Page 45 of Chasing Caine
“Anything to hear you laugh, amore.”
The group behind us jostled me, and one of them apologized in French.
I turned to smile. “Pas de problème.” The young woman who’d knocked into me said something else, but my attention fell past her, to a familiar face at a café down the street.
“Are you alright, bella?”
I spun back to Antonio and hooked a thumb over my shoulder. “I think I see someone I know down there. Get me half vanilla, half gianduja and come over. If I’m right, he’ll want to meet you.”
“Who is it?”
“Would you believe me if I said another old boss?”
He frowned. Was he still unhappy over my chat with Thomas? Focusing on ‘us’ over the stolen fresco was supposed to get us past those minor hiccups. I puckered up and he kissed me before I made my way down the street.
I strode toward the café, with its line of small tables tucked under its awning, avoiding running children and strolling tourists. The closer I got, the surer I was that I was right.
Special Agent Elliot Skinner sat with another man. His email had said he was headed to Rome. They each wore a white polo shirt, providing a sharp contrast to Elliot’s deep brown skin and short black hair.
I stopped next to the table. Before I could say hello, I froze. What if he was undercover? Instead of starting with his name, I said simply “Buongiorno” and let him lead.
“Samantha! What a surprise!” He took the napkin from his lap, tapped his lips, and placed it beside his pizza. Standing with a grin, he shook my hand. “Changed your mind and tracked me down, did you?”
I smiled at the serious man with him, rich olive skin and gray-streaked black hair. He had a shifty look to him, cracking a cultivated smile which didn’t reach his eyes. I returned my focus to Elliot. “We good?”
He nodded and sat back down, gesturing across the small table. “Sam, this is Bruno Gallo, with the Carabinieri TPC.”
Shifty look be damned, I held out a hand to shake. The Carabinieri were one of Italy’s three primary police forces and it was further divided into several branches. The TPC—Tutela Patrimonio Culturale, or the branch responsible for the Protection of Cultural Heritage—were the preeminent art crimes squad in the world, and I had an unending amount of respect for them.
“Bruno, this is Samantha Caine from America. I mentioned her to you.”
A flutter burst through my stomach. He what? Mentioned me to a member of the TPC? That was well beyond asking me to come back to the Bureau.
“It’s a pleasure, in that case.” Bruno took my hand, the smile finally reaching his eyes. Maybe guarded was more appropriate than shifty. His English was smooth, with the barest hint of an accent to it.
“Your gelato, bella.” Antonio arrived next to me, cup held out in offering.
I accepted it, unsure how to react to Elliot’s comment. I’d last seen him a week ago in Brenton, Michigan. He’d come to town after Antonio and I discovered the stolen painting at the auction, and then he got involved with the Scott case when the woman behind the Chagall fraud skipped town. That day, he’d asked for the umpteenth time when I was coming back to the FBI and invited me to join his team in Rome. He’d even followed up with an email making the request more formal.
What was he doing in Sorrento?
Both men at the table looked at Antonio, a faint glance between them, then back at me. Right. Too in my head. Introductions.
“Antonio, this is Elliot Skinner, FBI Art Crimes, and Bruno Gallo, Carabinieri TPC.” They shook hands all around as I continued. “And Dr. Antonio Ferraro. He’s working temporarily at the Pompeii Archaeological Park as a conservator.”
Elliot returned his focus to me. “I thought you two weren’t in touch.” He’d asked me about Antonio before the press conference last week, before I’d hopped on the plane to beg for a second chance. What was his intention with that comment? Was he curious? Accusatory? Conversational? He’d always been a hard man to read.
“We weren’t,” I said.
“Are you here for anything in particular?” Antonio took a spoonful of his gelato, sounding more suspicious than usual. There was an energy pinging between the trio, which unsettled me. Possibly related to Carabiniere De Rosa yesterday? He wasn’t with the TPC branch, but still a member of the force.
A serious mask fell across Bruno’s face.
Elliot continued to smile. “We’re working a case in Rome, but came down here after recovering a small pot of pigment taken from Pompeii. As I understand it, there are two additional pots still missing, not to mention a wall painting.” He arched an eyebrow. “Know anything about that?”
Antonio put the small plastic spoon back in his cup, the movement reminding me about my gelato, which was melting. “That was fast. We only reported the fresco yesterday. Any leads?”
The two seated men shared another look, which made me sure the answer was yes—did they recover only the one pigment pot or did they have someone in custody—but Elliot shook his head. At least they weren’t accusing Antonio of anything.