Page 31 of Burning Caine

“Have you talked to your superiors about it?”

She rolled her eyes. “Oh, thanks, Sam, I hadn’t thought about going through official channels. I just thought I’d complain about it to you.”

I balled a fist on the table. “Is this about the investigation or about us?”

She stood and walked to the narrow window with a view of the small garden and flag in front of the police department. “Both.”

She put her hands on either side of the window, taking in a deep breath. “Slater’s running the case, but I’m following up on a few leads he’s missed. People don’t die suspiciously in this town very often and million-dollar paintings don’t get destroyed. The department isn’t giving it the right level of attention. Fire said it looked accidental, so everyone’s half-assing it.”

“You never were a half-asser.”

She laughed and turned around to lean on the wall. “No, I’m definitely a full-asser.”

“You were always a hard worker.” My instincts told me to stop there, but I had to try. “You know, I was trying to get your attention that day, not the—”

“We were supposed to go to Quantico together.” She folded her arms, the lightness fading. “Instead, I lost my scholarship and had to leave school for a year to work.”

“I didn’t mean for any of that—”

“And you just kept going. Three degrees, a summer in London, another in Italy, then the internship with the FB…” Her eyes slid closed and she exhaled long and slow.

What could I even say to all that? She’d had her phone out during a final exam. I got her attention to put it away, but a proctor saw me. Then saw her. And it snowballed from there. There was nothing I could do but beg her forgiveness, and she was never willing to give it.

We were supposed to do all that stuff together.

“You know what?” She pushed off the wall. “I don’t want to talk about what happened. Maybe some time, but not here. Right now, this case needs my full attention.”

I put my fist to my mouth. Maybe sharing my own concerns about the case would help bring us back together. “I feel the same way about this claim. I’m being pushed to have it closed by the end of the month.”

She stopped behind her chair, grasping it with both hands. “Is that normal?”

“For a standard claim, yeah, but this?” I gestured toward the painting. “I need to have it cleaned and authenticated before we can make a determination. The restoration company hasn’t even looked at it yet. If I had a timeline from them, I could see Foster Mutual establishing a constraint, but—but not before they’ve looked at it.”

“When do you take it in?”

“Friday. We have a thirty-day guarantee, but this is a tough job. I wouldn’t be surprised if it takes longer.”

“Sign the paperwork.” She pulled her chair out and sat again, scribbling on a card and sliding it across the table. “Here’s my private number. Give me a call if anything else—about this case—comes up.”

Chapter 13

Samantha

Mystomachwasajumble of knots on top of butterflies. Making my way along the sidewalk from my truck, I did a mental check. I’d chosen my most elegant Italian suit: black skinny pants and jacket, white silk blouse. All Prada. My long hair was in a messy bun at the nape of my neck. Would he like it? Was I trying too hard? Did it even matter? He’d been toying with me. There was nothing behind it. And he wore jeans on Monday. Why was I so dressed up?

When I arrived, Sofia greeted me with a smile. The scent in the air was the same, but the music was alternative rock.

“Good morning, Samantha!” She rounded her desk, air kissing my cheeks once I’d put the case down. “You look beautiful today!”

“Thanks.” She was one to talk, in her tight, pale pink dress. “So do you.”

“I know.” She winked jokingly and returned to her desk.

“Don’t let that go to your head, Sofia!” Antonio hollered from the space behind the reception wall. His heavy footfalls from the unseen space added a few extra knots to my stomach.

My brain stuttered when I saw him. Not casual. Not jeans. He wore dark gray trousers over polished black shoes. White dress shirt with the sleeves rolled up, top few buttons undone. It was halfway between casual and the sexiest thing I’d ever seen. A pair of sunglasses hung from his shirt, as though he were on his way out, rather than preparing for our meeting.

A sly smile broke across his face, and when my eyes met his smoldering gaze, it stole my breath away. He must have practiced doing that to women for many years.