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Which led Scarlet to believe that the expensive collection was still being enjoyed by the owners who’d also pocketed the claim money. Those paintings had to be on display, under lock and key, somewhere on the Vandenberg estate. She was convinced of it.
Scarlet’s gut told her Michael might be involved in the scam because of the coincidental timing of the deposit into one of his accounts. And the fact that his father, Mitcham Vandenberg, was a notorious miser.
From what she’d gleaned with the help of her research-hound other BFF, Bayli Styles, Michael had required substantial capital for his first major investment at the age of twenty-four. His father had not provided it. But the 5 million had conveniently appeared in Michael’s account precisely when he’d needed it the most—and that cash flow had helped to launch his career and his own personal empire.
It was all a cut-and-dried scenario in her mind … if she could just get a glimpse inside the Vandenberg estate or discern where else that collection might be stashed. The FBI had closed the case with no solid leads. The insurance company had settled.
But the voice of reason in Scarlet’s head told her that two and two had already been put together. And now it was just a matter of producing proof that her conspiracy theory was dead on the money. Literally.
Getting closer to Michael Vandenberg was her key to unraveling this case.
So while it went against her better judgement to fall down this new rabbit hole he was digging—again, because Scarlet was much too taken by his dark, rakish looks and seductive voice—she was willing to play along. It just might yield more clues for her to investigate, more pieces of the puzzle to help her see the big picture and solve this mystery.
As she contemplated this, the landline on the desk rang.
She snatched the receiver and said, “This is Scarlet Drake.”
“Good evening, Miss Drake. This is the valet. A car has just arrived for you.”
Her stomach flipped in sheer titillation, mostly related to the golden nugget she’d managed to crack open because she hadn’t given up after numerous failed attempts to confront Vandenberg.
She said, “I’ll be down in five.” Then she hung up the phone and hurried to the clo
set.
The prospect of a clandestine evening had her pulling out a black long-sleeved dress with a reasonable hemline. She paired it with knee-high black leather boots and a trench coat. She pulled the sash tight at her waist and then slipped her cell, ID, pepper spray, and AMEX card into a slim purse that she draped across her torso.
After securing her weapon in the safe, she left her room and found the driver waiting for her under the porte cochere.
He greeted her as he opened the door of the town car.
“Thank you.” Scarlet slid into the backseat, feeling a heady rush from the covert turn of events. When the driver climbed behind the wheel, Scarlet asked, “Where are we going?”
He provided an address that she sent to both Jewel and Bayli via text. She might be an eager beaver when it came to a mysterious meet up, but she also knew to take precautionary measures.
She would concede that it wasn’t the smartest thing to get personally involved with Michael Vandenberg. But as she’d contended earlier, one of her best strategies was to get close enough to him that she could find a way into the mansion and snoop around.
And this just might be her foot in the door.
God, her juices were flowing as things heated up!
She could barely sit still in her seat as the car traversed the city, up and down the hilly terrain to the edge of North Beach, not far from where Scarlet and the girls had rented their first flat when they’d started at San Francisco State University together ten years ago.
Scarlet loved this part of the city. A silvery-gray haze rolled over the wharf and ribboned through the tall buildings. The soulful sounds of foghorns drifted from the bay. The clanging of the bell on the Powell-Mason cable car echoed down the corridor of restaurants and bars, and the sidewalks were riddled with late-night diners and partygoers. The energetic vibe mixed with the scent of garlic and created an inviting, invigorating ambience.
When they reached their destination, the car double-parked alongside a brick building. The driver rounded the front of the vehicle to open Scarlet’s door again.
He told her, “Downstairs.” Then he drove off, likely per Vandenberg’s instructions.
Scarlet stared at the building she recognized, with steps leading up to the doors. It was a nightclub. But she’d never known of there being an establishment downstairs. In fact … she couldn’t even find the downstairs.
Her gaze roved the brick wall. No railing or steps to access an underground unit.
She strolled around the corner and continued down the alley, keeping her mind clear to listen for noises surrounding her, any footsteps that might follow.
Her pulse picked up as she walked farther along the narrow passage. Yet there was still no visible entry.
Her extreme curiosity gave way to frustration that Vandenberg had given her the slip again.
