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that,” he found himself watching her eyes in fascination as they welled up. Damn, he hated tears. He hadn’t a clue what to do when a woman cried, only that he was supposed to do something.
    With a barely suppressed sigh, James looked around his desk for a box of tissues, knowing ahead of time that he wouldn’t find anything.
    She used the back of her hand to brush away the telltale marks. A smile returned to her lips and any tears that might have subsequently fallen held their positions.
    The cameo felt warm in her hand, like something alive, connecting her to her heritage. “I didn’t think I was ever going to be able to put this on.”
    â€œYou’ve never worn it?” Thanks to Santini’s never-ending stories about his three girls, he was vaguely aware that daughters played dress-up with their mother’s jewelry. That she hadn’t seemed rather odd, given her feelings about the cameo.
    Constance shook her head. “Mother was adamant about the legend. She firmly believed in it. I got engaged to Josh before she could pass the cameo on to me.” She smiled as the memory came back to her. “She told me the cameo would be there waiting for me if I discovered I needed it.” It was her mother’s way of saying thatshe didn’t completely approve of the match. But then, her mother wouldn’t have approved of anyone that the cameo wasn’t responsible for “choosing.” Her mother had been very, very superstitious.
    James glanced down at her left hand. He told himself that it was just an “occupational habit,” taking in as much about a person as he could, to be used later. Except that in this case, there wasn’t going to be a “later.”
    Her hand was bare.
    She noticed him looking at her hand. Constance curled her fingers under her palm. “It didn’t work out,” she told him quietly.
    Looking up at her, he shrugged dismissively. “None of my business.”
    An enigmatic expression played along her lips. “Wish he had felt that way. Unfortunately, he felt that everything about me was his business, especially my mother’s money.”
    She saw the look of curiosity enter his eyes. She wondered if he was aware of it. There was no question in her mind that he was trying very hard to maintain distance between them. Asking questions, verbally or otherwise, decreased that distance.
    â€œJosh was my mother’s financial adviser,” she explained, “and I discovered right after the funeral that he’d been playing fast and loose with my mother’s money.” Which explained the bad feeling about him that had been steadily making itself more known to her, she added silently. “Marrying me would have given him a better claim to it.” Her tone became breezy, as ifshe were relating just another story instead of something that had caused her a great deal of pain. “So I broke off our engagement and I fired him.”
    â€œSo now you need the cameo to help you find someone.” He tried unsuccessfully to keep the touch of sarcasm out of his voice.
    She raised her eyes to his. “No, I want the cameo because it had been my mother’s. And her mother’s before that.” Her smile was warm as she added, “I don’t need a man to make me complete, Detective Munro.”
    The way she said it, he believed she meant it. From where he sat, the woman appeared to be pretty complete as it was. He watched her untie the black velvet ribbon and placed the cameo against her throat. She leaned her head forward just a touch as she tied the ribbon at the nape of her neck. Finished, she tossed her long, straight blond hair back over her shoulder, then raised her chin as she looked at him. Her eyes were smiling at him. Touching him.
    Which was impossible.
    But he still couldn’t shake the feeling.
    â€œHow does it look?” she asked.
    He wasn’t one to notice jewelry as a rule. But