Homeport Read Free

thin, rather bony face that went well with the long, lanky build. His coloring was like his sister’s, though his hair was a darker red, almost mahogany. Nerves had him patting his hand against his thigh as he moved.
    “I wish I’d been here. Damn it, Miranda. I should have been here.”
    “You can’t be everywhere, Andrew. No one could have predicted that I’d be mugged in our own front yard. I think—and the police think—that he was probably going to break into the house, rob us, and my coming home surprised him, changed his plans.”
    “They said he had a knife.”
    “Yeah.” Gingerly she lifted a hand to the shallow cut on her throat. “And I can report that I haven’t outgrown my knife phobia. One look at it, and my mind just froze.”
    Andrew’s eyes went grim, but he spoke gently as he came back to sit beside her. “What did he do? Can you tell me?”
    “He just came out of nowhere. I was getting my things out of the trunk. He yanked me back by the hair, put the knife to my throat. I thought he was going to kill me, but he knocked me down, took my purse, my briefcase, slashed my tires, and left.” She managed a wavering smile. “Not exactly the homecoming I was expecting.”
    “I should have been here,” he said again.
    “Andrew, don’t.” She leaned into him, closed her eyes. “You’re here now.” And that, it seemed, was enough to steady her. “Mother called.”

    “What?” He started to drape an arm around her shoulders, and now sat forward to look at her face.
    “The phone was ringing when I got into the house. God, my mind’s still fogged,” she complained, and rubbed at her temple. “I have to go to Florence tomorrow.”
    “Don’t be ridiculous. You just got home and you’re hurt, you’re shaken. Christ, how can she ask you to get on a plane right after you’ve been mugged?”
    “I didn’t tell her.” She only shrugged. “I wasn’t thinking. In any case, the summons was loud and clear. I have to book a flight.”
    “Miranda, you’re going to bed.”
    “Oh yeah.” She smiled again. “Very soon now.”
    “I’ll call her.” He sucked in his breath as a man might when faced with an ugly chore. “I’ll explain.”
    “My hero.” Loving him, she kissed his cheek. “No, I’ll go. A hot bath, some aspirin, and I’ll be fine. And after this little adventure, I could use a distraction. It seems she has a bronze she wants me to test.” Because it had gone cold, she set the tea down again. “She wouldn’t summon me to Standjo if it wasn’t important. She wants an archeometrist, and she wants one quickly.”
    “She’s got archeometrists on staff at Standjo.”
    “Exactly.” This time Miranda’s smile was thin and bright. “Standjo” stood for Standford-Jones. Elizabeth had made certain that not only her name but everything else on her agenda came first in the Florence operation. “So if she’s sending for me, it’s big. She wants to keep it in the family. Elizabeth Standford-Jones, director of Standjo, Florence, is sending for an expert on Italian Renaissance bronzes, and she wants one with the Jones name. I don’t intend to disappoint her.”
     
    She didn’t have any luck booking a flight for the following morning and had to settle for a seat on the evening flight to Rome with a transfer to Florence.
    Nearly a full day’s delay.
    There would be hell to pay.
    As she tried to soak out the aches in a hot tub, Miranda calculated the time difference and decided there was no point in calling her mother. Elizabeth would be at home, very likely in bed by now.
    Nothing to be done about it tonight, she told herself. In the morning, she’d call Standjo. One day couldn’t make that much difference, even to Elizabeth.
    She’d hire a car to take her to the airport, because the way her knee was throbbing, driving could be a problem even if she could replace her tires quickly. All she had to do was . . .
    She sat straight up in the tub, sloshing water to the