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absurdity of the statement had stemmed the tide of tears. “All right, Mr. Boldari. Business. You say the bronze is a fake. I say it’s not. You say I won’t report this to the police. I say I will. What are you going to do about it?”
    He studied her a moment. In his line of work—both of them—he had to be a quick and accurate judge of people. It was easy to see that she would stand by her testing, and that she’d call the police. The second part didn’t worry him overmuch, but it would cause some inconvenience.
    “Okay, get dressed.”
    “Why?”
    “We’ll go to the lab—you can test it again, in front of me, satisfy the first level of business.”
    “It’s two in the morning.”
    “So we won’t be interrupted. Unless you want to go in your pajamas, get some clothes on.”
    “I can’t test what I don’t have.”
    “I have it.” He gestured toward the leather bag he’d set just inside the door. “I brought it with me, with the idea of ramming it down your throat. But reason prevailed. Dress warm,” he suggested, and sat comfortably in her armchair. “The temperature’s dropped.”
    “I’m not taking you into the Institute.”
    “You’re a logical woman. Be logical. I have the bronze and your reputation in my hands. You want a chance of getting the first back and salvaging the second. I’m giving it to you.” He waited a moment to let that sink in. “I’ll give you the time to test it, but I’m going to be right there, breathing down your neck when you do. That’s the deal, Dr. Jones. Be smart. Take the deal.”
    She needed to know, didn’t she? To be sure. And once she was sure, she would toss him to the police before he could blink those pretty eyes of his.
    She could handle him, she decided. The fact was, her pride demanded she take the opportunity to do just that. “I’m not going to change clothes in front of you.”
    “Dr. Jones, if I had sex on my mind, we’d have dealt with that when we were on the floor. Business,” he said again. “And you’re not getting out of my sight until we’ve concluded it.”
    “I really hate you.” She said it with such loathing he saw no cause to doubt her word. But he smiled to himself as she shut herself into the closet and hangers began to rattle.
     
    She was a scientist, an educated woman with unimpeachable breeding and an unblemished reputation. She had had papers published in a dozen important science and art journals. Newsweek had done an article on her. She’d lectured at Harvard and had spent three months as a guest professor at Oxford.
    It wasn’t possible that she was driving through the chilly Maine night with a thief, intending to break into her own lab and conduct clandestine tests on a stolen bronze.
    She hit the brakes and swung her car to the shoulder of the road. “I can’t do this. It’s ridiculous, not to mention illegal. I’m calling the police.”
    “Fine.” Ryan merely shrugged as she reached for her car phone. “You do that, sweetheart. And you explain to them what you’re doing with a worthless hunk of metal you tried to pass off as a work of art. Then you can explain to the insurance company—you’ve already made a claim, haven’t you?—how it happens you expected them to pay you five hundred grand for a fake. One you authenticated, personally.”
    “It’s not a fake,” she said between her teeth, but she didn’t punch in 911.
    “Prove it.” His grin flashed in the dark. “To me, Dr. Jones, and to yourself. If you do . . . we’ll negotiate.”
    “Negotiate, my ass. You’re going to jail,” she told him, and shifted in her seat so they were face-to-face. “I’m going to see to it.”
    “First things first.” Amused, he reached out and gave her chin a friendly pinch. “Call your security. Tell them you and your brother are coming in to do some work in the lab.”
    “I’m not involving Andrew.”
    “Andrew’s already involved. Just make the call. Use whatever excuse you like. You couldn’t sleep, so you decided to get some work done while it’s quiet. Go on, Miranda. You want to know the truth, don’t you?”
    “I know the truth. You wouldn’t know it if it jumped up and bit you.”
    “You lose a little of that high-society cool when you’re pissed off.” He leaned forward, kissed her lightly before she could shove him back. “I like it.”

    “Keep your hands off me.”
    “That wasn’t my hands.” He took her shoulders, caressed. “Those were my hands. Make