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stopped, kept a hand on his arm. “Someone broke into the lab in Florence. Giovanni was there, alone. He was murdered.”
    “What? Giovanni? Oh my God.” He turned, walked to the edge of the water, stood there with the surf soaking his shoes. “Giovanni’s dead? Murdered? What the hell is going on?”
    She couldn’t risk telling him. His strength of will, his emotions, his illness . . . it was too unstable a mix. “I wish I knew. She said the lab had been vandalized, equipment and records destroyed. And Giovanni . . . they think he was working late, and someone came in.”
    “A burglary?”
    “I don’t know. It doesn’t seem . . . She said she didn’t think anything of value had been taken.”
    “It makes no sense.” He whirled around, his face grim and battered. “Someone breaks into the gallery here, takes a valuable bronze and doesn’t squash a fly on his way in or out. Now someone breaks into the lab at Standjo, kills Giovanni, wrecks the place and takes nothing?”
    “I don’t understand it either.” That, at least, was partially true.

    “What’s the connection?” he muttered, and had her gaping at him.
    “Connection?”
    “There are no coincidences.” Jingling the change in his pocket, he began to walk up and down the beach. “Two break-ins, within a couple of weeks, at different divisions of the same organization. One lucrative and quiet, the other violent and without apparent reason. There’s always a reason. Giovanni worked at both locations at some time.” Behind the dark lenses, his eyes narrowed. “He did some of the work on the David, didn’t he?”
    “Ah . . . yes, yes, he did.”
    “The David ’s stolen, the documents are missing, and now Giovanni’s dead. What’s the connection?” He didn’t expect an answer, and she was spared from fumbling for a lie.
    “I’m going to pass this on to Cook, for whatever good it does. Maybe I should go to Florence.”
    “Andrew.” Her voice wanted to quake. She wouldn’t risk him, wouldn’t let him go anywhere near Florence. Or the person who had killed Giovanni. “That’s not a good idea right now. You need to stay close to home, rebuild your routine and stability. Let the police do their jobs.”
    “It’s probably better to try to figure it out from here, anyway,” he decided. “I’m going up to call Cook, give him something to chew on besides his Easter ham.”
    “I’ll be there in a minute.” She worked up a smile. “To start your Easter meat loaf.”
    He was distracted enough not to notice how quickly her smile slipped away into worry. But he spotted Ryan on the cliff path. Pride, ego, shame, and brotherly resistance built very quickly.
    “Boldari.”
    “Andrew.” Ryan decided to avoid an unproductive pissing match and stepped aside.
    But Andrew was already primed. “Maybe you think since she’s a grown woman and her family’s screwed up that there’s nobody to look out for her, but you’re wrong. You hurt her, you son of a bitch, and I’ll break you in two.” His eyes went to slits when Ryan grinned at him. “You hear a joke?”
    “No. It’s just that the last part of that statement is very similar to what I said to my sister Mary Jo’s husband when I caught them necking in his Chevy. I’d already dragged him out and punched him first, much to MJ’s annoyance and distress.”
    Andrew rocked on his heels. “You’re not my sister’s husband.”
    “Neither was he, at the time.” The words were out, glibly delivered before the potential meaning struck Ryan. The humor blinked out of his eyes and discomfort blinked on. “What I mean to say is—”
    “Yeah?” Enjoying himself now, Andrew nodded. “What do you mean to say?”
    A man could do a lot of thinking in the time it took to clear the throat. “I mean to say that I have a great deal of affection and respect for your sister. She’s a beautiful, interesting, and appealing woman.”
    “You’re light on your feet, Ryan.” It seemed they were back to Ryan, for the moment. “Good balance.” They both looked down to where Miranda stood on the narrow beach watching the waves rise.
    “And she’s not as sturdy as she thinks she is,” Andrew added. “She doesn’t let herself get too close to too many, because when she does, the soft center’s exposed.”
    “She matters to me. Is that what you want to hear?”
    “Yeah.” Particularly, Andrew thought, since it had been said with a great deal of heat and some reluctance.