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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 with 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?”

“Better than expected,” Alexis replied, but there was a worry in her eyes that belied her statement. “We didn’t lose any of our auction items, so that’s good news. You’ll need to get on the phone tomorrow, Christina, and personally call every interested buyer and reassure them that the diamond and all other items are intact. This is the biggest auction in Barclay history,” Alexis continued. “It will proceed without further incident. Is that clear?” She gazed around the group, and as expected no one dared to deny her confident words.

Alexis demanded absolute loyalty from her employees and did not encourage any opinions outside of her own. She knew what she wanted and she went after it one hundred percent. If anyone got in her way, they were history. Christina certainly intended to stay on Alexis’s good side.

“Do we have an official explanation for what happened tonight?” Christina asked.

“I’m working on that,” Sylvia interjected. “I’ll give you one before you make your calls tomorrow.”

“All right,” Christina said, turning back to Alexis. “I’d like to check on the diamond. I’m concerned about the clasp and why it suddenly gave way when I was wearing it.”

“Yes, what happened exactly?” Alexis asked, her brows drawn together in a frown. “Russell told me it came off your neck.”

“The clasp opened or broke. Luckily, the man I was talking to caught it and handed it right back to me. It might have been a blessing in disguise. Once the alarms went off, it would have been much easier for someone to grab the necklace if it were still around my neck instead of clenched in my hand.”

Alexis’s gaze lingered on Christina for a moment, as if she was judging the story. Christina tried not to feel uneasy. She had told the truth. It had happened exactly as she’d described.

“You should have checked that clasp before you put the necklace on,” Alexis said.

“You’re right. Unfortunately, I didn’t have a chance to look at it closely before the party. I would like to examine it now.”

“We’re reviewing all of our security measures and resetting our cameras at the moment,” Alexis replied. She glanced down at her watch. “It’s almost eleven. It would probably be best if you did it tomorrow.”

Christina nodded. She hated to wait until morning, but she didn’t want to suggest that anything was wrong with the diamond. In fact, she didn’t know that anything
was
wrong. It was J.T. who had put crazy ideas in her head about a switch. She’d gone through every moment of the night and she didn’t think there was any time at which a switch could have been made. The diamond had been out of her control for only a few seconds.

Nothing was wrong, she told herself firmly. She was simply tired, seeing problems where there weren’t any.

“Don’t forget we have that reporter from the
Tribune
coming at ten in the morning,” Sylvia said. “He wants a photograph of the diamond to go with his story. The exposure will help reassure everyone that tonight’s incident was nothing terrible.”

“Got it.” Christina walked out the door as they moved on to planning the rest of the auction. Her office was at the other end of the hallway, where it was quiet and dark. She often worked late and usually enjoyed the solitude, but tonight she felt tense, isolated from the others, which was odd, considering she’d spent most of the evening trying to get J. T. McIntyre off her tail. It was just her nerves. She was jittery after everything that had happened. It was to be expected. She drew in a deep breath and slowly let it out. She had to think about what to do next.

Despite her earlier denials to J.T., she was worried that someone had come into her father’s house and taken off just as quickly. It had to have been her dad. J.T. was right: She had warned him away. It was old habit, a protective instinct honed since childhood. She’d used a code they’d developed years ago. And it had worked. So where was her father now? And more important, what was he up to?

The door suddenly opened behind her. She jumped in surprise and whirled around. She expected to see J.T., but the man standing in the doorway was the stranger from the conference room. His dark brown hair was long, thick, and wavy, his eyes a deep, somber black. His sideburns were long, his skin brown, his expression one of anxiety and irritation. He was obviously upset about something.

She cleared her throat, feeling uneasy, but told herself to calm down. The man had just been talking to Barclay’s head of security. He was obviously not a threat.

“May I have a few moments, Signorina Alberti?” he asked, an Italian accent marking his formal English. “I am Stefano Benedetti.”

Her pulse quickened. She’d read a bit about the Benedettis and knew that Stefano, in his late thirties, was one of three sons born to Vittorio and Isabella Benedetti. Isabella had died many years earlier, and Vittorio was now in ill health, a condition that had prompted the family to sell part of their historic collection.

“I’m so happy to meet you.” She moved across the room to shake his hand. “I didn’t realize you were coming to the auction.”

“I wasn’t sure I could clear my schedule until recently. I’m very concerned, however, about the incident that took place earlier this evening, as is my father. We could have chosen any auction house, and we certainly hope we will not regret our decision to bring the collection to Barclay’s.”

“You won’t,” she said quickly, giving him a reassuring smile. She wasn’t sure why he wasn’t making his point to Alexis, but perhaps he wanted to make it clear to everyone at Barclay’s that if they wanted this auction to take place, there could be no further trouble.

“I hope not. I understand you will be examining the diamond in the morning. I would like to be there, to reassure myself that all is well.”

“Of course. Why don’t you come at nine o’clock? We’ll be previewing the jewels and other items to the press at ten.”

He nodded. “Nine o’clock it is.”

She thought they were finished, but he made no attempt to leave. Instead, he stared at her with a speculative gleam in his eyes. “Is there something else?” she asked.

“If I might ask, signorina, have you spoken to your father lately?”

Every nerve ending in her body suddenly went on full alert. “Do you know my father?”

“Marcus Alberti has spent a great deal of time in Florence,” Stefano replied. “He is well-known in the art world.”