Page 17 of The Grandmaster's Pawn (Checkmate)

“No, Miss Gemma. Just the usual tours. Why?” Charles cocks his head, and he takes a step closer to me, as if he’s afraid I’m going to topple over.

“No reason, just feeling out of touch.”

With slow, painful steps, I make my way over to the Chessmen. They’re all here. In perfect condition. Iknowthese pieces. Know them as well as I know my own name. If they were replicas, I’d be able to tell.

“But he said he’d—” I shake my head, and my heart squeezes. He put them back? Why? For me?

By the time I reach my office, I’m ready for a nap. But I’m so behind—on everything. Half an hour later, as I head to the break room for a cup of tea, startled voices carry out the door. What the hell? It sounds like half the docents are in there.

And…they are. Gathered around the small television.

“I can’t believe all those thefts…”

“…kept his stash in the middle of London?”

“Why wouldn’t he just sell everything?”

“…obviously headed here next.”

I push my way through the crowd until I can see—and hear—the news story.

“Once again, in case you’re just joining us, the renowned art thief known only as the Grandmaster has been apprehended. An anonymous tip sent Interpol to an abandoned house on Lordship Lane three nights ago. They caught two men attempting to flee the premises with the missing Gustav Klimt painting, The Portrait of a Lady. Ulrich Von Straten and his associate, Matthias Fontinel, have been linked to more than fifty separate thefts over the past two decades.”

The footage cuts to a shot of the basement, and I shudder as I try not to think about the dark, cold closet where I spent the better part of a day terrified I was going to die.

“High quality forgeries of the Lewis Chessmen were found with the two men, as well as a key to a storage unit in central London. When Interpol agents raided the unit, they found ten missing paintings, Tucker’s Cross, and the Ivory Coast Crown Jewels, which were stolen in 2011. Fingerprint and DNA evidence found in the storage unit link Von Straten to these crimes. He and his associate are currently in an undisclosed location while several countries petition Interpol for extradition rights.”

I pull out my phone. Three days. Every hour I wanted to text him. To hear his voice. To feel his arms around me one more time. He hasn’t contacted me, and a part of me wishes he’d tried, even though I asked him not to.

He’s probably changed his number. Gone on the run. But I send him a message anyway.

How much did you return?

I have to know.

Daniel’s response comes only seconds later.

Everything.

The walls threaten to suffocate me, so I lurch out onto the museum’s front steps. The damp air prickles along my skin, cooling my still-swollen cheek, and I brace myself against one of the tall columns at the top of the stairs, wheezing, desperate for more answers.

“Gemma.”

Oh God. From the bottom of the steps, Daniel stares up at me. Dark circles bruise his eyes, and he’s unshaven, his skin sallow under the stubble. Even his voice is wan.

“Why?” I swipe away a tear, my legs shaky, and my gaze locked on him.

Slowly, deliberately, he climbs the steps until he’s in front of me. His hands mold to my hips, gently, but with enough pressure I know he won’t let me fall. He smells the same. Like...home.

“So there would be nothing between us but the truth.”

“But…this is who you are. You’re…the Grandmaster,” I whisper.

“Not anymore. I’ve retired. Permanently.”

My knee buckles, and Daniel pulls me against him. The feel of his lithe, muscular body, the hitch in his breath, and his rather insistent erection make me ache in so many different ways, but nothing hurts more than my heart.

“How can I ever trust you again?” The words escape on a sob, and I wrap my arms around his waist, my uninjured cheek pressed against his chest. I want to. So very much I don’t think I can let go.

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