Homeport

that.”
    “I didn’t think she would.” He nipped the pins out of her hand before she could bundle her hair back up, and carelessly tossed them over his shoulder.
    “Damn it, Ryan—”
    “Don’t interrupt. We need you back inside the Institute. We need whoever’s behind the forgeries to know you’re back on the job. Then once we’ve got everything in place, we need everyone who was connected to the two bronzes here, together, in one spot.”
    “You may very well be able to manage the first. A display such as the one you’re describing would be very prestigious.”
    She would have gotten up to retrieve the pins, but he was playing with her hair again, watching her face as he gathered it, twined it. “Um. My mother appreciates the power of prestige. Obviously the second part would be a given after that. But I don’t know how you expect to manage the last of it.”
    “I’ll tell you.” He grinned and leaned over to flick a finger down her cheek. “We’re going to throw a hell of a party.”
    “A party? The fund-raiser?”
    “That’s right.” He rose and began poking around on her shelves, in her drawers. “And we’re going to have it in Giovanni’s name, a kind of memorial.”
    “Giovanni.” It turned her blood cold. “You’d use him for this? He’s dead.”
    “You can’t change that, Miranda. But we’ll arrange it so that whoever killed him comes. And we’ll be one step closer to the bronzes.”
    “I don’t understand you.”
    “I’m working out the details. Don’t you have a sketch pad?”
    “Yes, of course.” Wavering between irritation and confusion, she rose and took one from a filing cabinet.
    “I should have known. Well, bring it along, get yourself a couple of pencils.”
    “Bring it along where?”
    “To the back porch. You can sit and sketch your garden while I make some phone calls.”
    “You expect me to sketch a garden while all this is going on?”
    “It’ll relax you.” He chose some pencils from her desk, tucked them in his shirt pocket, picked up her glasses, tucked them in hers. “And you’ll plant a better one if you know what you want to look at.” He grabbed her hand and pulled her out of the room.
    “When did you come up with all this?”
    “Last night. Couldn’t sleep. We’re spinning wheels, when we need action. We’ve been letting someone else run the show, and we’ve got to start pushing the buttons.”
    “That’s all very interesting and metaphorical, Ryan, but holding a fund-raiser in Giovanni’s name won’t guarantee his killer will show. And it certainly doesn’t put the bronzes in our hands.”
    “One step at a time, baby. You going to be warm enough?”
    “Don’t fuss. Sitting outside and sketching isn’t going to relax me. If we’re going to pull off this display, I should be working on that.”
    “You’ll be putting your nose to the grindstone soon enough.”
    Resigned, she stepped out on the porch. April had decided to make its entrance gently, bowing in balmy breezes and sunny skies. It could change, she knew, in a surprising instant to wet spring snow and high winds. It was part of the appeal, she supposed, the caprices of coastal weather.
    “Just sit.” He gave her a brotherly kiss on the brow. “I’ll handle this part.”
    “Well then, I just won’t worry my pretty little head.”
    He laughed and took out his cell phone. “The only thing little about you, Dr. Jones, is your tolerance level. But somehow I find that alluring. What’s your mother’s number?”
    She adjusted her thoughts, accepted that he was innately skilled at arousing and annoying—often simultaneously. “That’s her home number,” she told him after she’d recited it. “With the time difference, that’s most likely where you’ll find her.”
    As he punched it in, she looked out over the lawn. He would charm Elizabeth, Miranda decided. His talent with women was inarguable, and something it didn’t suit her to consider too deeply. He would know just how to appeal to Elizabeth, as he’d known just how to appeal to her daughter. With enough time, she doubted there was a woman on the planet he couldn’t convince to eat the menu selection of his choice right out of his talented hands.
    She sighed, hearing the way his voice flowed over her mother’s name as the connection was made. Then she blocked it out.
    The shattering blue of the sky, the glimpses of sea and rock that sparkled under the sun only made her lawn look shabbier. She