Page 9 of The Grandmaster's Pawn (Checkmate)

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 flip 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.

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