Page 91 of Homeport

She pushed his hand away and reached for the bottle. “You knew going in that you were going to do this.”

“I knew going in that if the opportunity presented itself, I’d make the switch.”

“What switch?”

“The bronze we bought earlier. I put that in her place. I told you, most people see what they expect to see. There’s a bronze statue of a woman sitting in the storeroom. Odds are no one’s going to notice it’s the wrong bronze for a bit.”

He sampled some cheese, approved, and built some onto a cracker. “When they do, they’ll look for the right one, likely figure it was moved. And when they don’t find her, they won’t be able to pinpoint when she was taken. If our luck holds, we’ll be back in the States by that time anyway.”

“I need to see it.”

“There’s time for that. I gotta tell you, knowingly stealing a forgery . . . it just doesn’t give you that rush.”

“Doesn’t it?” she murmured.

“Nope. And I’m going to miss that rush when I’m fully retired. You did a good job, by the way.”

“Oh.” She didn’t feel a rush at all, just a sinking sensation in her stomach.

“Distracting the guard. Better fortify yourself.” He offered cheese again. “We’ve still got work to do.”

It was surreal, sitting in the hotel room and holding The Dark Lady in her hands. She examined it carefully, noting where samples and scrapings had been taken, judging the weight, critiquing the style.

It was a beautiful and graceful piece of work, with the blue-green patina giving it the dignity of age.

She set it on the table beside the David.

“She’s gorgeous,” Ryan commented as he puffed on his cigar. “Your sketch of her was very accurate. You didn’t capture the spirit, but you certainly got the details. You’d be a better artist if you put some heart into your work.”

“I’m not an artist.” Her throat was dry as dust. “I’m a scientist, and this isn’t the bronze I tested.”

He lifted a brow. “How do you know?”

She couldn’t tell him it felt wrong. She couldn’t even acknowledge to herself that it simply didn’t give her the same tingle in her fingertips when she held it. So she gave him facts.

“It’s very possible for someone with training to recognize the work of the twentieth century just by a visual exam. In this case I certainly wouldn’t depend on that alone. But I took scrapings. Here, and here.” She used a fingertip to point to the back of the calf, the curve of the shoulder. “There’s no sign of them on this piece. Ponti’s lab took scrapings from the back, and the base. Those aren’t my marks. I need equipment and my notes to verify, but this isn’t the bronze I worked on.”

Considering, Ryan tapped his cigar in an ashtray. “Let’s verify it first.”

“No one will believe me. Even when I verify it, no one will believe this isn’t the bronze.” She looked over at him. “Why should they?”

“They’ll believe you when we have the original.”

“How—”

“One step at a time, Dr. Jones. You’re going to want to change. Basic black works best for an entertaining evening of breaking and entering. I’ll arrange for transportation.”

She moistened her lips. “We’re going into Standjo.”

“That’s the plan.” He sensed her waffling and leaned back in his chair. “Unless you want to call your mother, explain all this to her and ask her to give you a little lab time.”

Miranda’s eyes cooled as she rose. “I’ll change.”

The bedroom door didn’t have a lock, so she dragged over the desk chair and lodged the back under the knob. It made her feel better. He was using her, was all she could think, as if she were just another tool. The idea of them being partners was an illusion. And now she’d helped him steal.

She was about to break into her family’s business. And how would she stop him if he decided to do more than run a few basic tests?

She could hear him talking on the phone in the parlor, and took her time changing into a black shirt and slacks. She needed a plan of her own, needed to enlist someone she could trust.

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