Free Cut and Run by Carla Neggers Page B

Lincoln Center tonight.” God. She’d told him she’d be thrilled.
    But it meant leaving directly from Lincoln Center and making a risky, mad dash down to SoHo.
    She had to be crazy.
    She’d planned carefully. She’d change into the black dress backstage after the concert and put on her black boots and black cashmere coat. In the cab, she’d pull the turban on over her blond hair, so she wouldn’t have to tint it pink or purple or whatever, and drape Grandmother Fall’s shawl over her coat, to make it look more J.J. Len would recognize cashmere when he saw it, but she’d have to take her chances. Finally, she’d slip into J.J.’s rose-colored shoes and gob on some makeup. She’d already have the stockings on; nobody would see those under the boots.
    It was all, she thought, a matter of timing and guts.
    But first she had a Beethoven concerto to perform. She breathed deeply, shut her eyes, and focused her energy, and for once the prospect of a memory lapse held no terror for her whatsoever. Forgetting a passage in front of a sold-out Lincoln Center audience, the New York Philharmonic Orchestra, and one of the world’s great conductors, she thought, was the least of her troubles.
    â€œYou’ve lit your candle at both ends,” she said to herself, “and if you don’t watch it, your ass is going to get burned.”
    Â 
    Holding his emotions rigidly in check, Ryder survived the first half of the concert. He had cultivated a taste for classical music, but he’d been relieved to see he wouldn’t have to sit through any difficult modern compositions. Even so, he found himself twitching with impatience. He wanted tonight over and done with—another tactical objective achieved.
    During the intermission, he resisted looking around for de Geer, uncertain the Dutchman would actually be inside the concert hall. He smiled only briefly at Rachel Stein, trying to discourage conversation. He realized they had nothing more to say until they met with Catharina Fall, a meeting he was confident wouldn’t last long. He was playing a dangerous game, manipulating Rachel Stein, Phil Bloch, Hendrik de Geer. But what choice did he have? Everything would work out.
    â€œHave you seen Juliana Fall perform?” the old woman at his side asked.
    Catharina Fall’s daughter. Her appearance tonight had provided him with a convenient way of getting everyone together with the least possible risk. The women wouldn’t have to see de Geer; the Dutchman could see them, from the lobby, from inside the concert hall, or from outside. It made no difference to Ryder. He was quite confident de Geer wouldn’t want to risk a face-to-face confrontation with either woman. It was all so easy. Providential.
    â€œNo,” he replied. “I haven’t had the opportunity, although I understand she’s very good.”
    â€œPhenomenal, I’ve been told. So we must pay attention.”
    How could he listen to a piano concerto when all he wanted to do was to move on to the next objective? But he knew he had to wait until the end of the concert. He clenched his teeth and said nothing as the pianist strode out onto the stage.
    Then he couldn’t have spoken if he’d wanted to.
    Juliana Fall. My God, he thought, how have I missed her?
    She was a vision. Everything about her was beautiful, elegant, heart-stopping. She was draped in flowing ice blue, her only jewelry a simple sapphire pendant, and her hair, the lightest of blonds, bounced on her shoulders. Her skin was translucent. When she smiled at the audience, it was as if something big and hard slammed into his chest, and he couldn’t get enough air. He forgot about the old woman at his side, about the diamond, about the predicament he was in, about Hendrik de Geer and Phillip Boch and all the sordidness he had to face. Now he couldn’t stop staring. Nothing mattered except the woman on