Homeport

museum was on a disk in his files. As were dozens of others. If his source was to be trusted, Ryan would find what he wanted beyond the door, in one of the jumbled storerooms on this level.
    He kept one eye on the security camera, biding his time until a group of art lovers shuffled in front of him.
    Before they’d gone by, he was through the door and closing it softly behind him.
    He took one long breath of appreciation, tugged on the gloves he’d tucked in his pocket, then flexed his fingers. He couldn’t take much time.
    It was a rabbit warren of little rooms crowded with statues and paintings, most of which were in desperate need of restoration. Generally, he knew, those who made their living through or around art weren’t the most organized of souls.
    Several pieces caught his eye, including a sad-eyed Madonna with a broken shoulder. But he was looking for another type of lady altogether—
    The sound of tuneless whistling and clicking footsteps sent him searching quickly for cover.

    • • •
    She waited the ten minutes, then fifteen. By twenty she was wringing her hands on the bench where she sat in the courtyard and imagining what it would be like to spend some time in an Italian prison.
    Maybe the food would be good.
    At least they didn’t kill thieves these days, and hang their corpses from the Bargello’s windows as a testament to rough justice.
    Once again she checked her watch, rubbed her fingers over her mouth. He’d been caught, she was sure of it. Right now he was being interrogated inside some hot little room, and he’d give up her name without a qualm. The coward.
    Then she saw him, strolling across the courtyard like a man without a care in the world and no shadow of larceny in his heart. Her relief was so great that she sprang up, threw her arms around him.
    “Where have you been? I thought you’d been—”
    He kissed her as much to stop her babbling as to take advantage of the situation. “Let’s go get a drink. We’ll talk about it,” he said against her mouth.
    “How could you just leave me out here like this? You said ten minutes—it’s been nearly half an hour.”
    “It took me a little longer.” They were still mouth to mouth, and he grinned at her. “Miss me?”
    “No. I was wondering what was on the menu in jail tonight.”
    “Have a little faith.” He clasped hands, swinging arms with her as they walked. “Some wine and cheese would be nice right now. The Piazza della Signoria isn’t as picturesque as others, but it’s close.”
    “Where did you go?” she demanded. “I fiddled around with the guard as long as I could, and when I looked around, you were gone.”
    “I wanted to see what was behind door number three. That place might have been a palace once, and a cop shop later, but the interior doors are child’s play.”
    “How could you take a chance like that, breaking into an off-limits area with a guard not three yards away?”

    “Usually that’s the best time.” He glanced in a shop window as they passed and reminded himself to carve out some more time for shopping. “I found our lady,” he said casually.
    “It’s irresponsible, foolish, and nothing more than an egocentric . . . What?”
    “I found her.” His grin flashed like the Tuscan sun. “And I don’t think she’s too happy being tucked away in the dark to gather dust. Patience,” he told her before she could question him. “I’m thirsty.”
    “You’re thirsty? How can you think about wine and cheese, for God’s sake? We should be doing something. Planning out our next step. We can’t just sit under an awning and drink Chianti.”
    “That’s just what we’re going to do—and stop looking over your shoulder as if the polizia were on our tail.”
    He pulled her toward one of those wide awnings in front of a bustling trattoria, maneuvered her through the tables to an empty one.
    “You’re out of your mind. Shopping, buying souvenirs, scouting out leather jackets for toddlers, wandering around the Bargello as if you’ve never been there before. And now—”
    She broke off, shocked, when he pushed her into a chair. His hand closed hard over hers as he leaned across the table. The smile he sent her was as tough and chilly as his voice.
    “Now, we’re just going to sit here awhile, and you’re not going to give me any trouble.”
    “I—”
    “No trouble at all.” The smile turned easy as he glanced up at the waiter. Since the cover seemed absurd at the moment,