Homeport

would be fun, but it’s not my first priority. A view like this makes up for a long plane flight, doesn’t it?”
    “The view isn’t my first priority.”
    “It’s here, might as well appreciate it. There’s a young couple who lives in that flat, there.” He steered her over a bit and pointed to a top-floor window on a soft yellow building just to the left. “They’d work on the rooftop garden on Saturday mornings together. And one night they came out and made love there.”
    “You watched them?”
    “Only until the intent was unmistakable. I’m not a pervert.”
    “The jury’s still out on that one. You’ve been here before, then.”
    “Kevin O’Connell stayed here for a few days last year. Which is why we’re using him again. In a well-run hotel like this, the staff tends to remember guests—more so if they tip well, and Kevin’s a generous soul.”
    “Why were you here as Kevin O’Connell?”
    “A little matter of a reliquary with a bone fragment of Giovanni Battista.”
    “You stole a relic? A relic ? John the Baptist’s bone?”
    “A fragment thereof. Hell, pieces of him are scattered all over Italy—especially here, where he’s patron saint.” He couldn’t help himself, he got a huge kick out of her staggered shock. “Very popular guy, old Johnny. Nobody’s going to miss a splinter or two of bone.”
    “I don’t have words,” Miranda murmured.
    “My client had cancer—convinced himself that the relic would cure him. Of course, he’s dead, but he lived nine months longer than the doctors gave him. So who’s to say? Let’s get unpacked.” He patted her arm. “I want a shower, then we’ll get to work.”
    “Work?”

    “I’ve got some shopping to do.”
    “I’m not spending the day looking for Ferragamos for your sister.”
    “That won’t take long, and I’ll need trinkets for the rest of the family.”
    “Look, Boldari, I think we have a higher priority than gathering souvenirs for your family.”
    He infuriated her by leaning over and kissing the tip of her nose. “Don’t worry, darling. I’ll buy you something too. Wear comfortable shoes,” he advised her, and strolled back inside to shower.
     
    He bought a fluid gold bracelet set with emerald cabochons in a shop on the Ponte Vecchio—his mother’s birthday was coming up—and had it sent back to the hotel. Obviously enjoying the press of tourists and bargain hunters who swarmed the bridge over the placid Arno, he added gold chains in shimmering Italian gold, marcasite earrings, and Florentine-style brooches. For his sisters, he told Miranda as she waited impatiently and refused to be charmed by the tumbling glitter in display windows.
    “Stand here long enough,” he commented, “you can hear every language in the world.”
    “Have we stood here long enough?”
    He slipped an arm around her shoulders, shaking his head as she stiffened. “Don’t you ever let yourself fall into the moment, Dr. Jones? It’s Florence, we’re standing on the oldest of the city’s bridges. The sun’s shining. Take a breath,” he suggested, “and drink it in.”
    She nearly did, nearly leaned into him and did just that. “We didn’t come here for the atmosphere,” she said, in what she hoped was a tone cool enough to dampen his enthusiasm and her own uncharacteristic urges.
    “The atmosphere’s still here. And so are we.” Undaunted, he took her hand and pulled her along the bridge.
    The little shops and stands appeared to delight him, Miranda noted, watching him bargain for leather bags and trinket boxes near the Piazza della Repubblica.
    She ignored his suggestion that she treat herself to something, and giving her attention to the architecture, waited for him in simmering silence.
    “Now, this is Robbie.” He took a tot-sized black leather jacket with silver trim from a rack.
    “Robbie?”
    “My nephew. He’s three. He’d get a big kick out of this.”
    It was beautifully made, undoubtedly expensive, and adorable enough to have her pressing her lips together to keep them from curving. “It’s completely impractical for a three-year-old.”
    “It was made for a three-year-old,” he corrected. “That’s why it’s little. Quanto? ” he asked the hovering merchant, and the game was on.
    When he’d finished the round, he headed west. But if he’d hoped to tempt her with the flawless fashions of the Via dei Tornabuoni, he underestimated her willpower.
    He bought three pairs of shoes in