Controlled (Gretel Koch Jewel Thief Book 2) Read online

  Controlled

  Gretel Koch Jewel Thief Book 2

  Samantha Price

  Copyright © 2020 by Samantha Price

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Gretel Koch Jewel Thief

  About Samantha Price

  Chapter One

  Gretel’s heart pounded in her ears when she heard noises in the hallway. Monica wouldn’t be home so soon, she couldn’t be. Gretel looked around, and then slipped behind the heavy curtains of the living room, the closest place to hide. In less than a minute, the voices had faded.

  She was inside the apartment of the annoying Monica Blaze—an FBI agent, who’d hated her from the start. Gretel knew it was because Monica was in love with Jack Fletcher, the agent who’d taken Gretel under his wing.

  There was something untrustworthy about Monica and where better to find out what it was than from inside her apartment? There, she’d get into Monica’s mind. She already knew she was a bitter lonely woman, looking for love. Gretel had previously had her own computer hacker, Kent, go over everything in Monica’s computer and all her online profiles. Most of them were dating profiles, all under aliases.

  Kent was waiting in the car on the street below. He’d switched off Monica’s security system in her apartment so Gretel wouldn’t be spotted. By chance, the apartment building's system was currently undergoing its own security upgrades and wasn’t even working.

  Gretel stepped out from behind the curtain and went about her plan of action. She started with the bedroom. In the dimly lit room, Gretel could see everything was a blush shade of pink, everything from the walls to the bedspread, from the sheets to the throw pillows. The crystals that dangled on the bedside lamps refracted the beam from the flashlight that was fixed to Gretel’s head, scattering it in a hundred different directions. She stopped for a moment to admire the rainbows that lit the walls, moving her head around to make the reflected rainbows dance. It created a magical sight.

  Concentrate, Gretel.

  There was work to be done.

  She moved forward and searched the three drawers in each of the bedside tables. Apart from learning that Monica Blaze wore an eye mask to bed, used foot cream, and stored her underwear in the drawers, there was nothing to find out. She’d been hoping to find an address book, paperwork, a letter—the kinds of things that were usually hidden away in bedside drawers.

  On to the closet.

  Nothing.

  Then she moved to the closet in the second bedroom. As soon as she opened the doors, she saw it. It sat high on the shelf above the hanging space.

  It was a safe.

  Gretel couldn’t keep the smile from her face. It was only a small one, but that didn’t matter. No one would have a safe and not keep something important in it.

  “There’s a safe,” she said into her two-way communication device.

  “Great work.”

  “What’s her date of birth?” She waited a moment for the reply. Monica should know not to use her date of birth, but then again, she wouldn’t be expecting someone to be in her apartment. Especially with the security cameras she’d had installed.

  “October 12. Wait a minute I’ll tell you the year.”

  “I don’t think I’ll need it.” Gretel pressed 1012 and the safe clicked. “Done.”

  “Really?”

  “Yes, it’s open.” Gretel was intrigued. Why would Monica need a safe in her apartment? Cash? Jewelry? Secret Documents?

  In her earpiece, Kent said, “I can’t believe she used her birth date.”

  “It’s not surprising. It so often happens.” She pulled open the door and saw a gun. She pulled it out with her gloved hand. It was Monica’s work gun, she assumed. It looked exactly the same as Jack’s. “I’ve got her gun.”

  “Okay.”

  “If this goes missing, I’m guessing she’ll be in a lot of trouble.” Gretel stuffed it in her knapsack. She needed some kind of insurance to make the woman back off. She was always so mean.

  “Anything else?” Kent asked.

  Standing on her tiptoes again so the light on her forehead would light up the whole safe, she saw a small jewelry box in the back. As she reached for it, she said to Kent, “There’s something else here.”

  “What is it?”

  “I’ve got it. It’s a small velvet box.” Gretel opened it and saw a pair of earrings. “Diamond studs.” They were round brilliant cuts and Gretel estimated them each to weigh around one and a half carats. She could see from the amount of fire flashing from the stones that they’d been well cut. She wouldn’t know about the clarity until she looked with her jeweler’s loupe.

  “Gretel?”

  “I’m still here. It’s a pair of diamond studs. How would she have gotten these? I’ve never seen her wear them. I wonder why?”

  “Present from an old boyfriend perhaps?” Kent suggested.

  “Or, maybe she stole them.”

  Kent burst out laughing.

  “No. I’m serious. She could’ve stolen them.” Gretel pushed the earrings into her knapsack as well.

  “What are you going to do with them?”

  “What do you think I’m going to do with them?”

  “You sure you want to rattle her cage considering who she works for?” Gretel was just about to answer him, when he suddenly changed to an agitated tone. “Gretel, get out of there.” He sounded stressed.

  “What do you mean? Now?”

  “She’s back.”

  This was not supposed to happen. They’d employed someone to date Monica, to take her out for dinner. Kent had done the negotiations with the man—a male model and paid escort—and Monica was supposed to have been kept busy until eleven. It was only ten minutes after nine. Gretel closed the safe and then closed the cupboard doors. Something had gone wrong.

  “Gretel can you hear me?”

  “Yeah. I’m getting out of here like you said.” The only way out was the front door. The apartment was on the eleventh floor and there were no ledges or balconies, just a sheer drop. This was meant to be an easy one—in and out through the front door. No ropes, no scaling a sheer wall.

  Like most things in Gretel’s life lately, it hadn’t gone to plan.

  “I’m at the door,” Gretel said.

  “Good. Get out and go down the fire stairs.”

  “Okay.” Gretel turned the doorknob and nothing happened. “Something’s wrong.”

  “What?”

  “I think the door’s broken.”

  “The door to what? I thought you said you were out of her apartment?”

  “I said I was at the door, not
out. I’m turning the handle and it just keeps turning around and around. Nothing’s happening. It’s broken on the inside.” She reached into her bag for her tools, but they weren’t there. Then she recalled she didn’t think she’d need anything other than her lock picking kit. She needed a piece of wire so she could bend it and make a hook.

  She raced to the kitchen. “I took my tools out of my bag at home and didn’t put them back in. Can you create a diversion? Do something, anything to stop her from coming up.” The threat of being caught loomed large. It would be the end of everything. The end of her work with the FBI, the end of her freedom, and the end of anything that might happen between herself and Jack Fletcher.

  “I’ll see what I can do if it’s not already too late. She’ll be there at the door in two minutes. She’ll call the building manager to fix it, and you don’t want to be inside.”

  “Stop talking and do something.”

  Gretel raced to the window and looked out. It was no use. There wasn’t even the smallest of ledges.

  They should’ve had a plan B.

  What happened to the Mr. Wonderful who had taken Monica on a date?

  Wait; what if she found out her date had been a paid escort?

  “We might be about to be discovered. Drive off, save yourself, Kent.”

  “I’m not going anywhere. I’ll bust you out.”

  “How?”

  “Just wait there.”

  A minute later, the fire alarm echoed through the building. Unable to find anything in the kitchen, she raced back to the door to try the door handle hoping it would work, but it still wouldn’t.

  She was trapped like a bird in a cage.

  All she could do was sit tight and hope Kent could rescue her like he’d said.

  She didn’t want to put him in danger, never had before. But what choice did she have if she didn’t want to be thrown back into prison? She’d double-crossed those girls—the other inmates—when she made her escape. She didn’t feel bad about that because they’d planned to do the same to her. Still, there’d be no reasoning with the likes of them.

  The next thing she heard was the sirens of fire engines. There was more than one, and at least two, maybe even three.

  She had one final go with one of her bobby pins, felt something stuck and flipped it. Then she tried the handle and it turned, and it turned, around and around. Same thing, it just kept turning around.

  “Stand back!” It was Kent and he was on the other side of the door. What did he have, dynamite? She stepped back.

  Then she heard a large crash. The doorknob on her side of the door flew off and landed in the middle of the floor. It was off.

  “I can’t open it from this side either.”

  “Stand back,” Gretel told him this time, before she kicked the door with her foot. Once, twice, three times. The door flew open and there stood computer nerd Kent, with a large ax in his hand.

  He lunged at her and grabbed her headlight. She’d totally forgotten she’d had it on. “Let’s go. Let me take the bag. We’ll spread the risk. Better still just drop it. We don’t want to get caught with it.”

  “No. You go ahead of me and I’ll take the bag.” He reached out for it, but she held it behind her.

  “We’ll go together.” There was no time to argue.

  “The stairs,” he said.

  They raced down the fire escape stairs and then mingled with the residents who were walking quickly down the stairs. Once they were outside, they merged with the crowd of onlookers who’d gathered outside.

  “Gretel!” She heard Monica’s voice somewhere from within the crowd.

  “Kent, I’ve been spotted. I’m going two streets over. You come get me in ten minutes. I’ll be on a corner.”

  “Gotcha.”

  While Kent headed for his car, Gretel did her best to lose Monica. Surely Monica couldn’t be certain it was she. Especially since she hadn’t flinched or turned around when Monica called out her name.

  Gretel broke away from the crowd and slipped away into a darkened street, and when she saw she wasn’t being followed, she sprinted. Finally, she saw Kent’s car parked where she’d told him. She ran to it. With a final look over her shoulder, she slipped into the passenger seat of Kent’s car. “Drive.”

  Chapter Two

  Early Monday morning, Gretel sat in her local coffee shop sipping her favorite blend of coffee with a hint of vanilla and spice, as she mentally prepared herself for work. Jack had woken her with an early morning text telling her he wanted her in his office at nine.

  She yawned a little. She was supposed to be a consultant for the FBI. Didn’t that mean a freelancer? Jack was taking advantage. She’d never worked this hard. Twirling her new diamond stud earrings around in her fingers, she flipped open a newspaper someone had left behind. There, on page three, a photo grabbed her attention.

  The Purple Promise! The headline said it was going up for sale. It was coming to New York to be auctioned. Not just any auction, she read. It was to be a private auction and there wasn’t going to be any public display. She blew out a long deep breath. There would be a private auction with a select number of clients, all of them billionaires. There was no doubt about that.

  Talk about temptation.

  It wasn’t fair.

  How could she go straight when there were Purple Promises in the world?

  It was rare that a diamond was purple and even rarer that there would be a 22-carat one.

  Some billionaire would drop several million dollars on it. She remembered years ago a 19-carat pink diamond selling for $50 million. It was a good medium pink, not a pale one. The Purple Promise would go for more.

  She nibbled on the end of her fingernails when she also recalled a blue diamond that had set a record when it went under the hammer for 80 million U.S. dollars. Then there was a blue diamond of just over 14.6 carats that had gone for 46 million U.S. dollars.

  If she stole the Purple Promise, she’d never need to steal anything ever again.

  She would retire for real.

  It’d make up for everything she’d been through since Ryan had informed on her and ruined her life and landed her in prison. Then she’d never have to think about Ryan Castle again.

  Not when she could sit and stare at the most beautiful and rare diamond in the world. This would be the pinnacle of her career—if she could pull it off.

  Now, as she sat with her vanilla spiced coffee in hand, she regretted doing what she had done last night. She should’ve laid low. Monica had spotted her, but regrets were something rare for Gretel. Looking back was useless, pointless, and a waste of time. Gretel had always prided herself on her cool head and she couldn’t lose it now.

  Monica could raise suspicion against her.

  Monica was jealous of her; jealous of the time she spent with Jack.

  Gretel pulled her mind away from Jack and onto her latest passion, one that was more attainable—the Purple Promise. Naturally, security would be the best in the world. The best of the best, but there was always a way. There had to be. No security anywhere in the world was impenetrable.

  Gretel drained the last of her coffee, and signaled to the waitress for another. Then she bit into her ham and cheese roll. She’d been trying to stay off dairy, but it wasn’t as easy as she had hoped it would be.

  The waitress placed the coffee in front of her and Gretel counted out the money and gave it to her. Normally, she would’ve given a large note, but aware she might be under surveillance she was careful not to splash the cash.

  She reached into her bag and opened her cell phone, looking at Jack’s text to see if she could sense anything wrong. Perhaps he wanted to see her because he had another job for her.

  Meet me in my office at eight, his text had read.

  Eight?

  She was sure it’d said nine, but she was half asleep when she’d seen it. Now she was late. She shot back a text. “Sorry, overslept, be right there.”

  Gretel Koch got out of the e
levator and hurried to Jack’s office. When she walked in the open door of his office, it was worse than she’d feared. Monica Blaze sat opposite Jack, and they were smiling at each other as they spoke.

  Any fool could tell Monica was in love with Jack.

  Who wouldn’t be in love with him, the way the corners of his eyes crinkled when he smiled, or how earnest his serious face could be, and the way he walked—no, this guy glided—with confidence? Everything about Jack was a delight, but she knew he’d never be interested in someone like her, a woman with a dubious past. But a girl could always dream.

  The smile left Jack’s face when he looked up and saw her. He bounded to his feet. “Gretel, thanks for coming in. Take a seat.”

  Gretel walked over with Monica now scowling at her. One thing Gretel knew was that Monica wouldn’t rest until she—Gretel Koch—was far away from the FBI and far away from Jack. Monica had never liked her and made sure she knew it.

  “Good morning, Monica. Good to see you again.”

  “Hello, Gretel.”

  She sat down in the chair next to Monica.

  As soon as Jack sat down behind the desk, he cleared his throat. “I’ll get right to the point.”

  “Good, please do.” Gretel felt Monica staring at her earrings, but Gretel kept looking directly at Jack’s handsome face.

  “Monica’s gun was stolen last night.”

  Gretel turned and looked at Monica. “I’m sorry to hear it, but what does it have to do with me? Are we doing an investigation about it and you want me to be involved?”

  Monica turned her body to face Gretel. “No, Gretel. The jig’s up.”