Free Playing With Fire by Tess Gerritsen Page A

but always, always beautiful. What more perfect future could there be than to live this moment again and again, walking to stage doors with Laura?
    The whine of instruments being tuned led them to the greenroom, where the other contestants had assembled. Suddenly the tuning stopped and there was silence as everyone turned to look at them.
    Laura removed her velvet cape and opened her cello case. Ignoring the stares, the ominous silence, she gave her bow a few brisk scrapes of rosin and settled into a chair to tune. She didn’t even glance up when a formally dressed man quickly crossed the room toward her.
    “Miss Balboni, may I have a word with you?” the man murmured.
    “Perhaps later, Mr. Alfieri,” she said. “Right now, my violinist and I need to warm up.”
    “I’m afraid there is a…complication.”
    “Is there?”
    The man pointedly avoided looking at Lorenzo. “Perhaps, if we could speak in private?”
    “You may speak to me right here.”
    “I have no wish to turn this into an unpleasant scene. Surely you’re aware of the recent change in policy. This competition is open only to musicians of the Italian race.” He shot a furtive glance at Lorenzo. “Your entry has been disqualified.”
    “But we’re on the printed program.” She pulled the sheet of paper from her cello case. “This was announced a month ago. Our names are right here. We’re scheduled to perform second.”
    “The schedule has changed. That is the end of the matter.” He turned and walked away.
    “No it isn’t,” she called out, loudly enough so that everyone in the room could hear her. They were all watching as she set down her cello and followed the man across the room. “You haven’t given me one good reason why we can’t compete.”
    “I gave you the reason.”
    “A ridiculous one.”
    “It was the decision of the committee.”
    “What, your committee of
sheep
?” Laura gave a brassy laugh. “We are scheduled to perform a duet, Mr. Alfieri. We have every right to perform. Now, if you’ll excuse us, my violinist and I need to warm up.” She spun away and crossed back to Lorenzo. It was not a walk but a march, her gaze straight ahead, shoulders squared. Her eyes were bright as diamonds, her cheeks flushed as though with fever. The other musicians quickly stepped out of her way to avoid colliding with such a powerful force.
    “Let’s tune,” she commanded.
    “Laura, there could be trouble for you,” said Lorenzo.
    “Do you want to play or not?” she snapped, a challenge flung at him by a girl who did not understand what fear was. Had she thought about the consequences, or was she so bent on winning that the risks didn’t matter to her? Dangerous or not, he would stand beside her. They must be fearless together.
    He unlatched his case and took out La Dianora. As he raised the violin to his jaw and felt its wood against his skin, his nerves steadied. La Dianora had never failed him; play her well, and she would sing. In the echoing greenroom, her voice soared so warm and rich that the other musicians turned to watch.
    Mr. Alfieri called out: “Pirelli and Gayda! You’re first. Up to the stage now.”
    Everyone fell silent as the first pair of contestants picked up their instruments and headed up the stairs.
    Cradling La Dianora in his arms, Lorenzo felt the warmth of her wood, as alive as human flesh. He looked at Laura, but she was completely focused on the sound of welcoming applause overhead. Then came the faint strains of the cello, its voice resonating through the wooden stage. She listened intently to the music, her gaze tilted upward, her lip twitching into a smile at the sound of a distinctly sour note. She was as hungry to win as he was. Judging by the shaky performance of this first duo, how could he and Laura
not
win? He tapped the fingerboard, impatient to be onstage.
    They heard applause again, as the first pair ended their performance.
    “We’re next. Let’s go,” said Laura.
    “Stop!”