Page 99 of Forging Caine

“How are your seats?” answered another male voice. It was faint, but at least two of the other guards were too close for us to continue.

Jason raised his voice to a normal level. “Have you cleared your head yet?”

Our conversation was done. I’d learned everything I needed from him, anyway. “I’d like to walk a little longer. I’m alright as long as I don’t go past the trees?”

Jason nodded and turned back to the house.

I left the pond and climbed down a set of wide stone stairs, discovering access to the tennis court. What if I got something wrong? What if I displeased Fiori?

What if Samantha ended up like Jimmy?

Part of me had expected the ship to be boarded through the night. Expected? More like hoped. But the way the special agents came running out of the yacht club, they were not prepared to follow a helicopter. Could they have contacted air traffic control? It would be logical that Fiori would be on his yacht. Could they know where Fiori’s boat was? Marone, and then they’d have to have known that the helicopter left the yacht this morning. Could they be after the yacht right now, hours behind us?

What if these four additional paintings were also fakes? He sounded displeased with Zane’s error in claimingThe Concertwas genuine, but at least Zane was still breathing and didn’t look any worse for wear. Perhaps Fiori was more forgiving than I expected.

Keeping it close to my body, I turned on my phone, hiding it from the view of anyone at the house.

I sent a quick text to Cristian’s regular number.Fiori’s taken us. He’s threatened our families. I need you to get something ready to protect them in case we need to move. Don’t let any of it be suspicious and make sure you avoid the authorities. Don’t text me back.

As an extra measure, I deleted the conversation, turned the phone off again, and slid it into my pocket. Hopefully, my next text to him would beNever mind.

Chapter 33

Samantha

Ineededawalkas much as Antonio did. But he had to focus on the job and not on me. So I paced. I took in all the details, scanning the walls and ceilings, under the desks, around the windows, and found nothing. No cameras. No microphones. At least, none that I could see.

How could this place be so similar to Giovanni’s and yet so different? Giovanni had obvious cameras all over the place. But here? They had to be somewhere.

Or Fiori had enough experience making threats people didn’t disobey.

I dropped into the desk chair, resuming my research. There was nothing new. I’d already read everything worth reading about the Gardner Heist and the paintings. Whenever an article came out, I read it as soon as I saw it.

Elliot would have access to plenty of documentation we could compare against, but I couldn’t call him.

Vermeer was easy to research, since he had so few paintings, and the Kühn paper was perfection. But Rembrandt? He’d produced hundreds. How could we make conclusions about these paintings without access to more information? The Gardner Museum wouldn’t share anything about the stolen paintings with me. I couldn’t call in an expert.

Antonio had said if I worked for his father, we’d take trips when we needed this sort of information. That sounded perfect. Fly to Amsterdam, go to the Rembrandt House Museum, talk to their curators. Bring the paintings if need be.

I scrubbed my hands over my face. There was a solution somewhere. I just had to find it.

Cam-ron stood overChrist in the Storm on the Sea of Galilee, whileZane lectured. He talked about brushstrokes, comparing it to the couple in black, talked about Rembrandt’s vision and how he painted himself into the sailor’s face. He’d been with Fiori for two years, made a ton of money, and was grateful for the opportunity to work on such beautiful pieces.

Any true conservator wouldn’t have been so proud of working on stolen artwork.

Cam-ron glanced at me several times during the conversation.

I did my best to ignore him, but he kept doing it. I swiveled one monitor to block him.

What next? News reports, investigative journals, documentaries, and conspiracy theory sites. Everyone had a guess about where the Gardner artwork had gone, but the chance of finding them together was low. Was Fiori amassing a collection of forgeries? What were the odds he would find at least one authentic piece among them?

He’d taken the news aboutThe Concertbeing a fake too well. He pushed back when Antonio told him it was a fake, not on the fact that itwasa fake. Did he know all along, like he had withThe Music Lesson?

I sat back to watch Zane and Cam-ron. Were they the forgers? What if Zane’s disgust over us questioning the authenticity ofThe Concertwasn’t about his ability to authenticate it himself, but about the quality of his forgery?

When Antonio’s Uncle Giovanni showed us the plans for a new branch of the Ferraro’s office near his home, Antonio hadn’t believed it was real at first. We’d talked about how a restorer could just as easily paint over a stolen painting to ship it safely or break down a statue to be put back together on the other end. Was that what was really going on here?

Cam-ron’s eyes met mine, and he left Zane in the middle of a sentence, although he kept talking.

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