Page 1 of Enduring Caine

Chapter 1

Samantha

Nomatterhowcomfortablethe quilted seats of first class were or how flat they folded for the overnight flight, I couldn’t sleep. Every time I closed my eyes, I was staring down the barrel of a gun again. Watching Antonio slump to the floor. The dizzying strobes of flashlights and all the voices yelling different orders when the police arrived.

And the bodies.

Nothing I’d ever done, including my training at Quantico, had prepared me to watch two people die in front of me—let alone to think the love of my life would be next.

Antonio groaned quietly in his sleep, like he’d been doing since he got out of the hospital. His seat was on a slight recline, the only way he could doze off with the damaged arm slung against his chest. Per his doctor’s orders, it was loose enough to accommodate the changes in pressure, but that meant every time he moved, he risked hitting it on something.

I sat up to watch him, wrapping myself in the plush duvet the airline had provided. He wore the black first-class loungewear, sleep mask over his eyes. Not being able to hold him when we were both hurting threw my world off-balance.

It was only Sunday night—or maybe Monday morning, depending on the time zone—and he’d been shot on Friday. I’d tried talking him out of flying back to Naples so soon, but he waved it off like he waved off everything. Said he wanted to get his team started on their new conservation project in Pompeii. The sooner they started, the sooner they’d finish, so he could come home to sleepy little Brenton, Michigan—and me—for good.

A flight attendant made his way slowly through the small cabin and paused next to me. He whispered, “Can I get you anything?”

The lights were off, save a few safety reminders. Most of the others were asleep, but a man in the row behind us hadn’t stopped working on his computer since we were in the air, the rhythmic clicks of the keyboard tempting me into a sleep I didn’t want.

What I wanted was to redesign the plane so there wasn’t a barrier between Antonio and me. Our privacy wall was down, but our seats were still separated and those few inches were too much. If I could be closer to him, maybe the memories would fade. Maybe they’d be replaced by how wonderful our New Year’s Eve had been Thursday night, before I was drugged, kidnapped, and nearly killed.

I nodded slowly at the flight attendant, with his kind and patient professional face. “Sparkling water, thanks.”

As much as Antonio should have stayed home, I needed this two weeks in Naples with him. Away from the prying eyes and probing questions of family, friends, and co-workers.

My hand drifted to my tender, bruised neck.

You’re fine, Sam.

The flight attendant returned, carrying a bottle and a glass with ice. “I apologize for the intrusion, but I have a message from another gentleman on the plane who asked if you’re awake.” The man leaned closer to whisper. “He’s law enforcement and asked me to pass along that E wants to talk to you.”

I sat up straighter. Elliot Skinner, my former boss and mentor from the FBI Art Crime Team, had boarded the same flight as us, heading to Rome on Bureau business.

“Would you like me to tell him you’re sleeping?”

“No.” I pushed the button to raise my seat and stood, folding the blanket and stacking the pillow on top of it. “What row is he in?”

“Thirty-seven.”

I cast one last look at Antonio and resisted kissing the side of his head. He needed recovery time, not to be woken up by my need for comfort. “If he wakes up while I’m gone, let him know I’m talking to E.”

The flight attendant nodded and I slipped on my airline slippers to make my way through first and then business class.

Pulling aside the curtain into the rear cabin, I spied Elliot in the front row. No window to call his own, but extra legroom and the emergency exit. His tray table was out, laptop casting an eerie glow against his warm brown skin in the dark plane. When he saw me, he removed his suit jacket from the seat next to him and offered me the spot.

I sat, keeping my voice down to not disturb the other passengers. “Do you have a seatmate somewhere?”

“No. I hit the airline jackpot.” He scanned me and my outfit. “You look comfortable.”

“Far more comfortable than the last time I made this trip.” That time, I’d been in coach, wearing jeans and a leather jacket, too freaked out at the prospect of seeing Antonio again to get a wink of sleep.

“But tired?”

I leaned back in the chair and nodded. “Can’t sleep.”

“That’s normal after what you went through.”

This wasn’t news. Both Antonio and I had spoken to a counselor after the events of New Year’s and she told me all theIt’s normallines, but that didn’t make things better. Time and a distraction were the best remedies. “What do you need?”

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