Page 112 of Disarming Caine

“Please tell me it’s in there,” I said, launching from the seat and rushing to his side, all pretense vanishing.

“Look for yourself.” He eased back, drawing to his full height.

Irene’s voice came from the stairs. “What are you doing?”

I knelt in front of the opening, and a delicious jolt of adrenaline coursed through me. Not the risking my life kind like Monday. Not the boyfriend telling me stories I couldn’t handle, like yesterday. No, this was the thrill of the hunt. Of finding a piece of the mystery. Hidden behind the door was a packing blanket folded underneath six frames.

The front one was the Constable.

Another was the frame we suspected was the Gainsborough. I pulled out my phone and snapped a picture. “Don’t touch them. We need to—”

“I’m calling the police.” Irene already had her phone at her ear, the bowl tucked under her arm.

“Don’t,” I said, standing with Antonio. Before she could protest, I continued. “I don’t need you to trust me. Just look up the phone number for the FBI office in Detroit and ask for Special Agent Elliot Skinner.”

She paused, mouth moving as though to speak several times, and finally did as I asked.

I could watch Antonio do just about anything with pleasure. But this—helping solve the case I was working on—was one of the sexiest things I’d ever seen him do. “You’re so clever, Dr. Ferraro.”

“I have to be, to keep up with my clever, pregnant wife.” He leaned closer to whisper in my ear while Irene spoke on the phone. “Did it turn you on?”

Heavy footfalls ascended the steps, and the pregnant woman’s husband returned. “I have the ginger chews!”

“And I have the ice chips!” came a woman’s voice behind him.

“It’s passed,” said the pregnant woman, taking the candy from her husband and popping it in her mouth.

“I have him.” Irene held out the phone between the three of us, with Elliot on speaker.

“Sam Caine here, Elliot.”

Caine?mouthed Irene.

Elliot chuckled. “That was faster than expected.”

“I’m at the house we discussed yesterday, with the Constable.” There couldn’t be much more he’d expect me to do on this case, so this would be the end. Sadly? Happily?

“Dr. Ferraro with you?” Had Irene told him that? Or was it a guess?

“Sì, Special Agent Skinner, I am.”

“Have you touched the paintings?”

“No, Antonio found a secret compartment in the attic. There are six paintings lined up together, and we’re fairly sure at least two of them are from the theft in LA.”

“Are you inside the residence legally?” His tone was serious. The Art Crimes Team’s primary goal was returning stolen cultural property. Prosecution came after that. But it was still there, and he didn’t need us spoiling their case.

“We are. We’re here with the real estate agent.”

Elliot laughed. “Good job, you two.”

All the color had drained from Irene’s face as our conversation with Elliot progressed. Based on her reaction, it was unlikely she was involved, but she’d at least be questioned about her knowledge of the house and its occupants.

I said, “Now we just have to track down some more information about that pawn—”

“I will, Sam.” Elliot’s voice had dropped again. “That’s my job, not yours.”

Chapter 39