Page 6 of Chasing Caine
Mario joined us at the table on the patio, kissing her on the cheek as he sat. “Surely you have enough time for another round?”
“I wish.” She—whatever her name was—bit her lip and gave him a regret-filled once-over. “But I need to go.”
“My heart…” Mario pulled his chair closer to hers, running a finger up her arm, his voice oozing like warmed syrup. “It’s breaking.”
“Mine, too, but we’ll get over it.” She took a sip, then turned to me. “Where’s Cindy? She told me she was going home with you.”
I shook my head, the movement rattling about painfully. “Who’s Cindy?”
She placed the cup on the table and stood. “Five foot six, brown hair, blue dress, all over you last night?”
Last night was still a blur, but no one was all over me nor did I bring anyone home. Scanning my memory for the women I’d met, I finally recalled her. “Sì, I remember. All we did was talk. She told me I was boring.”
“You are.” Mario laughed, standing with the woman and walking her to the door.
Perhaps showing Cindy photos of Samantha a dozen times was not what Mario had hoped I’d do, but I didn’t care.
I turned the YouTube video on, backing up to when Samantha took the front. Everyone looked at her—the FBI agent, the female police officer, and Nathan Miller—in a way that seemed more familiar than professional courtesy.
“Five women, Antonio!” Mario said as he returned to the patio. “And you left them all at the club! You’re going to ruin my reputation.” He sat and pulled at my phone to see. “What’s this?”
“Just watch.” As it played again, my heart swelled. Samantha thanked our company. That must have been what Sofia referenced, what made Papa proud—her passion for solving art crimes, her knowledge of art history.
Mario asked, “Is that about the burned painting you worked on before you came here?”
“This—” I restarted and pointed at the screen. “—is my Samantha.”
“That’s her?” Mario’s nose wrinkled. “Cindy was prettier.”
My smile fell and I smacked him. “Listen to her words. So clever, so confident.”
“Who’s the handsome one she’s smiling at on the end?”
I pointed to my cheek.
“That’s the one she left you for?”
“She didn’t leave me.” I restarted her portion of the video once more and sighed. “I could fly home this afternoon—”
“Who’s the one at the start?” Mario pulled the video back to the FBI agent.
“He’s with the Art Crimes Division, they said.” Was he involved because of the Chagall copy?
“Looks like he knows her.”
“It does.”
“You’d almost think,” said Mario, leaving the table for the kitchen. “That she belongs up there with them.”
I paused on her confident gaze at the start of the video, before the blush had started, before she spoke, and took a screenshot. My new lock screen image.
“That reminds me…” Mario returned to the patio with his own coffee. “Someone from the Carabinieri will be stopping by today.”
“Why?”
“Bianca filed a report on the missing pigment pots.” He shrugged. “They came by the lab yesterday after we left. She mentioned the missing lens, and they’re going to look into that, too.”
This was good news. Perhaps they could speed up the process. “I should fly to Delaware and help hurry whatever they’re doing. That way, if the shipping company can’t find the missing lens, I could still guarantee the project doesn’t start too late.”