Perfect Scoundrels (Heist Society #3)(16)

“What?” Gabrielle asked. “I can’t make an executive decision? Besides, everything is better with Bagshaws.”

Kat was beginning to seriously question her cousin’s definition of “better” when Angus looked over the front seat. “So, between you and me…”

“And me,” Hamish added.

“How rich is ol’ Hale these days?” Angus finished.

“Guys.” Kat gave an exasperated sigh. “He’s Hale. Hale is just the same as he was before, just—”

“Richer,” Gabrielle said. “About a million times richer.”

In the front seat, Angus gave a long sigh. “I always did like that boy.”

“So true,” his brother said. “So, so true.”

Then Hamish spun the wheel again. Dark alley gave way to the glow of neon through the foggy windows, and Kat knew immediately where they were. She couldn’t help herself: she thought about the last time she’d been in Trafalgar Square—the long ride in the back of a mobster’s car. Blackmail photos and death threats. She was beginning to question why she’d thought it was so important to come back to England.

“What’s wrong, Kitty?” Angus asked.

Kat reached out to touch the window. “London makes me nervous.”

“Don’t worry, Kat,” Hamish said. “You’re about to feel much, much worse.”

The skyscraper was new, right next to the Thames. Someone said something about it being the tallest building in Europe, but Kat wasn’t really in the mood to care. She just stood quietly in the elevator, and when they finally reached the penthouse apartment, Kat was more than a little relieved to see that Gabrielle had a key.

“Who owns this apartment?” Kat asked.

“Carlos,” her cousin said, pushing open the door and stepping inside. A staircase ascended into a second story. A modern kitchen covered the right side of the space. It was all steel and chrome and glass. Even though Kat was back in London, it felt like a different hemisphere—different century—from the country estate where they’d stayed when planning the Henley job.

“And Carlos is…”

“About to be step-daddy number five,” Gabrielle told her. She cocked a hip. “He’s Cuban.”

“How nice for him,” Kat said, and followed her cousin into the towering, frigid room.

Rain ran down the tall glass windows, and the flames from the long sleek fireplace didn’t even begin to fight the chill. Suddenly, Kat craved soup and a warm kitchen. She felt a long, long way from home.

“So tell me.” Kat dropped her bags and spun on the Bagshaws. “What exactly is wrong?”

“There’s a bathroom down there,” Gabrielle said. “If you want to try to do something about…this.” She gestured to Kat’s hair. Kat ignored her.

“Guys, what’s going—”

“Oh good, you’re here.”

“Simon,” Kat said, looking up at the boy descending the stairs, a laptop under each arm. As happy as she was to see him, another emotion boiled to the surface. “What are you doing here? What are all of you doing here? Gabrielle—”

“Don’t be mad at dear, sweet Gabrielle, Kitty,” Angus said, even though Kat was fairly certain that Gabrielle had never been dear or sweet a day in her life. “It’s hard out there for a couple of lads trying to find honest work.”

“Honest?” Kat asked.

“Or honestly dishonest, as the case may be,” Hamish said.

Kat turned to Simon. “I thought you were doing a PhD program at Cambridge.”

“Oxford.” Simon blushed. “And I didn’t find the academic setting as challenging as I’d hoped.”

“University girls don’t date teenage geniuses,” Hamish translated.

“Okay. Great. So Simon’s a dropout and you two are…here.” She pointed at the Bagshaws. “But guys, it’s not a big job. I mean, we just need to get into Hale’s grandmother’s flat. That’s not exactly—”

“Oh, the flat is nothing.” Angus pulled an apple from a bowl on the marble counter and took a big bite as he said, “Hale’s aunt inherited the place, and she’s kind of…”

“Unpleasant,” Hamish filled in while Angus provided his own (far less flattering) word.

Simon talked on. “So the whole staff is turning over. Getting in and out with all the chaos would be a cakewalk.”

Kat studied the solemn faces that were looking back at her. “So that means the problem is…”

“The desk is an original Petrovich.” When Simon spoke, he began to subtly vibrate in excitement. “I mean, a real Petrovich. Did you know that Catherine the Great herself discovered him and—”

“Simon,” Gabrielle said. “Focus.”

“Sorry.” He pulled his thoughts back together. “It’s just, I’ve always wanted a Petrovich,” Simon said. “Those desks are like works of art.”

“And that, dear cousin, is the problem, because there is going to be an exhibition of Petrovich’s finest work at…” Gabrielle let the words drag out long enough for Kat to guess.

“The Henley.”