Page 149 of Homeport

They wanted her to be afraid, to be terrified. And oh God, she was.

They knew she had the forgery. It could only mean someone had seen her with Giovanni, or that he had told someone. Someone who had killed him, and wished her dead.

Struggling for control, she studied the return address. Lost1. Who was Lost1? The url was the standard route all Standjo organizations used for electronic mail. She did a quick name search, but found nothing, then hit the reply button.

Who are you?

She left it at that and sent. In took only seconds for the message to flash across her screen denying her. Not a known user.

He’d been quick, she decided. But he had taken a chance sending her the post. What could be sent could surely be traced. She printed out a hard copy, saved the post to a file.

A glance at her watch told her it was nearly six. There was no one to help her now. No one was waiting for her.

She was alone.

twenty-five

“So, have you heard from Ryan?”

Miranda checked off items on the list fixed to her clipboard as she supervised the maintenance crew in the removal of selected paintings from the wall in the South Gallery.

“Yes, his office faxed the details of the transportation schedule. All items will arrive next Wednesday. I’m having a team of our security meet their security at the airport.”

Andrew studied her profile for another moment, then shrugged. They both knew that wasn’t what he’d meant. Ryan had already been gone a week.

He dug into the bag of pretzels he’d taken to eating by the pound. They made him thirsty, and when he was thirsty he drank gallons of water. Then he had to piss like a racehorse.

He’d worked it out in his mind that all the liquid was flushing toxins out of his system.

“Ms. Purdue and Clara are dealing with the caterer,” he told her. “We don’t have a final count for attendees, but they’d like the menu approved. I’d like you to take a look at it before we sign the final contract. It’s really your show.”

“It’s our show,” Miranda corrected, still checking off her list. She wanted both the paintings and the frames cleaned before the opening, and had sent a memo to restoration giving them priority.

“It better be a good one. Closing off this gallery has a lot of the visitors grumbling.”

“If they come back in a couple of weeks, they’ll get more than their money’s worth.” She took off her glasses and rubbed her eyes.

“You’ve been putting in a lot of hours on this.”

“There’s a lot to do, and not much time to do it. Anyway, I like being busy.”

“Yeah.” He rattled his pretzels. “Neither one of us is looking for loose time right now.”

“You’re doing okay?”

“Is that the code for are you drinking?” It came out with an edge he hadn’t intended. “Sorry.” His fingers dived into the bag again. “No, I’m not drinking.”

“I know you’re not. It wasn’t code.”

“I’m dealing with it.”

“I’m glad you came back home, but I don’t want you to feel you have to be there with me if you’d rather be with Annie.”

“The fact that I’ve figured out I want to be with Annie makes it a little rough to stay there sleeping on her couch. If you get the picture.”

“Yeah, I get the picture.” She crossed over to dip into the pretzels herself.

“Any idea when Ryan’s getting back?”

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