Page 13 of Forging Caine

It could have been a joke or a taunt. Or, it was—my inner detective did a cartwheel—something so secret it had to be hidden in a code. “Where did it come from?”

Sofia said, “There’s no return address.”

Antonio took the envelope from her. “But the postmark is New York.”

“That’s clue number one.” I placed the sheets on the desk and folded the stack in thirds, like they’d been when Sofia pulled them from the envelope. Was there a clue in the way they’d been lined up originally?

“We have two choices,” said Dom. “Either we file this away until after we’ve hired our investigators or—”

“No,” said Antonio, before his father could finish. “I see the way you two are looking at Samantha.”

I took the envelope from him and stuffed the sheets inside. The way they were looking at me was the same way I looked at myself. As an intelligent, capable woman who loved solving puzzles. Not as someone whose boyfriend’s father was starting a company that was exactly the sort of thing she would have loved to do. “I still have to go to work on Monday and we haven’t even chosen where we’re vacationing yet.”

Antonio’s shoulders sagged, but he didn’t argue. He always argued when I started a new investigation. Told me to hand things over to the authorities. Or to be careful. Or some other macho boyfriend line designed to make me feel…

I folded my arms.

His words were designed to make me feel safe.

But I didn’t need a protector. I needed movement, investigations, mysteries. I needed to take down criminals who plundered the world’s cultural heritage. “After Monday night, I promise I will hand it back to your father. I promise I won’t cancel our trip just because a little mystery landed in my lap.”

And if it took longer than Monday to figure out, I fully planned to stuff it into my purse and work on it while we were on vacation.

Chapter 5

Antonio

Ieasedmycardoor shut and placed a gentle hand on Samantha’s thigh. “I didn’t know, bella, I swear.”

Her lips had remained tight from the moment Papa revealed the sign. They loosened briefly as she inspected the strange letter, but it was clear she was upset. She wanted to work with Elliot and the FBI, so long as she could do it from Brenton; so it was not that she wanted the job. Was she insulted I’d not asked her opinion about it? Or simply that she wanted to have been prepared with information for Papa when he asked about hiring?

“He told me at Christmas he was thinking about an investment in an investigation company and he thought you could provide some guidance.” I ran my thumb along the soft jersey of her skirt and a muscle in her jaw flexed.

She turned her head slowly, staring at me and blinking, like she always did. “We should get going.”

My heart gave one tremendous thud of defeat. “You don’t want to discuss it?”

Her hand covered mine and gripped tight.

“Wait—I understand.” My cell phone buzzed in my pocket and I pulled it out. Unknown number. I declined the call and dropped the phone into the cup holder. “You’re comparing this to my father telling me to keep the Chagall a secret? You know there was no malice in this?”

“We’re going to be late for Cass’s party.”

My phone rang again and I declined the call. I drew her hand to my heart and leaned closer, attempting to show her the honesty in my eyes. “This is not a pattern. He’d not yet decided and didn’t want to get ahead of himself.”

She gave me a weak smile, eyes casting down at our joined hands. “I know. I’m not even sure why—”

My phone rang and I snatched it, ready to hurl it out the window for the interruption. Unknown again. Who could be calling me so insistently with a masked number? Unless it was my Zio Giovanni or someone from that part of the family?

Samantha rolled her eyes and withdrew her hand from mine. “Someone obviously wants to talk to you.”

“It’s probably Cristian. I’ll deal with it.” I answered and snapped into the phone, “What?”

An unfamiliar voice responded in Italian, “Is this Dr. Antonio Ferraro?”

It could be a client, a contact I made in Napoli, or still someone from Giovanni’s organization. But I had little patience for it now. “I’m sorry, but who is this?”

“You may not remember, but my name is Pasquale Fiori.”

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