Played

by Barbara Freethy

  PLAYED

  The Deception Series - Book Two

  @ Copyright 2011 Barbara Freethy

  ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

  No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  For information contact: barbara@barbarafreethy.com

  Prologue

  He moved like a cat through the dark, narrow tunnels running under the city of San Francisco. The air was damp, filled with odors of dead, rotting animals and standing water. Cobwebs brushed his face at every turn. Rats ran over his feet, disturbed by his presence in a world that belonged solely to them -- until now. The secret tunnels had been built during Prohibition to run liquor under the hills of San Francisco and later had been used as escape routes for a band of criminals in the forties and fifties. Few people knew how to navigate the maze of passageways. There were too many stops and starts, too many blocked exits and detours. Fortunately, he had a map that showed him exactly what to do.

  Pausing, he turned his flashlight on the yellowed piece of paper in his hand. The lines and directions had been scrawled more than seventy-five years earlier, and it had taken a long and complicated scheme to get his hands on this very important piece of paper. He hoped it had been worth the effort. It was possible that part of the tunnels had collapsed with the development of the city or perhaps due to one of the earthquakes that rumbled through the area every few years, but if his luck held, this path would provide him direct access to the object of his desire.

  Redirecting his light on the tunnel in front of him, he continued, confident that he would get what he wanted, as he always did. Many men and a few women had tried to stop him over the years. No one had succeeded. He was quite simply invincible.

  He felt a surge of adrenaline as the stream of light bounced off a series of spikes set into the wall in front of him. He stopped, running his finger over one of the ladder steps. Then he threw back his head and looked up. A trapdoor was just above him. He’d found his way in -- and his way out.

  He thought about the activity going on in the building above him at the Barclay Auction House. They were preparing for the evening’s glamorous preview party of Renaissance art and jewelry, including the Benedetti diamond, expected to sell for millions of dollars.

  Unless, of course, something happened to the diamond before then...

  He smiled to himself. At this very moment, the Barclay security team was meeting with the Italian security team, which had accompanied the collection from Florence. They would convince themselves that their security was impenetrable, that no one could steal their precious diamond. But they would be wrong.

  Pulling out the ID from his pocket, he gazed at the name that was not his own, at the photo of the face that he had skillfully reconstructed with makeup, contact lenses, tanning spray and hair color. He now knew this man inside and out, his history, his friends, and his relationship to the important people at Barclay’s, namely Christina Alberti. She would not suspect that he was not who he appeared to be -- until it was too late. The plan was set.

  Retracing his steps through the dark tunnel, he exited several blocks away from the auction house, then unzipped his baggy coveralls and tossed them into a nearby Dumpster. He straightened the tie of his black tuxedo. Let the party begin.

  Chapter One

  Flashbulbs popped in her face, one bright, blinding light after another. Christina Alberti paused at the entrance as the cameras continued to snap. She felt like a celebrity, but in truth the photographers were not interested in her, but in the spectacular ninety-seven-carat yellow diamond pendant that she wore on a simple chain around her neck.

  While Christina had wanted to display the necklace on black velvet in a secure glass case, the Benedetti family had insisted that a model would bring the diamond to life at this very exclusive preview party. Since the directors of Barclay’s hadn’t wanted to entrust the valuable diamond to someone outside the auction house, Christina, with her Italian heritage, dark hair, light green eyes, and olive skin, was the perfect choice. They’d dressed her in a black strapless evening gown designed to set off the necklace. They’d sent stylists to do her hair up in cascading curls and make up her face to look like an exotic Italian beauty. When they were finished, Christina had barely recognized herself in the mirror.

  She was an art historian, a gemologist, an academic, a woman who spent most of her days poring over books or studying fine gems for flaws and cuts. She wasn’t a party girl. Working a room didn’t come naturally to her, but it was too late to back out. The party had begun and she was the centerpiece.

  The auction house itself was a massive three-story stone building that had originally been used as a bank. Tonight the main gallery on the second floor had been transformed into Renaissance Italy. Beautiful art adorned the walls, and glass cases were filled with collectibles, everything from crucifixes to swords, coins and jewelry. Violin music flowed in the background. Everyone who was anyone was present, the cream of San Francisco society as well as important art dealers and collectors from around the country, who they hoped would bid generously at the upcoming auction to be held in two days, on Friday at noon.

  “Christina, you look beautiful,” Michael Torrance said smoothly. But the jewelry collector’s eyes were on the jewel, not on her face.

  Christina tried not to blush. She wasn’t used to men looking so openly at her chest, and she was certainly showing more than the usual cleavage. Her practical mind told her that the man now drooling over that cleavage was not at all interested in her breasts. The sparkling yellow diamond had his full attention. She couldn’t blame him. It was spectacular, and Michael Torrance had been collecting diamonds for twenty years.

  “I trust you’ll be bidding,” she said, when his gaze finally returned to her face.

  “Of course. You know I can’t let a diamond such as this go without a fight.”

  “And you came in person; I’m impressed.” She’d handled all of Michael’s previous bids over the telephone. He usually preferred to remain anonymous.

  “I’m impressed, too,” he murmured, his gaze moving back to the stone. The smile in his dark blue eyes was filled with covetous greed. He was a handsome, sophisticated man, in his early to mid-forties, dressed in a charcoal gray pinstripe suit. She didn’t know what it was, but there was something about him that made her a little uneasy. She had no idea where he got his money, but he never seemed to have trouble coming up with the right amount of cash at the right time. Although she suspected that this particular diamond would test the depth of anyone’s pocket.

  “Keep moving,” her boss, Alexis Kensington, murmured quietly in her ear.

  Alexis, a tall, stunning blonde in her late forties dressed in a floor-length teal blue Vera Wang gown set off with some rather spectacular diamonds of her own, flashed Michael a smile. “I don’t believe we’ve met. I’m Alexis Kensington.”

  “Ah, the illustrious owner of Barclay’s,” Michael replied. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

  “And you,” Alexis returned.

  “I’ll speak to you later, Michael,” Christina interjected, as Alexis drew Michael into conversation. She had no doubt that within five minutes Alexis would have Michael chomping at the bit to own that diamond. Alexis was passionate about Barclay’s. Since she’d married Jeremy Kensington, the owner and founder of Barclay’s, five years earlier, she’d made it her personal mission to take Barclay’s to the next level, where they could compete with S
otheby’s and Christie’s and the other big players. Friday’s auction of the Benedetti diamond would solidify Barclay’s place in that market.

  In some ways Christina was surprised that they’d won the consignment. Barclay’s had been in existence for only twenty years. They didn’t have nearly the cachet or the reputation of the other houses, but sometimes it came down to a great salesperson and a little bit of luck. Whatever the reason, Christina was thrilled to have an opportunity to help auction off such a valuable diamond. It would definitely add to her reputation as well. Maybe then she would finally be able to outrun her past.

  As she moved across the room, she was acutely aware of the security guard who followed a discreet distance behind her. Two other guards were posted at the door and another two downstairs by the main entrance to the building. Fortunately, there was only one way into the gallery, so it was a well-contained area. The guards were dressed in tuxedos designed to blend in with the party atmosphere. Champagne was flowing, and a gourmet buffet had been set up at the far end of the gallery. Small candlelit tables offered guests a place to sit and converse or study their preview catalogs.

  Christina paused for a moment to say hello to several of the guests she had personally invited to the auction. She’d been working as a jewelry specialist at Barclay’s for almost three years and was building a solid network of dealers and clients, who trusted her to let them know when it was time to buy. She enjoyed that part of her job, finding the perfect item for the enthusiastic collector.

  She tried not to fidget as three women surrounded her. The diamond was making her skin feel hot and tingly. The stone seemed to grow heavier the longer she wore it. It was the strangest sensation. She almost felt as if the jewel were coming alive, awakening from a long, deep sleep. She couldn’t help wondering where it had been the last hundred years. Its history was shrouded in mystery. The Benedettis had given little information about the stone that they claimed had been in their family for generations.

  Since the entire collection had arrived only a few hours earlier, Christina had not had an opportunity to study the diamond under her gem scope. Tomorrow she planned to conduct an in-depth appraisal. An associate in Barclay’s European office had done an initial review at the Benedettis’ home in Florence, Italy, but Christina wanted to study the diamond herself before it was auctioned off. It was rare to find a diamond of this size without any substantial history behind it, which made her very curious. Their European appraiser had assured her that the family had the proper papers of provenance, and they were not in danger of selling off stolen property. She certainly hoped that was true. She couldn’t afford another scandal in her life.

  Slipping away from the women, she was careful not to let anyone monopolize her for too long. Most people were respectful of the diamond and kept their distance, which was why she was more than a little surprised when a man’s hand came down hard on her arm. She whirled around, her muscles tensing as she looked into a pair of irritated brown eyes. The man in front of her was big, muscular, filled with barely suppressed energy. His light brown hair was short and spiked. His skin was tan, as if he spent more time outdoors than in, and his athletic stance seemed out of place in a room full of sophisticated art collectors.

  “Why the hell haven’t you called me back?” he demanded.

  She started at the harsh tone. “Excuse me? Who are you?”

  “J.T. McIntyre. I’ve called you a dozen times over the past three days. I’m with the FBI. Does that ring a bell?”

  She swallowed hard, remembering all those pink slips with his name on them. “I told my assistant to forward your calls to our security department.”

  “I spoke to them, but I want to talk to you.”

  Her stomach began to churn as memories of the past flashed through her head, the men in suits knocking on their front door, her father talking to them in a hushed voice, and later that night she and her father suddenly departing from yet another house, another city, another state. The FBI had wanted to talk to her then, too, but her father had protected her -- as she would protect him. “I really don’t have anything to do with security,” she said.

  “Since you’re wearing that diamond, you should know that someone intends to steal it.”

  Her heart skipped a beat. “Are you talking about someone specific?” She held her breath as she waited for his answer.

  “Yes. His name is Evan Chadwick, and I’m convinced you’re his next target.”

  Her mind raced to follow his words. He was talking about someone she didn’t know, thank God. Evan Chadwick. She’d never heard of him. “Why?” she asked finally. “Why would I be his target?”

  “Other than the fact that you’re wearing the diamond?”

  “I doubt he could steal it in this roomful of people, security at every door.”

  “You’d be surprised what Evan can do. You’re one of the few people with complete access to the diamond. That means you’re on his list of people to use. He’s here somewhere, waiting for his opportunity. You need to know what he looks like, how he operates, everything about him.”

  “Security already ran down a list of known jewel thieves with me. I’ve memorized names and faces, but I don’t recall an Evan Chadwick.”

  “Because he’s not a known jewel thief. But he is a career criminal, a con man, a sociopath -- in other words, a very dangerous man. I’ve been following him for five years, and I’m convinced he intends to steal that diamond you’re wearing around your neck.”

  “That doesn’t mean he’ll succeed.” She lowered her voice, realizing their conversation was drawing the wrong kind of attention. “I can’t talk to you right now. I have to show off the diamond. And this is a party. I don’t want our guests to think there is anything wrong.”

  He stayed close to her side as she took another pass through the room. “Has anyone new come to work for you lately, become your friend, asked you out on a date, bought you a drink?”

  “No,” she said, uncomfortable with his questions.

  “You’re absolutely certain you haven’t met anyone new this past week?”

  “Well, not absolutely certain. There are a lot of people working on this exhibit, and I speak to new dealers and collectors all the time.”

  “He’s tall, blond, blue eyes, very charming, big smile. Most women fall for him in about ten seconds,” J.T. added tersely.

  “You sound like you’re jealous,” she murmured. Not that he had anything to be jealous about. With his broad shoulders and his tanned, sculpted features, he was the most ruggedly attractive man she’d seen in a long time.

  “I’m just stating the facts.”

  “I haven’t met anyone like that,” she said.

  “Sometimes he wears disguises. That’s why you and I need to have a conversation about everyone you’ve spoken to since you started work on this exhibit.”

  “That won’t happen tonight,” she said shortly. “And that scowl of yours is scaring the customers. Call me tomorrow.”

  “Will you answer?”

  “Why don’t you try me and find out?”

  His frown deepened as his gaze raked her face. “Most people return calls from the FBI. Why don’t you? Are you hiding something, Ms. Alberti?”

  “Not in this dress,” she said lightly, sorry for her words when his gaze dropped from her face to her breasts. She had the distinct feeling that this man was more interested in her cleavage than the diamond. She walked away, sensing his gaze follow her across the room. The last thing she needed was an eager FBI agent sticking his nose in her business.

  She paused as a tall, older gentleman stepped in front of her. He had a crop of pepper gray hair that was badly in need of styling and thick-rimmed glasses on a long nose. His skin was blemished and weathered. The only cheery thing about him was the bright red bow tie he wore around his neck.

  “Christina Alberti,” he murmured with a tip of his head. “It has been so many years since I saw you. You were just a little girl when we spoke last.�
��

  His lilting British accent was vaguely familiar. And there was something about his eyes that reminded her of someone.... “I’m sorry. I don’t...”

  “Remember me,” he finished with an understanding nod. “Let me introduce myself. I’m Howard Keaton, an old friend of your father’s. We worked together a long time ago at UCLA, a summer program on the Italian Renaissance.”

  “Of course, Professor Keaton.” She relaxed and gave him a smile. “It’s been a while.”

  “Yes, it has. You’re all grown-up now, and quite...beautiful. You look like a princess.”

  “It’s the diamond. It has that effect. So, are you still teaching?”

  “Not for a few years now. I’m working at a museum in Vancouver. I’m surprised your father didn’t tell you that. Is Marcus here?” He glanced around the room in search of her father.

  “No, he’s traveling,” she said.

  “Lucky man.” Howard’s gaze turned to the diamond, and his jaw hardened. “May I?”

  She nodded as he moved closer. He put out his hand, his fingers reverently teasing the surface of the stone.

  “It is exquisite,” he said. “Such cut, such clarity, a rare gem. I’m surprised you’re not worried about wearing it.”

  “There’s plenty of security around.”

  “I wasn’t talking about the guards, or the value of the diamond. I was referring to the curse.”

  Her heart skipped a beat. “Curse?”

  “You don’t know about the curse? I wondered why there was no mention of it in the sale catalog, but then I thought perhaps you were afraid it would affect the selling price.”

  “There’s no curse attached to this stone. You must be thinking of some other diamond.”

  She could see that he was not convinced, and there was something in his intense gaze that made her very uneasy. Her skin began to tingle. She felt hot and a little dizzy. She really should have eaten something earlier in the day. She reached up to touch the necklace, to adjust the chain, and was shocked when the weight of the stone suddenly slipped away.