"This is crazy," she murmured. "You, me, we're on different sides. We want different things."

"Do we?" His devastating smile played across his lips. "I think at this moment we want exactly the same thing." He pulled her up hard against him, her hands pressed against his strong, broad chest. "Yes...or no?"

She wanted to say no, but she knew she'd made her choice the moment she'd opened the door. "Yes."

"Yes," he agreed, sliding his tongue into her mouth. He grabbed her head with his hands, tangling his fingers in her hair as he deepened the kiss, tasting, exploring, savoring each sweet second.

She slid her arms around his waist as the sparks that had been smoldering between them jumped and crackled. She'd never felt such passion, such need, such demanding desire to be with a man. Her heart raced; her stomach clenched with every kiss, every touch. She felt as if she were standing on the edge of a cliff and she very much wanted to jump. She wanted to release herself from the bonds of trying to do the right thing, be the good girl, follow the rules, play it safe.

Running her hands up under his coat, she massaged the taut, powerful muscles in his back. It wasn't enough. She tugged at his shirt, pulling it out of his belt, undoing his buttons as fast as she could. She had a desperate need to get her hands on his bare skin. When his shirt was open, she pulled it off him along with his jacket, then ran her fingers across his broad chest, through the light smattering of dark hair.

J.T. grabbed the hem of her T-shirt and yanked it over her head. She wasn't wearing a bra, and his hands came down on her breasts as his mouth slid down her throat. She threw back her head and moaned with pleasure as his tongue swirled along her collarbone, dipping down to her breasts, finally replacing his hands with his mouth.

She ran her fingers through his hair and closed her eyes as a jolt of desire threatened to knock her off her feet. She told herself they should slow down, but in truth she wanted to go even faster. J.T. must have read her mind. He straightened, grabbed her hand, and pulled her into the bedroom.

The room was dark. Moonlight danced in shadows along the wall. She pushed down her sweats along with her panties and stepped out of them, standing naked before him. She was grateful for the darkness. She didn't want to be reminded of who he was-who she was. J.T. reached for the light switch. She caught his arm with her hand.

"No," she said. "No lights. No questions. No confessions."

"I want to see you," he muttered.

"Not tonight," she whispered. "Tonight...just use your hands."

He did as she asked, his thumbs grazing her nipples, teasing them into sharp, aching points. She reached for his belt buckle. She unhooked it and helped him slide off his slacks so that he was as naked as she was.

J.T. pulled her into his arms, his flesh heating hers from the tips of her toes to the top of her head. She loved the feel of the hair on his legs, his chest, his arms, the shadow of whiskers that scraped her cheek and her breasts as he ran his mouth up and down her body.

She pulled him down on the bed, suddenly impatient to have him inside her, but he wouldn't be hurried. He took his time to explore every inch of her, first with his hands, then with his mouth, loving her ruthlessly until she was hot and tingling all over. When he moved away, she wanted to scream.

"What are you doing?" she asked breathlessly.

He grabbed his wallet from his pants pocket and pulled out a condom.

"Oh," she whispered. "I almost forgot." It worried her that she had forgotten, that J.T. had driven every last responsible thought out of her head. But when he straddled her body, finding the soft place between her thighs and sliding into her eager and impatient body, she didn't even consider thinking. She gave herself up to the passion and the pleasure.

In the shadows of the night, her secrets didn't seem nearly as important as the man making love to her.

8.

J.T. awoke to sunlight streaming through the half-open curtains in Christina's bedroom. She was gone. He stared in bemusement at the empty side of the bed. He didn't remember letting her go. In fact, he didn't remember falling asleep. But it was morning and she was gone.

Those were the facts-shitty facts, but facts all the same. He touched the pillow that had cradled her head. In his mind he could still see her dark hair spread across it, her soft face lit up with desire as they moved together in perfect harmony. Making love to her had been incredible. She might be selfish with sharing her private thoughts, but she was more than generous with her body. Damn. He wished he'd woken up before her. He'd wanted to see her in the light.

Rolling onto his side, he glanced at the digital clock on the table. It was seven thirty. They still had plenty of time to get to Barclay's. The auction wouldn't begin until noon. In a few hours it would all be over. That thought was disturbing-in more ways than one. He knew the day would not pass easily. Evan had not given up. He would attempt to steal the diamond, and J.T. would have to stop him. He truly hoped that Christina would not get caught in the middle.

He got out of bed and pulled on his pants and shoes. He heard Christina moving around in the living room, and was relieved she hadn't left without him. They needed to talk, figure out a plan for the day. He had to try once more to get her to confide in him. Of course, he'd had several chances the night before, but he hadn't wanted to ruin anything. She'd laid out the terms-no lights, no questions, no confessions-and he'd agreed to the deal. Now he had to get her to listen to his terms. He hoped she'd be more willing to trust him now that they had become intimately involved. She'd be ready to talk.

The sound of the front door closing cut into his confidence. He raced into the living room. "Christina?" No answer.

He grabbed his shirt, coat, and car keys and dashed down the stairs, hoping she'd opted for the slower elevator. She hadn't. Her car was just pulling out of the garage when he reached the sidewalk. He called her name again, but she didn't stop. He didn't know if she hadn't seen him or was ignoring him.

The closeness he felt to her was suddenly replaced by massive doubt.

Jumping into his sedan, he drove after her. When she turned away from Barclay's, his worries increased. Where was she going? And why hadn't she woken him up to say good-bye?

He'd been a fool to think she trusted him and an even bigger fool to trust her. What did he really know about her? Very little. Maybe she'd slept with him to throw him off the track, to distract him, to stop him from questioning her.

If that was her plan, it had definitely worked. He hadn't used his brain at all in the last few hours. Now he suspected he was going to pay a price for that lapse in judgment.

His cell phone rang and he answered it quickly. "McIntyre," he said, hoping it was Christina.

"J.T., it's Jenny."

Jenny? His stomach turned over. This couldn't be good. "What's up, Jen?"

"Evan," she said wearily. "He came by my shop last night. He's acting really crazy, J.T. He was talking about us being together and how he was going to give me the world on a diamond platter, and he really scared me. I was looking right at him, and I didn't recognize him anymore. It's like the Evan I knew had disappeared. There was a stranger in his eyes. I don't think he's completely sane."

"He never was."

"Then he's even less so now."

"I'm glad you called, Jen. I've been trying to find him. You said you didn't recognize him, but I take it you didn't mean he was in disguise?"

"No, he looked the way he always did."

"His hair was still blond? Eyes still blue?"

"Well, he had on a ski cap, and it was dark, so I couldn't see him clearly. His eyes were the same. It was his personality that was different."

J.T. thought about that for a moment. Evan had probably changed his hair color, and if he wore contact lenses, those were easy enough to remove. The fact that he'd worn a ski cap confirmed his suspicion that Evan was wearing a disguise, but it had to be a disguise that was easy to modify. It made sense that Evan would not have wanted to upset Jenny by showing up on her doorstep as someone else.

"What is he up to, J.T.? Do you know?" Jenny asked.

"I think he's planning to steal a very rare and valuable yellow diamond from Barclay's Auction House today."

"How can he do that? Isn't it heavily guarded?"

"Yes, but I still think that's his intent, and it goes with what he told you about giving you the world on a diamond platter."

"I guess."

"Did he say anything else?"

"He said to tell you that he's not done ruining your life. He knew I would talk to you. He wasn't worried."

J.T. felt a jolt of anger at the arrogant statement, and his resolve to put Evan behind bars for the rest of his life doubled-again. "Thanks for the call, Jenny. Look, I don't want you to talk to Evan anymore."

"Believe me, I don't intend to."

"What happened to the guard your brother hired to watch you?"

"I let him go last week. I thought it was over."

"Hire him back, and don't go anywhere alone. If Evan is not done with me, he sure as hell isn't done with you."

"I can't believe I once loved him," Jenny said, with a deep, raw pain in her voice. "I was a fool to believe his lies. I should have been smarter. I should have seen through him. How could I be so stupid?"

"You weren't stupid. You were in love."

"Same thing," she said with a sigh. "Good-bye, J.T., and good luck. I really want you to catch Evan before anyone else gets hurt."

As J.T. closed his phone, he saw Christina drive into a parking lot across from Pier 39. What the hell was she doing? Where was she going?

He slowed down, not wanting her to see him just yet. She was going to lead him to someone important-her father, or maybe Evan? Right now, he'd take either one.

Christina glanced down at the handwritten note on her passenger seat. She'd found it by her front door when she'd gone out to get the newspaper. It said, Meet me at the Pier 39 Fun House, 8:00. There was no signature, but she knew. The note was from her father. She was glad he hadn't knocked or rung the bell. He would not have been happy to find her sleeping with the FBI.

She could hardly believe she'd spent the night making love to J.T. She'd never done anything so impulsive, so reckless, or so incredibly wonderful. In J.T.'s arms she'd felt like another woman, a woman she quite liked, a woman she wouldn't mind being again. But where they went from here she had no idea. It could all be over in a few hours. J.T. didn't live in San Francisco. His job was in LA or wherever his next case took him. He could be gone by the evening. She might never see him again.

She felt a rush of sadness at the thought. Yet she had no right to want more. J.T. had made no promises to her. He hadn't pretended that they were having a relationship or that he was in love with her. He'd just wanted her, and she'd wanted him. It had been good. Now it was probably over. She had to be okay with that. She couldn't let herself have regrets. She wouldn't let herself have regrets.

As she parked her car in the lot, she thought about calling J.T. and letting him know that she'd meet him at Barclay's, but she knew an endless list of questions would follow. That was why she'd left the apartment while he was still asleep. She hadn't wanted to lie to him again. Nor had she wanted him to follow her. She needed to keep him away from her father. She just hoped to God her father would tell her what she wanted to hear.

Christina got out of her car and crossed the street to Pier 39, a tourist destination filled with dozens of shops, restaurants, and a carousel. With the exception of a coffee hut, most of the shops were still closed, and there was no one around. It was a cold, foggy morning in San Francisco, and no doubt the tourists would arrive later with the sun. She walked down the length of the pier, pausing to look at the dozens of sea lions that had taken up residence on wooden floats in the harbor. They barked and squealed as they jostled for position, the smaller lions ending up in the water more often than not.

She walked around the far end of the pier that faced Alcatraz, the infamous island prison that also offered a gorgeous view of the Golden Gate Bridge. As she approached the fun house, she noticed a large construction sign. Apparently the funhouse was being remodeled and wouldn't reopen for another month.

Not sure what to do, she hesitated. Her father was nowhere in sight, but his note had been very specific. She tried the door to the building and found it unlocked. Reminding herself that her father loved a good clandestine location, she opened the door and stepped into the entry, pausing to let her eyes adjust to the darkness. She was standing in a small room with dark wood paneling and a podium that had been pushed against one wall. An aluminum ladder leaned against the same wall, a toolbox next to it. A line of small windows set just below the ceiling sent dim light into the room.

"Dad," she called. Her voice bounced off the walls, a slight echo behind it. She waited another moment, tempted to leave. Her nerves were on edge, and this odd place was not helping. But if her dad had information about the diamond, she really wanted to get it.

Across the room she saw another door. It was ajar. She heard a rumbling sound and then a voice.

"Dad," she called again. "Are you there?"

"Christina," he said, his voice distant and muffled.

Relief surged through her. He was in the building. "Where are you?"

"Christina," he repeated.

She followed his voice to the open door and moved through it. She found herself in a long, narrow hallway. There were doors every few feet, and she had no idea which one to open. "Dad, where are you?" she called again.

"Christina."

Why did he keep saying her name and nothing else? She opened the door where she thought she'd heard the voice coming from and took a step forward. It was so dark she couldn't see where she was going.

Her foot came down on a slippery surface. She floundered, trying to grab hold of something, catch her balance, but her hands found only air. A second later she was on her butt. Her body bounced up against hard metal. It took her a minute to realize she was on a twisting, slick slide descending through a pitch-black hole in the ground.

As her speed increased, so did her scream. It seemed like an eternity before she hit the bottom of the slide and her body went airborne. Finally she landed with a hard thud on some sort of mattress. She was still trying to catch her breath when a body came hurtling down the slide after her, a large, hard, male body that slammed against hers. He was all over her, solid muscles and heavy hands. She screamed again, trying to push him off.

"Christina, it's me, dammit. Stop hitting me."

Shocked by his voice, she squinted in the darkness, trying to make out his face. "J.T.?"

"Yes. It's me," he said with annoyance.

"What...what are you doing here?"

"I followed you. Now why don't you tell me what you're doing here?"

His breath was in her face, his mouth just inches from hers, his hard hips reminding her of the way he moved when he came inside her. She squirmed beneath him. "You need to get off me. I can't breathe," she added with a gasp.

"I'm trying."

"Try harder." She put a hand against his chest and pushed, feeling a desperate need to take in some air.

J.T. moved off to one side, kneeling on the mattress. He extended his hand and pulled her into a sitting position. After drawing in several gulping breaths of air, she took a look around. They were in a small square room, about eight feet across. There was no other furniture besides the thick mattress and the end of the slide from which they'd just descended. A line of small, dim lights around the baseboard made it possible to see, but it was still dark.

"That was a hell of a ride," J.T. commented, running a hand through his hair. "There's never a dull moment with you, Christina."

"You might not believe it, but I actually lead a very quiet life."

"You're right. I don't believe it." His gaze met hers. "What are you doing here? Why did you sneak out on me this morning without a good-bye? Didn't I deserve at least that?"

She swallowed hard, not knowing how to answer. There was an intimacy between them now that made it more difficult to keep her secrets. "I had someone to meet. I didn't want to wake you. You were sleeping so peacefully."

"That's not the reason," he said with a scowl. "You didn't want me to know who you were meeting, did you? Is it your father? Or is it Evan? So help me, Christina, you'd better tell me the truth."

"It's certainly not Evan," she said, surprised he could even think that. "I told you before, I'm not involved with him. Why can't you believe me?"

"Oh, I don't know. Maybe it has something to do with the fact that you keep lying to me, sneaking around, running out on me when I'm not looking," he said sarcastically.

She wished she could refute his statement, but what could she say? She had done all those things. But she hadn't betrayed him with Evan. "I found a note slipped under my apartment door this morning. It was from my father. He asked me to meet him here." She drew in a deep breath. "I would never lie to you about Evan, J.T. Maybe you can't believe me, but that is the truth." She could see by the expression on his face that he still had doubts.

"You're right. I can't believe you," he said shortly. "You've been lying to me since we met. Hell, maybe last night was just another part of the lie, a way for you to seduce me into trusting you."

His cold words cut her to the quick. "That's not the way it was, and as I recall, you did as much seducing as I did. Maybe you wanted to get me into bed so I'd say something to incriminate myself."

"Is there something you could say that would incriminate you?" he asked sharply.

Damn. She'd stepped right into that one. "No, but you didn't know that. You could have been thinking that-"