Romance: The Art Of Love: A Billionaire Romance (9 page)

         
The
sun came up early. Annette and Clifford rolled out of the hammock carefully.
They were both a little sore and stiff from a night sleeping outdoors. Annette
was stretching when Hank came onto the back porch.

         
“You
guys have to hide now!” he announced. “Hans will be here before too long. Don’t
ruin the surprise!”

         
“I
guess that means we’re not getting any coffee,” Clifford said to Annette. Hank
said nothing, turning on his heel to re-enter his cabin.

         
“Don’t
ask him for anything,” Annette said. “We don’t want him to change our mind and
tell us to leave.”

         
Hank
reappeared at that moment, carrying a mug of coffee. He thrust it into
Clifford’s hands. “I will need that cup back because it’s my favorite cup,” he
said. “So drink fast.”

         
Clifford
took a sip of the coffee and winced. “Wow,” he said. “That’s hot and sweet.”

         
“Three
spoons of sugar in every cup,” Hank said. “That’s what makes a boy sweet and
strong.”

         
“Can’t
argue with that.”

         
The
sound of an approaching vehicle filled the air. “That is Hans coming!” Hank
said.
 
He snatched the coffee mug from
Clifford’s hands. “You guys need to hide right now.”

         
Clifford
and Annette positioned themselves on either side of the cabin’s back door.
Clifford texted his police contact, showing Annette the message that said two
units were on their way.

         
“Hank!”
Hans said. “I have come to see you. Do you have the paintings I asked you to
do?”

         
“This
one is ten dollars and this one is ten dollars and this one is ten dollars and
this one is ten dollars,” Hank began.

         
“It
looks like they’re all here,” Hans said. “I can’t stay long and visit with you
this time, cousin. I have places to go and people to see.”

         
“But
you’ll miss your surprise if you leave too soon!”

         
Hans’
voice grew very serious. “What surprise, Hank?”

         
Clifford
took this as his cue. He opened the back door and stepped inside. “Hello,
Hans.”

         
Hans
paled. “Oh, my God. How did you find me here?”

         
Clifford
shook his head. “The question you should be asking is how come Wilbur Ross’
goons aren’t here first?” He smiled. “Someday he’ll learn how to hire quality
help.”

         
“I
can get you your money,” Hans said. “Well, not all of it. But most of it. Sixty
percent of it.”

         
“Somehow
I don’t imagine you have that kind of cash on you,” Clifford said. “And I’m not
willing to take a check.”

         
Hans
was trembling. “I can get it though. Honest to God I can.”

         
Hank
looked troubled. “This is not a good surprise.”

         
“You
think?” Hans snapped at him. “You moron, you’ve ruined everything!”

         
Hank
froze. His eyes filled with tears.

         
“Don’t
be an asshole to him,” Clifford said. “He’s got a real genuine talent that
you’ve been exploiting shamelessly. If anyone’s a moron here, it’s you.”

         
Hank
had been following conversation carefully. He crowed with glee at Clifford’s
pronouncement. “You’re the moron, cousin! Not me.”

         
“We’ll
talk about that another time,” Hans said. He turned on his heel and started for
the door. “I’ve got to go now.”

         
“What
about my hundred dollars?” Hank wailed. “You said it was ten dollars for this
one, and ten dollars for that one, and ten dollars…”

         
“Shut
up!” Hans lost his cool and broke for the door. He opened it, only to find
himself face to face with a Maine State Trooper.

         
“Hans
Grüber
, we have a warrant here for your arrest.”

         
“I
have to say you clearly went above and beyond your job description,” Madison
said, raising her champagne glass high. “A toast is definitely in order. To
Annette!”

         
“Hear
hear
!” Moshe
Feigenbaum
was
beaming. “I knew you were something special when you first came to work for us.
But I never dreamed that I would be reading in the New York Times about you
single handedly capturing a dangerous fiend!”

         
“Well,
it was hardly single handed,” Annette said. She’d had more than a few glasses
of champagne at this point, and it seemed very important to her that she be
very clear about what happened. “Clifford was there. And the police did the
actual capturing thing.”

         
“
Pfft
!” Moshe dismissed her concerns with a wave of his
hand. “You are a star. Nobody can tell me different.”

         
Clifford
laughed. “Don’t argue with Moshe, darling. He’s a very wise man.”

         
Annette
blushed. She was still adjusting to Clifford acknowledging their relationship
in front of others. It felt strange, but good. Also strange but good was the
experience of checking her bank balance: since Madison arranged for the three
million in reward money to be paid to her, Annette was a rich woman in her own
right.

         
“I
guess you’re right,” she said.

         
“It’s
going to be hard to go back to shopping for surrealists after such an
adventure,” Moshe said.

         
“I’m
looking forward to it. And there is an artist I want to talk to you about,
Moshe. We discovered him in Maine. He’s a little different, but very, very
talented.”

         
“What
artist isn’t different?” Moshe said. “If you think his work is interesting,
it’s probably worth taking a look at.”

         
“We’ll
bring a few pieces down next week,” Annette said.

         
“Don’t
fill up your calendar just yet, darling,” Clifford said. He set his phone down,
looking very serious.

         
“Why?
What’s wrong?”

         
“That
was Wilbur Ross, of all people.”

         
Madison’s
eyes went wide. “What did he want?”

         
“He’s
calling for help.”

         
“We
can’t help with the Hans situation,” Madison said. “He’s going to have to go
through the same process we did to recover his money.”

         
“No,”
Clifford said. “It’s not that. Someone’s stolen his entire collection of
Warhols
right off his walls.” He turned to Annette. “And he
wants us to find them.”

THE END