Perfect Scoundrels (Heist Society #3)(25)

For a moment, Hale’s trustee was quiet. Then he jerked his head toward the door. “Why don’t you go check on Duncan, Scooter? Make sure he brings that woman back. This is your grandmother’s desk. We can’t have it damaged further.”

When Hale left, Kat felt frozen, watching as Garrett walked around the desk, studying the ornate carvings. She couldn’t breathe as the man turned the piece of the desk where Hale had pointed. A small hidden drawer opened with an ominous pop. To Kat, it sounded like a bubble bursting as a narrow piece of molding slid away from the rest of the desk, and the man reached inside and pulled out a pile of papers held together by a single clip. Quickly, he slipped them into an interior pocket of his suit coat.

“He’s got it,” Kat said.

“What?” Gabrielle asked. “No, Angus, you need to get out of the garden! I’m sorry, Kat. What were you—”

“He’s got it. Garrett has the will.” The words were almost for herself, because, in that moment, the girl who always had a plan had absolutely no idea what to do. Options and alternatives swirled in her mind, but before she could do a single thing, Director Duncan appeared at the doorway, Hale at his side.

“She’s on her way, Mr. Garrett,” the director said, but Garrett no longer seemed interested.

Instead, he spoke directly to the boy. “Come, Scooter, we’ve seen enough. We’ll get out of your way, Mr. Duncan.”

“But…” The director seemed befuddled.

“You’re a busy man, and we’re jet-lagged. Come on, Scooter, let’s go.”

Two guards appeared and asked the director a question, so Kat kept herself pressed against the wall and whispered as loudly as she dared, “Gabrielle, Simon?”

“I’m here, Kat.” The voice was Nick’s.

“Garrett’s leaving with the real will. We’ve got to get it back. Now!”





There are moments in any thief’s career that seem to last a lifetime—the second it takes for a guard to check a window, for the security camera to sweep. But the longest minute that Kat Bishop ever lived through was the one that came after she saw Hale and his trustee disappear through the door of the Henley’s restoration room. She could hear the museum director chatting with the guards on the other side of the shelves. Her crew was shouting out orders and questions, rapid-fire in her ear. But Kat could do nothing but stand and wait and listen.

“I have them at the north entrance,” Gabrielle said.

“Hamish, Angus, you clear?” Nick asked.

“As a bell, Nicky boy,” Hamish said.

“Kat, what are you going to do?” Simon asked. “Kat?”

The comms unit squeaked—an almost deafening sound—and Kat threw her hand to her ear, trying to keep it in.

“What was that?” a guard asked.

There were footsteps on the concrete, and Kat pressed herself more tightly against the shelves.

“There,” the director said. “Look at that.”

Kat held her breath. She closed her eyes.

“Just look at those rubbish bins. When was the last time they were emptied?” The director sounded mortified and ashamed. “You lads notify the janitorial staff. I want a full crew down here now.”

She heard the door open and close, and for a second, Kat was alone.

“Garrett,” Kat whispered. “Stick with Garrett. I’ll be right there.”

“Kat, no!” Nick shouted. “You can’t get out of there unseen until the morning. It’s too risky.”

But Kat just smiled. “I’ll see you soon.”

On the streets near the Henley that day, there were any number of odd things that could have easily been seen by anyone who cared to look.

First, there was a pair of ruddy-faced boys who were scaling the fence that surrounded the gardens. Two guards were in hot pursuit, but no one bothered to summon Scotland Yard or even the police. And once the boys had run into the nearest Tube station, the guards, huffing and puffing, gave up their chase and went back inside.

The second fairly strange thing was that a long black limousine was sitting at the opposite side of the building. It wasn’t parked. It did not circle. Instead, the car just idled by the main entrance as if, at any moment, a very well-financed thief was going to stroll out the front doors of the Henley and make an incredibly elegant escape. But anyone expecting that scenario would have been disappointed when a boy emerged through the Henley’s doors, an older man at his side.

The man hurried away from the museum, throwing cautious looks over his shoulder. But the boy walked into the fleeting sunlight as if there were no place on earth where he would not feel at ease.

The pair was almost to the limousine when the man said something, and a moment later, the boy climbed into the backseat alone. When the limo drove off, the man continued on foot, disappearing into the crowded streets. He seemed perfectly unaware when yet another boy emerged from the Henley’s doors with the last few straggling visitors of the day. This boy wore dark glasses and kept an even, steady pace, always fifty feet or so at the man’s back.

But the oddest sight of all came when the janitorial staff carried the day’s rubbish to the large bins in the back of the building. The men chatted as they dumped the cans into the massive dumpster, straining a bit under their weight before going back inside.