by Kim Baldwin
“Good night, Kris. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
Kris grabbed her by the arm as she turned for the stairs. “Angie, wait. I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings.”
“Don’t worry about it. You were being honest.”
Kris was shocked by the disappointment that clouded her face. She realized, as they stood face-to-face, that Angie’s arrogance was a thin veneer, a shield masking some kind of hidden anguish. She ached to do something—anything—to make that pain go away. Under the glare of the hallway light, she noticed a white chunk of plaster stuck to Angie’s hair. Without thinking, she reached over to remove it.
“You have this big piece of…” She stopped mid sentence when she saw the way Angie was staring at her. She’d seen that smoldering look of arousal and desire many times in her life, but rarely did it ever have this kind of effect on her. It was a visual caress that she felt clear to her toes.
She was about to pull her hand away when Angie covered it with her own. “Why is this so hard for you?”
They continued to stare at each other for a long while, both breathing heavily.
Kris didn’t bother to pretend the question confused her. She knew exactly what Angie was asking. “I’m not sure,” she replied, finally, her voice so low she hardly recognized herself.
“Let me know when you are…sure.” Angie’s hand dropped and she bolted up the stairs to her room without waiting for a reply.
Chapter Thirteen
Kris returned to her room and stripped for bed, but although her overworked body begged for slumber, her mind would not allow it. The memories of Angie’s kiss and the hunger in her eyes stirred her up and left her wanting. And somehow that glimpse of vulnerability within the American’s tough, carefree exterior had driven home her attraction. Kris really wanted to get to know her better, and she was sure the interest was mutual.
Like a persistent jackhammer in her head, the events of the past twenty-four hours kept pounding away. Angie. Jerking her off the tram and kissing her like that. No warning, no reason. Like she had every right to, like she knew Kris wouldn’t object. Pompous American. But Kris hadn’t objected at all, had she? Despite herself, she’d enjoyed it very much. Too much, as a matter of fact.
The memory of those warm lips against hers kept intruding relentlessly on her consciousness. She told herself it was only a kiss, but something about it, something other than the fact that Angie was a mystery, troubled her. She might have been tipsy, but their close proximity had brought on a sense of déjà vu that excited and puzzled her. Tonight’s strained conversation was even more confusing.
They were dancing around each other, on the very cusp of something that felt innately powerful and right, and Angie was apparently leaving it entirely up to her to decide whether they would act upon the spark of attraction that was building by the day. Yet again she thought about those moments on the bridge, and her body reacted with a hollow flutter. Trying to shift her focus away from the woman who’d invaded her consciousness, she thought about the weird guy who’d been watching her in the restaurant. Why hadn’t he approached her? Spoken to her? He seemed content to watch, and follow. The behavior was far from typical for the usual predatory male.
Kris tried to place his face. Perhaps she’d encountered him before and he was simply hanging around her, waiting to be recognized. Feeling restless and wanting to soothe her aching muscles, she padded into the bathroom. A double dose of ibuprofen took the edge off the tension headache closing in on her, but she still couldn’t relax enough to fall asleep. She gave up after a half hour of tossing and turning and went to the window to look out on the grounds of the estate. Too long neglected, the once-elegant topiary appeared as shapeless silhouettes in the moonless, overcast night, and she could barely make out the tall evergreens that ringed the perimeter.
The earlier conversation with Jeroen about the hidden room had been nagging at her all afternoon, and she decided it might be prudent to move the diamond from the vault. There seemed no better time than the present to take care of it, so she dressed, adding a heavy sweater and jacket to the clothes she’d worn earlier. Retrieving the combination to the vault that Hans had given her, she headed downstairs.
*
Allegro paced in her room, allowing enough time for Kris to fall asleep. She couldn’t put off recovering the diamond any longer and tonight was the right time to make her move. She wished like hell she had a sports car, an open road, and some alone time with an uncomplicated woman. Anything to help her escape this confusion. She’d never questioned her choices before and stood behind her lifestyle with complete conviction. But Kris, with a few careless words, had managed to make her feel inadequate and superficial. What others thought of her was something she never even considered, never mind cared about. The fact that a woman she barely knew could make her doubt herself threw her completely off balance. And what she hated more than the unusual ebbing of her confidence was the fact that Kris thought about her in such unflattering terms. An arrogant pain in the ass?
Allegro conceded that she’d intentionally played the role of an insouciant American to make her cover work. But she hadn’t expected to be quite so convincing. At the same time Kris had obviously looked close enough to notice her constant need to run. The only other person who had ever commented on her restlessness was Luka Madison. They’d grown up together in the academy and each was the closest the other had to family. Luka had noticed because she cared, but why had Kris? Why had she looked at her with such tenderness tonight, yet dismissed her so casually with that comment about her being “handy”?
Allegro was so absorbed in her thoughts that she didn’t realize something in her environment had changed until a few seconds after she heard a noise outside her window. Footsteps. Just as they registered, they were gone. She turned off the light and hurried to her window. It was too dark to make out anything but vague black shapes. Trees, hedges, the fence. She waited a few seconds and heard the noise again. Unlatching the window, she eased it open, careful not to make any sound. Nothing seemed to be moving on her side of the house.
She thought of the German and knew she should have acted sooner to confront him. Maybe he knew more about the diamond than they thought. Was it possible that he knew about the vault? And how to get to it? It seemed far-fetched, but she had no reason to discard the possibility. Never eliminate an option without proof. She couldn’t risk him recognizing her from the night before, so she went to her duffel, withdrew her ski mask, and put it on. Next came her gloves and Walther P99 and silencer. She also took a moment to substitute a heavy black sweater for the plaster-covered T-shirt she’d worked in.
There was a large oak tree outside her window, its nearest branch a few feet away. She perched on the windowsill and jumped, landing with her arms wrapped around the branch. Swinging her legs up around the limb, she shimmied silently to the trunk and worked her way to the ground.
Keeping to the tree line that ringed the estate, she moved low and fast, alert to any further sound or movement. If the German was out here, he wasn’t keeping to the gravel pathway that led from the house to the garden shed against the opposite wall. He could be hiding behind any of the shrubs and topiaries, or keeping to the trees, as she was. It occurred to her that if Schmidt knew how to get to the diamond, her mission would be over. She would have to take the stone before he could, and then she’d never see Kris again. The prospect saddened her in a way she hadn’t imagined possible.
When she reached the rear wall where the trees were few and farther apart, she darted from one topiary to another, maintaining a clearer view of the walkway. That’s when she spotted Kris. She began to relax, but then everything happened so fast her instincts and training took over.
Kris stopped walking. “Is anybody there?” she called out.
Allegro froze. There was no way Kris could have heard her. She heard a faint sound near the shed. Kris heard it, too, and started running toward the house. She fell, and Allegro heard her cry out as a fla
sh of gunfire flared from beside the shed. There was only a wisp of sound, a dull, fizzing pop she would recognize in her sleep. The intruder had a silencer, too.
She ripped off her mask and let it drop to the ground. Gun in hand, she raced toward Kris in a crouch, her heart hammering in her chest. Relief and fear battled for dominance when she saw her start to rise, a sitting duck for a second shot. Allegro tackled her from behind, letting her momentum carry them both forward. They landed at the base of a broad shrub that would provide decent cover.
As Kris started to scream, Allegro gave her shoulder a sharp shake. “Kris, it’s me.” She aimed the Walther in the direction of the shooter and made her voice loud enough to be heard by whoever was out there. “I saw you and thought you were an intruder. I called the police. Are you okay?”
“Aside from being face down in the mud, you mean?” Kris sounded pissed but not hurt.
“We really need to stop meeting like this,” she said jokingly. “What are you doing out here in the middle of the night, anyway?” Allegro kept Kris in her grip, wanting to make sure the shooter had gone before they both stood.
“I forgot to check on the firewood supply and it looks like we’ll have some bad weather tomorrow.”
Bad weather? Prevarication didn’t get any more feeble. February was Amsterdam’s coldest month, but they weren’t facing an imminent freeze. Replenishing the firewood could have waited till the next morning. “In the middle of the night? It’s so dark out here you could have fallen.”
“It would appear that I already have, and not by my own fault. Besides, what could you have done about it, had there really had been an intruder out here?”
“I’d have pointed him in your direction so you could insult him to death,” Allegro said, still bothered by Kris’s earlier assessment of her.
“Are we really having this discussion out here, while I’m choking on sludge?” Kris shifted to get up, but Allegro kept her pinned while she shoved the gun into the back of her jeans. Kris craned her head around. “Can I get up now, or is this your idea of foreplay?”
“You’d know if this were foreplay,” Allegro replied. With her attention fixed in the direction of the intruder, she held out her hand to help Kris up. Once they were on their feet, presenting a clear target, they needed to move fast. “Come on, let’s go. The police should be here any moment.”
Allegro put an arm around Kris’s waist and hurried them toward the house, the whole while keeping watch on the shed. They reached the mansion without further incident, but she knew the danger was far from over. As Kris turned on the lights to the kitchen, Allegro instinctively swung her gaze to the window that overlooked the back of the estate. “You’re going to track mud all over,” she said, keeping her voice nonchalant as she reached into her pocket for her cell phone. “Why don’t you strip down right here and head upstairs for a shower while I call off the police.”
Kris paused where she was and looked at herself. Her clothes were covered in muck, and they’d already left a trail of muddy footprints from the door. By the time she’d removed her shoes and socks, Allegro was done with her faux phone call to the police.
“Did you stop them on time? I wouldn’t think it would take this long to get here from Haarlem.”
“Busy night, I guess.”
Kris kept her eyes on her bare feet. “I’m sorry I worried you and got you out of bed.” She turned and headed for the living room.
Allegro kicked her shoes off and followed her. She didn’t want to leave her alone until she knew for sure that no one was in the house. “I’d be happy to help you get some more firewood tomorrow if you’re running out.”
“That won’t be necessary. I think we’re all right for now.”
Once she heard Kris’s shower running, Allegro took the opportunity to thoroughly search the house, making sure every window and door was tightly bolted. As she carried out her security measures, her heart refused to slow down. She was shaken by the gravity of what had just occurred. Kris could have been killed. Nearly was. And what weighed on Allegro was the profound sense of loss she would feel if that had happened. She knew it was foolish to think they had any real future together, yet she couldn’t stop herself from panicking at the thought of leaving Kris here to fend for herself, not even aware of the danger she was in. Future together? Since when did she ever think in terms of a future with anyone? What was happening to her?
For the first time, one of the dictums of the EOO truly drove home. There was peril in becoming personally involved in any way in an assignment. But she couldn’t help it. Somehow, someway, Kristine van der Jagt had become a very important priority in her life, and she felt powerless to change that, at least until she’d fulfilled her mission. Then she could run again, speed away as she always did. Time and distance always worked, taking her far from her inner landscape to the only world she really understood. Her work.
Allegro finished her rounds of the house at the window of a vacant guest room that overlooked the back of the estate. She stared down at the dark shapes of the trees and shrubs below, looking for signs of the intruder and hoping it was mere coincidence that he’d been standing by the shed. She braced herself for what was ahead. If all went well, she would be gone before Kris woke up. She would leave a note, of course, but things were so awkward between them that Kris would probably be relieved. Trying not to feel despondent over that likelihood, she slipped along the hallway to her bedroom and retrieved her lock-picking tools and stethoscope from her duffel bag. Tucking them into her jeans, she donned a pair of latex gloves and slipped downstairs and out the back door, locking it behind her. She withdrew her gun and took cover behind the nearest hedge, listening intently. The windows of the mansion remained dark and several minutes passed without sound or signs of movement. Reasonably certain that she was alone, she advanced to the tree line and skirted the perimeter of the estate until she was satisfied that no one was about.
The locked shed door was no obstacle. She was inside within seconds and had the padlock off the trapdoor almost as quickly. As she’d suspected, the tunnel led toward the house. Her penlight skimmed over a couple of crates and an old trunk, all so covered with dust and dirt it was obvious they hadn’t been opened in many years. She descended and, keeping her back to the cool, damp wall, moved cautiously to the end. Another steel ladder led upward to the hidden room. The small rectangular space contained only the vault, which sat nestled against one wall. A dark brown standing safe five feet tall, two feet wide, and two feet deep, it was an Austrian-made Wertheim model at least fifty years old. As she started in on the combination, she tried not to think of Kris, sleeping one floor above, and the fact that if the Blue Star was indeed on the other side of this thin steel barrier, she would never see her again.
Five of the six numbers came easily. The last took more time, because she was struggling as she never had with the possible repercussions of a mission successfully accomplished. She’d be on the first plane out of Amsterdam and Kris would be left alone to deal with whoever had shot at her tonight. When she felt the final tumbler engage, she held her breath and reached for the lever.
She was almost relieved to find the safe empty.
Allegro left everything as she had found it, the vault locked up again, the padlock and mat back where they were. As she relocked the door to the shed, she heard a noise across the yard, near the house. Slipping back into the dark shadows of the tree line, she moved slowly and carefully toward the sound, gun at the ready. Two minutes passed, then three. She spotted a shadow pass between two shrubs, not far from the rear corner of the mansion. A silhouette too large to belong to Kris.
She stalked him, slowly closing in, careful not to alert him to her presence until she was within striking distance. Then she sprang from behind, wrapping her left arm around his throat as her right thrust the end of her gun hard against his cheek. He froze. It was only this close that she was finally able to confirm his identity. He reeked of fear and stale sweat.
In German, she said, “Good evening, Gunter. What are you doing here?”
He barked out a demand to be let go. She cocked her gun and poked it harder against his cheek, repeating the question. No response.
“Are you searching for the diamond?” she asked.
As soon as the words were out, Schmidt struggled to get loose, and she hit him in the back of his head with the butt of her gun. He crumpled to the ground, dazed, and she trained her Walther on him.
Recognition crossed his face. “Die Amerikanerin.”
She’d hit him hard, but he wasn’t dizzy for long. Moving faster than she thought possible, he wrenched his gun from his coat and brought the weapon up to fire.
Allegro pulled her trigger first and got him between the eyes. He fell back, inert, and although he was clearly dead, she adhered to protocol and fired a second shot into his head. As she bent over his body and searched his clothes, her mind raced through the options for body disposal. The ring on his car keys told her he’d rented a Fiat. She suspected he’d parked his car where he had before, on the road behind the woods adjacent to the rear of the estate, so she headed there first, hurrying the quarter-mile as best as she could in the dark shelter of the trees. Once she got to the road, she pulled out the keys and hit the remote, hoping to spot a flash of the Fiat’s headlights through the shrubbery on either side of the pavement. Nothing. She ran a short distance in the direction of town and tried again before running back the way she came, and jogging along the main road in front of the estate, depressing the button on the remote.
She finally located the car behind a large hedge not far from the mansion, and drove back without headlights. Cutting the engine as she hit the driveway, she let the car roll to a stop behind the barn as close as she dared get to the German’s body. After making sure the vehicle couldn’t be seen from the house, she let herself in the back door, removing her shoes just in case there was blood on them. She quickly found what she needed—large plastic trash bags, a spare tarp, and a full can of spray paint from the artists’ supplies in the cellar. She had to get moving. It was only two a.m., but Haarlem came to life long before sunrise.
