Page 10 of The Grandmaster's Pawn (Checkmate)

“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.

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