~ ~ ~
After Penelope left, Lucia rushed back home. A part of her had wanted to invite Penelope over earlier, to have the conversation here in a much more comfortable space. Thankfully, she’d resisted that insanity.
Now she was liable to pace a hole in her floors.
The house was quiet except for the soft hum of the old refrigerator and the occasional groan of settling wood. Outside, cicadas buzzed under the heavy afternoon air.
Francesca would murder her, and Skye would stand laughing over her charred corpse.Morbid much?
She’d been going back and forth on how to best approach this, how to prevent Francesca from losing her temper—and there simply wasn’t a way. Francesca was always an intense person, but with theMadonnaon the line and Varnelli lurking, this was a powder keg, and Lucia was about to toss a lit match onto it.
She must have lost her mind.
On the other hand, having an insider like Penelope on their side would be huge (a game changer, really), all but guaranteeing their success. And it would make it easier to learn about the Meridian’s protocols. More than that, Penelope would know what was at stake and could make sure theMadonnastayed in the Conservation Lab.
Maybe she could sell that to Francesca?
Lucia halted and took out her phone, her finger hovering over Francesca’s number for a beat. This could get so ugly, but in a strange way, she felt she owed both women the truth, and her best effort.
She pressed dial.
“Yes?”
“Can I come over? We need to talk.”
“I’m home for another two hours, so come right away.”
“On my way.”
And with that, Lucia headed for the car.
No time like the present, they said. She’d find out if that was true.
Thirty minutes later, Lucia slammed her car door shut and strode up the walkway to Francesca’s villa. Heat radiated from the pavement, but her palms were ice-cold.
Her hand shook as she rang the doorbell.
“Come inside and make yourself comfortable. I’ll be right with you.” Francesca ushered her inside before disappearing into her office.
Lucia sat down, her left leg rattling up and down as she chewed on her lower lip. The leather of the chair stuck to the backs of her thighs, amplifying her discomfort.
She stared at the wall across from her, but instead of the immaculate order of Francesca’s living room—white walls, sharp lines, a single abstract painting hung with military precision,the faint scent of espresso clinging to the air—all she saw was Penelope’s face in the soft studio light, wary yet still curious.
Five minutes passed, each one stretching to fill the space of five hours in Lucia’s head—until Francesca joined her.
“What’s up?” She sat in her usual chair.
At first, Lucia only looked at her.
“Lucy? Are you all right? Did something happen?”
“I’m fine. I just…You told me to get closer to Blackwell, and I have, but—”
“What? Skye’s right and you’ve developed a crush?” She waved her off. “That’ll pass again. Just do your job.”
Lucia cleared her throat, avoiding Francesca’s gaze. “No. I meant, I tried to get her to trust me and all that.” A lie, well, at least regarding motivation.
“That’s good. What’s the problem?”
