Perfect Scoundrels (Heist Society #3)(26)

Not one of them saw the girl who emerged from the dumpster a minute later, filthy and disheveled. She dropped to the ground and ran.

“Where is he?” Kat asked as she bolted down the street.

“We’re almost to the Thames.”

“Stay with him, Nick,” Kat said.

“Don’t worry. He’s not going anywhere.”

“Hamish? Angus?” Kat asked. “Help Nick.”

“On it, Kitty,” Hamish answered back.

Kat heard a roar behind her and turned just in time to see Gabrielle on a motorcycle, speeding her way.

Gabrielle pulled to the side of the street and yelled, “Get on!” but Kat wasn’t waiting for an invitation.

“I think this might be my first high-speed chase,” Simon said from the sidecar. Gabrielle banked hard, careening around a curve. “I’m not sure I like it!”

“Nick, where is he?” Kat asked, but was met with only silence. Gabrielle revved the bike and Kat asked again, “Nick? Angus? Hamish?”

“Our comms units are running out of a van in the Henley parking lot,” Simon said. “We must be out of range.”

As they neared the Tower of London, the traffic began to congest and clog, tour buses and red double-deckers merging with black cabs and service vans, all full of people trying to fight their way across the river.

But there was only one face that mattered, so Kat put her hands on Gabrielle’s shoulders and stood, scanning the crowds that filled the busy street.

“Kat.” Nick’s voice came through her earpiece. It was scratchy and garbled and Kat only made out one word. “…bridge…”

That was all she needed to hear. In a flash, Kat was off the bike and running past the House of Parliament, through the shadow of Big Ben.

“Kat, what do you want us to do?” Nick finally said, his voice clear. “Kat, do you want us to approach him?”

She could see Nick near the Bagshaws fifty feet away from Garrett on the opposite side of the street. They stood shielded by the traffic and pedestrians, lingering with the vendors and artists who gathered, hocking their wares to the tourists.

But one man wasn’t there for the sights. Kat was on the bridge, pushing through the crowds, when she saw him stop at the rail and reach into his pocket. A second later, the papers were in his hands.

“Kat?” Nick asked.

“Stop him,” Kat said, but the static must have come again, they were so far from Simon’s base at the Henley. “Stop him!” she shouted, but it was too late. The boys couldn’t see when the man pulled a lighter from his pocket. No one noticed a thing until flames began to lick at the corners of the pages, and soon they were alive with fire, crumbling into black and falling into the Thames.





Katarina Bishop was not a girl unaccustomed to setbacks. She’d been born into a world of Plan A, B, C, and at the very least, D. She knew things never went exactly according to plan, but never before had she been so clueless about what could or should come next.

She could call Eddie and ask for advice, but Eddie had a strict “Do Not Disturb Unless Someone Is Bleeding” policy. She could go to her father, but she wasn’t exactly sure where he was or if he’d forgive her when he found out she’d had the complete blueprints to the Henley and had only tried to steal a stack of papers.

Nick and his blueprints were on a flight back to Brussels and his mom and his school. He’d done all he could to help, and now the only thing Kat knew for certain was that Hale’s world was different from hers. They spoke a different language, played by different rules. So as she walked into Carlos’s apartment an hour later, Kat couldn’t shake the feeling that the only person who could help was the only person she absolutely couldn’t call.

Then a ray of light came slicing through the dark. Literally. Kat threw her hands up to shield against it, and Angus and Hamish bolted toward the outline of a man in a chair. They were almost there when Gabrielle reached for the switch on the wall and the kitchen lights flickered on, freezing Kat and her crew where they stood.

“You dropped this.” Hale turned off the flashlight that Kat had last seen skidding across the Henley’s concrete floor. “Thought you might want it back.”

“Thanks,” she said. “It’s my favorite.”

“I know.”

“How’d you find us?” Kat asked.

“I met this girl once.… She taught me all kinds of useful things.”

“She sounds like a keeper,” Kat said, but this time Hale made no reply.

Instead, he stood and examined the large room. “So, this is a nice place.”

“It belongs to Carlos,” Angus said.

“Carlos is Cuban,” Hamish finished.

“Good for him,” Hale said. And then he stopped. There were four other people in the room, but Hale only looked at Kat, and something in his gaze burned her, froze her, made her want to run.

“I can explain,” she blurted.

“I’m sure you can. But I don’t want an explanation, Katarina. I’d rather have the truth.” The playful smile was gone. The spark in his eyes was extinguished. There was nothing but cold fury that stared back at her when he asked, “Why are you in London, Kat?”

“I tried to tell you, Hale, but—”