"Yes, and I didn't spill my guts for nothing. Now it's your turn. I was reviewing what happened at the party tonight. You spoke to a man when you first entered the room. It was one of your longer conversations. Who was that?"

She thought for a moment. "Michael Torrance. He's a collector. I've worked with him over the past few years."

"So you know him well? You've had a relationship with him?"

"A phone relationship. Tonight was the first night we met in person. I usually do his bidding for him by phone-as I do for a number of other customers. It's common in my business."

J.T.'s nerves tightened. He didn't want to jump too fast to the wrong conclusion. Evan could be impersonating anyone. He needed to keep an open mind. But if Christina had never met Michael Torrance in person before tonight, then he should be checked out. "Let's move on to Professor Keaton."

"I don't know much about him except that he was a professor of art history at UCLA some years back. He told me that he now works at a museum in Vancouver. He didn't give me the name."

"That shouldn't be too hard to track down. What else did he say to you?"

"He asked me if I was nervous wearing the diamond because of the curse."

"Huh?" He hadn't heard that one before. "The diamond is cursed?"

Christina shrugged as if she didn't know how to answer the question. "He's the only one who seems to think so. I asked Stefano Benedetti about it. He said he'd never heard of a curse. I have to admit that the diamond's history is a bit fuzzy. Usually for a stone of this size there is a fairly lengthy declaration of ownership attached to it. The Benedettis have said next to nothing about it, except that it's been in their family for a hundred years and basically has been kept hidden away in a vault."

Reading between the lines of her statements, he could see that she was unsettled by something. "What aren't you telling me? You have an odd expression on your face."

"I don't know more than what I've said. But I am curious as to why Professor Keaton thinks there's a curse and the Benedettis don't know anything about it."

"Sounds like we need to talk to Professor Keaton for several reasons."

"Like why he was in my office," she said, meeting his gaze. "Even in the thick smoke, there wouldn't have been any reason for him to go upstairs rather than down. But he's an older man. I can't believe he was agile enough to set smoke bombs off in an intricate venting system."

"True, but he could have been working with someone. Or he could have been Evan in disguise, dressed up like an old, distinguished professor. Evan is thirty-two years old and extremely fit." Pausing, he said, "Putting that aside for the moment, why was Keaton at the party? How did he get on the guest list?"

"If he buys for a museum, he would be on the guest list."

"That's not something you compiled?"

"It was a joint effort," she replied. "Every department sent out invitations. We're not just auctioning off jewelry tomorrow, but also the rest of the collection, which includes paintings and other items. Professor Keaton wasn't on my list, but that doesn't mean he wasn't on someone else's list."

"If Keaton is from out of town, he's no doubt staying at a hotel. I'll track him down. We need to know if he is who he says he is. Because if Keaton is Evan, and he was in your office, then you're involved."

Christina frowned at his analysis. "You're starting to scare me."

"I hope I am. Evan has hurt a lot of people. I don't want you to get hurt, too."

"Does that mean you're no longer suspicious of me? That you don't think I'm working with him?"

He didn't answer right away, and when he saw the nervous flicker in her eyes, he reminded himself that her actions all evening had been extremely suspicious. He couldn't forget that. "I think you're hiding something, Christina," he said. "And I believe you're the kind of woman who thinks she can handle everything on her own. But this whole situation is bigger than you realize. You might need help-my help."

"So that's a no?" she asked, a sharp bite to her tone.

He could see she didn't like his answer. "I'm not closing the door on anything or anyone. I've known you only a few hours, and so far I've seen you climb a tree, break into a house, slam the door to an open safe in my face, and warn someone off. Not exactly typical, ordinary kinds of actions, wouldn't you agree? As far as I'm concerned, no one is above suspicion, including you."

"I guess I know where I stand then."

"There's something else I'm curious about," he continued.

"There seems to be no end to your curiosity."

"Why Barclay's? Why not one of the other bigger auction houses? Why did the Benedettis choose your house for their collection? I've seen your security, and it could be better."

"You can take that up with Russell Kenner. Security is not my area. As for why us...Barclay's may be smaller and not as old or as well-known, but we're very well respected in the industry. We have an office in Europe, and one of our specialists there was able to win the consignment from the Benedettis. There are all kinds of deals in terms of money and percentages. I'm not privy to that particular information. You would have to discuss the details with Alexis or Jeremy Kensington, the owners of Barclay's."

He nodded. It was interesting how she had so much more to say when she wasn't being asked a personal question. "I'll keep that in mind. Since you're not in charge of security or pricing, what exactly do you do?"

"I'm the department specialist for jewelry, not just diamonds, but any kind of jewelry that we sell. I have a background in art history and I'm a certified gemologist."

"In other words, you're a smart girl," he mused. Christina was not just smart; she was also beautiful, a dangerous combination.

"You could say that."

"Do you have a boyfriend?" Where had that question come from?

Her jaw dropped, her eyes widening with surprise. "What does that have to do with anything?"

He searched his brain for a good reason. "Just wondering how vulnerable you would be to a seductive con man."

She bristled at that. "As you said, I'm a smart girl. I don't fall for phony lines."

"You didn't answer my question, Christina."

She crossed her arms in front of her as she sat back in her chair. "Not that it's your business, but, no, I don't have a boyfriend at the moment. I'm too busy with my job. What about you? Do you have a girlfriend?"

"No," he said shortly, regretting having opened up this line of questioning. Fortunately, she seemed as eager to ditch it as he was.

"So, are we done?" she asked. "It's been a long night. I'd like to go home."

"Not so fast. We never finished our conversation about your father."

She let out a sigh. "I'll tell you this. My father is an incredible man. He raised me on his own from the time I was an infant. My mother left me, but my father didn't. It was just the two of us. He was my whole world. I thought he was the smartest man alive."

J.T. picked up the nuance in her voice and wondered where it came from. "But you don't think that now?"

"Of course I do," she said quickly.

He wasn't sure he believed her. There was something going on between her and her father. "Are you still close?"

"Not like we used to be. My father is retired, and he travels a lot. We don't see each other much."

"Sounds like he has a good life. Did he ever re-marry?"

"My father said he could never love anyone but my mother. He's a romantic," she added with a weary smile.

"Like his daughter?"

"No," she said with a definitive shake of her head. "I had to be the practical one or we never would have survived. My father would get caught up in his research and lose track of time. He had that absentminded professor bit down pretty well. But I took care of him, and he took care of me. We traveled a lot. It worked." She stopped abruptly, the sound of her cell phone interrupting their conversation. She pulled out her phone and said, "Hello." She stiffened, her face turning pale. "Yes, all right," she said, then ended the call.

Christina tried to act nonchalant as she returned her phone to her purse, but J.T. could see that she was rattled. "Who was that?" he queried.

"One of my coworkers."

"So it was business?"

"Sure."

"Interesting, because your face turned white when you said hello."

"I'm just tired."

"No, you're just lying-again. I wish you could trust me, Christina. If Evan is using you in some way, if he has some hold over you, tell me. I can help." It occurred to him that Evan might have some hold over her father. From what he knew of Christina so far, her weakness seemed to be her dad, and J.T. knew better than most that when it came to fathers, Evan knew just how to strike.

For a split second Christina seemed to waver; then she straightened her shoulders and threw back her head. "Everything is fine. If I need your help, I'll ask. But for now, I'm going home."

Half an hour later, J.T. walked into his hotel room at the downtown Holiday Inn, feeling both tired and wired. He shouldn't have had that third cup of coffee. But caffeine aside, he knew he wouldn't be able to sleep; he had too much on his mind. And it wasn't just Evan's mocking smile that played through his head; it was Christina's image, her mysterious green eyes, her soft, lying lips.

His gut tightened as he remembered the way she'd avoided his questions. She was protecting someone-was it Evan? Or was it her father, who seemed a more likely possibility? If Evan was blackmailing her, she might feel compelled to go along. She certainly seemed to be protective of her dad. He couldn't blame her for that.

He should have been so protective when it came to his own father. If he'd been more attentive, more thoughtful, his family would still be together. His father would be alive. His mother wouldn't be wasting away with grief. And he...well, he'd probably be living a much different life right now. Everything had changed after Evan, every single last thing. But he couldn't think about any of that now. He had to focus on the present, not the past. What was done was done.

Throwing his keys down on the dresser, J.T. took out his laptop computer and sat on the bed. While waiting for the computer to boot up, he flipped on the television. He ran through the channels, pausing at one of the sports talk shows. They were interviewing a guy he'd played with in college. Henry Redeker, a star running back at Cal, had gone on to play for the New York Jets and had just announced his retirement from the game after eleven years.

Eleven years! J.T. shook his head. It was hard to believe so much time had passed since they'd graduated. Henry had had the life that J.T. was supposed to have had, the one his father had wanted for him with every breath he took.

J.T. thought back to all those years, all those practices, all those late nights at the park when it had been just him and his dad throwing passes until it was too dark to see.

In the beginning it was a shared dream; then it had become an obsession-at least for his father. They'd had so many heated arguments about what he should want for himself, what he should do, how he should act. He'd disappointed his father on so many occasions, never being quite good enough, even when it seemed he was being as good as he could possibly be. But his father had always shaken his head and told him he could do better. At times there had been nothing but hate between them. Unfortunately, it was the other times that brought him the pain now.

J.T. let out a breath, wishing he could find a way to keep those memories out of his head. He needed to catch Evan, if for no other reason than to lock the door on his past. Once Evan was in jail, he would never, ever have to revisit those days again.

He turned the channel, relieved to find a late-night comedy show. Stupid jokes about the day's events were just what he needed now. He was used to cold, impersonal hotel rooms, late and lonely nights on the road. Most of the time he didn't care. It was part of the job, and he had no one in Los Angeles who was waiting for him to come home or wondering where he was, so his life worked. But for some reason tonight he felt restless and frustrated.

He hated when things didn't add up, when he couldn't figure something or someone out, and Christina fit that bill. She'd told him just enough to tease him into wanting to know more. Her actions over the past eight hours intrigued him. She'd gotten his attention. And he wasn't just interested; he was attracted to her, a complication he did not need.

He hadn't wanted to say good night to her, and if he were honest with himself, he'd wanted to do more than question her; he'd wanted to kiss her, to explore the softness of her mouth with his tongue and trace the lush curves of her body with his hands. He ruthlessly reminded himself that she might be beautiful and smart, but she was also a liar. He should have his head examined for even considering going down that road. He was obviously in desperate need of a social life, something else he'd put on hold the last few years.

He couldn't let himself get personally involved with Christina. If he did, he'd no doubt play right into Evan's game. It would be just like Evan to use a woman, someone who could get to him and distract him. The last thing he needed was a distraction.

Turning his attention to his computer, he pulled up his old pal Nick's file. He'd compiled a chronological record of events since Evan had taken over Nick's identity several months earlier, keeping a thorough, detailed account of everything that had transpired. As he reviewed his notes, he strained to see some clue he was missing, to find a pattern or a loophole. Nothing seemed to be related to or connected between what Evan had been doing with Nick and Kayla and what he was doing now. Yet, J.T. felt certain there was some link between that job and this one. Evan's usual mode of operation was to disappear after a con. He never stayed in the same city. It was too risky, and probably too boring, J.T. suspected. So Evan moved on-but not this time. This time he had left behind a clue-deliberately. He'd wanted J.T. to stay close on the trail. So what was he up to now?

The question ran around and around in J.T.'s brain, making him crazy. What was the connection?

His gaze fixed on one word that continued to pop up in his notes-Italian. Evan's last job had focused on several Italian families, the Riccis, the Carmellos, the Damons, and the Blandinos. Now Evan was interested in an auction featuring a diamond from yet another Italian family-the Benedettis. The Benedettis lived in Florence, as far as J.T. knew, and it was certainly a leap to think there was any connection among the families, but he hated to discount the possibility. His instincts told him there was something there, but what exactly he couldn't say.

His nerves tightened at the sound of someone coming down the hall. The heavy footsteps paused outside his door. He swung his legs off the bed, grabbed his gun, and got to his feet. He saw a piece of paper lying on the floor. Obviously someone had slipped it under the door. Ignoring that for the moment, he looked through the peephole. The hall was empty. He opened the door to check. No one was there. Closing the door, he picked up the paper and turned it over. There was a color photograph of Christina from the party, posed at the entrance to the gallery in her black dress, the yellow diamond gleaming against her skin. The caption read, She's pretty, and she's mine. You know you can't stop me. Why do you even try?

J.T. blew out a breath of frustration. He'd seen enough notes from Evan to recognize his handwriting and his taunts. Evan loved to make sure J.T. was paying attention. And it was clear Evan intended to use Christina. Did she know it? Was she a willing partner? Was she working to set him up? Anger raced through J.T.'s body. If she was involved, she was going to be very, very sorry.

Debating for one long minute whether he wanted to get Christina on the phone, he decided to go another route. He pulled out his cell phone and dialed the home number of his assistant, Tracy Delgado. Tracy had been with him for four years and knew almost as much about Evan as he did. She was probably asleep and would give him hell for waking her up, but it wasn't the first time, and it wouldn't be the last.

As expected, Tracy answered the phone in an annoyed voice. "This had better be important, Mac."

"It is. I need you to find out everything you can about Christina Alberti. Oh, and while you're at it, check out her father. I think his name is Marcus Alberti."

"Christina, got it. She's the chick at the auction house?"

"That's right."

"Is tomorrow good enough?" she asked. "I'm kind of busy at the moment."

He heard a man's voice in the background and suspected he'd caught Tracy at a very bad time. Sometimes he forgot that other people had actual lives. "Tomorrow is fine. Oh, and I also need you to track down a Professor Howard Keaton. He works at a museum in Vancouver. He's probably staying at a hotel in San Francisco."

"That's all you know?"

"For now. Call me tomorrow-as soon as you can. Evan's plan is already in motion, and I don't want to be the last one to find out what it is."

When Christina arrived at the small lab on the first floor of Barclay's Auction House where they conducted their jewelry appraisals, she was shocked to find her part-time assistant, David Padlinsky, looking through the gem scope at the Benedetti diamond. David, a grad student from Berkeley, had joined Barclay's a month earlier. Somewhere in his late twenties, he looked more like a rock star than a historian, with a diamond earring in one ear and long dark hair that today was swept back in a ponytail. A thick beard and mustache covered the lower half of his face. But it wasn't his appearance that upset Christina; it was his actions.

"What are you doing?" she asked shortly.

"Setting up the scope for you." He straightened up, giving her a curious look. "Is something wrong?"

She hesitated, realizing there were more people in the room than usual. Normally she did her work in the lab on her own or with David, but today Alexis and Stefano Benedetti were also present, as well as J.T., who was currently following every word of the conversation between her and David. "No, nothing is wrong," she said.

"What's with the audience?" David murmured, as she joined him by the worktable.

She shrugged. "Everyone wants to make sure the diamond is all right."

"Why wouldn't it be?"

"No reason."

David sent her an odd look, but she didn't want to explain any of J.T.'s suspicious theories to him. She pulled up a tall stool and sat down, adjusting the scope so she could examine the diamond. David opened a file on the adjacent computer screen that showed a digital drawing of the diamond from several angles. She would compare her findings to the initial appraisal conducted by their associate in Florence.

First, she wanted to look at the clasp on the chain. She moved the necklace under the eye of the scope. The clasp was very old and ornate but didn't appear to be broken or loose. Perhaps it just hadn't been attached properly the night before. She tried to remember who had closed the clasp. There had been so many people around her, Alexis, Jeremy, Sylvia-wait, Sylvia. Christina distinctly remembered the head of public relations taking the necklace from Alexis and fastening it around her neck. Sylvia must not have snapped it all the way closed. She probably wouldn't admit to that, though. She was tight with Alexis, and very ambitious. She wouldn't want to be blamed for the necklace falling off of Christina's neck.

"Well?" J.T. demanded in an impatient voice. "What do you see?"

"The clasp looks good," she murmured.

"So why did it break?" he asked, stepping forward.

She wished she could tell him to move back. His nearness was distracting. She could smell the musky scent of his cologne and feel the heat of his breath on the back of her neck. She didn't know why he had to be so close. She forced herself to concentrate on the task at hand. "The clasp must not have been hooked properly."