Tessa laid them beside Caleb’s order.
“That’s five.”
“Four plus mine.”
“We can finally connect them.”
Caleb nodded.
Tessa read the alleged violations.
“Unauthorized security modifications.”
She looked around.
“What does that even mean?”
“My cameras offended architecture.”
“Eighteen thousand dollars?”
“Apparently I’m dangerous.”
Tessa noticed the pry marks.
“You called patrol?”
“Not yet.”
“Why?”
“Because once an incident number hits normal dispatch, Pike sees it.”
Tessa became still.
Lieutenant Owen Pike supervised major crimes.
Caleb had worked under him four years.
“You think Pike?”
“I think whoever leaked the safe location had access to restricted officer-security records.”
“That’s not many people.”
“No.”
Tessa looked at the tracker.
“Where are they going?”
“Industrial district.”
She opened her laptop.
Caleb sent her the coordinates.
They left in Tessa’s personal SUV.
No marked cruiser.
No department radio chatter.
They drove separately from the target and stayed several intersections back.
The tracker stopped eighteen minutes later.
Tessa zoomed the map.
A warehouse district north of the freight yard.
Business name:
VALE ASSET RECOVERY AND AUCTIONS.
Tessa looked at Caleb.
“Well.”
Caleb knew the name.
So did she.
Three months earlier, they had found a gold watch from one of the suspected HOA seizures in an archived Vale auction catalog.
Two antique rifles from another homeowner had appeared in a separate private sale listing.
A collection of rare coins surfaced through one of Vale’s consignments.
Each time, Preston Vale produced documentation showing the items had been delivered for lawful liquidation.
They could never prove he knew the underlying seizure documents were fraudulent.
Now Caleb’s safe had traveled directly from his illegally entered home to Vale’s warehouse.
Tessa reached for her phone.
“Vance.”
Caleb shook his head.
“Not warrant yet.”
She stared.
“We have tracker location, forged document, burglary, stolen property sitting inside a known auction warehouse.”
“Yes.”
“That is normally when adults request warrants.”
“I want to know who comes for the safe.”
“You think Mallory.”
“I think whoever wanted it specifically.”
Tessa considered.
Then nodded.
They parked on an access road behind an abandoned flooring distributor with a partial view of Vale’s loading docks.
Caleb used a camera with a telephoto lens from Tessa’s trunk.
They waited.
Twenty minutes.
Thirty.
Forty-three minutes after the safe arrived, a white Range Rover entered the lot.
Mallory Whitcomb stepped out.
Tessa whispered:
“Well, hello.”
Mallory wore a cream coat and dark slacks.
No frantic behavior.
No hesitation.
She walked directly to the rear loading dock instead of the public office.
Travis met her.
Preston Vale joined them seconds later.
Vale was sixty-one.
Thin.
Silver hair.
Expensive glasses.
He had been polite during every previous interview.
Caleb disliked that politeness more now.
Mallory carried a sheet of paper.
She turned slightly.
The top line became visible through the lens.
ROARK PRIORITY RETRIEVAL.
Caleb’s jaw tightened.
Tessa saw it too.
“That’s not debt collection.”
“No.”
“If it were debt collection, they’d inventory everything.”
“They only wanted the safe.”
A fourth man arrived with a hard-sided tool case.
Locksmith.
Vale opened the warehouse door.
The safe disappeared inside.
Caleb could no longer see directly.
But a loading-bay security window offered a partial angle.
Twenty minutes later, the safe reappeared deeper inside the warehouse, door open.
Mallory stood in front of it.
She did not inspect the wristwatch.
Ignored the cash.
Ignored electronics.
She pulled files out.
Opened envelopes.
Tore through the small steel lockbox.
Checked behind internal shelving.
Then threw papers onto the floor.
Tessa lowered the binoculars.
“She’s searching.”
“Yes.”