She gasped as Howard caught the diamond necklace with a deft hand. Their eyes met.
“It’s a sign,” he murmured. “Be careful, Christina. Be very careful.”
Out of the corner of her eye she saw the security guard walking quickly in her direction, and she realized that she needed to reclaim the necklace. “May I have it back, please?”
“Of course.”
As the professor handed the diamond back to her, a scream rang through the room, followed by shouts of “Fire!” She closed her fingers tightly around the stone as thick gray smoke poured into the room.
The crowd immediately swarmed toward the gallery doors, knocking over tables and chairs and sweeping Christina along in the chaos. Her eyes began to water, and her chest tightened as she struggled to breathe. She clutched the diamond in her hand, praying that she wouldn’t lose it, but no one seemed interested in the jewel anymore. Even Professor Keaton had disappeared. She had once been the center of attention, but now the crowd’s focus was on escape.
The panic in the room increased with each passing moment, and she could understand why. The smoke and the screams were disorienting. She couldn’t see two feet in front of her. Out of nowhere J.T. McIntyre suddenly appeared at her side, his hand on her arm. “Give me the diamond,” he said sharply.
She hesitated, reluctant to let the stone out of her hand. She didn’t know this man. He could be anyone. He could be a jewel thief impersonating an FBI agent. It wasn’t just her job on the line; it was her reputation, the new life she had built for herself. She couldn’t -- wouldn’t -- let it all come tumbling down. “I don’t think so. I don’t know you.”
“We don’t have time to argue. You can trust me.”
“How can I do that? You could be that thief you were telling me about, the one who wears disguises.” She coughed again, tears streaming down her face.
To make matters worse the sprinklers went off, soaking them with water. Within seconds her evening gown clung to her body like a second skin.
“I’m here to protect you and that diamond,” J.T. shouted.
“I’m hanging on to it just the same,” she said with determination.
“Then hold on tight, because we’re getting out of here.”
J.T. didn’t let go of her arm until they reached the doors. Halfway down the stairs, several firemen passed them on their way up to the gallery. Christina hoped they could stop the fire before the collection was lost. The glass cases offered some protection, and as soon as the smoke alarms went off the wall coverings had moved into place to guard the paintings from any water or smoke damage. But if the building went up in flames, nothing anyone could do would save the collection.
Russell Kenner, Barclay’s head of security, and Luigi Murano, his Italian counterpart who had traveled from Italy to watch over the Benedetti collection, met them by the front door along with a half dozen security guards, who immediately surrounded Christina and ushered her away from the mass of people exiting the building.
They moved into the empty showroom on the ground floor, and Christina took a breath of blessed relief. Kenner, an ex-marine who still wore his short brown hair in a military cut, barked orders into a transmitter in his hand. Murano, a stocky, volatile Italian, waved his hands in the air, proclaiming the evening a disaster.
“Shouldn’t we be getting out of the building?” Christina asked.
“The smoke appears to be confined to the main gallery,” Russell replied. “Initial reports indicate that smoke bombs were set off in the heating and air-conditioning vents.”
“What? You mean there’s no fire?” Her stomach began to churn. If someone had set the smoke bombs, there had to be a reason why. Maybe it was a good thing the clasp had slipped. If the necklace had still been around her neck when the alarms went off, it would have been easier for someone to yank it off her.
“We’re still assessing the situation,” Russell continued. “I’ll take the diamond from you now.”
Christina hesitated and then told herself she was being ridiculous. She knew and trusted Russell Kenner. Still, she was relieved to see Alexis and Jeremy Kensington enter the salesroom. Barclay’s was their company. It was their call what to do with the diamond.
“Is the diamond all right?” Alexis asked immediately.
Christina tried not to take offense that Alexis’s concern was only for the stone and not for Christina’s personal safety. The diamond was worth a lot more to Barclay’s than Christina was.
“Yes, it’s fine.” Christina opened her palm, showing them the glittering yellow diamond. She could hear the collective gasp of relief. “I’ll take it,” Alexis said. “The firemen would like us to clear the building. Why don’t you wait outside, Christina? As soon as we know more, I’ll come and get you.”
Christina handed over the diamond, not unhappy to get rid of it. The responsibility of keeping it safe had weighed her down. She felt much lighter now. She moved toward the door, pausing to take a quick look behind her, and was happy to see J.T. McIntyre in deep conversation with Russell. She’d rather have the FBI talking to security than to her.
As she exited the building, she saw three fire trucks lined up out front, their red strobe lights flashing across the people clustered in groups across the street.
“Christina. I thought you might want this,” Kelly Huang said.
Christina turned at the sound of her coworker’s voice. Kelly, a beautiful Asian woman who had recently joined Barclay’s as a junior specialist in Asian art, handed Christina her purse.
“My bag,” Christina said. “How did you get this?”
“I was in my office when the alarms went off. I saw your purse on your desk and thought I’d better grab it. There’s no telling when we’ll be allowed back into the building. Goodness, you’re soaking wet.”
“The sprinklers went off in the gallery.”
“You should go home and change. You don’t want to get sick. I’ll let Alexis know where you are.”
The idea was tempting. While she wanted to stay in touch with what was happening, she really needed to dry off. “All right.” She dug into her purse, relieved to find her keys and her cell phone. “Call me if anything comes up before I get back.”
“Will do,” Kelly promised.
Christina paused as a news truck pulled up in front of the building. The press had arrived. She hoped the adage “there is no such thing as bad publicity” held true. She saw Sylvia Davis, Barclay’s head of public relations, moving quickly toward the truck. The crowd also turned its attention to the cameras. Was the person who had set the smoke bombs standing among them, watching his handiwork, enjoying the scene? Or perhaps he was inside the building. Maybe it was the man the FBI agent had warned her about, someone in disguise, someone they thought they knew and trusted. It was difficult to imagine that any of her coworkers were out to destroy Barclay’s. Then again, she knew firsthand that taking anyone at face value was a mistake. Everyone had secrets.
As she started down the steps, she saw a man walking quickly away from the far side of the building, near the receiving dock. He was too far away for her to see him clearly, but he had a long dark coat and moved with a familiar loping, lanky gait. Her heart came to a crashing halt as her brain took her to a place she didn’t want to go.
No, he couldn’t have done this. He wouldn’t have done this. He knew the Barclay Auction House was her life, not just her job, and that she had spent the past three years trying to start over. There was no way he would try to destroy the life she’d built. Would he?
He disappeared around the corner of the building. She told herself that she was wrong, that it wasn’t him, but a niggling doubt remained. She had to make sure. She jogged down the stairs, her high heels clattering against the stone steps. He was getting into a car, a dark Mercedes sedan. It shot past her, the man behind the wheel nothing but a blur. She told herself to forget about him, go home, change clothes, but all the way to her car she knew she would have to make one stop first --
just to be sure.
* * *
J.T. wanted to talk to Christina Alberti, but by the time he left the building she was halfway across the parking lot. He hesitated, torn between the need to stay on top of the smoke bomb investigation and the desire to follow up with Christina. Since Barclay’s security team and the local cops were flexing their protective turf muscles, he decided he might as well work another angle -- Christina.
She wasn’t what he’d expected. On paper she’d appeared nondescript, a twenty-nine-year-old art historian with a couple of degrees from various colleges and a certificate in gemology -- in other words, a boring intellectual. He’d figured she’d be serious and smart. Stunningly beautiful had come as a surprise. When she’d first entered the gallery, she’d literally taken his breath away with her mysterious green eyes, honey-colored skin, gorgeous dark hair, and incredibly hot body. With that diamond around her neck, she’d looked like some sort of Italian goddess.
All that was beside the point, he reminded himself as he moved toward the parking lot. He was here to catch a thief, and he had to stay focused on that goal. Now that he had seen Christina, he was even more convinced that Evan Chadwick would not want to miss the opportunity to work with her. Not only did she have complete and total access to the Benedetti diamond, but she was also a gorgeous woman -- two factors that would definitely be of interest to Evan, who enjoyed women almost as much as a good con.
The bureau had a file three inches thick on Evan and the many crimes he’d committed during the past decade. He was a brilliant criminal, responsible for ruining the lives of dozens of people, and J.T. knew firsthand just what kind of devastation Evan left in his wake. He would never forget that Evan was responsible for destroying his family, and he would not rest until the bastard was sitting in jail for the rest of his miserable life.
But first he had to catch him, and he would. He’d come close to getting Evan off the street a week earlier, but he had slipped through the hands of the local police and escaped. However, he’d left behind a tantalizing clue -- a newspaper article on Barclay’s upcoming auction of Renaissance jewelry and art. Once J.T. had realized that a spectacular and priceless diamond was in the collection, he’d known that Evan intended to steal it. Now that he’d seen Christina up close and personal, he was convinced that she would play some role in the game -- the question was, what role?
He didn’t like the fact that the diamond necklace had come off Christina’s neck, and that it had been in her hand at the moment the smoke bombs went off. A surge of adrenaline swept through his body as he jogged to his car. Why was Christina in such a hurry to get away from Barclay’s? Was she working with Evan? Was she going to meet him now?
He got into his rental car just as Christina pulled out of the parking lot in her light blue Hyundai. She seemed to be in a hurry, her tires squealing as she turned onto the road. Was she just wet, cold, scared? Or did she have another reason for leaving quickly?
He slid behind the wheel of his Chevy Cavalier and took off after her, happy to see she wasn’t driving a particularly fast sports car. He managed to catch up at a red light and stayed close on her tail as she drove across town. A mile or two later he became convinced that she was not going home. He hadn’t had time to do more than some basic fact checking on the key players at Barclay’s Auction House, but he distinctly remembered Christina Alberti’s residence being an apartment on Telegraph Hill. She was heading toward the opposite side of town.
His pulse began to race as she turned down a street of family homes in the Lake District. The houses were upscale but not as opulent as those a few blocks away in Pacific Heights. She pulled up in front of a two-story Victorian and parked by the curb. He continued down the street, pulled into a parking spot at the corner, then made his way back on foot. When he neared the property, he saw her standing on the porch. She rang the bell, tapped her foot impatiently on the ground, and turned her head.
J.T. ducked out of sight behind a tree. When he took another look, Christina was walking around the side of the house. Careful to be quiet, he moved across the yard, wondering if she had gone into the house through a side door. He peeked around the corner and was surprised to see Christina ditching her high heels. What on earth was she doing?
A moment later she pulled up the skirt of her long evening gown and knotted the ends around her knees, then put one bare foot on the trunk of the tree, searching for a toehold. She grabbed a lower branch and to his amazement began to climb up the tree. It didn’t take her long to scale the gnarled oak, whose upper branches reached a second-floor balcony. Christina swung herself over the railing and landed with a graceful jump.
She opened the sliding glass door and disappeared into the house.
Well, this was getting more interesting by the moment. Was she robbing the place, or looking for something -- or perhaps someone? If there was any chance she could lead him to Evan, he would take it.
Since the tree seemed to be the only way in, J.T. followed Christina’s lead. He didn’t make the climb nearly as gracefully or as quickly as she had done, but he managed to get to the balcony. He found the sliding glass door unlocked. Inside, the bedroom was empty. He didn’t take time to look around; he was more interested in where Christina had gone. He heard some movement on the first floor, so he crept down the stairs. When he entered what appeared to be a den, he found Christina standing in front of an open safe in the wall. She whirled around, her face a picture of shock and guilt.
“You!” She gasped, putting a hand to her heart. “What are you doing here?”
Chapter Two
“I was going to ask you the same question,” J.T. replied.
Christina’s mouth opened, but no words came out. He could see her searching for an answer. He’d interrogated many people in his career, and she definitely had the look of someone who was about to try to sell him a story. She bit down on her bottom lip, and he could see a nervous flicker in her green eyes as her gaze darted around the room, seeking an escape route. But she was cornered, caught like a rat in a trap. Only she was a lot prettier than a rat.
Even barefoot in a soggy evening gown, her face streaked with makeup, her brown hair falling in a wet, tangled mess around her shoulders, Christina was a beautiful woman. He especially liked the way the damp silk of her dress clung to her breasts, hips, and legs. His body tightened, and he drew in a breath, reminding himself to keep it professional.
“I’m waiting.” He crossed his arms over his chest.
Christina tucked a strand of her hair behind one ear. “You haven’t answered my question yet. What are you doing here?” she asked.
“Whose house is this?” he countered, glancing around the room. A large mahogany desk was in front of a bay window. Floor-to-ceiling shelves were filled with books. Oil paintings adorned the walls. Dark brown leather couches were arranged on Oriental rugs. The room was spotless, the decor sophisticated. But the room didn’t appear lived-in. There weren’t any magazines lying around, no coffee mug on the desk or even a pile of loose papers, nothing to give any clue as to the owner. There was a dusty, dry scent to the house, as if it had been closed up for a while.
“Why did you follow me?” Christina asked.
It was clear she had no intention of answering his questions, but she had no idea how persistent he could be. She was about to find out. “Because I want to talk to you, and I’m not leaving until that happens. Stop stalling.”
“I told you to call me tomorrow. And I don’t have to answer your questions.”
“Actually you do.” He gave his words a chance to sink in, seeing the nervousness behind her bravado. “In case you’re wondering, I saw you climb the tree and break into this house. The open safe behind you implies you’re looking for something. Or perhaps you’re hiding something?” He took a step forward, wondering if he’d find the spectacular diamond she’d been wearing earlier.
She suddenly slammed the safe closed, a guilty gesture if he’d ever seen one.
“It
’s none of your business what I’m doing,” she said forcefully. “This is my house. I forgot my key; that’s why I broke in.”
He shook his head. “I did some preliminary checking. You live in an apartment on Telegraph Hill. Try again.”
“You checked where I live?” she asked in surprise.
“Yes, and I’m just getting started.” He saw discomfort flit through her eyes. “It would be better if you tell me the truth. Otherwise I might start digging in areas you’d rather I didn’t get into.”
“That sounds like a threat.”
“It’s a simple fact.”
“Fine, you’re right -- this isn’t my place; it belongs to my father, Marcus Alberti,” she said with a wave of her hand. “He’s out of town at the moment. And I did forget my key. Are you satisfied?”
“I can easily check your story.” He took a step forward. She moved back, but there was nowhere to go. The air between them sizzled with tension. Looking into her eyes, he saw fear and something else, something he couldn’t define, and it bothered him.
“So check. You’ll figure out I’m telling the truth,” she said.
“Then why are you so nervous? Why did you close the safe so quickly? What didn’t you want me to see?”
“If I seem nervous, it’s because it’s been a crazy night.”
“I’ll grant you that,” he conceded. “What about the rest?”
“I was putting some papers in the safe. That’s all. They’re personal. And I’m not telling you anything else. I don’t know you. I don’t even know if you’re really an FBI agent. I haven’t seen any ID.”
J.T. reached into his pocket and pulled out his identification. “Does this clear things up?”
Christina took a good look at his badge. “It could be fake.”
“It’s not.” He took another step forward, stopping just inches away from her. He could hear her breath quicken, see the rise and fall of her breasts, her beautiful, distracting breasts.... He forced his gaze to her face. “What happened back at the auction house to make you run here?”
Played Page 2
