Page 80 of Chasing Caine
He raised an eyebrow. “Very specific for a twelve-year-old.”
I cocked my eyebrow right back at him. “Did you know what you wanted to do when you were twelve?”
“I was already working in my father’s studio at the time.”
“Seriously?”
“Cleaning brushes and sweeping floors. Very glamorous work.” He chuckled, poking a gentle finger into my chest when my mouth opened. “But no changing the subject. You’re supposed to be boring me with your life story.”
I laughed at the wink he gave me. That was exactly what I’d needed. I stopped rubbing my hands on the concrete barrier and flexed them. Surprisingly, they were alright. “So, you know I have an Art History degree. I also have a second bachelors and a master’s in Criminal Justice. My thesis was on museum security systems.”
“That’s what Thomas Grange was speaking of?”
“Yeah, I focused my entire education on art crimes, including the time I worked for him in London. After I finished school, my mom pulled some strings and got me the FBI internship in Detroit.”
“How did she arrange that?”
“Damned if I know. She was a state prosecutor then, so it didn’t surprise me she had ties with the Detroit office. I asked and she just said she worked with Elliot Skinner on a case. Sometimes, she was as enigmatic as you are.”
His face lit up with laughter. “Me? Enigmatic? What is it you say all the time?” He paused, nodding. “Hardly.”
I chuckled at him, at his stupid, twitchy lip. He was right. I was the one always holding back. “Can I kiss you now?”
“That depends.” The smirk ratcheted up. “Will you continue with the story after?”
Sliding a hand to the nape of his neck, I pulled him close. His mouth met mine, and I sank into him. Eyes closed, the sound of voices buzzing around us, the water, the ships going by, the basketball game. It all faded into the background. My world was him. His vanilla scent, his soft hand on my cheek, and his strong one circling my waist.
How had I survived thirty years without him?
He separated from me, continuing to brush his thumb across my cheek. I nestled into it with a sigh. I could do this. He wouldn’t judge me for it. He wouldn’t leave me for my failures. After my epic ones yesterday, all he had were reassurances.
A few breaths later, he withdrew the hand, raising his eyebrows, prompting for more.
“I worked with Elliot after I finished my master’s degree. My postgraduate training in cultural heritage crimes came in handy, and it went well. Provenance research, tracking down leads, sitting in on interviews… He even took me on an undercover op, which he probably wasn’t supposed to do, but it was low-risk.”
“He was your mentor?”
“Yeah.” I nodded slowly, never having applied that word to him. I was an insurance adjuster, not an FBI agent. “And he helped make sure I was accepted into the Academy right away after my twenty-third birthday.”
“Wait. You had all those degrees plus your postgrad at ARCA before you were twenty-three?”
My gaze drifted to the Castel. It was probably too late for me to change his mind about this conversation and just resume our walk. “Plus work experience.”
He urged my face back to him. “You’re not proud of these facts?”
I rubbed my palms across the concrete barrier. “I missed out on a lot of life between twelve and—”
“Today?” He laughed, and I joined him, my stress evaporating. Again, one right word from him and the pins and needles vanished. How did he do that?
“Oh my god, yes.” I shoved him playfully. “Or should I say between twelve and meeting you?”
His face softened, and he kissed me. “My life began for real when I met you.”
“Anyway,” I said, rolling my eyes dramatically. “Cass’ husband, Kevin, had gotten me a short-term job at Foster Mutual until I could start at Quantico. That’s when I met Matt Foster.”
“Your ex-husband?”
“Exactly. We started dating before I went to the Academy. I graduated, moved back, married Matt, and went to work at Foster instead of the FBI.”