Perfect Scoundrels

“I don’t know what you mean,” Kat said.

“Oh, I think you do, because, you see, I know who you are.” His breath was acrid and hot on her cheek. He brushed a finger down the side of her face until his hand rested on her throat. He squeezed gently at first. Then harder. “And I know what you are.”

“Let me go.” Kat’s voice quivered. The party was still in full swing at the end of the hall, and Kat grappled for options. “I’ll yell. I’ll tell security.”

“No. You won’t. I don’t think your kind of criminal ever actually calls the authorities.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Kat tried to pull his hand off of her throat, push herself past him; but his other hand flew over her head, crashing into the door and holding it solidly in place.

“I said,” he spoke slowly, “show me some respect.”

Trembling, Kat watched the way the sweat gathered at his brow, his face red and flushed, as he fumed like an animal that was cornered and beginning to fight. He’s desperate, Kat thought. Then, just that quickly, she realized, No, he’s dangerous.

“What?” he asked, then bit back an evil, bitter laugh. “Did you honestly believe that no one in Scooter’s life knew where he was going—what he was doing? Didn’t you ever wonder why no member of the Hale family ever asked or cared when the golden boy was halfway around the world…with you?”

“I know my boyfriend from school,” Kat said. But again the man laughed.

“I thought you’d be a much better liar. Aren’t all thieves liars? Isn’t that how you stole the Cleopatra Emerald? Was that fun for you? It looked like fun from where I was standing.”

Kat thought about the empty file labeled Scooter and finally knew what had lain inside it. They weren’t Hale’s secrets. They were hers. And this man seemed to know every one.

“What do you want with me?”

He let go of her neck, but didn’t leave.

“Don’t think you’ve won this game, Kat. Do not make the mistake of believing that I haven’t seen you and your family’s interference coming from a mile away. Of course, ‘Uncle Reginald’”—he held up his fingers and made mock quotations around the words—“was a nice touch. Some might even say inspired. But I will win, Miss Bishop. In fact, I have already won. You just can’t see it yet.”

“No. You can’t see,” Kat told him. “You’re going to lose.”

He was bigger, stronger, crazier, but that didn’t matter. Not right then. Because Kat finally had the home court advantage, and she felt a new kind of strength rushing through her. All pretense was gone. She didn’t have to lie, to pretend she was anything other than a seasoned thief talking to a newcomer to the game.

Garrett looked across the alley.

“It can be done,” Kat said, reading his mind, knowing he was thinking about the bank that had never been robbed. She whispered, “And I’m going to do it.”

“Oh, watch what you say, Kat. It would be a shame if everything I knew were to find its way to…say…the Henley.”

He reached to tuck a stray piece of hair behind her ear, and Kat trembled. She remembered the look on Arturo Taccone’s face as the gangster threatened everyone she’d ever loved; the smile the grifter called Maggie had given her when locking Kat inside a tiny room. She’d seen a lot of very bad people up close in her short life, but there was something about Garrett in that moment that scared her. Greed had made him crazy and reckless, and he was going to take Kat down with him.

“I have cleaned up my last Hale family mess, Miss Bishop. You and your little boyfriend are on your own as far as I’m concerned.” He laughed again. “Let’s see how far you make it now.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Kat blurted, but the man simply turned.

“You’ll see, my dear. You will see.”

Chapter 32

Over the course of the next twelve hours, Kat made twenty-one phone calls to six different continents. (Uncle Lester was doing a job off the coast of Antarctica and was very adamant that he not be disturbed for any reason.)

There was Uncle Sal in Rio; the Johnson twins, who were out on parole near Sydney. She personally composed a telegram for Uncle Marco (his preferred method of communication) and left a note in a dead letter drop for Uncle Felix, who had sworn off telephones after a particularly nasty MI5 experience in ’92.

But there was one member of the family for whom no call or note or message would do, so that was how Kat found herself in Venice.

Spring had already come to St. Mark’s Square as Kat walked alone that morning. Warm breezes blew off the Mediterranean, carrying tourists from cruise ships and exotic ports of call. But Kat couldn’t let herself be distracted, not by the high-end boutiques that lined the narrow alleys, not even by the smell of pasta or massive displays of fresh fruit that filled the stalls of the open-air markets. She wasn’t there as a tourist, and yet she was far from a native. So Kat walked into the cathedral, trying to find some peace.

Venice was sinking—everybody knew it. The tiles on the floor of St. Mark’s Cathedral rose and fell like the waves in the bay, unwilling to give up without a fight. Overhead, a beautiful mosaic of apostles and saints smiled down. It was a house of miracles, so Kat said a silent prayer, needing one of her own.

A group of tourists passed by, snapping pictures, and Kat stood silently, taking it all in. She saw a man leaving the confessional, his dark robes billowing behind him as he walked, and she chased after him.

He was already in the square when she summoned her courage and yelled, “Father!”

The priest stopped and turned, then smiled when Kat said, “Hi, Daddy.”

“So it’s true.” He draped an arm around her shoulder as they walked. “My baby girl is setting up her first Big Store. You’re growing up.”

“What can I say? It was this or a Sweet Sixteen. I’ve always been sentimental.” She leaned back and gave his robes a once-over. “Maybe I shouldn’t walk so close to you. I don’t want to get hit by lightning.”

“Hey, don’t blame me,” her father told her. “I’m not the one who built a jewelry store behind a cathedral.”

She couldn’t deny he had a point.

“So”—Bobby gave her shoulder a squeeze—“I assume you’ve spoken to Uncle Felix?”

“He’s in.”

“What about Irina?”

Kat shrugged at the sound of Gabrielle’s mother’s name. “She’s already working on something.”

“Ezra?”

“He’s the one who told me how to find you.”

Bobby stopped short. Kat, not expecting that, walked past him a little, and had to stare back into the sun when he said, “You can always find me, Kat.”

“I know.”

“So are you going to tell me what’s really wrong?”

Was he able to see through her so easily because he was a great grifter or a terrific father? Kat couldn’t really tell. But that was just as well. It didn’t really matter.

They walked together down the crumbling, sinking sidewalks of Venice, and Kat took a deep breath. “Hale needs your help, Daddy.”

“Oh, Hale does, does he?” her father asked, then went on before she had the chance to answer. “What is the job?”

“We’ve got to do the Anastasia.”

Bobby gave a deep whole-body laugh, then suddenly stopped. “You aren’t serious.… Wait. Are you serious?” he asked, like she must be trying to con him.

She pulled a copy of the Times from her bag, pointed to a headline about the return of the long-lost Reginald Hale, and said, “We are. Uncle Eddie’s already inside.”

From the look that came next, Kat couldn’t tell if her dad was proud or scared, or possibly a little of both.

“How’d you talk him into this?” Bobby shook the paper at Kat, pointing to the blurry picture of the old man with the cane.

“He’s a man who appreciates family.”

“And a share of the Hale family fortune?” Bobby guessed.

“That’s not it.” Kat tried and failed to pull the paper from her father’s grasp.

“Oh,” Bobby said as he slipped the paper under one arm, “I bet that’s a little bit it.”

The thought had crossed Kat’s mind, of course. But this wasn’t the time to linger on it.

“We need you, Dad.”

“And by we, you mean…”

“Hale and I need you,” Kat grudgingly admitted.

“So the rumors are true.… It’s ‘Hale and I’ now, is it?”

“Hale’s my best friend.”

“He’s a little more than that, from what I hear.”

“Dad…” Kat said. “He’s Hale. You know Hale.”

“Oh, I know Hale. Once upon a time I was Hale.” He studied her, then smiled. “I bet your Uncle Eddie is over the moon about this. He just loves it when his nieces bring boys home.” He sounded as if at least a little part of Kat’s new romantic status was giving him some pleasure. But not much.

“Dad…”

“And I should help my daughter’s boyfriend because…”

“Technically, you still owe him for Taipei.”

“Taipei was an exception. Taipei has no business being brought up in relation to—”

“He needs me, Dad.” Kat let her gaze drift across the square. Her voice was soft as she finished, “He needs…us.”

“What’s wrong, Kat?” Bobby asked. He’d seen through her, past her own personal guards and walls to the frightened girl who lived inside the seasoned thief’s tough exterior.

“He’s…different. Hale’s different.”

“He’s a boy, Kat. I hate to break it to you, but we are fundamentally different.”

“That’s not it,” she said. “It’s like…I can feel him slipping away. Like the other night when he got drunk at the launch and—”

“Hale was drunk on the job? I’ll kill him.”

“I don’t want him dead, Dad. I want him back.”

“I thought you two were…together.” The words sounded like they pained him, but Bobby said them anyway.

“We are. It’s just…he’s so sad. And so alone. It’s like…I think he feels like I felt when we lost Mom.”

“Then we’ll get him back.” Her father pulled her tightly toward him, placed a kiss on the top of her head. “We’ll steal him if we have to.”

“So you’ll help me run my Big Store?” she asked, voice breaking, wiping tears from her eyes.

“Deal.” Her father’s arm fell gently around her shoulders.

“Oh.” Kat stopped suddenly short. “There is one other thing.”

“What?” Her father gave her that wide, easy smile—the one he never gave to marks and women, the one he saved just for her.