Perfect Scoundrels (Heist Society #3)(29)

He gestured to an old oil painting of a man in uniform. “That’s Mr. Hale the First. He was something of a character, I’m told. A big brute of a man. Powerful.” Silas puffed up his chest as if to prove the point. “He served in the military with one of the British princes. Saved his life, even, if the stories are true. And was rewarded handsomely for it.”

The next painting showed a man on a factory line, surrounded by crates and machinery.

“Mr. Hale the Second,” Silas said. “He was the first to come to this country, I believe. A bright man, by all accounts. Greedy. But bright.”

They took a few more steps, and Kat came even with two matching portraits.

“W. W. the Third is on your left,” Silas said. “And that’s his little brother Reginald on the right.”

“W. W. the Third was Hazel’s husband?” Kat asked.

“He was. He commissioned this building in 1969.” Silas smiled a little with the memory, then lowered his voice. “But make no mistake about it, my dear, this is the house that Hazel built.”

Silas eased down the long hall, to the last portrait hanging in the row. It was the same image that had run in the paper, and Kat looked at the original, wishing she’d known the woman behind it.

“As much as the Hales understand money, Hazel understood people,” Silas said. “None of these old boys would say so, but this place changed when she came on board.” He leaned close to Kat and whispered, “For the better.”

Kat couldn’t pry her gaze away from the portrait. She wished more than anything that she could ask that woman for advice.

“Are you okay, my dear?” Silas Foster asked. Something in the way he looked at her made Kat forget herself for a moment. He seemed so wise and sage and trustworthy, and Kat wanted to tell him everything—about Hazel and Marianne, the will and the trustee’s trip to London.

And Hale.

Kat wanted to tell Silas that her boyfriend wasn’t her boyfriend anymore, and beg him to go down to his lab and create a device that would make everything okay.

“Kat?” he asked again. “Are you all right?”

“Yes. I’m just a little…” Kat began, but she didn’t know how to continue. So instead she asked the question that had been on her mind for hours. “Mr. Foster, what is Genesis?”

Silas gave a knowing smile. “I guess we’re getting ready to find out.”

Then she watched the man push open a set of double doors, unsure what she was going to find on the other side, totally not expecting what she saw.

Hale. What Kat saw was Hale.

And he was angry.

Kat knew it the second his gaze met hers. His eyes narrowed and his face flushed. He seemed so much older than sixteen, as though the paintings in the hall had come to life and there he stood—a future tycoon being groomed for greatness. But instead of his father’s blank, professional stare, Hale’s face was full of rage; and as he headed her way, Kat had every reason to be shaking.

“What are you doing here?”

He was the person she knew best, trusted most, and in spite of all that, she recoiled from his touch. “You invited me,” she said.

“No. I didn’t.”

“But…” Kat began, then let the words trail off.

“Look, Kat. It’s not personal. It’s just that this isn’t really a public thing.”

“I didn’t realize I was the public.”

“You need to leave, Kat. You just…” And then the most naturally gifted inside man that Kat had ever seen was stumbling for words. “I just… Who invited you?”

“I did.” Kat felt Silas’s hand at her back. “Genesis isn’t for my generation—it’s for yours. Thought it wouldn’t hurt to have an extra set of young eyes on it.”

“Oh.” Hale forced a smile at Silas and then shifted his gaze to Kat. “I see.”

Kat wanted to feel her blood boiling, to find the strength to yell, but everything was going cold instead.

“Now, you two have fun.” Silas gave them a wink and crossed the room.

Marcus was there, floating through the crowd with a tray of champagne. She recognized several people from the funeral—members of the board, Kat assumed. Hale’s mother stood alone in the corner. And something about it all made Kat feel small, inconsequential. Even with Hale beside her, she had never felt more alone in her life.

“Hale, can I talk to you for a second?”

“Son?” Senior was walking toward them, looking right through Kat as if she didn’t exist at all.

“I’ve got to go, Kat,” Hale said, but all Kat heard was her cousin’s voice whispering the words secret girlfriend.…

And then a different set of words flashed through her mind: I don’t have a girlfriend anymore.…

“Hale”—she pulled him close—“we need to talk.”

But Hale just brushed her aside. “I’m through talking.”

Kat didn’t want to make a scene—it went against her upbringing, her DNA. So she let him leave. And even though he never looked back, Kat could feel somebody watching, staring.

She turned, taking in the room, and there he was, on the other side of the lab. At least a dozen people stood between them, and yet Kat knew that Garrett was looking right at her. Not blinking. Not smiling.