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while she’d been smugly congratulating herself on playing her part to perfection.
    “Not always. A visual study isn’t, can’t be conclusive if the fake is well executed. It takes laboratory tests.”
    “Like the ones you run here, the ones you were doing in Florence last month.”
    “Yes, exactly like those.” The sweat that ran in a thin trail down her back was ice cold. “If you have an interest, I can arrange a demonstration. But not at the moment,” she said with a glance at her watch. “I really—” She broke off, swamped by a war of relief and nerves when Ryan came through the door.
    “Miranda. How nice to see you again. Your assistant said I might find you here.” Butter smooth, he took her hand, brought it to his lips. “I’m sorry, I’m a bit late. Traffic.”
    “That’s all right.” She heard the words but couldn’t feel her own mouth move. “I’ve been tied up for a while. Detective Cook—”
    “Oh yes, we met, didn’t we?” Ryan offered a hand. “The morning after the burglary here. Has there been any progress?”
    “We’re working on it.”
    “I’m sure you are. I don’t mean to interrupt. Shall I wait for you in your office, Miranda?”
    “Yes. No. Are we finished for now, Detective?”

    “Yes, ma’am. I’m glad to hear you’re not put off by the theft here, Mr. Boldari. Not everyone would loan a gallery all that art after its security was breached.”
    “I have every confidence in Dr. Jones, and the Institute. I’m sure my property will be well protected.”
    “Still, it wouldn’t hurt to add on a few men.”
    “It’s being done,” Miranda told Cook.
    “I could give you the names of a couple of good cops who moonlight in private security.”
    “That’s very kind of you. You could give the names to my assistant.”
    “No problem, Dr. Jones. Mr. Boldari.” There was something between those two, Cook thought as he headed out the door. Maybe it was just sex. And maybe it was something else.
    And there was something, a definite something, about Boldari. Maybe everything about him checked out neat as pins in a cushion, but there was something.
    “Ryan—”
    He cut Miranda off with an almost undetectable shake of the head. “I’m sorry you haven’t recovered your property.”
    “We, ah, haven’t given up on it. I’ve arranged for lunch in our VIP lounge. I thought that would give us time to go over some of the plans for the exhibit.”
    “Perfect.” He offered her his arm. “I’m anxious to hear your plans in more detail.” He walked her down the hall, up the stairs, keeping up inane chatter until they were safely alone in the small, elegant lounge. “Had he been grilling you for long?”
    “It seemed like all my life. He talked about forgeries, wanted to know if I could detect one by just looking.”
    “Really.” The table was already set for three, with appetizers of crackers and black olive pâté on hand. He spread one. “He’s a sharp cop, though the Columbo routine wears a little thin.”
    “Columbo?”
    “Lieutenant Columbo.” Ryan bit into the cracker. “Peter Falk, cheap cigar, rumpled trench coat.” When she only looked blank, he shook his head. “Your education in popular culture is sadly lacking. Doesn’t matter.” He waved it away. “He may actually be some help in all this before it’s over.”
    “Ryan, if he makes the connection, if he pursues that angle, it could lead him to you. You’ve got the forgeries.”
    “It won’t lead him to me, or to you. And in a month, give or take a few days, I won’t have the forgeries. I’ll have the originals. And we’ll both polish the smear off our reputations.”
    She pressed her fingers to her eyes and tried to bring back that momentary sense of satisfaction she’d experienced. It just wasn’t there. “I don’t see how this is going to work.”
    “You have to trust me, Dr. Jones. This is my particular field of expertise.” He gestured toward the place settings. “Who’s joining us?”
    “Andrew.”
    “You can’t tell him, Miranda.”
    “I know.” She linked her hands together and came perilously close to wringing them. “He’s trying to get his life back. I’m not going to add to his stress by telling him I’m involved in planning a robbery.”
    “If things go according to plan, it’ll be a burglary, and,” he added, taking her hands to soothe her nerves, “all we’re doing is taking back what was stolen. So why don’t we say you’re involved in