“You are so bad, Griffen. It was left by an old girlfriend.”

“The necklace, too?”

“I guess so. I feel weird wearing it.”

“You would, but keep it on. You take anything off for half a second, and our cat burglar pounces. Crafty bastard, isn’t he? Think he’s around tonight?” She paused, then realization dawned, and she clapped her hands together. “That’s it. Tabak’s here because of the robberies.”

“Griffen, shh. Maybe not everyone’s heard about the thief.”

“Are you kidding? This is Palm Beach. Everybody knows what I served at last night’s party down to the fresh raspberries. They’re going to know about a jewel thief on the prowl. I wouldn’t have thought that was Tabak’s kind of story, but you never know.” She frowned, considering. “But don’t worry. I still think he has the hots for you.”

Deegan joined them, sparing Mollie an answer. He said, “I’d hate to go through a hurricane with you two. You’d abandon me in a flash to save your own skins. I just managed to escape with Mother hounding me about pacing myself so I don’t come down with mono.” He grinned, unperturbed by anything his mother might say to him. “Gran’s invited me to lunch. I expect I’m going to get the lecture about sowing my wild oats and then settling down.”

“They hate me,” Griffen said, matter of fact.

“They don’t hate you,” Deegan said, “they just find you ‘unsuitable.’ ”

“Well, we’ve made our appearance. Another pass at the hors d’ouevres and we’re out of here. Mollie?”

But suddenly eager to be alone, she wished them well and slipped off to the ladies’ room to see if she still recognized herself in the mirror and regroup. If Jeremiah stayed through the entire ball, she was going to have to figure out a way to cope-or an excuse to leave early.

The ladies’ lounge was down the hall and then off to the left, down another hall with stairs, two elevators, and another smaller function room. Mollie sank into a brocade chair in the sitting room of the lounge, with its fresh flowers in a tall Delft-style urn and scented potpourri in heart-shaped china bowls. She avoided her reflection in the mirror on the opposite wall. A borrowed dress, a borrowed necklace, a borrowed house. Even a bit of a borrowed life. Was she getting sucked into Leonardo’s posh lifestyle?

No. She wasn’t trying to impress anyone with her choice of outfit. She was having fun, exercising a little Yankee frugality, being expedient. Leonardo would be pleased she was enjoying his necklace with its tortured history.

Jeremiah had unsettled her, eroded her confidence about the choices she’d made. He probed, dug, threw people off balance, ever in anticipation of anyone and everyone betraying their sorriest side. No rose-colored glasses for Jeremiah Tabak. He saw people right on, undiluted. And he’d learned to expect the worst.

But Mollie knew she was drawn to that intensity and clarity. If he had no illusions about the human flaws in others, he had none, either, about those in himself. With him, even a decade ago, she’d felt no need to apologize for her own doubts and weaknesses, but simply to be herself, which had-she hated to admit it-also allowed her to really see herself for the first time.

Of course, now he wouldn’t put it past her to swipe other people’s jewelry.

An open mind. Right.

“He’s an exhausting man,” she said half-aloud, the lounge empty as she got to her feet. She washed her hands and dried them on an individual finger towel, the light reflecting off every gem in her necklace. Crazy to wear it. But fun. She smiled at herself in the mirror. Yes, she could handle Tabak, and Diantha Atwood, and the Tiernays.

She headed back out into the corridor. It was quiet. Guests would be starting to make their way to the ballroom one level up. She could hang in for the evening, Mollie told herself. In for a penny, in for a pound.

The elevator dinged behind her, but she didn’t bother to look around.

As she made the turn down the hall to the Atwood party, she heard a footstep behind her, assumed someone had gotten off the elevator. She started to glance around, but felt something at her neck, a feathery touch. Creepy. A fly, something. She went to brush it off, but felt something pulling at the loose hairs at the back of her neck, then her necklace yanked up hard against her throat.

A gloved hand.

The thief. He was there, just behind her.

In a single, vicious yank, he snapped the thin gold chain of her necklace.

Choking, a fiery pain at her throat, Mollie sank to her knees. She could hear the thief running back toward the elevators and stairs, hardly making a sound.

Her stomach lurched, and she screamed.

6

A woman’s scream silenced Diantha Atwood’s party.

Mollie.

Jeremiah knew it in his gut. A collective gasp went through the party. Guests looked around, momentarily paralyzed. Jeremiah cast aside his drink and ran out into the hall ahead of anyone else.

Up to his left, a gleam of champagne silk and pale hair. He swore under his breath, realized she’d sunk to the floor, collapsed against the wall. She held a hand to her neck, trembling.

In two seconds he was there, kneeling beside her. “Mollie-honey, are you all right? Let me see.”

“He’s gone.” Her voice was shaky, her skin ghostly. “Down the stairs, I think. I tried to chase him…”

“Sweetheart, let me see your neck.”

“The bastard,” she said, squeezing back tears.

Jeremiah touched her hand gently, and she lifted it from her neck. Blood. Not a lot. Her diamond and ruby necklace was gone. The thief must have ripped it right off her neck, leaving a fiery, stinging rope burn where the gold chain had cut into her skin.

She attempted a smile. “I’m okay. He just grabbed the necklace and ran. It happened so fast…”

“Don’t try to talk now.”

“Bastard,” she whispered, and Jeremiah knew she meant the thief. Her neck must hurt like hell, and there’d be a bruise. But he hadn’t strangled her, knifed her, shot her, carried her off into the night.

Still, Jeremiah could feel the blackness coming into his eyes. She removed her hand from the raw streak along her neck. Her palm was smeared with blood. Another weak attempt at a smile. She would, he knew, be embarrassed at making a scene. This wasn’t her turf, her people. With a bunch of crazy musicians, she’d have felt free to scream, curse, cry, go after the guy, do whatever she damned pleased.

She sank her head back against the wall, thick locks of hair dislodging from their pins. “Really. It’s just a scratch.”

She shut her eyes, and Jeremiah could see her willing control over herself, fighting back nausea, shock, fear. People were rushing up the corridor. Someone was yelling for security, the manager, the police.

And Jeremiah remembered Croc’s words. I think this thing could get dangerous.

A warning? Or a threat?

And here was Mollie, their only common denominator, Croc’s only lead, once again in the thick of things.

“The thief,” he said. “Did you see him?”

She shook her head, wincing. “He grabbed the necklace from behind. He just snapped it and ran off.” She gulped in air, her face, if possible, even paler. “I felt the brush of his hand. I think he was wearing gloves.”

She shivered, visibly steeling herself against shaking as more people gathered round. Jeremiah stayed close to her. “It’s over now, Mollie. You can explain later.”

Her eyes, clear and so blue, focused on him, reminded him that he needed to take great care not to underestimate her. “Am I looking a bit green at the gills?”

He smiled. “More than a bit.”

“I’d hate to throw up,” she said dryly. “Then I’d feel like a real idiot. It’s bad enough as it is. No one else who was robbed screamed bloody murder.”

“No one else was physically attacked.”