"Christina!" he yelled. "Wait up."

Christina didn't slow down or even turn her head. She gave no indication that she'd heard him at all. As she reached an intersection he felt a rush of panic. A car was coming down the street, and Christina was paying no attention. A shot of adrenaline urged him forward. He grabbed her arm, yanking her out of the way just in time. She stumbled and almost fell to her knees. He caught her around the waist. He could feel the heat of the car as it blew past them just inches from their bodies. The driver gave an angry honk on his horn, then sped away.

Christina stared up at him in bewilderment, raw pain in her big green eyes. She looked as if someone had just killed her puppy, told her Santa Claus didn't exist, done something to destroy what was left of her innocence.

"What the hell happened to you?" he demanded, his hands tightening on her arms.

She couldn't seem to hear him. His words weren't registering in her brain. It was as if she'd lost herself in her own head. He gave her shoulders another little shake. "Dammit, Christina, talk. You're scaring the shit out of me."

Her eyes slowly began to clear. She blinked and her gaze came back into focus. "What...what happened?"

"That's what I want to know. You just ran in front of a car. You almost got yourself killed." He skimmed his hands up and down her arms, feeling the need to reassure himself that she was still in one piece. Even through her sweater he could feel the chill in her bones. Whatever she'd learned had left her ice-cold. "Let's walk," he said. "You can catch your breath. Then you'll tell me everything that happened."

He put his arm around her and they began to walk. Her gait was awkward. She leaned heavily on him, as if she wasn't sure she could make it on her own. She didn't ask where they were going, and he didn't care. He just wanted to get her blood moving, give her a chance to walk off the panic that had sent her rushing headlong into traffic.

One block turned into another and another. They left the residential area and drew closer to the historic center of the city. He knew Christina still wasn't feeling right, because she made no comment about the beautiful architecture or the statues or anything. Her mind was somewhere else-somewhere frightening. He wanted to bring her back, but he didn't know the right words. He'd never been good at reading women's emotions. When he tried to guess, he usually guessed wrong. Not that it took much guessing to figure out that whatever Christina had learned from Maria had completely upset her world. It had to be about her father. What the hell had Marcus Alberti done now?

The streets grew more crowded as they neared some popular restaurants and bars. Christina seemed to wince at the noise, the people, so he walked her toward the river. It was quieter there. Night was falling on Florence, and the rising moon was reflected in the silver waters of the Arno. A street performer sat on the cement ledge that ran along the river, strumming love songs on his guitar.

Christina paused, the music bringing her out of her reverie. He watched her face as she listened to the song, and saw not just pain in her expression but anger as well. At least she was coming back to life. That was a good sign.

"What's wrong?" he asked quietly. "Can you tell me now?"

"Love is what's wrong," she said, with a frustrated wave of her hand. "People like that guy who play love songs and pretend that love is the most wonderful thing of all, but it's just a crock of lies. Love creates nothing but problems. It's crap, that's what it is," she added loudly.

The guitar player shot her a pissed-off look, and J.T. quickly urged her farther down the street. "Could you be more specific, Christina? I don't think you and Maria just talked about love."

"We did talk about love. That's exactly what we talked about." She met his gaze for the first time. "Actually, I'm wrong. It wasn't love we were talking about. It was lust. You know what lust is, right?"

"I've got a pretty good idea," he said, almost afraid to speak. She was definitely on a roll now.

"Maria wanted to separate us, you know-you and me. It was deliberate on her part. She wanted to know who I was, my name, my age, my father's name. And you want to know why?" she challenged.

"I really do."

"Because I'm the spitting image of Isabella Benedetti-that's why." Christina paused, her eyes suddenly bright with tears. "She was my mother, J.T. Isabella and my father had an affair." Her voice broke. "She was my mother."

Her words shocked him to the core. He didn't know what he'd been expecting, but it certainly hadn't been that. "Are you sure?"

"Yes. That's why Maria fainted when she saw me," Christina replied. "It was as if she were looking at a ghost. Once her head cleared and she figured out I wasn't a phantom, there was only one other conclusion she could come to-that I was Isabella's daughter."

He blew out an amazed breath. "That's a hell of a secret."

"You can say that again."

"So Isabella was married to Vittorio-"

"When she slept with my father," Christina finished bitterly. "That's right, J.T. I'm the daughter of a thief and an adulteress. Maybe I could put that on the resume for my next job, whatever that is, since I doubt anyone in the art world will ever hire me again. Who could blame them? I have such an incredible pedigree."

He frowned. "Okay, slow down. Back up. How did they even meet each other?"

Christina turned and looked out at the river. "Maria said they met in the library. My father swept Isabella off her feet. It was a summer thing. Apparently Isabella wasn't happy with her husband, so she and my father had an affair. Then my dad went back to the States and Isabella discovered she was pregnant. I have no idea how I came to grow up with my father instead of her-I assume she didn't want me. I guess that part of the story that my father told me was true. My mother didn't want me."

J.T. moved in behind her, slipping his arms around her waist. "You don't know that," he murmured.

"I know enough. My father is a liar and a cheat. He has no morals. My mother is-was-apparently the same way. And look at me...." She turned in his armsto face him. "I've spent my whole life covering up and protecting my father. Why? Why did I do that? How could I be so blind? The evidence was right there in front of me. He's a...jerk."

J.T. let out a sigh, knowing there was probably nothing he could say that would make her feel better, but he found himself wanting to try. "Your father loved you. You told me about the great times you had-that it was just the two of you. He wasn't lying and cheating the whole time, Christina."

"Yes, he was. He was stealing when I was a little girl. He called them games. He said we were playing, but I know now that I was probably just his cover story. No one would ever suspect a man and his little daughter of being thieves."

It disturbed him to hear the disillusionment in her voice. Christina wasn't a cynic. She wasn't hard and bitter. She was passionate, romantic, generous, and hopeful. Since he'd first met her she'd never given up believing that somehow everything would work out. That she'd find a way to make it right. But now she was completely defeated. She'd lost her spirit. She'd lost herself. He rubbed her shoulders. Her muscles were so tight he could feel the hard knots.

"I should turn myself in," Christina said. "Call it quits. If they find my father and arrest him, whatever, I don't care."

"Of course you care. And you're not guilty of anything."

"Aren't I? I knew there was something wrong with the diamond, and I didn't do anything to stop Barclay's from trying to sell it. I knew my father was in town, and I hid it from everyone, including you."

"Okay, knock it off. I know you're hurt and furious, and you want to blow everything and everyone off, but I'm not going to let you throw your life away just like that."

"I'm tired," she said, with a dispirited shake of her head. "I don't know where my father is. I don't know how to find him. It's probably too late anyway."

"We have to try. Evan is still out there, and he'll use you to get to your father whether you think your father will come running to your aid or not. We have to finish this. We can't stop now. Come on, babe, we're a team. Don't quit on me."

She gazed into his eyes. "You can go on without me. You can do it by yourself."

A week ago he would have agreed with her. In fact, a week ago he would have preferred to be on his own. But somewhere along the way things had changed. He couldn't let her go, not now, anyway. "We're in this together," he said firmly. "We're partners. Where I go, you go. Got it?"

"I don't know," she murmured.

"Sure you do."

"You're a stubborn man, you know that?" she said with annoyance.

"I've been called worse."

"Don't you worry that we're too involved, that there's a conflict of interest?" she asked, her gaze locking with his. "I know you're already in hot water because of me. It's only going to get worse the longer we stay together."

She was absolutely right. Even if he brought in Evan, even if he got the diamond back and cleared Christina's name, there would be a price to pay, but it was too late anyway. Whatever happened with his job, he could handle it-as long as he stopped Evan. That was the most important thing of all.

"I'll worry about that later," he told her. "Let's get some food. I think we'll both feel better after we eat. You wanted to see some of Florence. Here's your chance. We'll get ourselves an authentic Florentine dinner and regroup. What do you say?"

"I don't know."

"Come on. I know you must be hungry."

"I guess-a little."

He kissed the frown off her mouth. "Trust me, Christina. At least about dinner."

"I do. I do trust you," she said, meeting his gaze. "You're the only one I trust. Don't let me down."

"I won't," he said, knowing he would do everything he could to keep that promise.

Christina hadn't thought she'd be able to eat a bite. The tension of the day had put a knot in her throat the size of a golf ball, but the festive atmosphere of the restaurant helped her to relax. J.T. had outdone himself with the ordering, and when the tagliolini in a delicate creamy lemon sauce arrived, Christina's mouth began to water and her stomach grumbled that it was about time she ate something. The mixed fried vegetables were equally delicious, and the Chianti slid down her throat far too easily. The idea of getting too drunk to think seemed appealing, but she'd never been much of a drinker, and one glass of wine was already making her head spin, which made her realize the last thing she needed was more head spinning.

As she finished eating, she glanced over at J.T., noting the smile playing across his lips, the knowing gleam in his eyes. "You're looking awfully satisfied with yourself."

"I am satisfied," he replied.

"You were right about the food. I needed a good meal."

"That's not why I'm satisfied."

"Then what is making you smile?"

"You. You're back. And I'm very happy to see you." He leaned forward, resting his arms on the table. "You were like a zombie before. You almost got yourself killed, running into the street that way. You scared the crap out of me."

The worry in his brown eyes, the fact that he'd admitted he was scared, touched her deeply. "I'm sorry. I was in shock."

"I know. But next time run to me, not away from me."

"I haven't had anyone to run to in a long time. I'm not sure I know how to do that. And frankly, I'm a little surprised you'd suggest it. You don't seem the type to want anyone to cling to you."

"I want to keep you safe. It's my job," he added.

"Sure, your job, right. That's all it is, isn't it?" She searched his eyes, wishing she could read his expression better, but he was very good at hiding his feelings.

"Let's not do this," he said. "There's too much going on to get into..."

"Into us?" she queried when he didn't finish his sentence.

"Yeah," he said, lifting his glass to his lips. He took his time drinking the wine. He was probably hoping she'd change the subject.

"I'm not asking you for anything," she told him.

"I know."

"Okay, good." She played with her fork, frustrated and restless with the conversation she wanted to have but couldn't because J.T. had thrown up a big wall. Not that talking about what was happening between them was going to help matters; it would probably just complicate everything. He was right about that.

She was a little afraid to know what he was thinking, because she was falling for him. And she was worried that he didn't feel the same way, that it was just an adrenaline-charged fling for him. To be fair, it had started out that way for her, too. Physical attraction, chemistry, danger-boom, they'd fallen into bed without deeper emotions, but now the deeper emotions were there, too, not to mention the chemistry, and despite her earlier venting about the damn stupidity of love, she suspected she was experiencing that very emotion.

"Do you want dessert?" J.T. asked casually, oblivious to her turbulent thoughts.

"No," she said shortly. "I'm done." She took her napkin and threw it on the table.

"Now you're mad," he said with a sigh. "I should have seen that coming. Whenever a woman wants to talk, it's never a good thing."

She frowned at him, not liking the cynical generalization. "Don't compare me to other women."

"Look, Christina, we're in the middle of a...a mess. It's not a good time to dissect what's going on between us."

"So you're happy to just have sex and not ask questions. Gee, I should have seen that coming," she said with sarcasm, repeating his earlier words.

"You're pissed off at your father. Don't take it out on me."

"This has nothing to do with my father."

"It has everything to do with your dad, and you know it. Why don't you figure out your feelings about him before you come after me?"

She wanted to argue that he was completely wrong, but in all honesty she couldn't. She was confused about her parents. She was tired of being in relationships that didn't quite make sense, that didn't follow the rules. She'd grown up with a man she couldn't really count on. And it scared her that she was falling in love with the same kind of man. Not that J.T. was a thief, but he was a loner, an agent, a guy who lived on the road. Did she really want that?

"I need more wine," she said with a sigh.

"No, you don't. You need to let things simmer. You don't have to answer everything tonight."

"This from the man who doesn't want to answer anything."

"You want an answer-I'll give you one," he said, meeting her gaze. "I like you. I like sleeping with you. I like making love to you. Do I have any idea where this going or where I want it to go? No. I'm lousy at relationships. Everyone I've ever loved has been disappointed in me. I've already failed at one marriage. I don't know if I want to try it again. I've never been a good loser."

She was so startled by his bluntness she wasn't quite sure how to react. "That was more than one answer," she said finally.

"Can we change the subject now?"

"I think that would be a good idea," she said, drawing a deep breath. She needed time to think about what he'd just said.

J.T. waved the waiter over and handed him his credit card.

While they were waiting for the bill, she said, "You never told me what happened with you and Vittorio. Did he know I was in the house? Did he ask you about me?"

"No, we didn't talk about you or Isabella. But Vittorio did tell me that the diamond is cursed and he sent it to you on purpose."

"Why? He wanted to curse me, too?"

"He thinks you have de Medici blood in you, and if you touched the stone it would take the curse away. Then you would sell it for him, and he'd get lots of curse-free cash. To hell with whoever bought the cursed stone. That wouldn't be his problem."

"Why would he think that I have de Medici blood? The Albertis are not descended from..." She paused. "Oh. I get it. He was talking about Isabella's bloodline, wasn't he?"

"Now that I know your relationship to Isabella, that makes sense," J.T. agreed.

"What else did he say about the curse?"

"Nothing. Just that Catherine de Medici put some hex on the stone."

"So Catherine de Medici is the key-where the diamond came from, maybe where it belongs," she mused. "That's it. That's the clue. My dad wants to give the diamond back to Catherine."

"And how would he do that? Hasn't she been dead for several hundred years? Is your father into grave digging?"