"Just what you described," he admitted. "But I was farther away; I didn't have a particularly good view. If you took a look at the diamond now, would you be able to tell if it was a copy?"

"Absolutely. It's very difficult to copy a diamond of that size, especially with the chain. Everything would have to be an exact replica."

"But it could be done?" he queried. "It's not impossible."

"Not impossible but extremely difficult, especially because this particular diamond necklace has not been in circulation. It hasn't been on display or worn in the last hundred years, according to the Benedettis. It's been locked in a vault at their estate. Someone would have had to see the diamond to be able to copy it."

She made a good argument, but he was keeping an open mind. In his experience there was no such thing as coincidence, and the timing between the smoke bombs and the fall of the necklace was too perfect.

"I'll examine the diamond as soon as I can," she continued, "but I think you're imagining things."

"I didn't imagine those smoke bombs. Someone deliberately created a distraction."

"Yes, and it's a good thing I had the diamond in my hand. In all that commotion it would have been easier to snatch it off my neck. The smoke might have been a blessing in disguise."

"True." It was possible that the theft had been aborted, but his instincts told him that Evan had a far more complicated plan in mind than a simple grab in a smoky room.

"Look, I'm cold and I'm wet, and I need to change out of this dress," Christina said, gripping the soggy material. "You look like you could use some dry clothes as well. Why don't we call it a night?"

He'd taken off his jacket, but his pants were uncomfortably damp. Still, he didn't intend to let Christina out of his sight. "You're awfully eager to get rid of me. What are you hiding?"

"Nothing." She blew out a breath in obvious frustration. "Don't you have anyone else to interrogate besides me? In fact, why aren't you back at Barclay's talking to the police and Russell and everyone else involved in protecting the diamond? Isn't that your job?"

"My job is to catch a thief."

"Well, there isn't one here. Nor has there been a theft."

He pulled a photograph out of his pocket and walked over to show it to her. "Have you seen this man?"

She took the picture from his hand and studied it. "This is the man you were telling me about?"

"Yes, his name is Evan Chadwick."

"This looks like a wedding photograph."

"It is. The woman in the photo, Kayla Sheridan, had no idea she was marrying a con man. Evan disappeared on their honeymoon night. She thought he was in love with her, but she was just the means to an end."

"I haven't seen this man. I'm sorry; I can't help you."

"Take a good look at him, the shape of his face, the jawline, the nose, the expression, the things that can't be disguised easily."

She slowly shook her head. "Nothing seems familiar. He's an attractive man with that blond hair and blue eyes. If I'd seen him, I'd remember him."

"Well, keep him in your head, just in case. He goes by the name Evan Chadwick when he's not using someone else's identity, which is rare. So he could be using any name. His hair could be brown. His eyes could be disguised by colored contact lenses. In other words, he's very good at being whoever he wants to be. I've seen him convince parents that he's their long-lost son, or a woman that he's her supposedly dead brother."

"How could anyone be that convincing?" she murmured, a note of doubt in her voice.

"People see what they want to see. Evan is a chameleon. He can fit in anywhere. And no one knows he's been there until it's too late." J.T. paused for a moment. "The one constant in almost every con Evan pulls is a woman, usually a beautiful woman. He finds out what she wants, what she needs, and he gives it to her. In return he takes something that she might not even realize she's giving away. Something that advances his goal."

Christina met his gaze head-on. "And you think this man intends to use me in some way to get to the diamond?"

"Yes, I do."

"I'm not easily fooled," she said with a dismissive shake of her head. "And I'm not a trusting sort of person."

"Neither am I."

"I can see that, and I don't understand why you're so suspicious of me. I don't want anything to happen to the Benedetti diamond. It's very important to me and to everyone at Barclay's to have a successful auction on Friday. If I sold a fake diamond, my career would be over. My reputation could never be repaired. I wouldn't take that chance."

He could hear the passion in her voice, but still he wondered..."Not even for a cut of fifteen million dollars? Isn't that what you're hoping to get for the diamond? You wouldn't need a job with that kind of money."

"You're crazy, and you're wrong. This conversation is over."

He saw the defiance and anger in her eyes. Before he could respond, the tension between them was broken by the sound of the front door closing.

Someone else was in the house.

Christina swiveled around, yelling, "Dad, it's just me. I'm here with a friend."

A crash followed her words. Christina rushed into the hallway; J.T. was right behind her. A vase that had probably been on the entry table lay in shattered pieces on the floor. The front door stood wide open. Whoever had come in was gone.

J.T. moved quickly through the door and onto the porch. A black Mercedes shot down the street. The night was too dark, and the car was too far away to get a license plate. He turned to see Christina standing in the doorway. Mixed emotions crossed her face, and he remembered her quick words: "Dad, it's just me. I'm here with a friend."

"You warned him." He saw the guilt flash through her eyes. "Why?"

"I just said I was here so he wouldn't be alarmed that someone was in the house. That's all."

"You said you were here with a friend, and he left. You didn't want me to see him or him to see me." She could deny it all she wanted; he knew he was right. What he didn't know was why she'd done it.

She cleared her throat. "Maybe that wasn't my father. That wasn't his car."

"Whoever came in had a key."

"It could have been one of his friends."

"You can do better than that, Christina."

"Actually, I can't. I have to go. I have to get back to Barclay's."

"And you're not curious as to who came in the house, broke the vase, and ran off, leaving the door open."

She licked her lips. "I'm curious, but there's nothing I can do at the moment. They didn't take anything, and they had a key, so I'm sure it was someone my father knows."

"Or quite simply your father."

"Possibly. Look, I'm going home. You do whatever you have to do." She pulled the door to the house shut behind her, retrieved her shoes from the side yard, and then headed down the path to her car. J.T. watched her every move. He let her go for one reason-he was intensely curious as to what she would do next.

J. T. McIntyre had made no attempt to hide the fact that he was following her to her apartment. Nor did he even bother to park out of sight. Christina knew he would wait for her to come back downstairs and return to Barclay's. She mentally kicked herself for leading an FBI agent straight to her father's house. She'd never anticipated that J.T. would follow her. She'd thought he was wrapped up in the investigation at the auction house. Actually, she hadn't been thinking at all. She'd been operating on instinct. As soon as she'd heard that the smoke bombs had been deliberately set at Barclay's, she'd known that someone was after the diamond. When she'd seen a familiar face in the crowd, she'd leaped to a horrible conclusion. And she'd made a huge mistake running to her dad's house. She would have to find a way to make it right, but first things first. She couldn't afford to give J. T. McIntyre any more reason to doubt her.

After turning on her coffeemaker, she went into the bedroom and changed clothes, putting on a pair of comfortable jeans and a heavy gray sweater. She dried her hair, pulling it up into a ponytail, reapplied her makeup, and realized that her Cinderella moment was over. She no longer looked like a goddess dripping in diamonds; she was just an ordinary woman. That was the image she wanted J.T. to see. She had to convince him that she was so normal she was completely boring and not worthy of his attention.

Returning to the kitchen, she poured coffee into two driving mugs, grabbed a towel from the bathroom, and headed downstairs. J.T. was sitting in his car, talking on his cell phone. She hoped he wasn't conducting a more in-depth background check on her or her father. She tapped on the window. He seemed surprised to see her standing there. After a moment he lowered the window.

She handed him a mug. "I thought you could use some coffee. Strong and black; I took a guess."

"You were right. Thanks."

"I also brought a towel, just in case you need to dry off."

He raised an eyebrow and gave her a suspicious look. "Why are you being so nice to me?"

"Because I'm a nice person." She forced a casual smile. "You just don't know it yet."

"You're certainly an interesting person," he conceded.

She'd settle for that. She turned to leave.

"Christina."

She paused, giving him a wary glance. "What?"

"No one has ever called me nice."

"What have they called you?"

"You don't want to know." A grin flashed across his face, a glitter of humor in his dark eyes. When he wasn't scowling, he was quite attractive. Actually, even in a bad mood, he was a good-looking guy, strong, sexy, a man's man, with a lot of rough edges that she suspected many women had tried to smooth out. But not her; J. T. McIntyre wasn't her type, she told herself firmly. He was far too dangerous in more ways than she could count.

"I'm going back to Barclay's now, just in case we're separated," she said. "I wouldn't want you to get lost."

"Wouldn't you?"

"We're on the same side, Mr. McIntyre. You seem to have forgotten that."

"And you seem to have just remembered," he pointed out. "You're a lot more chatty now than you were at your father's house."

She could see the speculation in his eyes and knew he was still very curious about her actions. She wished she could explain, but that was impossible. If he knew she had any doubts about her dad, he would zero in on her father as a suspect, and she couldn't have that. Deciding it was best to end the conversation quickly, she walked away and got into her car.

The drive to Barclay's took only a few moments. When she pulled into the parking lot, she noticed that the fire trucks were gone. There were a few cars left, probably belonging to employees. It was obvious most of the guests had left for home. She just hoped they hadn't been scared away forever and would come back on Friday for the auction.

J.T. parked his car next to hers, and they walked to the front of the building together. The security guard checked their identification and then allowed them into the building. He told Christina that Mrs. Kensington was holding a meeting in the third-floor conference room and wanted her to go there as soon as she arrived.

"Let's check out the gallery first," J.T. said, heading up the stairs.

Christina was also curious to see the extent of the damage. The thick scent of smoke still hung in the air. The gallery doors were open and the collection had been moved out of that room and presumably returned to the storage vaults in the basement. The catering service was cleaning the floor, folding up the chairs and tables. Christina was thankful there was no sign of any permanent destruction to the room.

"It looks all right," she murmured.

"The smoke bombs were meant to be a distraction," J.T. said.

"You mentioned that before, but whoever set the bombs didn't get the diamond, so the plan didn't work."

"Maybe that wasn't the plan. Even with the smoke and the chaos, it would have been difficult to rip that diamond from your neck and get through that panicky crowd. I know you would have screamed bloody murder if anyone tried to take it from you."

"That's true. So what would be the point of the smoke bombs?"

"The fire alarm sent everyone rushing to the door, leaving other areas of the building wide open. The person who set the bombs might have wanted access to areas he would otherwise be unable to get into," J.T. explained.

"Like the vaults where we keep the diamond and the other valuable items," she added. J.T. made a good point. Had the person simply wanted to find a way in or set up a plan to steal the diamond at a later date? "All those areas are on twenty-four-hour surveillance. I doubt anyone could walk around unnoticed by the cameras."

"It wouldn't be that difficult to dismantle a security camera, not for someone who was capable of planting smoke bombs in the air-conditioning system. They obviously knew how to get around the building without anyone seeing or suspecting them."

Which implied again that it was an inside job. She hated to think there was a thief among them. "I should get upstairs. I'm sure there's a crisis plan about to be set in motion."

"I'll go with you."

They walked up to the third floor, where the administrative offices were located. The conference room was the first door on the right. Through the glass windows, Christina could see that the room was packed with Barclay's employees. Alexis and Jeremy Kensington were in deep discussion with Sylvia Davis, head of PR; Karen Richardson, the art specialist; Keith Holmes, the auctioneer; and several other department heads. At the other end of the table, Russell Kenner was conversing with Luigi Murano, the head of the Italian security team, and another man Christina did not recognize. As she entered the room, Alexis looked up and motioned her over with a wave of her hand.

Christina was happy to see J.T. make his way to the security side of the conference room. She needed to get refocused on her job and what would happen next. "How is everything?"

"Better than expected," Alexis replied, but there was a worry in her eyes that belied her statement. "We didn't lose any of our auction items, so that's good news. You'll need to get on the phone tomorrow, Christina, and personally call every interested buyer and reassure them that the diamond and all other items are intact. This is the biggest auction in Barclay history," Alexis continued. "It will proceed without further incident. Is that clear?" She gazed around the group, and as expected no one dared to deny her confident words.

Alexis demanded absolute loyalty from her employees and did not encourage any opinions outside of her own. She knew what she wanted and she went after it one hundred percent. If anyone got in her way, they were history. Christina certainly intended to stay on Alexis's good side.

"Do we have an official explanation for what happened tonight?" Christina asked.

"I'm working on that," Sylvia interjected. "I'll give you one before you make your calls tomorrow."

"All right," Christina said, turning back to Alexis. "I'd like to check on the diamond. I'm concerned about the clasp and why it suddenly gave way when I was wearing it."

"Yes, what happened exactly?" Alexis asked, her brows drawn together in a frown. "Russell told me it came off your neck."

"The clasp opened or broke. Luckily, the man I was talking to caught it and handed it right back to me. It might have been a blessing in disguise. Once the alarms went off, it would have been much easier for someone to grab the necklace if it were still around my neck instead of clenched in my hand."

Alexis's gaze lingered on Christina for a moment, as if she was judging the story. Christina tried not to feel uneasy. She had told the truth. It had happened exactly as she'd described.

"You should have checked that clasp before you put the necklace on," Alexis said.

"You're right. Unfortunately, I didn't have a chance to look at it closely before the party. I would like to examine it now."

"We're reviewing all of our security measures and resetting our cameras at the moment," Alexis replied. She glanced down at her watch. "It's almost eleven. It would probably be best if you did it tomorrow."

Christina nodded. She hated to wait until morning, but she didn't want to suggest that anything was wrong with the diamond. In fact, she didn't know that anything was wrong. It was J.T. who had put crazy ideas in her head about a switch. She'd gone through every moment of the night and she didn't think there was any time at which a switch could have been made. The diamond had been out of her control for only a few seconds.

Nothing was wrong, she told herself firmly. She was simply tired, seeing problems where there weren't any.

"Don't forget we have that reporter from the Tribune coming at ten in the morning," Sylvia said. "He wants a photograph of the diamond to go with his story. The exposure will help reassure everyone that tonight's incident was nothing terrible."

"Got it." Christina walked out the door as they moved on to planning the rest of the auction. Her office was at the other end of the hallway, where it was quiet and dark. She often worked late and usually enjoyed the solitude, but tonight she felt tense, isolated from the others, which was odd, considering she'd spent most of the evening trying to get J. T. McIntyre off her tail. It was just her nerves. She was jittery after everything that had happened. It was to be expected. She drew in a deep breath and slowly let it out. She had to think about what to do next.