Charmingly diabolical con man Evan Chadwick is back in another blockbuster romantic suspense novel from the USA Today bestselling author of Taken
FBI Agent J.T. McIntyre is determined to catch the thief who conned his father and destroyed his family. He wants revenge as much as justice, and he won’t let anyone stand in his way—not even beautiful art historian Christina Alberti, whose secrets make him wonder just which side she’s on...
He moved like a cat through the dark, narrow tunnels running under the city of San Francisco. The air was damp, filled with odors of dead, rotting animals and standing water. Cobwebs brushed his face at every turn. Rats ran over his feet, disturbed by his presence in a world that belonged solely to them—until now. The secret tunnels had been built during prohibition to run liquor under the hills of San Francisco and later had been used as escape routes for a band of criminals in the forties and fifties. Few people knew how to navigate the maze of passageways. There were too many stops and starts, too many blocked exits and detours. Fortunately, he had a map that showed him exactly what to do.
Pausing, he turned his flashlight on the yellowed piece of paper in his hand. The lines and directions had been scrawled more than seventy-five years earlier, and it had taken a long and complicated scheme to get his hands on this very important piece of paper. He hoped it had been worth the effort. It was possible that part of the tunnels had collapsed with the development of the city or perhaps by one of the earthquakes that rumbled through the area every few years, but if his luck held, this path would provide him direct access to the object of his desire.
Redirecting his light on the tunnel in front of him, he continued, confident that he would get what he wanted, as he always did. Many men and a few women had tried to stop him over the years. No one had succeeded. He was quite simply invincible.
He felt a surge of adrenaline as the stream of light bounced off a series of spikes set into the wall in front of him. He stopped, running his finger over one of the ladder steps. Then he threw back his head and looked up. A trap door was just above him. He’d found his way in—and his way out.
He thought about the activity going on in the building above him at the Barclay Auction House. They were preparing for the evening’s glamorous preview party of Renaissance art and jewelry, including the Benedetti diamond, expected to sell for millions of dollars.
Unless, of course, something happened to the diamond before then ...
He smiled to himself. At this very moment, the Barclay security team was meeting with the Italian security team, which had accompanied the collection from Florence. They would convince themselves that their security was impenetrable, that no one could steal their precious diamond. But they would be wrong.
Pulling out the I.D. from his pocket, he gazed at the name that was not his own, at the photo of the face that he had skillfully reconstructed with make-up, contact lenses, and hair color. He now knew this man inside and out, his history, his friends, and his relationship to the important people at Barclay’s, namely Christina Alberti. She would not suspect that he was not who he appeared to be—until it was too late. The plan was set.
Retracing his steps through the dark tunnel, he exited several blocks away from the auction house, then unzipped his baggy coveralls and tossed them into a nearby dumpster. He straightened the tie of his black tuxedo. Let the party begin.
Chapter One
Flashbulbs popped in her face, one bright, blinding light after another. Christina Alberti paused at the entrance as the cameras continued to snap. She felt like a celebrity, but in truth the photographers were not interested in her, but in the spectacular 97- carat yellow diamond pendant that she wore on a simple chain around her neck.
While Christina had wanted to display the necklace on black velvet in a secure glass case, the Benedetti family had insisted that a model would bring the diamond to life at this very exclusive preview party. Since the directors of Barclay’s hadn’t wanted to entrust the valuable diamond to someone outside the auction house, Christina, with her Italian heritage, dark hair, light green eyes and olive skin, was the perfect choice. They’d dressed her in a black strapless evening gown designed to set off the necklace. They’d sent stylists to do her hair up in cascading curls and made up her face to look like an exotic Italian beauty. When they were done, Christina had barely recognized herself in the mirror.
She was an art historian, a gemologist, an academic, a woman who spent most of her days pouring over books or studying fine gems for flaws and cuts. She wasn’t a party girl. Working a room didn’t come naturally to her, but it was too late to back out. The party had begun and she was the centerpiece.
The auction house itself was a massive three story stone building that had originally been used as a bank. Tonight the main gallery on the second floor had been transformed into Renaissance Italy. Beautiful art adorned the walls and glass cases were filled with collectibles, everything from crucifixes, to swords, coins and jewelry. Violin music flowed in the background. Everyone who was anyone was present, the cream of San Francisco society as well as important art dealers and collectors from around the country, who they hoped would bid generously at the upcoming auction to be held in two days, on Friday at noon.
“Christina, you look beautiful,” Michael Torrance said smoothly. But the jewelry dealer’s eyes were on the jewel, not on her face.
Christina tried not to blush. She wasn’t used to men looking so openly at her chest, and she was certainly showing more than the usual cleavage. Her practical mind told her that the man now drooling over that cleavage was not at all interested in her breasts. The sparkling yellow diamond had his full attention. She couldn’t blame him. It was spectacular, and Michael Torrance had been collecting diamonds for twenty years.
“I trust you’ll be bidding,” she said, when his gaze finally returned to her face.
“Of course. You know I can’t let a diamond such as this go without a fight.”
“And you came in person; I’m impressed.” She’d handled all of Michael’s previous bids over the telephone. He usually preferred to remain anonymous.
“I’m impressed, too,” he murmured, his gaze moving back to the stone. The smile in his dark blue eyes was filled with covetous greed. He was a handsome, sophisticated man, in his early to mid forties, dressed in a charcoal gray pinstripe suit. She didn’t know what it was, but there was something about him that made her a little uneasy. She had no idea where he got his money, but he never seemed to have trouble coming up with the right amount of cash at the right time. Although she suspected that this particular diamond would test the depth of anyone’s pocket.
“Keep moving,” her boss, Alexis Kensington, murmured quietly in her ear.
Alexis, a tall, stunning blonde in her late forties dressed in a floor length teal blue Vera Wang gown set off with some rather spectacular diamonds of her own, flashed Michael a smile. “I don’t believe we’ve met. I’m Alexis Kensington.”
“Ah, the illustrious owner of Barclay’s,” Michael replied. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”
“And you,” Alexis returned.
“I’ll speak to you later, Michael,” Christina interjected, as Alexis drew Michael into conversation. She had no doubt that within five minutes Alexis would have Michael chomping at the bit to own that diamond. Alexis was passionate about Barclay’s. Since she’d married Jeremy Kensington, the owner and founder of Barclay’s, five years earlier, she’d made it her personal mission to take Barclay’s to the next level where they could compete with Sotheby’s and Christie’s and the other big players. Friday’s auction of the Benedetti diamond would solidify Barclay’s place in that market.
In some ways Christina was surprised that they’d won the consignment. Barclay’s had been in existence for only twenty years. They didn’t have nearly the cache or the reputation of the other houses, but sometimes it came down to a great salesperson and a little bit of luck. Whatever the reason, Christina was thrilled to have an opportunity to help auction off such a valuable diamond. It would definitely add to her reputation as well. Maybe then she would finally be able to outrun her past.
As she moved across the room, she was acutely aware of the security guard who followed a discreet distance behind her. Two other guards were posted at the door and another two downstairs by the main entrance to the building. Fortunately, there was only one way into the gallery, so it was a well-contained area. The guards were dressed in tuxedos designed to blend in with the party atmosphere. Champagne was flowing and a gourmet buffet had been set up at the far end of the gallery. Small candle lit tables offered guests a place to sit and converse or study their preview catalogues.
Christina paused for a moment to say hello to several of the guests she had personally invited to the auction. She’d been working as a jewelry specialist at Barclay’s for almost three years and was building a solid network of dealers and clients, who trusted her to let them know when it was time to buy. She enjoyed that part of her job, finding the perfect item for the enthusiastic collector.
She tried not to fidget as three women surrounded her. The diamond was making her skin feel hot and tingly. The stone seemed to grow heavier the longer she wore it. It was the strangest sensation. She almost felt as if the jewel were coming alive, awakening from a long, deep sleep. She couldn’t help wondering where it had been the last hundred years. Its history was shrouded in mystery. The Benedetti’s had given little information about the stone that they claimed had been in their family for generations.
Since the entire collection had arrived only a few hours earlier, Christina had not had an opportunity to study the diamond under her gem scope. Tomorrow she planned to conduct an in-depth appraisal. An associate in Barclay’s European office had done an initial review at the Benedetti’s home in Florence, Italy, but Christina wanted to study the diamond herself before it was auctioned off. It was rare to find a diamond of this size without any substantial history behind it, which made her very curious. Their European appraiser had assured her that they had the proper papers of provenance, and they were not in danger of selling off stolen property. She certainly hoped that was true. She couldn’t afford another scandal in her life.
Slipping away from the women, she was careful not to let anyone monopolize her for too long. Most people were respectful of the diamond and kept their distance, which was why she was more than a little surprised when a man’s hand came down hard on her arm. She whirled around, her muscles tensing as she looked into a pair of irritated brown eyes. The man in front of her was big, muscular, filled with barely suppressed energy. His light brown hair was short and spiked. His skin was tan, as if he spent more time outdoors than in, and his athletic stance seemed out of place in a room full of sophisticated art collectors.
“Why the hell haven’t you called me back?” he demanded.
She started at the harsh tone. “Excuse me? Who are you?”
“J.T. McIntyre. I’ve called you a dozen times over the past three days. I’m with the FBI. Does that ring a bell?”
She swallowed hard, remembering all those pink slips with his name on them. “I told my assistant to forward your calls to our security department.”
“I spoke to them, but I want to talk to you.”
Her stomach began to churn as memories of the past flashed through her head, the men in suits knocking on their front door, her father talking to them in a hushed voice, and later that night she and her father suddenly departing from yet another house, another city, another state. The FBI had wanted to talk to her then, too, but her father had protected her—as she would protect him. “I really don’t have anything to do with security,” she said.
“Since you’re wearing that diamond, you should know that someone intends to steal it.”
Her heart skipped a beat. “Are you talking about someone specific?” She held her breath as she waited for his answer.
“Yes. His name is Evan Chadwick, and I’m convinced you’re his next target.”
Her mind raced to follow his words. He was talking about someone she didn’t know, thank God. Evan Chadwick. She’d never heard of him. “Why?” she asked finally. “Why would I be his target?”
“Other than the fact that you’re wearing the diamond?”
“I doubt he could steal it in this room full of people, security at every door.”
“You’d be surprised what Evan can do. You’re one of the few people with complete access to the diamond. That means you’re on his list of people to use. He’s here somewhere, waiting for his opportunity. You need to know what he looks like, how he operates, everything about him.”
“Security already ran down a list of known jewel thieves with me. I’ve memorized names and faces, but I don’t recall an Evan Chadwick.”
“Because he’s not a known jewel thief. But he is a career criminal, a con man, a sociopath—in other words, a very dangerous man. I’ve been following him for five years, and I’m convinced he intends to steal that diamond that you’re wearing around your neck.”
“That doesn’t mean he’ll succeed.” She lowered her voice, realizing their conversation was drawing the wrong kind of attention. “I can’t talk to you right now. I have to show off the diamond. And this is a party. I don’t want our guests to think there is anything wrong.”
He stayed close to her side as she took another pass through the room. “Has anyone new come to work for you lately, become your friend, asked you out on a date, bought you a drink?”
“No,” she said, uncomfortable with his questions.
“You’re absolutely certain you haven’t met anyone new this past week?”
“Well, not absolutely certain. There are a lot of people working on this exhibit, and I speak to new dealers and collectors all the time.”
“He’s tall, blond, blue eyes, very charming, big smile. Most women fall for him in about ten seconds,” J.T. added tersely.
“You sound like you’re jealous,” she murmured. Not that he had anything to be jealous about. With his broad shoulders and his tanned, sculpted features, he was the most ruggedly attractive man she’d seen in a long time.
“I’m just stating the facts.”
“I haven’t met anyone like that,” she said.
“Sometimes he wears disguises. That’s why you and I need to have a conversation about everyone you’ve spoken to since you started work on this exhibit.”
“That’s not going to happen tonight,” she said shortly. “And that scowl of yours is scaring the customers. Call me tomorrow.”
“Will you answer?”
“Why don’t you try me and find out?”
His frown deepened as his gaze raked her face. “Most people return calls from the FBI. Why don’t you? Are you hiding something, Ms. Alberti?”
“Not in this dress,” she said lightly, sorry for her words when his gaze dropped from her face to her breasts. She had the distinct feeling that this man was more interested in her cleavage than the diamond. She walked away, sensing his gaze follow her across the room. The last thing she needed was an eager FBI agent sticking his nose in her business.
She paused as a tall, older gentleman stepped in front of her. He had a crop of pepper gray hair that was badly in need of styling and thick-rimmed glasses on a long nose. His skin was blemished and weathered. The only cheery thing about him was the bright red bowtie he wore around his neck.
“Christina Alberti,” he murmured with a tip of his head. “It has been so many years since I saw you. You were just a little girl when we spoke last.”
His lilting British accent was vaguely familiar. And there was something about his eyes that reminded her of someone ... “I’m sorry. I don’t ...”
“Remember me,” he finished with an understanding nod. “Let me introduce myself. I’m Howard Keaton, an old friend of your father’s. We worked together a long time ago at UCLA, a summer program on the Italian Renaissance.”
“Of course, Professor Keaton.” She relaxed and gave him a smile. “It’s been awhile.”
“Yes, it has. You’re all grown up now, and quite—beautiful. You look like a princess.”
“It’s the diamond. It has that effect. So, are you still teaching?”
“Not for a few years now. I’m working at a museum in Vancouver. I’m surprised your father didn’t tell you that. Is Marcus here?” He glanced around the room in search of her father.
“No, he’s traveling,” she said.
“Lucky man.” Howard’s gaze turned to the diamond, and his jaw hardened. “May I?”
She nodded as he moved closer. He put out his hand, his fingers reverently teasing the surface of the stone.
“It is exquisite,” he said. “Such cut, such clarity, a rare gem. I’m surprised you’re not worried about wearing it.”
“There’s plenty of security around.”
“I wasn’t talking about the guards, or the value of the diamond. I was referring to the curse.”
Her heart skipped a beat. “Curse?”
“You don’t know about the curse? I wondered why there was no mention of it in the sale catalogue, but then I thought perhaps you were afraid it would affect the selling price.”
“There’s no curse attached to this stone. You must be thinking of some other diamond.”
She could see that he was not convinced, and there was something in his intense gaze that made her very uneasy. Her skin began to tingle. She felt hot and a little dizzy. She really should have eaten something earlier in the day. She reached up to touch the necklace, to adjust the chain, and was shocked when the weight of the stone suddenly slipped away.
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 show room on the ground floor, and Christina took a breath of blessed relief. Russell Kenner, an ex-marine who still wore his short brown hair in a military cut, barked orders over a transmitter in his hand. Luigi 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 blue and red 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 Barclays 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. Go on. 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 first hand 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 last 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 far 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 non-descript, 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 first hand just what 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 toe-hold. 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 were 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?”
