Three Fates

and through.”
    “That’s a dream in itself. They haven’t been together for a century. Perhaps two. We united them. That means something. Eternal and secure. That’s what’s said about them in mythology. We have to see that these symbols of them are just that. Secure.”
    “They won’t be divided again.”
    “Spin, measure, cut.” She touched each, lightly, in turn. “What’s in a life and what it touches. These are more than art, Malachi, and more than the dollars anyone would pay to own them. They’re a responsibility.”
    She shifted the base, lifted Clotho, and thought of Henry W. Wyley. He’d held it the same way, had sought the others. And died in the seeking. “My blood and yours are twined in this. I wonder if they understood, even a little, what a long thread she wove for them. It wasn’t cut off at their deaths. It’s spun out to you and me, and the rest of us. Even Anita.”
    Still holding the Fate, she turned to him. “Threads spinning out. Two men from opposite arcs of life, starting a circle with this between them. The circle widens with Cleo and Jack, Rebecca and Gideon. And the threads spin on. If we take what these three images represent, if we allow ourselves to believe it, Anita’s part in it was meant to be.”
    “So we give her no responsibility for what she’s done?” he demanded. “For the blood she spilled, for nothing more than greed.”
    “No. The good and bad, the flaws and virtues are woven into the threads. The choices, the responsibilities are hers. And Fate always demands payment.” Carefully, Tia set Clotho with her sisters. “And eventually, always collects. I suppose I’m saying she may not be the only one to pay a price.”
    “You shouldn’t be sad today of all days.” He drew her into his arms, stroked his fingers through her sunny cap of hair. “We’ve done most of what we set out to do. And we’ll finish it.”
    “I’m not sad. But I am wondering what happens when we do finish it.”
    “When we do, the pattern changes again,” he said. He rubbed his cheek over the top of her head. “There’s something I should have told you before. Something I should’ve made clear.”
    She braced, shut her eyes. And the elevator doors opened.
    “Okay, break it up. We’ve got supplies.” Cleo, arms loaded with marketing bags, strode into the loft just ahead of Gideon. “Jack and Rebecca are on their way up. He’s got word on Anita.”
     
     
    “SHE ARRIVED ON schedule,” Jack relayed, “and was driven to the home of Stefan Nikos. Stefan was a friend and client of Paul Morningside, and both he and his wife are known for their art and antique collection, their charitable works. And their hospitality.”
    “It’s olive oil, isn’t it?” Rebecca plucked one of the olives from her plate and studied it. “I’ve read of him in Money magazine and Time and so on. He’s swimming in olive oil. Odd that such a homely little thing could make anyone so rich.”
    “Olive groves,” Jack agreed. “And vineyards, and the various by-products from both. He has homes on Athens, on Corfu, a pied-à-terre in Paris and a château in the Swiss Alps.” He plucked one of the olives from Rebecca’s plate, popped it into his mouth. “And security by Burdett in each location.”
    “You’ve a long reach, Jack,” Malachi commented.
    “Long enough. I spoke to Stefan last week after Tia planted the Athens seed.”
    “You might have told the rest of us,” Rebecca retorted.
    “Didn’t know if the seed would sprout. Like I said, he was a friend of Morningside. He’s not so fond of the widow. Me,” he added with a slow grin, “he likes just fine. Fine enough to do me a favor. He’s amused at the idea of stringing Anita along. He’ll keep her busy for a couple days with rumors of Lachesis and the tall, sexy brunette who’s hunting for the statue.”
    “Yeah? How am I liking Greece?”
    “You’re getting around,” Jack told Cleo. “Not much time for sight-seeing.”
    “There’s always next time.”
    “We’ll have a week at the outside,” Malachi calculated. “For the wheels to turn, to put everything else into play.” He paused, scanned the faces around him. “It has to be said, though, and may as well be said now. We could stop where we are. We have the Fates.”
    Cleo surged up from her slouch. “She hasn’t paid.”
    “Wait now, hear me out. We have what she wants. What she stole, what she’s killed for. And we hurt no one. Added to that,