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prepared for the day’s business. Only a few lights shone in the many windows of the city. One of them was Miranda’s.
    She dressed quickly, facing away from the stunning canvas that was quietly painting itself outside her hotel room. Her mind was on work.
    How much progress would she make that day? How much closer would she come to the answers? She dealt infacts, and would stick with facts, no matter how tempting it was to leap to the next level. Instincts couldn’t always be trusted. Science could.
    She bundled her hair back in a clip, then slipped on low-heeled pumps to go with her simple navy suit.
    Her early arrival would guarantee her a couple of hours of working in solitude. Though she appreciated having experts at her disposal, The Dark Lady had already become hers. She intended for every step of the project to bear her stamp.
    She held her ID up to the glass door for the heavy-eyed guard. He left his coffee and breakfast cakes reluctantly, and shuffled over to frown at the card, at her face, then back at the card. He seemed to sigh as he unlocked the door.
    â€œYou’re very early, Dottoressa Jones.”
    â€œI have work.”
    Americans, as far as the guard was concerned, thought of little else. “You must sign the logbook.”
    â€œOf course.” As she approached the counter, the scent of his coffee reached out and grabbed her by the throat. She did her best not to drool as she scrawled her name and noted the time of arrival in the log.
    â€œGrazie.”
    â€œPrego,” she murmured, then started toward the elevator. So she’d make coffee first, she told herself. She could hardly expect to be sharp before she’d had at least one jolt of caffeine.
    She used her key card to access the correct floor, then entered her code once she was at the security post outside the lab. When she hit the switches, banks of fluorescent lights blinked on. A quick glance told her everything was in place, that work in progress had been tidily stored at the end of the workday.
    Her mother would expect that, she thought. She would tolerate nothing less than neat efficiency in her employees. And in her children. Miranda shrugged as if to shift the resentment off her shoulders.
    Within moments she had coffee brewing, her computerbooted, and was transcribing her notes from the evening before onto the hard drive.
    If she moaned at the first taste of hot, rich coffee, there was no one to hear. If she leaned back in her chair, eyes closed, smile dreamy, there was no one to see. For five minutes she allowed herself to indulge, to be a woman lost in one of life’s small pleasures. Her feet slipped out of her practical pumps, her sharp-boned face softened. She all but purred.
    If the guard had seen her now, he would have approved completely.
    Then she rose, poured a second cup, donned her lab coat, and got to work.
    She retested the dirt from the site first, measuring the radiation, running figures. Once again she tested the clay that had been carefully extracted. She put a smear of each on a slide, then made a third with the scrapings of bronze and patina, and studied each under the microscope.
    She was studying her computer screen when the first of the staff began to trickle in. It was there Giovanni hunted her down with a fresh cup of coffee and a delicately sugared roll.
    â€œTell me what you see,” she demanded, and continued to study the colors and shapes on the screen.
    â€œI see a woman who doesn’t know how to relax.” He laid his hands on her shoulders, rubbed gently. “Miranda, you’ve been here a week now, and haven’t taken an hour to yourself.”
    â€œThe imaging, Giovanni.”
    â€œAh.” Still massaging, he shifted so that their heads were close. “The primary decay process, corrosion. The white line there indicates the original surface of the bronze, no ?”
    â€œYes.”
    â€œThe corrosion is thick on the surface, and it grows