'Of course.' Priscilla shrugged. 'Plato. Another of the books on the shelf in this photograph. According to Plato, the physical world is insubstantial. A higher level should be our goal. You see how it all comes together?'

'But what about…?'

The doorbell rang. Tess had become so absorbed by the conversation that the sudden disturbance made her flinch. At once she realized.

It must be -

Priscilla jerked up her head, anticipating. 'I imagine that's your other friend. The one you phoned from here a while ago. The man who expected you to meet him near the airport.'

Tess stared toward the exit from the study. 'God, I hope. Priscilla… Professor Harding… I have to explain. My friend's a…'

'No need to explain,' Professor Harding said. 'Any friend of yours is welcome here.'

'But you have to understand! He's not just a friend. He's-'

Again the doorbell rang.

'-a policeman. A detective from New York's Missing Persons.' Tess reached inside her canvas purse. 'But maybe I'm wrong. Maybe it's someone else! What if it's-?' She withdrew the handgun from the purse.

Priscilla and Professor Harding blanched at the sight of it.

Grasping the trigger, Tess ordered, 'Hide in that closet. Don't make a sound. If it's them and they kill me, if they come in here and take the photographs, they might be satisfied! They might not search the house! They might not find-!'

The doorbell rang a third time.

'I shouldn't have come here! I hope I haven't-!' Tess couldn't wait any longer. 'Pray!'

She lunged from the study, assumed the stance her father had taught her, aimed her handgun down the hallway toward the front door, and said a silent prayer of thanks when she saw Craig's tense, confused face through the window in the door.

As he pressed the bell yet again, Tess hurried along the hallway, yanked the door open, and tugged him inside, thrusting her arms around him. 'I've never been so glad to see anyone in my life.'

With her left hand, she slammed the door shut behind them, leaned past him to lock it, and hugged him even harder.

'Ouch!' Craig said. 'I hope that pistol isn't cocked! You're pressing its handle against my back!'

'Oh.' Tess lowered the pistol. I'm sorry! I didn't mean to-'

Wary, Craig glanced at the pistol. 'Good, it isn't cocked. Where did you get that? Do you know how to use it?'

'Yes. A very long story. Craig, I've learned so much! I've got so much to tell you!'

'And I want to hear it, believe me.' Craig hugged her in return. 'I've been so damned worried about you. I-'

Tess felt Craig's reassuring arms around her. She felt her breasts against his chest, her nipples unexpectedly tingling. The warmth surging through her was equally unexpected. Responding to an irresistible impulse, she kissed him. In the midst of fear, the pleasure she received from Craig's embrace was like…

She'd been meant to be in his arms…

Craig's lips against hers…

Hers against his…

From the moment they'd met.

For now.

For always.

Abruptly Tess felt suffocated. Pushing away, sliding her hands from Craig's back, around his broad shoulders, toward his firm chest, she peered upward, straining to catch her breath. She studied his strong-boned, hard-edged features, which suddenly struck her as being handsome, and told herself, Screw love at first sight. Second sight is better. It gives you a chance to think, to get your Priorities straight. Passion is fine. But devotion and understanding are better.

This man – whatever mistakes he made in his marriage – never mind what happened before I met him – is decent and kind. He cares for me. He's willing to risk his life to help me.

He doesn't just love me. He likes me.

Someone discreetly cleared a throat behind them.

Turning, Tess saw Priscilla and Professor Harding standing selfconsciously in the hallway near the door from the study.

'I'm sorry for interrupting,' Professor Harding said, 'but…'

'No need to feel sorry.' Tess smiled. 'And we don't have to worry.'

'I gathered that,' Priscilla said, her wrinkled eyes crinkling with amusement, 'from the way you greeted him.'

Tess blushed. This is my friend. Lieutenant Craig. His first name's… You know,' she told Craig, 'you never mentioned it to me. But on your answering machine, I heard…'

'It's Bill.' Craig walked down the hallway, extending his hand. 'Bill Craig. If you're friends of Tess…'

'Oh, definitely,' Tess said.

'Then I'm very pleased to meet you.' Craig shook hands with them.

'Mr and Mrs Harding,' Tess said. They're both professors.'

'Please, Tess, I told you no formalities.' Priscilla gave her first name to Craig. 'And this is Richard, my husband. And don't you dare refer to either of us as professor.'

Craig chuckled. 'I can already see that we're going to get along.' His expression sobered. 'But Priscilla… Richard… we have things to discuss. Important things. And time's against us. So why don't you bring me up to speed? What are you doing here, Tess? What's going on?'

Priscilla gestured. 'Come into the study.'

'And perhaps you'd like some tea,' Professor Harding said.

'Richard, for heaven's sake, the lieutenant came here to help Tess, not to be offered tea.'

'Actually I could use a cup,' Craig said. 'My mouth's dry from being on the plane.'

They entered the study.

For the next fifteen minutes, while Craig politely sipped tea, he listened impatiently to what Tess… and then Priscilla… and on occasion, Richard… told him.

When they finished, Craig set down his teacup. 'If I told this to my captain, he'd think you were, to put it politely, letting your imaginations get carried away. But never mind, I believe – because I saw the statue. And Joseph Martin's dead. And Tess, your mother's dead.' He shook his head in commiseration. 'And Brian Hamilton's dead. And you're in danger. All because of-'

'Something that happened more than seven hundred years ago,' Priscilla said.

'What else haven't you talked about?' Craig asked.

'The titles of the books on the shelf in Joseph Martin's bedroom,' Priscilla said. 'Before you rang the doorbell, I was about to explain that The Consolation of Philosophy, a sixth-century treatise written by an imprisoned Roman nobleman, describes the Wheel of Fortune.'

Craig shook his head, confused.

'An image for the ups and downs of success and failure. The book analyses and condemns the physical values – wealth, power, and fame – by which people addicted to worldly success are tempted and ultimately disappointed. Because physical values are temporary and insubstantial. It's exactly the type of book that someone who believed in the spiritual values of Mithras would find appealing.'

'Okay.' Craig frowned. 'But why did Joseph Martin keep a copy of the Bible? That doesn't fit. From what you've told me, Mithraism doesn't believe in Christianity.'

True,' Priscilla said. Their theologies are different, but both religions share similar rites, and both reject worldly goals. For Joseph to read the Bible would be comparable to a Christian reading about Zen Buddhism, for example, because its mystical basis was different from but could be applied to his own religion.'

'Anyway, Joseph didn't read the entire Bible,' Tess said. 'He ripped out most of the pages, except for the editor's introduction and the sections written by John. I don't understand. Why the preference for John?'

Priscilla raised her shoulders. 'Because John's sections in the Bible most closely approximate the teachings of Mithraism. Here.' She held her magnifying glass over a photograph that showed a page and a passage that Joseph Martin had underlined in one of John's Epistles. 'Love not the world. If any man love the world, the Father is not in him. For all that is in the world – the lust of the flesh, the lust of the eyes, and the pride of the world – is not of the Father but is of the world. And the world passeth away, and the lust of it, but he that doeth the will of God abideth forever. Does that sound familiar?'