Christina looked from the woman to her father. He walked over to the woman and put a hand on her shoulder. The woman didn't react in any way.

"This is Isabella," Marcus said gently. "Your mother."

She bit down on her lip. She'd never thought to hear those words-your mother. Her mother was dead. Her mother had left her. That was the story. Now her father wanted her to believe another story-that this woman sitting in this convent hospital in Tuscany was her mother. How could she be?

Christina started shaking her head. She couldn't move forward. She couldn't move back. Nor could she tear her eyes from the face that looked so much like her own.

Why wasn't Isabella saying anything to her?

In fact, her mother wasn't even looking at her. She was staring at the wall. She seemed completely oblivious to the fact that three people were standing in her room, two of whom she'd never seen before.

"What's wrong with her?" Christina whispered.

"She had a nervous breakdown. She lost her mind," Marcus said quietly, his eyes meeting hers. "After you were born, the depression set in. Then she got sick, a high fever. It ravaged her body. Her mind gave up. She's been like this ever since."

"For almost thirty years?" Christina asked in shock.

Marcus nodded. "Yes." He kissed Isabella softly on the cheek. She didn't even blink. Then Marcus gently pulled the top of her sweater to one side. Christina wondered what he was doing, and then she realized what her father had been trying to tell her. He had brought the diamond back to its rightful owner. The necklace hung around Isabella's neck, the diamond glittering against her pale skin.

"It is hers," Marcus said, gazing back at Christina. "It was always meant to be hers-and then yours. Vittorio stole it from her when he found out about our affair. He took it to punish her. He knew how much it meant to her. Isabella was fascinated by the story of Catherine and her first love. It was all she talked about when we met. We learned the story together. We found the fresco, the secret hiding place...everything. Isabella said she would hide it away until she had a daughter or until one of her sons had a daughter. But everything went wrong," he said sadly. "Everything."

"Because the two of you didn't belong together," Christina said. "She was married. You should have left her alone."

"I tried. She was so unhappy, so fragile, so beautiful. I couldn't resist her. I was weak. But you know that about me, Christina. You know that I can't ever walk away from what I want."

She did know that. And still she loved him. What was wrong with her? Shaking her head, Christina turned her attention back to Isabella. "Why didn't you tell me she was alive and ill? Why did you make me believe that she had left me, when apparently she did everything she could to try to keep me?"

"I didn't want you to go looking for her. I didn't want you to be burdened with a mother who couldn't take care of you, who couldn't see you, hear you, touch you."

Were his motives pure-or was this just another rationalization?

"Will she ever get better?" she asked.

"The diamond was my last hope," Marcus answered. "She breathes. She eats when they feed her. She sleeps. But she doesn't speak. She doesn't live. She just exists. When I saw that the diamond was being sent to Barclay's, I knew I had to get it back for her. I thought its power might be able to help her. But it's been three days and nothing has changed."

She heard the hopelessness in his voice, the sorrow, and her heart softened in spite of her anger. Her father loved Isabella. That much was clear. But still...

"Why didn't you bring me to see her?" she asked. "Maybe that's what would have made the difference."

"I did bring you to see her," Marcus replied, shocking her once again. "Despite the phony funeral Vittorio set up, I knew she was alive. Maria had told me that Vittorio wanted the world, especially his sons, to believe she was dead. Maria tried to convince Vittorio that he was wrong, but he was determined to erase Isabella's existence. I was going to call him a liar myself, but then I saw Isabella, and I thought perhaps it would be easier for her to have no contact with him. But I did bring you, Christina, when you were about fifteen months old. We stayed for several days. I tried to put you in her arms, but she wouldn't hold you. She didn't respond at all. And you were scared. You started crying when you saw her. You wouldn't stop until we left the room. So I took you back home and I raised you myself. I kept in touch with Maria, who checked on her almost every day for the last thirty years. There was never a change in her condition." He glanced down at Isabella. "Her body is here, but her soul is somewhere else."

"Does Vittorio know she's here?"

"Of course. He pays the bills. He sent her to another institution at first, a cold, dark place. Maria finally convinced him to move her here. We knew the fresco was in the church, and we thought that since Isabella loved the story so much, it might help her to see the picture, to see the diamond, even if she couldn't hold it in her hand. The nuns took her in there all the time, but it didn't help. Nothing helps." Marcus let out a frustrated sigh. "I wouldn't have stolen the diamond from Barclay's if I'd had any other choice, Christina. Over the years I tried to get it from Vittorio, but he had it hidden away in a vault. I knew this was my one chance to get it back for Isabella. I had to take it. I disguised myself as Professor Keaton so I could switch the diamond at the party. I knew that Nicole and Evan wouldn't make their attempt until the day of the auction."

"Did you set the smoke bombs off, too?"

"No, that was Evan. It was convenient, though. It provided a good distraction."

"You knew Evan would steal the fake. Didn't you wonder what he'd do next?"

"It was a very good copy. As I said, the jeweler and I went through several tries before we got it almost perfect. I wasn't sure anyone would be able to tell the difference."

"But you left out the mineral inclusion of the heart," she said. "The noted flaw."

"I tried to put it in. It was never quite right, but it was close. You weren't sure. You told me so yourself."

"It was very good," she admitted. "You almost got away with everything-only you didn't."

"If I have to go to jail, I will," Marcus said. "But I had to try to bring your mother back to life one last time. The diamond belongs to her."

"I'm surprised Vittorio didn't send the police here," Christina murmured. "Didn't he know you'd bring the diamond here?"

"That would have meant revealing his lies," Marcus answered. "He wouldn't want anyone in Florence to know the truth. He probably thought he could steal it away later."

That made sense. Christina didn't know what else to say. She was so confused. She looked at J.T. "What should I do now?"

"Well," he said slowly, "maybe you should talk to your mother."

Christina turned back to Isabella, still not sure she could believe this woman was her mother. She moved a few steps closer to the chair. The woman's gaze seemed fixed on the wall behind Christina. She didn't seem to be aware of their conversation at all. "Can she hear me?" she asked her father.

Marcus shrugged. "I don't know."

"I'm afraid I'll do something wrong."

"You can't make her worse," Marcus said.

Christina squatted in front of her mother, so they were at eye level. She took a long moment to gather her thoughts. This woman was her mother. She had to be around sixty-two or -three. Yet, she looked younger than that, as if she'd been frozen in time. In a way, that was exactly what had happened.

What words could she say now that would cross the decades of distance between them?

She covered Isabella's hand with her own.

"It's me, Christina," she said softly. "I'm your daughter. I've come back to you. I'm...home."

Christina closed her eyes, overwhelmed by emotion. And then she felt it-a small, tiny squeeze. Her eyes flew open. Isabella still wasn't looking at her. Christina gazed down at their hands and saw Isabella's finger move. It tightened around Christina's finger, much the way a mother would hold the finger of her baby.

"She knows you're here," Marcus said, jubilation in his voice. "Her hand moved. I saw it."

"I felt it," Christina said, meeting her father's gaze. "But is it enough?"

"It's enough for now," he whispered. "For now, it's enough."

It was almost three o'clock in the morning, and Christina still wasn't asleep. J.T. and her father had left hours ago with the local police. She'd wanted to go along, but they'd both insisted that she stay behind. J.T. didn't want her to get caught up in her father's crimes, and Marcus had agreed that she should stay out of it. Fortunately, the sisters of St. Anne's had offered her a small room in the convent in which to sleep.

It was a simple, barren room-a single bed, a dresser with an old-fashioned washing bowl and pitcher, a lamp on the bedside table, a large cross over the door, and a Bible in the drawer. The nuns had been very kind to her, especially after learning that she was Isabella's daughter. It was clear they had a fondness for her mother, although she wasn't sure exactly why, since Isabella seemed incapable of expressing any emotion.

She'd had so many shocks where her mother was concerned, she didn't know how she felt about any of it, except that she was glad to finally know her mother's name and the reason why they'd never been together. It was so sad to think that Isabella had lived in a catatonic state for thirty years. Why? What kept her from returning to reality? Her father had hoped the diamond would bring her back to life, but so far it hadn't made a difference. There had been no change at all until tonight-when her mother's finger had curled around hers. Had it been on purpose? Had Isabella felt something-some long-ago connection between mother and child?

Or was Christina just hoping for a miracle-as her father had been?

She gazed toward the window, where the open curtain revealed a full moon and bright stars. Out here in the countryside there were no city lights to dim the stars. It felt so odd to be looking at the sky from inside a convent in Italy. Yet this was the same sky, the same moon, and the same stars that her mother had stared at every day of her life. For almost thirty years they'd been separated by emotional and physical distance, but tonight they were sleeping under the same roof. It felt odd and yet strangely comforting. She felt as if this place, this land, was where she was supposed to be. She'd always wanted roots. Her real roots were here in Italy. But her life was back in San Francisco.

And J.T.... well, his life was in LA with the FBI. He lived on the road, traveled from case to case. Although she wondered what he would do now that his nemesis was gone.

Was he feeling triumphant, victorious? She hadn't seen that on his face when he'd looked at Evan. Revenge usually turned out to be more sour than sweet. Evan was dead, but that fact didn't bring J.T.'s father back. It didn't change what had happened. Still, maybe J.T. could face the future with a lighter heart, a more carefree spirit. He deserved it after so many years of carrying the weight of his father's death on his shoulders.

A tap at the door sent her upright in bed, her heart immediately jumping into her throat. She knew the danger was over. Evan was dead. But it was the middle of the night, she was alone, and there had been far too many surprises already. She was thankful she hadn't bothered to change out of her clothes into the nightgown the nuns had offered her. Her instincts had told her to stay ready for anything.

The door slowly opened. She held her breath and then let it out in relief as J.T. slipped into the room. She put a hand to her heart. "You scared me."

"Sorry. I wasn't sure if you were asleep. I didn't want to wake you." He walked over to the bed and kissed her on the mouth, long and tender.

She scooted over on the bed so he could sit down. "What happened with my father? Is he in jail?"

"For tonight, but I think he'll be released in the morning."

"Why?"

"I spoke to Vittorio Benedetti. In fact, I woke him up. We had a little chat about you and your mother and the secrets he'd like to keep from his sons. They don't know their mother is alive and locked up in this convent."

"I had a feeling they didn't."

"He said he did it to protect them from a lifetime of sad and grieving visits with a mother who couldn't love them. That's why he held a public funeral all those years ago and buried an empty coffin, set up a false marker. He wanted it over."

"That's sick. He should have tried harder."

"At any rate, he's agreed to speak to Barclay's about dropping the charges against your father as long as he gets the diamond back. I have to warn you that he still might try to sell the diamond," J.T. added. "I know you think it belongs to your mother, but legally it's a lot more complicated than that. Maybe he'll have second thoughts when he thinks about it."

"Maybe I can convince him," she said.

He gave her a loving smile. "I bet you could. How are you holding up?"

"Okay. My pulse has finally returned to normal. I never imagined Isabella was alive. Although she's not really alive, is she?"

"I don't know, Christina."

"Me, either. What about you? How do you feel knowing that Evan is dead?"

"Like I'm about fifty pounds lighter."

"You got your justice."

"Yeah, I did. It's funny, though-in some ways I wish he had lived. I would have liked to see him in jail, behind bars, suffering the way he made other people suffer. On the other hand, now I know he's really not coming back. He can't escape. He can't cause any more trouble."

"So it's over."

"Yeah." Shadows filled his eyes. "I have to fly home tomorrow, to LA. I have to wrap up this case, talk to my boss, figure out how much trouble I'm in." He played with her hair. "Are you going back to San Francisco-or are you staying here?"

She took a deep breath. It was a question she'd been asking herself all night. "Staying here," she whispered, not sure what her decision would mean to J.T. or any future they might have together, but this choice was for her mother. "I have to learn more about Isabella. I have to try to connect with her. I can't leave without doing that."

"It's probably hopeless."

"I still have to try. I guess there's more of my father in me than I'd like to admit."

"Marcus isn't a bad guy. I don't know what he did in the past, but in this instance his heart was in the right place. He wanted to help the woman he loved. I can get behind that."

"Thank you for understanding his motives." Their eyes met for a long moment. There was so much she wanted to say, and yet so much she was afraid to say. "I know it's fast, J.T., but I do love you with all my heart. I don't know what you want from me, if anything, but-"

"I want you," he interrupted. "That's all I want."

"I don't know where I'm going to end up, what I will do with my life. I'm not sure I can return to Barclay's-even if they would take me back. I've spent so much of my life studying other people's history. Now I need to know more about my own history. I came to Italy to find my father, but I think I actually found myself."

He smiled. "Yeah, I think you did. I don't know what's in store for me either. I may retire from the FBI, if they haven't fired me already. The only thing I know for sure is that whatever we both end up doing-we should do it together. What do you think?"

"I think it sounds perfect. I don't care what you do with your life. It's your choice. You know that, right?" J.T. had already spent too much of his life trying to please the people he loved. She didn't want him to do the same for her.

"I do know that. I also know that you're an amazing woman."

"Tell me more," she said as they stretched out together on the narrow bed.

"You're strong, courageous, loveable, passionate...."

"Keep going," she said lightly, smiling.

"Sexy, sweet, intriguing-"

She covered his mouth with her hand. "Okay, that's enough. You've earned a kiss."

"Hell, I'd better have earned more than a kiss."

"We're in a convent, J.T. We can't have...sex," she whispered.

He rolled her over on her back, pinning her beneath his body, cradling her face in his hands. "We're not going to have sex. We're going to make love."

"In that case," she said, "how can I say no?"

Epilogue.

Three weeks later...

It was a beautiful, sunny day on the hillside above Florence. New flowers bloomed in the freshly weeded garden. A soothing stream of water trickled through the once-dry fountain. Hummingbirds pecked at the feeder Christina had set up in the yard.