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shower after they'd slept together—taking off her jewelry beforehand—and when she came back, he was gone, along with the gems. Like I told you before, he actually took the jewelry off my client while she was sleeping. Another woman chose to refuse his advances, which is what will happen with you. She ran out of the room, at which point Carlo must have wiped her dresser clean of all the jewels, except what she was wearing."

    "So I'll refuse his advances. But where will you be?"

    "This is going to be a carefully orchestrated operation, Brandt. When the time comes to reel him in, I'll pretend to leave—to go to the office for some emergency or something—but I won't really leave. I'll actually be in the closet," he said, motioning to it. "Then you'll invite him into the bedroom to see the view from the balcony."

    At this, Kimberly rose from the bed and padded over to check out the view. She hadn't realized it, but the balcony overlooked the pool and beyond that, a vast treed valley that stretched for miles, dotted with only two or three other mansions.

    "I'll be videotaping the theft," Max continued, "and I'll also be there just in case you have any trouble fending the guy off. Hopefully, he'll take no for an answer, but use the opportunity to swipe the jewelry anyway."

    Kimberly nodded. Sounded pretty simple.

    "Any questions, Brandt?"

    "None."

    "All right then. I'll give you a few minutes to unpack your stuff." With that, he was out the door and Kimberly was alone in this fabulous room where a crime would soon take place. And where she and Max would soon share a bed. The thought bothered her more and more, actually making her stomach clench in pain. She didn't want to sleep next to Max tonight. Or any other night. There were simply too many old emotions involved. Old emotions that no longer mattered.

    But Max had made it pretty clear that the point wasn't up for discussion. So Kimberly sighed and tried to move past it for the moment and onto more productive things.

    Unpacking didn't take long. She added her array of dresses to the already filled closet, put her toothbrush and electric rollers in the bathroom, and stuck her bikini and lacy undies in the drawers provided. She had no intention of letting Carlo Coletti ever see her in anything lacy, of course, but it had seemed like a good thing to have around just in case he did something gross like go through her drawers. Besides, the character of Mrs. Max Tate, whom she would become this evening, didn't wear cotton panties like the ones Kimberly often did. Only the most luxurious of lace for Kimberly Tate, stockbroker's wife and femme fatale.

    Max had explained to her already that the rest of the house was completely furnished and stocked with everything they needed for their stay. Before the day was through, she'd have to tour it carefully and find out the little things—where they kept the bath towels, what kind of food was on hand, how the alarm system worked. She'd have to make sure it seemed as if she and Max really lived there.

    Of course, that was only part of it. They had to convince Carlo Coletti that they were married. Had Max really thought about that? She wandered back to the bed and let herself plop down on it to stare up at the vaulted ceiling. Perhaps she should address the question with him, but it was obviously a touchy subject. She didn't want to imply that they should or shouldn't do any specific married-seeming things in front of Carlo Coletti. Physical things, for instance. Still, she figured they'd have to. The thought made her shiver, just as when she imagined sharing this bed with him. Oh well, she guessed she had no choice but to cross that bridge when she came to it.

    And maybe Max did have a plan. Maybe he was going to be one of those unaffectionate types of husbands, the ones who took their wives for granted and never paid them any attention. As cold as Max was acting to her, it would be an easy role for him to take on.

    He seemed