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“She had access to both bronzes. No one would question her. She sent for you, then she fired you and sent you home. She pulled you away from the Institute. I'm sorry.” He put his hand to her cheek. “But you're going to have to consider the facts.”

It was logical. It was hideous. She closed her eyes, and let his arms come around her.

“Excuse me.”

She jerked in his arms as if they were bullets and not words at her back. Very slowly, she turned, took a long bracing breath. “Hello, Mother.”

Elizabeth didn't look as though she'd spent the last several hours flying across an ocean and dealing with the small annoyances that come with international travel. Her hair was perfectly coiffed, her steel-blue suit showed not a single crease or wrinkle.

Miranda felt as she always did when faced with her mother's unwavering perfection—tousled, awkward, ungainly. Now suspicion was added to the mix. Could this woman who'd preached integrity all of her life have betrayed her own daughter?

“I apologize for interrupting your . . . work.”

Too accustomed to parental disapproval to react, Miranda merely nodded. “Elizabeth Standford-Jones, Ryan Boldari.”

“Mr. Boldari.” Elizabeth assessed the situation, decided that the gallery owner had demanded Miranda's participation in the project for more reasons than her qualifications. Because the results benefited the Institute, she put warmth in her smile. “How nice to finally meet you.”

“A pleasure.” He crossed the room to take her hand, noting that mother and daughter didn't even bother with the cool air kisses women often exchanged. “I hope your flight was uneventful.”

“It was, thank you.” A beautiful face, she thought, and a smooth manner. The photographs she'd seen of him in art magazines over the years hadn't quite been able to capture the power of the combination. “I apologize for not being able to get away sooner as I'd planned. I hope the project is progressing as you anticipated, Mr. Boldari.”

“Ryan, please. And it's already exceeded my expectations. Your daughter is everything I could wish for.”

“You've been busy,” she said to Miranda.

“Very. We've closed off the wing on this level to the public for the last two days. The team's put in a lot of hours, but it's paying off.”

“Yes, I can see it is.” She scanned the room, impressed
and pleased, but only said, “You have work to do yet, of course. You'll be able to tap the talents of Standjo now. Several staff members flew out today, and a few others will be here by tomorrow. They know they're at your disposal. Elise and Richard are here now, along with Vincente and his wife.”

“Does Andrew know Elise is here?”

Elizabeth raised her eyebrows. “If he doesn't, he will shortly.” And the warning in her tone was clear. No personal family business was to be discussed or allowed to interfere. “Your father is due in tonight. He'll be a tremendous help with the final selections of the artifacts.”

“I've already made the final selections,” Miranda said flatly.

“It's rare that any project of this size can't benefit from a fresh eye.”

“Are you planning to take me off
this
project too?”

There was a moment when it appeared Elizabeth would respond. Her lips trembled open, but then firmed again as she turned to Ryan. “I'd very much like to see your Vasaris.”

“Yes, Ryan, show her the Vasaris. They're in the next area. If you'll both excuse me, I have an appointment.”

“I feel obliged to tell you, Elizabeth,” Ryan began when Miranda walked out, “that this very impressive exhibit wouldn't have been possible without your daughter. She conceived it, designed it, and has implemented it.”

“I'm well aware of Miranda's talents.”

“Are you?” He said it mildly, with a slight and deliberately mocking lift of brow. “Obviously I'm mistaken then. I assumed since you didn't comment on the results of four weeks of intense work on her part, you found them lacking in some way.”

Something flickered in her eyes that might have been embarrassment. He hoped it was. “Not at all. I have every confidence in Miranda's capabilities. If she has a flaw it's overenthusiasm and the tendency to become too personally involved.”

“Most would consider those assets rather than flaws.”

He was baiting her, but she couldn't see the reason for it. “In business, objectivity is essential. I'm sure you'd agree.”

“I prefer passion in all things. Riskier, but the benefits are much more rewarding. Miranda has passion, but she tends to repress it. Hoping, I'd guess, for your approval. Do you ever give it?”

Temper showed coldly on her, a chill in the eyes, frost lining the voice. “My relationship with Miranda isn't your concern, Mr. Boldari, any more than your relationship with her is mine.”

“Odd. I'd say the opposite was true, since your daughter and I are lovers.”

Her fingers tightened briefly on the strap of the slim leather attaché case she carried. “Miranda is an adult. I don't interfere with her personal affairs.”

“Just her professional ones, then. Tell me about
The Dark Lady.
”

“I beg your pardon?”

“
The Dark Lady.
” He kept his eyes on hers. “Where is she?”

“The Fiesole Bronze,” Elizabeth said evenly, “was stolen from a storeroom at the Bargello several weeks ago. Neither I nor the authorities have any idea of its current location.”

“I wasn't speaking of the copy, but of the original.”

“Original?” Her face remained blank. But he saw something behind it. Knowledge, shock, consideration—it was difficult to be sure with a woman with such rigid control.

“Elizabeth?” A group of people came in, with Elise in the forefront. Ryan saw a small, finely built woman with a pixie crop of hair and big, brilliant eyes. One step behind was a balding, pale-faced man he tagged as Richard Hawthorne, then a lushly built Sophia Loren look-alike with her arm through that of a robust man with olive skin and glossy white hair. The Morellis, he decided. Hovering over them, beaming loving avuncular smiles, was John Carter.

“Excuse me.” Elise linked her pretty hands together. “I didn't know you were busy.”

More grateful for the interruption than she would allow to show, Elizabeth made introductions.

“It's so nice to meet you,” Elise told him. “I was in your gallery in New York only last year. It's a treasure. And this.” Her eyes shone as she turned a circle. “This is glorious. Richard, get your nose away from that map and look at the paintings.”

He turned, a sheepish smile on his face. “I can never resist a map. It's an excellent exhibit.”

“You must have worked like dogs.” Vincente gave Carter a hearty slap on the back.

“I expected to be called on to scrub floors at any moment. Miranda had us jumping through hoops.” Carter smiled sheepishly again. “The restoration on the Bronzino was only finished yesterday. I heard everyone in the department shuddered when they saw her coming. Every department head's been chugging Maalox for the past two weeks. Doesn't seem to bother Miranda. Woman's got nerves of steel.”

“She's done a brilliant job.” Elise glanced around again. “Where is she?”

“She had an appointment,” Elizabeth said.

“I'll catch up with her later. I hope she'll put us to work.”

“She knows you're available.”

“Good. I, um, I thought I'd see if Andrew's free for a few moments.” She sent Elizabeth an apologetic and wistful smile. “I'd like to see how he's doing. If you don't need me just now.”

“No, go ahead.” She glanced over with mild amusement as Gina Morelli exclaimed and cooed over the display of jewelry. “Richard, I know you've been chafing to visit the library.”

“I'm predictable.”

“Enjoy yourself.”

“We'll know where to find him,” Vincente said. “He'll be buried in books. Me, I'll wait for Gina to study and covet every bauble—then she'll drag me shopping.” He shook his head. “She too is predictable.”

“Two hours,” Elizabeth announced, in the tone of the director. “Then we'll meet back here and do what needs to be done.”

 

Elise hesitated outside the door of Andrew's office. His assistant was away from her desk, and she was grateful. Ms. Purdue was devoted to Andrew and wouldn't approve of an ex-wife's unscheduled visit. She heard his voice through the open door. It was a strong voice and brought her an odd nostalgia.

She'd always liked his voice. The clear tone of it, the upper-crust accent, faintly Kennedyesque, she thought. She supposed, in her way, she'd seen him as a kind of scion of that type of high-powered, successful New England family.

There had been such potential in their marriage, she thought. She'd had such hopes. But in the end, there'd been nothing to do but divorce and move on. From what she knew, she had moved on with considerably more success than Andrew.

Though she was aware of the regret in her eyes, she fixed on a bright smile and rapped lightly on the jamb.

“We're expecting five hundred guests,” he said into the phone, then glanced up and froze.

It all flooded back in individual drops of memory. The first time he'd seen her when she took over the job as assistant lab manager at his father's recommendation. In a lab coat and goggles. The way she'd pushed the goggles up to rest on her head when Miranda introduced them.

The way she'd laughed and told him it was about time, when he finally worked up the nerve to ask her out.

The first time they'd made love. And the last.

The way she'd looked on their wedding day, radiant, delicate. The way she'd looked when she told him it was over, so cold and distant. And all the moods in between that had slipped from hope and happiness to dissatisfaction, disappointment, then lack of interest.

The voice on the phone was a buzzing in his ears. His hand fisted under the desk. He wished to God there was a drink in it.

“I'll need to get back to you on the rest, but all the details are in the press release. I'm sure we can arrange for a short interview tomorrow night during the event. . . . You're welcome.”

“I'm sorry, Drew,” she began when he hung up. “Ms. Purdue isn't at her desk, so I thought I'd take the chance.”

“It's all right.” The foolish words scraped at his throat. “Just another reporter.”

“The event is generating a lot of positive press.”

“We need it.”

“It's been a difficult couple of months.” He didn't rise as she thought he would, so she stepped into the room and faced him with his desk between them. “I thought it would be best, easier for both of us, if we had a few minutes. I wouldn't have come, but Elizabeth insisted. And I have to admit, I would have hated to miss all of this.”

He couldn't take his eyes off her, no matter how it burned his heart. “We wanted all the key staff members here.”

“You're still so angry with me.”

“I don't know what I am.”

“You look tired.”

“Putting this thing together hasn't left a lot of time for R and R.”

“I know this is awkward.” She reached out a hand, then drew it back again, as if realizing it wouldn't be welcomed. “The last time we saw each other was—”

“In a lawyer's office,” he finished.

“Yes.” Her gaze dropped. “I wish it could have been handled differently. We were both so hurt and angry, Drew. I was hoping by now we could at least be . . .”

“Friends?” He let out a bitter laugh that didn't hurt nearly as much as the innocuous word he'd forced through it.

“No, not friends.” Those fabulous eyes of hers went soft and damp with emotion. “Just something less than enemies.”

It wasn't what she'd expected, this hard-eyed, cynical look. She'd expected regret, unhappiness, even a spurt of
anger. She'd been prepared for any and all of that. But not for this tough shield that bounced all her efforts back at her.

He'd loved her. She knew he'd loved her, and had held on to that even as she signed her name on the divorce papers.

“We don't have to be enemies, Elise. We don't have to be anything anymore.”

“All right, this was a mistake.” She blinked, once, twice, and the tears were gone. “I didn't want any difficulties to spoil tomorrow's success. If you were upset and started drinking—”

“I've quit drinking.”

“Really.” Her voice was cool again, and the grim amusement in it sliced bloodlessly. It was a talent of hers he'd forgotten. “Where have I heard that before?”

“The difference is it has nothing to do with you now, and everything to do with me. I emptied plenty of bottles over you, Elise, and I'm done with it. Maybe that disappoints you. Maybe you're insulted that I'm not crawling, not devastated to see you standing there. You're not the center of my life anymore.”

“I never was.” Her control cracked enough to let the words snap through. “If I had been, you'd still have me.”

She spun around and rushed out. By the time she got to the elevator, tears were stinging her eyes. She punched the button with her fist.

He waited until the rapid click of her heels had echoed away before lowering his head to the desk. His stomach was in ragged knots and screaming for a drink, just one drink to smooth it all away.

She was so beautiful. How could he have forgotten how beautiful she was? She'd belonged to him once and he'd failed to hold her, to hold their marriage, to be the man she needed.

He'd lost her because he hadn't known how to give enough, to love enough, to be enough.

He had to get out. Get air. He needed to walk, to run, to get the scent of her perfume out of his system. He used the stairs, avoiding the wing with all the bustle of work, slipped
through the thin, early-evening visitors in the public areas and walked straight out.