Page 71 of Burning Caine
I put the phone away and spotted Samantha as effortlessly as a compass finding north. She stood in front of one of the paintings on display for the auction. She was a vision. An absolute vision. The dress highlighted every aspect of her miraculous body, and her luxurious hair fell down her back in long, loose waves. She tilted her head, speaking with a shorter man, who pointed to elements of the artwork. Her lips were tight, eyes narrowed. It was not the face of someone absorbing the art, it was the face of someone appraising it.
As I neared her, the man evaluated me. I glanced at him while placing a hand on the small of her back, staking my claim. Giving an almost imperceptible nod, he moved to the next piece. She, however, didn’t react.
I leaned close enough to whisper, her citrusy scent heightening my desire. “You seem taken by this painting. You’ve been staring at it for ten minutes. Would you like to stay for the auction, and I can bid on it for you?”
She rolled her head toward me slowly. “The last thing I need is stuff. Especially stuff with a starting bid of ten thousand dollars.”
I suppressed my smile, only letting it rise to a smirk. I had never heard such a wonderful answer. She wouldn’t want me for my money. “It’s a charity auction. It will likely go for far more, despite it being in such desperate need of a cleaning.”
She narrowed her eyes again and shook her head. “And that’s not why I’m staring at it. I recognize this piece but can’t seem to place it. It’s driving me batty.”
This was why she hadn’t reacted to my touch. This was Work-Samantha, even more intense than I had seen before. “Gallery? Museum?”
“I don’t know.” She flagged down one of the attendants. “Do you have the provenance for this painting?”
The woman nodded and returned a moment later with a tablet, showing the history of possession. I took it from her, and we scrolled through the short list.
“Private residence for the last twenty years. You must be mistaken, bella. Unless it was on loan somewhere you visited?”
“No. Not it.” She bowed her head and covered her eyes with a hand, squeezing her temples.
I returned the tablet to the attendant and waited while she thought. After five minutes, I put the hand to her back again. “Are you alright?”
“I can almost see it. The memory has white space around it. White wall? Was it a photo, maybe?” She started muttering to herself. “C’mon, Sam. Think. Think. Where did you—”
The hand shot away from her face and she snapped her fingers. Pulling her phone out of her clutch, she whipped the small bag under her arm. Her fingers sped across the tiny keyboard.
“What are you doing?”
She looked up at me suddenly, as though she had forgotten where she was. She lowered her phone and stepped toward me, her chest against mine, and I inclined my ear to her mouth. “I think it’s stolen. I’m looking it up.”
“But the provenance?”
“Gimme a sec.” She rotated her body, using mine as a shield against prying eyes. She scrolled quickly, performing one search after another, on the FBI’s Stolen Art website. “Dammit, it’s not here.”
“Perhaps you are wrong?”
Her eyes shot from her phone to meet mine, a wicked grin on her face. “You doubt me, Dr. Ferraro?”
Who was this woman? She had so much more confidence than I was used to seeing in Samantha. This was a woman in her element.
“I would never, Ms. Caine. But, if it’s not there, what next?”
“PSYCHE, of course.” She snapped her fingers at an attendant walking by. “I need a laptop!”
“Sorry, ma’am, but we don’t provide that service here.”
As she became more focused on the work, she became far less personable.
I put my hand on her back again and gave her a wink. “Give me a moment.” I strode across the room to an attendant. A young blond, pretty, who paused when I smiled at her.
“Buongiorno. I’m in need of a laptop. Can you provide such a thing?”
“I’m sorry, sir, but I can’t.”
I leaned closer. “I tell you what. Go and speak with Margaret over there.” I pointed to the woman who had taken my father’s proxy bid, one of the auction’s coordinators. “Ask her if it’s alright for me to borrow one for a few minutes.”
Given the size of my father’s bid, I was not surprised for the young woman to return within a few minutes with what I needed. A laptop and a slip of paper with the login information.