The hairs prickled on the back of her neck. “What kind of changes?”

      He scowled. “You did it again. You changed the subject. We were talking about you and Callahan.”

      She turned to face him, a tube of raspberry-red lipstick in her hand. “Right now we’re talking about you. I want to know exactly what kind of changes you’re planning to make.”

      “It’s a secret.”

      She took a step toward him. “Ramon, don’t do anything foolish.”

      “What’s that supposed to mean?”

      “We both know what it means. I know the past few years have been rough for you. Especially after Dad died.” She didn’t want to admit they’d been rough for her, too. The sudden death of Theo D’Onofrio eight years ago had left Chloe, a naive nineteen-year-old, in sole charge of her sullen fourteen-year-old brother. She’d tried her best to raise him right, with plenty of unsolicited advice from her incarcerated mother and assorted D’Onofrios.

      “I miss him,” Ramon admitted. “He was my hero.”

      Just the words she didn’t want to hear. “I loved Dad, too. But he had his faults. He was too smart to waste his life cracking safes. He could have done so much more.”

      Ramon’s eyes sparked with anger. “Theo D’Onofrio was the best jewel thief in the country. The police never even came close to touching him.”

      “I know,” she said softly. “But the stress of evading them all those years took its toll. He was only forty-seven when his heart gave out.”

      Ramon’s shoulders drooped. “The same thing could have happened if he’d been a plumber or a banker. Besides, he loved his work.”

      Sometimes Chloe wondered if her father had loved his work more than he’d loved his family. They’d never been able to stay in one place long—making it necessary for Chloe and Ramon to change schools often. They’d had to lie, too, whenever anyone asked them what Theo D’Onofrio did for a living. He’s in the security business was their standard reply. Only they refrained from mentioning that his specialty was breaking security.

      Still, it hadn’t been a bad life. The D’Onofrios were a close-knit family, and they’d always been able to depend on each other. Which was the reason Chloe wasn’t about to let her brother down—whether he wanted her help or not.

      “Times are different now,” she said briskly, turning back to the mirror. “The police have much more sophisticated equipment to track stolen merchandise. So if you’re thinking of taking up where Dad left off, think again.”

      The doorbell rang, forestalling Ramon’s reply. But she could see by the mottled flush on his cheeks that she’d hit a nerve. “That must be Trace.”

      “I’ll get it,” Ramon said, moving down the hallway.

      Chloe picked up a pair of gold hoop earrings off the marble vanity top and hooked one through her ear. “Tell him I’ll be down in a minute.”

      “I will,” Ramon called over his shoulder. “As well as a few other things.”

      She stuck out her tongue at his retreating back, then walked down the hallway into her bedroom. After slipping on a pair of red leather flats, she took a long look at herself in the full-length mirror that hung on her closet door. Not quite satisfied with her appearance, she pulled the elastic band of the peasant blouse off her shoulders. Then up again. Then down again.

      Her gaze fastened on her hair. Pulled back, it looked awful. Unfortunately, it looked even more awful flopping in her eyes after she took off the clip. Picking up a bottle of hair spray off her dresser, she feathered her bangs back with her fingers, then sprayed them into place. Not perfect, but definitely an improvement.

      Chloe took a deep breath, surprised by the fluttery sensation in the pit of her stomach. She hadn’t been on a real date in months. Between getting her business off the ground and keeping a watchful eye on Ramon, she simply hadn’t had any time left over for romance.

      Only this wasn’t a real date. And Trace Callahan had made it clear he wasn’t interested in a romance. Especially with her.

      Good thing, too.

      Because despite her skepticism about Madame Sophia’s talents, she couldn’t deny the pull between them. There was something about Trace that brought out the flirt in her. Something that almost made her forget she didn’t even like the man.

      TRACE BROKE OUT in a cold sweat as he stood waiting on the dilapidated porch of the rambling Victorian house. He’d been restless all day, wavering between apprehension and anticipation. The prospect of a date with Chloe D’Onofrio intrigued him, aroused him and terrified him all at the same time. Now that the moment had finally arrived, he didn’t know whether he should ring the doorbell again or run screaming in the opposite direction.

      Noah’s warning echoed in his mind. Be afraid, Trace. Be very afraid. Then he shook off the words as well as his sense of foreboding. Trace Callahan had never let fear dictate to him before, and he wasn’t about to start now.

      Besides, it was only one date. How bad could it be?

      The front door swung open and Ramon stood on the other side, a scowl on his face and a six-inch carving knife in his hand. “It’s you.”

      “Put the knife down, Ramon.”

      Ramon held the knife up in the air, the blade glinting in the glow of the porch light. “This little thing? I was just using it to slice up a roast.”

      “Put it down, Ramon.” After almost losing his big toe, Trace wasn’t about to take any chances.

      Ramon tipped up his chin. “And if I don’t?”

      “Then I’ll have to take it away from you, and you won’t like the way I do it.”

      Ramon hesitated a moment, then dropped the knife into the potted plant just inside the front door. The hilt quivered slightly as the blade pierced the soil. “All right, have it your way.”

      “Thank you.” Trace waited for him to move away from the door. “May I come in now?”

      Ramon stood with his hands on his narrow hips, blocking the doorway. “Could I stop you?”

      “No,” Trace said genially, pushing past him as he stepped across the threshold and into the living room. “Is Chloe ready to go?”

      “Depends.” Ramon turned to face him. “Exactly what are your intentions toward my sister?”

      “I intend to buy her dinner.”

      “I’m not worried about dinner. I want to know what you have in mind for dessert.”

      “Something sweet and soothing, which pretty much rules out your sister.” Then he smiled. “Don’t worry about it, Ramon. I’m not interested in Chloe that way.” Which wasn’t exactly the truth, but he didn’t like the way Ramon was eyeing that knife.

      “I hope not.” Ramon moved a step closer to him, the top of his head barely reaching Trace’s chin. “Because otherwise you’ll have to answer to me.”

      “Thanks for the warning,” Trace said dryly.

      “Remember it.” Ramon gave him one last glare, then turned on his heel and strode out of the room.

      Trace watched him leave, grudgingly impressed with Ramon’s efforts to defend his sister. The man might be a fruitcake, but he was a loyal fruitcake.

      Left on his own, Trace could finally feast his eyes on the exquisite and spacious living room. Evidence of fine craftsmanship was everywhere. Intricate crown moldings lined the high ceiling. The large picture window was a showpiece in itself, accented with rose, amber and green stained glass. Marble insets flanked the hand-carved windowsill.

      Trace stared in wonder around the rest