Page 20 of Chasing Caine
I leaned down and pressed my lips to hers. Not only would I be restoring a fresco that reminded me of her—repairing the crack between Minerva and her hero—but I now had this memory to hold on to, as well.
“That all you could do with fifteen minutes?” said Mario as he stepped in behind us.
The kiss ended and we separated, but the shared smile lingered.
“Samantha,” continued Mario, “which part’s your favorite?”
Casting a shy smile at me, she said, “Perseus.”
“Really? Not Mars?” He raised a fist as if in triumph. “The great god of war?”
She joined him in front of the building’s namesake, truly taking the fresco in. Her gaze swept side to side, absorbing the entirety of the wall. Her head paused in the survey, staring at one of the side panels.
I came even with her. I knew this face she wore.
This was not the giddy girl, the tender girlfriend, nor the shy woman. This was her face from the auction, when she studied the stolen painting only she recognized.
I touched her arm and spoke slowly. “Samantha?”
Her eyes narrowed, and she stepped directly in front of one frame, with a crack which entered its top corner, expanding into a gash a foot wide. “Can you bring up those photos you showed me on the train?”
“What’s going on?” asked Mario.
Pulling out my phone, I scrolled through the pictures. “Something not good, if the look on her face is what I think it is.”
Samantha kept her gaze forward, holding out a hand.
“Cazzo!” I swore under my breath when I reviewed the correct photo. I handed the phone to her. The missing pigments would not be what stole her attention from me. It would be this.
Her eyes flicked to my phone and she passed it to Mario. “This panel had a pair of yellow flowers on it when those pictures were taken. Now it’s just a thin layer of plaster covering the structural wall.”
There were many sections of the painted wall which had cracked or the plaster was missing, not having survived the eruption or the excavation. But she was right; the bare stone in this frame had been covered with a fresco earlier this week.
Mario looked at my phone, then at the wall. “You saw that picture one time on the train, not even one of the primary frescoes, and you immediately recognize it at the site. How did you do that?”
“Her mind is a mysterious thing.” I grinned at her, but she didn’t react, too focused on the wall.
“Fourteen by ten inches, roughly.” She pulled out her phone and snapped a photo of the missing section before tucking the phone away again. “The outline’s jagged, but there are tool marks.”
Mario hummed. “I wonder if it’s related to the pigm—”
I nudged him, my glare intentional.Don’t tell her, I beamed into his brain. If she knew the pigment pots were also missing, there was no chance I could keep her attention away from it.
As Mario spoke, he watched me for any sign he was going astray. “The restoration team probably removed it to do some tests.”
“He’s right.” I took her hand and squeezed it, bringing her focus away from the wall. “Someone probably took it back to the lab.”
“And I don’t suppose they’re in on Sundays?” she asked.
“No, bella.”
She nodded slowly, fingers tapping her lips. “When were your pictures taken?”
“Wednesday.”
“And the last time you were here?”
“Friday afternoon.”