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unsteady legs and pressed the heel of her hand against her throbbing head. “Um, this is Dr. Maxwell. I have a one o’clock appointment with Dr. Gotsi today.”
    “Yes, Dr. Maxwell. She’s looking forward to your visit.”
    “I’m afraid I’m going to have to reschedule. I’m still in Milan, and I’m not sure when I’ll be able to make the next flight.”
    Paper rustled over the line as Lisa took a step toward the closet to retrieve her robe. When she dropped her hand and looked up, she noticed the open closet door. She was pretty sure she’d shut that after hanging up her jacket last night.
    “Dr. Gotsi is available around four this afternoon, if that works better for you,” Elise replied.
    Lisa reached for the light in the closet. She pushed aside slacks and jackets hanging from the bar above and stared down at the open safe in the back of the small room.
    No way.
    Her surprise was quickly blanketed by a wave of red-hot rage, as the reality of the situation hit her. “That lying sack of shit,” she muttered.
    “Excuse me?”
    The woman’s startled voice dragged Lisa’s attention back to her phone conversation. “I’m sorry. Um, it looks like I’ve just had a sudden change in plans. I’m going to need to cancel with Dr. Gotsi for the time being. I’ll call her to reschedule.”
    “All right. If you’re sure.”
    Lisa barely heard the woman’s response. Staring at the empty safe, she clicked off the phone and tried to settle her bubbling temper.
    It didn’t work.
    She closed her eyes and ran a shaky hand through her hair. The prick had stolen the relief right out from under her nose, and she’d fallen for his ruse like some sex-starved American hussy. She was smarter than that, dammit!
    Fury curled in her stomach. She tossed the phone across the room, set her hands on her hips and tried to walk off the anger. Nobody stole from her, not after everything she’d been through because of that stupid relief. Not when she’d spent fifteen years searching for it.
    Her vision blurred, and she pressed trembling fingers against her eyes. She’d purposely kept the relief in the safe in her room, because leaving it with hotel security wouldhave raised questions—ones she didn’t want to deal with and couldn’t afford at this point. No one here knew she had the piece. Which meant someone in Jamaica had spilled the beans. That, or someone had followed her here.
    She looked up, steadier as she worked it all through her head. It didn’t really matter who had talked. At this point, there wasn’t anything she could do about it. The only thing that mattered was who had it now.
    Thoughts of revenge raced through her mind. She dropped her hands and narrowed her eyes. Oh, he’d better pray she didn’t find him, because when she did, she was going to exact her own unique brand of vengeance on the bastard.
    The son of a bitch had messed with the wrong woman.
    “I don’t have ten minutes to give the press today.” Shane Maxwell ran tense fingers through his hair, brushed his jacket back and rested his hands on his hips.
    Commander O’Conner wasn’t listening to him. But that was no surprise. With his eyes angled downward, the commander flipped papers as if he were alone. It wasn’t that Shane couldn’t fit ten minutes into his schedule. It was simply that he didn’t want to see the chirpy blonde reporter again. Ever.
    And O’Conner knew that.
    “The public’s screaming for a statement about the Hamilton murder. You’re the point man. Put your fucking personal life on the back burner and do your job, Maxwell.” O’Conner flicked Shane an irritated glare and waved a hand, dismissing him from the office.
    Shane bit back a string of curses and let the glass door slam shut behind him. Son of a bitch, he needed a vacation.
    Phones rang through the Detective Division of the Bureau of Investigative services in Chicago’s police headquarters. Computer keys clicked and printers whirred while the low hum of