Perfect Scoundrels (Heist Society #3)(51)

Bobby’s jaw dropped. The cathedral bells chimed. Kat’s father squeezed her shoulder tighter, and the two of them continued across the square.

“Oh, sweetheart, you are your mother’s daughter.”

“So you’ll do it?”

“Yeah. But you’re going to owe me.”

There was a sidewalk café, and Kat stopped. “Fine. I’ll buy you a cup of coffee.”

He laughed. “Save your money, kiddo.”

Kat pulled out a credit card that Hale had given her once for emergencies. “Then Hale can buy you a cup of coffee.”

“Deal.”

And in that moment, everything was okay. It was going to be fine, Kat thought as her father took his coffee, gave her a quick kiss on the forehead, and said, “See you in New York.”

She watched him walk away, lost in thought. Planning. The pieces were right on the board in front of her. All she had to do was see what play Garrett was going to try next.

“Signorina, I’m sorry,” the teller told her. “Signorina,” the woman said again, pulling Kat’s attention back to the café. “Your card,” she said, reaching behind the counter for the largest, sharpest scissors that Kat had ever seen. “It is no good.”

And then the woman cut, plastic pieces falling onto the counter, as Kat’s mind drifted back to the crazed look in Garrett’s eyes after the launch, the haunting threat that he was only just beginning to bring the fight to them.

Kat looked down at Hale’s ruined card and muttered to herself, “Oh, boy.”





The penthouse on Park Avenue wasn’t as grand as Hazel’s country house. It was significantly less regal than the estate on the outskirts of London. But, walking through its shadowy halls, the one thing Kat knew for certain was that the more Hale family homes she saw, the more she understood why her boyfriend preferred the warmth of Uncle Eddie’s kitchen.

“No one said I had a visitor,” the figure on the other side of the bedroom doorway said.

Kat dangled a pair of needle-nose pliers and stepped into the well-appointed room. “Yeah, well. I didn’t feel like bothering your parents. Besides, the new owner of Hale Industries deserves a top-rate security system. Figured I should test it.”

“And?”

As soon as Hale stepped into the light, Kat knew he’d been in bed. His hair was tousled and his shirt was off, and the smile he gave her was sleepy and lazy and warm.

“Doors and windows are top-notch, but the elevator shaft could use some work.”

“I’ll have my people get on that.”

“Good,” Kat said, and Hale smiled, and for a split second he was there—her Hale. He was laughing and biting back jokes. But just that quickly it was over, and he was the boy at the podium again, sad and lost and stumbling.

“So”—Hale looked down, ran a hand through his hair—“are you here to fire me or kill me?”

“Neither,” Kat said. “You’re not getting off that easily.”

Hale dropped onto the corner of the bed. “I know.”

Kat asked herself what Uncle Eddie would say, what her father might do. But Hale wasn’t just a member of her crew who had messed up. He was Hale. Her Hale. And Kat just wanted him back. So she stepped a little closer and felt Hale’s arms go around her waist.

“I’m so sorry, Kat.” He pulled her tight. “I’m so, so sorry.”

Kat had no choice but to run her hands through his hair. “Hale, look at me a second. I need to talk to you.”

“Garrett cut me off. Credit cards, debit cards,” Hale told her, then looked at her anew. “But you already know that, don’t you?”

“I thought that might be the case when I couldn’t pay for my dad’s cup of coffee in Venice.”

“You saw your dad?” Hale shot up. “What did you tell him?”

“Everything,” Kat said, and Hale huffed, but Kat didn’t let him stop her. “You honestly think he wasn’t going to hear eventually? My family doesn’t keep secrets, remember? Besides,” she admitted, “we need him.”

“Great. Now Bobby’s going to hate me. More. Bobby’s going to hate me more.”

“Dad doesn’t hate you. He just…well, Dad doesn’t hate you any more than he would hate any boy who was…a boy.”

“He doesn’t hate the Bagshaws.”

“The Bagshaws aren’t boys. They are bombs with very colorful fuses.”

“Good to know.”

“So, has Garrett told your parents…”

“The truth about me?” Hale guessed. “Not yet. I rather imagine he doesn’t want to explain where those Knightsbury tuition checks have been going all this time.”

“True,” Kat said, and nodded. “And he won’t want to play all his cards quite yet.”

And then something shifted inside of Hale. Kat watched it come over him like a shadow as he walked to the window and stared out at Central Park. He was older, wiser, and significantly richer than he’d been two years before, but right then Hale looked exactly like the boy who’d stood staring up at his first fake Monet.

“Will you still want me if I’m poor, Kat?”