Mason

1

Y ou’re certain the necklace is being targeted?

Mason Wright propped his arm against the cold metal support beam at his side as he took in the view from the interior window of Verity Green’s office on the third story of the San Francisco Museum of Fine Art. From this vantage point, he had a clear view all the way down to the exhibition floor below.

Yes…err…No, Verity said behind him. "I mean, I’m fairly certain."

Mason couldn’t help the corners of his lips twitching up at her hazy reply. Ever since Mason’s friend and co-worker, Jake Thorne, had returned from a long sabbatical a couple of months ago with Verity in tow, the woman had proven to be nothing short of a delight. She might be as awkward as she was brilliant, but she had managed to return the joyful spark to his friend’s eyes, and for that alone Mason would always be grateful to her.

Even if she couldn’t give a straightforward answer to a simple question.

We’re sure, Charlie Keswick said, her voice firm. "There’s too much chatter out there to discount. Too many big players have recently come to town, and with all the attention that the collection has been getting, there’s no way it’s a coincidence. Someone is coming after l’étoile du soir."

Charlie’s word was good enough for him. After all, she wasn’t just the IT queen at the offices of Macmillan Security, she was the heart and soul of the place, and the person Mason worked with most. If even a shred of evidence existed out in the digital realm, Charlie could track it down. If she said the threat was credible, it was.

Mason nodded, but kept his eyes focused on the floor below.

The doors of the museum had just opened and the crowds were starting to filter in. Unsurprisingly, most of them were making a beeline for the featured showcase of pre-revolution French treasures.

Charlie was right. The museum had promoted the hell out of the exhibition…and with good reason. This was the first time most of these pieces had been on public display in decades. But that wasn’t the real reason these people were filing through the doors. They had come to see the highlight of the collection—a diamond necklace so famous it had reached almost mythical status.

L’étoile du soir.

The Evening Star.

Mason cocked his head to the side as he gazed down at the scene three stories below. Sure, there were certainly a lot of bodies down there. A lot of winter coats to hide tools and treasures in. A lot of opportunities for a thief to create a distraction. But it was going to take more than a little sleight of hand to walk out the front door with the goods.

You know that I’m happy to help however I can, Verity, Mason said, slowly turning around. But I’ve looked through your security protocols, and they seem tight. You’ve doubled the uniformed guard staff. The museum’s new alarm systems are state of the art.

Yeah, but after everything I’ve been through this year, I don’t want to take any chances, Verity said, leaning against the side of her desk.

That’s understandable, Mason said, giving her his most sympathetic smile. But without a specific threat to focus on I’m not sure what I can do for you.

Verity’s brows pulled together. Her frown deepened.

"But there is a specific threat, she said before turning toward Charlie. You didn’t tell him? I thought you were going to brief him about her before you got here."

Well, I didn’t, Charlie said, stubbornly refusing to look up from the monitor behind Verity’s desk. Still, he couldn’t miss the rosy glow lighting up her cheeks.

Oh, no.

Mason knew that look. Hell, everyone who worked at Macmillan Security knew that look. Charlie was up to something.

God help them all.

Charlie, Mason said, taking a couple of steps forward. "Why didn’t you tell me about her?"

"Because not all of us are convinced that she is a threat," Charlie answered.

Oh, come on. Verity crossed her arms over her chest as she rolled her eyes. Why else would a Baumgartner come to an art museum five times in three days?

I don’t know, Charlie said, her eyes wide. But I would think that you of all people wouldn’t be so quick to judge.

That’s unfair, Verity shot back at her friend. Our situations are nothing alike.

Wait, Mason held up his hands, interrupting the pair. You’re telling me that Nora Baumgartner has been seen inside this museum?

For the past three decades, Nora Baumgartner, along with her husband Oscar, had been the most notorious pair of jewel thieves in the world. Verity was right. If Nora had been spotted anywhere in a ten-mile radius of this place, there was only one possible reason.

Charlie’s head shot up from her contemplation of the computer screen.

Not Nora. That mischievous sparkle was shining bright in her eye. Her daughter, Sara.

"Sara Baumgartner? Mason said. I’ve never heard of her."

That’s because she’s never been charged with anything. Hell, her record is cleaner than mine.

I think what Charlie means is that she’s never been caught, Verity said. The word on the street is that she’s so good that the cops have never been able to pin anything on her.

Both Mason and Charlie raised their brows.

What? Verity asked sheepishly. I can’t know the word on the street?

No. Charlie shook her head. You can’t.

Fine. I’m tragically unhip, Verity said with a sigh. But that doesn’t mean I’m wrong. She’s here to steal the Evening Star.

Maybe. Maybe not. Charlie turned toward him. That’s why I wanted Carter to give you this assignment. You’re good at getting close to people and finding out their deepest secrets.

Mason arched a brow. Exactly how close are you expecting me to get?

I’ll leave that up to you, Charlie said, a wide smile spreading across her face.

She swiveled the computer monitor around on the desk, showing him the live feed from the security camera focused on the museum’s front entrance. A woman with shoulder-length brown hair was stepping through the double doors.

But I’d figure it out quick, Charlie said. Because it looks like Miss Baumgartner has decided to pay us another visit.

She was average height. Slim, but not overly so. Her features were pleasant without being striking. He had to admit, she would certainly make a fine cat burglar. She looked to be the type of person that could easily disappear into a crowd, the kind that would be easily forgotten.

The camera tracked her as she moved deeper into the foyer. She stopped in the center. Her eyes flashed left, then right, then directly up at the camera’s lens.

All the muscles in the dead center of his chest tightened, and Mason immediately changed his mind. No one who locked gazes with those big brown eyes would ever forget them.

Breathe.

The cameras were definitely following her.

Sara wasn’t surprised. Chances were security had flagged her the first day she’d visited the museum. Hell, probably within the first five minutes. It was nothing new.

She’d been down this road before. She knew what it was like to be profiled because of her last name.

At least no one had hassled her personally. Not that they’d have any grounds. She hadn’t done anything…not yet anyway.

Breathe.

So, they’re watching you. Let them. This will all be over soon.

The cameras wouldn’t affect her plans. From the very beginning, Sara had known that she wasn’t walking away from this clean.

She drew in a steadying breath as she turned her back to the camera. This was too important for her to waste time worrying about her own future. She needed to get her head back in the game. She needed to focus.

She started walking toward the gallery, ignoring the crowds as she ran through a mental dress rehearsal.

Twenty-three steps to the entrance—nine seconds.

Keypad-operated rolling metal security gate—thirty seconds.

Seventeen steps to the case—seven seconds.

Thirteen millimeter-thick P5A laminated case—sixty-five seconds.

Despite the chill in the air outside, her face began to warm just looking at the string of glittering jewels. There was no denying it was an impressive piece—a total of sixty-six shimmering white diamonds accenting the largest and most flawless champagne-colored diamond ever discovered.

But it wasn’t just the pure karat weight of the Evening Star that had made it a household name. It was the history behind the necklace, the near-fairytale story that made it a legend—one that, apparently, men were willing to kill to get their hands on.

Stunning, isn’t it?

Sara started at the deep, rich voice at her side. Damn it. She’d been lost in her own thoughts. She hadn’t even noticed the man coming up behind her.

Her gaze snapped to his reflection in the glass.

And her breath caught in her throat.

Sara had to stop herself from swiveling around to get a better look at him, because there was no way what she was seeing could be real.

He was tall and lean, flawlessly filling out the tailored suit that hugged his broad shoulders. His thick, dark brown hair was damned near perfect. Hell, so was the rest of him, if she were being honest, from his brilliant sapphire eyes to a jawline so hard Sara was willing to bet she could cut diamonds on it.

Well, whoever he was, he was no low-level security guard.

That fact didn’t mean she was safe. Far from it.

This was the first time that a single soul inside these walls had spoken to her in three whole days. The paranoid part of her brain refused to believe it was coincidence.

At least, she’d assumed he had been talking to her. But the longer she stared at his reflection, the less sure Sara became. He wasn’t looking at her. Like everyone else gathered around the case, his gaze was fixed on the Evening Star.

Of course, there was only one way to know for sure.

Sure is, Sara muttered under her breath, even as she scooted back a couple of steps.

He didn’t follow her, not even with his eyes. His focus stayed on the necklace.

Maybe he was just a friendly guy. A ridiculously hot, heart-poundingly gorgeous nice guy.

Stranger things had happened.

Hadn’t they?

I heard Marie Antoinette tried to use it to buy her way out of France before they chopped her head off, the man said to no one in particular. But the woman she entrusted it to used it to save her own neck.

Sara glanced down at her feet. She knew she should keep her mouth shut. She was doing her best to fly under the radar after all.

But why bother now that security was on to her? What did she have to lose making a little conversation with a handsome man? God knew, she could use the momentary distraction. The past few days she’d been wound so tight she felt like she could snap at any second.

That’s a myth, she said, keeping her voice low.

He turned her way, acknowledging her for a brief moment before turning his attention back to the diamond.

Is that right? he said, sounding curious.

The story’s only half true. Sara risked inching back his way. The Evening Star always belonged to the Comtesse de Beauvais, but she did use it to get safely out of France and all the way to Russia.

So, she wasn’t a thief, he mused.

Not hardly, Sara went on. From there it floated around Imperial Russia, being lost and won in various card games, until it finally ended up in the possession of the Baroness Sokoloff. In 1917, she used the necklace as payment to smuggle her family away from the Bolsheviks.

Impressive. He lifted his head and flashed Sara a quick smile. You know your jewelry.

Damn, if her knees didn’t go a little weak. Actually weak.

Who was this guy?

Just my history, Sara said, tucking a stray strand of hair behind her ear.

Do you work here? His gaze swept over her, as if looking for a name tag.

No, Sara said with a laugh.

That’s a shame, he said, finally giving her his full attention. His blue eyes sparkled with humor. You seem to know more than most of the docents around here. Maybe I should hire you on as my private guide for the afternoon.

Sara’s blush intensified. Damn, this guy was good. Real good. Something told her he left behind a wake of broken hearts wherever he went.

I doubt you could afford me, she teased right back.

Oh, really? he said, arching a brow. He dropped his voice as he leaned in closer. Not only am I willing to offer you your choice of any beverage from the museum cafe, but a pastry as well.

Wow. You are a big spender, Sara said, unable to help the grin that pulled at the corner of her lips. It felt like a long time since she last smiled. Even longer since she’d flirted with someone—and there was no denying that’s exactly what she was doing—and, she had to admit, it felt good.

He arched a brow. Is that a yes?

Sara let out a long breath. Why not? She’d be smart to enjoy the next couple of hours. Heaven knew, they were going to be her last free ones for a while. Years, probably. Decades, more likely. And that was if everything went to plan. She’d be a fool to give up the opportunity to spend them with such a handsome guy.

It’s not a no, she said.

Then I’ll take what I can get. His smile deepened as he offered her his hand. I’m Mason Wright.

Sara Hope, she said, taking it.

For a second, she thought she sensed a moment of hesitation, a slight tightening of the lines around his eyes, just before his fingers wrapped around her palm, but it was gone in an instant.

So, tell me more about the necklace. He turned back toward it, but now his body was distractedly close. So close that she could feel how solid his arm was as he brushed against her. It sounds like its reputation as a good luck charm is well deserved.

I guess that all depends on if you believe in luck.

You don’t?

As romantic ideas go, it’s okay, I guess.

Sara had to hold back a giggle as Mason’s brows shot up, and he cocked his head her way.

Now you don’t like romantic ideas either? he said.

I didn’t say that. Her blush deepened. The trouble with luck is that it always runs out. You can’t depend on it. I prefer something a little more pragmatic.

Diamonds are nothing if not practical, he said. They never lose their value…or their allure.

Sara did her best to ignore the sizzle of awareness that snaked up her spine as he lingered on that last word.

Well, these certainly did the trick for the Comtesse and the Baroness, she said. But they’re a little too flashy for me.

Really? He didn’t bother to hide his surprise as he met her gaze.

Honest, she said. Would you like to see my favorite piece in the collection?

I’m intrigued.

Sara started walking over to a small case tucked into the corner. It’s a little silver hairpin. No one knows who it belonged to but—

She made it halfway across the gallery floor when the text alert on her cell sounded.

Damn it.

The smile on her face disappeared in a heartbeat. Sara didn’t need to pull the phone out of her pocket to see who had sent her a message. She knew.

She thought for a half-second about ignoring it…just for a couple more minutes. Just long enough for her to show Mason the pin. Long enough for her to tell him how much she loved the simple garnet flowers that adorned the top, and feel just one more shiver of delight as he looked her straight in the eye and smiled.

But she couldn’t.

She pulled out her phone and quickly checked the screen.

Tick tock. You on schedule?

And just like that playtime was over.

Sara let out a long sigh as she turned around to face Mason.

I have to go, she said, tucking her phone back into her pocket.

Right now? His brows pulled together. But you were just about to show me something.

I’m sorry. I really am, Sara said, taking a step back through the crowd. It was nice to meet you, Mason.

He’d never know just how nice.

Wait, he said, following her. We haven’t even had that cup of coffee yet.

Some other time.

Yeah, in fifteen to twenty when she was finally up for parole.

Sara turned around and started weaving in and out of people,