Page 11 of The Grandmaster's Pawn (Checkmate)

“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 ofSpooksto 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.

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