“Of course it counts, Chloe,” Tom said, sobering swiftly. He removed his glasses and began polishing them with a tie that sported its usual accumulation of coffee stains and jelly-donut crumbs. “But if I hadn’t agreed, he was going to donate the blades to the Royal Museum of Scotland. You know how stiff the competition is for quality artifacts. You understand the politics. The man is wealthy, he’s generous, and he has quite a collection. We might be able to coax him to draw up some sort of bequest upon his death. If he wants a few days with a five-hundred-year-old text, one of the lesser-valued ones at that, he’s going to get it.”

“If he so much as gets one popcorn smudge on the pages, I’m going to kill him.”

“Precisely why I coaxed you here to work for me, Chloe; you love these old things as much as I do. And I acquired two more treasures today, so be a dear and deliver the text.”

Chloe snorted. Tom knew her too well. He’d been her professor of medieval history at the University of Kansas before he’d assumed a position as cocurator. A year ago he’d tracked her down where she’d been working at a depressing excuse for a museum in Kansas, and offered her a job. Though it had been hard to leave the home she’d grown up in, filled with so many memories, a chance to work at The Cloisters was not to be missed, no matter the extreme culture shock she’d suffered. New York was sleek and hungry and worldly, and in the sophisticated thick of it, the girl from rural Kansas felt hopelessly gauche.

“What, am I supposed to just walk outside with this thing tucked under my arm? With the Gaulish Ghost running around out there?” Lately there’d been a rash of thefts of Celtic manuscripts from private collections. The media had dubbed the thief the Gaulish Ghost because he stole only Celtic items and left no clues behind, appearing and disappearing like a wraith.

“Have Amelia package it up for you. My car’s waiting out front. Bill has the man’s name and address. He’ll drive you there and circle the block while you run it up. And don’t harass the man when you deliver it,” he added.

Chloe rolled her eyes and sighed, but gently collected the text. As she was walking out, Thomas said, “When you get back I’ll show you the blades, Chloe.”

His tone was soothing but amused, and it pissed her off. He knew she would hurry back to see them. Knew she would overlook his spurious acquisition methods one more time.

“Bribery. Abject bribery,” she muttered. “And it won’t make me approve of what you do.” But already she was aching to touch them. To run a finger down the cool metal, to dream of ancient times and ancient places.

Nurtured on Midwest values, an idealist to the core, Chloe Zanders had a weakness, and Tom knew it. Put something ancient in her hands and she was seduced.