Heist Society

by Ally Carter

  "No." Kat didn't feel like arguing.

  "Thanks for the vote of confidence, love," Nick said in the perfect accent of the native Londoner that he was.

  She saw Hale start to speak, to challenge the new status quo, but then Simon said, "Showtime," and turned an enormous laptop around for them to see.

  Anyone could tell from the image on the screen that Gregory Wainwright was not a morning person.

  His tie was entirely too crooked for a man of his station. His suit was rumpled. And as he lumbered toward his desk, he looked a great deal like a man who wanted nothing more than to return to his bed.

  Hale looked at Nick. "You sure you're up for this, newbie?"

  "Oh," Nick said with a laugh, "thanks for the concern, but I think I'll be okay."

  "Yeah," Hale scoffed. "Well, okay might be okay working

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  short cons and street stuff, but this is . . ."

  The walkie-talkie crackled to life again. "Excuse me, miss," Marcus said a moment later. "The gentlemen would like to know if"--he cleared his throat--"that boom was as bloody brilliant as they thought it was."

  Kat hadn't heard anything but the sound of the quiet war that was waging beside her, and so it fell to Gabrielle to lean toward the butler and say, "More smoke. Less boom."

  Marcus dutifully relayed the message.

  "Guys," Simon warned, turning down the sound and pointing to the man on the screen, who was now talking to his assistant. "It's showtime," he said again. But neither Nick nor Hale seemed to notice or care as they stared at each other across the table.

  In the distance, Angus was chasing Hamish across the dewy grounds toward the rising, spiraling smoke, and Kat found herself whispering, "Two boys running ..."

  Hale looked up. Only he seemed to have heard her, and with that, he slid the phone across the table to Nick. "Make the call."

  They saw Wainwright pick up the phone. They heard Nick say, "Yes, Mr. Wainwright, Edward Wallace from Binder and Sloan here calling to assure you personally that this nasty business with our Windsor Elite furnace model is not as bad as you might have heard. Why, the fire marshal has assured us that--"

  On screen, they saw Wainwright speak, but only Nick could hear him.

  "Oh dear," Nick said with a wink in Kat's direction. "That is disturbing. Well, not to fear, Mr. Wainwright. I'll tell you what I told Her Majesty's personal valet this morning: We

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  at Binder and Sloan have been entrusted with the safety and comfort of some of the United Kingdom's most beloved buildings, and we will not rest until every faulty furnace has been repaired."

  Wainwright stood to examine the small vents in the floor of his office as if he expected flames to come shooting out at any minute.

  "Yes, sir," Nick said. "Now, I see that we can have a team come out to do these repairs two weeks from next Tuesday-- Not quick enough? Of course, sir. It is a high priority, yes sir. Of course. Yes. First thing Monday it is."

  Walkie-talkie static filled the air again, and Marcus said, "Excuse me, miss, but the young gentlemen say that you cannot get smoke without the boom, and they would like your advice on how to proceed."

  But Kat's mind was still lost in a dream, clouded with smoke and fire.

  "Excuse me," Marcus whispered. "Miss, the gentlemen--"

  "Are morons," Gabrielle said, taking the walkie-talkie from his hand. Kat watched her cousin storm off with an exasperated sigh of, "I guess I have to do everything myself."

  Kat, Hale, and Nick watched her go. Another roar bellowed in the distance as Kat found Hale's gaze and whispered,

  Bigger.

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  CHAPTER 28

  S ometimes Katarina Bishop couldn't help but wonder if she had been the victim of some colossal, genetic mistake. After all, she almost always preferred black to pink, flats to heels, and as she stood perfectly still atop one of the silk upholstered chairs in Hale's great-great-grandmother's dressing room, all she could think was maybe she wasn't even female-- at least when compared to Gabrielle.

  She glanced down at her cousin, who sat on her knees beside the chair, a pincushion in one hand and a cell phone in the other.

  "Of course I want to come to your engagement party," Gabrielle said with a sigh into the phone. "Those are always fun, but you know how Switzerland is this time of year." She darted her eyes toward her cousin. "No, Mother, I haven't seen

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  Kat in ages--you know we're not exactly close." Gabrielle winked.

  "It's too short," Kat whispered at the exact moment Gabrielle chose to mouth, "I think it's too long."

  "Sure, I think you should call Uncle Eddie," Gabrielle said into the phone, but stared up, straight into her cousin's eyes. "Whoever ratted out Kat's dad should totally pay."

  Kat cut her a look. Gabrielle gestured and mouthed the word T urn.

  Kat did as she was told. She could feel her hemline rising as her cousin worked, but she didn't protest. After all, Kat was a natural grease man, wheel man, and inside man. Gabrielle was a natural girl. So Kat stayed still and quiet on her chair, staring through the bay windows, looking out onto the garden and the statue, trying to remember which parts of the night before had been a dream.

  "So . . ." Gabrielle said slowly. The cell phone was gone. The skirt was nearly finished. And there was no disguising the thrill in her voice as she said, "Where'd you and Hale disappear to last night?"

  "Nowhere," Kat said.

  "Turn," Gabrielle instructed. Kat moved a half step, but her gaze never left the garden. "Remind me . .. didn't you used to be a better liar?"

  Kat sighed. "Probably."

  Even with a straight pin between her teeth, Gabrielle managed to nod and say, "Thought so." She gripped the skirt's hem, then cried, "Ouch!"

  Kat glanced down in time to see Gabrielle pulling a stray pin from her finger.

  "You don't have to do this, you know," Kat said. "Marcus is working on the costumes."

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  "The last time Marcus made our costumes, you looked like a nun."

  "I was a. nun."

  Gabrielle shrugged as if that were utterly beside the point. "Besides"--Kat heard the teasing tone in her cousin's voice again--"you've got legs."

  "Thanks," Kat said flatly.

  "What's wrong? Are you afraid your men might notice?" "What men?"

  "You know..." Gabrielle teased. "Your boyfriends. . . Hale and the new kid."

  "Hale's not my boyfriend," Kat blurted.

  "Of course not." Gabrielle rolled her eyes. "Hale is definitely not your boyfriend."

  "But you just said--"

  "Let's face it, Kitty Kat. Of all the men you've known in your life, Hale's the first guy who could be your boyfriend." Kat started to protest, but Gabrielle silenced her with a hand. "And a tiny little part of that great big mind of yours has always thought that someday he would be your boyfriend."

  Kat wanted to deny it, but she'd forgotten how to speak.

  "Turn," Gabrielle commanded, but Kat didn't move. She just watched her cousin finish. "And Nick . . . well, Nick's the new Hale."

  "No"--Kat's voice was as sharp as the pins in Gabrielle's hand--"he's not."

  Gabrielle raised her eyebrows. "Well then, maybe you should make sure the old Hale knows that." Kat stood perfectly still for a long time, thinking about the guys in her life: the ones she could trust and the ones she could con, wondering

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  if she really knew the difference--wondering if, in that respect, she'd ever be as wise as Gabrielle.

  "Do you like Nick?" Kat asked timidly. "I mean ... do you trust him?"

  Kat felt her cousin's hands fall away from the skirt. "Those, Kat my dear, are two very different questions. Why do you want to know?"

  "Do you remember that day I was late coming back from the Henley--the day before I met Nick? I saw Taccone that afternoon. He gave me these--"

  "Excuse me, miss?"

  Kat turned to see Marcus in the doorway of
the dressing room, holding a massive bouquet of roses and lilies and orchids so rare that Kat imagined they must have been stolen from nature itself.

  Gabrielle squealed and ran toward them. "Oooh! Sven!" she cried, reaching for the card. But then she stopped. A shadow seemed to fall across her face. "They're for you."

  Her cousin tried to hand her the card, but Kat stood back, staring. Something told her that nothing that beautiful ever came without some kind of string attached, so she didn't reach for the flowers. She didn't want to listen as Gabrielle started to read.

  "'I was sorry to hear that your father is currently unavailable. Nevertheless, I am looking forward to seeing you very soon. Yours, A. Taccone.'"

  The room was suddenly cold, the smell of the flowers overpowering. Gabrielle seemed like the wisest person in the world as she sighed and said, "Sometimes I really hate boys."

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  2 DAYS UNTIL DEADLINE

  ROME, ITALY

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  CHAPTER 29

  L a Casa di Vetro was neither Rome's most expensive restaurant nor its most exclusive, but Kat could see why it was Arturo Taccone's favorite. There were no tourists here, no crowds--only decadent smells and soft candlelight. But as she walked through the intimate dining room, she thought back to the look on Abiram Stein's face as he'd stared at Two Boys Running Through a Field of Haystacks, and she remembered that the man at the small secluded table in the corner was evil. It didn't matter that they were in one of the greatest restaurants in the world; he was still a common criminal.

  But then again, Kat realized, so was she.

  "Hello, Katarina." Taccone smiled as Kat settled into her chair. His eyes passed to Gabrielle, who stood, arms crossed, three feet away. "And who is this?" he asked, appraising

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  the beautiful girl with cold disinterest.

  "She's the muscle," Kat answered simply.

  Taccone smiled. "I assume you got my flowers." His voice was low against the din of the crowd.

  "They were beautiful."

  "Well," he said casually, dabbing his napkin to the corner of his mouth, "I do hope they brought you some joy. You have been working so very hard."

  "I drink caffeine," she said calmly. "Lots of it. Gives you pep."

  Arturo Taccone laughed softly, but there was something odd about the sound. As if it too had been stolen from its rightful owner.

  He sliced into a beautiful filet. But as he brought his fork to his mouth, he paused. "Forgive me. Are you sure I can't get you and your companion something?"

  "Thank you, but no."

  "I must say, you have not made things easy for me, Katarina." He took a bite. "Interesting. But not easy."

  "If it makes you feel any better, my own father would probably agree with you."

  "Ah, yes." He took a sip of wine. "How is your father? Does prison agree with him? I hear he's coping quite well. Of course, the case against him is . . . shaky. A single eyewitness, I understand."

  "Yes," Kat said. "You're looking at her."

  A shocked smile spread across Arturo Taccone's face, and Kat felt a sense of pride that she had won one round of whatever game they were playing. She only wished the game were over.

  "I do hope I'll see you again when this is finished, Katarina.

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  A man in my position has so many uses for a person with your talents."

  "I'll keep that in mind," Kat lied, then changed the subject. "I'm not going to tell you when," she told him, "but you'll know when it happens."

  "So, clandestine operations are not your forte, then?"

  "Maybe. Or maybe I'm just counting on one of the half dozen guys you have stationed outside the Henley to tip you off when the time comes."

  He smiled, and Kat knew that this was somehow the highlight of his incredibly decadent dinner.

  She reached into her pocket and pulled out a slip of paper. "Twenty-four hours after it's over I'll meet you at this address with the paintings." She stood, and it felt as if a great weight had been lifted from her.

  "You're very thorough, Katarina. I meant what I said. When this is finished, you do not have to go back to the Colgan School--or someplace like it. This, as they say, could be the start of a beautiful friendship."

  Kat looked at her cousin. "I already have all the friends I need."

  The lights were off when they got back. The house was still, peaceful. Sleeping. Or so she thought. "Hi, Hale."

  She saw him through the open door of the dining room, sitting at an ancient-looking table. Twenty high-backed chairs surrounded him, but Hale was alone at the table's head. He was there, Kat knew, waiting for her.

  "Hot date?" she asked. But this time Hale didn't have a comeback.

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  "Are you gonna get mad if I say I don't like you going to see him alone?"

  "Jealous?" she said, trying to tease, but the boy in the shadows wasn't smiling.

  "Take Angus and Hamish. Take Simon." Kat raised her eyebrows. "Okay, so don't take Simon. Take . . . Nick, if that's what you want." Hale seemed to stumble on the name. "Just don't trust Taccone, Kat."

  "I took Gabrielle." Kat pointed at her cousin, who was walking through the front door.

  "I was the muscle," Gabrielle called. She didn't break her stride as she started up the stairs.

  And yet Hale didn't smile. In fact, it seemed to Kat as if he hadn't even heard. She wondered how many miles they'd logged so far, how many more they had to go. But somehow it had only been thirteen days since they'd stood in Hale's upstate house, and he'd said the words she couldn't forget.

  "You're right. Taccone is a whole different kind of bad."

  Hale stood and stepped toward her. "Yeah."

  "Why are you doing this, Hale?"

  "Why do think?"

  Kat looked at the ornate room. The gorgeous moldings, the polished table. The empty chairs. It was in every way the opposite of Uncle Eddie's kitchen, and somehow Kat already knew the answer to her question.

  "Hale, this life ..." she started slowly, still practically speechless. "This . . . what we do--what my family does--it looks a lot more glamorous when you choose it."

  "So choose it." He handed her another envelope. Smaller this time. Thinner.

  "What's this?" she asked.

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  "That, darling, is my full confession. Dates. Times." Hale leaned against the antique table. "I thought the crane rental receipt was a particularly nice touch." Kat looked at him, speechless. "It's your ticket back into Colgan. If you want it."

  "Hale, I . . ."

  But Hale was still moving, shrinking the distance between them. He seemed impossibly close as he whispered, "And I didn't choose it, Kat. I chose you."

  Kat stared at the envelope in her hands, maybe because of what it represented--her second chance--or maybe because she didn't know where else to look, what else to do.

  "The delivery is set?" Hale asked, and something in his tone told her she didn't have to say anything--anything at all.

  "Yeah." She nodded and fell into step beside him. "No turning back now."

  "No guts," he said.

  She looked at him. "No glory."

  "We're in way over our heads."

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  ONE DAY UNTIL DEADLINE

  WYNDHAM MANOR, ENGLAND

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  CHAPTER 30

  When Katarina Bishop emerged from her room that Monday morning, she wasn't hoping for sun. She wasn't dreading rain. And yet, as she looked out the circular window at the top of the stairs, there was something about the snow that filled her with dread. Her breath fogged the ancient glass, while all around her she heard the sounds of a crew preparing for a hard day's work, and she knew they'd come too far to turn back.

  "Kat?" Hamish's voice was higher than usual. The sight of him elbowing Simon as they stood at
the bottom of the stairs was disconcerting. The fact that Simon turned and looked at her and dropped a ridiculously expensive electronic gadget made her panic.

  "What?" Kat asked.

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  But the Bagshaws kept gaping, and Simon kept staring, while Hale simply walked into the foyer and leaned against the railing like he'd just made a very large bet against very long odds--and won.

  "What?" Kat asked again as she rushed down the stairs, through the foyer, and into the formal dining room.

  The boys followed, but no one spoke.

  "Are you guys freaking out on me?" she asked, turning on them. "Because today is not the day for freaking out!" She heard her voice rise, felt her hands tingle. "What is going on?" she finally yelled when the staring and the silence became too much.

  "Now, isn't this role more fun than a nun?" Gabrielle sauntered into the room, casting a sideways glance at the skirt she had personally hemmed.

  Hamish nodded. "Kat. . . you have ... legs."

  "And boobs," Angus added, staring quite directly at the section of the white blouse that Gabrielle had made a bit too form-fitting for Kat's personal taste.

  "Seriously, Kat," Simon said, inching closer, "when did you get boobs?"

  Hamish looked at Hale. "The boobs are new," he said as if that point hadn't already been thoroughly made.

  "Is that padded?" Simon held out his hand as if to cop an oh-so-scientific feel.

  "Hey!" Kat said, slapping his hand away.

  "Her dad's gonna get out of prison one of these days, boys," Hale added. Kat thought she saw the faintest smile on his face as he said it, but then again, it was early. And she was stressed. And there were obviously other things on her mind, especially when the kitchen door swung open and Nick walked