Homeport

God.”
    “He did it once, and did it well enough to pull it off. Why not do it again? Don’t look so devastated, darling. I’m going to help you.”
    “Help me.” She pressed her fingers to her gritty eyes. “Why?”
    “Because I want that bronze. After all, I guaranteed it to my client.”
    She dropped her hands. “You’re going to help me get it back so you can steal it again?”
    “I’ve got a vested interest. Finish your breakfast. We’ve got work to do.” He picked up his coffee and grinned at her. “Partner.”
     
    Partner. The word made her shudder. Perhaps she was too tired to think clearly, but at the moment she couldn’t see her way to recovering her property without him.
    He’d used her, she remembered as she unlocked the front door of her house. Now, she would use him. Then she would see that he spent the next twenty years of his life taking group showers in a federal installation.
    “You expecting anyone today? Housekeeper, cable guy, appliance repairman?”
    “No. The cleaning company comes on Tuesdays and Fridays.”
    “Cleaning company.” He took off his jacket. “You won’t get homey casseroles and sage advice from cleaning companies. You need a housekeeper named Mabel who wears a white bib apron and sensible shoes.”
    “The cleaning company is efficient, and unobtrusive.”
    “Too bad. Andrew’s left for work by now.” He noted by his watch it was eight-fifteen. “What time does your assistant get in?”
    “Lori gets in by nine, usually a bit before.”
    “You’ll need to call her—got her home number?”

    “Yes, but—”
    “Give her a call, tell her you’re not going to make it in today.”
    “Of course I’m going in. I have meetings.”
    “She’ll cancel them.” He moved into the parlor and made himself at home by stacking kindling for a fire. “Tell her to get copies of personnel records for the lab, going back three years. It’s the best place to start. Have her shoot them to your computer here.”
    He lighted the starter and within seconds the kindling was crackling. She said nothing as he chose two logs from the woodbox, and placed them on the flaming kindling with the efficiency of an Eagle Scout.
    When he rose, turned, her smile was as sharp and unfriendly as an unsheathed blade. “Is there anything else I can do?”
    “Honey, you’re going to have to take orders a bit more cheerfully. Somebody’s got to be in charge, you know.”
    “And you’re in charge.”
    “That’s right.” He crossed over to her, took her by the shoulders. “I know a lot more about larceny than you do.”
    “Most people wouldn’t consider that an attribute for leadership.”
    “Most people aren’t trying to catch a thief.” His gaze roamed down, lingered on her mouth.
    “Don’t even think about it.”
    “I never censor my thoughts. It gives you ulcers. We could enjoy this . . . association a lot more if you were a little friendlier.”
    “Friendlier?”
    “More flexible.” He drew her closer. “In certain areas.”
    She let her body bump lightly against his, allowed her lashes to flutter. “Such as?”
    “Well, for starters . . .” He lowered his head, drew in her scent, anticipated that first taste. And his breath whooshed out in a pained rush as her fist plowed into his stomach.
    “I told you to keep your hands off of me.”
    “So you did.” With a slow nod, he rubbed his gut. Another few inches to the south, he thought, and her fist would have unmanned him. “You’ve got a good, solid punch, Dr. Jones.”
    “Be grateful I pulled it, Boldari.” Though she hadn’t, not by an inch. “Or you’d be on your hands and knees whistling for air. I take it we understand each other on this point.”
    “Perfectly. Make the call, Miranda. And let’s get to work.”
    She did what he asked because it made sense. The only way to proceed was to begin, and to begin you needed a starting point.
    By nine-thirty, she was in her home office, calling up data on her desktop.
    The room was as efficient as her office at the Institute, if slightly cozier. Ryan had lighted a fire there as well, though she didn’t consider it cold enough to indulge in one. Flames crackled cheerfully in the stone hearth; the late-winter sun beamed through the curtains he’d swept back.
    They sat hip to hip at her desk, scanning names.
    “Looks like you had an unusually large turnover about eighteen months ago,” he pointed out.
    “Yes. My mother revamped her lab in