He shrieked, but his cry of pain ended when Adriana’s forearm struck him in the throat. The bodyguard’s right knee bent, and he dropped to the ground, clutching his neck with the one good hand he had left.
She walked by him without so much as a glance and stalked toward the door. The butler’s white face and wide eyes gave away his immediate shock and fear. He attempted to close the door, but Adriana was already on the landing. She launched out and planted her heel close to the door handle, striking it with enough force to knock the old man onto his back. The door swung open and hit the stop as she walked through the opening.
The butler sprawled like a beetle on its back, kicking and wiggling in an effort to try to get away. “You won’t get away with this,” he spoke as if he was trying to convince himself of the fact.
“I told you. All I wanted was to speak with your employer about a painting. You had to go and make things difficult.” She stood over the man. There was no menace in her voice, no anger. She spoke as though she were talking to an infant she’d had to spank for disobeying.
Something clicked at the top of the staircase to the left. Only now did Adriana bother to take in her surroundings. The home’s opulent decor belied how much the owner valued appearances. It would have suited a minor king two hundred years ago. She’d seen similar interior design while visiting various palaces in Europe. It was as if Sans Souci’s ornate hallways, sitting rooms, bedrooms, and tea chambers were miniaturized and all put into a smaller home. Gilded molding lined the tops of the walls. Expensive paintings hung every six feet, between windows. The receiving room’s walls were coated in a hunter green, offset by slightly lighter olive green stripes. The next room, just beyond the load-bearing wall, featured maroon walls, plush couches, chairs, shiny wooden end tables, and a massive coffee table that looked like it had been pilfered straight from the White House.
Her eyes shot up toward the noise. At the top of the stairs, a striking woman with lightly tanned skin and shoulder-length blonde hair stood pointing a long, silver hand cannon. Her golden locks draped over the shoulders of a white silk blouse. The woman wore a black skirt that would have been suitable for a business meeting, cut just above the knee and showing off her strong, slender legs. The clicking sound Adriana had heard was the hammer being pulled back on the revolver.
“What have you done to my men?” the blonde asked in a nearly casual tone.
“She killed Gerald,” the butler yelped. He finally found his balance and was able to push himself onto his feet.
“I didn’t kill him,” Adriana said, casting a sideways glance back through the door.
The bodyguard was hunched over, hacking a cough every five or six seconds and still clutching his throat, but he was alive. His broken arm dangled awkwardly at his side.
“I could have killed him, though. But I felt like that would send the wrong sort of message.”
The blonde’s eyes became slits. “And what message is that?”
“I don’t want any trouble. I just needed to ask you some questions about a painting your grandfather may have purchased.”
“Yes, I know,” she answered shortly. “The Bellini. I don’t have it. You’re not the first person to come around looking for it.”
From the sound of the blonde’s voice, Adriana could tell it was a touchy subject. “You must be Monique van der Wahl, yes?”
“And you are?”
“Adriana Villa. I specialize in recovering lost art.”
“Sounds like a dangerous line of work.”
She shrugged. “It can be, which is why I know how to take care of myself.”
“So it would seem,” Monique waved the barrel at the door, motioning at her fallen bodyguard. “Gerald is going to need medical attention. Are you going to pay for that?”
Adriana raised a questioning eyebrow. “Technically, he attacked me, so…no.”
“You were trespassing.”
“I was on the sidewalk. Where he’s kneeling on the ground right now will prove that.”
Monique stared at the woman in her foyer. Adriana could sense she was trying to decide what to do. The blonde could shoot her right then and there and claim the Spaniard had broken in. But something about the look on her face said that wasn’t what she wanted to happen.
“You are a thief, no?” Monique said after careful deliberation.
“In manner of speaking. I don’t steal for personal wealth.”
The answer caught the blonde off guard. “Are you some kind of Robin Hood?”
“Not really,” Adriana crossed her arms. “I don’t give to the poor if that’s what you mean. I return items to the rightful owners. From time to time,the rightful owner cannot be located, so I take the art to a museum or a research facility.”
“How noble.”
“It has its moments.”
Monique flicked her head and tossed her golden hair back behind her shoulders. “Well, you’ve asked your question, and I’ve given you your answer. You may leave.”
“I’m sorry, but I need to know what happened to the Bellini. You say you don’t have it and for some reason,” she rolled her eyes around the richly decorated room, “I believe you. Still. I need to know where it is.”
“Why do you want it so badly?”
Adriana sighed. “I can’t get into all the details right now. But I don’t have much time.”
“That doesn’t seem like it’s my problem. What interest do you have with my grandfather’s painting?”
Adriana relayed the story as quickly as she could though she knew the Dutch woman didn’t care about her plight. She was entertaining the Spaniard for a different reason, perhaps an ulterior motive.
There was movement in the doorway, and Adriana spun around, ready to fend off another attack, but the bodyguard was in no shape to fight. He could barely stand. He leaned against the doorsill, still grasping his neck.
Monique lowered her weapon. “Terrance,” she looked at the butler, “take Gerald to the hospital. Have them mend that arm. Tell them I sent you.”
“But madam—” he started to protest but she cut him off.
“Don’t question me, Terrance. Take him now. He’s in dire need of pain killers and probably surgery.”
Terrance flashed a ferocious glance at Adriana. She merely smiled back, which only served to enrage him further.
“Very well,” he said reluctantly. “Come, Gerald. We’ll take the Jaguar.”
The butler put his arm around the wounded man and ushered him through the next room and around the corner to somewhere in the back of the massive home. Adriana assumed there was a carriage house or garage in the rear that housed the lady’s vehicles.
“So,” Monique interrupted her thoughts and began descending the stairs, “we need to talk business.”
9
“Would you like something to drink?” Monique offered as she poured a snifter of cognac for herself. She stared at the golden brown liquid as it splashed into her little glass.
“For breakfast? No thanks,” Adriana shook her head and stole a glance at the grandfather clock against the nearby wall. It’s not even 10:30 local time, and this woman is already drinking. “Like I said, I don’t have a lot of time.”
“Yes.” Monique pressed the corked lid back into the crystal decanter and floated over to one of the thickly cushioned chairs across from her guest. She eased into the seat and took a sip from her drink. “You mentioned that,” she said after swallowing the warm liquid. “You need to rescue your father. I can understand that. Well, as much as someone like me could understand it.”
“Someone like you?”
Monique took another draw and swallowed again. “I wasn’t very close to my father. All he cared about was his legacy. He never spent time with me or the rest of my family. I was basically raised by the hired help. Terrance was like an older brother, though sometimes I still have to remind him of his place.”