Just Breathe

Chapter 1

"Do I have two hundred dollars for this impressive nineteenth century oil painting?" The auctioneer pointed to someone on his right. "I have two hundred. Do I have two-fifty?"

Tanner looked at the dark-haired woman sitting three rows in front of him. She raised her hand and the bidding war continued.

He wasn't interested in the furniture or any of the other large estate items going under the hammer. But he was interested in what was happening with the painting.

The woman's hand shot up again and he smiled.

"What's Kelly doing?" his friend Tank said from beside him. "She couldn't fit another painting in her store if she tried."

"She must think it's worth it."

Sure enough, her hand moved again.

Tanner studied the painting more closely. It was by an unknown artist, but the blend of color and composition was superior to a lot of paintings he'd seen.

When the bidding reached five hundred dollars, he waited to see what Kelly would do.

She hesitated, then stuck her hand in the air.

The auctioneer smiled and banged his gavel for the last time. "Sold to the lady in red!"

"She must have liked it," Tank said. "Your book's up next."

Tanner had known Tank since their days in the military. They'd been in the same Navy SEAL team, fighting alongside each other in some of the world's deadliest war zones. Now here they were, at an estate auction in downtown Bozeman, waiting for the opening bid on a poetry book.

The auctioneer cleared his throat and the audience fell into silence. "The next item is a first edition copy of A Boy's Will, by Robert Frost. It was published by David Nutt in 1913. As you can see, it's in the original bronze pebble grain cloth, lettered in gilt, with a few spots of foxing. But overall, this book is an excellent, bright copy. Phone bids have already been placed for this item. Bidding will start at one thousand dollars."

The collective gasp from the audience didn't faze Tanner. The book was easily worth nine times that amount—more if international bidders were on the phone.

The auction started. Even though he was itching to place a bid, he kept his hand at his side.

When the price reached three thousand dollars, Tank nudged his arm. "Looks like this one's out of your price range."

When he didn't reply, Tank looked at him. "You can't be serious? No book is worth that much money."

"It's a collector's item."

"So are Fabergé eggs and Edwardian postcards, but you don't see me bidding on them."

The bidding on the poetry book stalled.

Tanner watched some of the people who had placed bids. They were keen, but not stupid. The provenance of this book was sound, but it was easy to get burned.

The auctioneer repeated the last bid. Three thousand six hundred dollars was too good a price. He put his hand in the air.

"You shouldn't have done that," Tank muttered. "I'm supposed to keep you out of trouble and look at you."

"Robert Frost is worth it."

"He'd better be. You're going to be eating Cheerios for breakfast, lunch, and dinner for the next month."

Tanner bit back a laugh. He was a senior security specialist at Fletcher Security. His assignments took him around the world, guarding people with more money than the national debt. Buying this book wouldn't bankrupt him.