"Maybe not," J.T. said with a wave of his hand. "Stefano arrived Wednesday night out of the blue. He came separately from the collection. He introduced himself to Luigi as Stefano Benedetti and no doubt showed him the appropriate identification and knew enough about the collection to discuss it intelligently."

"Which wouldn't be difficult to do, since every item in the collection was previewed in our spring catalog that was printed a month ago," she continued.

"Exactly. As far as the Benedettis are concerned, they sent their collection off with the trusted Luigi Murano."

"But when Luigi stopped calling the Benedettis' lawyer, wouldn't he have gotten suspicious?" Christina argued. "Wouldn't he have picked up the phone and called Mr. Murano to find out what was happening?"

"We're talking about a fairly short period of time," J.T. answered slowly. "Less than forty-eight hours. Evan probably figured exactly the amount of time needed for his ruse to work."

"Or he could have called the Benedettis' lawyer as if he were Luigi Murano," Christina said.

J.T.'s smile lit up his eyes. He grabbed her face and kissed her. "I knew you were a smart girl. I bet that's exactly what happened. It was a good disguise. No one would question the actions of the owner of the diamond. Evan, as Stefano, stood right there in front of us and slipped that diamond into his pocket just as the turntable went around. And that candy necklace was all Evan. When everyone started screaming, Stefano simply joined in the fray. No one was looking at him. He was the victim. They were looking at you and your father, the perfect scapegoats. That's it. We figured it out."

She hated to stick a pin in his happy balloon, but she had no choice. "Even if that's true, J.T., Stefano is gone and so is the diamond. From where I sit, I'm still in the hot seat and Evan is calling the shots."

"Not all the shots."

"What do you mean?"

"Your father has the real diamond, right?"

"I think so," she said slowly, hating the road he was now taking her down.

"Which means Evan has a fake, which means-"

"Evan is going to try to find the real diamond." Their eyes met. "He's going to go after my father, isn't he?"

"And so are we," J.T. finished. "Hopefully we have a head start this time, and Evan hasn't yet figured out he doesn't have the real diamond. We might need that extra time to locate your father. In the meantime, I need to keep you safe."

"Why would I be in danger-except from the police?" she asked.

"Because you're an obvious first step on the trail to finding Marcus Alberti."

"I don't know where he is," she countered.

"Evan doesn't know that," J.T. pointed out. "He may think that if he finds you, he'll find Marcus, or he'll smoke him out."

"At this point, I'm not at all certain my father would come running to my rescue," she said.

"Whether he would or not isn't the issue. Come on, Christina. Let's get out of here. This place is too quiet and stuffy. I need to breathe some air and figure out our next move."

She was almost afraid to leave the safety of the library. She had no idea what was waiting for her outside. But J.T was already heading for the entrance, and she had no choice but to follow him. Still, as they neared the door, she slowed down, fighting back an odd sense of fear.

"What's wrong?" J.T. asked impatiently.

"My life is completely out of control. I don't know who to trust, where to go, what to do."

"That's easy. You trust me, and the rest will follow."

She wished it were that simple. "My father taught me a long time ago never to trust a man with a badge."

"And at this point, you still want to listen to your father?" he asked in disbelief.

"Maybe not, but-"

"But what?" he snapped.

"There's a little voice inside me that keeps asking whether you're really on my side or if you're just using me to get to the final prize-to Evan."

Anger flared in his eyes. "Haven't we gotten past that point?" he asked with a scowl. "I put my job on the line getting you out of Barclay's. I just spent a half hour lying about where you are. And you don't trust me yet? Are you kidding me?"

She realized her words had hurt him, but it was too late to take them back. And maybe she didn't want to take them back. "So many people are not who they appear to be," she said, forcing herself to look directly at him, even though the anger emanating from his gaze made her want to flinch. "I know you're obsessed with finding Evan. You want him so badly you'd do anything to get him. You just said that if Evan wants my father, I'm going to be his first stop. Maybe I'm the lure you're using to land your big, fat fish." She wanted him to deny her words, to yell at her for even thinking such a thing, to tell her he was with her because he liked her, because he wanted to protect her, because he cared-hell, maybe because they'd slept together.

Although, at this moment, it was difficult to even remember the intimacy they'd shared the night before. There was a rapidly growing wall between them, and she'd had more than a fair hand in putting that wall up. J.T.'s silence wasn't helping. Nor was the cold, dark, furious look in his eyes making her feel at all reassured about his motives. Was he mad because she'd questioned him-or angry because she'd spoken the truth?

"You need me," J.T. said finally. "And I need you. Why don't we leave it at that?"

Why? Because it was a crappy place to leave it, that was why. He hadn't cleared anything up; he'd just confused her more. And now she wasn't merely worried and scared but angry, too.

"My car is parked out front," J.T. continued.

"What about my car?" she asked. It was still parked down at Pier 39.

"We'll pick it up later. Right now I want to keep you away from anything that could lead the police to you." He paused. "You can come or not, Christina. If you want to take your chances on your own or with the cops, go ahead. I won't try to stop you. It's your decision."

"No, you'll just follow me and stalk me, the way you've been doing since we first met," she snapped back.

"Probably true," he admitted without apology.

The tension between them deepened, but Christina knew there was really no choice to make. "Fine, I'll come with you. But I make no promises about how long I'm staying."

She made no promises about how long she was staying.

J.T. fumed all the way to the car. Who the hell did Christina think she was? Her beautiful ass would be in jail right now if it weren't for him, and she thought she could call the shots? Not that she wasn't half right about the fact that he needed her help, but he wasn't using her, per se. There was a distinction. As far as he was concerned it was a mutually beneficial relationship. And it annoyed the hell out of him that she didn't trust him.

They'd spent most of the night licking each other's naked bodies. She'd trusted him enough to do that. She'd given her body, but not her heart, not her emotions, not her brain. Well, that was the way he usually liked it. He should feel good that she wasn't trying to wrap the sex up with a pretty bow and call it a relationship, the way most women did.

But for some reason her attitude pissed him off-probably because he trusted her, and he had hoped the feeling was mutual. Apparently it wasn't.

"Where are we going?" she asked.

"I don't know. Do you have to ask so many questions?"

She shot him a dark look, but remained silent as he started the car and pulled into traffic. He knew he was taking his frustration out on her. It wasn't just Christina's lack of trust that made him want to hit something; it was the knowledge that Evan had once again gotten the best of him. But it wasn't over yet. He could still win. He could still put Evan away.

As the blue waters of San Francisco Bay came into view, he made an impulsive turn and headed toward the Golden Gate Bridge. The awesome orange structure was alight in the sunshine. The fog had burned off to reveal a beautiful late-afternoon sky. It was almost four o'clock, but traffic was still relatively light. After crossing the bridge, he turned into the narrow winding streets of Sausalito and parked by the bay. He stepped out of the car and walked to the water's edge, drawing in deep gulps of air.

He heard Christina's car door open and close and a moment later she was next to him, standing a few feet away, keeping her arms wrapped around her waist. She stared out at the view, as did he, taking in the scenic beauty of San Francisco on the other side of the bay.

Putting some distance between him and the city helped. He needed to catch his breath, get some perspective, take some time to think. He'd been rushing from one crisis to another, too busy putting out fires to figure out a way to prevent those fires. In other words, he'd been dancing to Evan's tune. Not anymore. The game had changed. Christina's father was a new player, and quite possibly as good a player as Evan. Certainly, the two men both loved a drama and to dress in disguise. If it were just the two of them, he wondered who would win.

Not that it mattered, because it wasn't just the two of them. He was going to take them both down. Christina wouldn't be happy if her father went to jail. He knew he would have to deal with that issue at some point. He was a federal agent, after all; he couldn't look the other way. That was why she didn't trust him. Logically, it made sense, but it still pissed him off. Her lack of trust gave him less power over her. And his trust in her gave her more power over him. That didn't seem like the right balance. Somehow he'd have to make it work.

While he did think she could help him find Evan and her father, that wasn't the real reason he'd kept her away from the cops. He'd wanted to help her. When she'd begged him with those beautiful green eyes to get her out of Barclay's, he hadn't even considered saying no. God help him if she ever figured out how easy it would be for her to get him to do just about anything.

She cleared her throat, and from the corner of his eye he could see her looking at him.

"There's a little hotel not far from here," she said a moment later. "You could take a shower, change your clothes."

He glanced down at his wrinkled suit, realizing he'd been wearing it since the party last night, except, of course, for the few hours he'd spent naked in Christina's bed. He hadn't had time to change before following her down to the fun house or trying to get to the auction on time.

"I don't think I can use a credit card, though," she continued. "Too easy to trace, right? I don't have that much cash on me. I guess I could use an ATM, but that's easy to trace, too."

"I'll take care of it."

"Won't they be looking for you, too? They know you helped me get away."

"I told them I wasn't aware of their suspicions about you when you left the auction house. But...in any case I have a different credit card we can use. It won't be traceable."

Christina frowned and shook her head. He had no idea what she was thinking now.

"What did I say?" he asked.

"I just don't know how I keep ending up with guys who have fake identities and untraceable credit cards, men who can be whomever they need to be at a moment's notice. You may not believe it, but I'm a normal, law-abiding person, J.T. I don't break the rules. I don't take long lunch breaks. I don't call in sick unless I'm sick. I've never stolen anything, not even a paper clip. Whatever my father did, he did on his own, and whatever I did to help him, I did when I was too young and too stupid to know better. So tell me, how did I end up on the run?"

"You should ask your father that question, not me."

"He'd just lie and tell me that he only took things from people who didn't deserve them. He believes that exquisite art objects belong with their original owners. He was so disappointed when I went to work at the auction house. He acted like I was selling historical artifacts as if they were no more important than toilet paper or shoes. He thought I'd sold out." She blew out a long sigh. "Maybe I did sell out. But no one in the museum world would hire me after my father left in disgrace. My reputation was in tatters. Sometimes I do hate it when I see a painting or a jewel go to someone who just wants it because they're greedy, not because they appreciate the beauty or the history. I guess that sounds stupid to you. I'm sure you don't understand."

"I don't understand what historical things mean to you," he agreed, "but I do understand disappointment. I'm an expert on the subject, in fact."

She gave him a thoughtful look. "You think you let down your father, don't you?"

"I don't think it. I know it. But we're not talking about my father; we're talking about yours."

"You have to live your own life," she said, ignoring his attempt to return the subject to her father. "You can't be what someone else wants you to be. Believe me, I've tried to go that route, and it doesn't work."

"I've tried it, too," he admitted. "Those couple of years in the pros were all for my father. Not that he appreciated it."

"I'm sure he did."

"No, he didn't," J.T. denied. "My father sacrificed a lot for me. He'd come home after work and spend hours with me throwing balls until I got it right. Some years he worked two jobs so I could play on tournament teams, have special coaching. Getting me to the pros was the culmination of his life's ambition. The thing is, I could have kept doing it. It wouldn't have killed me. It wasn't a bad life. But I quit. I was selfish."

Christina walked over to him, her eyes filled with compassion. "It was selfish of your father to want you to be something you didn't want to be, J.T. Parents are supposed to support and encourage, not force their children to live out their own dreams. Your dad had his chance to be a pro football player."

"He wasn't good enough."

"That wasn't your fault."

"I let him down." He dug his hands into his pockets as he gazed out at the view, at the sun beginning to slip down over the horizon. "This was the time of day we used to play. There was a field just down the street from our house, and whenever I think of my dad I always see him at dusk, the shadows creeping over the grass, the scent of the flowers from the park, the smell of dinner cooking at the houses next door. I was usually hungry by then, too, wishing we could finish early, get back so I could eat and talk to my friends. But he always said, *One more throw, J.T. Someday you'll thank me for making you stay out here and practice.'" J.T. let out a humorless laugh. "I should have thanked him the day I led my team to a win at the Rose Bowl. But I forgot. All those hours he spent with me, and I forgot. I was a lousy son, and I don't know why the hell I'm telling you all this."

"You must have needed to get it out," she said, her expression understanding and not at all judgmental. "Families are complicated, aren't they?"

"You can say that again." He kicked at a stone half-buried in the dirt beneath his shoe. When it came loose, he picked it up and threw it in the bay.

"I thought you said you could throw," Christina teased. "I think I can do better than that."

"Oh, yeah? Show me."

She reached down and picked up a medium-sized rock, took her arm back, and threw it with all her might. It skidded off the water, but still landed short. "Damn. I thought I could beat you."

"I wasn't even trying on that first throw."

"Yeah, yeah, that's what they all say."

"It's true. And you throw like a girl."

"That's because I am a girl."

"I'm very well aware of that fact," he said, taking a purposeful step in her direction.

She put up a hand. He grabbed it and placed it against his chest. She licked her lips "Hold on a second, J.T. I thought we were talking."

"I'm done talking."

"Well, maybe I'm not."

"Well, maybe that's too bad." He covered the rest of her protest with his mouth. Her lips were soft, warm, tender, and he loved the way she responded to him, as if she wanted to do nothing more than kiss him back for the rest of his life. She might not be able to say she trusted him, but when she put her arms around his neck and pulled him closer, he could feel it in every bone in his body.

He couldn't help but respond in kind. She made him want things he shouldn't want...like going back to living a life in a nice neighborhood with kids on bikes, fathers and sons throwing footballs in the park, dogs barking, dinner cooking, a mother calling her children in for dinner-family. He hadn't had a family in a long, long time. His solitary apartment, his never-ending job, seemed far away at this moment.

But even as he kissed Christina, his pragmatic conscience reminded him that she wasn't his wife or his girlfriend. She was in trouble. She was lonely, lost. She needed a protector. But what else did she need? What did she really want from him? And what the hell did he want from her? Things were moving way too fast. Kissing Christina was a mistake. A big mistake! He pulled away so abruptly she stumbled. She grabbed hold of his arms, her green eyes dazed with passion. He forced himself to look away, because while his brain wanted to call a halt, his body was definitely on a different track.

"What? What did I do?" she asked in surprise.

"Nothing. You didn't do anything." He stepped away from her. "This is crazy. I don't know what I'm thinking. We can't do this right now."

"Do what?" she challenged.

"You know what. We're in the middle of a case. We need to get a hotel room and get back to business."

"In a hotel room? You think we'll be able to get down to business in a hotel room with one bed? Because I don't know what the hell happened to you just now, but I wasn't the only one enjoying that kiss."

"It was good, but it's over." He put his hands back in his pockets so he wouldn't be tempted to do anything else with them.

"Just like that? You decide it's over and it's over?"

"We need to focus on finding your father and Evan. That's all that's important right now. So this isn't going to happen again."