Page 19 of Burning Caine
“I looked it up and did some poking around after the FNOL for the burned painting came in.” She shrugged like it was nothing. “It’s just numbers.”
“Well, I’m impressed.”
“Am I dressed alright?” she asked.
I shook my head. Her Doc Martens, jeans, and Pogues T-shirt was fine for our casual office, but not for an art gallery. “I have a suit in my truck for occasions like this and I’ll expect you to have a back-up if you’ll be working with me.”
“Got something in my car!” She leaped out of her seat and dashed down the hallway.
I frowned, while Hailey laughed and turned back to her computer. “Watch yourself around those two Ferraros, Sam. They’ll hit on anything in a skirt.”
Glad I packed pants.
Climbing into my truck was a challenge for Lucy, especially in her mini skirt. She clambered onto the running boards and used the grab bar inside the door with both hands to pull herself up into the seat.
Once I started the engine, and the display screen lit up, my language training audio began, and I paused it.
“Spanish? Cool!” She leaned over to check out all the buttons on the steering wheel and pushed a couple of them. I guided her hand away before she did any damage. Unphased, she grabbed a cable from her bag and plugged her phone in to make some music selections, chewing furiously on her gum.
“I had no idea trucks could be so luxurious. My car’s got nothing on this!” She settled into the leather passenger seat and adjusted the air conditioning. Seat forward, seat backward. Seat up, up, up.
Once she’d gotten the seat right and picked the music, some old school Pixies, and we’d eased out onto the road, she kept exploring. She opened the moonroof and the rear window, hit a couple more switches not connected to anything, and flipped the lid on the center console. She paused when she saw a metal container with a combination lock on it.
“Tell me that’s not a gun safe!”
“Okay, that’s not a gun safe.”
“Seriously? You keep a loaded gun in there?”
I cast a quick glance at her. How honest should I be? “There’s been more than one time I’ve needed to get the hell out of Dodge in a hurry. I’ve never resorted to personal protection, but I’ve been glad to have something with me.”
In a surreal moment, she paused. No chewing, no bubbles, no chatter. Gun ownership could be a touchy subject.
“Can you keep a secret?” I added the gravity I felt the moment needed, and she nodded. “I was trained by the FBI, including a lot of hours at the firing range. I have my concealed carry license, and when I started traveling the country on my own, it felt like the right choice. I only take them out when I go to the range or when they need cleaning. Firearm safety is serious business.”
“Holy crap! You’re in the FBI?” Smart girl, stupid question.
“No, I’m a claims adjuster. Iwasin the FBI and decided it wasn’t the right choice for me.” Close enough to honest.
“You don’t talk much. I’ve known you for a month now, and that’s the first thing you’ve said not work-related. Is it me? Or are you always like that?”
“I’m a private person.”
Again, she was surprisingly quiet. Maybe I’d misjudged her, based on the limited interactions we’d had.
“Me, too,” she said with a grin.
I burst into laughter, and she joined me. She was growing on me already.
“To be honest, Lucy, it’s a part of my past, and it isn’t relevant anymore.”
“Okay, fair. Speaking of irrelevant things, did you see…” She talked and talked the whole ride, and I did little more than nod. She told me about a reality TV show she was watching, about her favorite YouTuber, a trend she saw on Instagram, a new made-for-Netflix show she was excited to see, and kept going from there. It was like the comfortable background noise of television you weren’t watching. When we pulled up in front of Mason’s, I felt I was up to date on everything trending in the world, for the first time ever.
Mason’s Art Gallery was a small showroom in the heart of Brenton. The front window allowed a view of the interior, an open space decorated with various modern art pieces. The floor was hardwood painted white, and large stands dotted the room, holding sculptures made of plaster, stone, and metal.
I caught my reflection in the gallery door and paused for a moment. Navy suit and heels. Polished and professional, despite the butterflies swirling around my stomach. My hand tightened around the door handle, and I did a slow countdown from five. It was just a property claim, but I was on edge. The time I’d spent working art claims for Thompson hadn’t affected me like this. What was different this time? Was it because I was home? One more reason I had to get out of town.
Lucy tapped me on the shoulder. “What are you doing?”