the plan had gone terribly wrong, and Chance had lost his partner, Venetia Gaston.
The fish pulled hard on his line, and Chance dragged his thoughts back to the present. Mindful of the telescopic lens he was sure was aimed at him, he began to play the fish, releasing the tension on the line and then gradually pulling it taut again.
For two long years, he’d waited for news of a large yellow diamond to surface, and a week ago it had. Through one of his contacts, he’d received a tip that Carlo Brancotti was inviting a very select group of men and women to a weekend at his retreat in south Florida and that the Ferrante diamond would be auctioned off to the highest bidder.
The heightened security along the shoreline of Carlo’s estate cinched it. Carlo Brancotti was meticulously careful. That was why he’d never been caught. Tilting his head slightly, Chance kept one eye on his pole as he scanned the shoreline. The south Florida sun beat down, sending sparks skimming across the back-wash the boat was creating, but he didn’t miss the flash in the thick cypress trees that lined the shore, light reflecting off a lens. Someone was definitely watching them. He felt the quick kick of adrenaline that he always experienced when he knew the hunt was about to begin.
“Showtime,” he said to Tracker. “I’m going to need your help with this fish. It’s big.”
“Damn. You have all the luck.”
A second later, his old buddy was at his side. He’d been pleased when Tracker had agreed to help him with the case—they made a good team. Together, they watched the fish leap out of the water in a huge, graceful arc. The pole bent nearly double again as the fish dove below the surface.
“You spot anything?” Tracker asked as he grabbed Chance’s chair to steady it.
“One of them is at two o’clock as you face the shore.”
“Got it,” Tracker said. “There’s another one about a thousand yards to the left.”
The fish cleared the water again.
“A lot of security,” Chance remarked as he reeled in the line.
“Must be something needs guarding,” Tracker said.
“That’s the way I figure it, too. Keep a watch, will you? Landing this fish is going to require all of my attention. And if they’re watching me, maybe you can pick out a few more of them.”
“Right,” Tracker said.
For the next few minutes, they said nothing as Chance let out the line and then drew it in, over and over. By the time Tracker dipped the net over the side of the boat and they hauled the fish in, the boat had moved past the Brancotti estate.
Chance waited until they’d turned and were headed back. Tracker kept the throttle open, and Chance stood at the wheel with him while the video camera on the stern side of the boat recorded every inch of the shoreline. This time there was no telltale flash of light. Evidently, their cover had held. The photos that would make their way to Brancotti would show a very happy fisherman, heading home after a satisfying catch.
“Can you get in along the shore without being detected?” Chance asked.
Tracker grinned. “Is the Pope Catholic?”
“Carlo doesn’t leave anything to chance.”
“Getting you off the estate will be the easy part. You’ve got the tough job. You’ve got to get on the estate by getting invited to the party. And you have to steal the diamond.”
Chance smiled at his old friend. “I’ve got an invite already, thanks to a contact of mine. As for stealing the diamond—that will be the fun part.”
Turning, Tracker studied his friend for a minute. “This is more than a job to you, isn’t it?”
“Carlo and I go back a long way.” Longer than Chance would ever admit to anyone. He and Carlo had lived in the same orphanage for a year—one long year when he’d been a scrawny twelve-year-old and Carlo had been seventeen and his only friend and mentor. Of course, their names had been different then. Chance had hero-worshipped the older boy. But the friendship had died the night that Carlo had robbed the orphanage and made sure that Chance got the blame for the theft. That had been twenty years ago.
Tracker shot his friend a look. “If it’s personal between you and Brancotti, that could get in your way.”
“I won’t let it.”
“Is there any chance he’ll recognize you?”
“No. I was twelve the last time we saw each other.”
Tracker frowned, then said, “Why don’t I go in with you? I could pose as your bodyguard or your personal assistant.”
Chance grinned and shook his head. “Thanks, but I already have a partner in mind, and you won’t fit into the wardrobe.”
“There’s a wardrobe?”
“An expensive one. I’ll be posing as Steven Bradford. You probably haven’t heard of him because he’s very low-key, but he’s a software genius who made his billions in the high-tech boom. And as Steven, I’ll be bringing along my latest companion, a model type who, with my backing, is hoping to jettison her career into supermodel status.”
Tracker grinned. “The nerd and his arm candy.”
“Exactly.” Chance paused, then said what he’d been thinking about ever since he’d accepted the assignment. “I’m going to ask Natalie Gibbs to work with me.”
Tracker thought for a minute. “She’s a looker all right.”
“She’s the right body type and with blond hair she’ll be a dead ringer for Catherine Weston, who now calls herself ‘Calli.’” But it wasn’t just her looks that had kept Detective Natalie Gibbs in his mind and in his dreams for three straight months.
“I did some research on her.” He’d run a thorough check on Natalie, partly to figure out why she’d gotten to him. “Her father, Harry Gibbs, was an international jewel thief. One of those legends who’s the prime suspect in every big heist, but who never got caught. He died in an accident about six years ago.”
“The father’s a jewel thief and the daughter becomes a cop. Interesting.”
Fascinating was the word Chance would have chosen. The hell of it was, the more he’d learned about Natalie Gibbs, the more intrigued by her he’d become. “She’s not the only daughter. She’s the oldest of a set of triplets.” According to one source he’d talked to, Natalie took her position as the oldest quite seriously, especially since their mother had passed away six years ago.
“She evidently inherited some of her father’s talents,” Chance continued. “She worked her way through college cracking safes for various law enforcement agencies.”
Tracker eased the boat around a curve of land that cut them off from the Brancotti estate, then turned to study his friend. “Sophie’s pretty sure that there’s something going on between the two of you. Or that there could be something. She swears that sparks fly whenever you’re in the same room together.”
Chance
