Chapter 20

CHAPTER

TWENTY

JACK

“I shall put together the necessary paperwork and have it ready for you by week’s end. We can finalize the sale then.” Dasselaar ushered us to the front of the gallery.

Cal shook his hand. “Yes, that works well for us. We can also discuss secure transportation to the States.”

“Indeed.”

While Dimitri had stayed within Dasselaar’s sight, he hadn’t spoken again, and Cal gave him a subtle wave when Dasselaar turned away. A deep frown creased Cal’s brow, but I couldn’t get a read on his emotions through our bond. It felt like they were jumping all over the place.

Out on the street, I took my mate’s hand, knowing Dasselaar was watching through the windows. “What the hell was that?”

Cal seemed startled by the question, proof he’d been lost in thought. “What?”

“What’s the deal with the kid?”

Cal shook his head, still frowning. “His name is Dimitri. I think he’s the guy Amanda said went missing in Amsterdam months ago.”

“Shit.” Jack squeezed my hand. “What does Dasselaar want with him?”

“Before you got there, he made the kid show me that the Renoir was real. He can make his skin change to match the canvas if it’s real. If it’s not, the colors are muddy. Dasselaar has one of Amanda’s forgeries, and he’s using it to show how the kid’s skill is affected by a fake.”

“I don’t like that there are civilians involved in this.”

“Neither do I. It’s taking every ounce of my admittedly limited self-control not to run back in there and haul him out to keep him safe from Dasselaar. If it wouldn’t completely blow our cover I might do it. I feel like Dimitri is important, but I don’t know why I feel that way.”

“How about because Dasselaar is an epic douchebag who is clearly using the kid, and you with your big heart want to rescue him?”

Normally, Cal would have told me to fuck off after a comment like that, but the furrow between his brows just got deeper. “Yeah, maybe, but when I first walked into the high roller’s room, Dasselaar was threatening him, and it set me on edge.” He rolled his shoulders. “I can’t explain it.”

“What do you mean Dasselaar threatened him?”

“I only caught the end, but Dasselaar was all ‘you do as I say or else.’”

“Hmm. I guess we find out everything we can about Dimitri and what Dasselaar has on him.”

“We have to.”

“I’m liking this less and less.”

“Same.”

“And even if Dasselaar doesn’t have The Evolution of Man , he’s shady as shit.” Cal stopped and dropped my hand, whipping his phone out of his pocket and looking around. “That reminds me, I need to call Quin. I would bet any money that Renoir he showed us is hot. Quin will know for sure. He could tell you every famous painting that’s ever been stolen and its last known whereabouts.”

“I agree the Renoir is probably on his list. Make the call.” I followed Cal to a bench at the edge of a small park that was on our way back to the hotel and sat while my mate paced near a fountain, his phone held to his ear. While Cal talked to his brother, I scrolled through Dasselaar’s computer from my phone. I’d been able to put an audio bug in his office and connect a device that mirrored anything he did on his computer to a program on my phone.

A few minutes later, Cal dropped onto the bench next to me. “As we suspected, the Renoir Dasselaar showed us was stolen from a private collection in Texas and never recovered. According to Quin, the painting has never come up for sale through either legit or black-market channels. He’s worried about what it means that Dasselaar is showing it off to private clients at his gallery.”

“Well, that makes two of us.”

“Three.” Cal rubbed a hand over his face, stroking down his short beard. “So what’s our next move?”

“We need to circle back to the gallery and check out the next block. I had just enough time to install an audio bug and a remote-access port on the computer in the gallery office, and it looks like Dasselaar has shipments coming in after hours yesterday, tonight, and tomorrow night. My guess is he’s bringing in all the art he’s going to be auctioning at his gala.”

“Makes sense. The gala is in a little over a week, according to the invitation Quin has.”

“The timing is too perfect. Has your grandmother ever been invited to one of Dasselaar’s events before?”

“I don’t know. Felix and Julius tried to reach her on the cruise ship but weren’t successful. What doesn’t make sense is the fact that it was sent to Quin’s gallery and not to her office at the university or to her house in Alaska or the estate in Seattle.”

“That’s true. But we only know for sure that an invitation was sent to the gallery and not to the estate. There could be one waiting for her at the university or at her house in Alaska. Regardless, Dasselaar wanted to make sure Juno Hunter was at the gala. The question is why?”

“Exactly. Guess we’d better try to figure that out.” Cal stood and held out his hand. “Let’s go see if we can find a vantage point.”

For the next two nights, Cal and I perched on the top of a bicycle shop on the block behind Dasselaar’s building. It had the best view of the gallery’s rear entrance, and decorative cornice work made it easy to conceal ourselves.

Cal was watching the rear door of the gallery through a sniper scope. Like last night, the two large men dressed in black we’d noticed the night we were eating cheese and watching the gallery flanked the entrance. When the shipments were over for the night, they made sure the gallery was secure and left, each turning in opposite directions. We’d followed them, and both had gotten into their nondescript black cars and sped into the night. “There should be just one last delivery.”

A glance at my watch told me it was just after three o’clock in the morning. With some remote help from Julius and Felix, I’d been able to get into Dasselaar’s phone. All the shipments had come in on generic trucks, about five to ten pieces at a time, all scheduled to arrive spread out between midnight and four in the morning. Everything had been wrapped to art industry standard or moved in a shipping container or wooden crate, so there had been no way to know exactly what was being brought in.

After Dasselaar had tried to sell Cal the Renoir we now knew was stolen, it made sense that the art that had been delivered over the past three nights was also stolen. The question still remained if The Evolution of Man was among the pieces, but we’d need to get into the gallery in order to figure that out.

“Is it weird that he’s having all the pieces brought to the gallery instead of to his estate where the gala’s being held? Seems risky to move it twice.” Cal asked the question over his shoulder.

While Cal had his focus on the street, I’d been working on hacking Dasselaar’s security system for the gallery. For someone who was clearly dealing in stolen art, his system was fairly simple, which meant he was absolutely as arrogant as he seemed. It had taken very little time to set up a loop of the empty alley and prep it to be added to his camera feed when Cal and I accessed the gallery, and I had a program running to pull the code for the security alarm.

“Maybe he thinks the pieces are safer here since the gala’s guest list is a veritable who’s who of the criminal elite.”

“You think they’re more likely to make a play at his home?”

I shrugged. “I honestly don’t know. My best guess is that he has a warehouse somewhere and he’s just shuffling things around in preparation for the gala. He could also be bringing in new merchandise for the gallery. If there are going to be big players in town, he might want to show them more than what comes up at the auction. I think whatever he auctions will be the highest-value items, and possibly the consolation prizes will be here, available for purchase from the gallery to legitimize the transactions.”

“If that’s the case, how do we know everything is actually coming here? What if it’s a shell game?”

It was a fair question. “We don’t. We see what we can find out tonight, and if we have to, we do a little more digging and scope out his other properties.”

“Assuming we can find them before the gala.” Julius and Felix were working on uncovering all Dasselaar’s holdings, but they’d run into some trouble. Besides the gallery and his estate, there were no properties tied immediately to Dasselaar. Julius was following the money, but it was a tedious process to untangle shell corporations and trace offshore accounts. For now, what we had at the gallery was our best lead.

“We will.” My laptop dinged. “I’ve got the code for the gallery’s security system.”

“Nice. Looks like the last truck is approaching.”

I sent the code for the security system to my phone and closed my laptop.

“Shit.” Cal’s tone made the hair on the back of my neck stand on end. “Jack, Dasselaar is here.”

“What?”

“Come look.”

I approached the decorative wall, staying low, and peered over the edge. A black car identical to the one Dasselaar had arrived at the gallery in every day had pulled up behind the truck. One of the two men who’d been stationed at the rear door walked up to the driver’s side of the truck and knocked on the window. Words were exchanged, and the driver stepped down out of the truck. When he got to the rear rolling door, Dasselaar got out of his vehicle, then bent to say something to someone else in the car. He shook hands with the driver and handed him a thick envelope as Dimitri stepped out of the passenger side of Dasselaar’s car.

“Whatever is in that truck, it’s worth enough for Dasselaar to show up personally to pay off the driver.” Cal scowled. “And for Dasselaar to bring his toy. I don’t like that Dimitri is with him.”

“Me either.” I grabbed Cal’s sniper scope when he switched to his binoculars, and we watched as Dasselaar punched in the code to disarm the security system. From what I could tell, it matched the number I’d pulled. Dasselaar and Dimitri disappeared inside while the driver opened the rolling door, and the two guards climbed into the truck. The overhead door at the rear of the gallery opened for the fourth time that night.

Dasselaar came back out to the alley as his hired muscle maneuvered a large gray wooden crate to the edge of the truck. Dasselaar yelled something at the men, and they set the crate down gently, then jumped down from the truck before lifting it again and taking it into the gallery through the open overhead door.

A tingle ran down my spine. That box held the painting we’d been looking for. I knew it like I knew my own name.

“Jack, what’s up?” Cal had picked up on my emotions through our bond.

“That’s it.”

“Really?”

I nodded.

“We need to get down there to confirm.”

“We will.”

The truck driver followed Dasselaar and his men into the gallery, and the overhead door rolled closed.

Ten minutes later, the unmistakable sound of a gunshot rang through the alley.

“The truck driver.”

Cal nodded. “No loose ends. If I didn’t believe that crate contained The Evolution of Man before, I do now.”

We both must have been thinking the same thing—this wasn’t the first time someone had died over this painting.

Hopefully, it would be the last, but in my gut, I knew that probably wasn’t true.

And it raised the stakes for this op considerably.

A few minutes later, Dimitri exited the gallery. His skin was pale and his eyes wide, and even from where we were hiding, I could tell his hand was shaking as he opened the door and slid into the car, burying his head in his hands.

“Dasselaar killed the driver right in front of him.” Cal’s jaw was set as he ground out the words.

“Likely to illustrate what would happen if Dimitri didn’t keep doing what he was told.”

My mate took a deep breath and blew it out on a long exhale. “Jack, I don’t care if we figure out the deal with the painting or not. We get the kid out.”

I nodded. “I promise.”

Dasselaar emerged from the gallery, tucking the same envelope he’d given the truck driver back into his jacket, but this time there was a suspicious dark stain on it. He leaned against his car and waited until his men came out of the gallery carrying a shipping crate that they loaded into the truck before climbing into the cab, starting the engine, and disappearing into the night.

Dasselaar set the alarm and double-checked that the gallery was secure before getting into his own car again and speeding off into the night.

Fuck. “We have a problem.”

“What is it?”

“I don’t know how he did it, but Dasselaar changed the code. We’re going to have to go in old-school.”