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all the more conclusive.”
    Miranda leaned a hip on the corner of the small pickled-oak desk. “She was found in the cellar of the Villa della Donna Oscura, secreted under the bottom tread of the stairs. I’ll have a report on the details we know at this point for the three of you. The three of you and Vincente only,” she added. “Security is one of the director’s top concerns. Whoever you require to assist you must have A-grade clearance, and the data you give them must be kept to a minimum until we’ve completed all tests.”
    “So, for now she’s ours.” Giovanni winked at her.
    “She’s mine,” Miranda corrected with a slow, serious smile. “I need any and all information on the villa itself, on the woman. I want to know her.”
    Richard nodded. “I’ll start right away.”

    Miranda turned back to the bronze. “Let’s see what she’s made of,” she murmured.
     
    A few hours later, Miranda rolled her shoulders and eased back in her chair. The bronze stood before her, smiling slyly. There were no signs of brass or silicon bronze, no platinum, none of the metals or materials that weren’t used in the Renaissance in the sliver of patina and metal she’d extracted. The bronze had a clay core, just as a piece of that era should have. The early testing of the corrosion levels indicated late fifteenth century.
    Don’t be hasty, she ordered herself. Preliminary tests weren’t enough. So far she was working in the negative. There was nothing out of place, no alloy that didn’t belong, no sign of tool work that didn’t jibe with the era in her visual exam, but she had yet to determine the positive.
    Was the lady true or false?
    She took time for one cup of coffee and some of the pretty crackers and cheese Elise had provided for her in lieu of lunch. Jet lag was threatening, and she refused to acknowledge it. The coffee, strong, black, and potent as only the Italians could brew, pumped through her system, providing a caffeine mask over fatigue. She’d crash eventually, Miranda knew, but not for a little while yet.
    Placing her hands over the keyboard, she began hammering out the preliminary report for her mother. It was as strict and dry as a maiden aunt, thus far devoid of speculation and with very little personality. She may have thought of the bronze as a puzzle, a mystery to be solved, but none of the romance of that found its way into her report.
    She sent the report via e-mail, saved it on the hard drive under her password, then took the bronze with her for the last test of the day.
    The technician had little English and entirely too much awe for the daughter of the direttrice for Miranda to find comfortable. Miranda conjured up an errand, and sent her off for more coffee. Alone, she began the thermoluminescence process.

    Ionizing radiation would trap electrons in higher-energy states in the clay core of a bronze. When heated, the crystals in the clay would give off bursts of light. Miranda set the equipment, taking quick notes on each step and result in a notebook. She took the measurements of those bursts, logging them in, adding them to her notes as well as for backup. She increased the radiation, heated the clay again, to measure how susceptible it was to electron trapping. Those measurements were carefully logged in turn.
    The next step was to test the radiation levels from the location where the bronze had been discovered. She tested both the dirt samples and the wood.
    It was a matter of math now. Though the accuracy of the method was hardly foolproof, it was one more weight to add to the whole.
    Late fifteenth century. She had no doubt of it.
    Savonarola had been preaching against luxury and pagan art during that period, Miranda mused. The piece was a glorious kick in the ass to that narrow-minded view. The Medicis were in control of Florence, with the incompetent Piero the Unfortunate taking the helm for a short period before he was expelled from the city by King Charles VIII of