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with him,” Clark pleaded. “He knows he’s a screwup.”
    “I’m not making any promises this time. Didn’t it occur to him that something like this—buying an unknown piece with no provenance from an unknown source in a foreign country—could land his ass in prison?”
    “Oh, God, don’t say that.”
    “Don’t either of you realize that dealing in stolen antiquities is a crime?” She ran her fingers through her closely cropped dark hair. “This isn’t a matter of Derek simply being flighty. It’s about buying and selling something that was stolen. It’s about—”
    “We didn’t know it was stolen, Manda.”
    “The authorities may find that very difficult to believe. The piece has absolutely no documentation. No chain of ownership, no record of its excavation.”
    There was a long silence. Finally, Clark asked in a shaky voice, “Do you really think he—we—could get arrested?”
    “I’m doing everything I can to avoid having that happen. I did manage to make contact with someone who is going to do her best to help us. I’m having the piece picked up tomorrow afternoon by courier and delivered to a friend who is in the Middle East right now. She’ll return it to the museum she believes it was stolen from.”
    “Who is this friend? Someone you can trust?”
    Swell time to start thinking about who you can trust, she was tempted to say. Biting her tongue, she replied, “Iona McGowan’s sister.”
    “The archaeologist. Yes. Excellent move, Amanda.” Clark’s mood brightened. “There. See? It’s all going to work out.”
    “With any luck. But there’s still the potential damage to our reputation if this ever gets out—after all, this wouldn’t be the first black mark on our business—and we’re still out sixty-five grand.”
    “No one is going to know, and I told you, I’ll make up the loss. I made a killing in gold futures during last year’s boom. It’s going to be fine.” Clark paused, then added softly, “Just don’t hurt him, Manda.”
    “I’m not making any promises.”
    “Wait! I have a call waiting coming in. I’ll bet it’s Derek. Hold on, Amanda.”
    Amanda paced the length of the small kitchen until Clark came back on the line.
    “Was it Derek?” she asked.
    “I’m not sure.” He sounded confused. “The number came up as Derek’s cell, but there was no one on the line. I could hear something, like . . . some sound. Rustling. Weird. I couldn’t place it. I said his name over and over, but he didn’t answer.”
    “Look, let’s hang up. Maybe he’s trying to call you. Maybe his phone battery is low. Maybe he’s had a flat or some kind of car trouble, and he’s trying to call home. You know how unmechanical Derek is.”
    “Wouldn’t know a chain saw from a jigsaw,” Clark agreed. “I’ll tell him to come home, that you said tomorrow is soon enough. And thanks, Manda. I love you.”
    “I love you, too, Clark. I love you both.” Amanda added softly, “Welcome home.”
    An uneasy feeling swept over Amanda as she walked to the front door and peered out. Nothing but darkness all around. The lights on the neighbors’ homes had long gone out. Not unusual. Broeder pretty much closed down by ten every night. She opened the front door, stepped onto the small porch, looked out into the pitch-black midnight sky, and thought about what she’d say to Derek over breakfast the next day.

CHAPTER
THREE
    “Manda? You have to come. . . . Oh, my God. Please,” Clark sobbed into the phone at eight the next morning.
    “Clark, what is it? What’s happened?” A chill ran up Amanda’s spine. “Have you heard from Derek?”
    His reply was unintelligible.
    “Clark? What’s happened?”
    “He’s dead, Manda. Someone shot him,” Clark whispered hoarsely. “Oh, God, someone’s killed Derek.”
    “What?!” She dropped into one of the kitchen chairs.
    “Derek is dead. He’s been shot. The police found him in his car—”
    “Dear God.”
    “He’s dead. Just