Sounds like this guy had his fingers in a lot of cookie jars.
Allyson tapped on one of the other links and kept reading between making sure she wasn’t speeding and not weaving into other lanes. Traffic began to pick up as she drew closer to town, so she had to be careful. Last thing she needed was to rear-end someone and have to deal with the police after committing a murder.
The second link gave her what she wanted.
Arjen van der Wahl had two sons. They split the inheritance when their father died in the 1970s. One of the sons had a daughter named Monique. She was born in 1974 and still lived in Amsterdam. It seemed she was the last remaining van der Wahl.
The story started to fall into place. Monique’s father lost the family fortune with some bad investment decisions. Her uncle had similar bad luck and nearly lost everything. When her father died, Monique did all she could to save the familial home and keep up appearances that she was still one of Amsterdam’s elite. She became a treasure hunter and was able to retrieve a rare piece that enabled her to retain the lifestyle to which she’d become accustomed after selling the item for a hefty price.
Allyson looked up and slammed on her brakes. A delivery truck lumbered along in the lane ahead of her, barely moving.
She switched lanes and passed the truck, leaving it safely behind. Her heart thumped in her chest. That was close.
She put the phone in the passenger seat and sped toward the city. Amsterdam seemed like the logical place to visit next. This Monique van der Wahl might have answers as to the whereabouts of the missing Bellini. Allyson tried not to get her hopes up, but it was entirely possible that the Dutch woman still possessed the painting.
Now Allyson’s only problem was the other thief. She had a bad feeling she was behind in the race, which meant she was going to have to start playing dirty.
8
Adriana stepped out of the car. She’d parked it on the side of the street near one of the many canals that snaked their way through the old city. Amsterdam had always been one of her favorite places to visit. The colorful houses, unique Dutch architecture, the charm of the little canals between walkways and roads, the cafes, shops, and restaurants, and the vibrant people all combined for one of the world’s most unique destinations.
She’d arrived late the night before and found a hotel with a clean, comfortable room not far from where she was headed. A quick breakfast and a hot cup of coffee from a nearby shop fueled her for the unexpected.
The walk from her hotel to the white, two-story mansion on the canal took only six minutes, which was worth the effort since finding a parking spot in the city could prove to be an exercise in frustration. Five minutes into her walk, she spotted the mansion on the other side of the canal and hurriedly crossed the arched bridge leading over to the other side.
The morning air brushed through a loose strand of hair she’d missed when scooping it into a ponytail. She calmly tucked it behind her right ear and pressed on. She could redo it all after she met with Monique van der Wahl. Right now, she was in a hurry.
Adriana turned left after crossing the bridge and strode underneath the overhanging tree branches that lined the water’s edge. She reached the intersection at the next street and paused, taking a second to look around and make sure no one was following her. A man in a black polo and white pants had been behind her for a block or so, but now he was nowhere to be seen. She was probably just being paranoid, but a little paranoia had saved her neck on more than one occasion. She finished surveying the immediate area, and when the light changed, she trotted across the street to the white mansion’s front entrance.
Black shutters and trim framed the windows and doors, contrasting the creamy walls. The roof was different from the typical Dutch high angle that dominated most of the dwellings in the city. This mansion’s roof sloped up less dramatically, ending in a flat top that stretched the length and width of the building. A pair of sconces guarded both sides of the front door. Gas lamps burned, flicking orange flames within the glass and iron framework.
Adriana took a step up onto the landing and stuck a finger out to press the doorbell. Before she could, the heavy wooden door creaked open like something out of a predictable horror movie.
Just inside the entrance, a gray-haired butler in a black suit smiled and nodded. “Hello. May I help you?” he asked, folding his hands in front of his waist in a formal manner.
Adriana was thrown off. “I’m sorry. Were you expecting someone?”
His grin stretched across his face. “We are always expecting someone, my dear.” He pointed at a tiny camera in the overhang just above the door’s archway. “Sensors tell us when someone approaches. I just happened to be dusting nearby when you arrived.”
“Oh,” she said. “I guess one can never be too safe.”
“Quite,” he agreed. His accent was clearly English, though which part of the country she couldn’t pin down.
“I don’t mean to be blunt, but I was wondering if the lady of the house was available to take a visitor.” She passed the old man her cutest puppy dog expression.
He coughed a short laugh. “Ms. van der Wahl doesn’t take many visitors, not without an appointment. While I appreciate your charm, I’m afraid you will need to go through her personal assistant.” He fished a business card out of his inner jacket pocket and handed it to her.
She didn’t have time to schedule an appointment. The clock wasn’t on her side, and on top of that, she could have a run-in with the woman known as the Chameleon at any moment. The faster she could get in and get out, the better.
“I’m sorry, but I am only in town for a day. It is extremely urgent that I speak with her.”
The man sighed; this was a part of the job he clearly hated. His humble smile disappeared, and he raised his hand and snapped his fingers. The door opened wider and a muscular man with deep ebony skin appeared next to the butler. He wore a skin tight white T-shirt, gray pants, and an expression that warned her not to cause trouble.
“That escalated quickly,” she said, sizing up the man she assumed was some kind of bodyguard.
“It doesn’t have to,” the butler added quickly. “If you need to speak to Ms. van der Wahl, go through the appropriate channel. Should she find that you have something interesting to offer, she might offer you the chance to meet.”
Adriana smirked. “Doing things the easy way has never been my style. I’ll tell you what, why don’t you call Ms. van der Wahl down from wherever she is, and I don’t break both your arms.”
The bodyguard had heard enough. He stepped in front of the butler and crossed both arms over his bulging chest. “The man said to leave.”
“It’s about the Bellini her grandfather bought from a Russian soldier.” Adriana spoke loud enough to ensure her voice carried through the home’s cavernous interior.
“Gerald, take care of her,” the butler ordered.
The bodyguard took another step toward her and uncrossed his arms. She stepped back down off the landing without taking her eyes off the man as he drew near. He stuck out one hand to push her away as if he were a bull swatting at a fly: a mistake that caused him a great deal of pain.
Adriana stepped to the side and grabbed his forearm with both hands. Using gravity and his momentum, she jerked him down off the landing and jumped. In an instant, the man’s elbow snapped awkwardly over her shoulder, bending in half and rendering the appendage useless.