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Florence.” She turned back to her daughter, her face set, her tired eyes chilly and direct. “Your security clearance will be voided.”
    “I see. A quick execution without a trial. I shouldn’t be surprised,” she said half to herself. “Why am I?”
    “This isn’t the time to indulge in drama.”
    Because her nerves were raw, Elizabeth indulged herself and moved to a cabinet for the brandy. There was a dull drumming at the base of her skull that caused her more irritation than pain.
    “It’s going to take quite a bit of work to put Standjo back on an even keel after this. And there will be questions, a lot of questions.” With her back to Miranda, Elizabeth splashed two inches of brandy into a snifter. “It would be better for you if you aren’t in the country when they’re asked.”
    “I’m not afraid of questions.” The panic was creeping in now, sneaking slyly up her spine. She was to be sent away, The Dark Lady taken from her. Her work questioned, her integrity shadowed. “I didn’t do anything illegal or unethical. And I’ll stand by my authentication of the bronze. Because it’s right. Because it’s real.”
    “For your sake, I hope so. The press has your name, Miranda.” Elizabeth lifted her brandy in an unconscious toast. “Believe me, they’ll use it.”
    “Let them.”
    “Arrogance.” Elizabeth hissed out a breath. “Obviously you haven’t taken account that your actions will reflect on me, personally and professionally.”
    “You thought of it,” Miranda shot back, “when you brought me here to verify and corroborate your own suspicions. You may head Standjo, but you don’t have the qualifications for this kind of work. You wanted the glory.” Miranda’s heart hammered painfully in her throat as she stepped closer. “You sent for me because I share part of your name, and your blood, however much we both regret that.”
    Elizabeth’s eyes narrowed. The accusation wasn’t inaccurate, but neither was it complete. “I gave you the opportunity of a lifetime, because of your qualifications, and yes, because you’re a Jones. You’ve damaged that opportunity, and my organization in the process.”
    “I’ve done nothing but what I was brought here to do. I’ve spoken to no one outside the organization, and to no one in the organization who didn’t meet with your clearance specifications.”
    Elizabeth drew a calming breath. Her decision had already been made, she reminded herself. There was no point in discussing it further. “You will leave Italy today. You will not return to the lab, or contact anyone who works there. If you don’t agree, I’ll be forced to terminate your position at the museum.”
    “You don’t run the Institute anymore, and neither does Father. Andrew and I do.”
    “If you want that situation to continue, you’ll do what I say. Whether you believe it or not, I’m trying to save you embarrassment.”
    “Don’t do me any favors, Mother. We wouldn’t want to spoil your record.” Banished, was all she could think. Cut off from the most exciting work of her life, and sent away as powerlessly as a child ordered to her room.
    “I’ve given you your choice, Miranda. If you stay, you’ll do so alone. And you will no longer be welcome at any Standjo facility, including the New England Institute of Art History.”
    Miranda could feel herself begin to shake, from both fear and rage. Even as she heard the inner screams of that fear and rage echo in her head, she spoke quietly. “I’ll never forgive you for this. Not ever. But I’ll go, because the Institute’s important to me. And because, when this is over, you’ll have to apologize, and I’ll tell you to go to hell. Those will be the last words I ever speak to you.”

    She took the snifter out of her mother’s hand. “Salute,” she said, and tossed back the brandy defiantly. Setting the snifter down with a crack of glass against wood, she turned and walked out. She didn’t look back.

four
    A ndrew Jones was thinking of marriage and failure as he sipped Jack Daniel’s Black, straight up, from a short glass. He was well aware that everyone who knew him thought it was long past time for him to turn the page on his divorce and move on.
    But he didn’t feel like moving on. Not when it was so comforting to wallow.
    Marriage had been an enormous step for him, and one he’d considered carefully even though he’d been wildly in love. Making that commitment, turning an emotion into a