Perfect Scoundrels (Heist Society #3)(67)

“I’ve reserved a private car,” the man said, and led the way; but behind the sliding doors, there was no doubt the mood of the meeting changed.

A big, meaty man followed the pair into the private car and patted the woman down. She didn’t object, however. She raised her hands and waited, perfectly accustomed to such a scene.

And when she was finally free to take a seat, she crossed her long legs. “As I said, I’m so glad you called.” The woman smiled. “I’m also glad the terms have changed.”

“No, they—”

“Yes,” she said flatly, “they have. You wouldn’t be here if the price hadn’t taken a drop.… Fallen off a cliff, so to speak.”

The man swallowed hard. “It was an accident.”

“I’m sure it was,” the woman said. “And I’m equally sure that you can have a very nice life in exile. Now, do you have the device?”

He handed her the case that was on the seat beside him. She removed the prototype and plugged it into her phone, waited for the device to spring to life.

“And the schematics?”

He passed her a jump drive, which she plugged into a laptop. A second later, thousands of intricate formulas and designs flashed across the screen.

“If these are incorrect, my employer will make your retirement most…uncomfortable.”

Garrett shifted nervously, but said, “They work. I just want them gone. Trust me. I never want to see that prototype again.”

“Very well,” she said. “You have a deal.”

The man reached for his own laptop and logged on to the train’s wireless network. Soon the screen bore the logo of one of Switzerland’s most elite and secure banks. They each typed in a series of numbers, and a moment later, the woman held out her hand.

“It was nice doing business with you, Mr. Garrett.”

The man was sweating and breathing hard.

“Congratulations. You’re a very wealthy man,” she told him, then placed the jump drive and prototype back into the case, slid her purse onto her shoulder. “Enjoy your retirement.”

The train pulled to a stop and the woman stood and sauntered down the aisle, back into the first-class car and out the door. When she crossed the platform, briefcase in hand, the man in the hat was perhaps the only person on the train who wasn’t watching. He couldn’t keep his gaze off of his computer, clutching the machine with sweaty palms as if his whole life lay inside. And that was perhaps why he was the only person who didn’t see the teenage girl and boy who chose that moment to board the train themselves and were soon pushing their way into his private car.

When Garrett saw Hale, a flash of fear crossed his face, but then he actually smiled as he snapped his laptop closed. “You’re too late.” He gave a low, dry laugh.

Hale was rushing down the aisle as the train began to move, but Kat just stood at the door, wondering what kind of person could watch somebody die and then run for the hills, his only concern how much money he might have for the journey.

“Sorry, Scooter, it’s gone.” He placed his laptop in his bag and his bag on the seat beside him. “You tried. But it’s done.”

“You stole it,” Hale said.

“I took what I was owed!” the man shouted, and still Kat stood, searching his eyes for any sign of remorse, but all she saw was a cold and empty greed that no amount of money would ever satisfy.

“You think that company is your legacy?” Garrett challenged. “Your birthright? It’s a tomb.”

“You’re not going to get away with this,” Kat said, and the man looked at her.

“I’m sorry about your uncle, Miss Bishop. I really am. But let’s not forget that I know all about you and your family. If anyone comes asking questions about what happened to Reginald Hale, or your uncle, for that matter, they are going to find a very thick file full of very nasty secrets. Take it from someone who has been cleaning up Hale family messes his whole life: let it go.”

“Oh, that’s okay.” Kat felt the rock and sway of the train, held on to the back of one of the seats to stay upright. “I don’t think anyone is going to be too concerned about Reginald, considering he’s been dead for fifty years.”

“But…” The man’s eyes went wide and his voice trailed off when the door at the back of the car slid open.

“You mean him?” Kat asked, pointing over her shoulder, and for a moment the attorney was so quiet that Kat had to wonder if Garrett even recognized Uncle Eddie.

Gone were Reginald’s clothes and his cane. He’d traded his limp for slightly inferior posture, and there was no way the man walking down the aisle would ever be confused with a member of the Hale family. He looked like a man who missed his stove and his kitchen. But he was also a man who was very much alive.

“You…” Garrett muttered. “You’re dead. I saw you at the bottom of a cliff.”

“Did you?” Eddie asked as, behind him, the door slid open once again and Eddie’s twin brother, Charlie, came to stand beside him. “Did you really?”

The man stumbled to his feet. “Get them,” he told the guard who sat in the next row. “Stop them.”

“See…” The goon stood and spoke with a deep Scottish brogue. “I probably shouldn’t do that. It would set a terrible example for my boys. Hey”—he looked at Kat—“where are Angus and Hamish?”