Page 100 of Forging Caine

“He knows his Rembrandt,” I said.

Cam-ron leaned closer and whispered, “I’m super happy you’re here—that you figured it out.”

I pointed at all my open browser windows and documents. “I haven’t figured anything out yet.”

“We need to talk.” His eyes flicked to the side, like he was referring to Zane, then he returned to the shelving.

“As I was saying.” It was as though Zane talked to hear himself speak. “There are nearly eighty self-portraits. These men loved to paint themselves. Take a look at—”

Cam-ron coughed, catching my attention, as he slid a painting out of its slot.

Holy shit!Grainfield at Midday. I shot out of my chair. “Zane!”

He startled and finally shut up.

“I need a bottle of water. Can you get one for me?”

He straightened his glasses. “I’m in the middle of a discussion right now.”

“Pasquale told you to take care of whatever Antonio and I need.” I put my hands on my hips, ensuring I looked as intimidating in the blue uniform we all wore as I could. “And what I need right now is a bottle of water. Cold.”

What Ineededwas to talk to Cam-ron.

“Alright. But you can explain to the signore why Cam-ron is not receiving his instruction.” Zane lifted his chin and spun on his heel, marching out.

As soon as the door closed, I raced over toGrainfield. “You sent the letter?”

Cam-ron sagged, nearly dropping the painting. “I’m so glad you understood. How are you getting me out of here?”

If only I knew how I was going to getme and Antonioout. “You’re not here because you want to be?”

He slid the painting back onto the shelf. “The choice was I work here or my dad dies.”

“Oh my god, Cam-ron.” I sighed. What could I do now? “Same thing for us, but our sisters and their kids.”

His big doe eyes closed and opened, like he couldn’t process my words. “You’re not here for me?”

“I’m working on it.” I was the same age as him, but every time we’d run into each other, it felt like I had a decade of life experience on him. “Why did you send it?”

“Before my dad… you know…” He looked at the floor, talking to it instead of me. “He told me about all these paintings he was going to be working on as a special project. Said he was going to need my help with some of them. I assumed it was legitimate work and he was getting his company going again after the FBI investigation last summer.”

“But it wasn’t?”

“The police arrested him before I could find out. Then all those paintings they found at his girlfriend’s house?” He smoothed a hand over his scruffy hair. “Mr. Fiori’s people came to see me last month and said my father recommended me for a job. When I got here, it started out with cleaning a painting and re-varnishing it. I did a few pieces, they were happy, then they had me do some more cleaning and a few minor repairs.”

How much time did we have? Not enough for a long story. “Zane’s going to be back any second.”

“Zane had me clean a piece so much the entire top layer of paint came off.” He looked up at me, brows drawn tight together. “I remembered all that stuff you told me about fraud and jail time and—and I freaked. I was going to tell the police, and that’s when they threatened my dad.”

Like everyone else, he made one bad choice, followed by another, and then he was stuck. Just like me. But if he was cleaning stolen paintings… I pulled another out of the shelf. I didn’t recognize it. Pushed it in, grabbed another, and my heart leaped. I recognized it from the pawnshop files. As Cam-ron continued, I pulled out one after another, finding four more. This was it. This was what we needed.

“It took me a bit to figure out, but Zane’s job is restoration, but he also covers up stolen pieces. Someone somewhere else is doing the same thing, so my job is to strip that cover off.”

There was a noise outside, deep voices. Cam-ron’s eyes flew wide with panic. I stopped checking paintings. But no one came in. Maybe a shift change?

“Quickly now—why send the letter to Ferraro’s?”

“There was another guy here when I started. He heard them threaten my dad and said he was going to the police if I couldn’t.” He lifted one shoulder. “I never saw him again and Zane said he was probably dead. So I knew the police weren’t the right ones to contact. And Mr. Fiori was yelling one day a few weeks ago about Dominico Ferraro starting an investigation company. He was so angry, yelling stuff about those damn Ferraros.”

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