Page 69 of Disarming Caine

“A couple things. The artist who created the fake Chagall is the one whose painting was shot at Mason’s.”

“But the theory is Rhonda was the target, not the painting.”

“I know.” I straightened, hand on my face. “Rhonda’s the one who told us there were offers made on the original Chagall when it was at the gallery. That led me to figure out Olivia had sold it after it was there.” Although discovering the truth about Antonio’s father buying it was the part that cemented that.

She clicked a pen a few times.

“Janelle, tell me I’m overreacting.”

“I won’t. You’re too smart for that.”

“Okay, tell me I’ll be safe.”

“I don’t know if I can swing some officers to follow you. Maybe up the police presence in your area?”

“And near Cass’s? She moved into Mom’s old place.”

“Yeah, I can do that. And I’ll talk it over with Skinner.”

“Thanks, Janelle.”

“Be safe,” she said, and hung up.

I put the phone down on the desk and stared at the microscope. It was a coincidence. They had the right guy in custody.

“What was that?”

I startled and spun to see Antonio standing at the top of the stairs, in his pajama pants. “Nothing.”

“You were talking to your friend Janelle, the police officer. At three in the morning. You asked her to say you’re overreacting and that you’d be safe.” His eyes were wide as he walked to me and gripped me by the shoulders.

What could I say? He’d worry or get upset if I told him.

He glanced over my shoulder. Letting go, he passed me and pulled out the sheet under the microscope. “Marone, what’s this?”

“Don’t do that!” I launched at the paper, ensuring the bullets and casings didn’t get mixed up.

“What’s going on? Tell me!” He slammed a hand on the bench, causing the microscope to bounce. “No lies! That doesnotonly apply to me!”

I flung my arms around his neck, the dream washing over me. “I had a nightmare.”

He softened, pulling me close. “What does that have to do with this?”

“We were in the hotel Tuesday night.” I held tighter, squeezing my eyes shut, focusing on his scent, his firm body, his soft skin. “You died.”

“Shh now.” He rubbed my back, his thick arms and big hands covering me like a protective blanket. I was safe in those arms. “It was only a dream, amore.”

My heart beat against his, slowing to match his pace. He said nothing more, just continued to give me everything I needed.

We stayed like that for long minutes until he leaned away from me. “Now. Tell me what you’re doing up here? I’m not a piece of porcelain. I can handle this.”

I chuckled, playing with the hair at the nape of his neck. “Wednesday, when I was working with SIU, we went to Mason’s and found a bullet and casing the police missed. When I stopped at my place, I found another.”

He pursed his lips, waiting for more.

“Something in the dream—” I shuddered, but he held me steady against him. “—made me question whether there was a link between the shootings.”

“Let me guess: It looks like there is?”