly, the world flipped. Or he did.
Greyson hit the ground so hard, the wind whooshed from his lungs. Shaw pounced on top of him, and pain lit through Greyson’s gut. He hadn’t realized guy had a knife until it was buried in him. Fuck. His instinct was to shoot the bastard, but he wasn’t sure if Aura needed him alive. He also didn’t want the noise to interrupt whatever plans she had for Lennox.
Greyson grabbed the hilt of the dagger buried in his stomach and jerked it free, tossing it aside. “That fucking hurts, mate.”
Shaw’s eyes widened as the bleeding staunched and the wound closed. Greyson seized the distraction, landing a solid uppercut to Shaw’s jaw, followed with a left to his exposed midsection. He fell over backward like a mighty oak tree.