Uncommon Criminals

Page 19

“Three,” Kat said.
“I was nine.” Maggie leaned against the rounded arm of a leather chair. “It was the jewelry counter at Harrods department store on the day before Christmas.” She touched the diamond studs in her ears. “I still wear them, see?”
“They’re beautiful,” Kat said.
The woman smiled. “Thank you.” She sank slowly into the chair. “There are too few of us girls in the Old Boys’ Club, I think.” She took a slow drink, then fingered the rim of her crystal glass. “Even fewer Old Girls.”
Kat had never known her grandmother. Her mother had been taken from her far too soon, and yet it had never occurred to her until then that there might be something—someone—missing from Uncle Eddie’s kitchen table. But watching Maggie touch the stones in her ears, Kat knew the con was over. There was no angle, no job, no lie—only a woman who could have been there. But wasn’t. The absence was like a gaping hole inside Kat’s chest.
“How do you know him?” Kat had to know. “Why haven’t I ever met you before? Why aren’t you—”
“Part of the family?” Maggie guessed. Kat nodded, too tongue-tied to speak. “That is a long story, my dear, and one that I will not be telling,” Maggie said simply. “Besides, I do my best work alone. I’m sure you understand.”
“I see.”
“I heard about Moscow, by the way. It was—”
“Risky, I know,” Kat said, unable to bear another lecture.
But Maggie just shook her head. Her eyes sparkled. “It was exactly what I would have done.”
When Maggie raised her eyebrows, she appeared younger than Kat had seen her yet. Age is just a number, after all. Youth is something else, and Kat could see that there—in the middle of the con—Maggie was turning back the clock, and Kat envied her. She thought of Gabrielle’s words and wondered if she was really looking at the female Uncle Eddie. Or maybe Kat was simply seeing the thief Kat herself might grow up to someday be.
“Personally, I love a Cézanne,” Maggie said longingly, and raised her glass again. “So I, of course, wouldn’t have given it away.”
And just like that the spell was broken. The last few days came rushing back, and there was only one thing about the woman that mattered. When Kat spoke again, she couldn’t hide her disappointment. “You broke the rules, Maggie.”
“There is no honor among thieves, Katarina. No matter what you might have read in storybooks.” She smiled a terribly wicked smile. “Part of the fun is getting the best of our rivals.”
“You said Romani sent you.”
Maggie waved the concern away. “I played the mark.”
“You used a Chelovek Pseudonima for your own purposes.”
Maggie pointed a finger at Kat, as if she’d just realized something. “I was once young like you—so fiery, so passionate.
When I heard about the Henley…I was impressed. That was very nice work, Katarina.” If she expected Kat to acknowledge the compliment, she was mistaken. “And then I started hearing stories of other jobs…and I knew that you had become noble. It is an adorable look on you. It goes with your eyes. You can tell your uncle that.”
“Uncle Eddie isn’t part of this.”
Maggie laughed. “Well, if Eddie didn’t send you, then who did?”
“Visily Romani.”
Maggie laughed harder. “Well, I’m here on behalf of the Easter Bunny, so—”
“We’re going to get it back, you know?”
Maggie nodded slowly. There was a harsh, sudden edge to her voice when she said, “You’re going to try.”
Rich, dense curtains blocked out the sun. It was quiet—almost peaceful—in the dim room, and Kat thought she heard her own heart pounding as she sat listening to Maggie say, “I’m very proud of you for coming here, Katarina. I would have found it insulting if you’d insisted on skulking around in the shadows as if I wouldn’t see you—as if I wouldn’t hear you.”
“Well, as long as you’re not offended…”
“So what would you like, dear? Ten percent?”
Kat didn’t even do the mental math—she didn’t dare. “That’s so nice of you to offer, but I think I’ll just take it all.”
Maggie threw her head back and laughed. “So you’re going to try…what? Birds of a Feather?” she guessed.
“Of course not,” Kat said. “Everyone knows the French government banned the importation of peacocks in 1987.”
“True.” Maggie frowned as if that particular development had caused her a great deal of grief on many occasions.
“London Bridge?” she guessed, but Kat said nothing. “A Jack and Jill?”
“Well, it is one of Hale’s favorites,” Kat managed to quip. “He makes an excellent Jill.”
“I don’t doubt it.”
Kat felt a little dizzy, watching her options fall away like the shattered panes of a broken window. She feared she might get cut.
“So what is your play, Katarina?” Maggie poured herself another drink and sipped, her lips pursed against the crystal rim. “What is the master plan of the master thief who robbed the Henley?”
Kat prayed that her silence would read as strength instead of weakness, wisdom instead of foolishness. Most of all, she wished she knew the answer to that very question. But she didn’t. So instead she just said, “You shouldn’t have gone after the Cleopatra. You shouldn’t have used me to do it. But your biggest mistake was using the name Romani. When this is over, you’ll know that was where you blew it.”
“You’re good, Katarina. You really are. A bit reckless, though. And entirely too gullible. It’s a shame there is so much your family has failed to teach you. There’s so much I could teach you.”
“The thing you’re forgetting, Mags, is even if we can’t steal the Cleopatra back, that doesn’t mean you can sell it—not before I call New York and suggest that the Kelly Corporation run a few tests on the stone they’ve got under glass.”
“You won’t do that, Katarina.”
“Oh, believe me, Maggie. I would.”
Kat didn’t smile because she was gloating. It was simply the smile of someone who has made her peace with her mistakes and is prepared to live with consequences. But then Maggie joined her, a phone in her hand.
“I do love the new technologies,” she said, smiling down at the device. “They’ve made certain elements of our profession much more challenging, don’t get me wrong, but some things…” Her voice trailed off as she pressed a button. The tiny screen was instantly filled with a small but perfectly clear picture: Marcus and Hale outside the Kelly Corporation. Then the image changed, and Kat saw Hale and Gabrielle walking into the corporate headquarters in full dress and mid-con.
There were at least a half dozen images, but it was the final one that caused Kat’s heart to stop.
A small park. A quiet day. Maggie brought one heavily jeweled finger to the screen and said, “That’s me. That’s you.” Finally the fingernail came to rest on the envelope in the center of the screen, passing between the two of them. “And that is you giving me the Cleopatra Emerald.”
Maggie walked to the door and turned the key, then glanced back to the girl by the window.
“Do think about what I said, Katarina. I’d be most happy to teach you all I know.”
CHAPTER 23
The tide was low off the coast of Monaco that Friday evening when the W. W. Hale pulled away from the long row of yachts that were an almost permanent part of the shore. The moon was only a tiny sliver as it rose in the distance over Italy. Everything, it seemed, was at its lowest as Kat stood in the doorway of the ship’s galley kitchen and said, “It’s over.”
The big door on the Sub-Zero refrigerator slammed closed, and Hale turned to Kat, a look on his face that was somewhere between rage and relief. Gabrielle had a new scrape on the side of her face and ice on her knee. The Bagshaws stood together beside Simon, who was still slowly sorting through Interpol’s files—face by face, job by job.
Kat smiled despite herself at the sight of them. “So…the gang’s all here.”
“Hey, Kitty,” Angus said.
“Sorry for getting in the way, Kat.” Hamish eased closer. He seemed even taller and significantly wider. She wondered for a second what he’d been eating to grow so big. “If we’d known you guys were pulling a job, we never would have blown into town unannounced and—”
“It’s okay, guys. Really.” Kat climbed onto one of the stools that lined the granite-covered bar. It felt harder than it should have to pull herself up. “It’s over. It’s fine. I’m assuming they filled you in?”
The Bagshaws had never been ones for overthinking, and Kat highly doubted they were going to start then.
“Sure did, Kitty!” Hamish threw his arm around her. Angus joined from the other side, squeezing until she hurt.
“We heard you were in Edinburgh in January,” Angus said. “But you didn’t call.”
“You didn’t write,” his brother added.
“Don’t feel bad, boys,” Hale said from across the galley. “She doesn’t call anyone anymore.”
Part of being a great thief means seeing what isn’t there—the hidden sensor or invisible grid, the lie a guard really, really wants to believe. So Kat knew what Hale was saying; she’d heard it on an escalator and in the backseat of a chauffeured car, on the brownstone stairs, and now, half a world away.
“Don’t be mad, Hale.”
“You went off script today,” he snapped.
“We were blown.”
“And you got in an elevator with that woman. Alone.”
“I’m a big girl, Hale,” Kat said. “Besides, she’s not going to hurt me.”
“We don’t know that,” Hale shot back. “We don’t know anything about her.”
“Yes.” Kat had to laugh. “We do. I’ve known her my whole life. Sure”—she added before he could cut her off—“I met her two weeks ago, but I know her.” Kat thought about Maggie at the age of nine, pulling a diamond heist at Harrods. “I know her very, very well.”
Angus looked at Hamish. “I hate it when Mom and Dad fight.”
Hamish smoothed his brother’s messy hair. “Me too.”
It was then that Marcus appeared in the room. His dark suit coat was gone, and he wore the sleeves of his white shirt rolled up to just below his elbows. Kat might have joked about the display of skin were it not for the neat apron he wore and the sense of purpose he exuded as he walked to the wide stove top and took the cover from a large Dutch oven. Steam billowed from the pot, and Kat closed her eyes. Instead of the smooth cool granite, her fingers felt rough old wood. They were at sea on the other side of the world, but with one deep breath, Kat was sitting at her uncle’s table.