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Florence. Several staff members transferred there, or moved from there to the Institute.”
    “I’m surprised you didn’t jump at it.”
    “At what?”
    “A move to Florence.”
    She shot the file to the printer. A hard copy would mean she didn’t have to sit next to him. “It wasn’t an option. Andrew and I run the Institute. My mother runs Standjo.”
    “I see.” And he thought he did. “Some friction between you and Mama?”
    “My family relationships are none of your concern.”
    “More than some friction, I’d say. How about your father?”
    “I beg your pardon?”
    “Are you Daddy’s little girl?”
    She laughed before she could stop herself, then rose to retrieve the printout. “I’ve never been anyone’s little girl.”
    “That’s too bad,” he said, and meant it.
    “My family isn’t the issue here.” She sat on the raspberry-colored love seat and tried to concentrate on the names that kept blurring in front of her tired eyes.
    “They could be. Yours is a family-run business. Maybe someone took a shot at your family by taking the bronze.”
    “Your Italian’s showing,” she said dryly, and made him smile.
    “The Irish are every bit as interested in revenge, darling. Tell me about the people on the list.”
    “John Carter. Lab manager. Got his doctorate from Duke. He’s worked at the Institute for sixteen years. Oriental art is his primary interest.”
    “No, get personal. Is he married? Does he pay alimony? Gamble, drink his lunch, dress in women’s clothes on Saturday night?”
    “Don’t be ridiculous.” She tried to sit up straight, then gave in and curled up her legs. “He’s married, no divorces. Two children. I think the oldest just started college.”
    “Takes a lot of money to raise kids, send them to college.” He scanned across, noted the annual salary. “He makes a decent living, but decent doesn’t satisfy everyone.”
    “His wife’s a lawyer, and likely makes more than he does. Money isn’t a problem for them.”
    “Money’s always a problem. What kind of car does he drive?”
    “I don’t have any idea.”
    “How does he dress?”
    She started to sigh, but thought she saw what he was getting at. “Old jackets and silly ties,” she began, closing her eyes to try to bring her lab manager into focus. “No flash—though his wife bought him a Rolex for their twentieth anniversary.” She stifled a yawn and snuggled down a little farther into the cushions. “He wears the same shoes every day. Hush Puppies. When they’re ready to fall off his feet, he buys another pair.”
    “Take a nap, Miranda.”

    “I’m all right. Who’s next?” She forced her eyes open. “Oh, Elise. My brother’s ex-wife.”
    “Ugly divorce?”
    “I don’t imagine they’re ever pretty, but she was very gentle with him. She was John’s assistant here, then transferred to Florence. She’s lab manager for my mother. She and Andrew met at the Institute—in fact, I introduced them. He fell like a tree. They were married six months later.” She yawned again, and didn’t bother to stifle it.
    “How long did it last?”
    “A couple of years. They seemed very happy for most of it, then it just started to fall apart.”
    “What did she want? Snazzy clothes, European vacations, a big, fancy house?”
    “She wanted his attention,” Miranda mumbled, and pillowed her head on her hands. “She wanted him to stay sober and focused on their marriage. It’s the Jones curse. We just can’t do it. We’re relationship-jinxed. I have to rest my eyes a minute.”
    “Sure, go ahead.”
    He went back to studying the list. Right now they were just names on a page to him. He intended for them to be a great deal more. Before it was done, he would know the intimate details. Bank balances. Vices. Habits.
    And to that list he added three names: Andrew Jones, Charles Jones, and Elizabeth Standford-Jones.
    He rose, then bent down to slip her glasses off, lay them on the table beside her. She didn’t look like an innocent young girl in sleep, he decided. But like an exhausted woman.
    Moving quietly, he took the chenille throw from the back of the love seat and tossed it over her. He’d let her sleep an hour or two, recharge her mind and her body.
    Somewhere inside her were the answers, he was sure of it. She was the link.
    While she slept he made a call to New York. There was no point in having a brother who was a genius with computers if you didn’t use him once in a