He scooted down the bed, stretching out next to her. He moved a strand of hair away from her forehead and gazed into her eyes. “We’ll get the answers we need. Don’t worry.”
“How can I not worry? I just saw a preview of the late-night news on TV. A reporter was standing outside of Barclay’s announcing they’d have news on a suspect at eleven. What if they point the public finger at me?”
“They don’t have any proof, Christina.”
“I tried to check my e-mail. My account was closed.”
He frowned. “That wasn’t a good idea. There might be a way to trace the Internet path back to us.”
“I didn’t even think of that. God! I feel so out of my league.”
“That’s why we’re in this together.”
“For the moment. You’re supposed to report to your office in LA tomorrow or turn me in,” she reminded him. “What’s going to happen if you don’t do either one?”
“I’m sure I’ll be suspended, put on probation, maybe fired, depending on how long it takes me to bring Evan down.”
He spoke pragmatically, but she could hear the underlying concern in his voice.
“It’s your job, your future, your life. Maybe you should think twice about it all, J.T.”
“Are you trying to get rid of me?” he asked, tracing her cheekbone.
“I’m trying to tell you that I would understand if you said you had to go to LA tomorrow. However, I have to admit that I would prefer you leave without turning me in.”
He gave her a half smile at that. “I’m not leaving you. And I have other plans for tomorrow.”
She raised an eyebrow. “What plans?”
“The best way to figure out where someone is going is to look at where they’ve been.”
She sent him a questioning look. “Are you going to explain? Because my brain is too tired for riddles.”
“It seems obvious to me that if your father is taking the diamond back to where it belongs, then he’s no longer in the city. And if the Benedettis had the diamond, then it’s a good chance that the stone originated—”
“In Italy,” she said with a rush of excitement. She sat up so abruptly, she butted him in the head.
“Ouch,” he said, rubbing his temple.
“Sorry. Are you saying you want to go to Italy?”
“To Florence, yes—to visit the Benedettis. They’re the only ones, besides your father and Evan, who could possibly know where that stone came from.”
She couldn’t believe what he was saying. “Are you serious? Can I leave the country—just like that?”
“If you do it fast,” he replied with a dry smile. “Since you were standing in full view of the security cameras when the diamond was stolen, it’s going to take some time to build enough of a case to get sufficient cause to bring you in—especially if they can’t find you. I called the airlines. There’s a flight tomorrow at nine a.m. I think we should be on it.”
“Are you sure? Think about it, J.T. You’re taking a huge risk by leaving the country with me. Your goal is to catch Evan, isn’t it? Do you even care that much about the diamond? About finding my father? About any of it—except Evan?”
“I care about the diamond because Evan cares about it,” J.T. said bluntly. “Finding that stone will lead me to him. He may not have it now, but you can bet he’s looking for it.”
“Unless he doesn’t know he has a fake,” she pointed out. “We aren’t certain he does.”
“You’re right. We don’t know that for sure. But my gut tells me that Evan probably had a buyer lined up for the stone, someone who would be able to tell if it was a fake or not. Maybe that person was Nicole Prescott. And she’s dead—which is a sign of something. Either Evan was done with her, or there was an unexpected glitch in their plans.”
“Like a fake diamond.”
“Yes. Evan knew enough about your father to set him up. If he figures out that he has a fake, it won’t take that big a leap for him to conclude that your father has the real diamond. I think the trail leads to Florence. The real question is, who is going to find your father first, Evan—or us?”
“It had better be us,” she said, afraid for her father. She might be angry with him, but she didn’t want anything bad to happen to him. And Evan seemed to have no qualms about committing murder.
J.T. nodded. “So are you with me?”
“I’m with you.”
“Now that we have that settled, how about some dessert?”
“I must admit the chocolate cake looks really good now.”
He put a hand on her shoulder and pushed her back down on the bed. “I wasn’t talking about cake,” he said with a wicked grin that sent a shiver of anticipation down her spine.
“You don’t really think your kiss is going to make me want you instead of that chocolate cake, do you?” she teased, her heart already feeling lighter now that they had a plan of action.
“I’m going to give it one hell of a try, sweetheart.”
15
Evan had known Christina would return to her apartment. It was just a matter of time. It wasn’t his usual choice to spend the night in a car, but he hadn’t wanted to take a chance on missing her.
She’d come in the dusky light before dawn, probably hoping to avoid notice. The police were looking for her—he’d seen several patrol cars go by in the past few hours—but she wasn’t a big enough fish, nor was it a heinous enough crime to put her apartment under twenty-four-hour surveillance. She was being careful, though. So was J.T. They’d hid out somewhere the night before; he’d checked J.T.’s hotel room as well.
But they were here now. Christina parked her car in a space directly in front of her building. J.T. pulled in behind her. Evan had figured that J.T. would be with her. He loved to play the protector, the defender of justice, the pursuer of the truth, especially when a beautiful woman was watching. When they were in college J.T. had always been the big man on campus, the star quarterback, the guy with the girls. But he wasn’t such a superstar now. He was in big trouble, aiding and abetting a thief, Evan thought with a smile.
He considered confronting them in Christina’s apartment. He was impatient to get the diamond, to rectify his mistakes, to reestablish his superiority. But he was too smart to make an impatient blunder. Christina didn’t have what he wanted—the diamond. He would have to be patient, let her lead him to it. And she would; he was convinced of that.
They emerged from the building a few minutes later. Christina had changed into jeans and a sweater and was carrying an overnight bag. They were obviously taking a trip, Evan thought with satisfaction. They were going after her father. He was sure of it.
Starting the ignition, he waited until they had turned the corner before following them. He caught sight of their car at the stop sign and maintained a discreet distance behind them. His adrenaline began to surge as they got on the freeway heading south. Twenty minutes later J.T. pulled into the parking lot of the San Francisco International Airport. Evan did the same. He retrieved his own small bag from the trunk and meandered along, keeping several people in between them at all times. J.T. looked over his shoulder more than once. So did Christina. But they didn’t recognize him. He wasn’t Stefano anymore; nor was he Evan Chadwick. Today he was Mitchell Holloway, a fifty-something, red-haired male, dressed in a cheap brown suit with a coat that barely covered his paunch. He was also a frequent-flyer business traveler, who was on every airline’s preferred customer list.
He adjusted his dark glasses as J.T. and Christina made their way into the ticket line at the international terminal. He took a look at the departure board and smiled with pleasure. They were going to Florence, Italy. Well, why the hell not? It made perfect sense. He took out his wallet, his new credit card, and his fake passport. Mitchell Holloway would be traveling to Florence as well, and he was going first class.
It was the longest day of Christina’s life. Sixteen stressful hours on a plane wondering if she’d be arrested during the long layover in Frankfurt or when they eventually landed in Florence had permanently knotted the muscles in her shoulders and neck. Luckily everything had gone uneventfully, and as they hailed a taxi just after four o’clock Sunday afternoon, an entire day later than when they had left, she finally began to breathe easier.
As the taxi pulled away from the curb, she rolled down her window, eager to get some fresh air and to catch her first glimpse of Florence. It was a beautiful sunny spring afternoon with a royal blue sky and not a hint of a cloud in sight. The road into town weaved through hillsides dotted with cypress and olive trees, and as they neared the city she saw the red-gold roofs of Florence. Her heart skipped a beat. She had been to Rome but never to Florence. Her father had always steered clear of the city in which his own grandfather had been born. She’d asked him many times to take her to the cottage in Tuscany where he used to spend his childhood summers, but Marcus had always come up with an excuse why they couldn’t go. Now she was here, and she leaned forward in her seat, eager to soak in the atmosphere.
“You look like a kid in a candy store,” J.T. commented, stroking her thigh.
She gave him a quick smile, feeling a renewed sense of energy now that they were finally in Italy. “I’m excited. I can’t help it. I’m an art historian. For me, Italy is my candy store.”
“I can’t believe you’ve never been here.”
“Me either. Florence has so much history, so many famous artists, cultural icons—Michelangelo, Donatello, Brunelleschi…and let’s not forget Botticelli and Leonardo da Vinci,” she added with a wave of her hand.
“We also can’t forget that we’re here to find your father and that diamond, remember?”
“I know why we’re here,” she said with a sigh. “But I can still enjoy the scenery, can’t I? It’s so beautiful. It’s like another world. I almost feel as if I’ve escaped my life, left all my problems back home.”
“Perhaps momentarily, but I don’t think Evan is far behind us. In fact, he may already be here.”
She shot him a disappointed look. “Can’t you forget about Evan for one second and just look at where we are?” She gestured toward the view. “Tell me this doesn’t get to you just a little.”
Dark glasses covered J.T.’s eyes, but she could see the smile on his lips. “Okay, it’s nice,” he said. “What do you want from me?”
“I know you’re a passionate man. Surely you can do better than ‘nice,’” she teased.
“Scenery doesn’t turn me on, Christina—you do.” He leaned in and stole a quick, tender kiss.
Her pulse pounded at the brief but intimate contact that always left her wanting more. J.T. was fast becoming an addiction—and one that she was in no hurry to break. She’d grown accustomed to having him at her side. In fact, when he wasn’t there, she felt as if some part of her were missing. She didn’t know how it had happened, how he’d gotten so close to her in such a short time. She’d spent most of her life afraid to get involved with a man, knowing that there were secrets in her life she couldn’t share. But J.T. knew all her secrets. That particular barrier no longer divided them. Not that they were having a relationship, she reminded herself. Whatever this was—it wasn’t that. Was it?
She turned her gaze back toward the view, knowing that she had far more important things to worry about than love. But right now all she wanted to do was gaze at the red-gold roofs of the city, the winding Arno River that meandered through town under the famous Ponte Vecchio bridge.
The narrow brick streets were filled with a mix of old and new buildings. Stern, forbidding palaces and government buildings abutted boutiques, cafés, and bakeries. The Florentines loved their statues. Everywhere she turned she could see sculptures, especially in the Palazzo Vecchio, where a valiant line of heroes greeted them, including Cosimo I on horseback by Giambologna, a copy of the David by Michelangelo, and Hercules by Bandinelli. Oh, how she longed to explore the city, but first things first, she reminded herself.
The taxi pulled up in front of their hotel, located in a reconstructed sixth-century Byzantine tower and medieval church set in a small, quiet square in Florence’s center. J.T. had left the hotel booking decision to her, and she hadn’t been able to resist getting a room in such a historically interesting building. Someday she would have to figure out how she was going to pay for it all, but at the moment J.T. seemed content to keep charging on his government credit card.
After asking the taxi to wait, they checked into the hotel, dumped their bags, and headed back out the door. They hoped to catch up to Vittorio Benedetti before evening. They’d already called the house and had been told that Signor Benedetti was not receiving visitors, but they weren’t about to let some housekeeper or personal assistant turn them away. Hopefully J.T.’s badge would convince someone to let them in.
The Benedettis’ palatial home was set on a narrow street of equally forbidding cold stone mansions. A wrought-iron gate met them at the entrance. There was a definite change of mood in this part of town, one that was not at all welcoming.
Christina felt her tension return as J.T. opened the gate and stepped inside to ring the bell. She had no idea how they would be received or what the Benedettis knew about her and/or the diamond theft. Was Vittorio aware that someone had been impersonating his son Stefano? Or was he still in the dark about that? It was more than likely her name had come up, so she and J.T. had already decided that she would play the role of his assistant, Tracy Delgado, for this meeting, so as not to send Vittorio rushing to the phone to call the local police.
J.T. rang the bell again. Christina shivered. The sun was beginning to go down, and the tall buildings sent dark shadows down the street where they stood. “I don’t have a good feeling about this,” she muttered.
J.T.’s mouth drew into a grim line. “I don’t either. But I’m not leaving until I talk to someone.”
A moment later the door opened. An older woman wearing a black dress with an apron tied around her thick waist appeared in the doorway. Her hair was gray and pulled back severely from her wrinkled face. She glanced first at J.T. and said,
“Buona sera.”
When she turned to Christina, her black eyes widened; her breath quickened. “Isabella,” she proclaimed. She put a hand to her heart and then sank to the floor in a dead faint.
“Oh, my God!” Christina gasped, exchanging a quick look with J.T. “What happened?”
J.T. knelt next to the woman. “She’s still breathing, but she’s unconscious.”
“What should we do? Should we call someone? We can’t just leave her here.”
“Shut the door. At least we’re in the house,” J.T. said in a matter-of-fact voice.
“We can’t just wander around,” she protested as she closed the door.
J.T. stood up and moved into the center of a grand rotunda with a marble floor, an enormous chandelier hanging from a twelve-foot ceiling, and a sweeping staircase leading up the stairs.
“We need to find help,” he said. “Don’t we?”
“Yes, but—”
“Don’t worry. This is perfect. We have a great excuse for being inside.” He walked over to the stairs and called out, “Hello? Anyone here?”
A moment later a young woman came running down the stairs. She appeared to be in her midtwenties and was wearing a black dress similar to that of the woman who was on the floor. Christina thought she was probably a maid and was surprised when the woman called out, “Mama,” and came flying down the rest of the stairs.
“She fainted,” Christina explained. “We rang the bell, and she answered the door and then she just went down.”
The younger woman knelt beside her mother and patted her gently on the cheek. The older woman began to stir. She blinked her eyes open, her expression still dazed.
“Non le e successo niente?”
her daughter asked.
The woman looked at Christina and her eyes widened again. She spit out a sentence in rapid Italian. Christina caught only two words:
Isabella
and
Vittorio.
“What did she say?” Christina asked the younger woman, hoping she spoke English.
“She said you must go now, please.”
The older woman sat up with her daughter’s help. She couldn’t seem to take her eyes off Christina.
“Can we help?” Christina asked. “Can we get your mother a doctor?”
“She’ll be all right. Please, you must leave. No one is supposed to be in the house.”
Christina glanced back at the older woman. “Do you speak English?”
For a moment she thought the woman didn’t understand her, but then she nodded and said, “
Si.
Yes,” she amended.
“May I speak to you for a moment?”
“Help me up,” the woman said to her daughter. With some effort, she got to her feet and smoothed down her apron and dress.
She looked embarrassed and worried, Christina thought. Why on earth had the woman fainted?
“We’re looking for Signor Benedetti,” J.T. interrupted, striding back to join them. “Is he home?”
“The signore does not have visitors,” the older woman said, her voice less shaky now. “If you leave your name, I will give him a message.”
“It’s too important for a message,” J.T. said. “I’m with the FBI. I’m here regarding the theft of an extremely valuable diamond that belonged to Signor Benedetti. I’m sure he would want to speak with me. Please let him know I’m here.”
The older woman hesitated. Finally she nodded. “Very well, but only you, signore,” she said in thickly accented English.
“But I’m with him,” Christina protested. “We’re partners.”
The older woman shook her head. “You will come with me. I will make you tea. We will go into the garden. You will wait.”
Christina frowned, not at all happy to be relegated to the position of having tea while J.T. met with Vittorio. Still, it seemed to be all or nothing. She glanced at J.T., who nodded, encouraging her to go with the housekeeper. Maybe it was better if they split up. She might be able to get some information from the woman. “All right,” she said. “I’ll have tea.”
“Francesca will take you upstairs,” the housekeeper told J.T., and then motioned for Christina to follow her down the hall. She led Christina through a door that opened onto a central courtyard. Christina was surprised to see a beautiful and colorful garden. The house itself was so strong and imposing, so very masculine, that this feminine oasis seemed completely out of place.
She sat down at a table while the housekeeper excused herself to make tea. As Christina waited, she couldn’t help wondering why she had been barred from the meeting upstairs. She looked up, noting the pulled curtains on the upstairs windows. Who else lived in this house besides Vittorio and the two women? She knew there was another Benedetti brother besides Stefano. Did he live here as well? It was an awfully big house for so few people. A rather sad house, she thought, except for this little garden. She’d felt the coldness the minute she stepped through the front door, an air of grief perhaps. She knew one of Vittorio’s sons had died a few months earlier. Or maybe the sadness was caused by something else, something more mysterious, even sinister.