Red-Hot Vengeance by Sandrine Spycher Page A

seats,” he announced. “The sale will begin very shortly. Let me first thank all of you for participating in this event. I hope that both sellers and buyers will find the object of their desire.”
    A tall man sat in the fourth row. He was barely listening to the animator who was now presenting lot number one. The man’s cold blue eyes were still attached to the ruby. He knew of its value, but not of its owner, although he might have had a hint when he caught a glimpse of the woman’s face.
    “Lot number four,” the animator said, “is this absolutely magnificent ruby. As you can see, it is not only a precious gem but also very good art. Its flower shape was carved by the famous Monsieur Duval who probably got even more famous for having this beauty stolen.”
    The crowd laughed lightly at the joke while the ruby was displayed on the screen. The red glow soon caught the attention of a warlike customer.
    “That ruby is a fucking fake,” she yelled, standing up from her chair. She had long blond hair tied up in a tight ponytail. Her angry eyes were concealed behind black Ray-Ban glasses. She was pointing at the art with a thin finger over-decorated with gold rings and precious stones. A huge gold necklace rested on her chest. She was dressed in the most expensive way: boots made of forbidden serpent leather and a long fox fur coat.
    Every head turned to see who was thus denouncing the value of the object along with the honesty of its seller. The tall man immediately recognized her. If the authenticity of the ruby was proved, he would be in great trouble. He sank into his chair, waiting for an opportunity to escape this dangerous situation.
    “It is not ,” the seller said angrily. “I stole it myself from the art gallery hosting it a year ago.”
    “It’s a fake. I bought the real one about eight months ago,” the other one continued.
    “Now please, miss Vaughn, miss Farrell, calm down,” the animator asked, but he had some difficulty in making his voice heard. “We have a specialist with us,” he added, “who will authenticate this piece.”
    “How about the other pieces?” someone cried. “They might be forgeries too”
    “Yeah,” another one said. “What the fuck is this cheap auction sale with fake art?”
    Soon all customers started yelling at the poor animator. He didn’t know what to do or how to handle the situation. He looked at his colleague by the door and made a sign with his head. At that very instant, a gun was fired. The loud noise of the shot made everyone shut up and turn to the door. The tall man who was about to run away swore as he got stopped by the shot.
    “Mister Atwood is your host, you will do as he says and everything will be fine,” the shooter calmly commanded.
    “Thank you,” the animator, Atwood, said. “Now please go back to your seats.” He waited until order had somewhat come back to the hall before continuing. “Now, Douglas, if you could please work your magic and tell us about the authenticity of that ruby.”
    The man called Douglas approached the ruby with a jeweler’s magnifying glass and a notepad. While he was scrutinizing the ruby, the tall man discretely walked toward the exit. But Farrell stopped him.
    “Leaving so soon, mister Carter?” she asked.
    He sighed and turned around. “Hello, little girl,” he said. “Is that the real one?” he inquired pointing at the ruby.
    “Of course,” Farrell answered. “Are you telling me you don’t recognize it?” As he didn’t say anything she continued. “Why were you about to leave?”
    “Because I’m in trouble. And that’s thanks to you, I might add,” he grumbled.
    “Hm, I’m flattered. What did I do to get you into trouble?” Carter’s eyes were as blue and cold as she remembered them. She noticed he was closely watching Douglas work on the ruby. Yet, Carter was blinking more rapidly than usual. His lack of eye contact with her wasn’t habitual either. As Farrell remembered, Carter