Gift of Fire

ropes tied in intricate knots, and a variety of sailing apparatus strewn about in what Verity assumed was an artistic fashion. The menu featured fish cooked in every conceivable style. Fortunately there were also a few meatless pasta selections.
    “Cute place, isn’t it?” Verity spoke determinedly.
    “Nobody else in the whole damn place is wearing a tie.”
    “So the locals don’t dress for dinner. That’s their problem. You look terrific.” Which was the truth, Verity thought with a sudden pang. But then, Jonas always looked good to her—strong, lean, and hard, with that unconscious masculine grace that always fascinated her. His midnight-dark hair was still damp from the light mist that had been falling outside, and his eyes glinted softly in the dim restaurant light.
    Jonas gave her an oddly speculative look. “You know something, you look pretty good yourself.” He leaned forward and caught her hand
     
    “
My mistress glows by candlelight.
    She leaves me breathless;
I
am undone.
    Her hair like fire, her eyes like gems,
    Then she smiles at me; She is my sun.
”
     
    “Another four-hundred-year-old, loosely translated Renaissance love poem that you just made up on the spot?” Verity said lightly. But in truth, she was warmed to her soul.
    “What can I say? You inspire me,” he explained modestly.
    Her love for him tugged at her heart, and she almost let herself get sidetracked. But this restaurant wasn’t the place to tell him about the baby. She wanted privacy for that. She had no way of knowing how Jonas would react.
    “First, let’s talk about the case,” Verity said briskly. She pulled her hand out from under his and picked up her salad fork.
    Jonas studied her through narrowed eyes for a few seconds. Then he shrugged and picked up his own fork. He began poking through the salad to find the mushrooms. “Okay. First we’ll talk about the case. Then what are we going to talk about?”
    “Us.”
    His head came up abruptly, his eyes very golden in the shadows. “Us?” he repeated softly.
    “Later,” Verity said. She felt more nervous than she had anticipated.
    “Verity…”
    “Please,” she begged softly.
    Jonas started to argue, but something about her expression stopped him. “All right,” he finally agreed. “Later.”
    Verity smiled gratefully. “Tell me, in your professional opinion, what exactly do you think is going on out there on that island?”
    “My professional opinion is that the whole situation sucks.”
    “You academic types have such a way with words.”
    “It’s a professional requirement. It’s been a few years, but when called upon I can, as I’ve explained, still bullshit with the best of them. Have you noticed?”
    “I’ve noticed,” she said dryly. “You know something? You can sound awfully impressive when you try. When you gave that little dissertation at breakfast on the differences between Milanese and Florentine construction techniques, everyone was fascinated. Architecture wasn’t even your specialty when you taught Renaissance history. How come you know so much about it?”
    “Goes with the territory,” he explained. “When you’re studying the various Renaissance war machines designed to knock down walls and buildings, you find yourself learning a little something about how the walls and buildings were constructed in the first place. And don’t get any ideas about nagging me to write an article about Hazelhurst’s Horror for some obscure little history journal. The report I’m doing for Doug is all I’m interested in turning out.”
    “Now, Jonas, if you’re going to establish a career as a historical consultant you’ll need to have your name appear in print occasionally. It’s good advertising. Speaking of Hazelhurst’s Horror, let’s get back to the case.”
    “I love the way you call it ‘the case.’ Makes us sound like a couple of amateur detectives.”
    “Well, maybe that’s what we are. We’ve already found one body, haven’t we? Poor Hazelhurst. What do you think happened to him?”
    “My professional opinion is that he got a stiletto in the back,” Jonas said, munching his salad.
    “Not an uncommon fate during the Renaissance,” Verity pointed out. “Jonas, that ruby ring on the hand that stabbed Hazelhurst appeared in the first vision. I know I saw it, either in the chest or on the man’s hand.”
    “Maybe.”
    “There’s no maybe about it. I saw it.”
    “There is no way the guy in the vision came