Page 92 of Burning Caine

“Damned if I know. Some weird-ass painting with floating heads and flowers.”

“Did you go back to their house later?” I clasped my hands together on the table and leaned forward.

“Do what?”

“You know, did you go back to talk to her about it? Maybe have a few drinks then go back to tell her what you thought of her?”

“No! Why would I do that?”

“I don’t know. You were angry? Thought you’d call her a few names to her face?”

“No way. I planned to send some other guys the next day to do the painting. I wasn’t going back there. I’m a professional and the supervisor. I got plenty of work without dealin’ with that kind of bullshit.”

“You knew the security system was disabled.” I narrowed my eyes, lowering my voice. “Maybe go back and take that painting she said was worth more than your life?”

He leaned forward to match me. “You accusing me of something?”

“Start a little fire for revenge?”

His lips pulled back as he bared his teeth. “Fuck. You.”

“So, that’s a no?”

He slammed his fist on the table and toppled his chair while he stood. “You’re not the police. I don’t need to put up with this shit.”

I sat back in my chair while he stalked out of the room.

“Sam, what was that?” Lucy asked.

I shrugged. “Trying to work him up. He was acting like he was guilty of something the whole time he was sitting there.”

“How?”

“The constant movement, tapping his foot, brushing the chair, making the fist. I figured I’d turn up the heat a bit and see if anything slipped.”

“Did it?”

“Nope. The only time he wasn’t acting guilty was when I asked him if he went back to tell her off.” I laughed. “He was pissed.”

“No kidding!” Lucy collapsed in the chair next to me. “So, what did we learn from this? Olivia Scott’s mean?”

“Yeah, that surprised me. She seemed so sweet and kind when we met her. He was obviously talking about moving the Chagall, but if she knew the painting was a fake, why flip out on him for handling it?

“Oh, and he’s a smoker. Fire started from a cigarette. Could be something…” I flipped through the police report and found the autopsy results, scanning them quickly. “Mr. Scott was a smoker, too. The level of nicotine in his blood indicates he’d been smoking shortly before he died.”

“So, it may be nothing.”

Chapter 36

Samantha

WhenIpulledupat Antonio’s office Thursday morning, he was in black shorts, gray T-shirt, and new trail running shoes. He’d bought an outfit for our hike. Good sign. Maybe early morning hiking wasn’t such a terrible idea for a date after all. He wore a lightweight backpack with a water reservoir and carried a little white box tied with a string.

The straps of his backpack highlighted how broad his chest and shoulders were. Gorgeous. I’d seen his thick biceps several times in T-shirts and had admired the way his pants had cupped his rear on more than one occasion, but this was the first time I’d seen his legs. They were muscular, with calves like rocks. God, what did the rest of him look like under those clothes? A shiver ran through my core.

As he got into the truck, I said, “Please, let that be what I think it is!”

He smiled and put the box on the center console, leaning over for a kiss, but I backed away. Stupid reaction. It was instinct. Habit.