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“Yeah. I have no idea what that was about, but I don’t like it.”
Honestly, I didn’t like any of this, but I had a feeling Jack’s hunch about the painting being in Amsterdam was dead-on. I could feel it in my gut. Or maybe that was Jack’s self-proclaimed sixth sense about these kinds of things coming through our bond. “Let’s give it a few minutes so it doesn’t look like we were waiting for Dasselaar to show up and to make sure he doesn’t leave again. Meet me at the chocolatier on the next block.”
“Roger.”
From my vantage point, nothing changed, and twenty minutes later, I stood, folded the Dutch newspaper I’d been pretending to read, though I literally knew not a single word of Dutch—unless I could count gouda and stroopwafel, which I didn’t—and tucked it under my arm. I casually left the cafe and rounded the corner, heading for the chocolatier in the middle of the block. Making a quick circuit of the store, then stopping to examine a display of truffles, I waited for Jack.
My back was to the door, but I knew the second he walked in. He made a beeline straight for me and wrapped an arm around my waist, leaning in to peck a kiss on my cheek.
“I swear to God, Cal, I think you are the only person on the planet that looks sexy in a turtleneck.”
Quin had sent word through Julius and Felix that he’d received an invitation to Dasselaar’s upcoming gala through his gallery in Seattle. The weird thing was that it had been addressed to our grandmother, which was unsettling. We didn’t want to tip Dasselaar off that an orca shifter was in town looking for art, so I’d opted for a black turtleneck and the dress pants that went with the suit I’d worn in Prague. A quick stop in a perfumery earlier and a spritz of bergamot and cedar cologne and my scent should stay hidden long enough for us to gather some intel from the gallery.
“You’re not biased or anything, though.”
Jack’s lips landed on mine for a still publicly appropriate but more passionate kiss, and when he pulled away, he whispered, “Not at all.”
“Let’s go back to the gallery.”
I led Jack out of the chocolate shop and around the corner the opposite way so we would approach the gallery from the front. The black car Dasselaar had arrived in was still at the curb, and through the windshield, I could see the driver reading the same paper I had tucked under my arm. I tossed it in a recycling bin on the corner.
“You take the lead inside.” Jack squeezed my hand.
“Are you sure?”
“You were great with Mazal.”
“I don’t know a damn thing about art.”
“You don’t need to.”
“Jack—”
He pulled me to a stop in the middle of the sidewalk and kissed my cheek. “You’ve got this. I’m going to try to slip away to see if I can plant a bug in the office.”
Jack tugged my hand to get me moving again, but my heartbeat ticked up the closer we got to the gallery. I felt Jack send wave after wave of reassurance through our bond, but it was doing fuck all to calm me down. Something he’d said when we’d started this whole thing echoed through my mind.
“You were right. I’m really not cut out for spy shit like this.”
“I was just trying to piss you off. You are good at this, Cal, even if it’s not the way you’d prefer to play things.”
“I should have brought Betty.”
Jack laughed and kissed my cheek again, and then it was too late to argue because we were back at the gallery. Jack opened the door and more or less shoved me inside.
One of the women, a blonde with her hair pulled back into an artfully messy but sophisticated bun, greeted us the moment we were both through the door. “Hallo, welkom bij Galerie S. Dasselaar.”
Jack smiled and spoke the only Dutch phrase he knew. “Spreek je Engels?”
“Yes, of course. My name is Ilse. How may I help you?”
“We are on our honeymoon, and we are looking for a piece of art to commemorate our time in Europe.”
Ilse nodded thoughtfully. “Landscapes are very popular right now.” Her low heels clicked on the hardwood floor as she walked to the far side of the gallery. “These are done by a very prominent Dutch artist.” A series of paintings of tulips in fields and up close hung on the wall.
I pretended to consider them for a while, adopting the pose I’d seen Quin make when studying art my whole life. “I don’t know, darling. What do you think?”
Jack mirrored my stance. “I think we’re looking for something a bit more modern.”
