1

      SHE WAS LATE.

      The fact that the pretty, petite and very punctual blonde had not burst through the door of her apartment building at seven-fifteen sharp had Sam Romano’s fingers tingling, and that was a sign that something bad was about to go down. In his ten years as a P.I., his fingers had never failed him.

      Nerves. He couldn’t afford them now. Nor could he afford to be thinking about that tiny little blonde with the initials A.J.P. embossed on her handbag. She had nothing to do with the case he was supposed to be focusing on.

      Rubbing his hands on his threadbare jeans, Sam shifted his gaze to the Grenelle Museum across the street. He’d had it staked out for five days, ever since the Abelard necklace had gone on display. The museum had hired Sterling Security, the firm he worked for, because they’d wanted to take some extra precautions with a five million-dollar necklace on display.

      They’d made a wise decision. Sam knew from the two assistants he’d stationed at the side and back of the building that someone had climbed up the back of the building at 6:30 a.m.

      What he hadn’t known until he’d seen for himself was that the man was none other than his godfather, Pierre Rabaut, a prominent New York jazz club owner and retired jewel thief. Sam had gotten a good glimpse of Pierre through his binoculars just before he’d seen the thin, wiry man disappear through the skylight at six-thirty-five.

      That had been forty minutes ago. The museum’s alarms would be turned off at seven-thirty to allow for a shift change in the security staff, and Sam was banking on the fact that Pierre would choose that moment to make his escape through the front doors.

      Always do the unexpected.

      It was one of the mottoes that Pierre Rabaut lived by. And because he had shared that piece of advice and more with the youngest son of an old friend, Pierre Rabaut was going to be caught with the Abelard necklace in his possession…but he was not going to be arrested. Sam wasn’t going to allow that to happen.

      For the first time in his life, he was about to betray a client to save an old friend. Pierre Rabaut had been like a second father to him, especially during the days after his mother had died and then again later when his father had met and fallen in love with Isabelle Sheridan, a woman who hadn’t been willing to become a part of his father’s life. Pierre had always been there for him, and Sam was going to see that he didn’t go to jail.

      If a job is worth doing, it is worth doing well.

      Sam’s lips twisted wryly. That piece of advice had come from Pierre, too. But this was the first time that doing his job well had put him between a rock and a hard place. He’d been hired to make sure the Abelard necklace wasn’t stolen. He intended to do just that. But making sure that Pierre Rabaut wasn’t arrested—that might cost him his job.

      Flexing his fingers to ease a fresh wave of tingles, Sam stifled the urge to glance at his watch. His disguise as one of New York City’s homeless would be worthless if Pierre happened to glance out of one of the museum’s windows and catch him checking the time.

      Instead, Sam shifted his gaze down 75th Street. Two taxis, horns blaring, squeezed their way through the intersection. Halfway down the block a delivery man dropped a case of soft drinks on the cement and then let out a stream of curses. Over them, Sam caught a snatch of lyrics from a rap song pouring out of the open window of a pickup truck double-parked across the street.

      And there was still no sign of the tiny blonde.

      Not that he should be even thinking about her. He needed to keep all of his attention focused on Pierre. But for the life of him he hadn’t been able to get the woman out of his head. She just didn’t…fit.

      He could recall in great detail that first time he’d seen her walking toward him. He’d pegged her for a rich socialite—the kind of woman he always steered clear of. Still, she’d been worth a second glance and the stakeout was proving to be long and boring. A nice fantasy always made the time go faster. So he’d begun to indulge in one.

      The easy way she’d swung her briefcase had told him she worked out regularly in a gym. He’d pictured that compact little body of hers in designer workout clothes that clung to every curve, her fair skin slick with sweat. He hadn’t a doubt in the world that she would attack each and every piece of equipment in the gym, one by one, with the same energy and concentration that she exuded when she left her building and headed toward the subway each morning.

      Would she make love with that same intensity and passion? The question had barely slipped into his mind when she’d stopped and tucked a twenty-dollar bill into his cup. Startled, he’d glanced up and met her eyes, and for one moment he could have sworn his mind had gone blank. By the time he’d recovered, she’d been halfway down the block, and he’d nearly gotten up and gone after her. Sam shook his head at the memory. He’d nearly blown his cover and gone running down the street after her! No one—man or woman—had ever made him forget he was on a job.

      The second day she’d stopped, he’d had his wits about him until she’d surprised him again by speaking to him. She’d asked him if he was interested in getting a job. When he’d said yes—hell, he’d felt compelled to when he was staring into those eyes of hers—she said she’d look into it. Then she’d dropped another twenty into his cup. Thoroughly bemused, he’d gazed after her wondering if she were some kind of blonde, violet-eyed guardian angel sent down from on high to look after the homeless.

      The last two days had followed the same pattern. She’d stop, tuck