Despite her earlier denials to J.T., she was worried that someone had come into her father's house and taken off just as quickly. It had to have been her dad. J.T. was right: She had warned him away. It was old habit, a protective instinct honed since childhood. She'd used a code they'd developed years ago. And it had worked. So where was her father now? And more important, what was he up to?

The door suddenly opened behind her. She jumped in surprise and whirled around. She expected to see J.T., but the man standing in the doorway was the stranger from the conference room. His dark brown hair was long, thick, and wavy, his eyes a deep, somber black. His sideburns were long, his skin brown, his expression one of anxiety and irritation. He was obviously upset about something.

She cleared her throat, feeling uneasy, but told herself to calm down. The man had just been talking to Barclay's head of security. He was obviously not a threat.

"May I have a few moments, Signorina Alberti?" he asked, an Italian accent marking his formal English. "I am Stefano Benedetti."

Her pulse quickened. She'd read a bit about the Benedettis and knew that Stefano, in his late thirties, was one of three sons born to Vittorio and Isabella Benedetti. Isabella had died many years earlier, and Vittorio was now in ill health, a condition that had prompted the family to sell part of their historic collection.

"I'm so happy to meet you." She moved across the room to shake his hand. "I didn't realize you were coming to the auction."

"I wasn't sure I could clear my schedule until recently. I'm very concerned, however, about the incident that took place earlier this evening, as is my father. We could have chosen any auction house, and we certainly hope we will not regret our decision to bring the collection to Barclay's."

"You won't," she said quickly, giving him a reassuring smile. She wasn't sure why he wasn't making his point to Alexis, but perhaps he wanted to make it clear to everyone at Barclay's that if they wanted this auction to take place, there could be no further trouble.

"I hope not. I understand you will be examining the diamond in the morning. I would like to be there, to reassure myself that all is well."

"Of course. Why don't you come at nine o'clock? We'll be previewing the jewels and other items to the press at ten."

He nodded. "Nine o'clock it is."

She thought they were finished, but he made no attempt to leave. Instead, he stared at her with a speculative gleam in his eyes. "Is there something else?" she asked.

"If I might ask, signorina, have you spoken to your father lately?"

Every nerve ending in her body suddenly went on full alert. "Do you know my father?"

"Marcus Alberti has spent a great deal of time in Florence," Stefano replied. "He is well-known in the art world."

"That's true. My father's father, my grandfather, was born in Florence-Nicholas Alberti was his name."

"Yes. That's what I understand, and apparently it's one of the reasons my father chose to send the collection here, to you, signorina."

Now she was truly shocked. She'd had no idea that her family's origins had played any part in the matter.

"I must admit that I asked him to reconsider in light of, shall we say, your father's rather unsavory reputation." Stefano's gaze darkened and his mouth curled in distaste as he continued, "But I was persuaded that the sins of the father should not be passed on to the daughter."

She swallowed hard at the word sins. "My father has never been convicted of anything."

"Lack of conviction does not necessarily prove innocence."

"It doesn't prove guilt either," she retorted. "You have nothing to worry about, Mr. Benedetti. Barclay's will do a fabulous job selling your collection, and I think you'll be very pleased with the results."

"I hope so," he said, not appearing all that convinced. "However, we are not off to a good start. I will see you in the morning."

"Wait," she said, calling him back. "Someone told me earlier tonight that they believed the diamond carried a curse. The paperwork I received indicated that the diamond has been in your family for over a hundred years and there was no particular history or legend attached to it."

"A curse?" Stefano echoed, a smile playing across his lips. "How fascinating. What exactly is this supposed curse?"

"I don't have any details."

"But you believe in curses?"

"I keep an open mind," she said. "Legends of powerful stones have been told for centuries. I don't discount them."

"Are you worried that because you wore the diamond tonight, you are now cursed?"

"No, not really." Even as she said the words, she remembered the tingly, warm sensation that had swept through her body when the diamond rested against her skin. She'd had the odd feeling that it was coming alive. Was she just being fanciful? God, she hoped so. She had enough problems without adding a curse.

"I am sorry to disappoint, but I know of no such curse, and even if I did, I wouldn't believe in it. However, please feel free to use it if you think it will make the diamond more valuable."

She realized then that the man standing in front of her had absolutely no reverence for the beauty of the stone his family had possessed for so long, nor any interest in its history. He simply wanted to reap the financial benefits of selling it to the highest bidder. With gems there were always two kinds of buyers: those who wanted to look rich, and those who wanted to enrich their lives with a piece of history. She was glad he was selling it. Maybe whoever bought it would care more about where the diamond had come from and the story behind it.

She let out a sigh as the door closed behind Stefano. She didn't like that he'd brought up her father. It had been almost five years since the last scandal, and she'd hoped most people had forgotten about him.

How ironic that she'd spent the early part of her life living in her father's shadow and the last few years trying desperately to escape it. The fact that the Benedettis not only knew about her dad but also had chosen to send the collection to her was disturbing, because it wasn't logical. If they were worried about her father's reputation, why would they send the collection to Barclay's? Could her father answer that question? Was there some connection between his sudden return to San Francisco and the Benedetti diamond?

She walked over to her desk, and then stopped abruptly, a slash of color catching her eye. A tie was draped over the back of her chair, a stark red bow tie. Her heart stopped. She'd seen that tie before-earlier tonight at the party. Professor Keaton had worn one just like it. She picked it up, her mind whirling with the implications.

The door to her office opened again, and her heart skipped a beat. She wasn't sure whether to be relieved or alarmed that it was J.T. He was sure to have more questions-questions she couldn't answer.

"What's that?" he asked.

She dropped the tie, feeling as if she'd once again been caught doing something wrong. The tie landed on the desktop between them. J.T. stared at it for a long moment before turning his gaze to hers. "Who does that tie belong to, Christina?"

"The man I was speaking to at the party was wearing it, Professor Howard Keaton."

Recognition flared in his eyes, and she knew that his quick mind was already one step ahead of her.

"The same man who caught the necklace when it fell?" he asked.

"Yes."

"What was he doing here in your office?"

"I don't know. I haven't been here since before the party."

"But he was here." J.T. picked up the bow tie and studied it. "Somehow in the midst of the chaos and confusion, Professor Howard Keaton found his way to your office."

"What are you saying?"

"I think I know who Evan Chadwick is impersonating."

Evan? He thought Professor Keaton was the thief he was after? She let out a breath of relief. Maybe he was right. Maybe Professor Keaton was Evan Chadwick. And her father had nothing to do with any of this.

"So what will you do now?" she asked.

"Not me-we," he corrected. "I need to know everything you know about Professor Keaton."

"I don't know much, but I'm happy to talk to you about him."

He gave her a suspicious look. "That's a switch."

"I told you. I want to protect the diamond as much as you do."

"Good, but in case you were wondering-you're not off the hook yet."

"Why not? You think you know who this Evan Chadwick is impersonating, and it doesn't have anything to do with me."

"It has everything to do with you. He left his tie in your office." J.T.'s gaze burned into hers. "That either makes you a target or an accomplice. Which do you want to be?"

"I think I'd like another choice."

"Sorry, that's all I've got so far." He twirled the tie around his fingers. "This was left here for a reason. You're going to help me figure out what that reason is." He paused. "We'll need more coffee."

She suspected he was right. Making a sudden decision, she said, "There's a coffee shop a few blocks from here. It's open all night. But there's something you should know, Mr. McIntyre-"

"You can call me J.T. I think we're going to be working very closely together."

"Not if you don't change your attitude. I'm offering you my help because this auction is important to Barclay's and to me. But if you're going to make ridiculous accusations, this conversation ends right now. So what's it going to be?"

He held her gaze for a long moment, as if weighing her sincerity and her courage. Finally he tipped his head. "All right. We'll play it your way-for now."

3.

Sam's Coffee Shop was an all-night diner serving breakfast twenty-four hours a day, located a few blocks from the auction house. The tables were filled mainly with swing-shift workers from the nearby hospital-every now and then an ambulance went by, sirens blaring. It wasn't the kind of place J.T. would have expected a woman like Christina to frequent. But then, he hadn't quite figured her out yet. Earlier tonight she'd looked like every man's fantasy, mysterious, seductive, sophisticated. Now she appeared more like the girl next door, freshly scrubbed, with natural beauty and innocence in her eyes. He wondered if her choice of clothes had been deliberate, if everything she said and did was designed to throw him off the scent. He couldn't make the mistake of underestimating her, especially now that he'd found Professor Keaton's tie in her office.

Taking another sip of coffee, he sat back in his chair, watching as Christina dug into her vegetable omelet with enthusiasm. She was either starving or avoiding the moment when she had to begin answering his questions. Either way, she was one bite away from the start of their discussion. Finally she finished, washing down the last of her omelet with a swig of ice water.

"You were hungry," he commented, noting her absolutely spotless plate.

"I didn't eat all day. I was too busy." She cleared her throat. "So, why don't you tell me more about this thief you're chasing? Evan, right? You said you've been following him for a long time, but you haven't been able to catch him."

J.T. didn't like the implied dig, but he gave Christina credit for going on the offensive and trying to get him off balance first. It was a smart move. He would have done the same in her shoes. "No, I haven't caught him, but I will."

She seemed disappointed by his calm response. "It must be frustrating with all the powers of the FBI behind you that you can't catch one little con man."

"That's how good he is. Anything else you want to know?"

"Actually, there's a lot I'd like to know. If this Evan Chadwick is trying to steal the diamond, maybe you should tell me more about him beyond just the basics of his appearance, which you suspect he has changed anyway. What kinds of crimes has he committed? Where does he live? How well do you know him?"

"Evan and I actually go way back," J.T. replied. "Long before I joined the bureau. We were roommates in college at Cal. We shared an apartment my junior year."

"Really?" she said, surprised. "So you know him very well?"

"Better than most, which isn't saying much. The only thing I know for sure about Evan is that he can be whoever he wants to be. Who he really is-I have no idea. I was certainly fooled when I first met him. I thought he was a friend, a good guy, but it turned out he was neither."

"What do you mean?"

"Evan was and is a scam artist. When we were in college he ran various fraudulent cons out of our apartment, maids that were in fact hookers, pyramid schemes, fixed card games, stolen tests.... You name it; he played it. Nick, one of the other guys in the apartment, caught on first, mainly because Evan had started dating Nick's sister, Jenny, and he was being a protective big brother. Nick convinced me to help him expose Evan. To make a long story short, Nick and I took Evan down. Evan was eventually expelled, arrested, did jail time, and swore revenge against both Nick and me."

"Did he get his revenge?"

"He took his revenge on Nick last month. While Nick was out of the country on business Evan broke into Nick's apartment, hacked into his computer, and basically stole everything from him, including his identity. While Evan was masquerading as Nick, he seduced a woman and convinced her to marry him."

"That's quite a story," Christina murmured, her expression thoughtful. "What about you? You said that Evan swore revenge on both of you. Did he do anything to you?"

J.T cleared his throat, sorry now that he'd allowed the conversation to veer off into personal territory. "Yes, he got his revenge on me. Now it's my turn." He picked up his water glass and drained it down to the last drop.

"Aren't you going to explain?" Christina asked.

"It's personal."

She made a little face at that. "Really? It's personal?" she echoed sarcastically. "Fine, I'll take that response, as long as I can use it when you ask me questions I don't want to answer."

He saw the challenge in her eyes and knew she had him by the balls. If he wanted her to talk, he would have to tell her at least some of what she wanted to know. He could do this. He could say it out loud. Couldn't he?

His brain said yes, but his heart said no. The words didn't want to come.

Christina leaned forward, resting her elbows on the table. She waited for him to continue. She looked like she had every intention of sitting there for the rest of the night if she had to.

"Evan waited until I'd forgotten about him," he said finally. "I'd finished college, graduated, moved on with my life-Evan wasn't remotely on my radar screen. But I was on his." J.T. took a long breath, drawing strength from down deep. If Christina weren't someone who could help him catch Evan, he wouldn't be telling her a thing, but maybe if he could get her on his side, she'd be more willing to help. It wasn't as if talking about it would make it worse. It couldn't be any worse. What was done was done.

"My dad was a gambler," J.T. continued. "He couldn't pass up a bet on a card game, a sporting event, or the ponies. Evan played on my father's weakness and hustled him out of his life savings with an investment scheme that promised riches too good to be true. My father was devastated when he realized that he was completely ruined. My mother was so furious she left him and moved to her sister's house. And I...I said some..." He shook his head and stared down at the table. "Terrible things," he finished, knowing he could never, ever say those words aloud again. "A week later my father shot himself with a hunting rifle. My mother and I weren't talking to him, so he was dead two days before anyone found him."

"Oh, my God." Christina gasped, putting a hand to her mouth, horror in her eyes. "I'm so sorry. I didn't know...I didn't imagine it was that bad. I wouldn't have asked you to explain if I'd known."

"Evan might as well have pulled the trigger," he said, still tasting the bitter fury that had been with him since the moment he'd gone to his father's house to check on him because his mother had finally gotten worried. He blamed himself for what had happened as much as he blamed Evan. He should have seen it coming. He should have done something. Instead of acting out of pride and anger, instead of being judgmental and critical, he should have found a way to understand his father's pain, his desperation at having lost everything and everyone in his life.

"You don't have to say any more," Christina said, compassion in her voice. "I shouldn't have forced you to tell me. I don't usually pry into people's lives. You just annoyed me and I wanted to get even. I'm sorry."

"It's better you know the kind of man you're dealing with." He took a breath. Now that he'd started, he needed to finish it. "The day of the funeral Evan sent me a condolence card to let me know he was behind it all. He also sent flowers to the grave."

"That's sick."

"That's Evan." He held her gaze for a long moment. "Make no mistake, Christina; Evan Chadwick is a sociopath. On the outside he's charming, good-looking, friendly. He knows how to get people to trust him. Then he destroys them. Evan got his payback and I'll get mine. I will put him away for the rest of his life. You can bank on that."

"I'm sure you will. I can understand why you're so determined to catch him. I wish I could help."

"That's why we're here, so you can help."

She sighed. "I stepped right into that one, didn't I?"