Perfect Scoundrels (Heist Society #3)(65)

“It’s not for me,” Kat said again. “It’s for—”

“The maid,” Garrett cut her off. “I know. I know. You’re…noble.”

“Yeah. You should try it sometime,” Kat said.

Garrett looked at the goon and commanded, “Give me the case.”

The man walked to the SUV and pulled out a silver briefcase. He handed it to Garrett, who held it like it was precious, gripping it too tightly for Kat’s liking.

“Are you going to hand that over nicely or do we need to have a talk about honor among thieves?” she asked, but before the man could answer, a car pulled into the overlook.

It was different from the minivans and tour buses. Black and sleek, and driven by a chauffer named Marcus.

“Oh, no,” Kat said, but Hale was already out of the car and moving toward her.

“Kat?” His voice was too soft somehow. It scared her. “Kat, what is going on? What are you doing here…with him?”

“It’s okay, Hale.” Kat moved gingerly toward him. “Why don’t you go wait in the car and I’ll explain in a little—”

“What are you doing here?” He looked between Kat and Eddie and then finally to the man with the silver case.

“Hale, wait. It’s not what it—”

“What? Looks like? Sounds like? What’s in the case, Kat?”

“He’s going to pay Marianne. We’re going to be able to take care of her.”

“So you’re here to make a deal with the man who killed my grandmother? I’m so glad I didn’t jump to any conclusions.”

“Hale…” Kat lunged to block his way. “Hale, calm down.”

“I’m not going to calm down!” he shouted, and it felt to Kat like the whole mountain trembled. She half feared an avalanche. Tourists stared. School groups snapped pictures. But she couldn’t do a thing to stop him.

“You killed Hazel,” Hale said. “You!”

Hale lunged toward Garrett. He might have reached him, too—might have killed him—had the goon not been there. He reached for Hale and held him back, squeezed his arms against his side. Garrett looked at the boy.

“You never learned your place, Scooter.” He pulled back a fist.

“No!” Kat shouted, but Eddie was rushing forward, far faster than Kat had ever imagined he could move. The goon let Hale go and raced for his boss, but he was too late. In a flash, Eddie was on the lawyer, and the lawyer was spinning, striking the old man across the head with the metal briefcase. Blood rushed from Eddie’s mouth and he stumbled, disoriented, too close to the edge.

“No!” Kat yelled again, but she didn’t hear the word. She heard nothing at all. Not the crunch of the rocks. Not the breaking of the barrier as it crumbled at her uncle’s back. And Kat didn’t hear the screaming that came with the fall—fading with the sound of the water and the cries of the people who stared over the edge.

She didn’t hear or feel or say a thing. Her own legs gave way and she was on the ground, damp grass bleeding through her jeans, freezing her, numbing her.

“No,” Garrett said. “It’s not true. It’s a trick. They’re con men,” he yelled, as if that could explain everything, make it all make perfect sense.

“That man’s dead,” a bystander said flatly, but Garrett just pushed him aside and stared for himself through one of the cameras trained on the falls below.

“He’s…He can’t be…” Garrett stumbled away from the sight, pale as ghost, but Kat kept crawling toward the ledge.

“I’ll go get him,” she said. “I’ll get him and then we can bring him to the hospital.…” She stumbled to her feet. “I have to get him.”

But she didn’t move—couldn’t move because Hale’s arms were around her so tightly her feet no longer touched the ground.

“Let me go, Hale. I have to go get him and help him up.”

“No, Kat. No.”

“Let me go!”

“No.” Fury faded, and Kat knew Hale wasn’t going to let her near the edge.

“I have to get him, Hale.”

“No,” he said, and held her tighter. “I have you.”

“Mr. Garrett,” the goon said. “We have to get you out of here.”

“He fell,” Garrett said.

“Your fingerprints are all over that case, sir, and now that case is lying by his body and covered with his blood. You have to leave. Now.”

They didn’t seem to care about the crying girl or the crumpled body. They just drove away, wheels spinning, the SUV disappearing into the mist.





There wasn’t really a manhunt, not in the traditional sense. No one alerted Interpol. There were no roadblocks or Wanted posters. No one in a position of authority was going to care too much about the death of the king of the thieves.

Sure, the tabloids had all picked up on the news that Reginald Hale had gone over Niagara Falls, and by morning the rumors would be rampant; but for that night, at least, the streets were dark and the stove was cold. Kat couldn’t look at it. But she couldn’t look away either.

“Kat,” Hale told her, “you should get some sleep.”