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NINETEEN
CAL
After our arrival in Amsterdam,Jack took me out for dinner. We sat at a late-night bar with a cheese conveyor belt and ate amazing cheese and cured meats while sipping on a delicious local beer. Jack had called it a celebration, but we also happened to have an excellent view of the front of Dasselaar’s gallery and the small alley next to it, so while we ate and enjoyed our evening, we’d also been paying close attention to the after-dark comings and goings at the gallery.
“That’s four.” I stuffed another bite of truffle brie on a tiny piece of toast into my mouth while Jack added a tally mark to the napkin where he was keeping track of how many people had disappeared down the alley. From the front, it looked closed, but there was no way there wasn’t something going on in the back since it was the only commercial building on the block. Also, no one who had wandered down the alley had come back the way they’d gone in, and that was more than a little suspicious. Half an hour ago, two guys who screamed hired muscle had parked nearly identical black sedans on either end of the block before heading down the alley.
“You think they’re just passing through?”
I raised an eyebrow. “Do you?”
My mate shook his head. “Not a chance.”
“So what’s our play?”
“I know you’re going to hate it, but I think we need to check things out from the front of the gallery tomorrow. Maybe work our cover and go inside, pretend to be looking for art for our home, a high-priced souvenir from our honeymoon.”
I nodded. “Makes sense. We also need to take a stroll around the neighborhood to see if there are any buildings on the next block that offer a good view of the back of the gallery.”
Jack raised his glass and tipped it in my direction. “Oh, definitely.”
“This feels different than Venice.”
“I agree.” He studied me from across the table. “What are you thinking?”
“It’s more than just Mazal’s warning and the information Julius and Felix found. This feels dangerous. Like the hair on the back of my neck is standing up, and all we’re really doing is eating cheese and people-watching.”
“I know exactly what you mean. I think this is it. If the painting isn’t in Amsterdam right now, I have a feeling it will be.”
Lifting my glass and downing a sip, I nodded again. “I think you’re right.”
“We’ll have a better sense of what we’re up against after we do a little undercover recon tomorrow.” He reached out and covered my hand that was drawing patterns in the ring left on the tabletop by the condensation from my glass. I flipped it over, and Jack linked our fingers together. “For now, what do you say we get out of here? I just remembered I have zip ties in my bag.”
I was out of my seat before he finished speaking.
The best thing about Europe was the street cafes. Apart from the exceptional coffee and fantastic pastries, there were so many scattered around every city we’d visited so far that it made people-watching—or, in our case, gallery-watching—easy.
Jack had brought a small comms set, and while we could have used it in Venice, we hadn’t because we’d both been watching Azzura Scivolo from the same vantage point. Since we were watching a building now, it made sense for us to both take different angles.
I was at a cafe that sat on the corner opposite the gallery. I had a better view of the alley and could just make out traffic at the rear of the building, though the view was limited from this position. Jack was at a different cafe next to the cheese bar that looked right into the front of the gallery. So far, three employees, all stylish women dressed head to toe in black, had arrived at the gallery, and two of the three were visible through the plate glass windows in the front.
“I’ve got a car slowing.”
Jack’s voice crackled over the line. “I see it.” A line of bike riders momentarily obscured my view, but Jack gave me the rundown. “Chauffeur is opening the rear door. It’s Dasselaar.”
I wanted to jump to my feet and rush across the street.
“Calm down, Cal. Stay where you are.”
“How did you know?”
“Have you forgotten about our mate bond already, sweetheart? I’m crushed.”
“Shut up.”
“Oh, shit. Dasselaar just yanked some other guy from the car. He’s pushing him into the gallery, but the kid looks pissed.”
“Does that mean we’re moving inside earlier than expected?”
