Chapter 1
Chapter One: Bella
Present Day...
Cherry Hills Village—an affluent suburb only ten miles from downtown Denver—boasts high-profile residents, large homes often exceeding ten-thousand square feet, and the exclusive Cherry Hills and Glenmoor Country Clubs.
In other words, it’s home to a bunch of snobs who think they’re better than everyone else. Including the premiere snob of all, Mr. Adam Voss.
As I pull my Aston Martin Vanquish through the decorative gates which just swung open to allow me inside, I give myself a mental pat on the back. I may not have as much money as Voss, a billionaire tech guy and art collector, but I’m doing alright.
The engine gives a smooth growl as I increase my speed slightly, heading toward the palatial estate which sits on ten acres.
The house measures more than twenty-thousand square feet and has indoor and outdoor swimming pools, multiple tennis courts and horse stables.
I’m not sure why he needs two of everything, but whatever.
It’s all a bit excessive, but when you have money to burn like Adam Voss, why the hell not surround yourself with the best? I’ve definitely learned to appreciate the finer things. And I’ve learned quality comes with a higher price tag.
Like this neighborhood. The cool thing about Cherry Hills Village is residents live less than twenty minutes from the city, but it feels like you’re in the country with its park-like setting.
The winding roads, meandering creeks and no commercial properties make it almost idyllic.
Lovely surroundings and convenient access to everything else.
It’s the best of both worlds… for that upper echelon who can afford it.
I pull my car up in front of the house with its stately columns and stone facade, and sigh.
I’m not looking forward to this meeting.
First off, I don’t like Adam Voss overly much.
He’s arrogant as hell. Thinks nothing of flaunting who he is and what he has.
He also has thieves ready to do his bidding—present company included, though I hate to admit it—along with hired mercenaries to guard him and connections behind the scenes in international auction houses.
I’m also fairly certain he has the ability to quietly erase people.
Most of the world thinks he’s a humanitarian.
Throwing his money around to this fundraiser and that charity for the good of the people they serve.
The black market knows him as the man who always gets the artifact, no matter the cost. Despite his outward philanthropic endeavors and charitable donations, I sense a very different man lives beneath the mask.
I guess it takes a charlatan to know one. Somewhere over the last six years, I’ve lost my own identity.
The game I play is a dangerous one. One requiring me to be a chameleon.
Nowadays, there are way too many freaking cameras, and facial recognition software is a pain in my ass.
So, I do what I can, and go for maximum impact.
I disguise my dark hair color with wigs, my blue-green eyes with contacts, and I sometimes even use prosthetics to hide my true features from the better software out there.
Tonight, I’m wearing a long, blonde wig and aqua blue contacts.
It’s how Voss knows me, and I don’t want to switch up my look too much and wind up getting tackled by his security team—another potential hazard in this world.
Before I can knock, the enormous door swings inward and his personal assistant, Percy Murnen, greets me.
He gives off hoity-toity vibes, and I wouldn’t be surprised if he was born in an Armani suit.
I hate the way he always squints at me over the top of his glasses which constantly slip down the bridge of his narrow, pointy nose.
He reminds me of a mole. A very judgmental one.
“Mr. Voss is waiting for you in the library.” His slightly-nasally voice makes me think he has constant allergies. “Please, follow me, Miss Diamond.”
Slipping my key fob into my leather jacket pocket, I trail Murnen through the impressive house.
A grand staircase splits and winds up to two separate wings, chandeliers drip sparkling crystals, and priceless paintings and artwork adorn the walls and tables.
None of this is new to me. In my line of work, I’m always surrounded by luxury and the snobs who believe it defines them.
When I began working for Lional Caruthers six years ago, I had no idea I would become a world-class thief.
Back then, I didn’t have a bucket to piss in, and Dad’s crushing hospital bills were all I knew.
But I quickly discovered I had a knack for being bad.
Lying and stealing went hand-in-hand with my knowledge of ancient relics, courtesy of my dad, and I used my looks and charm to get whatever I wanted.
The first thing I figured out? Men are predictable creatures. I quickly learned to use their love of beauty and their desire for power to outsmart them every single time. Stroke their ego, as well as their cock on occasion, then grab the goods and go.
Sometimes it’s just easier to stun them in the balls, though, and be done with it.
I don’t travel anywhere without my trusty stun gun.
It has saved my ass from grabby assholes, drunk fools and evil men who thought they could take what I wasn’t willing to give.
I’m no virgin, but I’m very choosy with my sexual partners.
Probably why I’ve only slept with two men in thirty-one years.
And neither left much of an impression. Sex has always been lackluster and, if you ask me, love is for fools.
There’s no way a husband, a couple of kids, a dog and a white picket fence are in the cards for me.
Those are things Delaney Marquette would’ve wanted. And she’s long gone. Dead and buried in Manningtree.
Truthfully, I wouldn’t know what the hell to do with them and would probably be bored out of my goddamn domesticated mind. I’ve become too much of a daredevil. Adrenaline and heists keep me going. Bella Diamond doesn’t need a family to weigh her down. She just needs the next big score.
Murnen opens a set of double doors, and I follow him into a massive library.
Thousands of books line floor-to-ceiling shelves which soar up at least twelve feet high.
Hand-carved wooden ladders slide back and forth to help reach the higher books.
I wonder if anyone’s ever read any of the volumes here.
And if any on those top shelves would bring a pretty penny from eager collectors.
I cross the Oriental rug and try to focus on Adam Voss who’s leaning against a massive antique desk, but I can’t pull my attention off the elaborate piece of furniture.
It’s straight out of 18th-century France—an exquisite Louis XV—handcrafted in rich, polished mahogany.
It’s breathtaking and worth an absolute fortune.
I know collectors who would give their teeth for the elaborate ormolu mounts, all while drooling over the Rococo figures, floral garlands and dramatic scrolling.
And the front legs, adorned with bronze female figures, are in pristine condition.
This is a true statement piece that’s never seen a collision with a desk chair or been gnawed on by an over eager puppy.
“How do you like my new desk?” Voss asks with a smirk as Murnen silently slinks out, closing the door behind him.
“It’s a little more than a desk.” I cock my head. “I’m assuming it’s an original?”
“You have an excellent eye. It once belonged to King Louis XV himself.” The smirk morphs into an arrogant, very satisfied smile. He nods to the brown leather chair beside me. “Have a seat.”
Sitting down, I set my purse at my feet and wait to hear what Voss wants me to acquire next. I usually work three or four jobs a year for him, and I know he keeps a handful of us at his beck and call.
Over the past six years, I’ve done hundreds of jobs. Most of them were for Lional Caruthers, and when he passed away two years ago, I had to branch out. But I’ve always worked for others, and I’ve never kept a thing for myself.
There’s only one thing I want. One object that makes my heart speed up and my throat go dry. A very rare purple diamond that my father sought his entire life—the Phantom Orchid. But it was lost years ago during the Anschluss, when Germany invaded and annexed Austria.
“There’s a very special gem I want you to find for me. If you do, I’ll double your usual fee.”
If? I mentally scoff at that, keeping my face carefully blank while inside I’m calculating my pay day and doing a jig. Because it’s a big one. A really, really big one.
“I’m sensing a degree of difficulty.” I give him a bland smile and re-cross my legs in the opposite direction. The last thing I want to do is appear too eager. Handling a man like Voss requires kid gloves. And some subtle manipulation.
“Are you familiar with the Phantom Orchid?” he asks.
My composure nearly slips as shock reverberates through me. Striving to sound casual, I pretend to think for a moment. “A purple diamond, right?”
“That’s correct. What do you know about it?”
I shrug a shoulder, feigning nonchalance. “Just the usual rumors. That it belonged to royalty and was lost at some point during the beginning of World War II.”
Understatement of the year. I can tell you every known fact about the Phantom Orchid.