Lucia shrugged. “Depends.”
Penelope glared at her.
“It’s a long story.”
“I have time.”
“Right,” Lucia said. “I told you I didn’t know my parents and went through foster care until I ran away.”
“Yes.”
“I wasn’t on the streets for too long before I stumbled upon my Italian friend. She saved me, in so many ways, though she’d not say it like that.” A soft smile formed on Lucia’s lips. “We are…a sort of collective dealing in art.”
“The criminal way.”
“So you say.”
“I’m not wearing a wire, Lucia! What? Do you want me to strip naked?”
Lucia coughed, almost spitting out the sip she’d just taken.
Penelope blushed, her gaze finding the floor. “You know what I mean.”
“Yes, well.” Lucia cleared her throat. “We soon discovered that I have a knack for…imitation and we took advantage of that.”
“One way of putting it.”
“What about you?”
“Me? What about me?” Penelope placed her cup on the nightstand.
“What do you want? You could have told your boss or even gone to the police.”
“And say what? The Alessi and Bellini pieces taste the same and even though our five-million-dollar lab confirmed the Bellini as the real deal, I’m not so sure, and oh, yes, I know who really painted them?”
“That’s it?” Lucia swallowed hard against the sharp stab of disappointment.
“That’s what?” Penelope crossed her arms.
“That’s all that’s keeping you from ratting me out?”
Penelope clenched her jaw. “It’s complicated.”
“Isn’t it always?”
“I…I have my own job to finish, and…” Penelope bit her lower lip.
Lucia’s gaze tracked the movement, and heat rushed through her. She’d almost kissed those lips. Despite everything, she still longed to lose herself in Penelope.
“What I want—what I want to do… It involves your world.”
“Your father?”
Penelope stiffened, and the air between them shifted. “What do you know about him?”
“What you told me, but also that he’s in prison. Since he worked in the art world, it’s safe to assume it’s connected.”
“So, pure deduction? No insider knowledge?”
