Page 24 of Burning Caine
“Seeing her today was a surprise.”
She leaned forward, the glare softening. “I liked her.”
“Me, too.” She would be back again by the end of the week. After eleven years without her, I would see her four times, at least.
“Wait!” Her eyes grew wide. “Don’t tell me she’s the one you called about Saturday night?”
“I may have been overzealous.” But the feeling in my chest, the fullness, the tingling in my hand when we had touched. Premature, perhaps. But not overzealous.
She tipped her head forward, frowning. “You think?”
I clasped my hands together and stared at them. “She wouldn’t let me introduce myself Saturday night. So I told her she would have to go out with me if fate brought us together again within a month.”
“She seems clever.”
“She is.”
Sofia nudged my shoulder. “Especially when she turned you down.”
“She didnotturn me down. She changed the subject.” Also progress.
“I thought you were out with your reporter on Saturday. Did you meet Samantha before or after you dump your last date?”
“It was fate, Sofia.” I looked down to avoid her disapproving glare, suppressing my smile. “We met at the bar at Caruther’s after the reporter left. Samantha’s date had been worse than mine, and she needed cheering up. We only talked for fifteen minutes.”
She rocked her head back in laughter. “Fifteen minutes? That led to ‘I’ve met my wife?’ You’re even more ridiculous than I thought.”
“There is more to tell but let me get through Friday first.”
“You’re planning to take her to Russo’s?”
“You know me too well.” Samantha would say no. She would be too nervous with me. It couldn’t be a date, at least not to her. “Help me convince her to go with me.”
Chapter 10
Samantha
“Sam,Lucy,”saidHarryBell, as we walked into the Special Investigations Unit’s cubicle office.
“I’ve been by your desk about fifteen times,” said Tonya Quinn, “to congratulate you on spotting Friday’s ball-peen hammer damage. We found six more claims we’d already paid by the same contractor. I can’t believe so many got past the team. Good job, hun.” She gave me an air-high-five. She had no accent, but sometimes her turn of phrase revealed her southern background.
Harry was a retired Brenton Police officer, while Quinn was a former private investigator. Both were in their late fifties or early sixties and were Foster Mutual’s last line of defense against fraudsters. When someone working a claim suspected things weren’t on the up-and-up, whether we cut a check first or withheld payment, it went to them. If the system identified certain red flag items indicating possible fraud, it went to them. With their investigative experience and long list of connections, their job was to find the truth and save the company money.
Neither would stand out in a crowd, likely a benefit in their line of work. He was a couple inches shy of six feet, and she was about four inches less than Harry. Well-grayed brown hair, brown eyes, lightly bronzed complexion.
“What brings you here this afternoon?” Harry was a pleasant but serious man, always calm and collected.
“I wanted to check in with you on a claim I’m—I mean we’re—handling. Lucy’s shadowing me for…” I puffed out my cheeks. “Some amount of time?”
She shrugged in response. “Beats me. As long as I get the BI work finished for Cliff, I imagine until my internship ends?”
“Lucky girl.” Harry gave Lucy a nod. “You’ll learn a lot. She’s our best.”
I waved off the compliment. “I imagine you’re familiar with the fire at the Scott residence last week?”
Harry clicked his pen absently. “Of course. You’re handling a million-dollar portion of it.”
Quinn hit a few keys on her computer and began scrolling through the catalog of photos.