Perfect Scoundrels (Heist Society #3)(63)

He took an intimidating step closer to Kat, looming over her as he said, “But if you continue to stand between me and my affairs, I will make a phone call, and you won’t like the results.”

He shifted, waiting for the threat to land, and when it didn’t, he narrowed his eyes and snapped, “What?”

“You’re missing the point,” Kat told him. “You know who I am. Good job, by the way. But I also know who you are. And I know what you did.”

“Are you going to say that makes us even?”

Kat glared. “Not even close.”

She couldn’t stand the sight of him, so she turned to the windows. “As we speak, copies of Hazel Hale’s DNR are circulating to the best handwriting experts in the world—one of whom happens to be my uncle Charlie. That part is already in motion—there’s nothing you can do about it now.” She looked back at him, leveled him with her stare. “There are just two options for what happens next.”

“And they are…” he asked, humoring her.

“Maybe those reports make their way to any number of people who can make your life difficult.”

“I will soon be a very wealthy man. I don’t care about difficult.”

“You will if it means you can’t sell the prototype. You see, Mr. Garrett, I can call the authorities, too.”

“You have no proof.”

“Oh, Garrett”—Kat made a tsk tsk tsk sound—“I can make proof. Or I can steal it. In any case, you don’t want me as an enemy.”

“And the second option?”

“You give me ten million dollars and this all goes away.”

He couldn’t stop himself from chuckling. “Ten million? That’s all? That won’t support your boyfriend’s lifestyle for a year.”

“It’s not for me, and it’s not for Hale.”

“Then who is it for?”

“Marianne.” Kat laughed a little at his naiveté. They had come all this way and still he didn’t see the truth. “It was always for Marianne.”

“The maid?”

“The person you wrote out of the will. That was a stupid move, by the way. If you’d left her in, none of this would have happened.”

“Oh, I know.” He took a sip of his drink and rolled his eyes. “But Hazel wanted her to be the trustee, and I couldn’t have that, could I? She always was annoyingly honest.”

“Good people have a tendency to be that way. Makes me glad I don’t know that many.”

“Okay. The maid gets ten million. And that’s it?” He looked at Kat as if she were some rare species of human being. “You’re not going to try to save your boyfriend’s family business?”

“No, Mr. Garrett.” Kat slipped on her jacket and crossed the room. “I’m trying to save my boyfriend.”

Walking to the door, Kat knew she should have felt at ease. It was over. Almost. But something tugged at her, a lingering doubt she couldn’t silence, a steady whisper in her ear.

“Just one more thing.” Kat suddenly stopped. “Hale never sees you—or your daughter—again.”

A condescending smile spread across Garrett’s face.

“Anything else?”

“Do we have a deal, Mr. Garrett?”

He nodded. “Deal.”

“Tomorrow at noon. Grand Central Station. I’ll expect you there in person.”

“And have you show up with the authorities? I don’t think so.”

“Fine,” Kat conceded. “We’ll do it in…Niagara Falls. On the Canadian side. Far out of New York jurisdiction. How does that sound?”

“I didn’t peg you for a tourist.”

“Let’s just say I’m a girl who appreciates a crowd. There’s a scenic overlook a mile past the border. Bring ten million in untraceable bonds and don’t be late. If you are, I will personally make sure every member of my family knows there’s a price on your head. You’d be surprised how many of them are good at stealing people.”

The man smiled and held out his hand. “It’s a pleasure doing business with you.”

“Forgive me if I can’t say the same.”





It didn’t matter how close Kat sat to the fire in Uncle Eddie’s drawing room; she still couldn’t get warm. She kept seeing Garrett’s cold smile, his black eyes. And she kept wondering if Hale would ever forgive her, knowing he was the one person whom she could never, ever con into forgetting her mistakes.

“Out of the frying pan…” she said to herself, unable to shake the feeling that it was just a matter of time until she got burned.

“You didn’t eat.” Uncle Eddie’s voice was gruff and sleepy as he came into the room. “Come, Katarina. I’ll make you something.”

“I’m not hungry,” she told him, and the old man shrugged.

“That’s a pity.” He dropped into a chair not far away. “My hands.” He looked down, held them against the light of the fire. “I don’t know what to do with them. It would have been nice to have a task.”

“Sorry. I wish I could be more help.”

He gave a shrug as if to say he’d grown used to disappointment, then propped a foot up on the coffee table, which was covered with photos and albums, the prep materials that nobody really needed anymore.