Free Playing With Fire by Tess Gerritsen Page B

called Mr. Alfieri as they headed up the stairs. “You can’t go up there! You’re not on the program!”
    “Ignore him,” said Laura.
    “Miss Balboni, I insist you halt at once!”
    The first duo had just walked into the wings. Laura and Lorenzo swept right past them and emerged into the glare of stage lights. Lorenzo was so blinded, he could not see the audience. He could only hear their scattered applause, which rapidly died away, leaving him and Laura standing beneath the spotlights in silence. No official came out to introduce them. No one announced their names.
    Laura crossed to the cellist’s chair, her high heels clacking smartly across the wooden stage. The chair legs gave a noisy scrape as she sat down. Briskly she arranged the hem of her gown and sank the cello end pin into the anchor. Bow poised, she turned to Lorenzo and smiled.
    He forgot that hundreds of people were watching them. At that moment, he saw only Laura, and she saw only him.
    Their gazes stayed fixed on each other as he raised his bow. So attuned were they to each other, they didn’t need to say a word, didn’t need to nod an introductory count. They knew, with a musician’s instinct, the precise instant when their bows would simultaneously attack the strings. This was their world and theirs alone, the stage lights their sun, their language spoken in the key of G, their notes so perfectly aligned that it seemed their hearts must be beating in unison. When their bows landed on the final note, they were still looking at each other, even as that note faded into silence.
    Somewhere, a single pair of hands was clapping. Then another pair and another, followed by the unmistakable voice of Professor Balboni shouting: “Bravo! Bravo!”
    Under the stage lights they embraced, laughing and giddy about their flawless performance. They were still laughing as they carried their instruments down the stairs, so caught up in their triumph that they did not notice how quiet it was in the greenroom, where the other contestants waited.
    “Miss Balboni.” Mr. Alfieri appeared before them, his face an icy mask of rage. “You and your companion will leave the building at once.”
    “Why?” said Laura.
    “It’s the express orders of the committee.”
    “But the prize hasn’t been announced yet.”
    “You were not official contestants. You cannot win.”
    Lorenzo said, “You just heard us.
Everyone
heard our performance. You can’t pretend it didn’t happen.”
    “Officially, it did not.” Alfieri thrust a sheet of paper in Lorenzo’s face. “Here are the new rules, issued yesterday by the committee. Since the September decree, your people may not attend this or any college. Since the competition is sponsored by Ca’ Foscari, you were not allowed to compete.”
    “
I’m
not of the Jewish race,” said Laura.
    “You too are disqualified, Miss Balboni.”
    “Simply because my partner is a Jew?”
    “That is correct.”
    “There’s not a violinist in this competition who can match him.”
    “I’m merely following the rules.”
    “Which you never question.”
    “They
are
the rules. You violated them and forced your way onstage. This behavior is abominable. You will both leave the building.”
    “We will not,” said Laura.
    Alfieri turned to two men who were standing behind him and ordered: “Remove them.”
    Laura turned to the other contestants, who’d been watching in silence. “We’re musicians just like you are! How can this be fair? You know it’s wrong!”
    One of Alfieri’s men grabbed her arm and began dragging her toward the exit.
    Enraged by the sight of that rough hand on Laura’s flesh, Lorenzo wrenched the man away and shoved him against the wall. “Don’t you touch her!”
    “Animal!” shouted Mr. Alfieri. “You see, they’re all filthy animals!”
    An arm came around Lorenzo’s throat and as he was hauled backward, a fist slammed into his belly. Laura shrieked for the two men to stop, but they kept pummeling