“I told you, I wanted to put some papers in the safe.”
“You didn’t have one single piece of paper in your hand when you climbed that tree. Try again.” He put his hands on the wall behind her, trapping her in between the wall and him.
“What are you doing?” she asked, an odd catch in her voice.
When he was standing this close to her, it took him a minute to remember what he was doing. She smelled like flowers, and her mouth was trembling, her full lips slightly parted, as if she were waiting for something...waiting for him. He had the sudden urge to put his hands in her hair, crush those soft lips to his mouth.
“You need to move,” she said.
That wasn’t all that he needed. His intent had been to intimidate her, to make her uneasy enough to blurt out the truth. But she was having a strange effect on him. He couldn’t seem to move backward or forward or even remember exactly what he wanted to happen next. His body had its own ideas, and his brain was having trouble keeping up.
Then Christina gave him a hard shove and darted out from under him, putting at least six feet between them. It was a good thing. With distance, his brain started working again, reminding him that he had to stay focused on his goal: catching Evan. He couldn’t let himself get caught up in Christina.
There was a fire burning in her eyes now. “You might work for the FBI, but you don’t have the right to come in here and harass me. I could report you.”
He went back on the offensive. “That might involve an explanation of why you broke into this house that definitely does not belong to you, why you were in such a hurry to put away some mysterious and obviously invisible papers that you couldn’t take time to stop at home, put on dry clothes, or fix your hair or your face -- something so urgent you climbed a tree in bare feet and an evening gown, something--”
“Stop,” she said, putting up her hand, a frown on her face. “You’ve made your point. I’ve heard enough.”
“I haven’t heard nearly enough from you. Let’s review. Tonight, while you were wearing a diamond worth millions of dollars, it slipped off your neck. Some guy caught it in his hand. Who was that man?”
She stared at him for a moment and then said, “Professor Howard Keaton. He used to work at UCLA. He mentioned that he’s now at a museum in Vancouver.”
“Do you know him?”
“Yes, but it’s been a while since I’ve seen him.”
“How long a while?”
She shrugged “Not since I was a child. Why?”
“Just wondering. It’s odd how the necklace came loose at just the moment the professor was looking at it. I saw him touch it. Did he pull on it?”
“I didn’t feel a tug. It just fell. It’s possible the clasp opened or broke. Professor Keaton handed the jewel back to me almost immediately.”
“Almost being the key word.”
His words seemed to surprise her. “What do you mean?”
“You don’t think he could have made a switch, do you -- traded a fake diamond for the real thing?” It was an idea that had been running through his brain since he’d left the auction house.
Her eyes widened. “No, no, of course not. It was just out of my control for a few seconds.”
He watched her carefully, but she showed nothing but amazement at the suggestion. Still, she could be a good actress. He’d originally wanted to make contact with her because he thought she might be a target for Evan, that she was someone who could help him catch his old enemy. But her behavior tonight had raised his suspicions about her. He wouldn’t make the mistake of trusting her too soon.
“Are you sure?” he asked. “Sometimes the hand is quicker than the eye.”
“You were watching. What did you see?”
“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.”
&nbs
p; “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 w
ith 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?”
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