Jeremy groaned and rolled over in his king-size bed when the telephone rang. He glanced at his watch: seven. Hell. He’d gotten in late last night and stayed up drinking Scotch on his deck and wondering what the hell he was going to tell Elaine Stevens, how he was going to get the flash of Ashley Wakefield’s eyes out of his mind. For starters, he’d get a good night’s sleep.

So much for that. He fumbled for the telephone and yawned a hello into the receiver.

“It’s Mac.”

Jeremy was instantly awake and sitting up. “Where are you?”

“Listen to me. I don’t have much time.”

“Mac, what’s wrong?”

“Dammit, just listen! I’ve picked up Bartholomew Wakefield’s trail. He’s searched Ashley’s place in New York and this morning he went to see Evan Parrington, the twins’ attorney.”

“You saw him?”

“Actually, no. I spoke with Parrington myself, and he mentioned that the uncle had stopped by. Look, it doesn’t matter. The point is I believe now that Wakefield wants the tiara and the choker Ashley was wearing in the You photographs. Apparently they’re a part of the trust and—dammit, I don’t know their significance. I have to find out, and I have to stop him. I do know that.”

Jeremy reached for his terry-cloth robe. “Mac, the guy’s been planting peas and pumpkins for the past thirty years. He’s a farmer—”

“Don’t let him fool you, Jeremy.” Mac sounded tired and bitter. “Wakefield isn’t anything he says he is and never has been. He wants the jewels, and it’s clear to me he’ll do whatever he has to in order to get them.”

“Why tell me?”

“Because Ashley Wakefield is on her way to San Diego.”

“What?”

“I imagine she wants a word with you.” Jeremy could almost see Mac’s wry smile. “It’s a long story, but I’m sure she’ll give you all the particulars. Jeremy, I don’t want to involve you in this—I told you that— but it’s possible I’ve underestimated the gravity of this situation. I can handle things on my end. But you can help.”

Jeremy was sitting on the edge of his bed now. “How?”

“Keep Ashley Wakefield from either contacting or being contacted by her uncle. He must not get his hands on those jewels.”

“If you can, Jeremy, keep her in San Diego.”

“What about the brother?”

“He’s safe. He doesn’t have access to the jewels.”

“And you, Mac?”

There was a short silence. “I know how Wakefield thinks. I can handle him.”

Click.

Ashley had gotten some sleep on the plane. It was a night flight, crowded but quiet. She had driven Barky’s truck to Boston, showered and changed at her duplex, packed an overnight bag and driven the truck out to Logan Airport. By then, nothing could keep her awake.

With the three-hour time difference, it was just before seven when she landed in Southern California. San Diego was enveloped in a cool mist. She found a pay phone inside the old east terminal and looked up Carruthers and Stevens in the San Diego telephone book.