Page 95 of Chasing Caine
“You don’t strike me as a procrastinator, either.” I rounded the bed, returning to the breakfast takeout bag to pull out my coffee. Removing the lid, I made an exaggerated show of inhaling the intense scent. “Yours is getting cold, bella.”
She threw a pillow in my direction—which was thankfully not actually aimed at me, so I didn’t spill scalding coffee all over myself—and grabbed the bathrobe, practically leaping from the bed toward the bathroom, still favoring her left leg. “Five minutes!”
“You can’t wash that much hair in five minutes.”
“Time me!”
The door swung shut and I ripped an old-fashioned flip phone from the bag. Opened, it displayed a small sticky note reading,Dial 1. I hit the eight. One was in case the phone was intercepted or if I was compromised. I had enough years’ experience with Cristian to know this.
“Cugino!”
“I have five minutes.”
“Talk fast. Tell me what happened.”
I did as requested and provided a high-level summary of the last three days. Catching Umberto, the visit to his girlfriend at Riccardo Emanuele’s gallery, and the warning at the restaurant. Cristian made small noises of assent as I spoke, not interrupting even though he knew some of it already.
“English speaker?” he said when I finished. “What kind? American, Canadian, British, Austral—”
“I didn’t recognize an accent.” My head sank into my free hand. There was so little information to go on.
“And they warned you off the artist, as well? Eva Zabelle, in addition to the tombaroli you found at your site?”
“Sì, both of them.”
“Alright. I’ll find out what I can. But Antonio, take this seriously. Not just for your girlfriend’s sake, but for yours. And keep the phone on you. I’ll call when I have news.”
With that, he hung up and I tucked the phone deep inside my overnight bag. When this was done, the phone and SIM card would be separated and snapped, destined for the shredder at the office.
Cristian was charming, charismatic, and patient. It all served him well in his career, as did his ability to turn it all off in a moment. His fury was not something to trifle with. When he said to take something seriously, there was weight behind it. Years of experience.
And, no doubt, some level of knowledge about what was going on.
What had Samantha and I fallen into?
The bathroom door flung open, and a sopping-wet, robed Samantha appeared. “Coffee me!”
She was in excellent spirits, and I had to play off that.
“Ankle all better?”
“A little sore when I move the wrong way, but—” Her step stuttered as she balanced for a moment on her left leg to demonstrate it was alright.
I settled on the firm cream-colored sofa, swinging the white bag to entice her.
Her fingers combed through her hair as she approached, deftly braiding the long strands. “Is it just coffee or anything else?”
I patted the seat next to me and placed the bag on the low table in front of me. “You have to ask this silly question?”
“Cornetti?” She sat sideways to stretch her legs over my lap.
“Chocolate hazelnut.”
She bit her bottom lip and accepted the cup of cappuccino I pulled out of the bag. Sliding down against the arm of the sofa, she was in the perfect position for me to caress her shin and up to her thigh. “Definitely the best vacation ever.”
“With the best boyfriend ever?”
“I’ll reserve judgment on that just yet.” She took a sip, then straightened to grab the bag from the table. With a gleam in her eyes, she exchanged coffee for cornetto, and sank her teeth in. The bite was ambitious and as much of the filling dribbled onto her chin as went in her mouth. She moaned, clearing the mess with her fingers. “So. Good.”