Page 108 of Forging Caine

“On my way in. That’s why the bodyguards were in the studio instead of in the hall. She and another FBI agent came to question me about what happened at the yacht club.”

That made no sense. “Why would she travel here when someone from the New York office could do that?”

He pulled one of my hands into his lap. “Jason told me he’s seen her several times before.”

Thatdidmake sense. “She works for him?”

“Put the pieces together, bella.”

I stood, looking down at him, at his serious face. “That’s how they tracked us to the yacht club.”

He nodded. “She said she told you there was a tracker in the fob.”

“No, she didn’t. I’d remember that.” My brain was clearing, facts falling into place. “That’s how they knew to smash it. She told them. They knew exactly what was going to happen—that you’d identify it as a fake, they’d use the fob as a diversion, they’d take me, and you’d follow.”

“Sì, exactly.”

I took a few slow steps, working to push the shock of Zane’s death aside. “Zane was covering up stolen paintings to be shipped and Cam-ron’s job is cleaning ones sent from somewhere else.”

“Zane painted both the forgeries Fiori gave us.”

Three strikes. “Zane created two poor forgeries and was responsible for me sending that message. That was his third strike.”

“With the added benefit of ensuring we obey.”

“Fuck.” I swatted a hand at Antonio’s shoulder. “Cam-ron told me there was a third conservator when he started. That guy said he was going to the police and then Cam-ron never saw him again.”

Antonio’s eyes widened. He’d been egging me on, but this was a revelation. “Four conservators. Two dead and two alive.”

“We need to get out of here. We can’t wait around for an opportunity.” I crashed onto the love seat next to him and grabbed both of his hands. “We need to call Elliot. We’re witnesses to murder and Cam-ron’s a witness to a lot of the smuggling operation. There are at least five paintings from the pawnshop files in the studio. There’s more than enough evidence in here to put him away.”

“Jason doesn’t think prison is enough to protect us.”

“Antonio.” I let go of his hands and grabbed his face. That handsome face with the chiseled jaw and the beautiful brown eyes. I wasnotlosing him. “We can’t sacrifice ourselves for Jason’s doubts. We have to try.”

He nodded.

I jumped up and dashed over to the bay window. The sun had set ten or fifteen minutes ago, but the area around the house was as bright as day.

“There are too many lights,” he said, joining me.

“What about the pond?” I pointed off to the side, where a sliver of the water was visible. “Late night stroll and a row across the water? We could say it’s a romantic evening?”

“And then a mad dash through the trees?”

“How big do you think his property is?”

Antonio pulled his phone out and turned it on, the seconds it took to power up extending into hours. He opened an app with a satellite view. “Roughly six hundred feet to the first houses in a subdivision.”

“How do those uniform sneakers fit?”

He tucked his phone into his pocket and chuckled. “Better shoes for running in than the Oxfords I wore to the yacht club.”

“Better than my ballet flats, too.” One more reason I hated Pasquale Fiori. His uniforms were really comfortable.

Antonio wrapped his arms around me. Every time he did that, my brain short-circuited. That was why I usually escaped him when I needed to think.

“Let me call Cristian. His people can act faster than Elliot’s.”

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