by Ally Carter
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.”
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.
“After we set up the Big Store, I’m going to need you to help me rob the Superior Bank of Manhattan.”
Bobby’s jaw dropped. The cathedral bells chimed. Kat’s father squeezed her shoulder tighter, and the two of them continued across the square.
“Oh, sweetheart, you are your mother’s daughter.”
“So you’ll do it?”
“Yeah. But you’re going to owe me.”
There was a sidewalk café, and Kat stopped. “Fine. I’ll buy you a cup of coffee.”
He laughed. “Save your money, kiddo.”
Kat pulled out a credit card that Hale had given her once for emergencies. “Then Hale can buy you a cup of coffee.”
“Deal.”
And in that moment, everything was okay. It was going to be fine, Kat thought as her father took his coffee, gave her a quick kiss on the forehead, and said, “See you in New York.”
She watched him walk away, lost in thought. Planning. The pieces were right on the board in front of her. All she had to do was see what play Garrett was going to try next.
“Signorina, I’m sorry,” the teller told her. “Signorina,” the woman said again, pulling Kat’s attention back to the café. “Your card,” she said, reaching behind the counter for the largest, sharpest scissors that Kat had ever seen. “It is no good.”
And then the woman cut, plastic pieces falling onto the counter, as Kat’s mind drifted back to the crazed look in Garrett’s eyes after the launch, the haunting threat that he was only just beginning to bring the fight to them.
Kat looked down at Hale’s ruined card and muttered to herself, “Oh, boy.”
The penthouse on Park Avenue wasn’t as grand as Hazel’s country house. It was significantly less regal than the estate on the outskirts of London. But, walking through its shadowy halls, the one thing Kat knew for certain was that the more Hale family homes she saw, the more she understood why her boyfriend preferred the warmth of Uncle Eddie’s kitchen.
“No one said I had a visitor,” the figure on the other side of the bedroom doorway said.
Kat dangled a pair of needle-nose pliers and stepped into the well-appointed room. “Yeah, well. I didn’t feel like bothering your parents. Besides, the new owner of Hale Industries deserves a top-rate security system. Figured I should test it.”
“And?”
As soon as Hale stepped into the light, Kat knew he’d been in bed. His hair was tousled and his shirt was off, and the smile he gave her was sleepy and lazy and warm.
“Doors and windows are top-notch, but the elevator shaft could use some work.”
“I’ll have my people get on that.”
“Good,” Kat said, and Hale smiled, and for a split second he was there—her Hale. He was laughing and biting back jokes. But just that quickly it was over, and he was the boy at the podium again, sad and lost and stumbling.
“So”—Hale looked down, ran a hand through his hair—“are you here to fire me or kill me?”
“Neither,” Kat said. “You’re not getting off that easily.”
Hale dropped onto the corner of the bed. “I know.”
Kat asked herself what Uncle Eddie would say, what her father might do. But Hale wasn’t just a member of her crew who had messed up. He was Hale. Her Hale. And Kat just wanted him back. So she stepped a little closer and felt Hale’s arms go around her waist.
“I’m so sorry, Kat.” He pulled her tight. “I’m so, so sorry.”
Kat had no choice but to run her hands through his hair. “Hale, look at me a second. I need to talk to you.”
“Garrett cut me off. Credit cards, debit cards,” Hale told her, then looked at her anew. “But you already know that, don’t you?”
“I thought that might be the case when I couldn’t pay for my dad’s cup of coffee in Venice.”
“You saw your dad?” Hale shot up. “What did you tell him?”
“Everything,” Kat said, and Hale huffed, but Kat didn’t let him stop her. “You honestly think he wasn’t going to hear eventually? My family doesn’t keep secrets, remember? Besides,” she admitted, “we need him.”
“Great. Now Bobby’s going to hate me. More. Bobby’s going to hate me more.”
“Dad doesn’t hate you. He just…well, Dad doesn’t hate you any more than he would hate any boy who was…a boy.”
“He doesn’t hate the Bagshaws.”
“The Bagshaws aren’t boys. They are bombs with very colorful fuses.”
“Good to know.”
“So, has Garrett told your parents…”
“The truth about me?” Hale guessed. “Not yet. I rather imagine he doesn’t want to explain where those Knightsbury tuition checks have been going all this time.”
“True,” Kat said, and nodded. “And he won’t want to play all his cards quite yet.”
And then something shifted inside of Hale. Kat watched it come over him like a shadow as he walked to the window and stared out at Central Park. He was older, wiser, and significantly richer than he’d been two years before, but right then Hale looked exactly like the boy who’d stood staring up at his first fake Monet.
“Will you still want me if I’m poor, Kat?”
“What kind of question is that?”
“No. Seriously. You’re the planner. Simon’s the genius. The Bagshaws are the muscle. And Gabrielle is…Gabrielle. But what am I, Kat? I’m the guy who writes the checks.”
“No. You’re the most naturally gifted inside man I have ever seen. And I was raised by Bobby Bishop.” She made him look into her eyes. “I don’t care about your money.”
“What if we don’t get it back, Kat? What if Genesis is gone?”
“Then we keep trying until we do get it back.”
She wanted the words to work, to soothe, but Hale just shook his head.
“When I heard that my grandmother had left the company to me, I was…proud.” He laughed a little. “I didn’t want it. I didn’t need it. I didn’t really understand it…but it meant something to me.”
“I know.”
He moved closer. “I thought I was special. Turns out, I was just an easy mark.”
“No,” Kat snapped. She put her hands on his chest and felt the heat of his skin through her fingers. “If you don’t want to be a victim, don’t act like one.”
It was fairly safe to assume that that was the first time anyone had ever spoken to W. W. Hale the Fifth in that manner. Kat was also fairly certain it wouldn’t be the last.
“I might lose my grandmother’s company.”
Kat gave a smile and held Hale tight. “You won’t lose me.”
Kat had learned from a very young age never to be surprised by what she found in Uncle Eddie’s kitchen. She’d seen it filled with exotic birds and black-market doctors treating dog bites, and at least once she’d walked in on Uncle Felix slipping into a dress and cursing the lack of women in their family.
But Kat
had never seen the kitchen stunned before, and yet that was exactly the scene she found the next morning when she finally made her way downstairs.
“What do you mean Hale is out of money?” she heard Hamish asking as she walked down the hall. “Because, by ‘out of money,’ what you really mean is…”
“Is he going to have to give up the jet?” Angus asked.
“Boys.” Kat’s father’s voice came floating toward her. “I just don’t know.”
“But—”
“Hamish.” Kat rolled her eyes and shook her head, and they all turned sleepily toward where she was ladling herself a bowl of oatmeal. “He’s not out of money. Or, not really out of money. Garrett has just cut off his credit cards. And his bank account. And taken most of his cash. And—”
“But the jet?” Angus asked a little wistfully.
Kat was just about to answer when another voice cut her off.
“I’m officially on the Hale Industries Do Not Fly list.” Hale was there, standing in the doorway, and it felt to Kat like the room went even quieter. “So…hi, everyone.”
There was Bobby and Eddie, both Bagshaws and Gabrielle. Marcus appeared behind Hale’s shoulder, and his presence meant one thing: you simply cannot buy loyalty.
“So this is the young man who has intentions toward my little girl.” Bobby shifted in his seat and crossed his legs.
“It is not so fun on this side of the table, is it, Robert?” Uncle Eddie huffed, and Kat had to remember that once upon a time her mother had been the dark-haired girl in that kitchen, and her dad had been the stray she’d brought home. She watched the two men looking at Hale as if they’d never before laid eyes on him.
“He’s better-looking than the last vagabond I had to take in,” Eddie said, standing and carrying empty bowls to the sink. “I’ll give him that.”
The insult slid off of Bobby like water. “So, you know, kid, according to thief culture, if you’re going to court Kat, you now owe me two dozen goats.”
“It’s a dozen,” Eddie corrected.
“Yeah, but Kat’s worth two,” Hamish said with a wink.
