“So you think this is connected to…” Her voice trailed off as the expression on his face answered her. She shrank into the couch. “Oh, God. My sisters. I have to warn them. Where is my phone?”

He helped her find it, and handed it to her. “Here. Breathe deep,” he advised. “Calm down.”

Liam put on a saucepan of water and rummaged for tea bags while she talked to her sisters. Some excavating had uncovered a cheap brand of stale tea, but he was more concerned with getting sugar and caffeine into her than in the subtleties of flavor. When she hung up, he held out a sweet, milky cup to her and took the phone. “Let’s trade.”

She sipped it slowly while he called 911. His whole body ached and hurt, but he had no one but himself to blame. This was what happened when a guy poked his nose into a woman’s big, hairy problems. He’d done it voluntarily. In fact, he’d insisted.

When she’d drunk her tea, he took the cup away and sank down in front of her. Her hands were cold, in spite of having clutched the hot cup. So smooth and slender. He rubbed them and contemplated a uniquely scary thought. This woman’s life was a fucked-up, deadly mess.

And there was no place on earth that he would rather be than right in the middle of it.

Liam kept Nancy’s teacup loaded with sugary tea during the whole police routine. He did most of the talking, for which she was grateful.

And that was the least of what she had to be grateful for. If not for him, she would be dead. Or something else that was very bad. Something she didn’t even want to contemplate. It kept backhanding her afresh when she tried to think about something else, or better yet, not to think of anything. Those guys had not been trying to rob or kill her.

Those guys had been trying to abduct her.

Shudders of retroactive horror kept rippling through her, at how close she’d come to an unspeakable fate. But why her, for God’s sake? Why on earth? She had two hundred and seventy eight bucks in her checking account, after paying her rent.

After a while, she drifted loose. She was floating in a faraway bubble, and the two policemen talking to Liam in her apartment were in another one. Their voices were tinny, a radio chattering in another room.

Only Liam held the cord. He could reel her back in to himself if he wanted to. Otherwise, she’d stay in her bubble, thanks very much.

The police finally left. She and Liam had declined to go in for medical observation, in the face of strong disapproval from the female officer, but enough was enough. She wanted peace and quiet.

Liam sat down next to her, touched her cheek.

“Nancy,” he said.

That “don’t freak out on me” tone made her brace herself. “Yes?”

“Those guys who attacked us. They were trying to—”

“Kidnap me, yes. I figured out that fun factoid all on my own.”

“No need to snap,” he replied. “Just factor that fun factoid into your future plans.”

“Plans?” Her voice rose to a squeak. “What plans? You think I’m capable of planning? Someone killed my mother and tried to abduct me. And murder you while they were at it. I noticed that, too.”

“Calm down,” he soothed.

She hissed out a long sigh. “I’m sorry. I’m scolding you, and you don’t deserve it. You saved my ass tonight. Don’t think I’ve forgotten it.”

“Anytime.” He fished a cat toy out from under his leg, a jointed wooden snake. “How can you keep a cat in a place this cramped?”

The disapproval in his voice stung. “It’s better than the life she had on the street! She was half dead when I found her, and I spent fifteen hundred dollars getting her sewed back together, plus getting her spayed, and shots. And I spend a fortune in kitty litter and niblets.”

The silence that followed stretched out too long to bear. When she looked up, Liam had a gleam in his eye. He was trying not to smile.

“What?” she asked crossly. “You’re giving me that look again.”

“Bet getting the cat fixed up was a hard-assed, self-interested business decision, right?”

Nancy gave him a cool stare. “You’re bugging me, Liam.”

He gazed back, unrepentant. “Get used to it.”

He picked up Lucia’s bronze Cellini satyr, turning it carefully in his hands. “You think this thing is safe here?”

She bristled. “Probably not, considering what just happened, but is anything safe anywhere?”

“A good point.” He set the thing carefully down. “Probably not.”

“I guess I should put it in a safe-deposit box,” she said. “It got all the way through the Nazi occupation without getting appropriated. The Conte wrapped it in burlap and buried it in the kitchen fireplace ashes. It would be ironic if it got stolen now and traded for crack.”

“The Conte?” Liam’s sharp gaze bored suddenly into her eyes. “Lucia’s father hid art from the Nazis?”

“Everything he could. I think they got most of it, but—Oh, hey! You don’t know about the letter, do you?”

He frowned. “What letter?”

“We found an old letter last night, and a photo, in the Fabergé picture frame at Nell’s apartment.” Nancy quickly outlined the contents of the letter to him.

Liam listened, his face impassive. When she finished, he turned again to stare at the Cellini bronze. “Maybe there’s something else that was hidden from the Nazis, like the satyr,” he said. “Except that it’s still hidden. And the old count died before he told anyone where it is.”

Nancy chewed her lip. “But then why are they attacking me?” Her voice quivered again. “I don’t know anything.”

“They don’t know that.”

Dark spots started swimming before her eyes. “Oh, God. That would suck. The worst of all possible worlds. If it’s true, they’ll never stop. And I’ll never, ever be able to give them what they want.”

“Put your head down.” Liam pushed her head between her knees.

Nancy did so and concentrated on breathing. When she dared to sit up again, he had a small, thoughtful frown in his eyes. “Don’t think about it anymore,” he said gently. “Please. Don’t faint on me.”

So give me something else to think about, you doofus, she wanted to yell. She contented herself with a slightly hysterical crack of laughter.

He looked around her apartment. The cramped room was crammed with floor-to-ceiling shelves, cassettes, CD racks. A desk dominated the room, with a computer, a fax, a scanner. A file cabinet, copy machine, and water cooler were crowded around it. Liam patted the back of the couch where they sat. “Does this thing open up into a bed?”

Her hackles were on the rise, as she sensed a criticism in formation. “Yes, it does,” she said. “Anything else? More pronouncements about my apartment, my life, my choices? By all means, Liam. Express yourself.”

“So this place is an office. With a couch for those occasional moments when you want to assume a horizontal position,” he said.

Yeah. Like, right now. With you. She groped for a smart-ass retort, but an unexpected insight took form in her mind as she looked into his eyes.

“You’re pissing me off on purpose,” she said slowly.

His face was impassive. “A couple of zingers to get you going. It kicks up your blood pressure. I like to see some color in your face.”

She covered her face with her hands. “I must look like death warmed over. Or not even. Death served right out of the fridge.”

“No.” He reached out, pulled her hands gently off her face. “You’re beautiful, Nancy. You shine. Like a jewel.”

She was moved, embarrassed, mortified. Charmed beyond belief.

“It’s sweet of you to say so,” she managed.

“Sweet has nothing to do with it.”

She giggled. “Now who’s defensive when I call him sweet?”

“You don’t believe me.” His voice was incredulous.

A hot blush stained her face. “I, uh, appreciate the compliment. Really, I do. But it’s not a matter of believing or not believing. It’s just that beauty is such a subjective thing. So it doesn’t mean anything.”