Page 90 of Homeport

“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, he rattled off a request for a bottle of local wine and a selection of cheeses in perfect Italian.

“I’m not tolerating your feeble attempts at bullying me.”

“Sweetheart, you’re going to tolerate what I tell you to tolerate. I’ve got the lady.”

“You’re laboring under— What?” The color that had rushed into her face faded again. “What do you mean you’ve got the lady?”

“She’s sitting under the table.”

“Under the—” When she would have scraped her chair back and dived under, he simply tightened his grip on her hand until she had to muffle a yelp.

“Look at me, cara, and pretend you’re in love.” He brought her bruised fingers to his lips.

“Are you telling me that you walked into a museum in broad daylight and walked out with the bronze?”

“I’m good. I told you.”

“But just now? Now? You were only gone for thirty minutes.”

“If a guard hadn’t wandered into the storage area to sneak a wine break, I’d have cut that in half.”

“But you said we had to check the place out, to tape it, to take measurements, get the feel.”

He kissed her fingers again. “I lied.” He kept her hand in his, kept his eyes dreamily on hers while the waiter set their wine and cheese on the table. Recognizing lovers, the waiter smiled indulgently and left them alone.

“You lied.”

“If I’d told you I was going in to get it, you’d have been nervous, jumpy, and very likely have screwed things up.” He poured wine for both of them, sampled and approved. “The wine from this region is exceptional. Aren’t you going to try it?”

Still staring at him, she lifted her glass and downed the contents in several long swallows. She was now an accessory to theft.

“If you’re going to drink like that, you better soak some of it up.” He sliced off some cheese, offered it. “Here.”

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