Perfect Scoundrels (Heist Society #3)(5)

“Is this…?” Kat couldn’t pull her eyes away from the photo that accompanied the words. The woman wore her white hair in an elegant updo, a diamond broach at the base of her neck, as she sat beneath a Monet that, if Kat were to guess, was most definitely the real one.

“That, my dear, is Hazel Hale,” Uncle Eddie said. “She is your young man’s grandmother.”

“She’s in a coma?” Gabrielle asked, turning the paper to get a better view.

“She was,” Eddie said. “At six o’clock this morning she died.”

Kat craned her neck and looked straight up at the building, utterly uncertain what to do. The height would not be a problem, of course, but there was something about the penthouse apartment that loomed over the east side of Central Park that left Kat feeling exposed and fragile. So she shivered, staring up, completely unsure how to find her way inside.

Oh, it would have been easy enough to purchase a bouquet of flowers, throw on an apron, and disappear into the parade of florists and caterers that had been filing in and out of the service elevators all morning. A window washer had left his rig on the third floor, easily within Kat’s reach. There were at least a half dozen ways for Kat to access the penthouse, but even Katarina Bishop knew there were some rooms she shouldn’t con or break her way into.

Besides, it was the only Hale family residence into which Kat had never been invited. Like a vampire, she felt that it would be almost impossible to enter. So she stayed on the corner, watching, staring at her phone.

“Hey, Hale,” she told the recording that answered when she tried his number, “it’s me. Again. Like I said in my last message, I’m back in the city and I heard about your grandmother. Hale, I’m so sorry.” Kat ended the call without another word.

Maybe he was busy.

Maybe he was sad.

Maybe he was grounded.

Maybe he was still in Argentina, lying in a roadside ditch and calling out her name.

Or maybe he was…

“Hale?” Kat said when she saw a pack of men emerge through the building’s glistening doors. They all wore dark suits and darker expressions, and they were so uniform in appearance that Kat almost missed the boy among their midst. She stared for a moment, uncertain at first that it was him. She’d seen him in so many situations—playing so many different roles—but Kat couldn’t help but realize that the boy who stood before her was someone she had never seen before.

The men were almost at the limo that sat idling at the curb, so she spoke louder. “Hale!”

Every man in the group stopped and stared.

“Sorry,” she said. “I meant that one.” She pointed to the youngest Hale on the sidewalk.

He stepped cautiously away from the others and asked, “Kat?” almost as if he didn’t recognize her.

“Hey,” she told him.

“Hey,” he said back. “How’s the Raphael?”

“Fine. Halfway to Mr. Stein and its rightful owner.”

“Any trouble?”

“There were dogs,” Kat found herself confiding. “We hadn’t been expecting dogs, but they took one look at Gabrielle and fell in love, so…we made it.”

“Dogs and boys, right?” Hale laughed a little.

“Right,” Kat said and mimicked his smile. “We missed you.”

“Son?” one of the men said. He was tall, like Hale. Flecks of gray mixed among his black hair. He stood at the limo doors, speaking in Hale’s direction.

“Just a minute.” Hale called over his shoulder and kept his hands deep in his pockets.

“That’s your dad?” Kat asked, but Hale acted like he hadn’t heard.

“Kat,” he said, voice low, “what are you doing here?”

He looked and sounded a world away from the boy who had left her in Argentina.

She swallowed and told him, “I heard about your grandmother. I’m so sorry.”

“Thanks.”

“I tried calling, but…I was worried, Hale. You just disappeared.”

“Son?” Hale’s father called again.

The first black car pulled away from the curb, and another appeared almost as if by magic.

“Look, I’ve got to go. The funeral is upstate tomorrow, and we’re all going up there today, so…”

“Are you okay?”

“It’s good seeing you.” He headed for the limo, but called back over his shoulder, “Take care of yourself, Kat.”

And then he was in the car.

And then the car was melding into traffic and disappearing down the street.

Kat felt Gabrielle come to stand beside her, a cup of coffee in each hand. She gave one to Kat and blew on the contents of the other. “How was he?” Gabrielle asked.

“Different,” Kat said, not sipping. Not smiling. “He was different.”





Driving toward the big house in Wyndham Woods, Kat couldn’t help but think about the first time she’d ever been there. It had been dark, and she had been younger. But the biggest difference, it turned out, was that some places are far more intimidating when you approach them via the front door.

“Name?” the guard asked when Gabrielle pulled up to the gate.

“We’re here for the memorial service.” Gabrielle gestured at her black dress as if that should be explanation enough. Kat thought that perhaps Gabrielle should have chosen a longer dress if she’d truly wanted to send the right message.