Page 3 of Forging Caine

“I believe she referred to you as her ‘data genius.’”

Lucy gulped, likely swallowing her gum. “You said that?”

“It’s possible.” I tried frowning, tried keeping my hard-ass image in place, but it was pointless around these two. They’d become immune to my attitude.

Elliot stepped closer to the end of the table, leaning over the mysterious sheet from the book. “What’s this?”

“I got it while I was in Boston.” I’d met with Elliot and another agent for a quick consult while I’d been there. Somehow, Antonio and I had fallen into the middle of the other agent’s case, so Elliot was well-aware of my trip—and the gunman who threatened us at the conservator’s shop. “The conservator found this sheet sandwiched inside the lining of an old book of my mother’s I gave to Antonio. I couldn’t make heads or tails of it, so thought Lucy might want to try.”

He remained focused on the sheet, his gaze drifting over Lucy’s notes. “You’ve made some progress. What’s your methodology?”

“There aren’t any word breaks, but this symbol…” She pointed to a character on her sheet, unable to hide her excitement—either at explaining the details in general or specifically explaining them to an FBI agent. “It appears more than it should. Normally, I’d start by looking for a character to represent the letter E if it’s monoalphabetic.”

“Reasonable,” said Elliot.

“But this character’s even more common than E would be, so we’re assuming it represents a space. Shortest number of letters between two instances of this character is two, so it’s—”

“Polyalphabetic.” Elliot cocked his head at her. “I don’t suppose you’ve ever considered the FBI as a career?”

Lucy scrunched her nose. “That sounds dangerous.”

I smiled at the woman who’d once been called my protégé. “She’s starting at Foster Mutual in September.”

“How does Foster Mutual Insurance get all the brightest minds?” He shook his head. “I may have to start recruiting there.”

Lucy gathered her work. “I’m assuming I should make myself scarce?”

“We won’t be long,” I said. “You can use my desk upstairs.”

“Nah, I like Antonio’s giant desk in the library better.” She held out a hand to Elliot and shook. “Pleasure finally meeting you, Elliot.”

“And you, Lucy. That’s good work.” He pulled out his wallet and handed her a business card. “Just in case.”

“Wow, thanks!” She beamed at him before heading down the hall.

My insides continued jumping around like a kid on Christmas morning until the library door closed behind her. “Alright, Elliot, what did you bring me?”

“Files and photos from the pawnshop.”

Antonio and I had tracked down some stolen paintings in December which had come from a pawnshop in Detroit. The same pawnshop which had been the source of another stolen painting we found at a gala on our first date and was potentially involved in an art smuggling ring the FBI had been investigating for a few years. I pulled the lid off the box, taking in stacks of folders. “Why not digital?”

He hummed aloud and withdrew a contract with the FBI letterhead. “They won’t clear you for VPN access yet, so I can’t let you log in to our systems to look at anything. And without a verified, secure connection in here, I can’t even give you a thumb drive.”

I pulled three folders, each an inch thick, peering inside to see more of the same. “But I can have all this?”

“As much as I’d like to make all the rules, I don’t. I need you to sign this agreement, saying you’ll store it in a secure location.” He plucked a pen from his jacket pocket and handed it to me.

“Antonio’s got a safe upstairs it’ll fit in.” I took the pen and signed where he pointed, then he did the same as witness. “What do you want me to do with it?”

“Review, catalog, see if anything sticks out. Cross-reference intake records with the paintings, figure out what might be missing. You know, do your thing. We recovered most of this data off a hard drive the pawnshop owners thought they’d destroyed, so there’s some data loss, but I think your eye for artwork will help identify gaps.”

“Have you figured out who was behind the pawnshop?”

His eyes sharpened, the thrill of the hunt radiating from him. “Shell companies, fake identities, and a maze of bank accounts. It’s slow going, but I have a feeling we’re getting close.”

I flipped through one folder, full of photographs of artwork, accounting ledgers, and a few documents listing provenance. “How many people do you have working on this?”

“Not enough.” He folded the signed sheet and stuffed it into his breast pocket. “When does Antonio get home?”

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