Carla Neggers - Cut and Run

“You don’t know that I’m not just trying to get rid of you,” she said. “But, understand me, Matthew Stark, I know you care deeply for Juliana-and nothing must happen to her. She’s the last of the Peperkamps. It’s not you who must trust me-I must trust you.”

“And I’ll bet there aren’t many people you do trust.”

She shrugged impassively. “That is so.”

Matthew quickly told her about the knife and de Geer, and if either surprised her, she didn’t say. She just produced addresses for her niece’s garage and Vermont house-Stark guessed she’d only started mopping the floor after she’d given the place a thorough shake down-and hurried him out the door. She told him to mind the man across the street watching the building.

Stark assured her he could handle the situation.

“You would have survived the occupation, I think,” she said.

From Wilhelmina Peperkamp, Stark knew that was a supreme compliment.

“I will get you the Minstrel,” Catharina said, leaning forward toward Bloch as the car in which they were riding turned into Central Park West. She cradled her broken arm as best she could, but the pain was excruciating. It had already begun to swell badly. Ah, Mamma, she thought with tears in her eyes, I remember your strength. Bloch was in the front seat with one of his men; she was in the back with another. Neither was as young as the man Peters, and neither offered to help with her arm. “There’s no need to involve the others.”

His cold, clear gray eyes fastened to her. “I make the decisions.”

“If you touch my daughter or my sister, I won’t get you the Minstrel.” She blinked past the pain. “I won’t care what you do to me.”

“But you’ll care what I do to them.” He turned back around, still furious with himself for not having pushed it to the limit with de Geer. He should have killed the Dutchman and taken the girl and never minded the crazy, ugly look in de Geer’s eyes. Maybe he still could get the diamond, maybe not. Either way, he had to go through this; he had other matters to consider, namely covering his ass. Without looking back at the baker, he added, “I’m through taking chances.”

Catharina’s heart beat rapidly, and it was difficult to control her breathing. But she refused to faint. They would be at Juliana’s apartment soon. She had to trust that Hendrik had gotten her to safety. Hendrik…once more she was trusting him with her loved ones. What choice did she have?

What choice did you have then?

She looked out at the lights in Central Park. Juliana and Wilhelmina would not be at the apartment. She had to believe that. Still, she said once more, “You’re wasting time, Sergeant Bloch. We can just go now for the Minstrel.”

“Yeah, we could,” came the hard, mean voice. “But we ain’t going to.”

Wilhelmina prepared herself a snack of bread and butter. Not butter, really. Juliana used some kind of low fat, low salt, no cholesterol margarine the old Dutchwoman thought disgusting. She found a piece of semisweet chocolate in the cupboard and broke it up onto the bread. Much more palatable.

The doorman had called up, saying a Hendrik de Geer was downstairs asking to see Wilhelmina Peperkamp. Of course he would know she was there, of course he wouldn’t bother with a fake name or trying to sneak in. He knew her too well. He would know she would let him in, that she had no choice.

The doorbell rang, and she went into the foyer, opening the door. She made herself not react to the sight of him. Stocky, rugged, the same. His blue eyes held hers a moment. Then she gave him a condescending smile as she noticed he was puffing from exertion. “Getting old, Hendrik?”

He replied in Dutch. “You grate on a man’s nerves, Willie.”

He still called her Willie. He’d started it, almost sixty years ago. “I grate on everyone’s nerves. Come in.”

She turned her back to him and went into the living room, pretending not to care what he did. Johannes was dead and now her sister was missing. And Juliana was going for the Minstrel. Nothing useful would be accomplished by looking backward. She must look ahead.

Hendrik had followed her into the room and was looking at Juliana’s fish. “She’s a strange one, isn’t she? Unpredictable, but tough.” He turned to Wilhelmina, who was standing at the piano, not too close. “The Peperkamp in her, I suppose.”

She put down the last of her bread and chocolate, unable to eat.

“You always did have a sweet tooth,” Hendrik said.

“One of my indulgences.”

“That and your flowers.”

She shrugged, but his words made her think of home, her little apartment, her routines. Her plants would probably be dead when she returned home. She’d neglected to have anyone come in to water them while she was away.

Hendrik was looking at her. “We would have had a nice life together, if the war hadn’t come along. We would have kept each other in line.”

“I can’t see you living with me in a little Delftshaven apartment growing begonias.”

“Maybe we wouldn’t have. Maybe we would have had a yacht and be out sailing the seven seas.”

She scoffed. “Always the dreamer.”

“And you, Willie? Haven’t you ever dreamed?”

“Only of what was, never of what might have been. Now enough of this nonsense.” She gave him a hard look. “What do you want here?”

“To take you away,” he said simply.

Her heart leaped stupidly, an echo of the girl she’d been, but she’d learned long ago not to rely on anyone to take care of her. She would take care of herself. She always had.

“I’m going after Catharina,” the Dutchman went on. “I promised Johannes nothing would happen to her-or to you and Juliana. I meant what I said.”

“And Johannes didn’t believe you, of course,” Wilhelmina said with a snort. “We’ve all heard your promises before-and believed them. You’ll see to your own skin before anyone else’s.”

“Perhaps I’ve changed.”

She only laughed. Promises meant nothing to her, only actions. Still, a small, rebellious part of her hoped Hendrik wasn’t lying this time, or even kidding himself. He’d always been so optimistic, so filled with high hopes and grand ideas. He thought he could do anything. Wilhelmina had always been attracted to that side of him. When he was young, it had made him seem so alive, so filled with energy and hope that they all had believed he could accomplish the miracles he bragged about. He hadn’t been obnoxious so much as refreshing.

He hadn’t changed. Wilhelmina had no intention of giving him the opportunity to prove himself; she preferred to be master of her own fate. Yet she supposed there was a glimmer of desire to see him this once seize the opportunity, not wait for it or back away from it, but act out of conviction, not necessity.

“Catharina doesn’t have the Minstrel, does she?” he asked, going to the windows over the couch.

Wilhelmina made no answer.

Hendrik glanced at her, smiling. “It’s all right. You don’t need to tell me. If Johannes had given Catharina the Minstrel, she’d have tossed it into the Hudson River. You and I know how she hates it-but Bloch doesn’t. But when he discovers she doesn’t have the stone, he’ll kill her and come for Juliana and you, too, Wilhelmina. He may even come before he knows for sure which of you has it. That’s his way.”

“Let him come. Juliana isn’t here, and I have no fear.”

“You may get your wish,” Hendrik said grimly. He’d been peering out the window down at the street, and now he nodded to Wilhelmina. She came over and stood next to him. Two men were moving quickly toward the entrance. “That’s Bloch and one of his men.”