Somehow, that realization didn’t stop her. With a last burst of energy, she grabbed ahold of the windowsill and hoisted herself up.

She was panting when she threw herself inside, but she tried to keep her heavy breathing to a minimum. Of course, the second she tried to straighten up and look around the room, the floorboards creaked. She winced.

It was a bedroom, and that was a good thing because she’d already decided that if the necklace would be anywhere, it’d probably be here. But if Leo was smart, he’d likely hide it—and hide it well, just in case anyone came looking.

She went to a dresser and pulled open the top drawer. Socks. The next drawer. Underwear.

Just when she thought this search would be absolutely fruitless, when she decided that there were far too many places that necklace could be, she peered in a little wooden box atop the dresser and found it. It looked almost costume, among a number of different baubles, but she knew it well because she and it had been very intimately acquainted that night.

The necklace. It was there, big and beautiful and shining in the sunlight streaming through the window.

She let out a little gasp of excitement. She couldn’t believe her luck.

But then she looked closer. She lifted it up, and frowned. No. She’d worn the Madame Royale. This was nothing of the kind, light as air. Aside from the ruby-colored stone, it didn’t even look similar. In fact, it wasn’t even a necklace, just a piece of painted gold costume jewelry.

Before she could toss it back, the floorboards creaked behind her. She whirled slowly to find Leo Linville, standing in the doorway, staring at her.

Holding the kitchen knife in his fist.

For the third time since she’d arrived in France, she heard the magic words: “Qu'est-ce que tu fais ici?” What are you doing here?

She had to wonder that herself.

Because now, she was in some really deep trouble.

CHAPTER TWENTY SEVEN

What does one say when they’re found snooping in a stranger’s bedroom?

“Uh . . . hello,” Diana said, backing toward the window, her eyes trained on the knife. “I think you have something that doesn’t belong to you.”

The man’s sausage lips split into a yellow smile as he looked at her hand, still caught in his drawer. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, American. What are you trying to do?”

“Give me the necklace, and I won’t cause any trouble.”

“Seems to me like you’re already causing trouble.” He glanced toward the window. “You climbed all the way up to my bedroom—broke in?”

“W-well, the window was open, so technically, I just slipped in,” she babbled, willing her brain to think of what to do next. Diana, stop with the technicalities.

“You did slip. This was probably the biggest slip you’ve ever made. Because you know I can’t let you leave here.”

She reached into her purse and pulled out her phone. “Put the knife away. I’ll—I’ll call the police.”