Perfect Scoundrels (Heist Society #3)(13)

“I know,” Kat said. “He told me.”

It felt like she hadn’t seen Hale in days, and she wanted to fill him in on these strange encounters that she’d had with a boy who looked vaguely like him—to tell him about Marcus and Marianne and the search for a lost will that might or might not even exist. Kat wanted to tell him everything, but try as she might, she couldn’t get the words to come, and the longer she stood there, the more Hale’s smile faded until, finally, he sat down at the table and ran his hand along the old wood.

“You’re not going to run away with me, are you?”

Kat shook her head. “Not tonight.”

“That’s a shame.” He drew a long breath. “This time I think they’d notice.”

“They noticed last time.”

“You’re right.” He gave a low, dry laugh. “But this is the first time they’ll care.”

“Hale—”

“Hazel disinherited my parents, Kat,” Hale finally said. “My aunts and uncles, too. Sure, she gave away some jewelry and some paintings—the houses. But she didn’t give them a single share of Hale Industries.” He huffed. “Ever since Hazel got sick, that’s all Dad has been able to think about. His mother was dying, and all the man could talk about was how hard it was going to be to buy his brother and sisters out of the company.”

Hale took a deep breath. “She disinherited everyone,” he said, as if trying to convince himself that it was true. “And she gave it all to me.”

The moonlight sliced through the broken window and across his face. He didn’t look like a boy who’d just inherited a billion-dollar corporation. He looked like a boy who wanted his grandmother back.

“Why would she do that? Why would she pick me?”

It was supposed to be rhetorical, but Kat couldn’t help herself; she thought about the question—saw it in the light of everything Marcus had said. And in that moment, she knew that Hale being the heir was no mistake, no coincidence. It was an all-important part of the con, Kat was certain, as she whispered, “You’re a minor.”

So often in life, Katarina Bishop forgot that she and her crew were teenagers, that in the eyes of the law and society itself, even W. W. Hale the Fifth was a lesser citizen. It had often been an asset, but it had never made her a mark before, and right then she hated being fifteen.

“Like I wasn’t a black sheep enough before, now I’m the kid who stole their inheritance. They can’t even look at me. My aunts and my uncle… My own parents hate me.”

“I’m sure they don’t hate you.”

He shook his head as if she were the most naive girl in the world. “Of course they do.”

It’s not about you, Kat started to say. She wanted to tell him that there might be something wrong—that if she was right, then he was just a small piece in a much, much larger puzzle. She was opening her mouth to speak—the words were almost out—when a broad smile stretched across Hale’s face.

“But do you want to know the crazy part, Kat?”

“What?”

“I don’t care.” He laughed a little. “There was only one person in my family I ever trusted. Turns out, I’m the person she trusted, too.”

And then Kat’s words disappeared. They evaporated into the cold air that blew through the broken window, and she couldn’t bring herself to tell him that Hazel’s grand, final gesture might be nothing more than a lie.

“My grandmother loved me, Kat.” He smiled wider. “She chose me.”

There Kat was, in the center of her world, and she tried to imagine what it would be like to never be respected, accepted. Loved. Kat had always belonged in Uncle Eddie’s kitchen, and she tried to wrap her mind around what it would be like to be the boy who had never been given a place at his family’s table.

“I’m sorry.” Hale took her hand. “You wanted to tell me something?”

She did want to tell him something—so many things. But the words didn’t come. So she rose and walked around the table, brought her hand to his face, and kissed him.

“Why shouldn’t she choose you?” Kat forced a smile. “I did.”

After he’d closed the door and disappeared down the dark street, Kat was left alone in the sleeping house, wondering if she’d made the right decision. It wasn’t until she turned and started for the stairs that she realized that, no, she wasn’t alone after all.

“Tell me everything.” Gabrielle crossed her arms and blocked the way. “Tell me everything, now.”





“Hello, Marianne,” Kat said the following morning.

The tiny yard was wet with dew and the sun was still low, the house shrouded in the shadows of the woods. But as soon as the woman opened the door, Kat knew she hadn’t been sleeping. Marianne’s eyes were bright and clear as she regarded the two girls who stood on her stoop, mulling over the consequences of asking them inside.

“Marcus isn’t here,” she told them.

“That’s fine,” Kat said. “This is my cousin Gabrielle. If it’s okay, we’d like to talk to you.” But the woman didn’t speak or move. “Please, Marianne. We think that maybe Marcus is right. And we think maybe you’re not the only one who was affected.”