In an instant, he’s sitting up, the lamp casting a gentle glow over his concerned expression, and I’m cradled in his lap, his arms tight around me. “I’m sorry, Gemma. I’m a proper dolt. I forgot.”
“S’okay,” I manage through my threatening tears. “I just can’t…”
“Will you tell me why?” His soothing voice, the luxurious sheets and duvet he draws around us, and the strength of his embrace calm me, and though I don’t know why…I trust him.
“When I was eleven, I…lost my sister. Nora was nine.” I sniffle once, though I think I can keep the tears at bay as long as he holds me. “We were exploring this old barn on the edge of the neighbor’s property not too long before sunset. Backcountry. Way the hell out there. So the barn was over a mile from any other building. And Nora…she jumped off a bale of hay, and…and…”
Daniel presses a kiss to the top of my head. “You do not have to—”
“I want to. I’ve…never told anyone before. Not…like this.” Tipping my head to meet his gaze, I blink hard. He’s in soft focus now, my tears lending a subtle shimmer to the room. “We fell through the floor into this underground storage silo. I broke my leg. But Nora…there was a rake. A big one. And she…landed on it.”
“Fuck.” He tightens his embrace, and I take a deep, shuddering breath.
“I couldn’t move much. And Nora…the rake punctured her lung and her liver. She…died holding my hand. And it got so dark. So cold.” I shiver, and for a brief moment, I’m back in that silo, my sister’s blood coating my hands. “No one came until well after noon the next day. There were…spiders. And rats. And I lay there all night, calling for help, and no one—no one came.”
Daniel slides down with me still held in his arms as I lose the battle to keep my tears from falling. “You’re safe, Gemma. Safe with me. And we’ll keep the light on. All night.”
Five
Daniel
“Where are my panties?” Gemma asks as she hops around trying to fasten her thigh-high stockings into the garters.
Swiping the scrap of peach lace off the floor and tucking it under my pillow while her back is turned, I smile innocently at her as I lift one corner of the duvet. “I’m afraid I don’t know, luv.”
“Never mind. I have to get home and change. I’m going to be late for work. Shit. I don’t even know where in London we are.”
She’s brilliant in the morning. Mussed waves of chestnut hair cascade around her face, a hint of her red lipstick still staining the corner of her lips—and my cock. And the most adorable flush to her cheeks.
“Chelsea. And the car will be here in five minutes,” I say as I check my mobile, then catch her hand. “Sit with me for just a moment?”
I gently turn her so I can do up the buttons on her blouse, then brush a kiss to the delicate curve of her neck. “I have some business to attend to the next few days. Out of town. But I would very much like to see you again.”
She scoots back to face me, her lips curve into a shy smile, and she drops her gaze when I take her hands. “I’d like that. Will you…uh…be online to play chess while you’re gone?”
“Not tonight. But after that, nothing could keep me away.” The alarms ringing in my head are loud enough to deafen me. I don’t do relationships. Attachments. And…in eighteen hours, I’ll have the Lewis Chessmen in my bag, and Gemma… Bloody hell, how will I face her again? I’m going soft. Guilt has never been an emotion I allowed myself, but I’m in danger of falling for this woman.
Walk away. Leave her with this last memory and walk away.
I have to. But I’ll keep her on the hook until I can confirm my crime has gone unnoticed. The expensive replicas in my safe should fool anyone—except perhaps the woman in my arms.
As I lean in for one last kiss, I try to memorize everything about her. How her breasts feel pressed up against me, the pebbling of her nipple when I reach down and skate my thumb over the nub, and the sound of her moan disappearing into our kiss.
“I will ring you tomorrow, Gemma. Count on it.”
Gemma
The subtle ache in my core is unexpected. Almost…pleasant. A reminder of Daniel. I don’t understand how I can feel this much for him this quickly. Though, we spent three weeks playing chess online before I met him in person, and we learned about one another there—at least a little. When he’s frustrated, he picks up all these little bits of British slang. But when he’s relaxed, his accent is milder. His taste in paintings runs similar to mine, but where sculpture is concerned, the only item we seem to agree on is the Lewis Chessmen. Which is why I’m standing in front of the display, wishing he weren’t traveling for the next few days.
“Excuse me. Are you Gemma Watson?” The rough voice is only a foot or so behind me, and I stifle a yelp. “My apologies,” he says as he steadies me with a hand on my elbow. His fingers exert a little too much pressure, and I yank my arm away.
“Yes. I am. How can I help you?” I have to stare up at him, and still feeling intimidated, I shrink back.
“I did not mean to startle you. I was told to talk to you about arranging a traveling exhibition for the Lewis Chessmen.”
“I don’t mean to be rude, but who are you?” Positioning myself between the man and the Chessmen, I straighten to my full height—which doesn’t mean much since I’m only five-foot-five and he has at least six inches on me.
“Oh. How forgetful of me. My name is Dieter Stein, and I am the assistant curator in charge of traveling exhibitions for the Alte Pinakothek in Munich.” He offers me his hand, and I shake it, though something about him sets me on edge. He’s still too close, encroaching into my personal space, and his breath is atrocious. It’s all I can do to avoid wrinkling my nose.
“I’m sorry, Mr. Stein, but the Chessmen don’t travel any longer. The Executive Director made that decision several years ago. You might try the National Museum of Scotland.” My phone buzzes in my pocket. “Pardon me. I should take this.”
Normally, I’d never answer a personal call or text at work, and certainly not in front of a colleague, but I’ll take any excuse to put a little distance between me and this overbearing man with a serious case of halitosis.
My cheeks heat as I read the message.
Gemma, darling, I shouldn’t admit this, but I may have known where your panties were all along. I do not plan on giving them back. I wish I’d been able to postpone my trip, but at least I have something of yours with me.
Opening the photo, I gasp. Daniel’s holding my panties to his nose, his smile peeking out from either side of his hand.
“Daniel!” I whisper to no one as I type out a response.
You’re terrible. I get off in four hours. If you have time before your flight, we could…well, my office door locks.
I wait five seconds after sending the message before I add a second.
And if you wanted my panties, you could have just asked.
A little thrill runs through me. I’m never this brazen. I don’t…flirt. But with Daniel, something’s different. I feel safe with him. Like I can be myself. Or be…who I want to be.
Turning back, I steel myself for Stein’s terrible breath, but he’s gone. I rush out to the hall, looking up and down, but outside of a handful of patrons on an electronic guided tour, I’m alone.
Jerk.
Six
Daniel
Tugging at the jacket of my uniform—pilfered from one of the employee lockers not long after the museum closed down for the day—I take a few deep, centering breaths. This is the part of the job I love. The thrill. Knowing if I lose focus for a single second, it could all be over. Alarms. Police. Interpol.
Tonight, however, there’s nothing. Only longing. For something different. For her.
Tatiana’s in my ear as I hover at the door, the Chessmen in my sight. “Cameras going dark in three, two, one. Mark,” she says. I have ninety seconds before she has to turn them back on. Cloning Gemma’s phone gave me access to the motion detectors, and I fl
ip them off next, followed by the pressure sensors.
I lift the glass covering the display carefully and set it aside, then flip open my small satchel. One at a time, I swap the original chess piece for a perfect forgery.
“Fifteen seconds,” Tatiana says as I set the final piece in the case.
Steady.
With only a second to spare, I reach the hall. “Clear.”
Less than five minutes later, I slip out the museum’s loading docks and stroll towards the Thames. Just another bloke on his way home from work.
“Set up the meet with the buyer,” I tell Tatiana as I pull my hat down lower to hide my face. “I want it over and done with by tomorrow evening. Then…we need to talk about my exit strategy.”
“Wh-what?” Tatiana splutters in my ear. “You cannot be serious. Daniel, l’voinak, you are the best in the world.”
“And I intend to go out on top.” Severing the connection, I tuck the earbud in my pocket and pull out my phone. It’s late. Well after nine. But I need to hear Gemma’s voice.
“Hey,” she says quietly. “I was starting to think you wouldn’t call.”
“I always keep my promises, bijou. My flight was delayed or I would have rang you hours ago. I’m almost to my hotel.” Stopping at a bench overlooking the water, I stare up at the moon. I don’t know why I’ve never noticed its beauty before. Perhaps I’ve missed many things. “How are you?”
“Tired. I have a paper due next week, and I’ve been working on it all night.”
“On?”
“You don’t really want to know.” She stifles a yawn.
“I do. Truly.” My chest tightens when I realize I’m not lying. “Tell me.”
“Ten pages on—” A knock at the door stops her, and she sighs. “Hang on. It’s probably the pizza I ordered.”
I resume my walk, but three steps later, there’s a loud crash and then Gemma screams, “No! Get away from me!”
My heart is in my throat as I turn and start to run. I’m five kilometers from her flat. “Gemma! Answer me!”
A wet thud, the sound of fists on flesh, and then Gemma’s soft moan. The call’s still connected, and I press the phone to my ear harder, trying to hear anything that might help me—help her. Footsteps, then a voice.
“Hastings.”
My entire world turns upside down. “Ulrich, what the bloody fuck are you doing? Is Gemma—”
“She is alive. For now.” My phone buzzes with a message, and I stare at the screen. Gemma lies on the floor of her flat, blood oozing from the corner of her mouth and a cut on her cheek, her eyes closed.
“You’re a fucking arsehole, Ulrich. She’s an innocent.” My feet slap against the pavement as I push myself faster. “What do you want?”
“My Portrait of a Lady, of course. Give her back to me, and I will let your momentary distraction live.” His voice lowers, muffles slightly, but I can still hear him. “Get her to the car and make sure she is restrained.”
“Let her go. Goddammit, Ulrich. Let her go—leave her in her flat— and you can have the bloody painting. I’ll put a goddamn bow on it and deliver it to you personally.”
“I’m afraid I simply do not trust you, Hastings. I will be in touch. Stay by the phone.” The call disconnects, and I know I won’t be fast enough. I know something else, too. Gemma’s seen his face. There isn’t a chance in hell Ulrich will let her live.
Gemma
My head spins, and the pasta salad I had for lunch threatens to come back up as everything around me vibrates at a low rumble.
Where am I?
Oh God. I’m in a car. On the floor of the back seat. I try to sit up, but my arms won’t move. My wrists ache, and my fingers are numb.
Voices float around me, and I fight to keep my breathing even and my eyes closed.
“When we reach the safe house, secure her. We will wait until tomorrow evening to call Hastings. By then, he will be too frantic to think clearly.”
I recognize his tone. And the God-awful stench of his breath. The man from the museum. The one who asked about the Chessmen.
“And you are certain this woman is important enough to him, Herr Ulrich?” This second voice is harsher. The asshole who shoved me into the wall, then punched me in the face.
Ulrich scoffs. “He was smitten enough he did not notice you following the two of them from the restaurant last night. I know him well, Matthias. And I have been watching him. He is moving money. Planning to retire.”
Retire? From what?
“Make a right on Lordship Lane,” Ulrich says. The car slows, turns, and few moments later, jerks to a stop. My stomach twists into knots. I have to find some way out of here. I don’t know what this Ulrich wants with Daniel, but I’ve seen too many episodes of Spooks to believe he’ll actually let me go. I’ve seen his face. Both of their faces.
The other man—he smells like a pine cone took a bath in AXE Body Spray—hauls me out of the car, not caring to be gentle. I try to stifle my whimper, but when he whacks my head on the door jam, I cry out.
“Get her inside, now!” Ulrich snaps.
I’m tossed over a shoulder, and as I force my eyes open, I realize…my glasses are on the floor of my flat. The world is a dark blur, and I blink hard, trying to orient myself.
I think…the street is a long stretch of row houses, but my vision is so bad, I can’t be sure. There’s only a single light, too far away for it to be more than a dull glow, and bouncing on Matthias’s shoulder leaves me dizzy and nauseous.
Up a short set of steps, then a door opens, and Matthias dumps me off his shoulder onto cold tile. I try to scramble up, but my legs don’t want to work and my hands are still tied behind my back.
Ulrich follows a moment later, locking the door behind him. “Don’t bother screaming, Miss Watson. The houses on this street are slated to be torn down in a month. And for every sound you make, I will give you another bruise. Do you understand?”
He punctuates his question with a kick to my hip, and I cry out, earning me another kick, this time to my shoulder. Tears spring to my eyes, and I curl inward, trying to protect myself, but he drags me across the floor by the collar of my sweatshirt, turns a corner, and throws me down a set of stairs. Into the dark.
My throat tightens, panic overwhelming me, taking me back to my childhood where I can’t move, can’t do anything as I have to watch my sister die.
Light floods the small space. It’s probably only been seconds, but I suck in a wheezing breath like it’s been an hour. Matthias and Ulrich stalk down the stairs, and every one of my new bruises makes itself known as I attempt to scramble away from them. My knee feels like it’s dislocated, and my head pounds. Every breath brings more pain.
“Please,” I whisper when Ulrich stands over me. “Daniel and I…we spent one night together. That’s all. I’m...nothing to him.”
“Get the camera.” Ulrich reaches into his coat pocket and withdraws a gray lump I can’t quite make out. “She is going to be trouble.”
Matthias grabs my shoulders, and Ulrich presses a piece of tape over my lips. Tears spill down my cheeks, burning my eyes.
Ulrich hauls me up against him, and my stomach roils. His fetid breath makes me gag, but if I throw up now, I’ll choke and die. “Start recording,” he orders.
Matthias holds his phone up. “Go.”
“Hello, Daniel,” Ulrich says as he strokes a finger down my swollen cheek. “Your little museum bitch is very spirited. I wonder. Does she know you were just using her?”
I suck in a breath through my nose. He’s lying. Despite my protests moments ago, Daniel cares for me.
“Such shock, Miss Watson. This is news to you? Daniel Hastings is a thief. He’s stolen jewels, sculptures, paintings, and more famous documents than you could possibly catalogue. Most recently, he’s been in London to steal the Lewis Chessmen.”
“No, no, no,” I moan behind the tape. He wouldn’t. He didn’t. What we had… My heart shatters into a thousand pieces as
Ulrich chuckles behind me.
“The next time we talk, Daniel, you will have the painting ready for me. You have twelve hours to retrieve it. After that,” he pulls out a pocketknife and snaps it open, then presses it to my throat, “I’m afraid, Miss Watson’s time will run out.”
Seven
Daniel
Gemma’s flat is pristine, other than her glasses on the floor of the foyer amid smears of blood and a dent in the wall—at the height of Gemma’s head. Efficient. Brutal.
The rooms smell like her. Jasmine. Coffee. Until I catch a hint of Ulrich’s stench. Pulling a burner phone from my pocket, I start to dial Tatiana, but then I remember who I’m dealing with.
“Fuck me.” Scanning for bugs wastes precious time, but Gemma’s life depends on me being cold and calculating. Not the man I want to be with her. The one who doesn’t care about his next job. Who doesn’t care about anything but her.
When I’m satisfied the flat is clean, I ring Tatiana.
“I have set up the meet with the buyer,” she says when the call connects.
“I don’t care.”
“Daniel?” Her voice holds concern as well as a harsh edge. “What are you talking about?”
“Ulrich made his move. One...I did not expect. That plan we spoke of last time he threatened to be...trouble. How quickly can you set it in motion?”
“Forty-eight hours.”
“Not good enough.” I sink down on Gemma’s bed, pulling her pillow close to my chest. “I need everything ready to go in ten. Or less. And I need the Lady.”
Tatiana’s tone sharpens. “What happened? Why now?”
“He has Gemma.”
“Who is...Gemma?” The accusation hangs heavy in the air, and anger flares bright and hot.
“Be very careful with your next words, Tatiana. You work for me. And while I will never be able to repay you for all you have done over the years, I also know many of your secrets.”
The Grandmaster's Pawn Page 3
